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#i still am quite high in the scale of dumbass
ninja-go-to-therapy · 6 months
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Monster? I Hardly Know Her!
The Pearce Joza obsession lives on im afraid 😔
ao3
Prompt: "How many fingers am I holding up?"
Fandom: Mech-X4
Characters: Spyder, Harris, and Veracity
Summary: Spyder wakes up, delirious and injured after a monster attack. Harris plays severely unqualified nurse.
Trigger Warnings: injury, mentioned vomit, mentioned death
809 words
Something was screeching. High pitched and whiny, kinda reminding him of a school bell… was he at school right now? No, that didn’t sound right. If not there, then where was he?
He groaned, blinking his eyes open. The screeching didn’t go away. In fact, it only somehow got even worse. He couldn’t see that well, vision all… blurred. Did he normally wear glasses? He couldn’t remember. He was pretty sure he didn’t, but then why else would his eyes be so… messed up?
A dark shape loomed over him. His first thought: dad? His second: please not dad.
The screeching (which he was now beginning to realize was just a ringing in his ears) was polite enough to quiet down some. A win was a win.
“Spyder?” the shape called, sounding like it had come from underwater. Or maybe he was underwater… he really couldn’t tell. “Can you hear me?”
“Harris?” he attempted, throat so scratchy it was painful. He coughed, his lungs burning at the action. “Wh’s goin’ on?”
“Oh, thank god. You took a real bad hit… or, a couple, more accurately. Do you remember the fight?”
His brain felt like it was full of soup, so… probably not. Was that why everything sounded so far away? “Did I win?” he croaked, squinting at the Harris-shaped blob.
“You were sort of… unconscious for most of it. Veracity had to hop on weapons, it was… quite the experience. But yeah, we won.”
He moved to sit up, immediately regretting the attempt. His body curled in on itself on pure instinct, raw pain sprouting in his chest like a… plant or something. 
“Oh, shit, yeah, don’t move!” Harris said, words stumbling over themselves. “We still need to check you out. Leo went to get some supplies… um, on a scale of one to ten, how are you feeling?”
“Mmm, ‘ve had worse,” he slurred. “‘nt hear good…”
“You can’t hear good?” Harris clarified, getting a low groan in response. “Okay, okay, I’ll forgive the grammar this one time on that. Uhhh… how many fingers am I holding up?”
Spyder squinted at the shape of his friend, trying to focus on his where his hands probably were. “Mmm… twelve?” he guessed.
“Yeah, that’s… definitely not right. I’m gonna need to scan you, hold still, okay?”
It wasn’t like he had much choice. If he moved, he was half convinced he’d disintegrate on the spot. God, everything hurt. He’d been knocked around plenty in his life, and he’d definitely had worse, but jesus. It was like his insides were on fire.
But he couldn’t stay down. He couldn’t afford to be dead weight on the team, not even for a minute. Not when he was constantly teetering on the edge of their collective patience. Not after the day Harris had been infected with ooze, had screamed at him that he was always in the way. 
He needed to show them that he wasn’t just the useless fool who didn’t add anything to the team other than plain annoyance. Quickly. Before they realized that it really was all he was and kicked him to the curb. 
“Wh—stop trying to get up!” Harris ordered, pushing him back down. Spyder’s head spun violently, and he had to give himself a moment to swallow down a bit of puke. 
“I’m good,” he hissed through his teeth, doing his best to filter the pain out of his voice. “All good. We’re good.” He still couldn’t actually focus his eyes enough to see the expression on his friend/severely unqualified doctor’s face. 
“I will strap you down, I swear,” he insisted, obviously annoyed. 
“Kinky,” came the unexpected voice of Veracity from somewhere near the door. 
“Wh-that’s not what I — no!” Harris stammered. Spyder wished he could see how red he probably was. He bet it’d be cute. Harris always somehow was.
“Relax, dumbass,” she said with a half-laugh. “Anyway, how are you feeling, kid?” She asked, her voice closer, now. 
“Mmm…” he managed, re-assessing his body to check for pain. To his faint surprise, though it was still definitely there, it felt so… detached from him, now. He felt like he was dreaming. “I think ‘m dying.”
“What?” they both cried in deeply concerned unison. 
Spyder grinned in what he assumed was Harris’s direction. “Cause you look like an angel.”
“I hate gay people,” Veracity mumbled under her breath. 
“I assume,” he continued, “'cause I can’t actually like… see you.”
“That’s… a problem. What can you see?”
“Shapes’n colors,” he slurred, giggling slightly. His head felt like it was going to explode. To be perfectly honest, that did sound pretty sick, though. Not as sick considering it hurt like a bitch. “G’nigh… sweet prince…” he mumbled, hoping his friends would still be there when he woke up again. 
They probably wouldn’t be, but he could dream.
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amazinglydumb · 3 years
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oK so i MAY have mixed 2 strains of weed and gotten more than i bargained for in this wild ride i’ve had but i also feel like a total boss ass bitch and more happy with my appereance and hopes to transition so who’s the real dumbass huh bud?
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e4rlgr3y · 3 years
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Are You Happy? (Save Them Some Pie)
HAPPY 42ND BIRTHDAY, DEAN!! this is my gift to him for being my comfort person that i would hug on sight if given the chance 💗 love you dude, may you indulge in copious amounts of pie. ~ 1.5k words.
also dedicated to marlo ( @heller-jensen ), jace ( @thiscastielhasflown ) and dee ( @castee-yel ) thanks for bein real ones <3
[READ ON AO3]
The day had already started out weird enough.
Dean had woken up drenched in sweat, mind racing with the last lingering thoughts of a nightmare. A vamp nest that he and Sam had been hunting, Dean dying in the most ludicrous way possible, and driving Baby down a long road for an indiscriminate amount of time in a supposed heaven that his father (his father) also co-habited. Needless to say, the dream had come out of nowhere, but it was easy enough to forget once the smell of bacon made its way into his room.
Breakfast was hardy and quick, with enough coffee to fuel him for the rest of the day as he skimmed the internet for a possible case. He had the itch, but apparently, looking around at the three sleepy faces around him at the table, no one else did.
He packed up anyway, preparing for what would likely be an easy salt-n-burn; he’d be gone for only a few hours, tops. On his way out, Cas stops him before he can scale the stairs, arm gripping his shoulder tightly. There’s a memory, briefly—the same hand, the same shoulder. Blood.
Dean looks down at it. Back at Cas.
“…Yeah?”
After a moment, Cas lets go. He steps back half an inch as if he had forgotten himself. “Just…be careful.”
Dean nods, moving to leave again, taking the awkwardness as both a Cas thing and a morning thing and content to leave it at that. 
“And,” Cas says. Dean turns back.
“Come home.”
//
Dean picks up the phone.
“Hello?”
“Dean, hey! It’s, uh. It’s me. Krissy?”
Dean feels himself begin to smile, mindful of the road ahead of him. He balances his phone on his thigh while he drives.
“Hey, kid! Long time no call. How are you? Everything okay?”
The case had been as easy as Dean had suspected, but he had that familiar muscle ache and heaviness to his eyes that solo cases usually gave him.
Besides that, he was getting a little confused about all of the calls he’d been getting today. Before Krissy, it had been Garth, and before that, Claire and Jody and…
“Uh, yeah, dude, everything’s good. Um. How are you? How’s Sam and that angel of yours?”
Dean swallows to keep from choking, or potentially crashing the car.
“They’re good. Yeah…good.” Alive, he wants to say, back from the dead, probably in the DeanCave watching Scooby Doo without him. “Sorry, Krissy, ah,” he steps off the break to make a left, “I’m actually on my way home right now. Was there something I could help you with?”
There’s a pause, and Dean chances a glance at his phone to see if the call had dropped off. It hadn’t.
“Krissy?”
“I,” she huffs in what sounds like a laugh, “Nothing, Dean. You get home safe, okay?”
“Sure thing.”
“And hey,” Krissy says, before he can say his goodbyes, “Uh, make sure you save some pie for everybody else.”
Dean’s eyebrows furrow a bit, but he laughs. “I will. Take care of yourself.”
“Bye, Dean.”
“Ba-bye.”
//
Dean’s still mulling over the pie comment when he nearly falls down the stairs, squinting into the darkness of the Bunker.
“What the hell?” he asks, voice hoarse around the high note. “Guys?”
When there’s no immediate answer, Dean’s instincts kick in. He pulls out his gun and gently drops his bag, waiting a moment for his eyes to adjust so he can try for the stairs.
Before he can, though, the lights kick back on. His gaze locks onto the scene below, and Dean slowly lowers his gun.
“Happy birthday!” Jack says, the sound of a party horn whining shortly after. Beside him, Cas pulls the string of a party popper, and he jerks as bits of confetti fall around him and into his hair.
Skeptically, Dean starts descending down the stairs.
“You…this…” he manages.
“It’s your birthday, dumbass,” Sam says, swooping forward to slap a party hat on Dean’s head as soon as he’s made the landing. He smiles.
“Oh…kay.” Around them, the Bunker looks pretty normal. The only difference is the array of pies on one of the library tables, next to what looks like home made rice krispie treats, and a couple of birthday-themed plates and napkins. That, and the confetti from Cas’ party popper that litters the floor. “Are you sure?”
Cas frowns at Sam. “Sam was certain. I can’t imagine he’d get the day wrong, but he has had quite severe brain trauma over the years. Perhaps…” Cas reaches out to Sam’s head, probably intent on searching his brain for said trauma, or for the date of Dean’s actual birthday. Sam swats his hand away.
“Hey, no. My trauma is fine. Dean,” Sam redirects his attention to him, “It’s today. Did you really forget?”
Dean shrugs, trying to piece the day together from the beginning. Shitty dream, good breakfast, the three of them weirdly insisting on staying at the Bunker…the calls. Save some pie for everybody else.
He laughs. “So that’s what she meant.”
“That’s what who meant?” Jack asks. He’s wearing a party hat, too, with ridiculous stripes of blue and pink and purple patterned onto it. It matches the one currently strapped to Dean’s own. He shakes his head.
“You’re telling me all of you knew? This whole time? And…and…” He looks around again, pointing vaguely at the table and the confetti. “You put this all together for me?”
Sam shoves his arm playfully. “Course we did. Now quit pouting and come eat some pie.”
//
Sam is fast asleep, sprawled out on the couch hours later with one of his hands brushing the floor. Dean thinks he spots drool on the pillow underneath him. 
Cas has been quiet next to Dean, at least since Jack had disappeared into the kitchen an hour ago and hadn’t come back, thoughtfully tracing the lip of his beer bottle with his finger. 
“Something on your mind?” Dean asks, because he wants to know.
Cas continues unbothered. Scooby Doo reruns play in the background. Dean almost repeats the question, but Cas eventually lifts his gaze to stare at him.
“Are you happy?” 
Dean presses his mouth shut. Licks his lips. He takes just as long to answer.
“You know what,” he smiles. “I think I am.”
Cas smiles back at him, soft and genuine. The skin around his eyes crinkling tells more than the gentle upturn of his mouth. 
Dean swallows, nervously putting his beer down and turning it a few times until his fingers are wet with the condensation. 
“What, uh. What about you?” He swallows again. “You happy?”
What he really wants to ask, though, is if they were good. If, after recent events, they were still the same. If Cas was still fine with “just being.”
He’s quiet again. Dean thinks he deserves that, and tries to pay attention to the TV, but the voice in his head is too loud. Cas has to tap his knee to get his attention again.
“Hm?”
“I was saying,” he moves his hand back, “that I’m sorry I didn’t get you a gift.”
Dean stares at him. “What are you talking about?”
Cas looks confused, like he’s about to repeat what he just said. Dean stops him short with a wave of his hand. 
“Dude, you just got back from the dead, alright? That’s—that’s gift enough to last me a lifetime. Don’t worry about a gift.”
Cas frowns, and Dean rolls his eyes. It’s another few moments of tense silence, until Dean breaks it, his heart pounding in his chest.
“But, uh,” he says, “I might have a gift for you.”
“Dean, we don’t share a birthday. It’s not customary to gift me something, especially when I haven’t given you—“
“Cas,” he groans, officially putting his beer aside and facing him. Cas’ features are lit up with the colors of the TV. Dean reaches a hand up to pluck confetti from his hair, a green piece that he’d been eyeing all night. Hesitating, he lets his hand fall to Cas’ face, smoothing over his cheek and jaw. The TV paints his cheekbone purple. Dean brushes his thumb over it. “Just...shut up and let me do this.” 
Cas tilts his head, eyebrows furrowed in that way of his, and Dean thinks he looks perfect. When he dips forward and presses their lips together, it’s perfect, perfect, perfect. He’s warm, his face is burning, eyes almost watering when he pulls away.
Dean lets his forehead rest on Cas’, heartbeat still crazy. He closes his eyes. “We can have it, Cas. This. We can have this.”
Cas takes Dean’s face in his hands, lifts it a little to bring them face to face again, so that he’s looking into Dean’s eyes.
“I’d like that, Dean,” he says, and his eyes are wet, too. Happy, Dean thinks.
“Your gift to me?” Dean manages, smile wobbly. He’s teasing, trying to bring down the weight of this without getting rid of all of it. He likes this type of adrenaline rush, different from any hunt he’s been on. Better.
Cas smiles. “I think technically it was you that gifted me, but, yes. My gift to you, if you’ll take it.”
“Gladly,” Dean says.
Cas hums back, brushing his fingers through the hair at the nape of Dean’s neck. “Happy birthday, Dean.” He leaves a kiss on his forehead.
Happy. 
Dean thinks, for the first time, as he pulls more confetti from Cas’ hair, that it actually is. 
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wiypt-writes · 3 years
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Riding High
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Ch20: When The Bough Breaks
Chapter Summary: Fliss finds herself in an impossible position…and her decision tips Frank’s world upside down.
Chapter Warnings: Bad Language words.
 Chapter Pairings:  Frank Adler x OFC Fliss Gallagher
 A/N: Don’t hate me… 
Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar Fliss Gallagher and the other OCs. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.
Riding High Masterlist // Main Masterlist
Chapter 19
And this day’s ending is the proof of time, killing all the faith I know.
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 “Was that another one?” Frank asked as Fliss tossed her phone onto the coffee table with an angry snort.
 She nodded, pinching the bridge of her nose.
Frank sighed and looked at her “Honey…” “I know, I know…” she looked at him. “Look, I’ve made notes of every time I’ve had one so… its recorded. But again, it’s not like we can prove anything…they happen like twice a day and then nothing…hardly what they’ll call harassment.” Frank shifted slightly “This has been going on for 2 weeks now sweetheart.” “I’m well aware of that.” she snapped, before she shook her head “Sorry, I didn’t mean to get angry…not at you.” “Come here…” he said, opening his arms and she snuggled into him, leaning against his chest as his hand gently ran up and down her arm. “Maybe you should think about changing your number…and not putting the new one on the website.” “Yeah.” she conceded, “It’s not gonna help for work though…” “You can work round it.” he said, “Keep the business line and if you’re not there people will have to leave a message. Then, once you know your clients…you can give them your cell number.”
 “Fucking ass hole is still making my life awkward.”
 “Only if you let him. It’s a minor inconvenience to change your number but, if in the grand scheme of things all he has in his back pocket is sending you some dumbass birthday card and silent phone calls then…he’s just a pathetic fucking loser that’s trying to bully you into being scared.” “I’m not scared, just pissed off.” she shook her head “I know he’s a chicken shit, he wouldn’t dare come near me not when you’re on the scene…or my dad for that matter.” “Good, because if he did I’m not sure I’d be able to control myself.” Frank said softly.
“Maybe we should just pay someone to kill him.” Fliss said after a moment’s pause and Frank let out a snort “Bullet straight between the eyes.”
“Nah, too quick.” Frank sniffed, reaching for his beer “I’d dangle him over a tank of hungry sharks and lower him in inch by inch…”
“Or we could feed him to pigs, like in Hannibal.” Fliss mused.
 “That’s also an option…no trace” he nodded taking a mouthful of beer.
 “You know they should teach this shit at schools” Fliss reached for her own drink “How to get rid of bodies. I feel it is something everyone should be educated in.” “Maybe you should mention it to Bonnie. Tell her you feel it is an educational rite of passage or some other inspiring shit like that…”
 Fliss laughed, placing her wine glass down and shifting so that she was led on her front, half on-half off Frank, looking up at him as her chin rest on his chest.
“On a scale of 1 to 10 how much of a meltdown are we facing with Mary on tomorrow morning?”
 “From her current mood I’d suspect a good 4 and a half, maybe a 5.” he mused, before he looked at Fliss “I don’t much care, she’s going whether she wants to or not.” “When do the University Classes start again?”
 “Not till second week in October.”  Frank replied “Which reminds me, I need to submit that funding form tomorrow…” “It’s on the table.” Fliss said, as she correctly guessed from the look on his face he was pondering where he had put it.”
“What would I do without you?” he grinned down at her.
 “I have absolutely no idea.” she shrugged and he smiled and leaned down pressing a kiss to her lips.
 “Did you speak to Evelyn before?” Fliss asked him and he nodded.
 “She’s coming down this weekend.” Frank said, “She’s still on about Mary going to Boston for a weekend.” “You still not comfortable about her going?” Fliss asked.
 Frank wrinkled his nose “I don’t know if I trust her fully yet.” “You’ll never know you can unless you give her a chance.” Fliss reasoned
 “You think I should let her go?” Frank said, slightly surprised.
 “That’s not my decision to make, Frank” Fliss shook her head.
 “No, but I value your opinion.” Frank looked at her. “Go on, tell me what you think.” Fliss hesitated for a moment before she sat up and turned her body so she was facing him, her legs tucked underneath her on the sofa. “If it was me in your position, I’d give Evelyn a chance. She’s played ball so far, done everything you’ve asked her to. You’ve got legal guardianship of Mary so she can’t pull any stupid stunts, and if Mary comes back and tells you something she did that you don’t like, well, you cut the visits.” Frank looked at Fliss before he took another drink from his beer bottle. He was torn in two. In one respect he wanted Mary to be happy and it certainly seemed that she enjoyed seeing Evelyn, but on flip side he was still more than comfortable with keeping his Mother at arm’s length.
“I’ll think about it.” he shrugged, non-committedly.
 “Well, you should also ask Mary.” Fliss said “She might not even want to go.” “She will.” Frank said, “Evelyn has a piano.” Fliss laughed “Yeah, but she’s also bossy, remember?”
 “Yeah, I had heard that.” Frank said, and Fliss chuckled again.
 “Well, can you not think about it right now?” she said, taking the beer bottle out of his hand.
“Hey…” he pouted as she put it down on the table, his pout soon turned into a smirk as Fliss moved so she was straddling him on the sofa, his t-shirt that she’d been lounging around in rode up her thighs slightly and his hands rubbed up the side of her bare skin. “Something on your mind baby girl?”
 “What makes you think that?” she asked, sliding her hands up his chest, over the soft material of his top.
 “Just a hunch…” he mumbled, as he reached up and gently gripped the back of her neck, pulling her head down to meet his.
****** “Hey Frank…”
 Frank looked up and smiled at Alan as he walked into the work shop.
 “Hey Alan, not seen you in a while, how you doing?” “Good…I’m good. I was just wondering if I could have a word in my office.”
 “Sure.” Frank frowned “Is err, everything ok?” “Oh, yeah, it’s nothing to worry about…quite the opposite in fact…” “Alright, well me just finish piecing this oil filter together and I’ll be with you.”
 “Sure.” Alan said, “No rush.” 
Frank quickly tightened the filter back up, gave it the once over before he set down his tools and hopped off the boat, wiping his hands on a rag before he walked through the door at the back of the workshop and down the small corridor that led to the main office at the rear of the shop. He knocked sharply on the door and then swung it open as Alan looked at him, gesturing for him to take a seat whilst he finished up his call. Eventually, he bid the person on the other end good bye and placed the receiver down.
 “Relax, Frank…” Alan chuckled as Frank adjusted his jeans for what felt like the 30th time since sitting down.
 “Sorry.” Frank nodded, scratching at his temple. “So errr, do you need me to do something or...” “In a manner of speaking, yes.” Alan said “As you know Paul is retiring at the end of the year, which means the Head Mechanic role is up for grabs…and I was wondering if you’d be interesting in taking the position.” “Me?” Frank’s eyes widened slightly
Alan nodded “I know in the grand scheme of things you haven’t been here long but you’ve impressed me, just like Bill said you would. You knuckle down, you do the overtime if needed, you don’t complain…I like you Frank, and the team does to.” “I err…” Frank scratched the back of his neck. “I’m flattered…but I’ve never managed a team before or…”
“You were an Assistant Professor at one stage right?” Alan eyed him and Frank sighed, nodding “You must have had a research team…” “Yeah, but…” “It’s no different.” Alan shook his head, “And I’m here to help and give you some guidance. I’m not quite ready to retire fully yet. Not like Bill, only so much golf I can play before I go fucking nuts.” Frank snorted “Yeah, not gonna lie, it’s not my thing…” Alan looked at him “The duties won’t be that much different Frank. You’ll just be in charge of booking the jobs in, allocating them to the guys, keeping on top of deadlines and general management of the team…means a little less time spent actually getting your hands dirty but…well, you can manage that yourself. You wanna take a job you take it.”
 “Can I take a bit of time to think it over?” he asked.
“Sure. Take a few days, let me know. I’d like to have whoever is taking over in a position to start the handover by the start of October if possible so…” “Thanks.” Frank nodded “I’ll give it some thought.” “Oh, and it also comes with a Ten thou a year raise…” Alan casually dropped in as Frank stood up “Plus a bonus each year of up to 20 percent, depending on how well you’ve done on your targets” “Just a minor detail you forgot to tell me.” Frank arched an eyebrow.
 “Well, I wanted to make sure you’d consider it for the right reasons not merely the financial incentive.” Alan shrugged “Another reason I’m convinced you’re perfect for the job.” Frank nodded and with that he left the office. Given that it was almost lunch time he took his break 15 or so minutes earlier and headed out into the September sun, pulling out his phone.
 “Hey Sailor.” Fliss greeted him.
 “Hey Cowgirl.” he smiled, leaning against the hood of his truck sipping a bottle of water “You got a sec.” “For you, always. What’s up?”
“Nothing, nothing bad anyway…I just got offered a promotion.”
 “Frankie that’s amazing!” She gushed “You sound surprised though.” “I am, a little.” he said, before he launched into an explanation of what Alan had told him and what the job would entail, plus the financial incentives.
 “Wow!” she said as he finished talking “Baby, that’s fantastic. I’m so proud of you!”
Frank felt himself blushing at her praise, and despite the fact he couldn’t even see her he rubbed at his neck slightly. “So, you think I should take it?” “Of course I do.  But at the same time, if you don’t want to then…you don’t have to. This is a great position to be in honey, Alan’s clearly seen your potential.”
 “Just not sure If I’m cut out to be management.” he said, biting his lip.
 “I had the same thoughts about my business you know.” she spoke gently “I wasn’t sure if setting up on my own after everything that happened was gonna work but then Dad told me that I’d never know unless I took the plunge. Have a little faith in yourself. The only person who doubts your capability is you.”
Frank smiled at her words and looked up and out over the Marina “You always know exactly what to say.” “Not really, I make most of it up as a go along.” she said and Frank laughed. “But, just think, with the extra money you can get a new car…” “There’s nothing wrong with my truck.” “Frank, it’s died on you 4 times in the last 2 weeks. Dad reckons his ride on lawnmower has more power under the hood than that thing”
 “Ok, I’ll admit…she’s getting a little clunky…but she is into her twenties now….” Fliss snorted “You could get yourself a nice Audi…”
“Fuck off.” Frank said and she laughed
 “I like Simon’s car…” “You like it so much you get one.”
“Would never fit Thor in the back.” she said and Frank had to concede she had a point “But now you’re freelancing…you don’t actually need a truck do you?” “No, but…it’s handy…” “Handy, baby it only has three seats…” “And a flatbed…” Frank pouted slihglty. “So get one with five seats.” she shrugged. “You can buy trucks with a full cab…”
“This is not a good enough reason to get me to take the promotion…” 
“You want a better reason?” She said. “Ok, well here’s some food for thought…when the lease is up on our place maybe we could look into buying. You know I don’t wanna rent forever, I want us to have something for the future that’s ours, and the extra money you get a year would make a difference in what we can borrow towards it.” And just like that, as always, she’d managed to sideswipe him. He’d be lying if he hadn’t considered getting back on the property market, he had savings after all…but he’d given it no more thought than a fleeting idea every now and then when he drove past places with real estate signs in the front yards
 “This mean you’re coming round to the idea of marrying me and having baby Franks and Flisses?” She snorted “You’re such a dick…although that’s the only time you’ve ever mentioned that when you’re sober.” “So you’re saying that if I ask you when I’m not drunk you’d say yes?” he teased. “Goodbye Frank…” She teased in an airy voice, before she cut the call.
 Chuckling to himself he slid the phone back into his pocket and headed back inside to grab his lunch from the fridge in the kitchen. As he did so he passed Paul who was heading out with a fresh cup of coffee.
 “Oh, erm…Alan…” Frank looked at him. “So, turns out I don’t need as much time to think about it as I thought I did. I’ll take the job.” Alan smiled at him and pat him on the shoulder “Good man. I’ll get the wheels in motion and then we can work out how we start to transfer Paul’s responsibilities over.”
Frank nodded at him as he walked off.
 “Oh…” Alan called after him, “We’ll also need to pick your car.”
“My car…” Frank frowned.
 “Yeah, did I not mention? Paul’s BM…that’s a company car. I’m gonna let him keep it as a retirement present so we’ll need to order you another one. Not least because I don’t want my Head Mechanic driving around in that heap of shit you have. Looks like we don’t pay you enough…” Frank stood there, eyebrows raised as Alan simply smirked at him and left. Shaking his head, he gave a little groan, already imagining Fliss’ face when he told her.
*****
Fliss had reacted exactly how he had thought she would, laughing hysterically and then teasing him about how he had no alternative now than to get rid of the heap of shit he was ridiculously attached to. She’d then spent the evening looking at cars on her phone, showing him ridiculously pimped out vehicles in various vile colours, the final straw being a hot-rod red for Mustang with gold rims and flames painted down the side. At that point he’d snatched the phone out of her hand, grabbed her hips and pulled her down under him on the couch and given her something else to think about for half an hour or so.
September ticked by, in the usual speed by which time seemed to be flying for Frank and he found himself thrown into his job, soaking up Paul’s experience of managing the team as much as he could. He was also extremely grateful for both Fliss and Bill’s input, both of them having dealt with managing staff and rotas so he was able to ask them both questions as well. Naturally, when V heard about it she insisted on cooking him a special dinner, and even Evelyn presented him with a very nice bottle of Scotch when she came to visit as a Congratulations.
 Another bit of good news for them was that once Fliss changed her phone number the calls stopped as well. Frank was glad about that, because it meant that once again they’d thwarted the ass holes attempts to intimidate her. She’d made a blog, however, of every call she had gotten which now sat in Greg’s files along with the Card. Just in case.
Nope, on the whole life seemed to be going well for the pair of them.
“Someone’s looking smug…” Greg teased Frank as he leaned back in the chair around Greg’s large outdoor table. It was a Saturday at the start of October and they’d finally got round to having that cook out and gathering that the Circle of Truth had been attempting to organise round everyone’s schedule for the last 3 months.
 “Well, you know…life’s pretty good.” Frank smiled, sipping his beer, his eyes straying to Fliss who was stood around the bar area to the right of the garden with Bonnie, Zara and Lisa. She was dressed in a simple pair of jeans and a tie-died off the shoulder sweater but as usual, she looked stunning.
 “You got a ring yet?” Jake asked, dropping down into a seat next to him.
 “Oh don’t you start as well.” Frank groaned as Simon and Greg both laughed. “We’re happy as we are…besides, we’ve not even been together a year yet…” “Not far off.” Jake shrugged “Man, when you know you know…” “He’s just scared she’ll say no.” Simon teased. Frank stilled for a moment and then turned to glare at the man. “Shit, you are?” Simon frowned “No, not especially but…” Frank shook his head, trying to find the words to explain “I’m absolutely, totally convinced I want to spend the rest of my life with her, and I know she feels the same but…well she’s been married before and I don’t want to ask until I know she’s ready to do it again.”
Greg looked at him, nodding “I get that.”
“That’s gotta be the most grown up think you’ve ever said…” Jake looked at Frank who flipped him off but deep down he had to admit, it wasn’t wrong. He knew that both he and Fliss had come a long way from the people they had been just over 14 months ago when they had first met. Fliss had come alive, flourished even in herself, and he…well, he’d learnt that there was more to life than the meaningless cycle of one night stands and that flying by the seat of his pants wasn’t always the most productive thing to do. Both of them had been broken in their own way, had their own guards and walls around themselves which the other had managed to smash straight through. He stole another glance at Fliss and smiled, he knew there was no other woman for him, but in the same breath…what was the rush? They had a life time. And a ring and a piece of paper wasn’t going to change any of that.
 “Man you grew up…” Simon grinned and Frank rolled his eyes.
 “Look, I’ll have you know I’ve brought up a kid since the age of 6 months…all this shit about me being a man child…It’s crap…”
 “Whatever man…we all know you’re not a grown up until you have scatter cushions on your sofa…” Simon teased, referencing the previous week when he and Bonnie had come over for drinks and Fliss and Frank had had a jokey argument about said cushions. Frank threw his head back in a huge bout of laugher, shaking his head.
 “Fuck you!” he said, looking at him as Simon grinned.
 “Anyway, man…speaking of weddings…” Greg turned to Jake “You’ve been engaged for what? Three years now…when you gonna set a date?”
“He has a point…” Simon looked at him.
“Well, you can all shut the fuck up because for your information we have.”
“Shut the front door!” Greg grinned
 Jake nodded and took a large mouthful of his beer.
 “So you gonna tell any of us or…” Jake glanced over at Lisa before he yelled her name and she looked over at him, the other women also looking up. 
“Can we tell them now babe?” he called. Lisa grinned and nodded, and then made her way over followed by Zara. Fliss looked at Bonnie who shrugged, and the two of them picked up their drinks and followed.
 Fliss perched on Frank’s knee and he slid one hand round her waist the other dropped to her thigh.
 “So, we have set a date for the wedding.” Lisa smiled to a huge shriek from Zara. Frank spotted Fliss looking at Bonnie, the two of them sharing a significant smirk and he squeezed her thigh.
 “Stop being a bitch.” he said in a low voice.
 “Rude…” she mumbled, grinning into her gin. “6th April next year…” Jake grinned. “At Hardemans Secret Garden in Dover, Tampa.” “Well unless you invented a time machine, it ain’t gonna be this year is it?” Simon looked at him, before he gave a yell as Bonnie slapped him round the back of the head.
 “Obviously you’re all invited.” Jake said, “Except for Simon.” “Hang on, if he isn’t coming does that mean I can’t?” Bonnie pouted.
“You can be my plus one.” Fliss nodded.
 “Oi…” Frank nipped her thigh gently. She grinned at him, ruffling his hair slightly. He jerked his head out of her reach and looked at her over his aviators. She stuck her tongue out at him and he grinned.
 “Guys this is great news…” Greg said, nodding “Best dig the suit out.” “You wear a suit to work every day.” Zara looked at him. 
“And you won’t need to.” Jake shook his head. “In fact none of you will…my brother is best man, obviously, but I’d like you guys there as my Groomsmen…that is, if you’re up for it.” Frank smiled at Greg, then Simon before they all shrugged.
“Yeah, I’m in…” Greg smiled.
“Me too pal, I’m honoured.” Frank smiled, tipping his beer bottle in Jake’s direction.
“Does this mean we get to plan the Batchelor party?” Simon asked. Jake nodded with a grin and Simon leaned back “Oh this is gonna be beautiful….”
***** “You’re fucking mental.” Frank looked at Fliss as she shrugged, circling Cap back round to the jump which Joanne had just hiked up another foot. He shook his head and turned away “I can’t watch.” “Don’t’ be a chicken Frank.” Mary grinned up at him, “It’s cool…I wanna do that some day.” “Over my dead body.” Frank looked down at her.
“Yeah you said that about me going to Boston.” “No, that’s not what I said.” Frank sighed, looking at her “I said over my dead body were you going to live with Evelyn….and did you?” “No…” Mary conceded “But you’re letting me go back for a weekend.”
“Yes, because you’re going for 2 nights and coming home” he said, and despite himself he turned his head to see Fliss sail Cap over the huge jump.
“See….” Fliss said, pulling the horse up to a stop “Easy…” “Whatever you say sweetheart.” he shook his head.
“Can I jump Monty soon?” Mary asked, and Fliss smiled.
“Yeah we can do a little cross pole…” “I give in…” Frank groaned, throwing his hands out to the side “The pair of you are nuts.”
“Says the guy who almost cried when he had to order a new car.” Fliss looked at him and Frank rolled his eyes “I mean who does that?” “Yeah Frank…” Mary said, swinging off the fence to the paddock, leaning back to look at him. “You get to swap a rust bucket for a shiny new Mitsubishi and you were like heartbroken.” “Hey, me and that truck have seen a lot of action-“ “I don’t wanna know…” Fliss started.
“Of which you’ve been part of…” he smirked her and she flushed a little, grinning. “I’m kinda attached to it.” “It’s a lump of metal.” Fliss looked at him.
“How dare you.” Frank scoffed, feigning offence.
“Well now you can have new adventures in the new truck.” Mary shrugged “Simples.” “When you do get it I vote the first thing we do is load it up and head off for a picnic somewhere.” Fliss said, hopping off Cap.
“I can go with that.” Frank nodded as she turned and walked towards the gate, letting her out.
 “Can I take him?” Mary asked, hopping down off the fence. 
“Sure…” Fliss said, handing her the reins. Mary led the horse away to the barn as Fliss removed her hat and pulled out her bobble, shaking her long hair free before she tied it back up again.
“I really do like it that colour.” Frank mused after a second, watching her. She blushed a little, and he knew why. A week ago she’d come back from the salon, her usually bright auburn hair was a lot more demure, having had caramel put through the ends. When Frank had complimented her on the change she’d gotten a little shy and said that she used to have it like that when she was younger, but John had always wanted her to keep it her natural colour. Now she felt like she fancied a change. Her admission had once again, knocked Frank for, how simple little things like that were so huge for her.
She pulled off her riding gloves, shoved them into her back pocket and they walked into the barn as Mary opened Cap’s stable and led him inside. As always, the large horse bowed his head gently to allow Mary to undo his bridle and Fliss smiled. Cap was secretly her favourite after Heidi. He was such a loving animal, despite his size always being so gentle and careful around people, especially Mary. Most animals were like that around her, she just had this aura that they seemed to like. But then again, everyone said that animals were a good judge of character.
 “Can we go to the shack for dinner?” Mary spoke up, looking at Frank “It is Saturday…”
 “Oh, I dunno…” Frank sighed, “Not sure my heap of shit truck will get us there.” “No but Fliss’ jeep will.” Mary shrugged and Frank shook his head with a snort.
“You literally have an answer for everything.”
 “Wonder where she gets that from…” Fliss looked at him and he nudged her gently with his elbow.
 “So can we go or not?”
 “Yes, ok we can go to the shack.” Frank said “But the deal is you tidy your room when you get home. It’s a disgrace.” Mary pondered this for a moment as Fliss undid the girth on Cap’s saddle, pulling it off.
 “Deal.” she nodded “Only Fliss said she was gonna help me sort my clothes out…some of them don’t fit anymore.”
“Yeah we do that tomorrow morning.” Fliss smiled, “Then we can look at ordering you some warm stuff for New York.” “Are we still getting matching sweaters when we get there?” “No.” Frank said, at the same time Fliss nodded.
“Yes.” “No, we’re not.” Frank looked at her. 
“Errr 2 vs 1 Sailor, you’re outvoted.” she shrugged, pushing past him with the saddle on her arms. “But if you’re a good boy we’ll let you pick them right Mary?” “I dunno.” Mary frowned “Have you seen his shirts?” Fliss let out a roar of laughter and turned to face her, before she looked at Frank, laughing even harder at the pure indignation on his face. 
“I hate you both.” he said sullenly, folding his arms.
 The Shack was busy by the time they arrived but given that it wasn’t too cold they managed to find a small table outside and ordered their food, Mary getting through an astonishing amount considering but the Frank had noticed she was going through a bit of a growth spurt which he mentioned to Fliss when they were snuggled up on the sofa later.
“Not sure getting her any stuff for New York yet is wise.” he mused “If she carries on like she is it won’t fit her.”
“Well we can wait…Fliss said shrugging, her hand rubbing at Frank’s stomach under his shirt. “You have no idea how excited I am…” “Really?” Frank snorted “You never mentioned it.” “Oh piss off” she laughed, before she sighed happily “It’s the one thing I miss about home and Boston…you know this time of year the leaves would be changing colour and falling,…”
“I know what you mean.” he said, his hands carding through her hair “You don’t really Seasons here.”
“Well you do…” Fliss said, “Hurricane and Summer.” Frank let out a laugh as she looked up at him. “You know you’re my hurricane.”
“What?” he looked at her
 “Came into my life, blew it all upside down…” “Jesus you talk some shit!” he laughed, shaking his head as she grinned. 
“You know there was actually a hurricane Frank back in 2010. So I’m not talking complete shit…” “Whatever Sweetheart…” he snorted, leaning back as her nails scratched against his stomach. He gave a twitch and grabbed her wrist, and looked down at her as she flashed him a coy look. “Stop it.”
“What, this?” she moved and used her other hand, and Frank let out a hiss as he shifted and grabbed that one too.
 “You know what that does to me…” he looked at her, his voice low.
 “Yup.” she nodded, grinning.
 With a jerk of his arms he pulled her forward so she fell onto him fully, drawing a giggle from her as her nose bumped against his.
 “I fuckin’ love you.” he smiled at her, and she grinned, giving him a soft kiss.
 “Yeah, you’ve told me once or twice…” she smirked, her lips locking onto his.
******
 “Fliss?”
 “Office…” she called back, and a second or so later Joanne popped her head into the room.
 “Everything’s done.” she said, “I was gonna lock up…you’re not normally here this late.”
 “Yeah I know but I have some paper work to sort. Need to file a couple of things and, well, thought it would be easier to do it here than take everything home. Frank’s taken Mary bowling so…” “And you’d rather be here doing paper work?” Joanne teased.
“Sadly, it needs doing…besides, last time we went I kicked his ass, again, he sulked for hours.” Fliss snorted “Maybe he stands more of a chance against Mary.”
“Won’t he let her win?” Joanne asked “I mean, she is only eight…”
“No chance.” Fliss looked at Jo. “He says that she needs reminding every now and then that she’s not a genius at everything…” Joanne let out a laugh “Fair enough. Ok, well I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Yeah, bye Jo…”
 Fliss set about getting to work, filing the various bills and disclaimers she’d had signed and started then sifting through the list of clients and payments, checking who owed what and typing out the bills for the month. Once they were printed and placed in envelopes, ready to be tacked to the stable doors in the morning she glanced at the clock and realised it was almost 8 pm.  Frank and Mary should be home now.
She was just about to pack up when she realised she hadn’t gone through the post for the day. For a second she debated leaving it for the morning, but decided she would get it over with. There wasn’t much- mostly a couple of letters from various equestrian societies around the area about a few events going on, but the last one she reached was a manila envelope with the address typed out on the front.
 She turned it over, opened it and then pulled out the contents and immediately felt her blood run cold as she looked at the paper in front of her. It was a copy of the photo of her and Mary, taken from the first Blog that Mary had written over the summer. Underneath it was typed a simple message- I always knew you’d suit motherhood.
 Fliss swallowed, it didn’t take a genius to work out who it was from but for the first time since his ridiculous campaign now she was actually frightened as to the meaning behind this. Up until now it he’d been nothing more than annoying but this was designed to be more than an aggravation.
 It was a threat. A direct threat telling her he knew about Mary.
 Whilst Fliss wasn’t Mary’s mother, and would never claim to be she loved that girl like she was her own and the fact that John was even brining her into this made her feel physically sick, so much so that she felt the bile rising in her throat and with a sharp heave she lurched to the side, grabbing the waste paper basket and hocking up the bitter substance. Coughing she wiped the back of her mouth with a shaking hand, reaching for the bottle of water on her desk.
 She folded the photo up and stuck it back in the envelope, shoving it in the drawer before she stood up and locked her office, heading to her jeep. Her mind was reeling, now it wasn’t just her he was focussing on, this changed everything. Did she tell Frank? She knew she should, she couldn’t leave Mary in danger. Not that she believed any harm would come to her, not really, especially not under Frank’s care but that was another worry she had. That if she told Frank this, it was really going to push him over that edge into blind rage, and he’d been on the first plane out to Boston, hunting the fucker down…and then what?
 He ended up in jail himself because Fliss knew Frank well enough to understand that if that blind rage took hold, he wouldn’t stop.
 She had no answer to this, nothing. She sat in her jeep, staring out of the window, trying to force the thoughts and mumbles and voices in her heat to quiet, so she could think clearly, get some form of grasp on what it was she needed to do. And then one voice was screamed at her, clearly, giving her a solution…the only one she could viably see working.
With a loud sob, Fliss covered her face in her hands, unable to see an alternative to the decision she had just reached. A decision that was going to break her heart more than anything had ever done before.
******
“Hey, you’re late…”  Frank looked up, immediately frowning as he saw Fliss’ face. “Honey…what…” “Where’s Mary?” she asked instantly.
“She nipped to Roberta’s” Frank said “I know it’s late but we saw her as we were headed out of the car and she wanted to collect something for Show and Tell tomorrow…why?”
 “We need to talk.” Fliss said.
Frank stood up off the sofa and walked towards her, he reached for her and she took a step back.
“Ok, Fliss, you’re scaring me now…what…”
“I think…” Fliss looked down at her hands “I think that we need to stop seeing each other.”
Frank blinked, not sure he had heard her right, but when he looked at her he saw a tear trickling down her face and she was avoiding his gaze. The world around him began to fade and a dull buzzing filled his head and rang around his ears as a horrible cold feeling washed over him.
“Lissy…” he swallowed, his words sticking in his throat “What’s brought this on? Did I do something? Are you not happy? I don’t understand…” “I just…it isn’t working for me…” she took a deep breath and looked up at him.
“You’re lying.” he said instantly, he could see it written all over her face “Fliss, what’s going on?” “Nothing, I’m sorry. I just…I need to leave, I need space.” she said “I’m so sorry Frank…” Frank took a deep breath, and watched as she turned to leave. After a second he hurried after her into the hallway, shaking his head.
 “Lissy, please…talk to me…” he all but begged as she walked to the door. She made to open it but Frank was behind her and placed his hand firmly on the top of the PVC, causing it to shut. She spun round and looked up at him, the tears now pouring down her face.
 “Please, Frank…don’t make this any harder than it is…” her voice was broken, and she shook her head. “I don’t understand what THIS is?” he looked at her, running a hand through his hair as he felt the stinging of tears in his own eyes “Last month we were talking about buying a house together and now you just wanna break it off, for no reason? Honey, just…whatever is going on, we can work through it, just talk to me.”
 “I’m so sorry…” she whispered, “Just…let me out…please…”
He looked at her again, her eyes bouncing across his and he knew instantly he couldn’t stop her, and would never do that to her either, no matter how much he so desperately wanted to lock the door and force her to tell him what the fuck was going on. So with a sniff he forced himself to step back and her hand went to the door knob, her shoulders shaking.
 “Liss, please…” his voice cracked. “Don’t do this…”
 She took a deep breath and opened the door, the warm air from outside hit him in the face, tears stinging his eyes slightly before click of the latch hit his ears as the door shut behind her, leaving him stood alone in the hallway, stunned and utterly, utterly broken. 
**** Chapter 21
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foundthethief · 3 years
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Amari’s Grand Escape
It’s late. Well, it’s not really, it’s barely dusk. Even so, I should be back at my place getting a solid four hours of sleep before Roux comes knocking at my window. 
And I certainly should not be scaling the castle walls of a fucking gut feeling.
It’s just… There’s something telling me ‘go to the church’ ‘you will probably regret it but still go, dumbass’ Now, my intuition is normally spot on, but as I’m climbing the palace walls, feeling an odd sense of nostalgia. 
I stop making my way up the wall to look out on the restless city below. All those people, those tiny, insignificant people, living their lives, thinking they’re the heroes of their own story.. When actually.. They’re the villains of it. I wonder what Raiden and Layla think they are, what position they play...
I shake my head, not the time to get existential, Amari. 
I turn back to the task at hand.. Whatever that may be. I sigh and make it up the wall fairly easily. I survey my surroundings, I’m on the far west wall, the church is in the east gardens. Fuck me.. Of course I climb the wall farthest from the place I need to be.
I look around and smirk, there aren’t any guards stationed here, at least at the moment. They must be switching shifts. 
I sprint across the wall, crouching when I get to the edge, and I jump over the gap and land on a polished quartz balcony. As I look for my next place to land, I hear a silky voice. 
“Why hello there, shadow.” Shit. I whirl around to face Ambassador Veritas with a nervous smile. 
“Heeey, Ambassador…” I stall anxiously. How am I gonna get outta this bullshit.
They shake their head, smiling. “What might you be doing on this fine night?” Are they fucking with me? I give them a look.
But, I play along, “Oh you know, just out for a walk,” I lean against the railing, still not letting my guard. They nod, thoughtfully. Oh, they’re so fucking with me. 
“Ah yes, out for a walk to see the chapel, are we? It’s quite lovely there. It tends to.. call out to people a lot…” My eyes widen.
“How did you-” They gesture to themself, “Right. The whole demon thing. Of course..” That gets a hearty laugh outta them. Makes me a little proud, I was able to crack their otherwise calm and collected exterior. 
“My, my, you are quite funny, my friend. I see why Raiden likes you.” All I give is a non-committal ‘mhm’ as I hear the clanking of armor as the knights make their way below us. Fuck me sideways. 
I grimace, turning to the Ambassador. “Listen, I’d love to stay and chat but-” I shut up when they lift a hand up. “Yes, yes. Go on. I’m sure the chapel awaits you eagerly.” 
“Uh-huh..” I give them a look. “Well, I’ll see you around?” 
They put down their hand and nod, “Presumably, yes. Farewell, shadow.” And with that they turn and walk back into their room. Well.. that as.. Something.. I shake my head, no time to dwell on whatever the fuck that was. 
When I finally make it to the gardens, I silently curse at myself as I gaze upon none other than the Knight Commander herself, Livia Vasile training with a wooden sword.
Wow, just wow.. She looks…
Stunning.. 
Her hair is pulled back into a high ponytail and she’s wearing some simple training gear, as to be expected. But holy shit, does she have some set of abs..
I must’ve been staring for too long because she suddenly looks in my direction and points the training sword at me. 
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stephanie perkins: ‘anna and the french kiss’
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SPOILERS AHEAD!
Then again, if you’ve read any YA book, ever, it’s fairly obvious what’s going to happen.
I was going to go easy on this book; I really was. It’s really unfair how media aimed at a female demographic is seen as frivolous and vapid, and more often than not bashed and bullied when it comes to reviews. “People actually enjoy this crap?” ask the powers that be. “It’s worthless! Pulp! Dreamy-eyed nonsense only complete nimrods could ever like!”
And I take offense to that. There’s nothing wrong with liking romance or happy endings or stories about cute European boys. I was ecstatic when I stumbled across Anna and the French Kiss upon a chance trip to the bookstore. The cover was… meh (Century Gothic? Really? There were no other fonts?). But I’d heard nothing but praise about the book, and I was prepared to stay up all night and into the wee hours of the morning to finish it.
Admittedly, I was far from impressed upon the first reading. The characters were unlikable, the plot would’ve worked better for less shitty characters, honestly fuck these characters am I supposed to like them, fuck Anna, fuck Étienne, fuck Bridgette, fuck Toph, fuck Dave and Meredith and Amanda and Seany and every other stupid character in this stupid book.
The second time around, I expected to not hate it as much as I did when I first read it. It’s happened- I hated Simon vs. the Homo Sapiens Agenda when I first read it, and when I read it again, all that red-hot anger simmered down into an overall dislike. I thought To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before was trash at first, and then I read it again, and it got promoted to recyclable waste matter.
I found Anna and the French Kiss horrendous the first time I read it, and then I read it again, and… yeah, it’s still pretty awful.
Le Sommaire:
Anna Oliphant is a seventeen-year-old wannabe film critic who is #NotLikeOtherGirls – so she’s exactly like every other female YA lead. To her credit, she never explicitly says she’s special… everyone around her does.
She has a pretty meh life in Atlanta, Georgia with her mum and little bruv Sean- and then her dad decides to ship her off to France for her final year of high school. I’m not judging Anna for bawling her eyes out on her first day; I’m a huge mummy’s girl myself and I’d probably (definitely) do the same.
Meredith is Anna’s next-door neighbor, who does that thing which only happens in YA where she’s like “Oh, newbie? Let’s be friends!” (Or maybe it does happen irl and I tend to make a bad first impression which is why no one has ever approached me.)
Meredith’s friends are: Rashmi and Josh (who are a couple), and Étienne St. Clair. Guess which one is the love interest.
Étienne is cultured in that white person way where he’s half American, one quarter French and one quarter British. A true international.
But- *gasp*- American-British-French boy has a girlfriend, Ellie.
Anna has an absolutely gorgeous punk rocker (yum) boy with sideburns (yikes) back home named Christopher. Also, Christopher’s nickname is ‘Toph’ instead of ‘Chris’ because he too is #NotLikeOtherGirls. Anna tells us that nothing will happen between her and Étienne.
Anna is wrong.
Meredith has a crush on Étienne. So does the Regina George of the school, Amanda.
Étienne and Anna have some moments ™.
♫ Everyone else in the room can see it, everyone else but Anna ♫
I tear my hair out in frustration.
Several other white boys vie for Anna’s heart. Anna remains blissfully unaware (♫ that’s what makes you beautiful ♫). Étienne (who is still dating Ellie, mind you) is unreasonably agitated by this.
Étienne’s mum has cancer btw, which excuses all the shitty things he does, because he’s just a poor, misunderstood boy.
Ellie dresses up as a, quote unquote, ‘slutty nurse’ for Hallowe’en, though- so it’s perfectly okay to dislike her (even though, in the first interaction she had with Anna, where Ellie meets Anna and Étienne, after Étienne takes Anna to the movies, Ellie is perfectly sweet).
Anna, however, is NOT a slut. Amanda is, though. And Rashmi’s cold. And Meredith’s desperate. And Emily’s a slut, too. And her friend Bridgette from Atlanta is a traitor. Anna has an intense case of internalized misogyny.
Anna’s friend Bridgette from Atlanta is screwing Toph, and Anna throws a fit.
Étienne and Anna have some more moments ™.
A truly chaotic series of events befall Anna. She somehow winds up dating Dave (one from the harem of white boys who likes her) to spite Étienne, she gets into a fight with Amanda, more drama ensues, there’s a hint for a spinoff, Étienne and her kiss, Meredith sees and feels betrayed… several misunderstandings and more bullshit later, Étienne and Anna wind up together, because true love conquers all.
Mes Réflexions:
(If the French is off, blame Google Translate.)
Usually, it takes me half a page of my notebook to scribble down my thoughts about the book I’m reading. This motherfucker took me almost an entire page.
Granted, a solid 30% of those notes are me throwing insults at Étienne, but still. ‘STOP STOP STOP YOU HAVE A GIRLFRIEND YOU DICK’ counts, right?
(That was #17 in my notes, by the way.)
For the record, I like Stephanie Perkins’s writing. It’s not as over-the-top and unnecessarily introspective as Jenny Han’s in To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before, and the interactions between Anna and her classmates were natural and not the “How do you do, fellow kids?” style of Becky Albertalli’s Simon vs. the Homo Sapiens Agenda. The pacing is decent- I didn’t feel like it was too rushed; not the insta-love trope most YA romances unfortunately fall prey to.
And yet. AND YET.
Anna: “What’s your problem?” Amanda: “You.”
Same, Amanda, same.
Anna Oliphant is one of my least favorite leads in a book, ever. Étienne’s even shittier. And it’s not like Nick or Amy Dunne from Gone Girl, or any of the main characters from The Secret History, where readers pretty much unanimously hate them. You’re meant to relate to Anna, you’re meant to find Étienne charming and dreamy. I literally had to put the book away and calm myself down several times- especially in the last quarter of the book.
One of my main gripes with Anna is how… dumb she is. I guess Anna’s “Oopsies, silly me, I don’t know French!” is meant to be relatable to the readers. And some parts (like her not knowing how to order food because she can’t speak French) are plausible, but- sis, you didn’t know how to spell oui? And my idea of a cinematic masterpiece is Kung-Fu Panda, but even a dumbass like me knows that France is the film appreciation capital of the world. And yet Anna, a self-professed film freak, doesn’t?
Of course, Anna’s gorgeous, but she has no clue, because of course she doesn’t- even though she has multiple guys falling head over heels for her.
I’m in a short skirt. It’s the first time I’ve worn one here, but my birthday seems like the appropriate occasion. “Woo, Anna!” Rashmi fake-adjusts her glasses. “Why do you hide those things?”
Étienne is staring at my legs. The scales covering them throb under his intense gaze, and the pincers sticking out of my thighs start clicking rapidly in arousal. My hooves shiver in ecstasy.
… sorry, that’s not funny.
Her friends think Anna’s weird for wanting to write film reviews (which is the most contrived thing I’ve ever heard) instead of being the next Margot Robbie or whatever, but of course Étienne doesn’t and he thinks it’s not weird and cool and that Anna is such a special snowflake.
(Man, I sound like Amanda.)
And then we have this spiel by Anna about how she got into film critiquing (?), because we the readers need to know how special and #NotLikeOtherGirls Anna is.
To this, I say, “Piss off, you pretentious fuck.”
Of course, Anna’s a virgin and she’s never gotten drunk before or worn short skirts- she’s not a slut, she shaves below the knees only.
And would YA really be YA without several hearty helpings of internalized misogyny?
First up, we have the bimbo; the Barbie doll archetype whose only goal in life is acquiring the main guy (who is quite obviously uninterested in her), and making life hell for our protagonist. Amanda Whatsername (is she ever given a surname?) has this coveted role in Anna and the French Kiss. She’s blond (because of course she is); the first time we meet her, she’s in a, quote unquote, ‘teeny tank top’, and she also ‘positions herself for maximum cleavage exposure’. She’s always flipping her hair, getting her grubby paws on Étienne, giving Anna the stink-eye, being homophobic and a grade-A bitch.
Meredith goes batshit when Anna and Étienne kiss, and is very pouty and unhappy during prior Anna x Shittiene moments. Honey… he’s just not that into you. Rashmi’s the Ice Queen reincarnate and halfway to bitchdom. Anna doesn’t go as hard on them as she does on literally every other female her age in the book, though.
Rashmi looks at me for the first time, calculating whether or not I might fall in love with her own boyfriend.
Anna, hate to break it to you, but not everyone’s a possessive fucking weirdo.
About Cherrie, her ex-boyfriend Matt’s new girlfriend:
And maybe Cherrie isn’t as bad as I remember. Except she is. She totally is. After only five minutes in her company, I cannot fathom how Bridge stands sitting with her at lunch every day.
Her lifeless laugh is one of her lesser attributes. What does Matt see in her?
Even Bridgette, Anna’s best friend from Atlanta, isn’t immune to Anna’s anti-female propaganda. She’s screwing the guy Anna used to like, and Anna, the hypocrite, throws a huge fit.
For context: Bridgette and Toph are in a band called the Penny Dreadfuls (why is it with YA books and horrible band names? ‘Emoji’ from Simon vs. the Homo Sapiens Agenda was bad enough), and Anna + Matt + Cherrie go to a bowling alley to see them perform. After the performance, Toph announces that he’s sleeping with Bridge, and Anna confronts Bridge… onstage.
“… You’re welcome to move in when I leave again, because that’s what you want, right? My life?”
She shakes with fury. “Go to hell.”
“Take my life. You can have it. Just watch out for the part where my BEST FRIEND SCREWS ME OVER!” I knock over a cymbal stand, and the brass hits the stage with an earsplitting crash that reverberates through the bowling alley. Matt calls my name. Has he been calling it this entire time? He grabs my arm and leads me around the electrical cords and plugs and onto the floor and away, away, away.
Everyone in the bowling alley is staring at me.
I duck my head so my hair covers my face. I’m crying. This would have never happened if I hadn’t given Toph her number. All of those late-night practices and… he said they’ve had sex! What if they’ve had it at my house? Does he come over when she’s watching Seany? Do they go in the bedroom?
I’m going to be sick.
Give me a goddamn break.
Anna, about Ellie:
To my amazement, Ellie breaks into an ear-to-ear smile. Oddly enough, it’s this moment I realize that despite her husky voice and Parisian attire, she’s sort of… plain. But friendly-looking.
That still doesn’t mean I like her.
“Anna! From Atlanta, right? Where’d you guys go?”
She knows who I am? St. Clair describes our evening while I contemplate this strange development. Did he tell her about me? Or was it Meredith? I hope it was him, but even if it was, it’s not like he said anything she found threatening. She doesn’t seem alarmed that I’ve spent the last three hours in the company of her very attractive boyfriend. Alone.
[about Ellie’s Hallowe’en costume] Slutty nurse. I don’t believe it. Tiny white button-up dress, red crosses across the nipples. Cleavage city.
If I didn’t like Ellie before, it’s nothing compared to how I feel now. It doesn’t matter that I can count how many times we’ve met on one hand.
I fantasize about their break-up. How he could hurt her, and she could hurt him, and all of the ways I could hurt her back. I want to grab her Parisian-styled hair and yank it so hard it rips from her skull. I want to sink my claws into her eyeballs and scrape.
It turns out I am not a nice person.
YOU DON’T FUCKING SAY.
Emily Middlestone bends over to pick up a dropped eraser, and Mike Reynard leers at her breasts. Gross. Too bad for him she’s interested in his best friend, Dave. The eraser drop was deliberate, but Dave is oblivious.
One of the juniors, a girl with dark hair and tight jeans, stretches in a move designed to show off her belly button ring to Paul/Pete. Oh, please.
And I’m meant to like this character? I’m supposed to root for her?
I’m not saying every girl in the book should be perfectly sweet and friendly- that’s just not realistic. But when Anna has something judgmental to say about every other young female character… maybe she’s the problem.
In fact, the only girl I recall getting a pass is Isla Whatsername. And why do you think?
Brilliant.
And now we have the amalgamation of almost every fanfic boyfriend trope from 2014, Étienne St. Clair. Brown-eyed Harry Styles. I can’t fucking wait.
Étienne could’ve discovered the cure for cancer, or abolished poverty, or volunteered at animal shelters in his spare time. He could’ve been the most virtuous guy around (fret not; he decidedly isn’t). And I still wouldn’t’ve thought of him as the man of my dreams because HE HAS A BLOODY GIRLFRIEND.
I mean, which girl doesn’t want her boyfriend to say:
“I cheated on her every day. In my mind, I thought of you in ways I shouldn’t have, again and again.”
Fuckin’ smooth, bro.
“No matter what a terrible boyfriend I was, I wouldn’t actually cheat on her. But I thought you’d know.”
Such a gentleman!
“So you can keep dating Ellie, but I can’t even talk to Dave?”
Étienne looks shamed. He stares at his boots. “I’m sorry.”
I don’t even know what to do with his apology.
“I’m sorry,” he says again. And this time, he’s looking at me. Begging me. “And I know it’s not fair to ask you, but I need more time. To sort things out.”
And this gem:
“If you liked me so much, why didn’t you break up with her?”
“I’ve been confused. I’ve been so stupid.”
*me, banging pots and pans together* F U C K Y O U
“Ellie’s not like you, Anna; she’s a slut and a whore even though I’m the one who’s been thinking about another girl inappropriately and I’m the one who gets my knickers in a twist when another man glances in your direction because my masculinity is extremely fragile and I’m a total hypocrite and a dickhead.”
I mean, he didn’t actually say that, but that’s the gist.
WHILE DATING ELLIE: he gets Anna a book of sexual love poems, he calls her attractive (“Any bloke with a working prick would be insane not to like you.”) multiple times, he gets jealous whenever another guy so much as breathes in Anna’s direction and constantly interrupts such interactions, he’s been ditching his friends for his girlfriend but suddenly decides he prefers a new girl over said girlfriend, he thinks bread pudding tastes good- in conclusion, he is a Massive Fucking Prick. Though in hindsight, him and Anna deserve each other. They’re awful.
I had loads more notes taken down (Anna using Dave; “The important thing is this: Dave is available. St. Clair is not.”); the implication that cheating is okay because Ellie is bad or whatever, even though the sudden change in her character seems contrived because she was perfectly okay with Étienne and Anna hanging out before; how my blood boils whenever I read an American book and American girls are like “oOoOh AcCenT!!!1!!1!!”; me reading “DAVE SAYS YER A SLUTBAG” in Hagrid’s voice; the sheer atrocity of the name ‘Étienne St. Clair’ (sounds like a caricature of a French person)… but this ‘review’ is already pushing 3k and I can’t be fucked to expand on any of those points.
Verdict (which is apparently the same in French):
Who needs Christopher when Étienne St. Clair is in the world?
Speak for yourself.
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Text
I’m Here (pt.2): Are You There?
But the correct post because I left out the whole first half of the fic last time because I am a ~dumbass~
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The airbenders had a secret, beautiful-sounding, wordless-word language, and Aang was a lonely lil bird after he became the last airbender. 
But then the Gaang improvised. And, now, Aang could sing the secrets of the winds with his family again...
...but Azula always lies.
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A/N: A lil Gaang-love hurt/comfort/angst/fluff sortof-continuation (that reads a bit different) to “I’m Here”, because Aang needs yet another hug and the Gaang will break kneecaps while Appa breaks femurs in order to give him one. (Part 1/2)
Rating: T (B for Backhand Azula with the might of Zues please)
Words: 3,531
ArchiveOfOurOwn
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When Aang was a child in the Western Air Temple, he talked to his best friend in whistle-speak all the time.
He asked him how his day was. He asked him if he liked the temple. He asked him if his siblings were as nice as the older boys who Aang had to share his room with.
Appa never heard him. Skybison didn’t understand whistle-speak. Appa just licked him sometimes and hugged him with two or four of his legs if he liked the tune his sky-rider was singing.
And while he wasn’t alone when he was with his buddy, Aang had never felt more lonely.
/Are you there? You’re right there. I’m here. I’m right here./
His buddy’s silence made Aang’s chest ring hollow and ache in the worst ways. His shoulders curled to his ears. His songs bounced off Appa like he had a shield.
After his first un-returned /I love you/, Aang crawled onto Appa’s head and refused to let go. He clung to his tiny horns and buried his tears in Appa’s fur. He only moved to a different spot when Appa whined and wanted to lick him. He even stayed on when he stole Appa extra treats—Gyatso said he was very skilled and that he might even earn his master’s marks in a few years—by hugging his neck with his legs and bending the whole bushel of apples to him.
Appa would lick him happily, but his happiness felt superficial and just out of reach.
/I love you, Still./
Appa still didn’t hear him.
Aang didn’t understand it. Appa was a baby, but even the other children in the nursery talked in whistle-speak before normal speech. They could understand it even sooner. Whistle-speak was their winds. It was instinct. Every airbender was born with it. Every airbender was born into it. And it was their most precious part of themselves.
Whistle-speak was an emotion. A fleeting moment. A part of a person trapped in time and turbulence to deliver feelings so deeply that it could hug around someone’s soul and warm them from head to toe.
But Aang couldn’t give Appa his words without words. It made Aang sadder than he liked to think about. He couldn’t let his buddy feel how much he loved him.
Aang promised to find a way. He could give him his words without words without whistle-speak. He was sure that he could. He just had to try not to cry as much in the meantime. Appa didn’t like it when he cried. Appa trotted him to Gyatso before his first sob broke, and his master patted his back and calmed him before Aang’s heart could start to really hurt.
Gyatso couldn’t convince him to come off, though. Nor could the nuns who watched him as a baby. Even the newly-blued masters couldn’t tug or airbend them apart.
Aang softly hiccuped when the meaner boys taunted him for it. He clung tighter, trembling a little, and wished he could hide in Appa’s fur. Their words hit hard, but their whistle-speak hit him even harder. Their winds couldn’t be ignored or told to go away. The wind never listened. It only spoke.
Appa smacked his tail at them, and his wind couldn’t be ignored, either.
Aang stuck his tongue out at every single one of them and the dust clouds they left behind. He even stuck his tongue out at Appa’s mama when she growled at Aang to get off. Appa bared his teeth and tried to growl, too, but he was too small. They both held their heads high, though, as he trotted away.
Aang smiled and rubbed his wet cheeks. Appa was his best friend.
His best friend.
His.
Aang’s.
Nobody else’s.
He was never letting him go.
He just wished that he could tell him. He just wished that Appa would break his silence.
/Are you there?/
He wished that Appa could hear him.
He held Appa’s fur tighter. Appa licked him and walked him to food and brought him to water before Aang even realized that he was hungry or thirsty.
Gyatso tried to explain that the skybison couldn’t know whistle-speak because they didn’t need it. 
Aang asked Gyatso why, and Gyatso just smiled and gave him a gift. Aang believed him, nonetheless, but he was still a bit scared.
Appa licked him again. Aang crawled off his buddy and tucked his new bison-whistle in the hidden pocket in his robes. He trusted his mentor. He trusted him as much as his winds. Gyatso held his hand, and they walked away.
Aang looked back for his buddy, but Appa was already trotting at his side. His best friend rubbed his furry head against his cheek before Aang could think to pet him. Aang giggled and held a handful of his fur. He would never let him go.
...But then the sandbenders happened. And then the end of the war. And now Appa was taking care of a family that had been waiting a hundred years for him.
Aang still whistle-speaks to his best friend, even though Appa never answers.
He asks him how his day was. He asks him if he likes the palace. He asks him if his new family is as sweet and kind as his.
/I love you, Still./
Appa didn’t respond like always.
Aang wishes that he hadn't left the bison-whistle his master had made for him in his room when he ran away. He had his other from his travels tucked into the secret pocket of his robes, but its weight never felt quite right. The whistle didn’t feel quite right at all, but it seemed to be the only way to speak to his buddy.
The whistle was silent. Aang didn’t like silence. His skin crawled whenever he played it. It’s air felt numb and lifeless even though it came from his own lungs. It turned his winds into spoken silence that made the world feel crooked. Like he was lost and no one was looking for him.
Like he was being left behind.
He was calling for his best friend with a void for a voice, and it felt so inherently wrong.
The silence from the bison-whistle reminded him of home in the worst ways. The voices of the faces from a lifetime ago were growing quieter and quieter in his memory. The soft words of his mentor that were almost fatherly, the prideful boasts of the newly-blued masters who showed him off to their friendly rivals once he became the youngest newly-blued of them all, the nostalgic song of the old nun who cared for him as a child...
Aang’s throat tightened. Something tugged his gut and made him curl up until he was as small as he felt.
He could hardly remember their voices. Barely even their names. Even the warmth of their whistle-speak was washed away in dull-grey in the attic of his mind.
One of his hands fisted Appa’s fur without Aang knowing. The coarse hairs were familiar and comforting like nothing else was anymore. They cradled his earliest memories and reminded him that those good times actually happened.
Something heavy sat on Aang’s shoulders and weighed him into the dirt, but Appa licked him before he could cry. A giant paw pulled him close and nearly crushed him against his face.
/Are you there, Soft?/
Aang smiled as the familiar winds of his family curled around him.
/I’m here./
And that’s how his family found him after Zuko came out of his meeting.
/What took you all so long?/
Toph and Sokka laughed, Katara awwed, and Zuko shook his head with a smile.
Appa didn’t want to share at first, but they all dogpiled onto Aang and laid in the sun like they did during the war.
Appa grumbled and still didn’t want to let him go, but Aang’s family weren’t going to let him go, either.
...But, one day, Aang did go. He went by himself into the woods to greet the first sunny days of spring.
He was halfway back to the palace when an echo broke his peace.
/Are you there?/
Aang spun around so quickly that he nearly fell flat.
The whistle-speak rang distant and high-pitched. A cry from far beyond the mountain. Its lyrics were icy fingers numb and black from frostbite—the ghostly touch of nails gliding up his back.
The song in his ears curled its winds around him like a hand reaching out of the dark. It was small, unsure—
/Are you there?/
—like when he was a boy in the Southern Air Temple and in the woods without a partner.
Aang’s shoulders curled to his ears.
One of his family was alone.
/I’m here./
He rushed his wordless words in warm gales to hug his wayward loved one. He rushed his sprint even faster as he commanded the air to aid his haste.
If only he had his glider.
/Are you there?/
If only Zuko had told him sooner.
/I’m here./
Aang is out of breath and tired as he gets closer to his family.
His heart aches some more.
He thinks they are alone.
/I’m here./
Azula always lies.
And Aang doesn’t see the danger until she smirks.
He tries to step back, further into the cave, but there are four more laughs behind him.
Azula braids whistle-speak with something that isn’t an ocarina, and her winds curl around him like a lasso.
/Oh, there you are./
Aang’s blood would have run cold if Azula’s winds weren’t so warm. They’re smooth and oddly soft like the scales of a batviper winding up his leg. His stitched-up heart welcomes them all the same, and his panic grows damp and fuzzy under the weight of her melody’s calm.
Her lyrics dig under his skin. His shoulders curl to his ears.
The inky blackness smells his blood in the water, and it dances around his heels like a pet eager to play with its master.
/Are you there?/
He freezes again, and even the breath from his closing airway is cold. Her lyrics are concerned and filled with sorrow like they were fighting back tears. They remind him of Katara. Instinct pulls his attention in every direction to look for her, and it blooms fresh adrenaline when he can’t find her.
/I’m—
Azula hits him where one of his arrows curl around his arm. Her sisters hit him more. Cold like ink dripped into a pool of water branches frozen webs under the medals of his mastery. She rips his elements away from him, and his past lives blur behind dirty glass.
She lets him still move, though. Not that it helps him. His insides are more slush than bone.
/Are you there?/
Her song is playful and satisfied to the brim; his mind thinks the day is hot and his friends are too lazy to play.
Aang’s lip trembles. His throat tightens. Grey memories are ripped out of the sacred chest in his mind and brought into visceral clarity.
They make him feel everything until he feels nothing, and that’s when it really starts to hurt.
/Are you there?/
She always asks him when he closes his eyes. She doesn’t want him to pass out. She wants to hold him at arm’s-length and dangle his winds in front of his face. She wants to taunt him with his whistle-speak from her crude metal flute.
The thing looks industrial. It reminds Aang of the war and the things he tries to forget about it. She could play it like a professional, but she and her sisters force their blows just to watch him squirm.
They steal the voices of his family.
They make his people scream.
Pins and needles fill Aang’s chest, and liquid heat sears his eyes. He feels their horror as his own. He feels their every dying breath in his gasps. He screams so loud that he deafens himself, but the scrape of his brow on the cave floor makes more of a sound than him.
Aang didn’t understand. The wind wasn’t hers. Its songs weren’t something that could be captured and tamed and used.
But Azula had put his winds on a leash. She had made them lie.
Her lyrics tack him down like a needle through a butterfly all while making his arms itch for a hug.
/Are you there?/
Aang’s cheek kisses cold earth while his arms debate whether or not to pick him up off of the ground. Wordless words pile into wordless sobs that choke the base of his throat. A whimper slips through the cracks.
Azula laughs.
And she gets four more in response.
They dance around him to the tune of his people’s screams. The voices of faces from a lifetime ago claw his chest bloody, and they rip off the patch his family had stitched for him.
The pit is starved and bigger than ever.
He hears his friends who snuck around with him and never let each other get caught. He hears the newly-blued masters who lifted him onto their shoulders when he got his tattoos. He hears the elderly nun who nursed him as a child in the Western Air Temple and gave him his whistle-speak name...
We need you, Aang. Are you there? We need you. Are you there?
/Are you there?/
His throat runs dry. His cheeks run wet.
Azula’s next winds are slow, almost tender. She lazily sinks her fangs into where she had peeled him raw, and she lances him with just as much venom as she did in Ba Sing Se.
She sounds almost like Gyatso.
/I love you, Soft./
Aang’s shoulders shake. His soul bleeds.
/Are you there?/
His first sob breaks him into a kneel. His second brings him to his knees. And he is surrounded by cold laughter and something heavy, an iron net, just as he forgets how to breathe.
His shattered heart weeps.
/Are you there?/
They tie him down and take special care to bind his chest so tightly that he can only breathe spoonfuls of air. Aang writhes like a newborn badgermole grabbed by its scruff and held high off the earth it had been born to command.
Everything is dark. Everything hurts. His voice abandons him after the second bolt of lightning.
Azula takes her time. She bites away at him until they no longer have to hold him down.
They drag him outside by his robes and shove him to the ground. Azula’s satisfaction is nearly palpable when his chest meets the dirt with a pained sound. Aang shivers and heaves for breath, and every inhale grates his ears with the scratchy sound of sandpaper on stone.
Azula’s foot finds its home between his shoulders and squeezes the last fragments of air out of his empty lungs. She presses harder, hoping for a wheeze. He feels her disappointment when all he gives her is something that sounds like a cough.
She spits his title and talks some more. She threatens his family—his brothers, his sisters, and Katara.
Aang grinds his teeth. His blood runs hot. He pushes against her, even though he can barely push his chest up to steal a glancing breath, just so she can see his snarl.
She digs her knee into his back until he can’t breathe entirely. Aang gasps on nothing, desperate and writhing as he is cut from his element, and the wind flurries around him like it shares his panic. She holds it there and relishes his empty gulps for air like his pain was to her as food and water were to every living thing.
The seconds tick by in small centuries. The faces of his family tick through his mind’s eye in so much time lost.
His body begs for air. He opens his mouth in a silent cry.
And Aang gets four responses.
/Looking for you./
/Are you okay?/
/Love you, Soft./
/I’m here./
Aang smiles so hard that it hurts his bruising cheek. He would have laughed if he could.
His family was here. They were looking for him. Their winds were honest. Their winds were warm. And they curled around him just like they always had.
He goes to respond—
Azula laughs.
Aang’s lip trembles some more, and even the blood in his lungs runs cold.
He can’t make a sound. She doesn’t give him any air. His voice is as dead as his people.
His family is further away now. Their songs disappear beyond the mountain—taking their winds with them and singing, without him.
I’m here.
Azula holds his face and presses his cheek into the dirt. Chilly panic writhes in his belly like an animal in a too-small cage that was quickly filling with water. Aang struggles for all he is worth, but he can’t move. He can’t breathe . Tears run over his lip and mix salt with copper in his mouth.
I-I’m here.
His family’s silence hums cold and mocking in his ears. Aang tries to swallow. He almost chokes. More like a hiccup. Their silence presses a boot on his throat just as Azula presses his face harder into the dirt.
His stomach lifted like he was falling. His skin raced over with the same feeling.
He was falling away and falling apart.
He was being left behind.
I’m here...
Azula laughs just as coldly as the ground beneath him feels. Her knee digs in so hard that his ribs feel like they’re bowing.
/Are you there?/
They taunt him with his people’s voices as his vision fades. Stolen winds hug him with hope and rip off of him in screams so much that his head spins and his heart forgets how to beat. They dunk him in and out of icy water, and he prays they would just keep him under.
They had ripped away his winds. They had ripped away his family.
Like when the Avatar took Gyatso.
Like when the Fire Nation took his home.
He opens his mouth to cry out. Silence filled his lungs, and silence is all that comes out of him. His chest tightens like he’s drowning.
Azula presses her knee harder to tear out his silence in muted songs just like she tore out his people’s screams from her metal flute.
Aang was peeled raw and torn bloody, and the pit was swallowing him whole.
I’m here. I’m here. I’m here—
Azula’s laugh bleeds into the air like ink onto something sacred. She pats his wet cheek.
“Are you there, little bird?”
I’m here…’m right…’m right here...
Aang’s head is filled with cotton and his vision is black with spots when the ground shakes. The silence is blown away so furiously that it makes his ears ring.
It’s Appa who finds him first.
More earth churns, and Azula is vaulted off his back.
It’s Toph who finds him next.
Murder is in Katara’s shout. The promise for pain is in Zuko’s curse. The guarantee of slaughter is in Sokka’s battlecry.
The four of them chase after the devils who hurt their family, but Appa stays huddled around Aang’s limp form. He groans and rumbles and paws the ground in his desperation to get his sky-rider to move.
Toph, being able to feel Aang’s condition, is the one to call off the attack. They sprint to his side, even though they were no more than a few yards away, and Appa only growls for a second before allowing them closer.
Their bloodlust turns to panic as soon as Aang remembers how to breathe. The ropes are gone, his wrists are red, and the whole of him makes them contemplate murder again.
They hug him tight and hold him close like their arms might somehow be bandages, and they speak softly their small assurances and loving coos.
Aang clutches their clothes like his life depends on it. He trembles so hard that he shakes them all. He weeps, but he is quiet. Not even his wet hiccups make a sound. They hold him tighter. Appa licks his shoulder.
Azula and her sisters escape, but they could care less at the moment. Sokka and Zuko tear their shirts for bandages, Katara stems Aang’s bleeding where it’s worst, and Toph braces herself as he squeezes her hand numb.
Aang stares at everything and nothing as he holds his other hand out, but Appa’s nose is there before the trembling limb can fall.
They all have a million questions.
They all agree not to ask them.
On the way back to the palace, Aang sits on the cradle of Appa’s neck and hugs him like he otherwise might fall into something worse than death.
He still hasn’t said a word. That’s when his family knew something was worse than wrong.
He doesn’t respond to words, so they try whistling instead.
/Are you there, Soft?/
Are you there?
His eyes are wide and vacant. He trembles harder. His tears flow faster. They get their answer.
Aang fists handfuls of Appa’s fur—his knuckles white and bandaged and shaking—and he refuses to let go.
The sounds of his family’s hearts breaking are the only noises to break his silence.
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I cannot write hurt-angst-stuff for the life of me so I’m sorry but I tried--and also present-tense can slob the fattest knob I should never have done that why would I use that in the original one-shot I am such a fOOL--
(IM SORRY AANG BB)
Part I: I’m Here
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unsteadygalaxy · 3 years
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all is soft inside chapter 7
a miragehound multichapter fanfiction
Also posted on ao3 at: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26475064/chapters/67350442
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7. i carry more than you see
A gloved hand meets smooth steel and pushes gently, opening the door. The hinges whine for a moment before going quiet. Bloodhound exits their apartment, locks the door behind them, and heads for the stairs to the roof.
They know they can very well take the elevator and avoid the extra strain, but a part of them needs the burn. They need the dull scorch in their chest to keep them going. To keep them sane. To remind them why they’re here. After all, it’s only a few flights from their floor to the roof. They can manage. 
They pass Octavio’s apartment on their way, and they smile. Loud engine noises beat through the walls as Octavio plays yet another racing game. Bloodhound was sure his pursuit of speed and adrenaline would slow to a crawl one day, but certainly not yet. 
Reaching the stairwell, they pull out their phone for a brief moment. It’s a simple thing, not at all fancy like those belonging to their fellow Legends, but it does the job. As usual, the screen is blank and wordless, showing only the time in white numbers against a blank background. For a moment they wish that someone would send them a message, but who do they know that would? They stuff the phone back into the pocket of their thick outer jacket and sigh, annoyed with themself. 
As they ascend the stairs, the familiar ache in the lungs reminds them of the first time they’d tried to navigate a stairwell after the accident. The steep, sturdy staircase leading up to their room in the loft of Artur’s home became a behemoth, an impossible obstacle to overcome for so long. They had made it up halfway before their lungs screamed at them to stop. They’d collapsed onto the steps, weeping brokenly, and abandoned their attempt, opting to burrow into a pile of warm furs on the bottom floor instead. The coolant in their lungs had frozen and damaged some of their lung tissue, and the village medics told them they were extremely lucky to be alive. The respirator they had found proved to be an essential part of their life, and they had used many over the years since then. 
Now, as they near the top, their lungs burn but they do not falter. They scale the last few steps with ease, inhaling deeply. The air that passes down their throat to their creaking lungs soothes each protesting corner and calms the heat that circulates inside. Bloodhound places a hand over their heart, willing it to slow, willing it to return to its normal rhythm.Their blood pumps hard, flowing throughout their body, filling them with a sense of satisfaction. It had been many, many years since the accident, but they still felt a quiet sense of pride and assurance when they could scale a flight of stairs. 
Quite ironic, is it not? Bloodhound thinks. They risked their life every day, killing and hunting and killing again, but the most meaningful victory was standing at the top of a staircase, knowing they had made it. But why? Why did that matter so much, when their prowess as a hunter was so much more important? They push at the door to the roof and it swings open with a heavy creak.
A cold chill runs across their skin and they stuff their gloved hands into their pockets. Bloodhound breathes deeply, letting the cool air tickle their throat on the way down. 
“Um…”
They jump, and turn to their left. To their surprise, Elliott stands there in the corner, holding a bottle of beer, and the energy around him is suspiciously sad and forlorn again. His eyes are gleaming dully, and Bloodhound realizes they have walked in on a very private moment.
“Elliott,” they say, their voice coming out much too high, even through the modulator. They clear their throat, and continue. “My apologies. I do not wish to interrupt you. I will leave, if that is what you desire.”
“No, no, it’s okay. Really.” Elliott’s voice is quiet and tight, like it was the last time they had found each other here. He sniffs, and Bloodhound averts their eyes as he turns away, a hand going to his face. 
“If you are certain…” Bloodhound trails off, waiting for a response. Elliott gives none, so Bloodhound crosses over to him, but leaves a respectable distance between them. 
Neither of them say anything for several minutes. Elliott occasionally takes a drink from his bottle, and soon drains it completely. It clinks as he sets it down on the ground. He sighs and leans against the balcony, propping himself up with his elbows. Bloodhound runs their fingers over the rough stone. They let their thoughts wander here and there, but they occasionally glance over at Elliott. His expression is far away and glassy, but not from alcohol- he doesn’t seem to be drunk. 
“What troubles you, félagi?” they ask softly. 
Elliott snorts, a short sound filled with derision and a surprising amount of venom. “What doesn’t trouble me?” he replies, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Seems like I can barely keep my head on straight these days.”
“What is it you need?” Bloodhound asks, and a strange desire to put their hand on his arm takes place under their sternum. They ignore it.
Elliott sighs heavily, and massages his temples. “I…” He breaks off, his voice giving out. His next words come out in a tangled, frustrated tumble. “I need to stop being such a useless mess in the Games, I need my mom to stop losing her goddamn mind, I need my dad to stop being such a dickhead, I need my brothers to come out of whatever fucking hiding hole they’re in and help me, goddammit-” His voice breaks again, and his jaw is set and trembling. The sudden surge of anger startles Bloodhound; he had not seemed to be quite so agitated when they arrived. His eyes shine again, and he shakes his head, staring at his hands.
Bloodhound moves as though they are in a dream, and before they know what they’re doing, they’re at his side. They touch his shoulder, and squeeze it gently. Elliott jumps, but relaxes into their touch. He stands straight for a few more moments, shaking slightly, then he groans. “God, I’m so pathetic, sorry,” he says, his voice constricted. “I can’t believe I’m actually crying right now. And in front of you, too. The last person I want to cry in front of.” He wipes his face angrily and shakes Bloodhound’s hand off as he walks away. His foot collides with the beer bottle, and it goes skittering across the floor, clinking faintly.
Their hand is cold as they bring it back to their side. Discomfort and rejection pool in their stomach, but they press it down, promising themself they will process it later. “You are neither useless nor pathetic, Elliott,” they assert. “Your emotions do not make you a lesser person. They make you strong.”
“Strong?” He laughs, and it hurts. “Strong? You’re kidding, right? You’re going to stand there and look at me and tell me I’m strong?” His words are scathing, and he glares at them, angry and in pain.
“Yes, Elliott, I am,” they shoot back. “Because despite your poor opinion of yourself, you are a worthy teammate. I quite enjoy fighting by your side.”
“But why?” he asks, his voice becoming more emphatic. He’s pacing, his hands knotting in his voluminous hair. “Why, Bloodhound? Nothing about me has been strong lately. I lose it every time I hear my mom’s voice on the phone and she asks who she’s talking to. I’m her son. She should know me!” he gasps, anguish working its way across his face. “And my useless shithead of a dad d- des- abandons us just as soon as things get shitty, only to come crawling back the second he gets wind of his youngest son being in the Apex Games. Everyone knows the only thing he’s after is the money- he can’t be bothered to step back in and be an actual dad. He wasn’t even that great anyway.” Elliott trembles as he speaks, spitting out the words like they’re poison in his veins, left by the gaping maw of some unseen, ravenous creature. 
“And then my glorious, wonderful, perfect brothers all ran off to join the fight when the war started. They all had something to prove, something to hold themselves up to. Dumbasses just wanted to be better than their dear old dad. They just left behind their kid brother to grow up alone and wonder where they’d gone.” His voice breaks again, and Bloodhound has to resist the sudden urge to gather him in their arms. He turns away, and they avert their eyes once more as he shakes.
Bloodhound waits, struggling and grasping to find the right thing to say. They feel different- exposed, or scrutinized, even. They had always been a sympathetic person, but it had been a very long time since they wanted to hold someone the way they wanted to hold Elliott. 
“You are very well within your rights to feel scared and powerless,” Bloodhound soothes, trying to quiet their intrusive thoughts. “All of this is enough to make anyone deeply upset.”
“I don’t have time for this!” Elliott yells, waving his hands wildly. “I don’t have time to process all of this. I need to focus on the Games. It’s been weeks since I came out on top. Every damn time I get close, something goes wrong. I slip up, or I make a dumb decision, or I just sit there staring at you like a dumbass because you’re so—” He stops abruptly, eyes going wide, cheeks turning a brilliant shade of red. “...because you’re such a badass,” he finishes lamely, and he turns away.
Bloodhound remains quiet for a moment, mulling over the implications behind the unspoken words. What was he about to say? It certainly wasn’t “beautiful”— anyone would agree that Bloodhound’s chances of being attractive had splintered like their skin all those years ago. Perhaps it was “skilled”? But no, why would he stop himself from saying that? They close their eyes and push the question away, resolving to think about it another time. 
“My success does not invalidate your worth as a person,” they reply. “Elliott, you are a smart man. You are capable and strong. But if you do not allow yourself to feel these things, they will haunt you forever.”
“And how exactly do you propose that I feel things, huh?” he asks, exasperated and impatient. “This shit sucks, and I’m trying to get rid of it, not keep it around!” He throws his hands in the air and strides away, still fuming. 
Bloodhound sighs. Elliott was many things, but a patient man he was not. 
“Vinur minn. Do you trust me?” they ask, both expecting and dreading his answer.
Elliott stops, and turns around just enough for Bloodhound to see the frustration in his eyes barely give way to something softer. Kinder. “I mean… yeah.”
“Come.”
Bloodhound turns away from the city lights and turbulent distractions, heading for the opposite side of the roof. They pick up a pair of cushions from the chairs there, and place them on the floor. The sun is sinking in the sky, and gives the far off trees a golden aura. Bloodhound wishes they could be running among them, feeling the day’s last rays of warmth drain from the world. But it does not matter. Elliott Witt has lost his light, and Bloodhound is here to help him find it again.
They settle onto one of the cushions, sitting cross-legged. Elliott has followed them, but he stares down at them, confused. “Uh… what are we doing, H- I mean, Bloodhound?”
“Please, take a seat,” Bloodhound says, gesturing to the pillow next to them. They pause, then begin to remove their gloves. The scarring is not as severe there, they think. But why are they rationalizing? Why are they worried? They trust Elliott not to tell anyone, and they trust him to not ask any ill-willed questions.They lay the gloves in their lap and weave their fingers together, bringing their hands to rest as Elliott settles on the pillow, still looking bewildered.
“Please take my hands,” they ask, their voice nigh a whisper. Elliott suddenly flushes, but extends his hands nonetheless. A spark of warmth ignites where the first contact is made- his middle finger graces their palm ever so softly- but it spreads and matures into something much more familiar, much more intimate. His hands are bitterly cold. Bloodhound wants to wrap his hands in theirs and hold them until they’re both warm. Part of them retreats and cringes when his fingers pass over their scars, but they resist the urge to draw back. Elliotts emotions are rattled enough, and he does not need any more rejection.
“Breathe with me.” Bloodhound inhales deeply, and Elliott follows suit, looking more and more at ease as time goes by. Air swirls into their lungs, expanding and filling their chest to a comfortable volume. The spaces between Bloodhound’s ribs stretch and extend as they pull their diaphragm down, drinking in the air like it’s a fine wine. Their gaze locks perfectly to Elliott’s, and even through the goggles, Elliott makes direct eye contact. His deep brown eyes are tired, and the bags under them look purple and dark. He looks like he hasn’t slept in days, even though Bloodhound knew that couldn’t be the case. He had very nearly beat them yesterday, after all.
The two of them breathe in tandem for a few moments more, and Elliott’s energy progresses from a writhing roar to a light buzz. “Better?” Bloodhound asks.
“Yeah,” he replies. “How-”
“Trust me,” they implore. 
He nods. 
“When we focus on the breath of life, we are able to filter out the distractions,” Bloodhound says. Their thumbs tenderly caress Elliott’s fingers in a calming motion, pressing soft arcs into his skin. “Tell me, what do you feel when you think of your mother?”
Elliott’s face falls ever so slightly, but he recovers. “I guess… I guess I’m just really… sad,” he murmurs. “I feel… helpless. Powerless. If it was a person causing all of her problems, I would have taken care of it a long time ago, but… this is different.” He swallows hard. “I can’t fight this. Not with a gun or my fists, anyway.” 
Bloodhound nods. “And how do you feel about your father?” 
A spark of anger returns to Elliott’s eyes. He grunts in annoyance, deep in thought for a moment. “He pisses me off. I’d punch him right in the face if he were here now. It would serve him right.”
Bloodhound smiles. The thought of Elliott socking his father in the face seemed amusingly petulant, but they hope they are around to see it one day. “And your brothers?” they ask. “How do you feel about them?
A mix of emotions runs through Elliott’s visage- happiness, fear, despair. “I…” he starts. “I really don’t know. I don’t know how I should feel about them. They piss me off, but… they’re my brothers. I don’t even know if they’re still out there.” He releases Bloodhound’s hands and begins to fidget with his fingers in his lap.
“It is all right to have complicated feelings towards those that have hurt us,” Bloodhound remarks as they settle their own hands onto their knees. Their hands are warm and tingly where he had been touching them. “Our emotions come for us at different times. Some are more devastating than others. Some feel as though they will last forever, but some are fleeting. They can make us feel insignificant. Small, compared to their weight and power. But their gravity cannot consume us unless we allow it to.”
“How do I stop it?” Elliott asks, his voice small and uncertain. “How do I keep from getting sucked in?”
“The answer is simple,” they reply, and they almost smile anticipating his response. “You do not.”
Elliott’s brow furrows, and he gapes at them, open mouthed. Bloodhound wants to laugh, but they hold it back, grateful for their mask for the millionth time. They are not too sure about how he would respond to being laughed at a second time. “Uh… what?” he questions. “You’re telling me that in order to stay in control, I have to… let go of it?”
“Yes.”
“How the hell does that work?” Elliott asks, his tone slightly accusatory. He shifts his weight so that he is leaning back on the palms of his hands.
“Imagine you are in a spacecraft orbiting a planet,” Bloodhound instructs. They gesture with their hands as they speak, weaving their story into being. “Think of that planet as an emotion. It has its own pull, its own gravity. If you turn off the engines, you will be stuck in orbit. If you leave, you will never know whether or not that planet had something valuable for you to discover.”
“So, you’re saying…” Elliott pauses, comically confused. Finally, he sighs, and rubs his eyes tiredly. “What are you saying?”
“Our emotions are not inconveniences, Elliott,” Bloodhound says. “They are lessons in disguise, planets waiting to be explored. We do ourselves a disservice by pushing them away and ignoring them. If we are patient with ourselves, there is much to discover.”
Elliott considers this, his hands still fidgeting. “You’re essentially saying that I need to let myself feel,” he says. Then, the realization drops on him like a ton of bricks. “Oh. Ohhh. You- yeah. Of course. Duh.” He blushes red again, and buries his face in his hands. 
“Yes,” Bloodhound replies, smiling fully now. “Allow yourself to experience the emotion. Instead of pushing it away, explore it. Travel alongside it, and take note of what you see. The way may be uncomfortable at times, but you are allowed to feel the pain you bear.”
Elliott remains buried in his hands for a long time, clearly deep in thought. When he emerges, Bloodhound notices that he seems calmer and more level-headed. He looks up at them and smiles, and a strange stilted feeling skips through Bloodhound’s chest. It was almost as if their heart had lost its rhythm for a moment. 
“Thanks,” he mumbles, his face red. “I can be a stubborn idiot sometimes. Doesn’t do me any good.”
“We all have our moments of difficulty,” Bloodhound soothes. “But they do not make us less worthy of assistance.” 
“Caustic would disagree with you,” Elliott scoffs.
“Caustic would be incorrect,” Bloodhound assures, a flash of annoyance flitting through them at the mention of Nox. “That andskoti would benefit from a great deal of assistance.” 
Elliott laughs, and his smile alone is enough to break through the gloom that has been surrounding him all evening. “What does that mean, anyway?” he asks, shaking his head in amusement.
“It most closely means ‘devil’ or ‘demon’,” Bloodhound answers. “It is… unkind, but Doctor Nox is-”
“An asshole, yeah.”
“That is not quite the word I would pick, but yes.” Bloodhound chuckles. “He is.”
They fall quiet, content to sit with him in silence. He’s not even looking at them, but for some reason, it doesn’t matter. Just sitting here with him was enough to still Bloodhound’s thoughts and bring a peace to their soul they had long forgotten.
“And one more thing,” they say, remembering. “The outcome of a match does not lay entirely on your shoulders. The team must work together to bring about a victory.”
“Yeah, but my dumbassery certainly doesn’t help anything,” he grumbles, rolling his neck. Several cracks pop through the air, and he sighs. “I’m sure you never have trouble.”
“We all struggle in the Games,” they respond. “Myself included. Your idolization of me does not improve or indicate my skill level. I am mannlegur, just like you. Human.”
Elliott’s cheeks flush, and he shrugs. “I definitely don’t believe that,” he mutters.
Bloodhound rolls their eyes. They want to take him by the shoulders and hold him there until he stops devaluing himself. “Elliott, the Games are not for the faint of heart,” they assert. “If you were incapable, you would not have survived the first season.” 
“You can say I’m a dumbass, you know,” Elliott says, running a hand through his hair and stretching.
“I do not wish to insult you.”
Elliott rolls his eyes, but smiles faintly. “You wouldn’t be the first.” 
“That is a shame, Elliott,” Bloodhound replies. “I would not consider you to be such.”
He is quiet for a few moments, deep in thought. “Then you’d be a r-rar- you’d be one of the few who didn’t.” He pushes back the sleeves of his sweater, and Bloodhound is momentarily captivated by his well-muscled arms. Something inside them freezes for a half second, then drops into their stomach, and they are very glad he cannot see their face.
“I am sorry you are feeling helpless,” they say, tearing their eyes away from his warm skin to look into his face. “That is a feeling I am familiar with. Please know that you are not alone.” 
“I appreciate it.” Elliott smiles at them again, before getting to his feet and returning to the balcony. Bloodhound follows after putting the pillows back where they belong.
Several silent moments stretch out between the two of them. Bloodhound waits patiently, and gazes out over the busy city. The sun is just setting, and it leaks down past their view, painting the higher windows on the buildings around them in fiery orange. They used to wish they could catch the sun and suspend it right there forever, giving them all the time they needed to think and to grieve. But many years have passed since they were a child, and life does not see fit to slow down and allow them anything.
The last vestiges of the sun soon creep beyond the horizon, and a cold chill fills the air. Bloodhound is quite insulated beneath their thick jacket and woolen sweater, but Elliott begins to shiver, presumably because he is only wearing one layer of clothing. 
“Yikes. This weather’s kinda crazy, huh?” he remarks, rolling his sleeves back down. 
“I had hoped the seasons would delay their changing for a while longer,” they say, “but time waits for no one.” They’re already shrugging off their jacket before they fully register what they’re doing. “Here. Take this for the evening. I will leave you with your thoughts.” They hand their jacket to a bewildered Elliott, who takes it, unsure. 
“Um, are you sure? You wear this thing all the time,” he asks, staring at them hard, his cheeks redder than ever.
“Quite. Leave it on my doorstep, and I will retrieve it in the morning.”
“Okay… if you’re sure.” He slides into the jacket with ease, and Bloodhound is pleased to find that it fits him perfectly. It complements his outfit well, and accentuates his features nicely. “What do you think?” he asks, and he does a slow twirl, examining his new look.
A strange leaping sensation in Bloodhound’s abdomen crackles through their body.
“It suits you,” they say, nodding in approval. Their eyes seem to be glued to his form, admiring his strength and the effort he put into his appearance. Finally, they break their gaze away, shake their head, and begin to move towards the door. “One more thing, Elliott.”
“Yeah?” His head pops up, 
“Do not forget what I told you. You are-”
“‘Allowed to feel the pain I bear’, yeah, I got it,” he repeats, jokingly rolling his eyes. “Don’t you worry about me, Bloodhound, I’ll be just fine.” He gives them an exaggerated wink and a thumbs up, and they can’t help but smile.
“Have a good evening, Elliott,” they say, pulling the door open, making sure it would remain unlocked after they left. 
“Thanks. You, too.”
When Bloodhound lays in bed that night, their fingers fidget with their hair, working it into twists and plaits and many stranded knots. Their thoughts wander, but always seem to arrive back at Elliott- Elliott smiling, Elliott laughing, even Elliott staring out over the balcony, his eyes shining. As they yank a brush through their hair, their chest pulses pleasantly with the memory of Elliott wrapped in their jacket, and they smile freely, openly, unobscured in the darkness of their room. Elliott Witt, they think. What a lovely person he is.
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Text
Riding High Ch 20: When The Bough Breaks...
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Chapter Summary: Fliss finds herself in an impossible position…and her decision tips Frank’s world upside down.
Chapter Warnings: Bad Language words.
Chapter Pairings:  Frank Adler x OFC Fliss Gallagher
A/N:  I  know I only updated a few days ago with Ch 19 but this one has been written for a wile and I finished yesterday so decided not to wait.
Don’t hate me…
Chapter Song:  Shattered by Trading Yesterday
Series Masterlist // Main Masterlist 
And this day’s ending is the proof of time, killing all the faith I know.
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“Was that another one?” Frank asked as Fliss tossed her phone onto the coffee table with an angry snort.
She nodded, pinching the bridge of her nose.
Frank sighed and looked at her “Honey…” “I know, I know…” she said, looking at him. “Look, I’ve made notes of every time I’ve had one so… its recorded. But again, it’s not like we can prove anything…they happen like twice a day and then nothing…hardly what they’ll call harassment.” Frank shifted slightly “This has been going on for 2 weeks now sweetheart.” “I’m well aware of that.” she snapped, before she shook her head “Sorry, I didn’t mean to get angry…not at you.” “Come here…” he said, opening his arms and she snuggled into him, leaning against his chest as his hand gently ran up and down her arm. “Maybe you should think about changing your number…and not putting the new one on the website.” “Yeah.” she conceded, “It’s not gonna help for work though…” “You can work round it.” he said, “Keep the business line and if you’re not there people will have to leave a message. Then, once you know your clients…you can give them your cell number.”
“Fucking ass hole is still making my life awkward.”
“Only if you let him.” Frank said gently “It’s a minor inconvenience to change your number but, if in the grand scheme of things all he has in his back pocket is sending you some dumbass birthday card and trying to piss you off with silent phone calls then…he’s just a pathetic fucking loser that’s trying to bully you into being scared.” “I’m not scared, just pissed off.” she shook her head “I know he’s a chicken shit, he wouldn’t dare come near me not when you’re on the scene…or my dad for that matter.” “Good, because if he did I’m not sure I’d be able to control myself.” Frank said softly.
“Maybe we should just pay someone to kill him.” Fliss said after a moment’s pause and Frank let out a snort “Bullet straight between the eyes.”
“Nah, too quick.” Frank sniffed, reaching for his beer “I’d dangle him over a tank of hungry sharks…lower him in inch by inch…”
“Or we could feed him to pigs, like in Hannibal.” Fliss mused.
“That’s also an option…no trace” he said, swallowing a mouthful of beer.
“You know they should teach this shit at schools” Fliss said, reaching for her own drink “How to get rid of bodies. I feel it is something everyone should be educated in.” “Maybe you should mention it to Bonnie.” he said as she took a sip of wine “Tell her you feel it is an educational rite of passage or some other inspiring shit like that…”
Fliss laughed, placing her wine glass down and shifting so that she was led on her front, half on-half off Frank, looking up at him as her chin rest on his chest.
“On a scale of 1 to 10 how much of a meltdown are we facing with Mary on tomorrow morning?”
“From her current mood I’d suspect a good 4 and a half, maybe a 5.” he mused, before he looked at Fliss “I don’t much care, she’s going whether she wants to or not.” “When do the University Classes start again?”
“Not till second week in October.”  Frank replied “Which reminds me, I need to submit that funding form tomorrow…” “It’s on the table.” Fliss said, as she correctly guessed from the look on his face he was pondering where he had put it.”
“What would I do without you?” he grinned down at her.
“I have absolutely no idea.” she shrugged and he smiled and leaned down pressing a kiss to her lips.
“Did you speak to Evelyn before?” Fliss asked him and he nodded.
“She’s coming down this weekend.” Frank said, “She’s still on about Mary going to Boston for a weekend.” “You still not comfortable about her going?” Fliss asked.
Frank wrinkled his nose “I don’t know if I trust her fully yet.” “You’ll never know you can unless you give her a chance.” Fliss reasoned
“You think I should let her go?” Frank said, slightly surprised.
“That’s not my decision to make, Frank” Fliss shook her head.
“No, but I value your opinion.” Frank looked at her. “Go on, tell me what you think.” Fliss hesitated for a moment before she sat up and turned her body so she was facing him, her legs tucked underneath her on the sofa. “If it was me in your position, I’d give Evelyn a chance. She’s played ball so far, done everything you’ve asked her to. You’ve got legal guardianship of Mary so she can’t pull any stupid stunts, and if Mary comes back and tells you something she did that you don’t like, well, you cut the visits.” Frank looked at Fliss before he took another drink from his beer bottle. He was torn in two. In one respect he wanted Mary to be happy and it certainly seemed that she enjoyed seeing Evelyn, but on flip side he was still more than comfortable with keeping his Mother at arm’s length.
“I’ll think about it.” he shrugged, non-committedly.
“Well, you should also ask Mary.” Fliss said “She might not even want to go.” “She will.” Frank said, “Evelyn has a piano.” Fliss laughed “Yeah, but she’s also bossy, remember?”
“Yeah, I had heard that.” Frank said, and Fliss chuckled again.
“Well, can you not think about it right now?” she said, taking the beer bottle out of his hand.
“Hey…” he pouted as she put it down on the table, his pout soon turned into a smirk as Fliss moved so she was straddling him on the sofa, his t-shirt that she’d been lounging around in rode up her thighs slightly and his hands rubbed up the side of her bare skin. “Something on your mind baby girl?”
“What makes you think that?” she asked, sliding her hands up his chest, over the soft material of his top.
“Just a hunch…” he mumbled, as he reached up and gently gripped the back of her neck, pulling her head down to meet his.
****** “Hey Frank…”
Frank looked up and smiled at Alan as he walked into the work shop.
“Hey Alan, not seen you in a while, how you doing?” “Good…I’m good. I was just wondering if I could have a word in my office.”
“Sure.” Frank frowned “Is err, everything ok?” “Oh, yeah, it’s nothing to worry about…quite the opposite in fact…” “Alright, well me just finish piecing this oil filter together and I’ll be with you.”
“Sure.” Alan said, “No rush.”
Frank quickly tightened the filter back up, gave it the once over before he set down his tools and hopped off the boat, wiping his hands on a rag before he walked through the door at the back of the workshop and down the small corridor that led to the main office at the rear of the shop. He knocked sharply on the door and then swung it open as Alan looked at him, gesturing for him to take a seat whilst he finished up his call. Eventually, he bid the person on the other end good bye and placed the receiver down.
“Relax, Frank…” Alan chuckled as Frank adjusted his jeans for what felt like the 30th time since sitting down.
“Sorry.” Frank nodded, scratching at his temple. “So errr, do you need me to do something or...” “In a manner of speaking, yes.” Alan said “As you know Paul is retiring at the end of the year, which means the Head Mechanic role is up for grabs…and I was wondering if you’d be interesting in taking the position.” “Me?” Frank’s eyes widened slightly
Alan nodded “I know in the grand scheme of things you haven’t been here long but you’ve impressed me, just like Bill said you would. You knuckle down, you do the overtime if needed, you don’t complain…I like you Frank, and the team does to.” “I err…” Frank scratched the back of his neck. “I’m flattered…but I’ve never managed a team before or…”
“You were an Assistant Professor at one stage right?” Alan eyed him and Frank sighed, nodding “You must have had a research team…” “Yeah, but…” “It’s no different.” Alan shook his head, “And I’m here to help and give you some guidance. I’m not quite ready to retire fully yet. Not like Bill, only so much golf I can play before I go fucking nuts.” Frank snorted “Yeah, not gonna lie, it’s not my thing…” Alan looked at him “The duties won’t be that much different Frank. You’ll just be in charge of booking the jobs in, allocating them to the guys, keeping on top of deadlines and general management of the team…means a little less time spent actually getting your hands dirty but…well, you can manage that yourself. You wanna take a job you take it.”
“Can I take a bit of time to think it over?” he asked.
“Sure. Take a few days, let me know. I’d like to have whoever is taking over in a position to start the handover by the beginning of October if possible so…” “Thanks.” Frank nodded “I’ll give it some thought.” “Oh, and it also comes with a Ten thou a year raise…” Alan casually dropped in as Frank stood up “Plus a bonus each year of up to 20 percent, depending on how well you’ve done on your targets” “Just a minor detail you forgot to tell me.” Frank arched an eyebrow.
“Well, I wanted to make sure you’d consider it for the right reasons not merely the financial incentive.” Alan shrugged “Another reason I’m convinced you’re perfect for the job.” Frank nodded and with that he left the office. Given that it was almost lunch time he took his break 15 or so minutes earlier and headed out into the September sun, pulling out his phone.
“Hey Sailor.” Fliss greeted him.
“Hey Cowgirl.” he smiled, leaning against the hood of his truck sipping a bottle of water “You got a sec.” “For you, always. What’s up?”
“Nothing, nothing bad anyway…I just got offered a promotion.”
“Frankie that’s amazing!” She gushed “You sound surprised though.” “I am, a little.” he said, before he launched into an explanation of what Alan had told him and what the job would entail, plus the financial incentives.
“Wow!” she said as he finished talking “Baby, that’s fantastic. I’m so proud of you!”
Frank felt himself blushing at her praise, and despite the fact he couldn’t even see her he rubbed at his neck slightly. “So, you think I should take it?” “Of course I do.” she said eagerly “But at the same time, if you don’t want to then…you don’t have to. This is a great position to be in honey, Alan’s clearly seen your potential.”
“Just not sure If I’m cut out to be management.” he said, biting his lip.
“I had the same thoughts about my business you know.” she spoke gently “I wasn’t sure if setting up on my own after everything that happened was gonna work but then Dad told me that I’d never know unless I took the plunge. Have a little faith in yourself. The only person who doubts your capability is you.”
Frank smiles at her words and looked up and out over the Marina “You always know exactly what to say.” “Not really, I make most of it up as a go along.” she said and Frank laughed. “But, just think, with the extra money you can get a new car…” “There’s nothing wrong with my truck.” “Frank, it’s died on you 4 times in the last 2 weeks. Dad reckons his ride on lawnmower has more power under the hood than that thing”
“Ok, I’ll admit…she’s getting a little clunky…but she is into her twenties now….” Fliss snorted “You could get yourself a nice Audi…”
“Fuck off.” Frank said and she laughed
“I like Simon’s car…” “You like it so much you get one.”
“Would never fit Thor in the back.” she said and Frank had to concede she had a point “But now you’re freelancing…you don’t actually need a truck do you?” “No, but…it’s handy…” “Handy, baby it only has 3 seats…” “And a flatbed…” Frank pouted slihglty. “So get one with 5 seats.” she shrugged. “You can buy trucks with a full cab…”
“This is not a good enough reason to get me to take the promotion…”
“You want a better reason?” She said. “Ok, well here’s some food for thought…when the lease is up on our place maybe we could look into buying. You know I don’t wanna rent forever, I want us to have something for the future that’s ours, and the extra money you get a year would make a difference in what we can borrow towards it.” And just like that, as always, she’d managed to sideswipe him. He’d be lying if he hadn’t considered getting back on the property market, he had savings after all…but he’d given it no more thought than a fleeting idea every now and then when he drove past places with real estate signs in the front yards
“This mean you’re coming round to the idea of marrying me and having baby Franks and Flisses?” he teased She snorted “You’re such a dick…although that’s the only time you’ve ever mentioned that when you’re sober.” “So you’re saying that if I ask you when I’m not drunk you’d say yes?” he teased. “Goodbye Frank…” She teased in an airy voice, before she cut the call.
Chuckling to himself he slid the phone back into his pocket and headed back inside to grab his lunch from the fridge in the kitchen. As he did so he passed Alan who was heading out with a fresh cup of coffee.
“Oh, erm…Alan…” Frank looked at him. “So, turns out I don’t need as much time to think about it as I thought I did. I’ll take the job.” Alan smiled at him and pat him on the shoulder “Good man. I’ll get the wheels in motion and then we can work out how we start to transfer Paul’s responsibilities over.”
Frank nodded at him as he walked off.
“Oh…” Alan said, “We’ll also need to pick your car.”
“My car…” Frank frowned.
“Yeah, did I not mention? Paul’s BM…that’s a company car. I’m gonna let him keep it as a retirement present so we’ll need to order you another one. Not least because I don’t want my Head Mechanic driving around in that heap of shit you have. Looks like we don’t pay you enough…” Frank stood there, eyebrows raised as Alan simply smirked at him and left. Shaking his head, he gave a little groan, already imagining Fliss’ face when he told her.
*****
Fliss had reacted exactly how he had thought she would, laughing hysterically and then teasing him about how he had no alternative now than to get rid of the heap of shit he was ridiculously attached to. She’d then spent the evening looking at cars on her phone, showing him ridiculously pimped out vehicles in various vile colours, the final straw being a hot-rod red Mustang with gold rims and flames painted down the side. At that point he’d snatched the phone out of her hand, grabbed her hips and pulled her down under him on the couch and given her something else to think about for half an hour or so.
September ticked by, in the usual speed by which time seemed to be flying for Frank and he found himself thrown into his job, soaking up Paul’s experience of managing the team as much as he could. He was also extremely grateful for both Fliss and Bill’s input, both of them having dealt with managing staff and rotas so he was able to ask them both questions as well. Naturally, when V heard about it she insisted on cooking him a special dinner, and even Evelyn presented him with a very nice bottle of Scotch when she came to visit as a Congratulations.
Another bit of good news for them was that once Fliss changed her phone number the calls stopped as well. Frank was glad about that, because it meant that once again they’d thwarted the ass holes attempts to intimidate her. She’d made a blog, however, of every call she had gotten which now sat in Greg’s files along with the Card. Just in case.
Nope, on the whole life seemed to be going well for the pair of them.
“Someone’s looking smug…” Greg teased Frank as he leaned back in the chair around Greg’s large outdoor table. It was a Saturday at the start of October and they’d finally got round to having that cook out and gathering that the Circle of Truth had been attempting to organise round everyone’s schedule for the last 3 months.
“Well, you know…life’s pretty good.” Frank smiled, sipping his beer, his eyes straying to Fliss who was stood around the bar area to the right of the garden with Bonnie, Zara and Lisa. She was dressed in a simple pair of jeans and a tie-died off the shoulder sweater but as usual, she looked stunning.
“You got a ring yet?” Jake asked, dropping down into a seat next to him.
“Oh don’t you start as well.” Frank groaned as Simon and Greg both laughed. “We’re happy as we are…besides, we’ve not even been together a year yet…” “Not far off.” Jake shrugged “Man, when you know you know…” “He’s just scared she’ll say no.” Simon teased. Frank stilled for a moment and then turned to glare at the man. “Shit, you are?” Simon frowned “No, not especially but…” Frank shook his head, trying to find the words to explain “I’m absolutely, totally convinced I want to spend the rest of my life with her, and I know she feels the same but…well she’s been married before and I don’t want to ask until I know she’s ready to do it again.”
Greg looked at him, nodding “I get that.”
“That’s gotta be the most grown up think you’ve ever said…” Jake looked at Frank who flipped him off but deep down he had to admit, it wasn’t wrong. He knew that both he and Fliss had come a long way from the people they had been just over 14 months ago when they had first met. Fliss had come alive, flourished even in herself, and he…well, he’d learnt that there was more to life than a meaningless cycle of one night stands and that flying by the seat of his pants wasn’t always the most productive thing to do. Both of them had been broken in their own way, had their own guards and walls around themselves which the other had managed to smash straight through. He stole another glance at Fliss and smiled, he knew there was no other woman for him, but in the same breath…what was the rush? They had a life time. And a ring and a piece of paper wasn’t going to change any of that.
“Man you grew up…” Simon said, and Frank rolled his eyes.
“Look, I’ll have you know I’ve brought up a kid since the age of 6 months…all this shit about me being a man child…It’s crap…”
“Whatever man…we all know you’re not a grown up until you have scatter cushions on your sofa…” Simon teased, referencing the previous week when he and Bonnie had come over for drinks and Fliss and Frank had had a jokey argument about the cushions on the sofa. Frank threw his head back in a huge bout of laugher, shaking his head.
“Fuck you!” he said, looking at him as Simon grinned.
“Anyway, man…speaking of weddings…” Greg turned to Jake “You’ve been engaged for what? like 3 years now…when you gonna set a date?”
“He has a point…” Simon looked at him.
“Well, you can all shut the fuck up because for your information we have.”
“Shut the front door!” Greg grinned
Jake nodded and took a large mouthful of his beer.
“So you gonna tell any of us or…” Jake glanced over at Lisa before he yelled her name and she looked over at him, the other women also looking up.
“Can we tell them now babe?” he called. Lisa grinned and nodded, and then made her way over followed by Zara. Fliss looked at Bonnie who shrugged, and the two of them picked up their drinks and followed.
Fliss perched on Frank’s knee and he slid one hand round her waist the other dropped to her thigh.
“So, we have set a date for the wedding.” Lisa smiled to a huge shriek from Zara. Frank spotted Fliss looking at Bonnie, the two of them sharing a significant smirk and he squeezed her thigh.
“Stop being a bitch.” he said in a low voice.
“Rude…” she mumbled, grinning into her gin.
“6th April next year…” Jake grinned. “At Hardemans Secret Garden in Dover, Tampa.” “Well unless you invented a time machine, it ain’t gonna be this year is it?” Simon looked at him, before he gave a yell as Bonnie slapped him round the back of the head.
“Obviously you’re all invited.” Jake said, “Except for Simon.” “Hang on, if he isn’t coming does that mean I can’t?” Bonnie pouted.
“You can be my plus one.” Fliss nodded.
“Oi…” Frank said, nipping her thigh gently. She grinned at him, ruffling his hair slightly. He jerked his head out of her reach and looked at her over his aviators. She stuck her tongue out at him and he grinned.
“Guys this is great news…” Greg said, nodding “Best dig the suit out.” “You wear a suit to work every day.” Zara looked at him.
“And you won’t need to.” Jake shook his head. “In fact none of you will…my brother is best man, obviously, but I’d like you guys there as my Groomsmen…that is, if you’re up for it.” Frank smiled at Greg, then Simon before they all shrugged.
“Yeah, I’m in…” Greg smiled,
“Me too pal, I’m honoured.” Frank smiled, tipping his beer bottle in Jake’s direction.
“Does this mean we get to plan the Batchelor party?” Simon asked. Jake nodded with a grin and Simon leaned back “Oh this is gonna be beautiful….”
***** “You’re fucking mental.” Frank looked at Fliss as she shrugged, circling Cap back round to the jump which Joanne had just hiked up another foot. He shook his head and turned away “I can’t watch.” “Don’t’ be a chicken Frank.” Mary grinned up at him, “It’s cool…I wanna do that some day.” “Over my dead body.” Frank looked down at her.
“Yeah you said that about me going to Boston…” “No, that’s not what I said.” Frank sighed, looking at her “I said over my dead body were you going to live with Evelyn….and did you?” “No…” Mary conceded “But you’re letting me go back for a weekend.”
“Yes, because you’re going for 2 nights and coming home” he said, and despite himself he turned his head to see Fliss sail Cap over the huge jump.
“See….” Fliss said, pulling the horse up to a stop “Easy…” “Whatever you say sweetheart.” he shook his head.
“Can I jump Monty soon?” Mary asked, and Fliss smiled.
“Yeah we can do a little cross pole…” “I give in…” Frank groaned, throwing his hands out to the side “The pair of you are nuts…”
“Says the guy who almost cried when he had to order a new car.” Fliss looked at him and Frank rolled his eyes “I mean who does that?” “Yeah Frank…” Mary said, swinging off the fence to the paddock, leaning back to look at him. “You get to swap a rust bucket for a shiny new Mitsubishi  truck and you were like heartbroken.” “Hey, me and that truck have seen a lot of action-“
“I don’t wanna know…” Fliss started.
“Of which you’ve been part of…” he smirked her and she flushed a little, grinning. “I’m kinda attached to it.” “It’s a lump of metal.” Fliss looked at him.
“How dare you.” Frank scoffed, feigning offence.
“Well now you can have new adventures in the new truck.” Mary shrugged “Simples.” “When you do get it I vote the first thing we do is load it up and head off for a picnic somewhere.” Fliss said, hopping off Cap.
“I can go with that.” Frank nodded as she turned and walked towards the gate, letting her out.
“Can I take him?” Mary asked, hopping down off the fence.
“Sure…” Fliss said, handing her the reins. Mary led the horse away to the barn as Fliss removed her hat and pulled out her bobble, shaking her long hair free before she tied it back up again.
“I really do like it that colour.” Frank mused after a second, watching her. She blushed a little, and he knew why. A week ago she’d come back from the salon, her usually bright auburn hair was a lot more demure, having had caramel and dark brown put through it. When Frank had complimented her on the change she’d gotten a little shy and said that she used to have it like that when she was younger, but upon splitting with John had decided she wanted a completely different look. Now she felt like she wanted to go back to who she was, not needing to put that distance between her and her past anymore. Her admission had once again, knocked him for 6, how simple little things like that were so huge for her. He was also beyond happy she felt like that too.
She pulled off her riding gloves, shoved them into her back pocket and they walked into the barn as Mary opened Cap’s stable and led him inside. As always, the large horse bowed his head gently to allow Mary to undo his bridle and Fliss smiled. Cap was secretly her favourite after Heidi. He was such a loving animal, despite his size always being so gentle and careful around people, especially Mary. Most animals were like that around her, she just had this aura that they seemed to like. But then again, everyone said that animals were a good judge of character.
“Can we go to the shack for dinner?” Mary spoke up, looking at Frank “It is Saturday…”
“Oh, I dunno…” Frank sighed, “Not sure my heap of shit truck will get us there.” “No but Fliss’ jeep will.” Mary shrugged and Frank shook his head with a snort.
“You literally have an answer for everything.”
“Wonder where she gets that from…” Fliss looked at him and he nudged her gently with his elbow.
“So can we go or not?”
“Yes, ok we can go to the shack.” Frank said “But the deal is you tidy your room when you get home. It’s a disgrace.” Mary pondered this for a moment as Fliss undid the girth on Cap’s saddle, pulling it off.
“Deal.” she nodded “Only Fliss said she was gonna help me sort my clothes out…some of them don’t fit anymore.”
“Yeah we do that tomorrow morning.” Fliss smiled, “Then we can look at ordering you some warm stuff for New York.” “oooh yeah, are we still getting matching sweaters when we get there?” “No.” Frank said, at the same time Fliss nodded.
“Yes.” “No, we’re not.” Frank looked at her.
“Errr 2 vs 1 Sailor, you’re outvoted.” she shrugged, pushing past him with the saddle on her arms. “But if you’re a good boy we’ll let you pick them right Mary?” “I dunno.” Mary frowned “Have you seen his shirts?” Fliss let out a roar of laughter and turned to face her, before she looked at Frank, laughing even harder at the pure indignation on his face.
“I hate you both.” he said sullenly, folding his arms.
The Shack was busy by the time they arrived but given that it wasn’t too cold they managed to find a small table outside and ordered their food, Mary getting through an astonishing amount considering but the Frank had noticed she was going through a bit of a growth spurt which he mentioned to Fliss when they were snuggled up on the sofa later.
“Not sure getting her any stuff for New York yet is wise.” he mused “If she carries on like she is it won’t fit her.”
“Well we can wait…Fliss said shrugging, her hand rubbing at Frank’s stomach under his shirt. “You have no idea how excited I am…” “Really?” Frank snorted “You never mentioned it.” “Oh piss off” she laughed, before she sighed happily “It’s the one thing I miss about home and Boston…you know this time of year the leaves would be changing colour and falling,…”
“I know what you mean.” he said, his hands carding through her hair “You don’t really Seasons here.”
“Well you do…” Fliss said, “Hurricane and Summer.” Frank let out a laugh as she looked up at him. “You know you’re my hurricane.”
“What?” he looked at her
“Came into my life, blew it all upside down…” “Jesus you talk some shit!” he laughed, shaking his head as she grinned.
“You know there was actually a hurricane Frank back in 2010.” she said “So I’m not talking complete shit…” “Whatever Sweetheart…” he snorted, leaning back as her nails scratched against his skin. He gave a twitch and grabbed her wrist, and looked down at her as she flashed him a coy look. “Stop it.”
“What, this?” she moved and used her other hand, and Frank let out a hiss as he shifted and grabbed that one too.
“You know what that does to me…” he looked at her, his voice low.
“Yup.” she nodded, grinning.
With a jerk of his arms he pulled her forward so she fell onto him fully, drawing a giggle from her as her nose bumped against his.
“I fuckin’ love you.” he smiled at her, and she grinned, giving him a soft kiss.
“Yeah, you’ve told me once or twice…” she smirked, her lips locking onto his.
******
“Fliss?”
“Office…” she called back, and a second or so later Joanne popped her head into the room.
“Everything’s done.” she said, “I was gonna lock up…you’re not normally here this late.”
“Yeah I know but I have some paper work to sort. Need to file a couple of things and, well, thought it would be easier to do it here than take everything home. Frank’s taken Mary bowling so…” “And you’d rather be here doing paper work?” Joanne teased.
“Sadly, it needs doing…besides, last time we went I kicked his ass, again, he sulked for hours.” Fliss snorted “Maybe he stands more of a chance against Mary.”
“Won’t he let her win?” Joanne asked “I mean, she is only 8…”
“Have you met Frank?” Fliss looked at Jo. “He says that she needs reminding every now and then that she’s not a genius at everything…” Joanne let out a laugh “Fair enough. Ok, well I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Yeah, by Jo…”
Fliss set about getting to work, filing the various bills and disclaimers she’d had signed and started then sifting through the list of clients and payments, checking who owed what and typing out the bills for the month. Once they were printed and placed in envelopes, ready to be tacked to the stable doors in the morning she glanced at the clock and realised it was almost 8 pm.  Frank and Mary should be home now.
She was just about to pack up when she realised she hadn’t gone through the post for the day. For a second she debated leaving it for the morning, but decided she would get it over with. There wasn’t much- mostly a couple of letters from various equestrian societies around the area about a few events going on, but the last one she reached was a manila envelope with the address typed out on the front.
She turned it over, opened it and then pulled out the contents and immediately felt her blood run cold as she looked at the paper in front of her. It was a copy of the photo of her and Mary, taken from the first Blog that Mary had written over the summer. Underneath it was typed a simple message- I always knew you’d suit motherhood.
Fliss swallowed, it didn’t take a genius to work out who it was from but for the first time since his ridiculous campaign now she was actually frightened as to the meaning behind this. Up until now it he’d been nothing more than annoying but this was designed to be more than an aggravation.
It was a threat. A direct threat telling her he knew about Mary.
Whilst Fliss wasn’t Mary’s mother, and would never claim to be she loved that girl like she was her own and the fact that John was even brining her into this made her feel physically sick, so much so that she felt the bile rising in her throat and with a sharp heave she lurched to the side, grabbing the waste paper basket and hocking up the bitter substance. Coughing she wiped the back of her mouth with a shaking hand, reaching for the bottle of water on her desk.
She folded the photo up and stuck it back in the envelope, shoving it in the drawer before she stood up and locked her office, heading to her jeep. Her mind was reeling, now it wasn’t just her he was focussing on, this changed everything. Did she tell Frank? She knew she should, she couldn’t leave Mary in danger. Not that she believed any harm would come to her, not really, especially not under Frank’s care but that was another worry she had. That if she told Frank this, it was really going to push him over that edge into blind rage, and he’d been on the first plane out to Boston, hunting the fucker down…and then what?
He ended up in jail himself because Fliss knew Frank well enough to understand that if that blind rage took hold, he wouldn’t stop.
She had no answer to this, nothing. She sat in her jeep, staring out of the window, trying to force the thoughts and mumbles and voices in her heat to quiet, so she could think clearly, get some form of grasp on what it was she needed to do. And then one voice was screamed at her, clearly, giving her a solution…the only one she could viably see working.
With a loud sob, Fliss covered her face in her hands, unable to see an alternative to the decision she had just reached. A decision that was going to break her heart more than anything had ever done before.
******
“Hey, you’re late…”  Frank looked up, immediately frowning as he saw Fliss’ face. “Honey…what…” “Where’s Mary?” she asked instantly.
“She nipped to Roberta’s” Frank said “I know it’s late but we saw her as we were headed out of the car and she wanted to collect something for Show and Tell tomorrow…why?”
“We need to talk.” Fliss said.
Frank stood up off the sofa and walked towards her, he reached for her and she took a step back.
“Ok, Fliss, you’re scaring me now…what…”
“I think…” Fliss looked down at her hands “I think that we need to stop seeing each other.” Frank blinked, not sure he had heard her right, but when he looked at her he saw a tear trickling down her face and she was avoiding his gaze. The world around him began to fade and a dull buzzing filled his head and rang around his ears as a horrible cold feeling washed over him.
“Lissy…” he swallowed, his words sticking in his throat “What’s brought this on? Did I do something? Are you not happy? I don’t understand…” “I just…it isn’t working for me…” she said, taking a deep breath and looking up at him. “You’re lying.” he said instantly, he could see it written all over her face “Fliss, what’s going on?” “Nothing, I’m sorry. I just…I need to leave, I need space.” she said “I’m so sorry Frank…” Frank took a deep breath, and watched as she turned to leave. After a second he hurried after her into the hallway, shaking his head.
“Lissy, please…talk to me…” he all but begged as she walked to the door. She made to open it but Frank was behind her and placed his hand firmly on the top of the PVC, causing it to shut. She spun round and looked up at him, the tears now pouring down her face.
“Please, Frank…don’t make this any harder than it is…” her voice was broken, and she shook her head. “I don’t understand what THIS is?” he looked at her, running a hand through his hair as he felt the stinging of tears in his own eyes “Last month we were talking about buying a house together and now you just wanna break it off, for no reason? Baby, just…whatever is going on, we can work through it, just talk to me.”
“I’m so sorry…” she whispered, “Just…let me out…please…”
He looked at her again, her eyes bouncing across his and he knew instantly he couldn’t stop her, and would never do that to her either, no matter how much he so desperately wanted to lock the door and force her to tell him what the fuck was going on. So with a sniff he forced himself to step back and her hand went to the door knob, her shoulders shaking.
“Liss, please…” he said, his voice cracking. “Don’t do this…”
She took a deep breath and opened the door, the warm air from outside hit him in the face before the click of the latch hit his ears as the door shut behind her, leaving him stood alone in the hallway, stunned and utterly, utterly broken.
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trellanyx · 4 years
Text
Aim Your Arrow at the Sky
AO3 LINK
“So this is where you’ve been hiding.”
Time slowed to a crawl without any help from Crowley. Every bit of movement and sound heightened to match his growing panic: the crunch of wet sand under his boot; the waves rolling rhythmically against the shore; the unrhythmic, staccato beating of Crowley’s useless heart; and there, standing on the water, was Gabriel, his long, pristine coat flapping around his ankles like wings in the wind.
“Nice place,” Gabriel continued, unbothered by Crowley’s silence. Hell’s sake, he was probably enjoying it. Gabriel looked around the empty beach, taking in the expanse of shore and sea and sky that Crowley and Aziraphale had claimed as their own. “Open, quiet, private. Dull as shit, but then, you’ve never been one for taste. I mean.” Gabriel laughed like an old friend. “Just look at who you hang out with.”
Crowley turned to face Gabriel openly, stepping to the side until he blocked Gabriel’s line of sight. The cottage was still half a mile away, but Crowley would be blessed and damned if he was going to let Gabriel a single inch closer to the angel inside.
“You get one warning,” he snarled. His eyes flashed poison-gold, pupils thin as a virgin guillotine blade. “Fuck. Off.”
“Tsk. That’s not very nice.”
“We had an agreement.”
Gabriel’s eyebrows rose. “We did?” he asked, with all the shallow grandeur of a carnival conman. “That’s news to me. You sure you’re not thinking of…?” He nodded downward. “I know they’re too cowardly to come after you twice, but you and me? We haven’t spoken since the airfield. Am I right?”
Gabriel grinned, and a thin layer of his joviality slipped away with the tide. Crowley could see a thousand years of bloody crusades, swelling with corpse-rot and worship, living in the curve of Gabriel’s smile.
“Y’know, funny thing happened a few years ago, after you two betrayed the Almighty,” he continued. “We tried to execute Aziraphale, you know, and it didn’t take. Flames wouldn’t touch him. Very unsettling.”
Shut your stupid mouth and die already.
Crowley hissed hate through his sharpening teeth.
“Then we hear from Downstairs that they tried the same thing with you, and you survived holy water.” Gabriel shook his head. “And I’m thinking, nah, that can’t be right. Those two idiots?”
Heat began to boil in Crowley’s veins, blurring the air around him and causing the sand under his feet to steam as the water seeped inside began to evaporate.
Gabriel raised an unimpressed eyebrow. “Not quite idiots, though, are you? I’ll give you credit—it was a clever trick.”
“Weird,” Crowley mused, like he was contemplating an unfamiliar menu item, not seething with hatred and panic. “I didn’t think your head was small enough to be pulled back outside your own arse. Is that why you’re here now?” Crowley tsked in fake sympathy. “Did it take that long, Gabe?”
Gabriel’s smile froze, and his stolen eyes became diamond-hard with barely controlled disgust.
“I imagine it’s difficult, being wretched longer than you’ve ever been divine.” Gabriel’s voice was soft, like feathers inside a pillow he was about to smother you with. “Your memory’s fuzzy—I get that. Still, though, I’d think this one would’ve stuck. Aziraphale at least had the decency to be properly afraid of it.”
“Is there a rest stop between now and the fucking point?” snapped Crowley. He jerked back in revulsion at the sound of Gabriel’s laughter.
“Surveillance, dumbass! Every second the earth has existed has a record. We didn’t have a reason to look before, but now, well.” Gabriel spread out his hands with a shrug. The warmth was back in his smile; a spray of blood from a mortal wound, cordiality and cruelty trickling down the grain of the cross.
Bless it, Crowley thought, but he was an idiot. Because he’d known. Gabriel, for all his inanity and pompousness, had never been stupid. No, worse than that—Gabriel was apathetic. He didn’t bother to learn or observe anything outside his own interests, and this made him appear bumbling, full of hot air and nothing substantive.
But when he did decide to pay attention…
Crowley’s wings shattered the barrier of their prison ad cracked the air like a shot. Gabriel watched placidly as they extended to their full height and wingspan. The air around Crowley was already distorting itself as reality broke down, unable to keep the demon’s true form from answering its master’s summons.
“I will kill you,” Crowley promised, his voice echoing with void and devastation. “I don’t care if I go down with you. You’ll face oblivion before you can even step in Aziraphale’s direction.”
“Oh…” Gabriel chuckled. “I know you will, A̸̧̼̦̭͇̞̰͎̙̮͎̒̃̌̚͝m̵͉̦̞̩̗͔̿̔̆̄͗̊̆̈́̀̓͂̀͊r̵̡̗̻͉̪͚̼̹͉̭̒̒̋͐̑̊̃͆̓͂̚̚ỉ̸̛̹͇͓̙͍͚̭̯͈̻̓̃̊̆͝ͅe̷̡̢̧̛̼͈̜̻͙̰̳̾̊͛͐͌̿̓̕͜ͅͅͅl̵̳̞̎̍̅͒̎͒͌͋́͌̾̔̕.”
Crowley screamed from the abrupt shock of divinity lancing through his chest, scattering light between his atoms like shrapnel. A high note, unbearably terrible and beautiful, rang in his ears and splintered his bones, sending Crowley to his knees in an acolyte’s post. He gasped as it passed through him and stared at Gabriel with mounting horror.
The first thing that was burned away from fallen angels was their name. It was the word She used to call them into existence, each letter encrusted like jewels in the crown of Her Glory. To lose their name was to lose themselves. Crowley couldn’t remember his holy name; sometimes, if he tried hard, he could see the shape of it in his mind’s eye, but it was smudged with pain. He’d always assumed the names of the Fallen were taken back into Her essence, no longer fit for creation or memory.
“Surprised?” Gabriel asked. “Oh, A̸̧̼̦̭͇̞̰͎̙̮͎̒̃̌̚͝m̵͉̦̞̩̗͔̿̔̆̄͗̊̆̈́̀̓͂̀͊r̵̡̗̻͉̪͚̼̹͉̭̒̒̋͐̑̊̃͆̓͂̚̚ỉ̸̛̹͇͓̙͍͚̭̯͈̻̓̃̊̆͝ͅe̷̡̢̧̛̼͈̜̻͙̰̳̾̊͛͐͌̿̓̕͜ͅͅͅl̵̳̞̎̍̅͒̎͒͌͋́͌̾̔̕—” Crowley gagged as blood filled his mouth. “—did you really think we’d forgotten you? When a demon’s former celestial name can cause this amount of damage, why the hell would we ever erase them?” Gabriel clucked his tongue. “Poor, stupid A̸̧̼̦̭͇̞̰͎̙̮͎̒̃̌̚͝m̵͉̦̞̩̗͔̿̔̆̄͗̊̆̈́̀̓͂̀͊r̵̡̗̻͉̪͚̼̹͉̭̒̒̋͐̑̊̃͆̓͂̚̚ỉ̸̛̹͇͓̙͍͚̭̯͈̻̓̃̊̆͝ͅe̷̡̢̧̛̼͈̜̻͙̰̳̾̊͛͐͌̿̓̕͜ͅͅͅl̵̳̞̎̍̅͒̎͒͌͋́͌̾̔̕.”
Crowley clutched his chest as the hole where Her Grace used to be was seared with divinity that was no longer his. Stupid indeed. Even the humans knew that names had power; why should the first names in all creation be any exception?
When he raised his head to hiss at Gabriel, black ichor dripped from Crowley’s eyes.
“Enjoying your little party trick? Go ahead.” Crowley staggered to his feet. “Say my name. Say it as much as you fucking want. I want you to.” He smile-snarled at the Archangel. “Let my name be the last thing you ever fucking say before I punt you into a black hole.”
“You still don’t get it.” Gabriel sighed. “Here’s the thing, A̸̧̼̦̭͇̞̰͎̙̮͎̒̃̌̚͝m̵͉̦̞̩̗͔̿̔̆̄͗̊̆̈́̀̓͂̀͊r̵̡̗̻͉̪͚̼̹͉̭̒̒̋͐̑̊̃͆̓͂̚̚ỉ̸̛̹͇͓̙͍͚̭̯͈̻̓̃̊̆͝ͅe̷̡̢̧̛̼͈̜̻͙̰̳̾̊͛͐͌̿̓̕͜ͅͅͅl̵̳̞̎̍̅͒̎͒͌͋́͌̾̔̕—” Crowley flipped his middle finger as he shook with a fresh wave of pain. “I didn’t actually come here to kill you.”
“Bullshit,” Crowley spat.
“It’s true! I just came for a chat.” Gabriel jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “He came to kill you.”
In the space between heartbeat and thought, Sandalphon slipped out from behind Gabriel like an oil spill. The churning waves died beneath his shoes, becoming glass-smooth to match the patch of ocean Gabriel stood on. His smile didn’t bother with the pretense of friendship that Gabriel’s did; it held only the horrifying truth of belief, the kind that made martyrs out of the unwilling and called it just.
Crowley reared like a hooded cobra, cornered but desperate, and furious enough to attack anything that so much as twitched in its direction.
“Can’t even handle killing a demon on your own, can you, you piece of shit?”
Gabriel hummed like he was actually giving it some thought. “I prefer to think of it as not getting my hands dirty.”
“Hello, Crawley,” Sandalphon simpered. His golden teeth reminded Crowley of long abandoned treasures in a skeleton’s graveyard. Awareness coiled sickly in his gut.
Crowley could take Gabriel, or even Sandalphon, on his own. Whether he’d win was up for debate—an angel’s powers were, by design, made to cancel out a demon’s—but Crowley knew that he could at least cause one of the archangels severe damage. But two of them?
He had to try. If he could stall them even a minute, Aziraphale could—
“But you know what, I’m a sporting angel.” Gabriel clapped his hand on Sandalphon’s shoulder, whose eyes were beginning to glow. “How about I give you a chance to prove me wrong?”
Sandalphon held his hands out in front of him like an offering, and the water immediately began to churn. When he breathed in, the tide drained away from the shore into a growing whirlpool blackening the water beneath his feet. Sandalphon raised his arms in a conductor’s stance, his eyes glowing lightning-bright and salt-white.
The flames under Crowley’s scales froze with horror as a wave grew behind Sandalphon. And grew…and grew…
And then it began to glow.
Gabriel whistled appreciatively at the literal tidal wave rising above their heads—every atom of which was vibrating with celestial blessing. Even the scent of seawater in the air was poisoned with divinity; Crowley felt his right eye start to twitch.
“Survive this, demon,” Gabriel intoned. He wasn’t smiling anymore. “Survive this, and I swear by the Grace inside me that I’ll leave you two alone.”
Fragments of ideas and plans rattled around Crowley’s mind like dice, and every one of them came up snake-eyes.
The wave had swelled too large to dodge. He could run, fly, crawl through the sand, but he wasn’t fast enough to get out of range before Sandalphon brought the flood down on his head. It would be the same if he attacked. No amount of hellfire would touch the angels so long as they were surrounded by their watery barrier. Even trying to stop time, as he did in Tadfield, would be useless to him. There was no reality-bending Antichrist to aid him, no angel…
Oh.
Aziraphale.
I’m…I’m about to die, aren’t I?
The roar of water dulled and muffled, suddenly far away, as if it was respecting Crowley’s privacy in his last moments. Realization skinned him raw; if Crowley was gone, who would protect Aziraphale? Who would listen to him read his favorite poetry aloud? Who would groom his wings? Who would take him to dinner, to the theater, to the stars and to bed and everywhere in between?
Who would love him?
I’m fucked. I’m fucked and I can’t stay and I’m going to hurt you, Aziraphale. I’m going to make you cry. I’m sorry. I only ever wanted to love you.
Gabriel waved. “So long!”
I know I said I’d be happy with whatever I could get, and I meant that, I did, I meant it because it was you. But angel, angel, I’m too fucking selfish. It’s not enough, it’ll never be enough, I want more, Aziraphale.
I want more time.
“Farewell,” sneered Sandalphon.
I want to talk with you more, drink with you more, I want more mornings where you’re the first thing I see when I wake up.
The tidal wave rose until it blocked the sun’s light, casting Crowley in a long tombstone-shadow. He should attack them. He should at least try, deny them the satisfaction of striking him down without resistance.
“Auf wiedersehen!”
But Crowley’s mind wasn’t on the beach anymore. It was back in their cottage, curled in Aziraphale’s lap with a deathbed confession.
I want more lunches, more dinners, more desserts, I want more walks and drives and I want to tease you more, kiss and hug and fuck and love you, I want to love you so much more Aziraphale, I want I want I WANT—!
“Goodbye.”
…I don’t want to go.
Sandalphon’s arms surged forward to bring down the wave, and several things happened at once.
A white-gold missile of light slammed into Sandalphon with enough force to send him barreling into Gabriel’s side and shoot them both away from Crowley like a torpedo.
The wave collapsed in on itself and flooded the beach.
Crowley threw his arms in front of his face, hissing as the holy spray connected like a thousand paper cuts in a salt bath.
He only had seconds to register the pain before something grabbed Crowley around the middle and rocketed him above the saturated sand.
Crowley panicked when he felt the heavenly aura surround him, instinctively squirming and kicking until he was flipped onto his back and saw his favorite shade of blue beseeching him to be still.
“It’s me!” Aziraphale shouted over the water. “Crowley, it’s me!”
A gallows moan pulled from Crowley’s chest.
“Aziraphale.”
Aziraphale crushed Crowley to his chest at the same time Crowley’s arms strangled the angel in a python’s grip. Aziraphale stroke-dragged shaking fingers through Crowley’s hair; his desperate whispers of darling darling darling kept rhythm with Crowley’s racing heart. He whined when Aziraphale pulled away to look him over.
“Are you hurt?” Aziraphale demanded. “Did it touch you?” His eyes followed Crowley’s down to the sizzling freckles on his arms, and Aziraphale growled.
“Monsters.”
Belatedly, Crowley registered that Aziraphale was holding him in a bridal carry. His shirtsleeves were rolled up, his vest was unbuttoned, and his bowtie was loose; he’d hadn’t even bothered to miracle his appearance, he’d been too much in a hurry to save Crowley from—
“We have to get out of here!” Crowley scrambled to fly on his own, holding Aziraphale’s hand the whole time. “Angel, we’ve gotta—”
“No.”
Crowley’s neck snapped back to Aziraphale fast enough to give a human a severe case of whiplash. “The fuck you mean no?!”
“They won’t stop,” said Aziraphale. “Not unless we make them.”
Now that he was sure of Crowley’s safety, the abrupt serenity settling around Aziraphale’s shoulders made Crowley bristle with terror.
“Aziraphale, they want to kill you!”
“Oh good.” Aziraphale turned to look over the horizon Gabriel and Sandalphon had been thrown beyond. “It’s always nice to be on the same page.”
His wrist twisted, and Crowley did a double take when he saw that Aziraphale was swinging a fucking umbrella like a broadsword. As it spun, the umbrella came alive with ice-blue fire, licking its way down to Aziraphale’s fingers and sparking like a blacksmith’s forge.
“Aziraphale, what—”
“WHAT THE FUCK?!”
A pillar of seawater erupted into the air. Crowley reeled back, but Aziraphale was already in front of him, the umbrella wide open and shield-wide, causing any stray drops of water to evaporate before the fire.
“Promise me something right now,” muttered Aziraphale.
“What is it?”
Aziraphale closed the umbrella and shifted into a combative posture.
“Do not interfere. Please.”
“Azira–”
“Promise me, Crowley.”
“No!” Crowley ripped his glasses off and threw them into the sand like a gauntlet. “You’re out of your blessed mind if you think I’m gonna let you—”
“My dear, in just a minute quite a lot of ethereal seawater is going to be slung around.” Aziraphale’s warrior eyes softened when they looked at Crowley’s incredulous face. “Please, love. I don’t want you in the crossfire.”
Unable to refute him, but unwilling to back down, Crowley jabbed his finger at Aziraphale’s flaming umbrella. “What are you even going to do with that, anyway?”
“Something I should have done long ago.” Aziraphale kissed Crowley’s cheek, and all protests shriveled in the demon’s throat. “I love you, Crowley. Wait for me.”
Aziraphale floated down to where Gabriel and Sandalphon reappeared on the water, enraged and sporting several extra sets of wings and eyes.
“Y’know what, I am sick of your shit,” Gabriel spat. “I was trying to be nice about this, show a little mercy by not making you watch Sandalphon kill your–”
A shower of water exploded in Gabriel’s face. He swore and sputtered, leaping back…and gaping at what he saw. As did Crowley.
Aziraphale had impaled his umbrella-sword through Sandalphon’s chest. He lifted Sandalphon until only the tips of his loafers skimmed the water. Sandalphon looked too stunned to try to retaliate, even when his wings fell slack and his extra eyes rolled back into nothingness.
Aziraphale radiated contempt as he unceremoniously yanked his weapon out of Sandalphon’s chest and stepped away.
With his face still frozen in a look of utter shock, Sandalphon’s knees splashed into the water. He pitched forward until he was face down in the ocean, bobbing listlessly as he bled out. Moments later, the rest of his mortal vessel sank with the finality of a suicide.
Discorporated.
Aziraphale’s fire was still burning through Sandalphon’s flesh; Crowley could see a pale blue glow under the waves as Aziraphale turned to fully face Gabriel.
“…So that’s how you want to do this, Aziraphale?” All emotion, satiric or sincere, abandoned Gabriel’s face in favor of cold-iron fury. “You cowered before the apocalypse, and now, now you choose to fight? For this infested world? For him?”
Gabriel jerked his chin upward, disgusted by the mere reference of Crowley on his lips.
“There didn’t have to be a war, Gabriel,” said Aziraphale. With his raised head and squared shoulders, he reminded Crowley of a well-fortified bulwark.  “Not between Heaven and Hell, nor between us. Crowley and I have only ever asked for peace.”
Gabriel shook his head. “Without the flood, the olive branch has no meaning. You understood that once, Aziraphale.”
“No, I didn’t,” murmured Aziraphale. “I never did. I had only hope that one day, I would. No more.” Aziraphale glanced at Crowley. “I’m done blindly attacking whatever is put in front of me, and I’m done hiding like that’s something shameful.” He pointed his makeshift weapon at Gabriel; its calm, defensive blue a far cry from Aziraphale’s original sword—the weapon that fit so perfectly in the hands of War.
Gabriel spread his wings like he was baring his teeth. “You understand what will happen, don’t you? Attacking a superior?”
Aziraphale mimicked the action. “I answer to two voices in this universe, Gabriel, and yours isn’t one of them. None of you are. Not anymore.”
“You’ll Fall for this.”
Aziraphale’s form shimmered and bled until it was little more than sun and steel covered in a thousand glaring, resolute eyes.
“So be it.”
Aziraphale and Gabriel’s magic slammed against each other before their bodies did. The water crested from the shock waves and began to glow again, completely baptized by the unfiltered celestial energies rippling through its currents.
Crowley’s corporeal form tore from his body as he took off towards the fighting. He was never a soldier before he Fell—Crowley’s purpose was that of creation, of forming the precious galaxy that angels like Aziraphale fought to protect—but one didn’t roost in the bowels of hell for a couple millennia without learning how to fight dirty. Crowley swallowed what remained of earthly light into the hollow maw where Grace once shone, his fangs and claws dripping liquid nightmares. Even the broken shards of his halo were sharp enough to pierce an angel’s skin if Crowley just got close enough—
A geyser of holy water shot up and nearly took out one of his wings. Crowley reared back with a hateful shriek as more bless-bright jets rose around the warring angels like a cage. Crowley circled them agitatedly, trying to find Aziraphale in the fight. They were moving too fast and too bright; even Crowley’s supernatural gaze could only pick up afterimages, like a video with delayed audio. He pushed his consciousness out, seeking Aziraphale’s aura in the midst of the chaos.
All of Gabriel’s heads and wings were out, surging towards Aziraphale’s core to gouge him clean. Aziraphale met him blow for blow with his umbrella, the ludicrous sight at odds with how Gabriel snarled at it every time Aziraphale swung towards him.
What on earth had he done to it? It repelled Gabriel’s magic whenever Aziraphale opened it to use as a shield, and its blue flames greedily clung to Gabriel’s face and feathers whenever Aziraphale landed a hit. It didn’t cause the same amount of damage as hellfire might, but the force with which Aziraphale choreographed his blows was enough to knock Gabriel back, if only for a second.
Lightning shot down from above at Gabriel’s command, crackling through their watery battlefield like spiderweb veins. Aziraphale lost his footing as electricity surrounded his legs like barbed wire, and Gabriel struck, knocking Aziraphale backwards into the water. He reared back, teeth gleaming, and surged towards Aziraphale’s neck. Aziraphale threw up his umbrella with both hands and caught it inside Gabriel’s mouth, inches away from Aziraphale’s nose. The flames flared in Gabriel’s face, covering his head. Gabriel howled, and swung out with his claws.
Aziraphale screamed.
“ANGEL!” Crowley surged forward, water be damned, when—
“STAY BACK!”
Aziraphale staggered to his feet; half of his eyes were lidded or shut, dripping with golden blood. One of his wings was bent out of shape, claw marks breaking up the trail of snowy feathers.
Gabriel covered half of his face, his own lustrous blood spilling through his claws from the lashes Aziraphale’s magic scored across his Grace. Gabriel glanced at Crowley through the fire still licking his face, and Crowley could feel the archangel’s viciousness in the back of his throat, choking him like his tongue was swelling.
That feeling was all the warning Crowley had before the geyser bars exploded like a supernova. Aziraphale’s magic slammed Crowley backwards, burning like acid through Crowley’s teeth and rings, but with enough force to knock him almost entirely back to the other end of the beach, away from the water. Crowley writhed in the air, holding onto Aziraphale’s magic even as it burned, trying to get a sense of its strength from this small sample alone.
Up ahead the angels were clashing again. Starbursts of water rose and exploded like fireworks around them.
Aziraphale was strong, every inch of him exuding the strength and sharpness of an angel entrusted with an entire platoon of soldiers by the Almighty herself. He wielded the umbrella like it was truly steel, parrying and stabbing, smashing his good wings into Gabriel’s face and essence to knock him back. Streaks of golden blood splattered around them like paint, mixing with the shining water. Crowley couldn’t tell whose was whose anymore.
Crowley swelled and spun his rings in terror and tried to keep track of Aziraphale, to pick his essence apart from Gabriel’s own holy energy. It was almost impossible to lock onto thanks to the speed with which it was being thrown around, but after six thousand years and counting, Crowley was finely attuned to Aziraphale’s magic. The difference was faint; Aziraphale’s magic was warmer, shaded with gold. Gabriel, due to his higher rank, had a much brighter aura, a blinding white that hurt Crowley’s infernal eyes when he looked upon it for too long. It was much brighter than Aziraphale’s, pulled from a well of magic deeper and purer than any other angel—
With sickening clarity, Crowley realized what Gabriel was doing.
He was stalling.
By nature, Aziraphale was blessed with less endurance than Gabriel had. Despite how strong and determined his angel was, Crowley knew that Aziraphale’s pool of magic would run dry long before Gabriel’s did. And Gabriel knew that too, because he’d switched to a more defensive style, dodging and blocking, and timing his strikes with a luxury Aziraphale was never created for. Gabriel intended to wait Aziraphale out, to strike him down when Aziraphale’s magical strength abandoned him. Crowley had no doubt Aziraphale could still fight even then—he’d certainly try, anyway—using his muscle memory to attack Gabriel without ethereality, but a Principality with a sword was laughably outclassed by an Archangel with deep reserves of magic left. Aziraphale would lose.
Aziraphale saw it too. His attacks grew more vicious, more aggressive, as he tried to end Gabriel quickly, before his own form betrayed him. But despite the blows that did land against Gabriel, the archangel showed no signs of tiring.
Gabriel swung the clubbed tips of his wings at Aziraphale’s blind side. Aziraphale allowed himself to take the hit so that he could lure Gabriel close enough to smash the handle of his umbrella against Gabriel’s temple, hard enough that even Crowley could hear the sound of crunching bone. Light poured out of the gash on Gabriel’s head as he locked his magic around Aziraphale, beating at him with his expansive wings and causing a swirl of water to cyclone up and around them, obscuring Crowley’s view even further.
Crowley couldn’t stand it anymore; if being drowned in holy water meant the difference between Aziraphale’s victory and death, then it wasn’t even a choice worth thinking about. Crowley wrestled his magic back into his corporeal form and held it tight under his breast. His skin split, and scales flickered up and down his body as his magic frayed the edges of Crowley’s human-shaped form, not meant to be drawn so close and held back in such a way. Crowley grit his teeth with enough force to crack his fangs. He felt on the edge of a seizure, a destruction all his own, but there was nothing for it; Crowley would need to be small for this, lithe and nimble. They only had one shot.
Crowley drew back his hands as he flew towards the angels, and a growing ball of hellfire and dark energy formed between his palms. The fire had to be strong enough to pass through the holy water without losing its shape or power—power that would be needed to knock Gabriel back and give Aziraphale an opening.
Pain throbbed behind Crowley’s eyes; his pupils were disappeared, leaving behind a glowing sulfur-yellow stare. The water was overcharged with holiness, and there was enough of it flying around that it would take all of Crowley’s reserves to create something infernal enough to pass through it. If he was struck down before then...if he missed...if he hit Aziraphale instead...
It was impossible to avoid the spray; Crowley jerked in flight as hundreds of tiny burns connected with his body, like standing over a pan spitting hot grease. It hurt like Heaven, but not enough to keep him back.
Aziraphale’s magic was flagging under Gabriel’s, making it even harder to untangle from the threads of Gabriel’s power. But he was still there, Crowley’s brave, fierce angel, and it was enough. Wherever Aziraphale was, Crowley would come to him. Always.
Crowley weaved between the ribbons of water whipping through the sky, laser-focused on Aziraphale as he lined up his shot. This needed to be timed just right, or he would lose the element of surprise and Gabriel would destroy them both.
Thankfully, time and Crowley were on friendly terms.
He couldn’t spare the energy to pause time completely, but he could break off the barest sliver to slow the seconds around them. Just enough for him to see the forms previously hidden by light.
It would be up to Aziraphale to take advantage of the split-second Crowley was about to give him, because Crowley would be unable to dodge or block anything Gabriel might throw at him after he recovered. Even twist-sick with terror, he never feared that Aziraphale would miss his chance. Crowley trusted Aziraphale to save them both.
He trusted Aziraphale more than anything in creation.
As Gabriel twitched in his direction, Crowley poured everything he had and was into his attack and blasted the ball of hellfire and dark matter into Gabriel’s side. Gabriel stumbled off balance for a single second, and it was all Aziraphale needed.
With an almighty scream, Aziraphale stabbed Gabriel through the eye with the sharp tip of his umbrella.
The water instantly splashed down, leaving Aziraphale and Gabriel in a pool of luminescence. Gabriel dropped to one knee, then the other, and gripped the umbrella embedded in his skull with both hands. He snarled at Aziraphale who, without breaking eye contact, slowly pushed the umbrella, fire and all, through Gabriel’s eye socket.
“Traitor,” Gabriel spat.
“There are worse things to be,” said Aziraphale. “Deliver my message, Gabriel. To the angels, to the demons, to the Metatron and Beelzebub themselves. Tell them what happened to Sandalphon. Tell them what happened to you.”
Gabriel convulsed as Aziraphale deliberately pushed the umbrella deeper until it broke out the back of Gabriel’s skull.
“And tell them that if they ever threaten us again, I will make them wish for something so sweet as discorporation.”
Bleeding out at Aziraphale’s feet, Gabriel cursed Aziraphale in a language Crowley hadn’t heard since the Beginning. His grip began to slacken on the umbrella, and Crowley dared to relax.
Then, without warning, Gabriel’s left arm threw back in Crowley’s direction to hit him square in the chest with the last of Gabriel’s power. Caught off guard and too depleted to respond quickly enough, Crowley arched through the air and landed square on his back on the now consecrated beach.
Crowley screamed as the holy water soaked up by the sand seeped through his shirt and wings and skull. The last thing he saw before his eyes rolled back was Aziraphale’s horrified face.
The scent of clean linen pulled Crowley from unconsciousness with merciful gentleness. There was no more briny smell of wet sand and saltsea. Nothing of ozone or blood. Just clean cotton and an imprint of Aziraphale’s cologne. Crowley breathed in deep, searching for traces of his angel like an experienced perfumer: saffron and sandalwood, juniper berries and sage, and sometimes, if it was a good night, the warmth of cocoa that Crowley could still taste sweet as cream on Aziraphale’s tongue.
“Sssh.” Aziraphale brushed Crowley’s hair out of his eyes. “Not so sudden. I’ve done all I could, but you’re likely to be sore for a few more days.”
Crowley’s eyes snapped open, seized with desperation to confirm—and there he was.
“Angel,” Crowley breathed, trembling with relief and reverence. He took Aziraphale’s hand and turned it palm-up to run his lips over the lifeline.
“My love,” Aziraphale whispered, sounding as helpless as Crowley felt. He squeezed Crowley’s hand with a strength that would’ve broken mortal bones; Crowley only shuddered and held Aziraphale tighter, grounding himself in his angel’s touch. He kissed each of Aziraphale’s knuckles twice before he could drag his eyes back up.
“Are you okay?”
Aziraphale laughed wetly. “He asks, after half his backside melted away.”
“Hey, I saw a lot of eyes out of commission,” Crowley reminded him.
“You shouldn’t have been close enough to see in the first place!” Aziraphale snapped. His face twisted and broke down, and he bowed over their joined hands like he—Aziraphale!—was seeking penance. “You foolish, wretched—I told you to stay back!”
“You also tell me to drive slower and be nice to my plants.” Crowley’s voice was gentle, but he couldn’t make himself sound apologetic. “You needed the opening, angel. He would’ve worn you down eventually.”
“Don’t you dare spout logic at me, Anthony Crowley. You almost died.”
Every time you took a blow. Every time he came an inch closer to destroying you. Do you think I could ever separate my survival from yours, Aziraphale? Now? Still?
Crowley bit his split tongue and propped himself up on an elbow. He was on his stomach, his wings still out and brushing against the floor. Crowley couldn’t bring himself to look at them yet, to count lost feathers and new scars. He cleared his throat to dislodge the misery choking him with every hitch of Aziraphale’s breath.
“…And Gabriel?”
Aziraphale sniffled. “Gone. Discorporated, I think, or possibly dead.” He raised his head enough to half-heartedly glare at Crowley. “I was a bit too distracted to watch his exit at the time.”
“I’m sorry.” Crowley traced the curve of Aziraphale’s skull, down his neck and across his jaw. When Aziraphale closed his eyes to the touch, Crowley kissed both of his eyelids. What else was left to say? “I’m sorry, angel, I’m so, so sorry—”
“Hush,” whispered Aziraphale. He held Crowley’s palm to his cheek, and ran his thumb in circles atop Crowley’s pulse point. He looked thinner than he’d been before Crowley left him for a morning flight—
(how many mornings ago now? how long had Aziraphale sat in a vigil he was never meant to keep?)
—and bruise-dark circles hung below his eyes. Crowley’s gaze sidestepped reality to see the mantle of magic draped around Aziraphale’s shoulders. Its light was weak and watery, stretched thin as tracing paper over the angel’s essence.
“You look exhausted,” Crowley murmured.
“Battle will do that. Fear will do that.” Aziraphale opened his swimming eyes (Crowley was starting to hate the sight of water). “Crowley, you were so empty when I reached you. I thought—I thought you were—”
The dam broke and Aziraphale bit his free hand, trying to muffle his sobs as tears rolled down his cheeks. He never let go of Crowley, who felt his fingers become slick when Aziraphale nuzzled his palm and smeared tears across the half-scaled flesh.
“C’mere. Aziraphale, hey.” Crowley tugged at Aziraphale’s grip until he could once again see the sky blue of Aziraphale’s eyes. “Come lie beside me.”
Swiping at his tears, Aziraphale shed his clothes and climbed in nude beside Crowley, who immediately shifted until he could rest his ear over Aziraphale’s heart.
“You can’t possibly think I’d let you face any of them alone,” he murmured. “No more than you could abandon me.”
“But—”
“But nothing.” Crowley kissed Aziraphale’s chest, followed by his cheek and salt-tipped lips. “Angels don’t get the monopoly on protection, sweetheart.”
Aziraphale shakily laughed. “Well. That might become a moot point soon, anyway.”
Crowley’s heart plummeted in horror. “You haven’t—”
“No, not yet.” Aziraphale cast a bitter glance at the ceiling. “Gabriel’s always loved to pull rank, but even he doesn’t have the power to make those decisions.”
“They can’t.” Crowley reared backward, onto his knees. “You were defending yourself!”
Aziraphale gave him an odd look, but Crowley was too petrified at the thought of Aziraphale actually Falling for him to appreciate the absurdity of expecting Heaven to actually play fair.
“I was defending you,” Aziraphale corrected. “And there’s still the matter of Head Office finding out we defied them twice—”
“Aziraphale—”
“Vis a vis apocalypses and executions that weren’t, well, executed—”
“Stop sounding so calm about this!”
Crowley’s ears might’ve rung from the sound of his own scream, but he couldn’t hear anything over the drumbeat of his wild heart, panic twisting like a noose around its ventricles and chambers. Aziraphale only looked at him for a moment before shifting to sit upright. His wings were also out, and they wrapped around Crowley’s damaged back, mingling with his feathers.
“Crowley. I meant what I said when I challenged him.” Aziraphale took both of Crowley’s hands and brought them to his lips. “I’ve already disowned them in every way that counts, anyway.”
“You can’t Fall,” Crowley protested.
“I’m not afraid anymore, dearest.”
“I can’t be the reason you Fall, Aziraphale!” Crowley ripped his hands from Aziraphale’s in favor of dragging them across his scalp; his nails, still halfway stormblack and clawed, opened the way for blood to lose itself in his slaughterhouse hair.
“You, you don’t know what it’s like, you don’t know how agonizing it is, to have everything you were broken down and put back together in the wrong order. You don’t know how it feels to have that phantom pain follow you for the rest of eternity. You don’t know how it feels to be worth less than ash. Angel, angel…”
He reached for Aziraphale, aborted the movement, and curled in on himself, irrationally afraid that one more demonic touch would be enough to push Aziraphale over the edge. “I can’t condemn you to that. I could never so much as look you in the eye again.”
The clean scent was gone. All he could smell was burning flesh, burning feathers, burning hair and burning soul and Aziraphale, Aziraphale stinking of brimstone just as Crowley did, his wings turning black as disease and his halo shattering to form something twisted and ugly.
If You’d ever listen, listen to me now. Don’t put him through this. He’s the greatest thing You ever made.
Don’t drag him down to my level.
“Oh Crowley,” Aziraphale whispered.
Crowley shook his head. “I love you. I love you so much. Please.”
Aziraphale’s hands wrapped around Crowley, slowly tugging him back into his embrace; Crowley followed helplessly, but kept his shameful tears buried in the soft white curls across Aziraphale’s chest.
“Crowley. Crowley look at me.” Aziraphale stroked Crowley’s hair. “Please, dearest.”
A golden eye blinked miserably up at him. Aziraphale smiled.
“You’re right. You can’t be the reason I Fall. Because if I do, it will be because I chose to do so. Because I choose this life, here, with you. Because I have never felt so happy, or so good, than I feel when I’m by your side.”
Aziraphale tilted Crowley’s chin up; his kiss stung with gentleness and the miracle of being known. Their wings cocooned around each other, and when Crowley rested his brow against Aziraphale’s his thoughts fell silent, blanketed by the heat of their embrace and the whisper of Aziraphale’s breath against his lips.
“Earlier you said you answered to only two voices in the universe,” Crowley murmured.
“I did.”
“The first is Hers.” Crowley didn’t bother to mask it as a question, but Aziraphale heard one anyway.
“Hers,” he said softly. “Not Heaven’s.”
“And the second?”
Aziraphale kissed Crowley’s nose, giggling when Crowley playfully scrunched his face. “Oh, my love. Does it even need saying?”
This time, when Aziraphale shifted to lay on his back once more, he didn’t need to pull to get Crowley to follow him down.
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ren-c-leyn · 5 years
Text
To Duel a God...
 It’s been a while since I’ve done a short story for this blog, thought I might give it a try since I’m still under the weather but want to try to stick to the habit of writing. This is a fusion story that I’ve been squirreling away prompts for for a while. I’m excited to finally have enough pieces in place to write it.
 The prompts in question are these 1,2,3,4,5,6 by the always amazing @thependragonwritersguild, this one by @thewholekitandkabobble, these 1,2,3,4 by the lovely @givethispromptatry, and these 1,2 by @humdrummoloch. Thank you all for your hard work to make so many amazing prompts ^-^
Story warnings: This is a fight story, so there is fictional violence. It also mentions death in passing, but nothing in any great detail. There is a little swearing, as well.
~
 It started with an old memory; a tiny cry from the void of hollow emptiness that had been eating me alive since that living nightmare.
 Don’t be ridiculous, you don’t have to be any of those things to become a great hero. After all, heroes of legend are not the strongest or the wisest of us. They are those who had the selflessness and courage to do what was right.
 But I know I am not one of those people. I had never been one of those people. If I had been, I would have been able to save him. If I am now, I would be able to avenge them now.
 Perhaps my first warning that I still wasn’t one of those people should have been the way her face blanched at my statement and argued with me for an hour over it. Or, perhaps it should have been in my statement itself.
 I’m going to challenge a god to a duel at sunrise on the anniversary.
 Maybe they’d even add a line to the adventurer’s hand guide dedicated solely to warn against my insanity at the end of this: ‘Protip: Don’t challenge gods to duels.’
 “You must understand! It was a hard fought victory; a truce that you are threatening to tear apart!”
 “I don’t care. I promised nothing and was privy to no truce. I walk my own path and care little for the gods and their business.”
 My best friend, my former comrade, the woman I had shed sweat and blood and tears with just searched my face with a lost sort of expression, similar to the one we had both worn that day, the anniversary, as we stared at the piles of corpses stacked up to impossible heights.
 Eventually she sighed, shoulders sagging as her eyes closed.
 “Why do you always do this?” she asked, voice tired and raspy.
 “Why do you always ask me that when you know the answer you’ll get?”
 And those dull, rust-colored eyes opened partly again.
 “What’s going to happen to everything after you are gone?”
 “I dunno. I’ll be dead, my friend. Figure it out for yourself.”
 She snorted.
 “So you admit this will be what finally kills you?”
 “It’s more that I admit that I cannot guarantee it won’t, even with my so called talents. Still... can we really just sit back and say we’re fine with how things turned out in the end?”
 “Obviously you cannot, and I cannot stop you. Go then, Payback. Do what it is you do best. I won’t join in your foolishness, but I will stand witness to your duel. I trust it will take place in the usual ring?”
 A grim smile crept onto my face as I turned away from her desk and began to stride to the door.
 “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
 With my friend and queen’s permission, or at least reluctant surrender, on the matter, I set about issuing my challenge. This proved to be the hard part. No priest or priestess in their right minds were willing to send my message to the war god, not even those of questionable sanity wanted to get involved, and several temples threw me out on my ear, quite literally. The last of which was the war god’s high temple itself. 
 Well, fine then. If I couldn’t get my challenge to the bastard through a third party, I’d just have to do it myself.
 I climbed up the pillars, ignoring the indignant shouts of priests and temple guardians as I scaled up the front of the so called holy site, clawed my way through the ornate carvings depicting great battles and heroes, and then finally drug my armored arse over the lip of the roofing to get on top of the building itself.
 Standing as straight as I could, I cupped my hands to my mouth and inhaled. Then, all at once, I roared up to the sky.
 “WAR GOD!!! I CHALLENGE YOU IN SINGLE COMBAT FOR THE HONOR OF MY FALLEN FRIENDS! COME TO THE HILL OF ROSES ON THE SUNRISE OF THE ANNIVERSARY OF THE DAY YOU BUTCHERED THEM LIKE THE COWARD YOU ARE AND I SHALL HONOR THEIR MEMORIES WITH YOUR HEAD!”
 Then, there was silence. A dead silence that was quite out of place for any part of the capital city. I wasn’t even sure if the people who heard me issue my challenge were breathing, but I couldn’t care less. They could hide in fear all they wanted, but I had faced god beasts and their other minions in the fields of battle during our war against the gods. I had looked servants of death in the eye, and even played cards with one during my queen’s negotiations for peace. There was nothing for me to fear from the other side.
 Still, I found the silence a bit uneasy. Was I being ignored? Usually, my opponents responded to my challenged rather quickly. For example, you know the wizard accepts your challenge when a crimson bolt strikes. You know a thieves’ guild leader accepts your challenge when you have a knife and a dead snake pinned to the inside of your inn door the next morning.But how does one know when a god decides to accept a challenge?
 Blood red lightening shot down from a cloudless sky and shattered an ancient oak that had been on the grounds for centuries.
 I guessed that answered my question. The bastard had heard me alright, and it looked like he accepted my challenge. A broad grin split my face. Good, this would be fun.
 Two weeks passed with nonstop training and uneasy anticipation. The nightmares of the past came and went in tides, mixing in with the present. Instead of falling victim to them, I used them to motivate myself, remind myself why I had to do this.
 Then, the fateful morning came, or rather, the pre-dawn darkness before a fateful morning came. The queen and I stood on my usual dueling grounds, a flat-topped hill crowned with blood-red roses. It was a fitting place to die... for my enemies. Neither of us said a word to each other as we watched the eastern sky, waiting for our old enemy to appear. 
 Just as the deep blues of night began to turn yellow, and rays of sunlight began to caress the rosebuds, we felt it. That familiar stomach-twisting sickness from raw power. Both of us tensed.
 Red lightening struck again, dancing in the center of the ring before us. It balled up, glowing brighter, and then went out entirely, revealing a tall man in strange armor made of heavenly metals and fangs and claws and hides of god beasts. A giant sword rested in his left hand, and a battle ax as broad as the queen’s shoulders rested in his right. Behind him was a cloaked figure I recognized as the commander of the war god’s army. She gave a nod to the queen and I, and we gave a nod back.
 “Well, mortal, I believe we have a score to settle. Yes?” the war god’s deep voice growled out slowly, mockingly. “It shouldn’t take us more than a minute.”
 I grinned up at him.
 “I would think not. I should have your ugly head ready for my wall in thirty seconds.”
 He howled out a laugh.
 “You think you can kill me?”
 “I think I can try and if I can’t then at least I can be an obstacle. I might even be able to make you bleed, or worse. Whose to know if we don’t fight?”
 He chuckled darkly with a smirk to match.
 “You will be lost in the land of the dead long before you make me bleed, mortal.”
 A dark smile of my own surfaced.
 “ I’m already as dead as my mercy. Come to think of it, you’re the one that killed me, on the inside anyways. You see, after you lose everything good in your life, all you can do is laugh. Laugh because you somehow managed to die along the way, but can’t remember where. But don’t worry, I have just enough mercy left in me to just make my vengeance killing you, instead of killing everyone you care about and turning you into a living ghost too.”
 He sneered at me.
 “Bold words for the empty shell of a pitiful creature. Don’t worry, I’ll put you out of your misery today. Witnesses! Begin the proceedings.”
 “Yes,” the queen and the general answered instantly.
 They both stepped back into the roses on opposite ends of the massive ring. Part of me wondered if they’d be okay, but it was a little late to take that into account now. They ran us through the dueling formalities, asking us to bow to each other, step back the appropriate number of steps, get into our stances, and then they began the count.
 “Three, two, one, you may begin.”
 They hadn’t even finished saying begin when the war god was bearing down on me, bringing both of his massive weapons down on each of my shoulders. I heard the queen scream, but I could only grin.
 Invincibility is a real good time. Whenever someone tries to maim you, they always end up taking the damage. I just wish I had clothes to support that fighting style. Well, the cost of this armor was nothing in comparison to the priceless look of shock on the dumbass’s face when his own divine weapons bounced off my bones and sunk into his shoulders.
 “H-how? What sorcerery is this?!” he hissed as he stumbled back.
 “Oh, I guess no one told you. What a pity, for you. I’m the last person you want to fight. Every time you hurt me, it just reverberates back to you. My friends call me Payback.”
 He laughed.
 “I see, I guess I’ll have to stop fighting you like a mortal, and fight you as an equal!”
 Lightening struck me and I felt it burn down to my bones. His weapons glowed red and he swung at me. Instinct kicked in and my body jerked out of the way, but the sword still caught my hand, leaving the first wound I had received on a battlefield in years.I retaliated with my own blade, going after joints and thinner spots of the armor. He blocked, dodged, countered, I ducked, rolled, and stabbed.
 The longer the deadly dance of steel and lightening strikes went, the more of my blood dripped onto the trampled grass and hardened earth.
 Ah. The one person I can’t defeat. Lovely.
 And despite myself, I started laughing at the thought. Laughing as I rolled under his ax’s head and came up right in front of him, only to be kicked in the gut by the boot. I went down, and red lightening made sure I stayed down. As I laid there, jerking uncontrollably, I heard the heavily armored boots advancing on me.
 Then, there was a bright white light.
 “Enough,” a woman’s voice echoed.
 “Out of my way, Life, the punk challenged me, not you.”
 “The battle has been decided, War, lay down your arms.”
 “It has not ended, it was a duel to the death.”
 I heard her laugh, laugh right in his face. Had to hand it to her, she had nerve. I respected that. As much as a person spasming in the dirt can respect anything, of course.
 “What’s so funny?” War demanded.
 “In accordance to the treaty we made with the humans, duels to the death are prohibited.”
 “Then why did you allow him to issue the challenge?!”
 “I assumed to accepted knowing that you weren’t allowed to kill.”
 “And if that mortal were to have defeated me, would you be hovering here in my defense as well?” he demanded.
 “Of course, of course, it is my duty to uphold the treaty. Now take your bow, do your boasting, and let us return.”
 I blacked out about half way through his big victory speech. Whether it was from boredom or the lightening still working its way through my body, I couldn’t say.
 When I woke up, I was laying on the floor in the queen’s office while she scribbled something down with her quill.
 “Still breathing?” she asked after a moment.
 “Yeah....”
 “Good.”
 There was a long stretch of silence between the tense good and the end of whatever it was she was writing. When she put the quill down, though, I knew I was in trouble. She slowly turned in her chair, rust eyes narrowing at me.
 “You know what? I’m gonna say it: you deserved that. You deserved all of that, including the awful speech he gave at the end of your duel. What kind of idiot challenges the war god to single combat? He’s the god of combat you twit!”
 And it was half way through her speech that I realized Life had even less mercy than I did.
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screensirenfic · 4 years
Text
Black Leather - Chapter 31
If those fucking things were heading where I thought they were heading; I’m not sure we’d have enough fire power.
Still, suicide mission or not, Steve and I had taken it upon ourselves to right the wrong some dumb kid had started by adopting a space slug.
So; now me, Steve and our impromptu scouts troop were walking through the woods, working on getting our tracking badges by following monster blood trails.
“You positive that was Dart?” Lucas asked Dustin, because apparently the imagination of children had died and been replaced by cynicism.
“Yes. He had the exact same yellow pattern on his butt.” Dustin stated; clearly getting tired of everyone not believing him.
“He was tiny two days ago.” Max pointed out, and I was beginning to wonder why none of these kids had figured that keeping this thing as a pet was a bad idea in the first place.
“Well; he’s molted three times already.” Dustin replied; the picture not sitting comfortably in my head.
“Malted?” Steve repeated; once again sounding the idiot in a gang of thirteen year olds.
“Molted...” Dustin corrected him as if he was the child here.
“It means he shed his skin, dumbass... like a snake.” I informed him; knowing it was best to keep things in simple terms for Steve.
“Well; when’s he gonna molt again?” Asked Max, pointing out the very likely fact that this thing might get even bigger.
“Well; it’s gotta be soon. And when he does, he’ll be fully grown, or close to it. And so will all his friends.” Dustin told us ominously, making that less than metaphorical ticking time bomb a little more real.
“Yeah; and he’s gonna eat a lot more than cats...” Steve commented darkly.
“Wait! A cat?! Dart ate a cat?!” Lucas exclaimed, stopping Dustin dead in his tracks.
“No! What? No!” Dustin blustered, and I could already see where this train wreck was going.
“What are you talking about? He ate Mews.” Steve pointed out; once again reaffirming that he was the biggest idiot in the party.
“Mews? Who’s Mews?” Max asked, clearly knowing even less than me about all this.
“Dustin’s cat.” Steve answered, still not getting the point that Dustin was lying to them.
“Steve!” Dustin exclaimed angrily.
“I knew it! You kept him!” Lucas honed in on Dustin as the truth slowly came tumbling out.
“No! No; I... I...” Dustin floundered, suddenly running out of lies to tell.
“He missed me! He wanted to come home!” Dustin finally relented; coming out with perhaps the stupidest thing I’d heard all night, and that included Steve’s outbursts.
“Bullshit!” Lucas shot him down like a clay pigeon, and I was beginning to get real tired of their bickering.
I did not sign up for this.
I didn’t sign up for any of this, really. Steve had dragged me along like his obligatory plus one without an ounce of thought on whether I wanted to be involved with all this bullshit.
And now these kids were dragging up slights long past, because apparently petty wasn’t solely a Hopper trait, and Steve was just standing there like a life sized Cindy doll; and now I had no choice but to play referee and break this shit up.
“Alright! Alright! Alright! That’s enough!” I yelled, stepping in between the two boys, just in case they decided to turn this argument into a cage match.
It didn’t seem to matter; boys so intent on being boys that they elected to continue to ignore me and bicker like fish wives.
“He wasn’t trying to eat us!” Insisted Dustin; and no wonder Steve liked the kid so much, he was a certified idiot.
“Oh; so he was just gonna say hello?” Lucas called indignation, scoffing at Dustin with disbelief; and I was beginning to like this ki—
“Guys!” Yelled Steve, cutting through the arguing like a hot knife through butter, and we all turned our heads to see what the hell he wanted.
I was about to snap at Steve that he wasn’t fucking helping, when a loud screech echoed in the distance.
I turned towards it, listening to the utterly inhuman pitch and already knowing exactly what it was.
Steve gave me that look again, and I knew we were both about to do something incredibly stupid, both of us heading in the direction of the noise; the two boys following in our stead.
“No, no, no. Hey guys; why are you heading towards the sound?” Protested Max, but her complaints fell on deaf ears; Steve, the boys and I heading towards where the tree line became thinner.
We found ourselves at the edge of a overlook, staring straight out at the entire landscape of Hawkins, lit solely by twinkling street lights.
“I don’t see him.” Said Dustin, pointing out the obvious as we looked out on a dark Hawkins.
Lucas lifted up his binoculars, scanning over the town to find the source of the sound.
“It’s the lab...” He said; his binoculars settling on the building in question, rising high above distant tree lines.
“They were going back home.”
—————————————————
Twenty minutes and a very steep hike later, we were finally descending to the lab, traipsing between the trees down to what could possibly be a massacre.
I questioned the wisdom of bringing three thirteen year olds with us to this showdown, but it wasn’t like we could abandon them in the woods; bears and other common critters a very real threat in Indiana woodlands.
“So what’s the plan?” Steve asked as we scaled down a steep hill; illuminated only by torchlight.
“What plan? I thought you were the one with a plan; genius?!” I scoffed; feeling quite sick of everything falling to me when it came to reason and responsibility.
“Come on; Lola. We all know you think my plans are bullshit; so what are we gonna do?” Steve asked; for once admitting his incompetence in the potential face of death.
“Just... keep behind me...” I instructed; really struggling with finding a sounder strategy than point and shoot, and maybe I was turning into my dad.
“That’s it?” Steve asked; his smile of disbelief doing little to hide his genuine nervousness.
“That, and pray we don’t all get eaten.” I muttered under my breath, noticing the trees thinning again and abandoning Steve to scout ahead.
I think I could hear voices; arguing maybe, and I pondered the wisdom in shouting ahead.
Then again; who knew who could be trying to get in the lab at this hour of night,
Probably government, and if there was one thing we didn’t trust in my family, it was men in suits with mysterious I.D.s.
I held back, deciding I’d rather try and asses what we’re facing before running headfirst into a potential firefight.
Steve clearly didn’t share my reservations, already beginning to walk straight out into enemy territory.
“Steve...” I whispered hoarsely, but either he didn’t hear me, or was still pissed off for the genius comment; but either way, what he was doing was near suicidal.
“Hello? Who’s there?” A voice sliced through the darkness, and I swore I recognised it, but was too busy trying to flank a speed walking Steve before he got us all killed.
“Who’s there?” The voice shouted again as Steve led us out of the woods with all the subtlety of a helicopter; bright torch beam shining out into the darkness.
“Steve?” A woman’s voice accompanied the first as we emerged.
“Lola?” The first voice exclaimed, and in the harsh glow of Steve’s torchlight, I recognised who these wannabe intruders were.
“Nancy?” Steve stared dumbfounded at his girlfriend standing just outside Hawkins lab, dressed for some serious breaking and entering.
“Jonathan?” I said; recognising the lanky awkward form stood slightly in front of her, ready to heroically protect her if needs must.
“What are you doing here?” Nancy asked, making a beeline across the grass towards Steve.
“What am I doing here?! What are you doing here?!” He retorted; his face a mixture of confusion and anger.
“We’re looking for Mike and Will.” Nancy answered reasonably, but I could tell by Steve’s facial expression, he was already wracking up for a fight.
“They’re not in there; are they?” Dustin interrupted, derailing the argument before it could even happen and drawing all our attention back to the lab.
“We’re not sure; why?” Jonathan asked, suspicion colouring his face; only to be whipped away by a loud screech emanating from the lab.
We all turned towards the sound, finally realising that we had no choice here. Kids were in danger and we were the only ones near enough to help.
We already knew what we had to do.
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obsidiancreates · 5 years
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owo (aka would u .. mind telling about her.. am interest)
:D Gladly!
Evelyn is half human, half a magical kind of being I don’t have the name for yet. Her mother is the guardian of a magical forest in another dimension, though Evelyn didn’t know that until she was grown up and started developing her own magical powers.
Her magic is nature magic. She can make vines and flowers grow, though when she stops focusing on keeping them alive they disappear. They’re of the same magic that The Forest is, so they can’t survive in our dimension for long.
I say our dimension, but it just a dimension very similar to ours. Except it has gods and demons.
Anyway, the flowers she grows can have many different properties. They can make someone sleepy, sedate someone, make them have to tell the truth, even cause pain. The more intense the effect, the more energy it takes out of her.
She also has super strength, and wings that let her fly! She can breathe fine in very thin air and can withstand the cold very well. This is because The Forest is freezing, and has very thin air.
She seems tough on the outside, but she’s an absolute softie inside. She loves her friends and would do anything for them. She’s a badass, of course, but a badass who also enjoys helping her friends bake and stuff. She’s also high intelligence but low wisdom, so she can be a bit of a chaotic dumbass at times. Another one of my OCs, Carter, is also like that, and they get into mischief together a lot.
She has an intense sweet tooth. Ashlyn, another OC, bakes all the time, and she has to stop Evelyn from eating those baked goods until she gets sick. It takes a lot for Evelyn to get sick though, she has a very strong stomach.
She has black hair that come down just above her shoulders. It’s bright blue at the tips, natural effect of her magic. She’s also very pale. She has a human form and a magic form. In human form, her eyes are a bright but still pretty normal blue. 
In magic form her eyes are a bright, glowing blue, with snake or cat-like pupils! She has four horns. Two towards the back of her head point outwards at the tips, and the other two more towards the front point inward. Like the flowers! I actually designed her before I designed the flowers, and I didn’t plan to make them match, it just happened without me realizing it. She also has two wings, which start as scales and gradually become feathers as they extend away from her back. She also has has claws, which are quite long and lithe! Her teeth are sharp as well.
I have some drawings of her here on the blog! I could reblog them, send you links, or you could go through the “My OCs” tag and just organize it by photos! Evelyn also has her very own tag, including all writing and drawings, which is just her name, “Evelyn Serenatis!”
Thank you for your interest and for asking about her! :D
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bosmerbitch · 5 years
Text
Lemme tell you how I got into Skyrim. This shit is fucking bad, very very high up on the dumbass scale, so here we go.
Some backstory, so I have an excuse to why I’m so fucking bad at this
When I was growing up, I surrounded myself in Nintendo. My step brother was also a Nintendo nerd, so we didn’t stray all that much. The only time I ever heard Skyrim get referenced was by the douchebag Homophobic Dude Bros™ that were in art class just to try and get an easy grade, so let’s just say it left a sour taste in my mouth.
I moved to Nevada when I was 18 and all they had was a broken Xbox 360. My friend Chris thought I’d like Fable, and really, really did, because I literally finished it in just a few weeks. But when I tried to replay it (evil this time) I couldn’t even complete the first important task because I felt bad for being a horrible person. (the first Big choice you have is to execute some dude you’re supposed to be in love with or a group of protesters that are trying to feed their families).
So he goes, “look. Just try Skyrim.”
And I go, “no.” yaknow, like an idiot.
He wouldn’t believe me when I said I wanted nothing to do with it, because I did admit I had never, ever played it before. So he plays it in front of me for a good week or so. And as per his grand plan, I start to get curious.
And also fucking infuriated.
This dude snuck everywhere. He only used light armor. He never got close enough to an enemy to force him to draw a dagger. He wouldn’t use horses. His play style was his, no judgement—but yakno. it drove me up the fucking wall. If I had to sit through two more hours of this man slowly crab walking his ass up the seven thousand steps because he refused to walk like a normal person lest his sneak skill maybe possibility suffer by one point, I think i’d go full feral.
So I said fuck it, grabbed the controller, and started a new game.
I create a Bosmer character who looks like she could punch me and I’d apologise for my face being in the way of her fist, because i am gay. I then spend 3 thousand years on babyname websites, trying my darndest to find a name that fit her face.
Dumbass Mistake number one: I press A to input the first letter.
“wait. This isn’t a GameCube controller. Fuck.”
I actually press B.
As in. Save and exit.
Do you want to name your character Prisoner?
“what? No!”
I press A, thinking it’s B.
My name is now Prisoner.
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Now I’m pissed, but I’ve spent way too much time in the character creation screen to warrant a re-do. I am stuck with a Woodelf named Prisoner.
This becomes part of her lore later on. She was raised in a prison and only ever referred to as “prisoner” when she was little, so she took it as her name but dropped the e for an o when she was learning to write because she was literally a baby who couldn't spell: Prisonor.
Dumbass Mistake #2: I’m so used to autocameras that follow the player and find decent enough angles without me having to jam the stick back and forth that I can not for the life of me fucking Look At Shit Correctly.
I almost died. Do you know how bad you have to be to nearly die in the opening tutorial? It was as if i’d decided to play with my fucking elbows instead of my hands, I was flailing about like a lunatic. All while Alduin moved around and threw rocks at people, too, and my camera work was so bad it looked as if Bethesda had actually made a good scene to convey the horror and terror of the situation. Fuck you Bethesda
Dumbass Mistake #3: heavy armor. This was, and will continue to be, my downfall. Kiss half my fucking carry weight capacity goodbye because this Bad Bitch Needs Those High Armor Stats.
Oh, what? You need to sneak into a cave and steal some shit? Well you now have too options, you absolute Unit. You heavy as fuck bone armor thicc thot.
It’s either: a) sneak as is and get detected the moment your big toe even twitches upwards or b) go streaking for a few in-game hours and stuff all that contraband.... Somewhere. Don’t really know where it goes, to be honest.
Naked but stealthy. Stealthy.... But naked.
Obviously I go streaking quite a lot at first.
As I got bigger and heavier armor and weapons, I started plowing through dungeons by sheer force alone. Mind you, Prisonor is small, angry, and has a huge axe, so it just works®
Mistake #4: no Stamina. We trudge slowly to shadowmere like a woman with infinite health and literally nothing else. I think I maybe slipped her one or two levels into Stamina, and absolutely nothing in Magicka. Actually,
Dumb of Ass Mistake number 5: no god damned Magicka. It became such a problem that i would tell Chris to remind me next time when I was leveling up, to possibly add to poor widdle Magicka pwease? And I never did, since we’d both forget, and hit “health” with a smug little smile in my face. Try and kill me, douches. I have 300 health and counting. Wait. Wait hold on I fucking forgot—
I gave her the first novice hood you find in the game, dusted off my hands as if i’d just solved all of humanity’s inherent problems, and walked. Away.
It’s now part of her backstory. She can’t grow her Magicka because her mother was a skooma addict when she was pregnant, and it fucked with a few things when she was in the womb. can you tell that her backstory is a little fucked up? Well hold on, don't have much faith in me yet, because i killed her adopted dad too lmao #hewasexecutedforpoliticalgainbecausehewasalargethreattothescoomatradeinhammerfell
Mistake #6: hello my name is Prisonor and I would like to tell you about the future of the Companions, do you have a spare minute?
Chris pointed at Whiterun as I sprinted, naked (for speed, because I am already trudging the path of Heavy Armor even at that point) down the hill from Riverwood and said, “you can become a werewolf over there.”
Oh? I can become a tormented, feral, roaring beast over there yonder? Well sign me the fuck up you funky little bitch.
So I completed the whole questline all the way through with no stops. I didn’t like the fact that nearly everyone was a Nord, but it had less context for me at the time so it rubbed me wrong less than I does now.
But hold on. You get something at the end of that quest, right? A huge axe with a lot of history I didn’t really delve that deep into at the time?
Yes. Yes I did build a heavy armor, no-archery, werewolf, Wuuthrad-wielding Bosmer named Prisonor my first playthrough.
She was the ultimate rebel without me even trying to be. To the point where her axe is more deadly to herself than to her own wife.
Dumb #7: I threw the Ring of Hircine in a lake thinking it was useless.
That’s it. I’m still mad about it.
In conclusion,
The hard drive in the 360 was shit, so the load times were awful. Sunk 80$ on a new hard drive and had to sit on the floor waiting for the saves to transfer for 3 hours.
Good game solid 7,000steps out of 5
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keeroo92 · 5 years
Text
Savior, Bloodstain, Hellfire, Shadow Ch37 (V x Reader)
Alternate ending epilogue and final chapter of this fic. Sequel is in prgress and will follow the events of the true ending.
Nero
Nero covers you with a blanket, carefully concealing your frozen features in a sign of respect and mourning. He sits across from your body at the red table with a heavy sigh, swallowing harshly to restrain his tears. Nico sits across from him, a mug of coffee in her hand. She’s been almost inconsolable, utterly shattered by the loss of both you and the poet. Lady is in the driver’s seat, Trish beside her as she starts the van and begins the long journey to Fortuna.
How the hell am I gonna tell Kyrie about all this? It’s all so fucked up…
The young warrior grits his teeth, almost snarling in rage at the way events had unfolded. That blow had been meant for him; he should’ve been the one to fall. And what the hell had you meant about balancing the scales?
It doesn’t matter now. She’s gone.
A loud sniffle from Nico draws his attention as she stares forlornly into her mug. Nero reaches out, resting a hand on her wrist and giving her a sympathetic smile. She sniffles again, her eyes rising to meet his.
“Do you… y’know, wanna talk?” he asks her awkwardly.
“I guess… it’s just a lot, y’know? Feels like we lost even though Urizen is gone. Sort of,” she starts solemnly, taking a sip of her coffee.
“Yeah, I hear ya. Doesn’t really feel like a win,” he replies thoughtfully. Nico hums her agreement, her eyes drifting to rest on your covered body sadly.
“Dante said the thing that got her was aiming for you, right? What happened, exactly?” the mechanic inquires softly. Nero cringes at the reminder, bracing himself to tell her the whole story.
“After Vergil came back, things got weird. He kept shifting back into V, like he was still in there fighting. But Vergil wouldn’t let him out, kept trying to fight Dante. He was aiming for me when he stabbed her. She… she jumped in the path, did it on purpose. She saved me,” he explains sorrowfully. He bites his lip, the pain helping keep the sadness at bay.
“Did she suffer?”
Nero sighs, unsure how to answer. He rubs the back of his neck in discomfort as he gathers his thoughts.
“Not for long. There was enough time for us to try to save her. It was weird, one second Vergil’s trying to kill Dante and the next he’s trying to save Y/N. He completely lost it when she… when she died. She had time to tell me it was worth it,” he recalls morosely. He would never forget the look on your face as you touched him for the last time, the spark of life going dark in your eyes as he watched, helpless.
 Worth it…
 Am I? Am I really worth her life?
Nico stands, stepping closer to him to wrap him in a firm hug as his face crumples, unable to keep the sorrow at bay any longer.
_____________________________________
By the time the van pulls up to the home he shares with Kyrie, the sun is low in the sky. Long shadows extend from the trees lining the road, skeletal shades reaching for him as he approaches the door. Before he can reach its familiar white paneling, it flies open with a crash as Kyrie runs out to meet him with an ecstatic grin.
He knows the second she registers his blood-soaked clothing; her smile vanishes, her steps faltering in concern as she reaches him.
“Nero! What happened? Whose blood is that?” she prods instantly. He glances back at the van as Trish, Nico and Lady all carry your covered body forward. None of them had any clue what to do with your remains but still knew better than to leave you in the vehicle overnight. Kyrie’s expression goes from concern to dread as she follows his gaze, still unsure what’s going on.
“Kyrie… It’s Y/N’s blood. She died to save me. We lost V and Dante, too,” he begins in a strained tone. Her arms wrap him in a hug, ignoring the patches of slightly damp blood as she comforts him.
 I missed you so much, missed this…
He inhales deeply, reveling in the scent of the woman he loves so dearly. An ocean of gratitude rises within him, not knowing if he would have made it back to her without your sacrifice. Her thoughts seem to mirror his as she speaks.
“Then I owe her a debt that can’t be repaid,” Kyrie murmurs softly. Nero holds her close, her presence soothing his grief to a point where he can bear it. She is an island amidst the chaos, a refuge from the pain as she always has been.
“I’ll call a mortician. I suppose the garage will have to do for now, can you show them where to put her?” Kyrie asks calmly. Nero releases her and nods tightly, not trusting himself to speak as she smiles sadly at him and retreats inside to make the terrible phone call. Nero sets his shoulders, turning to face the three women carrying you to him.
“In the garage, I’ll make a spot for her,” he mumbles, already walking toward the massive rolling door. With a simple keycode, it rolls away to reveal the familiar grey concrete floor and brick walls. He stomps over to the folding table to the right, quickly moving all the tools and various bottles of fluids to leave a space for you to rest. His throat tightens uncomfortably as the three women lug you inside, carefully arranging you on the cold plastic. The four of them stand in silence for a moment, staring at the body beneath the throw blanket in anguish.
The echoing patter of Kyrie’s approaching footsteps breaks the silence as she enters the garage, phone held up to her ear as she approaches him.
“Did she have any family, Nero?” she asks gently. He frowns, looking at the floor as he realizes none of them had bothered to try and contact your mom yet.
“Yeah, her mom is in the next town over from Red Grave. Last name is Newman,” he replies. Kyrie nods and returns inside with the phone to finalize the arrangements, leaving him and the three other women alone once more.
“I’ll see if I can get her number from the phone,” Nico mumbles, heading back to the van outside with slumped shoulders. Lady sighs and looks at Trish.
“We should head back, to wait for Dante,” she reminds the blonde quietly. Trish nods and gives a strained smile to Nero.
“We’re going to keep Devil May Cry going until he gets back. You’ll tell us when there’s a service for her?”
He nods tightly, eyes still locked on your covered body. Trish lies a hand on his arm in sympathy before she turns away to leave, Lady coming over to give him a warm hug. Nero grips her tightly, trying to return her support in kind.
_____________________________________
The morning of the service dawns bright and cold, a chilly wind blowing in from the sea. Robins and sparrows flit happily around the graveyard, a startling contrast to the group of mourners assembled around your casket. It’s a beautiful dark oak, silver handles decorating the sides and white lilies arranged on the lid.
It makes Nico want to vomit.
 How can everything seem so nice and pretty when she’s gone? It ain’t right!
She wants to rip the flowers away and carve deep grooves into the wood, marring the smooth surface with her pain. She wants to scream and cry, to punch someone, anyone.
Instead she takes a seat near the front, holding her offering in silence as the minister drones on. It had been your mother’s decision to have the boring man speak, talking about heaven and hell as if he knew what either of them looked like.
Nico knows better.
She pretends to listen as the preacher rambles for what feels like hours, her thoughts hidden behind a careful mask of blank attention. At long last the man falls silent and the mourners step forward to leave their small tokens for you. Nico waits until everyone else has had their turn before she steps forward, grasping her item tightly as she approaches.
She can hear several quiet murmurs behind her as she unsheathes your sword and holds it high, a few gasps of surprise as she plunges the blade straight into the wood, embedding it there for all time. It feels right, feels like the perfect way to remember you to force those here to admire the sword you had wielded to prevent your home from being overrun by demons.
She returns to her seat as the tears fall at last, memories of you flooding her mind. Beside her, Nero wraps an arm around her shoulders awkwardly, doing his best to support her even as his nose turns red and he sniffles.
The creaking sound of the casket being lowered makes goosebumps erupt on Nico’s arms. She hates that sound; it reminds her painfully of those she’s lost. Now she has you to add to that list. She stares at the too-green grass under her feet as the echoes fade, your casket now at rest at the bottom of the earthen pit. The minister leaves, several of the mourners who hadn’t known you well following soon after.
Then it’s just her, your fellow devil hunters and your mother. The unfamiliar woman glares at the group angrily, clearly still blaming them for your demise.  Kyrie alone approaches the distraught woman, her kind personality giving her the ability to find the right words to ease the woman’s suffering. Nico watches from far as the two women embrace sadly.
She looks away as the sensation of intruding on a private moment overwhelms her, standing and gazing at the plain tombstone that decorates your final resting place.
 May she walk with angels.
 Seriously? That’s it?
Nico snorts, wondering who was the dumbass that chose the words. If it’d been up to her, it would’ve said something about being a badass who never gave up. Nero joins her with a sad smile, his nose still quite red as his gaze follows hers to rest on the granite stone.
“Damn, that’s it? Doesn’t seem like enough,” he murmurs quietly. She chokes out a laugh, leaning against him as he wraps an arm over her shoulders in comfort.
“No words ever are,” she comments sadly.
_____________________________________
Two Years Later
A warm breeze rustles through the trees dotting the area, a few leaves breaking free and fluttering free in the wind. His steps echo on the stone pathway as he approaches the simple granite marking. He sighs heavily, crouching to leave the bouquet of irises in the waiting opening.
 May she walk with angels.
 Pathetically inadequate.
He brushes his white hair out of his eyes distractedly, more focused on your grave as his brother follows a few steps behind him. Dante keeps a respectful distance, for which he’s very grateful. It’s been a long two years; their time in the underworld had helped them to understand each other but it wasn’t until they’d made it back that they had truly become brothers again.
That was two months ago.
Dante had been here a few times since their return, but this was Vergil’s first visit.
He sits on the green grass, crossing his long legs and staring at the carved words marking your resting place. Dante backs away even further, leaving hearing distance to peruse other markings until Vergil is ready to leave. He sighs again, gathering his thoughts.
“I’m sorry its taken me so long, Y/N. I’m sorry for many things, actually,” he begins regretfully. The familiar ache settles over his heart as he addresses you, his longing to see you again forever left unsatiated. It still baffles him how much he cares for you, how much he misses you.
 There will be no one else.
“I want you to know that things are different now. I no longer wish to kill Dante,, though sometimes he makes it difficult. Nero’s coming around, though he’s understandably cautious. There’s much work to be done,” he explains hesitantly. It still makes him uncomfortable to show any amount of weakness, but there’s no one else here.
“I miss you,” he concludes, gritting his teeth as he forces the words out. Silence greets his words, not even the hush of wind responding to him. He stays still for a long time, not speaking a word but content to reflect on the past, on his short time with you while you were alive.
By the time Dante returns, the sun is setting behind him, his shadow being cast over your tombstone and draping you in darkness. Vergil recognizes the sound of his brothers footsteps and stands to meet him.
“I’ll return soon,” he whispers as he turns to leave with his twin.
And he does.
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nat-20s · 5 years
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Top 5 Breakdowns over David Tennant- any fandom/show/ play you've seen? I really liked the dw one you did, just hoping you could expand over/ include other things he's been in.
Oh anon you are QUITE the enabler thank you.
So this is like half actual breakdown list and half just like David Tennant recommendations in general because I love that funky little scot.
+1. This isn’t going on the official list because I already did the previous list you mentioned (i’m glad you liked it, btw!!!) but yeah. Doctor Who. He plays the doctor in a very fuckin uhh mercutial way (he plays a lot of characters that way and I am 100% enamored by it every fuckin time he just does it SO WELL AUGH) and like highs were so high and the lows were so low and he was so FURIOUS AND CRUEL but also so GENTLE AND KIND and like oof!! The multifacetedness bitch!!!! That’s what it’s all about babey!!!
5. Good omens. I mean, duh. There was no fucking way I was gonna survive good omens. Like, honestly, even without miss tennant I wouldn’t have survived it because HA HA HA HA H O L Y SHIT MY FAVORITE BOOK FOR THE LAST DECADE WAS GETTING AN ACTUAL SCREEN ADAPTATION I GENUINELY DID NOT THINK WE WOULD EVER BE HERE THIS SHIT IS LIT. but then but THEN it was like. The way that he portrayed crowley definitely fit into a particular niche that david tennant KILLS. Like god okay I could spend an whole fucking essay on this point so I’m gonna distill this down to just. THE moment that I was like “okay okay okay okay fuck I’m GOING THROUGH IT” was when his voice cracks as he tells aziraphale that he lost his best friend because like in context OOF and out of context I have been Pavlovian trained for the past decade to Utterly Lose My Shit when David Tennant is like this close to crying and he expresses that with his whole body THE ASSHOLE! LET ME REST. I THOUGHT I WAS OVER THIS MISTER!!
4. The Escape Artist. Lesser known (I think?), but a VERY GOOD miniseries! The tone is much darker, and he’s a much more serious character. Similar vibes, role wise, to broadchurch. I’m not sure how much rewatch value it has but watching it for the first time had me like MISSION STATUS: SICK!!!! It’s like a cat and mouse mystery and like. I’m not gonna go to in depth into the story because I think it’s more enjoyable to go into it not knowing much and too me it was one of those things that took like 3 hours to watch all of and a full week or two to like. Process. Also I’m not usually one for drama and I was ABOUT it so I would recommend!!!
3. JESSICA JONES (season 1). Holy FUCK dude. Definitely his darkest and most evil role, and the subject matter is VERY heavy and I definitely would NOT recommend it for everyone because it could be, how you say, triggering as fuck or even just because it is incredibly dark and that might not be your thing. Funnily enough, it’s DEFINITELY not my thing, personally, I tend to avoid narratives about sexual assault because so many of them are, uh, ya know, bad, but Jessica Jones season 1 really is done FANTASTICALLY! The David Tennant breakdown was just a level of cognitive dissonance because I had never seen him play like a VILLAIN villain. I mean, yeah, he was Barty Crouch Jr., but that was for like 30 seconds and while the dude was creepy there was a layer of campy over the topness that is present in most fun fantasy franchises. I remember when he was cast as the purple man me and my parents were like. Yeah he’ll obviously crush the role because he’s talented but in the back of our minds we’ll probably still be thinking of like the doctor and I wonder if we can fully accept him playing the role. Yeah there was fucking NONE OF THAT. When he played Purple Man I never ONCE thought of his other roles and I didn’t even, like, think of David Tennant, ya know. I was just like oh shit this man is evil and terrifying and I want him dead! Please die!!! And yes, I know that that’s how acting works or whatever but also ACTING ya know!!! Of any of the roles on this list this one definitely made me be the most like SHE HAS THE RANGE because I really think it highlights how INCREDIBLY GOOD at his job he is!!! I have not ever rewatched Jessica Jones season 1 though because while it is honestly like a triumph of television it is also A Lot to deal with and I am very rarely in the kind of mindset where I’m able to watch it. But yeah. David Tennant knows what the fuck he’s doing and it is very good.
2. MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING BABEY. Literally I knew nothing about the play or why I should care but the promo material was like. Catherine Tate and David Tennant are costars again and I was like OKAY SIGN ME THE FUCK UP HELL YEAH HELL YEAH HELL YEAH. For real I think on screen chemistry Catherine Tate and David Tennant are one of if not just straight up my favorite duo of all time. They are just so DELIGHTFUL and ENCHANTING and BEWITCHING and basically I want them to costar in everything ever. @azirafeathers was like “sherlock holmes adaptation where she’s sherlock and he’s watson” and I haven’t stopped thinking about that since!!! I would give my left thumb or at least like a solid $60 to see that. Like PLEASE it would be PERFECT. I LOVE THEM. And god this production of much ado is definitely like. “Here’s Benedick and Beatrice. They’re two chaotic dumbass bisexuals that are like fives on the kinsey scale and they fall in love much to their surprise” and it’s TERRIFIC. That’s exactly what I like to see. Like it’s set in the 80s and the set design? The visual gags? The costumes? The soundtrack? THE PHYSICAL COMEDY? It all SLAPS. David Tennant really balances “fun and funky slut” and “utterly PINING idiot” so fucking well. I have said it before and I will say it again David Tennant peaks when Catherine Tate is being mean to him. Also really iconic to give him the role that is like the only man in the play that is (after a bit) CHUGGING his respect women juice. I mean LOOK at this utter buffoon.
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I’m in love. This play made me a proud morosexual. Plus it’s all FREE ON YOUTUBE THE NEXT TIME YOU HAVE THREE HOURS AND WANT TO HAVE A GOOD FUCKIN TIME GO WATCH MUCH ADO!!
1. H A M L E T. So imagine that you’re 14 and it’s 3 am and you’re casually watching David Tennant’s hamlet on youtube or at least the parts they put up and you’re painting stars on your ceiling with glow in the dark paint and it makes you realize that you have an excess of black bile and a melancholic temperment and you’ll understand why, while this might not be my all time favorite david tennant role (though it definitely is high up on the list) , this is absolutely my number one David Tennant Related Breakdown. Hoo boy. This probably doesn’t come as a shock to literally anybody that knows me irl bc I Will Not shut up about Hamlet and it is this productions fault. Different people will respond differently too it, and I’m definitely 1000% biased because a: I love him and b: it was the first production I ever watched and it’s what got me On My Bullshit, but this production honestly makes me like. Get Hamlet. Or not get hamlet, personally, as a character, we’re never meant to fully understand him honestly, but it made me understand the ALLURE of the play. I watched it and I was like oh. Yeah. Okay. I can see why people have been obsessed with this for 400 years. I know why it’s considered one of the greatest roles and one of the greatest plays of all time. And I went absolutely feral for it. It solidified Horatio permanently as one of my all time favorite characters in anything ever. David Tennant has this tendency to put manic and desperate energy into the characters that he plays, and that of course works extremely well for hamlet. Plus, like, he plays characters that are drowning, that need the assistance and kindness of love to try and float, and even with that might not be able to keep their heads above water, and the characters that are opposite him are basically always wonderful. Because I am deeply deeply predictable, the core dynamic of Hamlet and Horatio’s relationship is probably like THE most appealing and interesting and important aspect of the play to me, and Peter de Jersey (who is absolutely INCREDIBLE in this production) and David Tennant pull it of breathtakingly beautifully. Every time I watch this I have to lie down for a while. Every time I THINK about this I have to lie down for awhile. So, yeah, number one David Tennant based breakdown is over his hamlet.
Honorable mentions
this gifset-I have not seen what this is actually from but it made me have a conniption. I’m in love with her. She’s my idealized self. I don’t know what to do with myself. I spent 5 hours looking at this now. What the fuck. 
The Decoy Bride- I didn’t have a breakdown over it BUT it is a recommendation. Very silly rom com, very much a comfort movie like music and lyrics or singing in the rain for me. Great for sleep overs or rainy sunday afternoons. 
Richard II- I haven’t seen it but based on one (1) clip and some stills I would be lost in the sauce for a week after a viewing. 
Nativity 2: Danger in the Manger- watch nativity 2 danger in the manger. 
Fright Night- jesus fucking CHRIST mister tennant went full slut
Casanova- Mister Tennant Goes Full Slut part 2- has blue colored contacts and it’s weird
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