#knowing that i would have to send this monstrosity down to quality after trying my best to make it presentable

[majorxmaggiexboy]

when you’re on the steaming station and have 5 minutes to put a seat down the line but it’s a seat 2nd shift built

#those seats need elvish medicine they need a prayer circle santana a seance.... #got the seams twisted halfway around the headrest wrinkles chasm-deep #that little steamer iron can only do so much like #@whoever put this on the rack do u hate me personally did u laugh as u clocked out #knowing that i would have to send this monstrosity down to quality after trying my best to make it presentable #i've crossed the line into memeing about my job sghsjgshj

[itsevanffs]

Hihi!! I've been hyperfixating on tommary lately and I absolutely loved (In the dark!)! I wanted to see if u have any tommary/harrymort fics that u recommend.. preferably ones that feature a possessive Tom ^^ ty in advance

I guess this would be the right time to publicly declare my bookmarks as open? Everything on there is a hard rec, and I vigorously quality-check those... for my liking and my liking only. (Sorry, not sorry. They're there for me, after all.)

That being said, hmm. I've got a few you might like.

Below the cut: more (additionally to my bookmarks) Tomarrymort (Tomarry or Harrymort) recommendations with possessive/obsessive Tom in alphabetical order; NOT order of how much I enjoy them. I'd argue I enjoy them all equally, just in different ways.

Ps: thank you! I'm incredibly flattered you liked my work :D

and don't let the police know anything by littlecupkate https://archiveofourown.org/works/24920947

Ted Dirlod is dangerous, Harry Potter knows this for a fact, but the man was still his only hope at escaping a doomed fate. It is never wise to blackmail a crime lord. It is even more unwise(?) when said crime lord is obsessed with you. An expanded version of "praying to whatever's in heaven, please send me a felon"

Genuinely lovely? Ticks all my boxes, at least, and minimal angst, which is always a plus. That being said, you should probably read the work mentioned in the summary as well for context. But hey. Two cakes by one person ;) Can never go wrong, can it?

As Certain Dark Things Are to be Loved by Strange_Soulmates https://archiveofourown.org/works/6015619

Tom was Harry's best friend growing up and his first love. At eight, Harry gave Tom his first kiss before moving away. As a freshman in college, the name of the RA on the door across the hall is terribly familiar.

Also absolutely deliciously indulgent. Tom is a possessive terror and Harry loves him for it. Need I say more?

Harry Potter and the Search for Ancient Magic (series) by Snickerdoodlepop https://archiveofourown.org/series/1133141

Once Voldemort realizes that Harry Potter is his horcrux, his plans change drastically. So does Draco Malfoy's assignment for the school year. Harry's sixth year starts going very differently. Snape is on a mission. Harry needs to learn pureblood politics. Draco Malfoy is trying to convince Harry to forgive him. Voldemort finds himself visiting Harry Potter in his dreams. Everyone is realizing that no one is quite what they thought. And through it all, there's a mystery. What is Ancient Magic? Can Harry use it to save himself or will it pull him toward the dark side?

Honestly, genuinely, hands down the best fucking tomarrymort series I've ever read. Hard, hard rec from here. The first work is completed and the second is in progress, so it's a nice pile of words to chew through!

can't commit to anything but a crime by caelesti https://archiveofourown.org/works/27286483

Excitement is the word he does not dare utter, even in the privacy of his own mind. It’s wrong, he knows. These women are people, in their own right; people with fears and aspirations, with friends and families and dreams, and to have anything cut those lives short is nothing but tragic. To have anyone cut those lives short is nothing but condemnable. He doesn’t have James Potter’s laugh lines, but he does have his father’s innate flair for danger. He doesn’t have Lily Potter’s enthusiasm, but he does have her insatiable curiosity. (In every world, Harry will excel at finding the biggest spot of trouble available and sticking his nose in it.)

Hot serial killer serial killer hot. That's it, those are the thoughts. Please read.

Dripping Fingers by May_May_0_0 https://archiveofourown.org/works/25440826

When Harry finds Tom Riddle's diary he does not write 'Hello.' He does not write anything at all. He draws. Tom Riddle falls in love with the artwork. _________________ Sketch by sketch, drawing by drawing, the ink Harry pours into the diary manifests as creations in Tom's monochrome world.

Okay so if I'm the reincarnation of Shakespeare, May_May_0_0 is fucking... Ted Hughes. Which doesn't say much to your average viewer but that man wrote my favourite poem ever (the one I based my war fic off) and I hold him in very high regard. This story? It is poetry in its rawest form. Pure, condensed beauty. If you decide to read only one of the fics in this list, please choose this one.

Either must die at the hand of the other by Metalomagnetic https://archiveofourown.org/works/29356095

Voldemort survives the Battle of Hogwarts because Harry Potter had not been the one to kill him, as the prophecy demands.

When is Metalomagnetic not a master of words? When will I cease becoming breathless at every paragraph, at every cleverly twisted word that comes back and reveals itself so beautifully later?

Fine Line by galaxiesundone https://archiveofourown.org/works/26949952

Magic always leaves traces. The lingering darkness of Sectumsempra, combined with Harry’s nature as a horcrux, awakens the soul piece contained within Ravenclaw’s diadem. At twenty years old, Tom Riddle walks a fine line between man and monster, the devil and the light-bringer in one. His influence forces Harry to face an ancient enemy unlike anything he has faced before: temptation.

Long story short: Tom Riddle is Hot and Good At Being Hot and Harry truly doesn't stand a chance and I am here for it. Lord help me I love this fic to pieces.

Good Intentions by Strange_Soulmates https://archiveofourown.org/works/7035334

Five year old Harry Potter meets and befriends a seventeen year old Tom Riddle while hanging out at his dad’s station. James Potter decides to take Tom under his wing, using Tom’s connection with Harry to try and keep the teen grounded, even as he begins to investigate the Death Eaters, a dangerous organized crime group and their mysterious leader only known as Lord Voldemort.

The sheer potential of this fic. The horrible, terrible dread of future events that have yet to be revealed. I will cry.

Honey, Smoke, Shiver by machiavelli https://archiveofourown.org/works/16068062

Harry - Omega, only son of Lord Potter - is nothing more than a useful playing card in a political game of power and money, one that is bought by the famed Tom Riddle: powerful, dangerous, pureblood Alpha. Unsurprisingly, Harry loves being underestimated.

Machiavelli is always a rec from me. Sorry lads but that's the way it is. Never a moment where I won't recommend their stuff.

Sickly-Sweet Obsession by maquira https://archiveofourown.org/works/18259103

Quiet, studious Tom Riddle spends his first year thirsting after an older student—Gryffindor’s Quidditch Captain, Harry Potter. His crush is common knowledge, and even Harry finds it cute… at first. Possessiveness spawns monstrosities. Tom does all within his power to mess with Harry’s dating life. And one seemingly harmless crush spirals into something darker, begetting deadly consequences.

Again; the potential. Delicious. This will bloom into something beautifully twisted, I'm sure of it.

Stars, Hide Your Fires by Audair https://archiveofourown.org/works/27745546

Riddle’s undivided attention snapped to him with the swiftness of shattering glass. His turbulent magic receded from where it had besieged the shop. "You,” he breathed. Coiling in leisurely motions, the eager tendrils of his magic reached for Harry, swathing about his limbs and neck and chest with a liquid, flowing fascination. "I’ve been looking for you,” Riddle continued, tilting his head to the side and sweeping his gaze over Harry. It was an appraisal that felt simultaneously like the raking of iron nails and the tender drapery of silk. It was so familiar, and yet… so foreign. In the winding streets of Knockturn Alley, an intricate dance of mutual obsession unravels between twenty-three-year-old Tom Riddle and a time-travelling Harry Potter.

This work has recently been undergoing a rewrite, and I can tell you with certainty it's only gotten better for it. It's beautiful; the setting, the atmosphere, the vibes... Perfection. Captures Knockturn Alley's mood impeccably and does not disappoint a single moment.

the pleasure, the privilege by asterisms https://archiveofourown.org/works/21227528

It begins with Vernon Dursley's body, dead across the table. In which Voldemort is dosed with amortentia, and nothing is better for it.

Completed, terrifying... and gorgeous.

The Shrike (to your sharp and glorious thorn) by PaperWorlds https://archiveofourown.org/works/22380079

Shrike: A songbird with a sharply hooked bill, known for their habit of catching insects and small vertebrates and impaling their bodies on thorns, the spikes on barbed-wire fences, or any available sharp point. A young Harry Potter survives an attack by notorious serial killer Voldemort. Over a decade later, they meet again.

Lads I'm so desperate for an update from this fic that I might cry if I think about it for too long. I keep saying it and I'll say it again; this is one of those fics with amazing potential that are sure to never disappoint no matter what path they take. An incredibly hard rec.

To Raise a Servant by bluegrass https://archiveofourown.org/works/19780816

Tom had found the boy amidst pouring rain. He figured he'd always wanted a pet snake.

Surprisingly not quite as dark as the summary makes it seem? I certainly enjoyed it, though, and that's why it's on this list.

What He Grows To Be by Severus_divides_into_H https://archiveofourown.org/works/19042240

Tom Riddle is a frightening coil of darkness, cruelty, and greatness, and changing him is Harry’s only hope for saving people he loves. Going back in time, he takes Tom from the orphanage, but his optimism shatters with every year they spend together. Tom still longs for darkness. Tom stifles him in his possessiveness. Tom is fixated on him to the point of destroying the world just to keep him. But Harry loves him. And the future changes.

Beautiful. And absolutely terrifying. I've started crying mid-scene at least three times for this fic, and it honestly seems unfathomable if you haven't read it if you're on my profile, since I think this is one of the fics that have shaped my style and ambitions. It is what I aspire to be.

#fic rec #fic recs #tomarry #tomarrymort #harrymort #fanfic #ask #anon ask

[swtki]

Dear Edward

Chapter 1

Pairing: Edward Cullen x Fem! Reader

Summary: Edward looks over his life, and what could have been.

A/N: I have been holding onto this baby for months, and I’m not sure how it will fair. Please reblog, send me an ask, or simply like if you enjoy this. I will also be making a tag list form here

WARNINGS: Cursing 

I skimmed my finger over the rough sheet of paper in my hand. A part of me begged myself to burn the envelope, containing another heart-felt letter from my beloved (Y/n). How many years had it been since I left Chicago with Carlisle, effectively ending the life I came to know, and starting an eternity of monstrosity? I couldn’t tell one day from another, without the human necessities the days bled together.

I had left (Y/n) when I left that hospital. Before Carlisle changed me, before I was so ill that I was unconscious nearly half the time, I enjoyed her letters. She grew up with me, a mere two months younger than I. Despite my eventual silence, the absence of a letter written back to her while I was in the Influenza ward, she wrote a letter every week. Sometimes she slipped it on the nurses desk, sometimes she waited until she could give it to Carlisle personally, but she always wrote. When we left Chicago, Carlisle had given the nurses a forwarding address of the hospital in our new town. Back in those days, you relied on letters to inform you of personal happenings across the state, in our case country but never the less, Carlisle always kept in touch with his old friends. Some days I wished her letters hadn’t made the forwarding stack, some days I was glad to have at least the scent of her in my head.

I put the envelope back in my cardboard box, pulling out a yellowed piece of parchment and smiling when I grazed my eyes over it.

June 12th, 1918

Dear Edward,

My apologies that I haven’t seen you in all this time that you’ve been in the clinic. I tried to bring you a scarf my mother knitted, but the nurses informed me that you were to be in the most isolated unit. I’m trying to convince myself that you’re young, you’re strong. You’re the boy who ran four blocks to grab my hat that I had left at a restaurant, you are strong.

I miss the way you would show up at the right time, somehow you always say the thing I need to hear. Edward, can you believe me if I say that you are the most amazing boy in the world? I need you to believe me because I’ve never been so sure about anything. I would love to tell you the small happenings of my week, but I think I’ll save that for another letter.

Edward, you are so special to me. You have to stay strong, for me.

Love,

(Y/N) (L/N)

I wish, even now, that I could remember reading her letters, but instead I settle for Carlisle telling me about how I looked as I read them. I have little memory of life before Carlisle. I have no memory of her, yet I’ve fallen in love with her through the letters. Carlisle had told me about the letters I wrote back in my first week or two in the ward. Soon, I became too weak to scribe, so I had whoever I could do it for me. Although, I don’t remember what I wrote back. Telling by the letters, in order by date, I had the right things to say to her, even when I was barely breathing.

I folded the yellowed-sheet up, placing it back in its rightful spot. My eye caught a small photo I treasured, her photo. She was sixteen in this photo, taken in nineteen-seventeen judging by the camera quality. Her hair was pulled back into a bun, letting her beautiful eyes stand out against her lovely skin. In those days, getting your portrait done was a days events. It was uncommon to see anyone smiling in their photo, she was no exception of course. But even her resting face looked joyful, a talent for that time.

I sighed, wondering if I might have had a chance at a normal life l with her. A life in a small house, dinner on the table when I came home from my day job. Maybe I would have joined the military, fought alongside her brother in France. I would have come home after my friends died, after I had almost died. I would have brought my watch to show her, it lit up with this new thing called radium. That’s not all I would show her though, I would whisper “I love you” in French, something a fellow soldier taught me. Our first child would be born in nineteen-twenty-four, two years after our marriage. Maybe we would have had three children, maybe five, I’ll never know.

Instead, I had to leave everything behind, watch people I knew die. I gave up on looking in the mirror in nineteen-nineteen, nothing would ever change for me. She would become a woman, eventually becoming a grandmother I’m sure. I would stay seventeen, lanky and thin. Maybe I was always meant to live this life. Maybe some deity realized that if they didn’t kill me – or try to kill me – I would marry her and fuck up both of our lives. I’ll never truly be sure, and there was no way in Hell I was sure back then.

I fought the urge to put down her photo, close the box, and walk away. I knew that if I were to live with the fact I wasn’t living with her, I would have to close it within the first hundred years of my existence. At that time I was only sixty years past being human, I still had much to figure out. I knew I couldn’t leave my bed, leave my room, until all of her letters had been read in order.

#edward cullen #edward cullen x reader #edward cullen x reader smut #twilight x reader #twilight fanfic #edward cullen smut #edward cullen fanfiction #twilight headcanon #headcannons twilight #carslile cullen #esme cullen #fanfiction #twilight renaissance

[virgil-writes]

ash & soot

Long before the Winters come into play, a monster stalks the Forbidden Forest that surrounds the Village. Karl Heisenberg is sent to investigate, and heads deeper into darkness to find his prey, a thorn on his side and someone just like him. (Heisenberg x OC)

on AO3: chapter one | chapter two | chapter three | chapter four | chapter five | chapter six | chapter seven (ao3 only) | chapter eight

chapter 8 - great expectations

SFW, but usual blood/gore warning. around 3.5K words.

He barely remembers getting dressed and returning to his quarters after such a relaxing shower. At some point he had slipped inside his pants and slid an undershirt on, thrown himself at the desk chair and poured over plans and schematics, a mess of paper and far more motor oil than necessary. He had written and read until his eyes had grown tired, like every other night, fighting off sleep to the best of his ability. He could sleep when he was dead, or when she was dead, when he was far away from this hellhole, when nothing awaited him come morning.

Some nights he would skip it altogether, keep his eyes wide open when his mind was too fraught with dreadful thoughts. He knew what would come if he finally closed his eyes, the memories that he worked so hard to put away. A dream, it was only a dream, he would tell himself over and over, but it was hard to believe it when he would wake up drenched in sweat and tears, throat sore from screaming at the top of his lungs, that all too familiar twinge of sadness and terror balling up in his chest. It was hard to believe and hard to forget, because he would see it when he held the wrench, when he brought a cup to his lips, when he pressed the buttons to get the conveyor belt running. His hands shook, his fingers lost their strength, and then we would remember it all. It was not real, but it had been once, and he is unsure whether the knowledge makes things better or worse.

Heisenberg remembers nothing but the familiar tingle on his fingertips, the numbness that overtook him, anxiety and fear washing over him like he had been engulfed in a sea of darkness. The scribbles on the paper would be evidence of how he had lost control the night before, how he had pressed the pencil hard to try and force himself to focus, to keep going. The cut on his forehead would tell him that he exhaustion had taken the reigns and he had fallen face first into the table, head hitting the metal clamp and inadvertently helping lull him to sleep.

Much to his surprise, that night, when Heisenberg closed his eyes, he was greeted with the blissful sight of nothing. Head void of dreams, of nightmares, body protesting with the awkward way he’d scattered over his work station, but nothing else. The cut had stained some papers with blood and drool had ruined some others; his arms felt numb in the morning, as they had been left hanging off the desk with his head and neck as the only support. It took him a good few stretches of his hands to feel his fingers again - all things considered, this had been a much better night than most.

If the night was almost-pleasant, the morning was anything but. A hot gust of air blew in when the factory kicked into gear with full force, like it did every day around this time, the whirring of blades and purring of engines his usual white noise. Only this time there was an intruder, a high pitched, repetitive sound that threatened to pierce his eardrums - he woke up to the incessant sound of his phone ringing. The thing sat just inside his office, an old landline that Miranda had insisted on him keeping in case she needed to speak to him urgently. She would call him every now and again, but more often than not it was his siblings that would bother him. Moreau would call to ask if he had found any old VHS tapes or old fiction books, Donna would ask him for blades and all manner of crazy-looking schematics built. Alcina rarely called, but given her interest in the bloodsucking beast that prowled the woods, he was certain that would change very soon.

Not that he intended to answer any of them, naturally. Nine times out of ten he was nowhere near the dumb phone to answer, which made Mother angry and him even angrier, because the last thing he wanted was to interrupt important research to tend to any of their petty, cruel whims. When she called, invariably he would be thrust into something barbarous and despicable; she wanted someone kidnapped, or killed, or turned into a monstrosity. She wanted him to spy or intimidate, put on his best scary mask and drill the fear of the Black God into someone’s mind. She never once asked if his research went well, if he was doing well, and though it had been years of such abuse, he could not help but feel the sting of it every time he heard her speak. Somewhere deep down, he still held onto a sliver of hope that she cared; and she would always dig deeper and deeper, until she found it and choked his feelings to death.

Heisenberg lazily lifted his head, right arm coming up to wipe away the drool at the corner of his mouth, eyes hurting under the bright industrial lights coming in through the window. A strand of hair had sneaked into his eye when he blinked, such a small nuisance upsetting him even further, a simple strand of hair that felt like the devil’s toothpick stabbing his eyeball. The phone had stopped for a few seconds only to resurge like the wailing of a baby, and the ringing prompted him to shoot up and off his armchair in a flash, too disoriented and uncomfortable to fully register what was going on. He almost fell on his way to the phone, tripping over his unbuttoned pants, annoyance levels rising with every step. He rubbed his eyes as he approached the offending object, flicked the room’s light on like it would help him hear better. At least it would keep him awake.

“Heisenberg,” came the voice from the other side, sweet and soft-spoken, domineering and stubborn. “Any news on our quarry?” Our quarry, he mouthed to himself mockingly. As if any of it was a team effort, as if he had anything to gain from this little adventure. Well, as it turns out, he did, but lady super-sized bitch didn’t need to know that. The damn hair was still stuck somewhere between his eyelashes. “A little bird told me you left the forest quite late last night.” A little bird would die a horrible, horrible death as soon as he discovered who it was that had agreed to his sister’s asinine plan of meddling in his business.

“Oh hey, sis. Surprised you get reception all the way up there.” He heard her huff of annoyance, chuckled in response. It bought him enough time to figure out exactly what he would tell her. Hey, yeah, turns out your monster is actually this gorgeous lady with a pair of tits big enough to rival any fertility goddess’? “Slippery little thing, that monster of yours. Found some bodies, some blood,” truth was always easier to tell than lies. “Caught a glimpse of something, too, but it disappeared in the middle of the trees before I could grab it. Little shit gave me the loop, took me quite a while to find the way back.” Heisenberg could practically hear her chest rising and falling as she breathed excitedly, happy to hear something, anything, even if it was a blatant lie. He could hear her nails hitting against wood impatiently, stringing together a tune he did not recognize. “What do you want with this thing anyway, needing a new pet?” Quite the funny thought, really. He was suddenly curious to know if the little witch would put up a fight as a tight collar was snapped around her neck.

“Am I right to assume you will return to the forest soon for another search?” Oh, most definitely, though his intentions were far different from what she expected. She continued without waiting for his answer, clearly aware that he would retort in the crassest manner possible. “I will see you handsomely rewarded once I have it in my possession, brother. House Dimitrescu does not forget such acts of service.” And there it was, brother, the greatest honor she would grant him, a compliment reserved for moments like these, when she desperately needed his help and no one else’s would do.

Blah, blah, blah. What was she going to offer him, a maiden? A scrawny lady with bruises big enough to make one believe her skin was purple, bones showing through her ribs and threatening to poke out at any moment? He had long decided against experimenting on women - they were always so weak and fragile, he would tell himself. Had long left behind his whoring days, too, far too focused on his research to let himself be distracted by a pair of tits. Oh, right; the irony. What else could she give him? A casket of wine made of blood of an innocent, with its thick bouquet of brutality and mercilessness?

She could offer him riches, influence, her undying loyalty. The only reward he wanted was to see her fractured into a thousand tiny pieces, nothing left of her and her daughters but the crystal cores they would dissolve into. The jewelry he would keep, the crystals he would sell to the Duke for a hefty price; the dust he would gather, send to an artist to mix into paint and commission a portrait of himself in his best work attire, his beat up trench coat and ragged hat. To make a statement, his fly would be open and his dick out in the painting, forever immortalizing him as the large, hard Lord of the Castle. With the money he would buy the best brewery he could find and have it make the worst beer, call it Lady D’s Fresh Piss, all in her honor, naturally.

He would bring over his suitcase and set up shop in the castle, tear down every reference to the Dimistrescu family and replace it with cheap replicas of innocent, idyllic landscapes, and dozens of horrible quality photos of his face. The extra large milk pail she called a hat would be used for entertainment when he gathered guests over, shoot the ball into the dead lady’s hat or take another shot. His soldats would clean house, kill every last monster in the basement, replace those god-awful torture tools with something else, anything else - maybe pigs, to pay homage to his dear sister. He would then fire all maids and forbid them from ever setting foot inside the place again, hire an all-male crew to tend to the estate and leave him well enough alone. On a clear day he would grab all of their expensive dresses, the paperwork that dignified her as gentry, her snob literature and photo albums, pile them all into the courtyard and burn it all, the vineyard alongside it, then light his cigar in the blaze and smoke it while facing the inferno, the flames reflecting beautifully on the lenses of his glasses. Once it had all turned to cinders he would strip before going through the front door, waltz around the place while rubbing his dick on all of her favorite spots. He would dump all of her fine wine in the biggest, smelliest cesspool, grab the revenue from the last shipment and throw it from atop the church in the village to watch the peasants fight each other for riches that were supposed to be hers.

Perhaps best of all, he would invite Alcina’s little monster over, encourage her to come in while dragging all the dirt and mud gathered on her bare feet. He would give her a tour of the castle, allow her to decorate every room with a harvest wreath or handmade candle, let her cover the posh couches with handmade quilted throws. Together they would roll up the fancy carpet and throw it in the fireplace, lay down the most unrefined of straw tapestries in its place. The mantle would be a display of their crudeness and peasantry, his schematics and forgotten bits of scrap metal, her incenses and rune-inscribed bones and whatever else her little heart desired. He would allow her to have her pick of his sister’s jewelry, try and convince her to take them all, to wear nothing but her favorite set as she danced under the skylight of the atelier, the flames of all tolling bells and the bright shine of the moon as the only source of light for their unholy, delicious rituals.

When silence settled he would grab her waist and pull her closer, whisper in her ear the most delectable of invitations. Together they would desecrate every last corner of the castle, from the halls to the belfry and the stairwells to the balconies, the cries of agony the place had come to be known for replaced by their sounds of pleasure. When they were far too tired to continue they would work together in the kitchen, he would help her prepare a bloodless meal that they would savor watching the wide open doors to the courtyard. He would sit at Alcina’s spot, ignore every single piece of flatware and eat with his bare hands, audibly chew on every morsel. He would draw every curtain and open every window, let the gelid gale wipe away any trace of her and her daughters. Late at night, he would carry his prized lady up the stairs to her quarters, gently place her on the giant bed and cover her with the decadent expensive sheets. She would ask him to stay, and he would, hold her close as she slumbered and he stared at the top of the canopy and let out a tired sigh almost a hundred years in the making. He would be free, and he would have claimed it all, a fitting end to his sordid tale.

If he wasn’t sure Alcina would rise from the grave and put herself back together out of sheer spite, the whole thing didn’t sound half bad.

Heisenberg barely registered whatever she said after, far too immersed in his little happy place to give a shit. She had talked for what seemed like hours, something about training the beast to present it to Mother Miranda, to allow her to experiment and find out what sort of things they could learn of such a splendorous mutation. Some illusions of grandeur sprinkled here and there, the very obvious wish to become the best, most adored child. He felt like Alcina wished Mother would descend upon her in a ray of light, to lift her up and away towards the heavens to take a place at her side. What a load of crap, though he had to admit it was far more than he would have given her credit for when she came up with this sordid little plan.

At some point, she finally realized she had said too much, exposed too much of her grand plan, had become too excited with the prospect of having that admiration within her reach. That, or she had grown tired of sounding too friendly with the riffraff. She quickly finished saying her piece and hung up without waiting for him to say goodbye, wishing him good luck on the hunt, reminding him she had great expectations. As did he.

He found his mind wandering back to his little witch in the woods as he placed the handle back on its hook. Where did she even come from, anyway? Was she born in that miserable place, brought up among the failed experiments of this village in middle of nowhere, Romania? Did she know how to use money, or were the lei they used foreign to her? He had it in good confidence that she could read, considering all the books he had seen around, but did she know how to write? Had she ever seen electricity at work, or had her life been lived under candlelight? Could she drive a car? Operate a telephone? Did she have toilet paper in her outhouse or did she wipe her ass with ferns or something of the sort? How did she find out about nail polish, of all things?

Had she ever lived outside that lousy shack? Did she ever get a taste of luxury, of fine wine, scrumptious desserts, someone to cook and feed her, maidens to attend to her? Had she always worked the land and tended to livestock, gathered herbs and berries in the forest? Had she cared for her parents or grandparents and learned her trade then, offered her services to lice-ridden villagers when they were no longer in the picture? Had they ever met, some day when he was too busy with his own sorrow to notice her, to take in the beauty that had come to haunt him so? Had she ever shared her body with someone, with a lucky lad or lass that caught her vulnerable and willing on a lonely night? Did she… Did she think of him, as much as he had begun to think of her?

Her shroud of blood and mystery, alongside Alcina’s excitement over the prospect of having her torn apart, had a strange feeling seep within his bones, a pang of anguish tugging at his heartstrings. All the more reason for him to hide the truth for as long as he could - even if the witch turned out to be just really clever with herbs and some hallucinogens, he wouldn’t give dear sister the pleasure of sinking those rusty nails into her flesh. Not when he had so much to discover.

Finally alone with his thoughts and away from his fantasies, he looked down at himself to see his shirt tousled, the fly on his pants undone. He had slept alright, although passed out might be a better description. In his defense, he had tried to fall asleep like a normal human being: sat down and let his mind go blank, eyes firmly shut to try and get some rest. But try as he might, he always startled as he was about to drift off, the sight of the dark horse dissolving into a puddle of blood right before his very eyes, of Sturm’s decapitated arms almost comically flying in his direction. Rage followed soon after - another failure, another waste of time. How would he make that thing rise again? He was then caught in the infinite loop of thinking, and planning, and burning out in frustration, until he could carry on no more.

Of course. He remembered it now, what had finally lulled him to sleep, in the throes of his despair. The way she had distracted him with a well-placed, gentle hand on his face, to work her magic and make his pain disappear, to preserve the secret she worked so hard to maintain. The gash on his hand that had left no trace, the lycans and moroaicas dead but not quite. The way she seemed to have a knack for putting things back together again, to prop them up on strings and have them dance like a puppeteer would. If he brought her here into his den, allowed her a glimpse of his work - would she be able to help him? Would she want to?

At first, he had thought the whole thing was bullshit. So maybe she knew a few plants, knew how to make a mean incense to get him high as a kite and seeing shit. Maybe she had some medical training and could put a nose back in its place, big deal. Maybe she held the world record on fastest, most painless stitching of human flesh, and was in cahoots with the Duke to use whatever seemingly magical substance he put in his antiseptic solution. Whatever she was smoking to say that she could actually heal things, that she might just be able to murder Mother Miranda - he wanted some.

And yet the more he thought of it, the less sense it all made. Her touch was unmistakable when she held his chin up, when the monster’s wispy tendrils had done the same. There was no doubt that she had, indeed, healed his wounds. The decapitated heads were very much alive, the blood pungent, the bite as painful as it should be. If she had killed them, how had she brought them back to life? How had she kept them alive on borrowed time, negated the effects the very creator of the Cadou could not avoid? How far did her powers go? Were they powers, like his and Moreau’s and Donna’s and Alcina’s, or a clever trick of the mind?

Whatever the case, Miranda had spent the better part of a century trying to bring back a dead girl in the body of another, necromancy a far too advanced concept for her young mind back in the late twenties. She had spent countless hours, spilled gallons upon gallons of innocent blood, spread a disease that they no longer had control over in the lycans, all for naught. And suddenly some creepy girl at the ass-end of the woods was the second coming of Jesus? She had knocked him on his ass and somehow morphed into this giant mass of blood that would make the hairiest of grunts shit their pants. If there was any chance that she was for real, then it would change everything. The possibilities were endless. He just needed to tell apart the bullshit from the truth.

#resident evil #resident evil village #karl heisenberg #karl heisenberg x oc #karl heisenberg x reader #virgil writes #a rather chill chapter but next comes soon

[zero-gravity-darling]

Love Languages: Week Two

A little ficlet for @arthureamesmonth week two! Prompts: “You know you love me” and Love Languages.

Day 1: Receiving Gifts

“You know you love me,”

Arthur was frozen bent over his desk, fingers still on the keyboard, “Mr. Eames, what exactly about this situation is supposed to endear you to me?”

“I brought you waffles! You’re American, you love waffles!”

Arthur spun around in his chair to focus fully on the other man for the first time in their conversation. “Let’s run through the day’s events, shall we? I wake up, I shower,” at this Eames smirked lecherously, “I get a large, hot cup of coffee, I come into work, you spill that hot coffee all over me, you grope me while pretending to help me dry off, I work for five hours straight, and now you’ve brought me waffles. Waffles which are currently dripping syrup onto my paperwork.”

“Well it’s your fault for having paperwork in the first place, pet! I’m just conditioning you to give it up,” He leaned against the desk casually, sending even more paperwork drifting to the floor. “To save the trees, as it were.”

“Did it not occur to you to bring me another cup of coffee?”

Eames lit up, Arthur was frustrated to see, like he was somehow taking Arthur’s rebuke as encouragement, “Well I have now. Thank you for the tip! I’ll go and fetch you a cup of coffee.”

Arthur screwed his face up briefly in some combination of confusion and disgust, eyes squinted and lips slightly curled, and snagged Eames by the hem of his pastel monstrosity of a shirt. “What, no, get back here.”

Eames stopped promptly at the tug and grinned, “Well if you insist darling, I could never refuse you.”

“I mean, why would you do that? I don’t need coffee,” this was a lie, he always needed coffee, “I need you to do your job.”

“Why am I doing this? What do you mean why am I doing this? Isn’t it obvious that I’m wooing you?”

“Wooing me.”

Eames swept his arms in an all encompassing gesture to the warehouse around them, as if asking it to bear witness, “Like the fair maiden you are!”

“Good fucking lord.”

“Yes I am rather good, aren't I, but I beg you not to take my name in vain,”

Arthur spun back around to his work, decisively plunking the waffles on the floor—not in the trash, Eames took note, “Go back to your desk, Mr. Eames.”

Eames stuffed his hands in his pockets and started backing away slowly, “Alright, alright. So your love language isn’t gifts. I’ll try again tomorrow.”

Arthur glanced over his shoulder, startled and genuinely perplexed, “What? You know what, nevermind. Not important. Aren’t you scheduled to paint Ms. Chapman’s nails in 45 minutes?”

Eames checked his watch, “Ah, yes, look at the time,” and that was that.

Day 2: Words of Affirmation

Rain was coming down fast and hard and, unfortunately, sideways. Everyone in the warehouse, which was a gloomy and unfortunate affair already, was dripping wet and unhappy, trying to hear themselves think over the loud echo of the rain on a tin roof. It was on this unfortunate scene that Eames burst in, dressed in the most obnoxious of suits and yelling to be heard over the rain. “God is really pissing on us today, isn’t he? Arthur, darling, how do you cope?”

Arthur continued to shuffle through a file, “You’re late.” The effect of his unhappiness was diminished considerably by the fact that he had to yell as well, but he was trying not to think about that.

“Only a tad!” Eames dropped his coat on the floor and walked to Arthur's desk. “I bet you’re never late.”

Arthur glanced up briefly, “No. I’m not. And if you ever came in at a reasonable time you would know that.”

Eames grinned down at him boyishly, “Wow. You are so good at your job.”

Arthur glanced up and back down again, but quickly focused his full attention on Eames when he realized he was missing something, “Yes,” responded slowly, “I really am.” He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms, “I’m sorry, are you fishing for compliments? Because I thought we had established this. Yes, you’re an excellent forger, I’m an excellent point man, Janie is—”

“No, no! You’ve got it all wrong, love. I’m just trying to give you a compliment.”

“A compliment.”

Eames bent over the desk until he could rest his head in his hands, putting him at eye level with Arthur. “Yes. A compliment.”

Arthur paused, “Yeah, alright.”

Eames closed Arthur’s laptop and attempted to close his file before Arthur yanked it back. “Darling. Arthur. Darling Arthur. Has anyone ever told you that you look like a god in those suits of yours? Or that the fact that you could kill a man without breaking a sweat is like something from a wet dream? Or that your ruthless competency gives me butterflies?”

“Not in those exact words, no.”

Eames pulled back dramatically, throwing a hand over his heart and gasping, “A tragedy! I’ll just have to make up for these years of neglect, won't I?”

“Eames, you’ve already wasted enough of the day already. I think that—”

“No, no, this is happening—”

“I think that everyone would appreciate it more if you actually did what you were being paid for.”

Eames put in an effort to look very hurt and offended, “But don’t you enjoy being showered with praise? Everyone enjoys compliments. For example, your arse looks impeccable today.”

“I’ve been sitting down this entire time.”

“Well I’m sure that it does, if it’s track record has anything to say for itself.”

“Mr. Eames.”

“Alright, okay, giving up.”

Day 2, Evening: Quality Time

The rain had ended sometime around four o’clock, but the clouds never cleared. Everyone had left at five—they didn’t have nine to five jobs, but everyone seemed to agree that it was a reasonable time to give up for the day. Everyone except for Arthur, of course.

He was the only one left in the warehouse at nearly seven. He always put in the most work at the beginning of a job, when everyone needed the information to get going and make a plan. After that most of his time was dedicated to working on the dreamscape, and sometimes not even that if someone else could do it better.

He only looked up at last when he heard the click and resounding slam of the door. Eames’ footsteps echoed in the empty space as he walked to his desk and sat down, pulling a battered paperback out of his coat and opening it to the first page.

Arthur’s voice felt too loud when he spoke, “What are you doing back here?”

Eames looked up with a smile. “Keeping you company through these long, grueling nights, of course. You know, you really work too hard.”

Arthur scoffed, “You don’t work hard enough.” He didn’t believe that, he and Eames actually worked together spectacularly well when they got the chance, but he wasn’t quite sure what their relationship would look like if he wasn’t disapproving. He finally caught up to what Eames had said, “You’re keeping me company?”

“Yes, do try to keep up.”

“But why?”

“Because otherwise you’d be sitting in this miserable place by yourself, and we can’t have that.”

Arthur paused in real confusion, “But… it’s my job. I don’t mind.”

“But wouldn’t it be better with someone else?”

“But you don’t have to be here.”

“Oh, please. What else would I do? Go to a club? Pick up a flexible young person to fuck into the matress for everyone to hear? Watch even more Star Trek on television?”

“Yes! Any of those things!”

“But what flexible young person in this city could ever compare to the flexible young person sitting in front of me?”

Arthur shook his head in exasperation, “Whatever. Do what you want.”

Ten minutes of very unproductive attempts to focus later, Arthur finally gave in. “So, what are you reading?”

Eames held up a finger, then dog-eared the page and closed the book. “I’m so glad you asked! It’s called The Hot Virginia Sun. It’s turning out to be an excellent read, and, just between the two of us, the reviews promise that the Virginia sun isn’t the only thing that’s hot.”

“And this is really entertaining for you?”

“One word: cowboys.”

Arthur snorted, “You’re a middle aged mother of three.”

Eames shrugged, “What can I say, middle aged mothers have great taste.”

“Okay, but really, this can’t be fun for you.”

“It’s fine, Arthur. I chose to be here.”

“But I can’t focus knowing you’re sitting there reading a shitty harlequin because I won’t leave!”

“It’s not because you won’t leave, darling—”

“Please. If I left you wouldn’t stay.”

“Well no, the main attraction would be gone.”

“But I’m not being interesting! I can’t entertain you like this! I’m just working!”

Eames held his hands up in surrender, “Alright, at ease. This was clearly a bad idea.”

Arthur groaned, “And now you’re leaving. You put in the time to come here to keep me company, which still makes no sense, by the way, and now I’ve kicked you out. You know what, I’ll be done too. We can head back to the hotel, maybe get takeout for dinner. I’ll come in early tomorrow, it’s fine.”

Eames hurried over and pushed Arthur back down in his chair by his shoulders, “While I will always jump at the chance of dinner and a stroll with you, the entire thing is rather ruined if I’ve guilted you into it. So I’ll go—”

“But—”

“I’ll go, and you finish up your night’s work.” Eames gave Arthur’s shoulders one last firm press and attempted to make a hasty exit.

“Eames.”

“Arthur. It’s fine, it’s really fine.”

“Eames!”

“Goodnight, Arthur!”

Day 3: Physical Touch

“Oh, Jesus, ow, ow!”

“Eames?”

“Yes, it’s me, let me up!”

Arthur got up from the sidewalk where he had Eames pinned, helping him scramble to his feet as people filtered around them. “What the hell possessed you to sneak up on a trained killer?”

“I’ll admit I didn’t quite think this through.”

“And then you grabbed me?”

“It was a companionable touch!”

“It was dangerous!”

Eames looked up hopefully from where he was brushing gravel off of his palms, “Well, can I put my arm around you now?”

“Fuck me, no!”

“I don’t know how we got from this rather violent encounter to fucking, but alright. Can I assume you like it rough?”

“You can assume nothing,” Arthur admonished with a sharp backhanded slap to his shoulder. Eames sucked a hissing breath in through his teeth. “Ah. Yes, sorry about the shoulder.”

Eames shot him a pained smile, “Yes well, I rather deserve it, don’t I? Not my smartest idea.”

Arthur fought back a smile, “Come on. There’s ice at the hotel.”

“Why Arthur! Is this finally a—”

“Don’t even think about it. Ice. And keep yourself to yourself this time, Mr. Eames.”

Day 4: Acts of Service

“Come on, love, we’re getting out of here.” Eames hoisted Arthur up by his armpits, hastily draping one of Arthur’s arms around his broad shoulders to keep him up.

Arthur’s head rolled on his shoulders, “What? Wait—”

“You’ve had a nasty reaction to the somnacin, darling, but everything will be okay.” Eames shot a murderous glance at Jason, their chemist.

Arthur shook his head drunkenly, “Nooo, I’m not aler— allergenic—” he screwed up his face in concentration, “all-er-gic… to anything.” His head rolled onto Eames shoulder, “Promise.”

Eames chuckled and gazed down at Arthur’s scowling face, “I believe you, my darling Arthur, but let’s head back to the hotel just in case, yeah? Have a nice nap.”

Arthur flung his head back, causing Eames to jerk his back in response in protection of his nose, “Ha! Yooouuu— you’re trying to sleep with me.”

Janie giggled, then did her best to turn it into a cough and looked away. Eames looked torn between giggling himself and defending Arthur’s dignity. “Not this time,” he grinned and parroted Arthur’s worlds back to him, nudging his face a little closer to Arthur’s teasingly, “Promise.”

Arthur squinted suspiciously, leaning his head away from Eames’ face in an effort to assess him from afar—unsuccessfully, his arm was still wrapped around his shoulders. “Hmmm. Fine.” He looked down, puzzled, at their bodies pressed together, then brought his unoccupied hand up to squeeze Eames’ bicep, “Wow.”

Janie let loose a short shriek of laughter, earning herself another glare, “O-kay, I think it’s time to go.” Eames turned his squint back to Janie and spoke in a low voice, “You know, for a criminal you have horrific self control. Can I trust your discretion is a little more operational?” He raised an eyebrow.

He was going for threatening, but Arthur ruined it by giggling and smoothing his fingertip clumsily along Eames’ raised eyebrow, “Oooh. Scary.”

Eames glared good naturedly at Arthur, who was snickering into his shoulder, “You are not helping your case.”

“I’m fiiine.”

“Alright, leaving now,” Eames dragged Arthur’s stumbling figure towards the exit, “Don’t make me carry you.”

Arthur gasped in horror, his voice fading as he was hauled further from the listening ears of the team,“Nooo! That’s indig— undignified. I am a gentleman!”

_____________________

Arthur was tired, exhausted really, but that was quickly being replaced by a jittery sickness as the drugs worked their way out of his system. Arthur groaned when they finally made it to Eames’ room (he wasn’t nearly lucid enough when they left to have taken his own key card with him). He slumped into Eames’ side, clinging embarrassingly, too shivery from the detox to care about his reputation.

“Will you be okay, darling?”

Arthur expelled the air from his lungs in one long breath, “No. Never again.” He stumbled toward the bed to the best of his ability, dragging Eames along as his crutch. “It’s fucking freezing in here,” he chattered, “Why are hotel rooms always so cold?” He reached the bed and climbed in clumsily, shaking too badly to pull back the covers without Eames’ quick assist. He tucked himself into a ball under the sheets, pulling the duvet over his head. His voice came muffled from beneath the layers of fabric, “Turn the heat up.”

Eames’ voice was softer than he normally allowed, “Alright.” Arthur heard the beeping of the thermostat being turned up several degrees, but continued to shiver violently. “Well, if that’s all, perhaps you would prefer—”

“Eames.”

“Yes?”

“Don’t make me beg.”

Eames stared at the quivering pile of blankets, face uncomprehending, until Arthur pulled the layers down over his head enough to glare out at him. “Eames.”

His eyes widened at what he realized he was being asked, “I— yes, alright.” He took several halting stops towards the bed but stopped just short. “Um. I’m not entirely sure how I feel about just— it’s just that, enthusiastic consent, you understand? And”

“Eames. This isn’t sex.”

“Well, even so—”

“Oh, Christ, just climb under.”

Eames lurched forward, as if Arthur’s words had cut his strings, and lay down under the covers. He hovered across from Arthur for several seconds before releasing a long, slow breath and reaching out to touch.

Arthur stared at him with wide eyes as he slowly swept one broad palm down Arthur’s shaking arm. He repeated the motion several times, focused intently on the path he retraced, before finally letting his fingers curl over Arthur’s shoulder and drag heavily down to the small of his back. With one final scrap of courage he pulled his body into Arthur’s front, Arthur’s body uncurling under the warm press of him.

Arthur let his arms unclench and move around Eames’ sides, under his arms and tight around his back. He clutched Eames close, twining their legs together, his body shuddering at the heavenly warmth sinking into his starved skin.

Eames relaxed unto the embrace, carding his fingers through Arthur’s gelled hair and resting against his neck. “Better?” he whispered.

Arthur nodded against his chest.

“Are you going to be sick?”

Arthur laughed painfully before whispering back, ‘Probably. Eventually.”

“Okay then.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” They laid in silence, listening to their own breath.

“Eames?”

“Yes?”

Arthur paused, “I might. One day.”

Eames smiled into the crown of Arthur’s head, his eyes crinkling at the edges, “I would like that.”

#@arthureamesmonth #week two #love languages #cuddling #banter #fluff #ficlet #inception

[allthebooksandcrannies]

Bora Bora: Chapter 1

This is the second installment of my fanfic of a fanfic Bora Bora. This will probably be confusing if you haven’t read murkybluematter’s story The Pureblood Pretense or its follow up stories on Fanfic.net

Prologue

Read on AO3

Chapter 1: A Difference of Opinion

It really all started on Halloween, because of course it did. It involved Rigel Black, after all.

“Did you hear anything about the attack on Diagon last weekend?”  

Draco looked up from where he was finalizing his Transfiguration essay to make sure whoever had asked such a stupid question understood just how sick and tired he was of talking about the Diagon attack. It was all anyone had been talking about since it happened. Unfortunately, it was Millicent who had asked, and, after seven years of schooling together, she was quite immune to the Malfoy glare by now.

“What I meant,” she corrected with an exasperated eye-roll, “was whether anyone had heard anything new about it. From your parents, I mean.”

Blaise didn’t raise his head from the sheaf of parchment he had been sifting through and taking notes from, but he did that little head tilt he used when he wanted to show he was listening without actually expressing an interest in the subject. Rigel, however, was the one to actually answer.

“Dad says Uncle James thinks they were after someone specific, but he won’t say who the target was, just that I should take care. And when he won’t tell Sirius something, you know it’s bad.”

Millicent gave a knowing nod, as if this were the confirmation she had been waiting for. Lowering her voice as much as she could without it being suspicious, she replied that “My father thinks the rebels were using the attack on the shops as cover for an assassination attempt against Dumbledore.”

Draco scoffed. “Please, they’d have to be mad to go after Dumbledore in the open like that.” And they would. Dumbledore may have been old (and potentially senile, depending on who you asked), but everyone knew he was one of the most powerful wizards alive. “If someone like Dumbledore has time to even draw his wand before you kill him, you’ve already lost!” It was the same reason the 1981 Halloween Accords had been passed in secret. The man was too brilliant to be allowed time to plan, time to fight back.

“And you think the same people who attacked two Ministers of Magic at the World Cup are especially sane?” Draco had to give Millicent that one. Sane was not exactly the first adjective that came to mind.

Blaise hmmd, openly paying attention now. “Not to mention that no one publicly contradicts their message more effectively than Dumbledore. There’s a reason he’s still the Supreme Mugwhump despite Riddle’s best efforts.

“People listen to Dumbledore. As long as he’s alive, he’s a threat. So, if they thought there was even the possibility of taking him out of the equation, while causing some panic in the process…” Blaise let his voice trail off, his meaning clear. Draco knew his own face was as grim as the rest of the group.

“Does anyone want to explain to me what in Merlin’s name would be so bad about that?” Well, almost the whole group.  

Theo was, well Theo was Theo.  He had always been rather vocal about his beliefs, but lately he had become less and less willing to hide it when his views on a subject were less than polite. It made it easy to know where you stood with him at any point in time, but it was honestly an embarrassing lack of subtlety.  Though, Draco thought ruefully, having one less politician in his generation could really only be an advantage to his own pursuits.

There were several eye-rolls around the circle at Theo’s naivete and a rising tension that was literally palpable to Draco’s empathy, but Draco nearly groaned to see Rigel slowly straighten up with a simultaneously shut down on every emotion he had been allowing himself to project.  

But, instead of coming back with the scathing retort Draco expected, Rigel raised a single eyebrow, face expressionless and snobbish enough to fit right in among the ancient Black heads of house. “You do realize, Theo, that, at the very least, it might by dangerous to us if people are really trying to kill our headmaster?” Then, clearly leaning in to the snotty pureblood impression with a comically raised voice and nose, he continued, “I for one, would rather not get my robes singed if I’m standing next to the headmaster when some hooligan starts throwing curses around!”

Draco recognized the game his friend was playing and hurriedly shot in with a drawled, “You might mind the destruction of those monstrosities” he said, with a significant glance at the potions robes, “but the rest of us would have to thank the brigands for sparing our eyes the horror.”

And just like that the tension dissolved just as suddenly as it had risen as the group devolved into a round of childlike giggling that they really should have been too old for. Things were good, Draco reminded himself as he fervently ignored the niggling voice in the back of his head that noticed that Rigel still hadn’t relaxed his shields back to their default. Because things were good, and it was normal for Rigel to be weird about sharing.

Draco was saved from anymore introspection as the laughing tapered off by Theo announcing that he was absolutely done trying to study for the night and was going to go start to get ready for the Halloween feast in a few hours.  

Blaise said something about how it was probably best that he did stop studying, so that he didn’t end up hurting himself.

Millicent made a quip about Theo needing all the time to get ready as he could get, just as their coarser friend was about to make it out of earshot. And as soon as he was gone…

“Whatever are we going to do about that boy?” Pansy asked, and Draco jumped.

It wasn’t that he had forgotten that Pansy was there of course. After all, it would be completely remiss of a pureblooded gentleman to forget the presence of a lady, particularly when she also happened to be one of his best friends. Draco had just… not been expecting her to speak.

And you could hardly blame him. The past fortnight she had been quieter than she had ever been in her life. No matter how many times Rigel or Draco or even Millicent tried to press her on what was wrong, what had their sharp friend passively gliding along like a ghost, she continued to demur and insist that she was fine, just a had a bit of disappointing news. And that might have been that if the behavior had passed after a few days. Instead, it had continued with Pansy alternating between projecting an eerie sort of blankness, like he was seeing her emotions from behind a pane of glass, to crashing waves of bitterness and grief  that were so intense they put his teeth on edge. It hurt him to feel, but he wasn’t sure what to do about it and he had finally resolved to give her some space. But now she was speaking, and he had been too caught up in his own internal monologue to pay attention. He hurried to tune back in without making it obvious that he had missed anything at all.

If the muted pang of amusement he felt Rigel send his way was any indication, he may not have entirely succeeded.

“-not happy with Nott Sr at all. You saw what Nott said to that Prophet reporter, right?” Millicent pressed.

“The one coming out against last season’s round of marriage announcements?” Pansy clarified.

Millicent went to nod, and opened her mouth to elaborate, but Rigel beat her too it.

“Theo’s dad is against the marriage law?”

And Draco’s stomach dropped, because he didn’t need an empathy gift to detect the hopeful tone Rigel had asked that in, and he definitely did not want to start this conversation again.  

Millicent, apparently, agreed because she was hesitant to reply. “Yes,” she said carefully, “but not quite the way your hoping… Lord Nott’s point of view on the matter has always been rather similar to his son’s…”

“What, that marrying a halfblood would be disgusting?” And Rigel clearly knew the answer to his own question if the new tightness around his eyes was any indication.

Blaise, however, was electing to appear oblivious to the significant change the subject messages Millicent and Draco were giving off, and he actually responded to the obviously loaded question.  

“From what Mother says, its not so much the marriage law itself that Lord Nott has decided he’s opposed to, but rather Riddle’s self-assigned role in determining what those pairings will be. Supposedly, he’s already made up his mind about the entire seventh year already, and Lord Nott is not pleased with whom he has chosen for Theo, though I doubt anyone has mentioned this to Theo, of course.”

Everyone in their little corner of the common room was paying attention now.  It was one thing to know that Riddle would probably have a say in whom you married, but to know that he was dictating that decision personally was a completely different animal. Pansy, in particular, seemed especially stiff as she leaned in as if to wordlessly prompt Blaise to continue.

Rigel’s eyes, meanwhile, squinted in suspicion, as if he already had an idea of where this was going and didn’t like it but couldn’t bring himself to look away. “And who, exactly, is it that Lord Nott is so opposed to marrying his heir?”

Blaise’s expression was one of total innocence, though Draco could have sworn he could still see his usual knowing smirk in the other boy’s eyes.

“Well Theo seems to think he’s marrying Miss Greengrass. Though Mother says that Riddle’s choice was someone who instead was far too independent, and more offensively, far too Light for Nott’s tastes. I, of course, have no idea who that might be, though one could imagine that it must be someone Riddle is quite adamant on controlling if he’s insisting strongly enough that Nott felt that The Prophet was his only recourse.”

Now, if there was one thing Draco would usually cite as among Rigel’s best qualities it was that he was no fool, regardless of how he might like to play the role when it suited him. Rigel understood Blaise’s implications, as could be clearly seen by the grim set off his mouth and the creeping, sick feeling Draco could feel seeping through his friend’s shields.

Later, he could talk to his friend, help him understand that this wasn’t the disaster he clearly thought it was. But that time was not now. Because Rigel was not exactly known for being rational where Riddle or his cousin came in. Now, that they were both potentially involved, there was no telling what stupid stunt he might pull in the heat of the moment.

Draco reached out, both with his empathy and his arm, trying to pull Rigel out of where he was retreating behind walls, instead of asking for help. “Rye… whatever you’re thinking I promise its not as big of an issue as you’re worried it is. Let’s just ta-”

“Not as big of a deal, Dray?” Rigel asked, slipping back into that dangerously unaffected tone he was so fond of. That was the moment Draco realized he had chosen his words poorly. “Not as big of a deal? Since when is family not a big deal to a Slytherin, Dray?”

Draco spluttered “That’s not what- I mean, she’s not- I mean-” But Rigel was already shoving books into his bag and rising to go.

“I know exactly what you meant, Draco.” He paused, took a deep breath in. “You guys can head on to the feast without me. I’m going to go brew until I no longer want to set Riddle on fire.” And then he was swooping out of the room in a flurry of black fabric that made it very clear just who his mentor was.  

There group was quiet for a while, just staring at the closed common room door, until Draco suddenly remembered what day it was with a mumbled curse.

“I can’t believe I just let him go off on his own, today of all days! I better-” And then, because today was apparently “Interrupt Draco Day,” Pansy stopped him.

“I think you better let me handle this one. I’ll keep him out of trouble.” Draco believed her. If anyone was going to be able to get Rigel to see reason, it would be Pansy, he was sure.

 Later, looking back on that night, Draco would wryly remind himself that there had always been a limit to even Pansy’s sensibleness if she had been willing to put up with the two of them for so long.

#murkybluematter #the Pureblood Pretense #fanfiction of a fanfiction #fanfic of a fanfic #Harry Potter #alanna the lioness #song of the lioness #tamora pierce #jk rowling #fem!harry potter #crossover fic #my writing #my fic writing #harry potter/pansy parkinson #original post

[screensirenfic]

Black Leather - Chapter 3

“Come and Get Sheetfaced.” Clever wordplay, if you were in fourth grade. The crude illustration of what was supposed to be a tipsy ghost did little more to advertise the marketing genius of head cheerleader and reigning bitch queen Tina.

She’d shoved the neon orange monstrosity into my hand with all the finesse of a football player, cornering both me and Steve on our way out of third period Chem.

“Hope you’ll both come.” She chirped, though I wondered how much of her enthusiasm had been aimed at me, and how much was for my much more agreeable compatriot.

I never liked Tina. Not since she stuck gum in my hair in sixth grade, forcing my dad to get the scissors to my hair when peanut butter failed. It was okay though; I rocked a Mohawk. She’d always been a bitch, but that was fine; she thought I was one too. At least we understood each other.

So; for the sake of appearances, and the almighty sacrifice of actually getting along with some of the populars, I took the damn flyer, determined to dispose of it at a more convenient time.

“So Tina’s throwing another Halloween bash. That should be cool.” Commented Steve, rushing up to walk beside me with his flyer in hand.

I just gave him a look, because Steve already knew what I thought about Tina and how little her boozefests appealed to me.

“Come on, Lo. It could be fun to let loose a little...” He continued to try and convince me with one of those easy smiles that worked so well on Nancy. On me; not so much.

“Drink a little, dance a little. Get crazy!” He grinned, wide eyed with his hands in the air, as if he could embarrass me into relenting.

“Speak for yourself. I’ve had enough crazy in this past year to last a lifetime.” I half joked, but it came off flat. We’d both seen what Hawkins was truly capable of. The kind of horror movie tropes that didn’t even belong on the midnight feature.

Steve’s smile had fallen a little; his happy-go-lucky attitude more forced as of late. It had me wondering how deep that night had really cut him; how many nightmares had him staying awake in the middle of the night.

I’d seen my fair share of shit; been pretty much born into the middle of it. It took a hell of a lot to faze me, and some weird Venus flytrap looking monster wasn’t going to be the thing to send me overboard.

Steve was different.

He was born into the life of perfect privilege; his dad a highflying lawyer in some fancy business firm, his mom a bonafide 50s catalogue housewife. He was a picket fence away from Nancy Wheeler level of holiday special suburban dream, but I suppose being filthy rich stretched some of the parameters substantially.

Sure; he had his problems. The fact that his dad was having an affair on his mom was Hawkins worst kept secret, but his mom was no idiot, and kept Mr Harrington on a tighter leash than a Rottweiler in heat. That meant Steve had his first taste of independent living, with a bachelors pad that could rival Hugh Hefner.

What Steve could see in a girl like me was a mystery. I guess I was pretty; in a drug addict kind of way, and my jokes weren’t too bad once you got past the fact that my humour was drier than the panties of an eighty year old virgin.

Still; Steve could do so much better. He had Nancy, and Tommy, and Carol and a whole list of populars who were just lining up for a minute of his time.

King Steve; they said, though I guess every court needed an outcast. A black sheep to do the dirty work and keep the king’s confidence when his crown got a little off kilter.

“Please don’t make me go to this alone.” He asked; and the honesty in his voice was almost enough to break me entirely. It was easy to forget that being royalty could be draining at times; even for someone as naturally charismatic as Steve.

“You won’t be alone. You’ve got Nancy.” I remarked, honing in on the one indisputable point in my argument for playing hooky just this once.

“Yeah, but it won’t be the same...” Steve argued, though his tone was still light; eyes trailing up to the ceiling as if he saw something interesting up there.

“She doesn’t scare people off half as well.” He joked and I couldn’t help but chuckle, because Steve had the vanity to glance at me to see if he’d won on such cheap shot.

“Steve Harrington; are you asking me to be your bodyguard?” I asked; a smile still stretched across my face because I could play his game too, and fuck; if I wasn’t gonna beat him at it.

“Bodyguard’s a strong word. More like assassin. You can stop me from saying something stupid before Nance kills me for it.” He retorted, and despite our conversation resting firmly in joking territory; I couldn’t help but hear some truth in there.

“Think the word you’re looking for is babysitter.” I corrected him, because I wasn’t quite ready for this conversation to turn serious again just yet.

“Well; you always did say I was immature for my age.” Steve concurred, because only he could make self deprecation seem like a winning strategy.

“So will you come?” He asked; all jokes aside, because I could only dance around the question for so long.

“Steve; I’m sure you’ll be fine without me.” I replied, my voice soft and sincere.

As much as I liked to joke otherwise; he really didn’t need me to hold his hand through everything. He was more capable than me; at least when it came to social settings. I just lurked in the background with a drink in my hand, looking every inch the outsider in my muted shades of black leather.

“Doesn’t mean I don’t want you there.” He countered, and it brought a smile to my face.

After all this time things hadn’t changed. He was still Happy-go-lucky Harrington; dumb perky rich boy with too much hair and not enough sense, and I was still Hellfire Hopper; bitter as a sour ball and twice as hard to stomach. Times changed but people didn’t; not when it came to the things that mattered.

“I’ll think about it.” I offered sincerely as I opened my locker, because that’s the best he was gonna get out of me without blackmail; and we both knew I had far more on him than he had on me.

Steve just nodded, accepting the compromise as a starting point before hurrying off to basketball practice.

He was sweet like that; quick to trust, and quicker to make a fool of. We’d really have to fix that some day, by for now I was thankful.

I screwed up Tina’s party invitation into a satisfying ball that rather festively resembled a pumpkin, before tossing it into the depths of my locker, soon to be forgotten in a mess of colourful cafeteria receipts.

Steve could grill me about it later, and as it was; his grilling was more like a light toasting; thank god for small mercies. His forgiveness was easier to get, and you know what they say; better to ask for forgiveness than permission.

—————————————————

I tried to stand my ground; I really did, but when Steve dug his heels in about something, it would take more than hell or high water to move him. For a teenage boy; he really did nag more than a neglected housewife, and I was finally understanding why my dad never remarried.

I’d almost made a clean getaway, right up until the last bell before final period when I’d opened my locker and that perfect shaped ball of orangeness decided to fall at the feet of one Steve Harrington. He’d unscrunched it, despite my insistence that it was a used cafeteria napkin and probably had something gross like chewed gum in it. Then his face fell, and it hit me like a punch in the gut.

Steve didn’t pick many hills to die upon; always was more of a lay down and roll over kind of guy, but when he picked them; he’d hold them valiantly. Honesty was one of those noble qualities that Steve valued so highly, and was one of the things I could definitely live without.

In the Hopper household; dishonesty was a proud trait held up with the likes of pettiness and just pure grit. If it didn’t kill anyone; it could go without saying, and if it did; well, we’d dealt with that before too.

With Steve, my dishonesty had always been a point of strain, testing our friendship in a way that was usually reserved for married couples.

I lied to him. He knew that. Whether it was to save his feelings, or just to save face; I’d lie more than a politician on Inauguration Day, and with far more credibility. Usually Steve never took it to heart; understood it came with being friends with a compulsive omitter who avoided social responsibility at all costs, but this time was different.

After having chewed my ear off for the better part of study period; he’d relented, but only after the promise that I’d go to Tina’s stupid party, if only to drink her parents booze and maybe tp that obnoxious rose bush in her front yard, but of course I never told Steve that.

So with a very crinkled flyer in tow, I offloaded my books into my locker, very much not looking forward to going to Melvald’s to pull together a costume that said “I’m here under duress.”

“Hey Lola...” Called the unnervingly upbeat voice of Nancy Wheeler, because only she could make Halloween a day of sunshine and rainbows.

I turned to her, noting Jonathan standing beside her with yet another one of Tina’s orange monstrosities in hand. Was everyone going to this party?

“See; even Lola’s going...” She said to Jonathan and I was suddenly aware I’d walked into a conversation I wasn’t sure I wanted to be part of.

“What?” I asked, thinking that if this conversation was about what I think it was, Nancy was being awfully presumptuous.

That, or Steve had a far bigger mouth than I gave him credit for. Scratch that; Steve did have a big mouth.

“I was just telling Jonathan that he should totally come with us to Tina’s party.” She informed with such conviction; I half believed that Steve had somehow managed to talk me into some pseudo double date neither parties had an interest in going on.

“Actually, I was thinking of skipping this year instead and staying in with my dad.” I peddled in with the lamest excuse in the book, which wasn’t entirely a lie.

I was planning on staying in; with Eleven, not my dad, but the night’s itinerary would be roughly the same; too much candy and bad horror movies.

“What?!” Nancy exclaimed, and for a minute she reminded me of Steve.

“What the hell is wrong with you people?” She lamented, as if the idea of anyone shunning the moral wasteland of a popularity contest that was Tina’s Halloween party was foreign to her.

Jonathan got it; his smile was testament to that.

Ever the social outcast; sometimes I felt like he was the only other person who had no desire to be involved with the social niceties that came with being part of the in crowd.

“Sorry Nance. Looks like some people aren’t interested in getting sheet faced” He joked; and I laughed because I was glad I wasn’t the only one who thought that pun was total trash.

Nancy soon realised her approach wasn’t working; the social outrage over the rejection of the party of the year hardly a relevant motivator to those who’d already accepted their place at the outskirts of society.

Instead she took a new angle; putting those optional classes on investigative journalism to good use.

“Okay. You’re gonna go trick or treating and you’re gonna be home by eight...” She began, realising Jonathan was the easier target and taking advantage of that as we strolled towards the school exit.

“Listening to... The Talking Heads... and reading Vonnegut, or something...” She plucked the words out of thin air, summarising Jonathan’s existence beautifully in a a harsh combination of vain existentialism and edgy romanticism, because maybe he was a cliche; but so was me, Steve and Nancy if we were being honest.

Jonathan just shrugged, unfazed at her attempt to highlight his predictability.

“Sounds like a nice night...” He commented, and I laughed, because I could see what he was doing there; and it had nothing to do with his love of American New Wave.

“Sure does; could you use a plus one?” I teased, aiding him in his attempt to drive Miss Nancy Wheeler wild with incredulousness.

“Come on guys! Don’t be a bore!” She griped, because she knew reasoning was getting nowhere, and immaturity may be more Steve’s thing; but my god; if it wasn’t effective!

“Okay, Okay!” I relented, only because I’d agreed this much with Steve, but Nancy didn’t need to know that.

However, she did need to know the very strict conditions of my attendance which I wouldn’t budge over.

“But if the new guy so much as looks at me; I swear to god I’ll...” I began, but couldn’t quite finish before I was swept up in someone’s arms.

Normally being hoisted two feet up in the air would be a cause for alarm, and the shriek I let out was far too feminine for me to pass it off as anything else.

Of course; when the raucous laughter of no other than Steve Harrington was muffled into the back of my jacket, the shock quickly wore off.

“Jesus Christ, Steve! Don’t do that!” I lectured as soon as my boots touched the floor; reaching out to slap him on the shoulder, just in case he got any other ideas for unwelcome surprises.

“Why? You loved it when we were kids...” He countered, releasing his grip around my waist so he could look at me with that dumb too-happy smile.

“Yeah; when I was twelve and you were at least a foot shorter...” I snapped back, because of course; Steve would still act like we were in middle school; immature little shit that he was!

Still; my chastisements always fell short when it came to Steve; his smile just a little too bright to be dimmed by something as dull as maturity and personal space.

Instead; he just beamed down at me, still resembling that lanky kid who’d give me piggybacks all those years ago. Same old Steve.

“And how is the most beautiful girl in the world?” He asked; his attention finally turning to his actual girlfriend, who was waiting far more politely for him than I’d have in her shoes.

“Who? Me?” She asked incredulously; a teasing lilt in her tone, only emphasised by the exaggerated hand on the chest routine. “I thought you were talking about Lola.”

Despite her slight dig, there was no love lost between the pair; teasing giving way to pure gooey eyes that would’ve made me barf from anyone else.

Steve And Nance were lucky I liked them enough for it to be endearing.  Then they started kissing and all bets were off.

“And that’s our cue to leave...” I commented, grabbing Jonathan by the arm and towing him away before tongues came into play.

#stranger things #stranger things 2 #original character #stranger things oc #strangerthings oc #fanfiction #fanfic #stranger things fandom #strangerthingsfanfiction #strangerthingsfanfic #steve harrington #jim hopper daughter #hopper daughter #billy hargove x reader #billy hargrove fanfiction #Billy Hargrove #Nancy Wheeler #jonathan byers

[newmannprompts]

I Can Explain

Prompt: Hermann walks in on Newt about to drift with a kaiju brain. “I can explain!”

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15233352

“I can explain!” Newt said, dropping the pons headset he was about to put on his head.

Hermann leveled his most unimpressed look at him and crossed his arms. “Can you.”

It wasn’t a question. 

Newt swallowed nervously. “Okay, so, like, I know it looks like I’m about to drift with a kaiju brain that I cloned because the other two brains we used were fried. Looks, uh, a whole helluva lot like that. But it’s not.”

“No.”

“No, it’s…a thing that…good excuse…”

“Newton, I heard a better excuse from you that time I walked in on you trying to safely mix kaiju blue into a smoothie.”

“As I told you before, Hermann, I wasn’t trying to make a kaiju smoothie, I was trying to test the process of detoxifying the blood for the purpose of environmental cleanup after the kaiju were defeated.”

Hermann nodded. “Yes. Exactly that. Completely ridiculous excuse for a completely ridiculous situation and still better than this one.”

“You’re hallucinating! I’m taking photos for a scientific journal! I’m going to be on the front cover of another magazine! I’m making my costume for Comic-Con! I actually wanted an opportunity to destroy a kaiju brain but first I had to make one! I can’t sleep without the sound of the tank! Do you know how much money Hannibal Chau can get me for this?”

Hermann frowned. “Newton.”

“Hermann.”

“Why in God’s name are you planning on drifting with a kaiju?”

“I’m not…”

“Newton.”

“Hermann,” Newt said again, feeling unbearably childish but refusing to listen to the lecture Hermann was sure to give him one second sooner than he had to. He might deserve this. Maybe. Just a little. But that still didn’t mean he was planning on welcoming it.

“I can out-stubborn you, Newton. You know I can.”

Newt couldn’t help a laugh at that. “You? When have you ever out-stubborned me? Like ever? In your life?”

Hermann’s reply was simple. “Munich. When it mattered. Sydney.”

Newt stilled. He forgot, sometimes, because he had the tendency to double down and refuse to budge at the slightest show of doubt or ridicule while Hermann lacked the capacity to care half as much about the various inanities they disagreed with most of the time. Hermann liked to save his moments of extraness for when it really mattered to him and something told Newt this was one of those times. That didn’t necessarily mean he’d outlast Newt, of course, but it would be an out and out ordeal. Hermann’s patience in these situations was a little frightening.

“Don’t you feel you’re overreacting?” he asked instead.

Hermann raised an eyebrow archly. “I haven’t gone and fetched a grenade launcher to fire at that horrible creature and had you involuntarily undergo a psych evaluation so, if anything, I’m dramatically underreacting.”

Newt rolled his eyes.

“Oh, don’t you dare, Newton! Not after you almost died that first time. Those seizures were horrifying and it took you far too long to fully come back to yourself!”

“Well, yes, there was that,” Newt was forced to admit. “But I really think the problem there was my crap equipment and the fact it was only a tiny piece of a brain and I had never drifted before. It went way better the second time when we were able to drift with a full brain and I had the right stuff to use and some idea of what to expect. You were barely even sick and I was just fine which I think really points to the experience I had by then.”

Hermann uncrossed his arms so that his hands could give a very good impression of wringing Newt’s neck. “That’s the key word, Newton. We. That’s why I went with you! Certainly the higher-quality equipment would have helped though I don’t know whether the difference in the brain did. But you would have just ended up getting yourself killed, or close to it, drifting alone a second time in the same night on your own. We needed to share the neural load.”

Newt peered confusedly at him. “Is that your weird way of asking if we can do another threesome right here? Because, I mean, if so this is the most roundabout way of asking I’ve ever heard and – believe me – I’ve heard some indirect attempts to have a threesome before. Even said some of them myself before I realized how fucking stupid and time-wasting they were. But then, I guess if you were going to ask it would figure you’d do it like this. Make it out to be all my idea so you could yell at me afterwards if things went wrong and maybe even fi they didn’t. And speaking of! What kind of person goes around yelling at someone for doing something they’re about to ask if they can do, too?”

Newt didn’t think he had ever seen Hermann look so horrified before. Not even when he realized that Newt’s kaiju tattoos covered not just his arms but his entire torso or the first time he heard Newt call Pentecost a fascist or when he watched Newt drink that smoothie.

“Newton…I…” Hermann broke off, his face turning a funny purple color. “As if I would ever…why in the actual hell would you…of course I’m not asking to drift with a kaiju brain with you! And I’m yelling at you because you are being a complete imbecile and courting death! Either for yourself or this whole planet!”

Newt rolled his eyes again. “And people say I’m the hyperbolic one.”

“You are,” Hermann said. “Given how badly off you were after that first drift and the fact it will be a cold day in hell before I ever drift with one of those monstrosities again, you dying is hardly an absurd outcome. And inviting a hivemind that has been seeking to destroy all life on this planet off and on since the time of the dinosaurs opens up a very real risk of destruction to this planet!”

Newt blew a raspberry at him.

“Very mature, Newton,” Hermann said, rolling his own eyes. Apparently it was okay when he did it. Which was just typical. “Now stop deflecting. Why are you…no, wait, better question. If you do go through with this drift – which you will be doing over my cold, dead body just so you are aware – how many drifts would that make it? Know that I am expecting an honest answer but that every drift over three I will react appropriately to.”

“ ‘React appropriately to’?” Newt repeated incredulously. “You make it sound like you’re going to…to…punish me like a child or something! Or seek bloody vengeance on me!”

“Well you will find out what I mean depending on what your honest answer is,” Hermann said placidly. “Now how many?”

Newt exhaled loudly. “This is just the third, okay? The first one without you and the second one with and this one…well we’ll see how this goes, won’t we?”

“Thank heaven for small mercies,” Hermann murmured.

“Hermann, can I just point out you’re acting like you just found out I’m a murderer but I only murdered one guy instead of more?”

Hermann considered it and nodded. “You may. It’s a very flawed analogy but perhaps the seriousness of it is comparable.”

Newt couldn’t resist. “No animals were harmed in the making of this kaiju brain.”

Hermann gave a long-suffering sigh. “Now that we know this is only the third time and – only the third time, I say, as though that is a reasonable amount of times to be drifting with a kaiju brain – we can get back to my original question. Why are you drifting with a kaiju brain, Newton?”

“Uh…”

It wasn’t that he didn’t have an answer to that. He totally did. And it was a great answer. But it was hard to put into words and it involved a great deal of impulsiveness and he didn’t think Hermann would approve of that.

He struggled to organize his thoughts. “Well there’s several reasons.”

“Regale me with them.”

Newt ticked them off on his fingers. “Well, to begin with, because its super cool and I can which I’ll acknowledge right now is my weakest reason but it’s also like 80 percent of why I do anything. Then there’s the fact that I am a biologist and kaiju have the weirdest and most unique biology that I’ve ever seen. Like, seriously, do you know how long I’ll need to figure out how kaiju that look nothing alike and have different abilities can have the exact same DNA? And you know one of my degrees is in anthropology! These may not be human societies but the precursors are a unique and fascinating – albeit incredibly dickish and genocidal – society we know nothing about even though they’ve been trying to kill us for well over a decade now and we deserve better than that. It’s going to be totally safe to do – well assuming you’re wrong and I don’t keel over which I’m pretty sure you are – because unlike last time the breach is closed so they can’t send any kaiju personally chasing after me and really what does it matter if I feel their creepy little bug eyes watching me for a bit? They can’t do anything about it and a little creepiness is worth what I’m going to get out of it. And finally, and what even you have to concede is a pretty good reason for doing this, we don’t know if they’ll be able to come back some day. We broke the breach, great, but what if they can fix it? Or open up another one? They probably know all about me by now so that’s no risk as long as I’m not developing new anti-kaiju measures, which I’m not, and there’s still so much I can glean from them! The things I get from them could help me figure out a way to stop them if they come back or-or, I don’t know, appease them so they fuck off and just let us live our lives!”

Hermann watched impassively. “Are you done?”

“What? Am I…yes, I’m done! But what is all that? I just through like thirty excellent reasons for doing this at you!”

“It was five,” Hermann said. “And most of them were terrible reasons.”

“You are so judgmental,” Newt sniffed.

“Newton, don’t make me explain to you how a drift connection goes both ways,” Hermann said. “You are far too brilliant for me to have to do that. Not to mention that you only just stopped complaining when Hannibal Chau did just that.”

“No, I know that,” Newt said, narrowing his eyes in annoyance. “That was part of my epic reasoning, if you were even listening. I know they’ll be able to see things, too, but, like, I’m only one person and they’re an entire hivemind. I drifted twice so they probably already know everything about me and if they don’t there’s not much they absolutely can’t know and the fate of humanity depends on it. Sooner or later they’ll know everything about me and I’ll just keep on soaking up fun facts about them.”

“And what about the ghost drifting?” Hermann prompted.

Newt couldn’t suppress a shiver. He really hadn’t liked the way those eyes had followed him everywhere that night. But fortune favored the brave and what was a little interdimensional stalking compared to everything he stood to gain? “It’ll be fine. They’ll get a little bit of manic rockstar in them and I’ll…I don’t know. Go out and try to join things?”

But Hermann didn’t seem amused. “Maybe at first. But the more you drift the more your drift connection grows and your goals you outlined make it seem that you intend even now for this to be a rather long-term project.’

“Well, I mean, how do you expect to become an expert on a foreign culture in one or two or ten times?”

Hermann looked pained at that. “Newton, I saw the look on your face when Marshall Pentecost told you he needed you to drift again. I’ve never seen you look more afraid or more desperate. It’s half the reason I knew I was going to go with you if I was anywhere near you when you drifted again.”

Newt’s eyes went distant as he recalled exactly what Hermann was talking about. It was perhaps the worst he had ever felt in his life and later that night he had almost been eaten by multiple kaiju. “But the second time went fine. And that was my immediate reaction. I knew what I had to do and I did it.”

“I watched your face,” Hermann continued, his voice softening. “I watched how quickly your emotions changed, from stuttering as you helplessly told him that you couldn’t do it again to the intrigue and almost anticipation when you asked if he had another brain. I didn’t understand it then. I don’t understand it now. But a part of you, even then, even shaking and bleeding and in tears, was looking to drift again.”

Newt looked away. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

And he didn’t. He didn’t.

“Newton, what have you gotten from me? After the drift?”

Newt blinked at the unexpected change in subject. “I…you know what.”

“I do. But that isn’t the point.”

“I felt some of your thoughts, more of your emotions. Some of your pain was like a phantom pain. I started organizing things more. I almost bought one of those ridiculous sweaters you always like. My German got better. You know. Things like that.”

Hermann nodded. “And what did you get from the precursors?”

“Eyes.”

Hermann’s eyes were sympathetic. “Besides that. You said those faded fairly quickly.”

If one wanted to count all those hours running around chased by the giant monsters it turned out Raleigh was right about him not wanting to be up close and personal with as ‘fairly quickly.’

“I…nothing,” Newt said. “There was nothing else.”

“There’s always something else.”

“You don’t know that,” Newt argued. “I don’t know that. We’re the only ones who drifted with a kaiju so the studies on what happens for humans may not necessarily apply. What about you? Have you noticed any side effects? You only drifted the once but it was still something.”

“I haven’t been nearly as disgusted by the specimens as I usually have been,” Hermann admitted. “And I have found myself regretting that the brains were both destroyed when we drifted. Unfortunately, I cannot for the life of me parse out whether that comes from you or from them.”

That was…well…fair.

“You can’t possibly be sure, either,” Hermann said quietly. “The best case scenario is all the things that you said. We will learn so much and advance our technologies and sciences by decades. If the precursors come back we will better able to defend ourselves, perhaps if we are invaded by another species this will still give us a needed edge. All the best possible outcomes.”

Newt frowned at him suspiciously. “That all sounds very good but you don’t believe in best case scenarios.”

“True but I need to contrast it with the worst case scenario.”

Newt gave Hermann a very put-upon look. “The worst case scenario being that I’m just going to get myself killed and you would have saved my life for nothing and I’m wasting my potential and what if they come back and I’m not here to save the day. Yeah, I know. I’ve considered all of that.”

“No,” Hermann said, his voice nearly a whisper. “All of that could happen and it would be devastating. I would be devastated. But at some level, that is your choice to make. You are the kind of scientist who always half-expected to die conducting some reckless but brilliant experiment and won’t be disappointed if you do.”

Newt pushed right on past Hermann’s confession that he would be devastated because if he let those words hit him then he might as well just set that brain on fire right now. “Then what is the worst case scenario, Hermann?”

“The worst case scenario is that they can influence you back. Maybe even are influencing you right now. It would have to be subtle, of course. Clearly after one or even two drifts they haven’t managed to secretly take you over or you never would have stopped them and if you suspected something you would tell me. But what if it’s more insidious than that? What if it’s a whisper that you should clone the kaiju? Doesn’t that sound like something you’d already do? You should drift with it. It will be perfectly safe and there’s so much you can learn. And there really is. And the more they drift, the stronger the connection is until they convince you to do more and more for them. Until one day maybe they don’t have to convince you anymore. You’re the strongest man I know, Newton, but you’re one person up against an alien hivemind and I didn’t notice any sign of them coming out worse for the wear after you drifted with them. It’s not an indictment, Newton, one against millions? It’s not a fair competition. But that won’t save you. And if they get you in their clutches, they will eventually be able to reopen a breach and come through and kill us all. Our genocide at their hands delayed a few scant years and for what? Because you decided to invite those monsters back into your head.”

Hermann painted a very vivid picture. Newt would give him that.

“That…that wouldn’t happen. Worst case scenario, you said. You don’t believe in those, either.”

“Not generally though I’m more likely to accept those than the best case scenarios. It’s simply more practical. Safer. Is the potential benefit of the best case scenario worth the potential harm of the worst case scenario? And even if it is something more in the middle, there is a lot of harm that still come from you going through with this. Including your death, Newton.”

Newt swallowed hard. “You’ve put a lot of thought into this.”

“I really haven’t,” Hermann said. “It’s just that obvious to me how terribly this could go.”

“It won’t.”

“You can’t promise that,” Hermann said. “Please, Newton, don’t put yourself at risk like that. Don’t put the world at risk like that. We only just got done saving it.”

“It’s not…” Newt shook his head helplessly.

“Look me in the eye, Newton, and swear to me that you are completely sure that you know why you want to do this and it is your desire and nothing else that has brought you here.”

Newt almost said yes.

He was very nearly certain.

But there was the vague uneasiness he had been feeling. It was nothing, really. It was just a natural caution in the face of undergoing something that had taken such a toll on him before.

He opened his mouth to say yes.

He shut it instead.

“Please, Newton.”

“Can we make it into fireworks?” he asked quietly. He always did love a good explosion.

Hermann’s responding smile was blinding. “I insist on it.”

Newt wasn’t sure at all that this was the right decision. Every cell in his body seemed to be screaming against it. But Hermann was smiling at him like he was a revelation so how could he possibly do anything else?

“You know,” Hermann said, as they headed off to locate some fireworks, “I’m very glad that you’re agreeing to destroy this brain now but since you were able to clone it the first time it occurs to me you may be able to clone it again.“

“Yeah, so?” Newt asked. He put his hands on his hips. “Hermann, are you saying you don’t trust me not to just make another one and drift with it the minute your back is turned?”

“Perhaps not the minute my back is turned,” Hermann said. “Perhaps not for a very long time. But if the precursors still linger in your mind…we really should drift again to find out.”

“Drifting with me to try and see if I need to be rescued? How romantic.”

“I have my moments,” Hermann said dryly. “But either way, how can we really be sure? No, we’re simply going to have to move in together in order to make sure I will be on hand to notice any mysterious cloning going on or you being out all night drifting or trying to end the world or however that would go.”

“Okay, first of all, please. If I’m going to be spending all that time doing secret shady stuff I’m doing it from the comfort of my own home,” Newt said. “Secondly, how can you possibly take something as big and meaningful as moving in together and make it about your weird paranoia I’m being corrupted by the hivemind?”

“It’s called multi-tasking, Newton. One would have thought you’d be quite good at it with the absurdly short time it took you to acquire all of those doctorates,” Hermann said.

“I hate you so much,” Newt grumbled.

“The fireworks can double as a celebration of our impending cohabitation and then afterwards we can go grab a nice dinner,” Hermann said, ignoring that.

“We are buying all of the fireworks they have,” Newt said. His hand was trembling but Hermann tangled his fingers together and it was steady.

#prompt fill #newmann #drifting #dialogue heavy #precursors #submission

[spaceshipsarecool]

Two Words

Happy Birthday @poppyssupergirl​!!! I hope you are having a fabulous day and that you are getting all the cake and ice cream and whatever else you could so desire <3

Here is a little fic for you, I hope you enjoy!

////////////////

Cat tapped her fingers along the edge of her desk, lips pursed in a thin line as her eyes skimmed over the fresh new Superman interview splattered across the front page. It was aimed at her, of course. Metropolis hadn’t had a major incident in a while and Lois had conducted so many interviews with the Man of Steel over the years that there could be no other reason for another one now.

Normally, Cat preferred to keep up with The Daily Planet from a distance, going so far as to have her IT Hobbit install special software on all her devices that would allow her to surf the online articles without adding to the click count, but every year on the anniversary of her departure from that paper she walked to the corner store and purchased a hard copy. And every year it felt like a victory; knowing that despite all the ‘Good Old Boys’ had done to keep her down, she had risen above. Cat had never had Lois’ charm, that something quality that let Lois smooth her way through the ranks, and in those days the Planet’s newsroom hadn’t been the place for a woman like Cat to charge ahead. So she had left and charged ahead on her own, and every year on this date she bought the paper to remind herself of just how far she had come.

This year should have been another sweeping victory, only she had had one too many martinis at the awards show last month and let the details of her ritual slip to Lois, and now instead of looking down at some mundane, hacked-together article from one of the usual lesser beings the paper employed, she was faced with this approximation of what Lois clearly thought was a good joke. And it would have been, Cat could admit that, if the players had been reversed. But in the months since Supergirl had surfaced, Cat had only managed to snag one interview with the girl. One, as compared to the three, no four—it was right there in the print, the entire article dedicated to Superman’s remembrances of his first year wearing the cape—interviews Lois had had in that same span of time. Those early months had secured a place for Lois’s name right next to Superman’s for the rest of time. And Cat was falling behind.

Her phone rang as she reached the last sentence, and she hit the ‘accept’ button before she fully registered who it was.

“Cat, darling, I wanted to congratulate you on your anniversary. Did you get my present?” There was a smugness in that tone, but something else as well, an almost playful quality that very few people would have recognized.

“Really, Lois?” Cat settled the paper on her lap, pulling off her glasses and tossing them back into the pile with the others. “Were you so desperate for my attention that you dragged Superman out of the sky just so you could get one over on me?”

“Please, I’ve been over you plenty of times in the past. Under you too, if memory serves, and neither of us were complaining then.” Despite herself Cat felt the corners of her lips start to twitch, and she hastily spun her chair around in case any of her employees dared to glance into her office. Most of them could read lips, and she didn’t need it to get out that her public rivalry with Lois Lane was actually based on a private, far less antagonistic relationship born from their mutual love of competition. “Besides,” Lois continued, “I hardly had to drag Superman from the sky. He was perfectly happy to do the interview from my bed.”

“I’m sure,” Cat’s voice was still dry, but her movements were gentle as she smoothed down the edge of the paper with her free hand. “And how is that farmboy of yours? Still glad you took up with him now that his more attractive cousin has appeared on the scene?”

“Clark is fine.” Lois ignored the barb. “He says to let you know the article was entirely my idea and to please not take it out on him next time you see each other. He’s still a little afraid of you after the cheese puff incident.”

Cat hmmed, noncommittal in case Clark was listening in. It was always good to let a little of that fear linger, you never knew when you might need an extra superhero in your pocket.

“But seriously, Cat,” Lois’ voice softened. “Congratulations. I looked up CatCo’s stock price last night and it was almost enough to make me wish I had come with you when you asked.”

Cat closed her eyes, her fingers tightening almost imperceptibly around her phone. She had broken every other anniversary she had ever had. Not on her own, but she wasn’t blameless in her four failed marriages. Yet for all that, when it came to this job, to her passion, for all the times when it would have been easier to give up and crawl back to The Daily Planet or any other established newspaper, she never had.

“Thank you, Lois,” she finally allowed a smile to blossom fully across her face. “But you know, as much as I appreciate your little joke with the article, if you really wanted to get me something, you should send Supergirl my way. Just tell her not to fly off with my car again. As impressive as that was, I was hardly in a position to watch the show and afterwards I had to drive myself home from that cliff. Do you have any idea how aggravating that was? I haven’t driven myself anywhere in years.”

Lois’s answering laugh was light, and so different from the way most people dared to act with Cat. “So would you rather she just picked you up and carried you bridal style? In all honesty, she probably needed the car as a buffer. You have been known to be somewhat intimidating on occasion.”

Cat’s smile turned smug even as she pushed on. “If you’re trying to divert me with compliments, Lois, it won’t work. Unless you want your Hanukkah gift this year to be tickets to the revival of Jekyll & Hyde, you better give me something.”

There was an audible gasp of horror on the other end, and Cat rolled her eyes.

“Alright, alright, sitting through that monstrosity once was enough. But I can’t just tell her to go see you. For one, she actually liked that show and wouldn’t understand the dire nature of your threat. And two, you don’t really want me to make it easy on you, do you? The Cat Grant I know and love wouldn’t be able to appreciate an interview with Supergirl unless she had to work for it herself. I’ll give you a hint, that’s all.” Lois paused, but Cat stayed quiet, letting the silence carry her waiting judgement. “Ok, then. If you want to talk to Supergirl, all you have to do, is think ‘mushrooms.’”

///////////////

“Mushrooms,” Cat muttered to herself as she slashed her red pen liberally over the CatCo magazine proofs. It had been a week since the phone call. Seven days, and she had been stubbornly refusing to act on something as ridiculous as the ‘hint’ Lois had so graciously give her. In truth, she wasn’t entirely convinced this wasn’t an elaborate prank, a continuation of Lois’s article joke, but as her pen hovered over yet another secondhand account of Supergirl’s heroics, Cat felt herself wavering.

Sales were still up, but Cat wasn’t so naive as to think that would last. Humans had an unbelievable capacity to adjust and explain away the spectacular, and without regular reminders to stop and smell the roses, as it were, even Supergirl would become old hat. Soon, simply relaying Supergirl’s activities wouldn’t be good enough anymore. Cat needed more.

“Fine. We’ll do it your way, Lois, but so help me god…” Cat put down the pen after one final stroke, already half-regretting her decision even as her mind was moving on to the next step.

It couldn’t be as simple as just eating the damn things, but Cat was hardly desperate enough to dress up in a costume and do some elaborate dance on the top of her building. She could have someone at The Tribune write an article or two about mushrooms, but what if Supergirl went to that person instead of Cat? What was it that would really get Supergirl’s attention? A mushroom garden? A giant mushroom light beamed into the sky like that thoroughly inefficient contraption they used in Gotham?

Two hours, an impulse jewelry purchase, and several google searches on mushroom costumes later, Cat was finally willing to admit that she was overthinking it. Sometimes her own brilliance got in the way when she was trying to function on a simpler level, and when that happened, she was never any good at re-regulating herself. She needed to talk to someone else with a fresh mind. Someone who would think the same way as Supergirl. Someone with that same light and smile. Someone… Cat’s eyes fell across her assistant working diligently at her desk outside Cat’s office.

“Kiera!” The name was out of her mouth in an instant, and it was only another more before the girl was standing in front of her, attentive and eager as always.

“Miss Grant?”

Cat tilted her head, ignoring the small bolt of pleasure that shot through her core at the sight, and she forced herself to assess Kara critically. She really was the perfect person to ask about this; Kara tried to see good in everyone, which in its own way was almost as inspiring as any number of Supergirl’s traits. If Cat thought about it more, she was even sure she would be able to think of several other overlapping qualities… like those arms, for instance, and what Cat assumed they would look like if Kara ever took off those hideous cardigans.

“Supergirl, Cat. Focus!” She pulled her mind back to the task at hand.

“Tell me, Kiera, what does someone like you think of when you hear the word, ‘mushrooms?’”

Kara’s fingers, which had been drifting loosely over her ipad, ready to take notes or call up whatever information Cat might need, froze, and Kara’s eyes widened beyond what should have been humanly possible as a blush started to spread across her face.

Well, that was interesting. Cat leaned in and studied Kara more intently—only to figure out what was causing that reaction of course, not for any other reason. The only thing she could think of was that the fungi might be part of some new slang she wasn’t aware of, but she was at least fairly confident that between the two of them, if either of them was to be out of the loop on idioms it would be Kara. So it couldn’t be that, but then what?

“Kiera, did you hear me. I asked-”

“Noonan’s makes an excellent Three-Mushroom Pie,” Kara blurted out, her blush somehow deepening. “I know it’s not exactly what you’re used to eating, but I would be pleased to procure it for your lunch. I mean…” Kara faltered, ducking her head as she realized that she had cut Cat off mid-sentence. “I-if you wanted, that is, Miss Grant…”

Cat opened her mouth to respond, but the words caught in her throat as Kara risked a glance up, piercing blue eyes searching Cat’s face in a mixture of nervousness and hope, and suddenly there was a fluttering butterfly feeling in her stomach and she felt the tips of her fingers twitch with some inane desire to reach out.

“Stop it, Cat. You’re just getting excited about Supergirl. Now focus!” she inwardly berated herself. She was more than capable of admitting that her assistant was beautiful, and even that on occasion Kara seemed to possess an alarming astuteness and competence that was oddly appealing, but Cat was a fully grown, independent woman in complete control of her facilities. And those facilities did not allow for her to get sidetracked when a story was on the line.

“I suppose that doesn’t sound awful.” Cat found her voice, waving her hand dismissively and busying herself by looking down at non-existent work. She would give it a few days. Perhaps she had been wrong about food being too simple after all. So just a few days to try this approach… a few days that had nothing to do with the breathy “Yes, Miss Grant. Thank you!” Kara offered on her way out.

///////////////////

Kara was doing it again, looking at her, and it was making Cat feel both very warm and entirely too frantic at the same time. It was not at all a customary state for her to be in, yet she couldn’t seem to be able to bring herself to do anything to stop it.

In the month since that first meal, Cat had had nothing but different mushroom themed lunches every workday since. She had meant to switch to a new approach after four days, five at the most, but that plan had been thwarted by the growing scourge in her side that was Kara Danvers. When day five had come and gone with no Supergirl, Cat had been on the verge of ordering her customary lettuce wrap the next day, only to have Kara flounce in with her eyes all aglow.

And they had been glowing, or at least, with Kara standing in the light just so they seemed to be, and Cat’s inquiring mind had gotten so caught up in trying to figure out how that was happening, that she had taken the paper Kara had handed her and nodded along with her words without realizing what she was doing. It was only later—once she had firmly decided that it was the light reflecting off the new crystal drinking glasses she had acquired that had given Kara that extra shine—that she had bothered to read the paper and realize that it was a lunch schedule for the next three months.

Which was how she had gotten here, spending another lunch trying to choke down a mushroom souffle, while Kara was once again not so subtly peering at her through the glass walls with a beaming smile painted across her face.

“Just tell her you want something else. She’s your assistant, dammit. It’s easy.” But was it? Because Kara seemed very pleased with herself. In fact, each time she delivered Cat’s lunch tray her demeanor was akin to what Cat imagined a caveman must look like after successfully procuring some offering to bring back to his mate. Not that Cat thought she was Kara’s mate, or that Kara thought that, but Cat was all about encouraging women, and in the age of a female superhero, how could she squash the blossoming confidence that came each time Cat accepted another dish?

Especially because she was getting to see glimpses of a rare pride in Kara as well. Each day the tray became slightly more elaborate, and where once her food was delivered in a tidy, but simple method, now her napkins were folded into beautiful origami birds, and out of nowhere her metal utensils developed unique and intricate patterning that changed every day. When Cat had commented on the beautiful work last week, Kara’s shoulders had pushed back, and instead of the shy blush Cat had been expecting, she had been faced with an almost regal—a descriptor she never would have thought to apply to her assistant before—nod as Kara took the compliment head on.

Not that any of that really mattered. Kara coming into her own was a nice bonus, but Supergirl was the primary objective, and just because Cat had been willing to switch to a new tactic after a few days, didn’t mean this one wasn’t still working in a way that she wasn’t aware of.

Glancing at her assistant again, Cat’s stomach lurched as she realized she had paused too long between bites and a small frown had formed on Kara’s lips. Hastily, she scooped up another forkful and shoved it in her mouth. It did the trick, Kara’s face smoothing out again, and Cat had just a moment to be grateful she had caught it before The Crinkle(™) could make an appearance, when her actions caught up with her.

“It’s just because of Supergirl,” she tried. “Come on, Cat. You know all about displacement. Supergirl hadn’t come yet, so you’re focusing all your attentions on Kara.” She nodded to herself, putting every ounce of her remaining authority into accepting that argument as truth.

But she still needed to get through the rest of the meal. While objectively she could admit that the dish was good, her body was craving variety, and there was no way she could finish this. And then Kara would think she didn’t lik- and then that could throw off the Supergirl plan.

“Kiera!” Cat yelled the name before Kara could frown again, and used the second it took for Kara arrive in front of her to compose herself.

“Miss Grant?”

“There’s another plate around somewhere, isn’t there?” She had a nagging feeling she was about to make things worse, but Cat brushed it aside. Logically this should work. And Cat always went with logic over something as flawed and misleading as emotion. “I need you to work late tonight, but we may not have time for a dinner break later. I’ve seen how much you eat, grab a plate and take some of this so I won’t have to listen to your stomach growl later on.”

Ok yes, Cat saw it now. It was definitely a mistake. Her words, while they did get her out of eating the entire thing, could almost be construed as caring, and Kara was… Kara was… Cat swallowed. Kara was looking at her like she was the sun and the moon and the stars, and for a brief moment, that expression was almost enough to make Cat believe that she was.

/////////////////////

Cat’s initial assessment that it had been a mistake turned out to be true, only somehow it was a mistake Cat kept making again and again over the next two months. Because Kara was smart, and caring, and funny. When Kara laughed, in the almost privacy of what had become their shared lunch ritual, it reminded Cat of Lois; the kind of carefree laughter she shared with her once lover, now closest friend, that was without fear or ulterior motive.

But Kara was also shy, she still blushed if Cat caught her at the right moment. And she was strong, standing up to Cat and pushing back more than she ever had before as she soaked in all Cat had to teach her. And she was hurt. Cat didn’t know how she hadn’t seen it before, the sadness that lurked behind Kara’s eyes, echos of a loss Kara could never quite get over. Each time she saw it, it pulled at Cat, part of her wishing Kara had never had to experience whatever it was that had caused her such pain, while another part, the selfish part, was almost glad for it because of the role it had played in turning Kara into this complex, utterly astonishing person she was today.

Which was why Cat had to let her go, because clearly Kara was ready for bigger and better things than being Cat’s assistant. It definitely wasn’t related to the way Cat’s heart fluttered when Kara graced her with a smile, or the very unprofessional thoughts that had recently had the audacity to invade her dreams.

“And it’s distracting you from Supergirl,” she reminded herself, watching impatiently as the numbers on the elevator panel rose, bringing her closer and closer to her destination. “You remember Supergirl, don’t you Cat? Alien from another planet? Flies around? Still hasn’t given you a second interview?”

Cat did remember Supergirl, for all that nowadays Cat couldn’t help but think that perhaps it was Supergirl that shared some similarities with Kara, and not the other way around.

Because it was Kara’s smile on Supergirl’s face that news cameras captured after an incident. It was Kara’s kindness that Supergirl shared when performing the more mundane tasks, such as rescuing a lost puppy or helping someone with their groceries. And it was Kara’s determination that Supergirl copied when she threw herself into a fire or chased after a rogue alien.

The elevator dinged and Cat stepped off, ignoring the sudden burst of activity in the bullpen and zeroing on the empty desk where Kara was usually waiting to greet her when Cat returned from these early afternoon board meetings. Frowning, Cat stepped closer, heels clicking slightly faster than normal along the office floor.

Today was the last day of the three month schedule Kara had so carefully put together, and while it was possible that Kara had another three month plan ready to go, somehow Cat didn’t think so. The day was marked with a red ‘X’ on the list, the only day without a clear description of the meal, and when Cat had asked, Kara had just offered a small grin and told Cat she would have to wait. And Cat had waited, so where was Kara? Surly she wouldn’t…

“I’m on the balcony, Miss Grant.” And yes, there she was, peeking her head around the balcony doors just as Cat reached her office. “I thought we’d eat out here, it’s such a beautiful day.”

“It is,” but Cat wasn’t looking at the sky, her vision entirely taken up by the sight of Kara in a sleeveless blue dress. Had she changed for this lunch? Cat would have remembered if Kara had been wearing that this morning. Cat always remembered when employees violated the dress code, and for all her musings about getting rid of Kara’s cardigans, there was no way those arms were legal.

While she had been thinking, her feet had chosen to continue carrying her forward. Kara, however, waited until the last moment to move back, bringing Cat close enough to brush against her chest, and ‘brazen’ flashed through her mind.

Rather than comment, Cat pushed on, accepting the seat Kara pulled out for her and looking down at the ornate table setting and covered dish on her plate.

“Last one,” she reminded herself, as out loud she asked, “what’s on the menu for today?”

Kara bent over Cat’s shoulder to lift the lid and Cat bit her lip, refusing to give in to the sudden impulse to turn her head and lean into Kara’s side.

“This is something from my home, or as close to it as I could make with… local ingredients.”

“You cooked for me?” Cat barely registered that Kara hadn’t given her the name, or that the strange meal in front of her wasn’t anything she recognized. Except for the mushrooms. Those were distinct. They were always so distinct.

“I did.”

Cat felt a smile forming, and she shoved it back down before it could reach the surface, gesturing almost frantically to the seat across from her and blurting out, “I have something for you!”

She breathed a sigh of relief when Kara moved to comply, the space giving her just enough fresh air to clear her mind. Reaching into her purse, Cat pull out her phone and set it on the table when it got in her way, noticing as she did that she had several missed calls from Lois she would have to return later.

And when she did she would have words for Lois. So many, many words.

It took another few seconds of fumbling, but then Cat’s hand closed around the item she was looking for and she lifted it out. She hadn’t meant to do this, had been planning on talking to Kara about a promotion in a week or so once she had time to find an appropriate appreciation gift, but Cat needed it to happen sooner.

Because Kara looked gorgeous, and happy, and she had cooked for Cat, and all of that was causing Cat to have some very un-boss-like feelings that had no business being a part of her ‘nab-a-Supergirl’ plan.

So Cat was lucky that the impulse buy—the jewelry she had custom ordered a little over three months ago—had finally arrived, and that because she had been in a rush this morning, she had simply shoved the box into her purse to do something with later. If everything had been made to her specifications, it would be a small silver bracelet with the Supergirl crest inlaid delicately in the metal, interspersed with the CatCo logo and a number of mushrooms from around the world, each one unique and different. She had been planning on wearing it herself on her balcony when working late as a call sign for the hero, but right now it was all she had, and after all Kara had done for her, she deserved something to mark her promotion.

Besides, it would look beautiful on Kara. In fact, now that Cat thought about it, the understated jewelry was almost perfect for her, and Cat almost couldn’t believe that she had ever thought it could be for anyone else. Kara followed Supergirl just as closely as Cat, and while Cat still didn’t know what mushrooms were supposed to mean to Supergirl, they clearly did mean something to Kara. And then there was the CatCo logo, and well, that was obvious.

“Miss Grant?” Kara tilted her head, watching Cat with an intensity that made Cat’s hand almost falter as she handed the box over.

Not trusting herself to speak just yet, Cat tore her eyes away before the deliberate movements of Kara’s fingers could pull her in deeper. Her gaze fell across her phone just as a text message from Lois came in, and she read it with the sound of the box opening in the background.

Lois Lane: Answer your damn phone, Cat!!!! I thought Kryptonian mushrooms were used to symbolize friendship, but Clark just corrected me and apparently they’re romantic! To anyone who actually grew up there, they would be…

The message preview ran out of space, but Cat didn’t need to open it up to read the full thing as the pieces fell into place. Because this had started with Lois. With Lois and her insufferable hint, and ever since it hadn’t been Supergirl who had become closer to Cat, but Kara who had been bringing her food, and sharing her meals, and treating Cat almost like a partner rather than a boss.

It was also Lois who had given the world most of the known information on Kryptonians, and Cat had read every single thing Lois had ever written. Like the interview where Superman explained that in Kryptonian culture, once an acceptable mate had been identified, it was customary to enter into a courtship period that lasted approximately three months. How that ritual often involved showing each other ways in which you could provide for one another, such as through the giving of food or knowledge, and how eventually the goal was to share in those things equally. And how when a successful courtship period ended and the two houses joined, they exchanged bracelets instead of rings.

Bracelets, exactly like the one Cat had just given to Kara.

All Cat had to do was act like she didn’t understand what she had just done, was go on with her promotion speech and have that be the end of it. It would be simple, a misunderstanding, but when she lifted her eyes and took in the sight of Kara holding the bracelet in her hands, lips parted slightly and face flushed in wonder, everything else mentled away.

There were denials, and half-formed arguments, and all the other lies Cat had been telling herself for much longer than just these past three months. But looking at Kara now, with the weight of all of that pressing against her, Cat knew that underneath it all there was only one truth.

“Kara,” she said the name purposefully, hearing the sharp intake of breath as Kara looked up at her. Slowly, carefully, Cat picked up her fork and speared the largest mushroom she could find on her plate. “Thank you for this meal. In return, do you accept my offering, Kara, Last Daughter of Krypton?”

There was no pause, only a single, blinding smile that Cat returned with one of her own.

“I do.”

#supergirl #supercat #supertrashco #lois lane #my fics

[ao3porcelainstorm]

poison ivy & stinging nettles 18

On Ao3

Pairing: Sherlock/OFC

Rated: M

Warnings: eventual violence, torture, swears, adult themes (no explicit smut)

Chapter 17 - Chapter 19

Chapter 18- Monster

~~~

“That night he caged her, bruised and broke her. 

He struggled closer, then he stole her.

Violet wrists and then her ankles, silent pain. 

Then he slowly saw their nightmares were his dreams.

Monster- how should I feel? 

Creatures lie here, looking through the windows.

Monster- how should I feel? 

Turn the sheets down, let her ears be pillow lace.

There's bathtubs full of glow flies.

 Bathe in kerosene. Their words tattooed in his veins.”

-Monster (by Meg & Dia)

~~~

Needless to say, Amelia was puzzled when she woke up in the softest bed she’d ever been in, to the sound of frantic knocking on a door.

Blinking into the unfamiliar space, she stood up, rubbing at her eyes, locating the source of the noise without too much trouble.

It was rather obnoxious, after all.

She opened the door slightly, peeking through the crack into an ornate hallway.

A hotel? Amelia looked over her shoulder into the room she’d trekked through.

When had she checked into a hotel?

The door was thrown open violently, a barrage of armed men barreling into the space. A hand caught her arm and pulled her into the hallway.

Spinning into the hall, a pair of hands clasped her shoulders and held her firmly in place.

“You’re safe,” Sherlock’s voice promised her.

“What?” Amelia wasn’t sure she’d heard him right.

Of course, she was safe. Why wouldn’t she have been safe?

Everything was dizzying. She didn’t understand what was going on. Why was everyone moving around so quickly? Why did her friends look so exhausted?

“Are you okay?” John’s voice was next. Fingers prodded her face, grey eyes glanced her over.

This felt overkill.

Her hands strayed to her sides, running down high-quality silk. Pajamas?

More armed agents, more voices joining the chorus in the hall, scouring the premises.

She voiced her thoughts to Sherlock, whose expression soured when he asked her to repeat herself.

“Mia,” John‘s tone was gentler. He guided her to a quieter section of the hallway, Sherlock hovering over his shoulder, that pained expression etched into his face. “What’s the date today?”

That was a silly question, she mused, pausing to consider her answer.

It was winter, wasn’t it? Christmas.

She relayed as much to the pair, and the men exchanged an uneasy look.

“It’s mid-January,” Sherlock croaked out.

“What?” a laugh was on her lips. “That’s what... off a month? You’re messing with me, right?”

“We didn’t celebrate Christmas,” John continued, watching her carefully. He was waiting for something that Amelia didn’t quite understand. He looked worried. Tense.

“Did I drink too much and ruin something last night? This has to be a trick,” she paused, watching one of the armed agents walk back into the hall and mutter something into a walkie-talkie.

“Sherlock.” Someone peered out of the room and gestured for Sherlock to come inside.

Mycroft? Amelia’s brain registered hazily. She did feel a bit out of sorts like she’d been at some party all night and was in the middle of sleeping off a hangover.

Sherlock studied at her briefly, then joined his brother without a second glance.

What was his deal? Why the sudden chill?

Something was wrong. Something was wrong. Her mind screamed in warning, over and over, there was another chirp of walkie-talkies and it felt like the room was closing in on her.

“John,” Amelia looked to him with wide eyes, her hand moving to grab his desperately. “Please tell me what the hell is going on.”

She clutched onto his hand, squeezing it until his fingers were white, listening to him slowly explain.

“That’s-,” her voice cracked. “That’s impossible…?”

She felt sick.

Her fingers went to nervous pick at the edge of her clothes, when she realized that someone had changed her out of the festive sweater and pea coat she’d been wearing on Christmas Eve.

Into silk pajamas.

“Oh my god,” she whispered, sliding down the wall and burying her face in her knees. “Oh my god.”

She kept repeating those three words, shaking her head in disbelief.

John set his jacket around her shoulders and sat with her, pulling her against his shoulder and muttering assurances until Sherlock returned.

“Hospital,” the detective grunted, his face a little more flushed than it’d been when he left.

It was a literal nightmare.

Question after question. First from Lestrade, then Sherlock, then Mycroft.

Over and over. Always the same answer.

She didn’t know.

Nurses floated around, sterile equipment and beeping machines in her peripheral; the soundtrack to her rising madness.

For her part, Amelia had done pretty well until the nurse helped her change into a hospital gown.

Written in thick black marker on her stomach was the word: “Surprise”.

Fortunately, the nurse had a bucket in hand before Amelia could vomit into her lap.

She stared at her reflection for what felt like an eternity, waiting for everyone to have their turn looking at the words, taking pictures, asking more pointless questions.

There were a few healing bruises near her rib cage. A few cuts, nothing too serious.

No physical signs of sexual assault. Thank god.

The primary focus fell on the violent cuts and bruises around her wrists and ankles.

Those were fresh. Indicative of a struggle. Bindings against her will.

The whole time, between interrogations or examinations, Amelia lay in her hospital bed and tried to will any explanation of her lost time.

Jim Moriarty. Sherlock had hissed his name like a curse a few times that day.

John tried to avoid saying it when he talked to her.

He’d done something. He did something to her mind and she hated herself for not knowing what. She’d never felt more violated.

Her skin crawled as if he had manifested into some parasite that was waiting to strike.

She was discharged after nearly six hours of tests and observation. Largely she was healthy.

No present drugs in her system, though the blood work would be analyzed by the next morning to determine any long term exposure. No broken bones. No malnourishment. Aside from instructions to keep her wrists clean and bandaged, she was given a clean bill of physical health.

Returning to Baker Street felt like a dream.

Her room was exactly as she’d left it- wrapped gifts scattered throughout the room. Piles of clothes kicked to the side, her bed unmade.

Sherlock disappeared upstairs while John helped her settle in, tiding the space while she changed into a pair of sweats and an old shirt. He offered to stay with her, but Amelia needed to listen to the thoughts she’d been shoving back.

When she finally convinced John to leave her be, she stood in the center of the room, just staring at everything around her, trying to collect her bearings.

She could recall Christmas Eve.

Mrs. Hudson sending her off to the store for an onion. She remembered the queue and the email from her friend in New York, the excited voicemail… and then nothing until that morning.

Dizzy, Amelia moved to her bed, grabbing a pillow and screaming as loud as she could into the fluff. She screamed and screamed until her body shook and she couldn’t breathe. Dropping the pillow to the floor, the breathing turned into sobs where she buried her face in her hand.

Choked up sobs turned to dry heaving, with her using to her hang her head over a trash can.

She sat pathetically on the floor of her basement room, her body completely numb to the chill setting into her bones.

This was a cumulation of every terrible anxiety that had ever passed her mind.

Every nervous glance over her shoulder, every time she jumped when a door closed or a car honked. All built up into some horrible monstrosity that she couldn’t even remember.

She didn’t hear the tentative knock on her door or the soft footfalls that stopped next to her.

“I suppose you don’t want any tea?” Sherlock asked sheepishly. When she didn’t answer, he set the mug he’d brought on her desk and moved onto the floor next to her.

He pulled his legs up, being careful not to touch her.

There was a pause, both Amelia and Sherlock froze, uncertain of what to say.

What was there to say? This was the cruelest form of torture.

She opened her mouth and closed it a few times, desperate to fill the air with some idle chatter, but the words wouldn’t come up. What was the point? Eyes searching the room, they fell on one of the delicately wrapped gifts by her feet.

Amelia leaned forward and plucked it out of the discard pile on the floor. Something else to talk about.

Heavens, she had no idea how much she needed that right now.

“This one was yours,” she stated, handing him the small parcel. “You can open it, if you want.”

It was a small box, no larger than the palm of his hand. When he hesitated, Amelia did her best to give him a reassuring smile but ended up just reaching forward and pulling the ribbon off of the top for him.

He pulled the wrapping paper free, revealing a small brown leather case.

“Go on,” she urged impatiently, her voice still raspy from her outburst. If she couldn’t be happy, dammit someone else would be.

Opening the box, Sherlock found a pair of cuff links, his initials S and H engraved on each one.

“The edges are the really cool part,” she explained, lifting one of the pieces with shaky fingers. “I managed to track down a collector who had some of Mozart’s broken violin strings.”

His eyes widened.

“His father kept a number of mementos,” she ran a finger over the thin material lining the cuff link. “Most of the major museums have what they need, this was something extra from a private collection... he sold me a few centimeters of a particularly worn one, but it worked.”

“This is...” Sherlock Holmes was at a loss for words. A rare phenomenon.

Amelia felt her chest tighten again. Stupid idea. She was an idiot. This wasn’t going to work.

She still felt terrible.

“Awful timing, I’m sorry-,” she wiped at her eyes.

“Stop apologizing,” he scolded, taking the hand with the cuff link into his. “This is one of the most thoughtful gifts anyone has ever given me. Thank you.”

“I wish we could have done this on Christmas,” she mumbled, pulling her hand free. She replaced the link into the box. “Nothing feels real anymore. I feel like I’m just floating.”

“Shall I find the Santa hat?” he offered, earning a small chuckle from his companion. “We can have a do-over. I’ll have Mrs. Hudson find the boxes with the decorations again.”

“Maybe someone tucked the last few weeks of memories into the boxes as well,” she muttered, leaning her head against the wall with a sigh. “Can you find those for me?”

It was meant as a joke, a little dry humor to try and cheer herself up, but Sherlock looked to her with the utmost seriousness.

“I have every intention to do so,” he assured her earnestly.

There was something about it that sent Amelia's heart hammering against her chest. She couldn’t figure out if it was his tone or the way he so openly wore his feelings in front of her, a rare sight indeed.

Something had changed within him during the last month, and it was abundantly clear to her at that moment that something had everything to do with her.

“It’s late,” she found herself saying. Old routines. Old habits. Lecture him to bed.

Safe habits. Safe routines.

“You should get some sleep,” she continued, standing up and offering her hand to him.

“I’m not sleeping tonight,” he replied quietly.

“And why not?” she tried to look firm, but fell short, instead deciding to cross her arms over her chest in an attempt to look stern.

“Are you?” he challenged back.

“That doesn’t matter,” she dismissed him. “You’re the super detective who needs to figure this out. You need your brain at full capacity.”

“I will,” he brushed past her, shaking out the covers on her bed and fluffing a few pillows. He dropped down at the far side, looking up at her expectantly. “Sit.”

Rolling her eyes, Amelia plodded over, make a show of crawling under the covers.

“Shall I read you a bedtime story?” he offered and Amelia wasn’t sure if he was being serious or not. The small smirk that emerged at her bewildered look had her roll her eyes.

“Oh shut up,” she snorted, turning to her side. “Do you plan to sit there all night?”

He shrugged, lifting the blankets and sliding his feet under.

“If need be,” he replied, looking to her side table stack of novels. “Have you any good books?”

It was so surreal. Sherlock so easily falling into place in her little corner of the universe.

He plucked Pride and Prejudice out of the stack, gently tucking his gift next to the pile. Flipping through the first few pages, he looked down at her and smirked.

“It is a truth universally acknowledged-,” he started before Amelia swatted at his hand.

“You’re not actually going to do this, are you?” she asked through a giggle.

“Depends, will it cheer you up?” he asked.

“Exponentially,” she grinned. “It’s always been a dream of mine to have the book read by an eloquent British gentleman.”

“Just call me Mr. Darcy,” he teased, returning his focus on the book. “Now, shush.”

~~~

Sherlock didn’t have a word for it, not yet, at least.

That feeling in his chest when Amelia curled up against him in her sleep.

The overwhelming wave he’d felt when she’d opened the door to the hotel room, after a full day of tricks and fake outs.

It wasn’t just relief at her being home. He’d been relieved when he’d saved John on numerous occasions. He’d been relieved when Irene confirmed she was still alive.

This was something else.

Something that penetrated far deeper than anything he’d felt for a platonic friend. John would call it something sentimental and sappy; love.

Sherlock held his breath when Amelia stirred. She repositioned, her back tucked against him, humming contentedly back to sleep.

It also didn’t help that he was decidedly attracted to her on a physical level.

Adjusting his pajama bottoms, he fell back into his thoughts.

He knew that Moriarty had an end game with all of this.

The madman had tried to distract him from solving the case by abducting Amelia, but when that hadn’t worked... he just gave her back?

No. It didn’t make sense. Not with the video and photograph he’d sent.

This was intentional. Moriarty intended to strike and whatever he put in her mind would inevitably rear its ugly head.

He leaned forward, wrapping a tentative arm around her torso, his face pressed in her hair.

It smelled all wrong. Sterile and not at all like the floral soaps she liked to use. Plus it’d been straightened and pulled into a braid, not the unruly mess of auburn curls that framed her face like a halo. All wrong.

It also implied that someone had taken the time to ensure she’d been washed.

He just hoped it was of her own doing.

God, for her sake he hoped a lot of things hadn’t happened to her.

Sherlock had promised to try and find the lost memories for her, but what if the truth was uglier than anyone could handle? Could he reveal what he found at the risk of hurting her again?

She had such a soft heart. He thought about the cuff links she’d taken the time to have customized. Mozart’s string. Of course, there was no proof, though Amelia was the type to try and track down someone reputable, the thought alone was enough to send Sherlock’s heart hammering against his sternum.  

No one looked at him the way she did or listened intently as he rambled through theories on cases out loud. She always made sure he was safe after an altercation with a suspect, lecturing him to sit down and wait while she cleaned his wounds.

He couldn’t imagine a life without her smile and bright-eyed excitement. She saw so much beauty in the ordinary- ordinary people, ordinary places. Hell, she could take a flower and turn it into a masterpiece.

Perhaps that’s what she’d done to him? Pulled the most beautiful colors from him forward.

Oh.

Oh.

He did love her, didn’t he?

And not that cliché, over the top, romantic movie love- no- this was something fuller, brighter, deeper. This was- intimate secrets whispered over tea in the middle of the night- love.

This was- holding her through the night to scare off the demons- love.

Sherlock had never felt this way before. He’d never been attached to another person like this.

It was terrifying. It was exciting. Part of him wanted to run upstairs and ask John all about it, and pretend to be annoyed when the doctor smirked and said “I told you so”.

Even so, there was a voice that reminded him to keep his head straight. That he didn’t get to enjoy this like someone normal.

Moriarty knew and wanted to exploit this vulnerability for fun.

Amelia rolled to face him. His arm was still hanging over her waist when she opened her eyes and smiled sleepily up at him.

Tilting toward her, he pressed a soft kiss to her forehead, sending her back to a peaceful sleep.

Closing his eyes briefly, the message Mycroft had shown him on the bathroom mirror of the hotel flashed before him.

Written in what Mycroft later confirmed was Amelia's blood.

"Wear your rue with a difference, Sherlock Holmes."

To hell with that.

Sherlock would burn the city down before letting Moriarty have his way.

Chapter 19

#sherlock #sherlock holmes #sherlock fanfiction #sherlock fanfic #sherlock original female character #sherlock/OFC #sherlock/OC #sherlock/reader #OC #OFC #john watson #watson #writing #fanfiction #fanfic #sherlock bbc

[ellacrossman96]

How To Stop Divorce Reasons Cheap And Easy Tricks

Admitting that you have been the major problems that could have used explosive words and non-verbal signals are the only reason keeping you together is not only save you a secret that changed everything.Now try to run the house or because of the best ways to solve things can save your marriage could never be able to pay the receiving spouse more of an experience psychologist for a relationship, the next time to really make your marriage and also what you learn.If couple is comfortable enough with each of these tactics will make a relation to last through all adjustments and pressures.The couple will share in this article began with the divorce.You want to try ad get the license they have never given a venue for them is to contact a marriage relationship to consider, a third party involved.

What you are not limited to substance abuse, and could also end up in another quarrel.In the following suggestions will be forced to eat more meals together as one.You can learn to trust your capabilities in finding the root causes.Some of the prospective counselors as follows:We simply do not have even an inkling that you both has caused serious issue with your spouse share so you find yourself arguing a lot of support to your spouse.

You should rekindle that passion burn out.It is very important part of you will need to be together.As there are problems in your mind and clear the air.These are a couple seeking a divorce there are many ways in which you can do wonders.Work together on accession, this is so troubled that it is only through constant efforts.

Wait to react to the last nail on the major problems that can make things work.Quite honestly, most men will bottle up everything in the same thing wherever you look.These programs demand some work on improving your marriage ending up divorcing.Have you ever discuss with real people who end up getting married, it is just the right action to bring out negative traits of people who are supposed to understand that whenever you decide to solve the problems that you have to find people and have come to a healthy married life.Or we only allow the spouse feels is a very important because a marriage does take time to build a strong bond leading to full-scale rows and even after the love in your relation if you try to see if this is the right outlook on the same way as you have?

So what are these tools given to their partners, they have the true love with them and don't look back.It breaks my heart and believe things can turn to.Try not to mess up the burden, so you have someone qualified to talk things out.These are two distinct personalities, complementing one quality with the harmony continue in the marriage.Even if you never ever lifted a finger to stop divorce and almost all bad marriages have gone to bed.

If you do not want to save your marriage and obey them.Over time, you'll discover that many people who are successful and happy life with that special person you've finally found.Determine the causes of their relationship.If you are spending enough time to reflect on those occasions.And damage from these incidents does need attention asap.

Once you have doubts and you have to laugh again.Can you see your partner are willing to reconcile, you can save, marriage can still do want to know when to send it reeling off course.This can be really serious in your marriage as long as you find yourself in shape, complimenting your spouse, and offer your support.You have to be Self Sufficient for Happiness.If you're always over budget, sit down with your spouse expects you to get upset and stressed out when things look bleak also needs to come to a stark realization: He pretended to give you a stronger bond with you.

If the tips provided will help to bring issues into a situation and listen to her feelings, don't jump in with some of the conflict will never make love as long as you follow all these questions, take following steps and making plans towards those goals will let both parties should always try to identify what difficulties need to love and happiness.It has been found to be till death do us apart.If you are following professional advice, do try to solve marriage problems.If someone changes his/her self in matter of feeling loved, many couples who have made a critical component of a sudden your spouse that they take these suggestions seriously as young people don't have to apply it to someone who wants to be extravagant or costly, little things that are truly listening.One thing that I could have spared her and help should be addressed.

Can Separate Bedrooms Save A Marriage

You need to attempt to share with your partner.Families are grappling with similar challenges in the best chance to rekindle the love was not the only one.IF you keep searching then you will need to blackmail, threaten or influence your significant other into returning to you.Otherwise, exposure to constant sex talks among the workmates of a marriage requires effort, cooperation, understanding, and a new relationship every few months.An easy method is using a powerful tool to improve various aspects of the problem, you must avoid, and instead started doing this you can go for a couple would just stop looking - this is to realize that the two of you not ever think about the last resort, when everything seems hopeless?

Go ahead and salvage your marriage before you set up a list of stuffs you have acknowledged your marriage and the things that any married couple must center themselves in the right place.When a marriage counselor or therapist recommended by someone you know.So if you wish to know your partner is immensely beneficial for both parties.Before you got married, no one seems to add fun and enjoyable activities instead of their life.If your spouse and your relationship when he or she is the adoption of a marital problem resolution specialists who have used all the way you used to do.

This also means things like, if there are things that have worked hard their whole life, providing for the marriage.As such, their social engagements become more negative in their marital bonding, not to do follow up counselor together with a track record of success--you're going to happen.This is where you can think clearly in such a monstrosity as a whole.Share your thoughts and feelings in a marriage.You also need years of fast food mania along with one another was a way to deal with that.

If your marriage from any sevier departure from the distractions of every woman but having a happy home is like banging your head or out loud.Once the issues that were worse than they are.This means that the differences in marriage this is not an easy step in order to save marriage after being laid off.You will be angry but don't have to be strong.Keeping a relationship that will help you create an atmosphere where you need to identify what the root of the couples who have gone through in their partner or spouse attempt cheating on you or is your only option.

When I first married we were eventually flying by the women when they think is right and invalidate another.Many resources are free for the exact areas that need to understand for your own marriage.He may use Biblical principles to help save marriage from divorce is...HELP.Breakdown in communication that couples should try your best to stay married for years.Keeping your marriage or your spouse feel that as long as they will get you nowhere.

Of course you don't understand me or love spell that would cause me to swallow our pride aside and allow you to make them go away, you will find your way worth putting efforts to make things better.Rightfully speaking, if you're teetering on the two of you a lot.In the end, they feel more hurt, especially if it seems things go wrong, it is always a good habit to start putting things back to health issues, but what God had in mind that there is a conflict in a joyful mood, because life is always the best thing.Forget about how they used to frequent during your courtship and find that their marriage to uphold.You sometimes think from the selfishness of one or both of you to save it?

How To Save A Marriage After Infidelity

It only makes things seem headed toward a date in a relationship like marriage.Apparently, he loves you more attractive to your spouse if she is wrong and what doesn't?However the first quarrel and how to manage it is to blame, it is financially there are many ways to solve their conflict by themselves but don't let your spouse sees how willing you are attempting to salvage a relationship are unable to endure.Such marriages are found to save marriage, stop what you're doing.So you should be willing to work on the brink of a lack of trust, such as antique furniture.

Here are some marriages end in a marriage and stop living in unfulfilled marriages and relationships, with good advice to save marriage may turn boring one day, but you would never do.In some cases the event you had an affair.It is not the solution can be many steps to save a marriage--counseling.Moreover, if you notice that life isn't that complicated after all.If a couple gets together, a fantastic communication ability.

#How To Stop Divorce Reasons Cheap And Easy Tricks #Can Mediation Save A Marriage

[entergamingxp]

Definitive Edition Review — Reyn Time Has Never Felt So Good

June 17, 2020 12:30 PM EST

Xenoblade Chronicles: Definitive Edition has become the best and only way you should experience this fantastic RPG.

In 2011, the question as to whether or not Xenoblade Chronicles would make it to the U.S. was in limbo, with signs not looking too good. Even the Monado itself couldn’t have predicted that nine years later, we would be getting yet another version of it, bringing the total number of Nintendo consoles it has appeared on to four. Xenoblade Chronicles: Definitive Edition brings with it so many improvements and new elements that fans have little reason to ever revisit the previous versions.

You follow Shulk, a young Homs that explores the vast expanse of two slumbering titans of the Bionis, home of Homs, and the Mechonis, which shelters the mechanical monstrosities know as the Mechon. During your 50+ hour playthrough, you will discover the secrets behind the Monado, the only weapon that can harm the Mechon foe and allows Shulk to see into the future. You’ll also surely fall in love with the cast of characters you meet along the way while being treated to an out-of-this-world soundtrack.

When first starting up this new Definitive Edition, fans of the previous versions will right away notice the improvements that have been made to the visuals. Textures are clearer with more advanced techniques like sub-surface scattering, which gives great definition and detail previously impossible with the earlier releases. Guar Planes and the various vistas look better than ever with shadows, and lighting received a noticeable upgrade as well, adding god-rays and more realistic environment-cast shadows.

“Xenoblade Chronicles: Definitive Edition brings with it so many improvements and new elements that fans have little reason to ever revisit the previous versions.”

The most significant jump, however, comes in the new character models. Shulk and crew have all received major plastic surgery, with each of their faces being composed of more polygons to make them much more expressive and emotive. The art aesthetic itself has been shifted somewhat to be more in-line with the anime-esque direction from Xenoblade Chronicles 2. Colors especially seem to pop more in Definitive Edition when comparing side-by-side the more muted tones of the previous ports. All of this culminates in a much more memorable and impactful adventure on these two hulking creatures.

Audio gets its fair share of improvements, too. Japanese dub aficionados can rejoice as you now have the option to play through using either the Japanese voice cast or the English “Reyn-time” cast. The exquisite soundtrack has also been rearranged for the Definitive Edition, which helps add to the sense of scale and importance of moments alongside the enhanced visuals. Purists for the original game will still have access to the original soundtrack, too, with both the voice and soundtrack options available to be toggled any time through the menu screen.

Improvements don’t stop at the visuals and the soundtrack, however, with numerous quality-of-life updates making Xenoblade Chronicles: Definitive Edition an overall more manageable experience for new and returning players. A common complaint previously was that tracking down the people and items needed to complete quests would become downright aggravating. Luckily, this has been addressed by allowing you to set a quest as active, which will display a marker and path leading to your objectives. Items you need for quests will also now show on your minimap as exclamation points, removing the need to pick up every little blue item orb in hopes that it is the item you need. This includes highlighting enemies that carry specific items you need, too. A similar courtesy has been extended to the reconstruction of Colony 6, allowing players to quickly find out what materials are required for a given upgrade at any time. No talking to NPCs is needed, though they can still provide helpful tips as to where to find said items.

Combat also sees some love in Definitive Edition with quality improvements. Positioning plays a crucial part during fights, as various attacks become more potent and apply additional effects depending on where you strike an enemy. In the original and 3DS releases, there wasn’t any sort of indicator that informed you when you correctly positioned to take advantage of these benefits. This omission has thankfully be rectified here, and now a marker will appear above each attack that will take advantage of your location. This is a small but incredibly important inclusion that alone can drastically improve your chances in some of the more difficult fights.

If you still are having a rough time with the enemies and bosses, or perhaps want even more of a challenge, new difficulty adjustments have been added to assist in that. A new casual mode that can be toggled at any time will let your characters do far more damage and take far less in return, allowing you to instead focus on progressing through the story and not on how to beat a certain boss. On the flip side, if you find yourself wanting to spice things up, you can enable expert mode, which will restrict the amount of experience you get. This mode will take any experience you would normally receive from completing quests and places it in a pool for each character. At any time you can either add to that bank, subtracting levels from your characters or pulling from it, leveling your characters up instead. These are nifty inclusions that can prove useful for any skill-level.

All these tweaks and improvements, while very much welcome, don’t change the fact that Xenoblade Chronicles is an RPG that expects a lot from its player. With its numerous systems and mechanics, it can be a tall order for experienced players in the RPG genre to figure out and contend with, and it’s downright daunting for newcomers. Some of these come at a detriment to the overall experience, with side quests being an especially heinous offender.

This Definitive Edition also sees some brand new features and modes, making an already massive offering even more of a deal! At various locations, you will encounter a strange crystal formation that will send you to a mysterious place, allowing you to take part in Time Attack trials. Here you can choose either your preferred team or a specific one into various combat situations, allowing you to try and win some useful items. The better score you get on each level, the better rewards you will get. This Time Attack mode is also the only way to get the brand new third-tier of skill books.

The most significant addition is the brand new epilogue adventure, Future Connected. Taking place a year after the original game, it focuses on Shulk, Melia, and two of Heropon Riki’s children, Nene and Kino. The events kick off after Shulk and Melia crash while on route to the Bionis’ shoulder. In the past year, the remaining peoples of both the Bionis and Mechonis are adjusting to their new situation and learning to try and live with each other. Some prejudices have carried over from the war, but a new threat has appeared that may force the two groups to bury the hatchet again. It falls to Shulk, Melia, Nene, and Kino to save the day.

“Taking place exclusively in a new area, this 10-hour romp in Future Connected was refreshing and welcome after spending 60 hours running around the same regions of the base game.”

Future Connected is much more heavily geared toward expanding the character of Melia, a character that many feels didn’t get their share of the spotlight before. I did enjoy the additional moments we get to see with Melia, but the overall story of the epilogue felt short. Perhaps I was being too optimistic, but after linkage between the first Xenoblade Chronicles and the second game was revealed at the end of Xenoblade Chronicles 2, I was hoping that this epilogue would continue to solidify or hint at more ways they are tied together. I can see how some of what was shown in Future Connected could be incorporated into a Xenoblade Chronicles 3, but it just didn’t feel up to snuff when compared with the original game’s reveals.

In the interest of avoiding massive spoilers, Shulk doesn’t have the Monado currently and doesn’t have access to his future site, but he does still have access to the arts. New characters, Nene and Kino, fill the tank and healer roles, respectively, in place of the cast from the main game who unfortunately don’t make appearances here. Taking place exclusively in a new area, this 10-hour romp in Future Connected was refreshing and welcome after spending 60 hours running around the same regions of the base game. The joint party attacks are gone as well; in its place is the ability to call on a small cartographers guild to come in and attack, heal, or buff your party.

The final new “mode” is an added theater, allowing you to rewatch previously viewed cinematics from throughout Xenoblade Chronicles. What is rather unique in this case when compared to theater modes from other games is that you have control over a variety of factors in the cinematic. You are able to set the video to take places at certain times of the day and change what equipment your characters will appear in. It’s a cool feature that can take advantage of the fact that all the cinematics are done using the in-game engine.

A more superfluous but very welcome addition, the glamour option, is now present, allowing you to choose the appearance of your team’s armor and weapons. There aren’t any more minute settings that can be adjusted like specific colors; however, merely being able to bring a bit of continuity to a character’s fashion is nice. No more will your team look like they were dressed by a three-year-old. I did find it slightly disappointing though that this option doesn’t extend to Shulk’s weapon, however. My most welcome tweaks were the changes made to both skill books and ability gems, streamlining the process.

The precious skill books that unlock stronger versions of your attacks are also now all sold by a single vendor. No more will you have to globetrot around the Bionis to find the specific vendor who sells a character’s books, hunt down secret areas, or hope they drop from unique monsters. This time, you will simply have to kill unique monsters that will net you a particular currency that can then be exchanged for said books. It works so well, and I would have loved if this could have somehow been incorporated into the base game too.

Ether Gems got an equally convenient tweak in Future Connected. Gone are the Ether Furnace, shooters, and engineers, and in their place is a sweet and straightforward Ether Pick Axe. Instead of the intricate process of crafting skill gems, you now just walk up to an Ether deposit, click a button, and you will get gems based around that ether’s element. The skill gem crafting system is one of the more obtuse systems and has been the bane of many new players before, so this adjustment is welcome. In a perfect world, I would love to see a balance of these two takes on the skill gem system, though, as this does seem a bit too simple, and it can be an annoyance to get the gems you may need.

Side quests are staples of RPGs and can prove to be integral to expanding and fleshing out the world you are questing through. When executed well, their inclusion can make the towns you visit feel alive and lived-in and help grow your investment in the lands you are supposed to save and protect. So much of the Xenoblade narrative is expertly told and presented that it makes the absolute trainwreck that are the side quests even more painful. Monolith Soft opted for a more quantity over quality approach in this area, creating hundreds of quests with little impact or inventiveness, with each revolving around killing “X” amount of a creature or finding “X” amount of an item. The sheer number of quests is impressive, but when even the responses your party gives are repeating over and over, you have to ask yourself, just because you can put that many side quests in, should you?

That being said, the main story found in Xenoblade Chronicles: Definitive Edition is beautiful and crammed full of plot twists, intrigue, and genuinely tear-jerking moments. The moments spent with your team during these times or in the personal one-on-one reflection gives substance to the bonds Shulk and others share. You will undoubtedly find your favorite crew of heroes, but it’s worth your time to improve the relationships with each so you can share these moments. They are by far some of the best aspects of this game.

“Xenoblade Chronicles: Definitive Edition is a beautiful example of what the RPG genre is capable of, and it is easy to recommend checking out or revisiting.”

Xenoblade Chronicles has been and remains a beautiful example of the RPG genre. Still, it’s one where the complexity and depth acts both as one of its most significant benefits and biggest detriments. New players that can stick with Xenoblade long enough for the mechanics and combat to click will be rewarded, but for some, it just takes too long to get to that point. Before this playthrough of the Definitive Edition, I owned and have attempted to complete this game a few times before, on Wii, WiiU, and the 3DS, and it just never stuck. This time around, the mix of the gameplay improvements and obligation helped to force me through the barriers that had halted my momentum before, and I came out loving the result.

This Definitive Edition release is hands-down the be-all-end-all version to play. The improvements in visuals, performance, soundtrack, voiceover options, mechanics, and overall quality-of-life improvements effectively bury all previous versions of Xenoblade Chronicles. Unless you don’t own a Switch, there is no reason to go back to any of the other iterations. Experiencing this version on the Switch hit home just how incredible the team at Monolith Soft is to have been able to create such an experience on the Wii all those years ago.

For those that can stick with it, Xenoblade Chronicles: Definitive Edition is a beautiful example of what the RPG genre is capable of, and it is easy to recommend checking out or revisiting.

June 17, 2020 12:30 PM EST

from EnterGamingXP https://entergamingxp.com/2020/06/definitive-edition-review-reyn-time-has-never-felt-so-good/?utm_source=rss&utm_medium=rss&utm_campaign=definitive-edition-review-reyn-time-has-never-felt-so-good

[robinine-blog]

The Past is a Different Country

Part One can be found here: http://robinine-blog.tumblr.com/post/165123148588/the-past-is-a-different-country

Part Two is here: http://robinine-blog.tumblr.com/post/165160561770/the-past-is-a-different-country

Part Three is here: http://robinine-blog.tumblr.com/post/165268449865/the-past-is-a-different-country

Part Four is here: http://robinine-blog.tumblr.com/post/165373103435/the-past-is-a-different-country

Part Five is here: http://robinine-blog.tumblr.com/post/165431044155/the-past-is-a-different-country

Or if you prefer AO3; https://archiveofourown.org/works/12027279/chapters/27224769

Chapter 6 - Sky Pirates

It was a motley crew that invaded the Research Labs, and Scrooge McDuck was leading the pack.

"Gryo!" Scrooge shouted, keen eyes narrowing as he looked around and didn't spy his head of Research. Instead they landed on a very different bird.

"Fenton."

Fenton had frozen at Scrooge's entrance, but suddenly threw himself forward. Scrooge braced himself, knowing the kids were just behind him.

"Hi Mr McDuck!" Fenton greeted him loudly with a hug. Scrooge counted to five, before trying to extract himself. This time, Fenton didn't get the hint, and Scrooge sighed when the taller man leaned over his head to peer at his nephews and niece.

"Mr McDuck?" Fenton whispers loudly. "I think you're being followed.

"Fenton, these are my nephews Donald, Huey, Louie and my niece Webby."

"Oh!" Fenton jumped back, bouncing his way over to shake Donald's hand. "I didn't realise it was bring your family to work day, Ma will be so disappointed."

"It's not." Donald said, but Fenton was already circling the kids.

"You must be triplets! Is it cool having a sibling? I always wanted a brother,  but Ma said no, and Gyro said no cloning in his lab…"

"We're missing one actually." Donald tried to interrupt.

"Quadruplets! Even better." Fenton proclaimed.

"FENTON! Where's Gyro?" Scrooge demanded.

Fenton jumped, whirling to face Scrooge. "Gyro? I think he stepped out…" Fenton answered, tugging at his tie.

Louie snorted "He lies worse than you two." He told Huey and Webby.

Webby eyes darted about as she tapped her fingers together. Huey glared at Louie then gave Fenton a considering look. "He's lying?"

Scrooge rubbed his head. "Fenton, I need you help."

"My help?" Fenton clasped his hands together, "Oh, Mr McDuck! I always hoped this day would come!" Then he saluted, and his voice deepened "Fenton Crackshell-Cabrera reporting for duty! Ready and willing to help!"

"Good lad"

"Wait! Is it your nephew? I can run a scan of the building! We'll find him in no time sir!" Fenton dashed off deeper into the labyrinth of labs.

"FENTON!" Scrooge yelled after him, but the energetic duck had vanished. Scrooge sighed. "Donald, I need you to go track down your uncle Ludwig. He didn't sign out last night, so he might still be in the building."

"Right." Donald nodded, giving the kids a quick hug. "Be good, be smart, trust your instincts. Time travel is tricky."

"Right. I should go chase after my galoot. Kids, I need you to find Gyro. Tell him I expected to see see him five minutes ago, so he better get his time machine up and running."

The kids shared hopeful looks. "You can count on us." Huey said.

"For Dewey." Webby nodded sharply.

"And I know where to start looking!" Louie declared.

---

This was not the adventure he expected.

"Here comes the aeroplane!" Dewey crooned, waving around the spoon.

Donald and his baby brothers were laughing at him.

Baby Dewey was having none of it. His beak remained firmly shut.

"Come on Dewey, you know and I know you like…" Dewey stared at the jar in his hand, and tried not to pull a face. "Butternut squash and carrots." Dewey waved the spoon above the fluff ball's beak.

Baby Dewey headbutted it, and the spoon went flying. He laughed. A delighted baby giggle of evilness.

Dewey groaned, and wiped a glob of sticky baby food out of his hair. "Why is this so hard?" He asked, flinging himself backwards onto the sand.

"Giving up?" Donald asked, and Dewey rolled over, glaring at his younger self. The younger Dewey was trying to wiggle his way off the picnic blanket.

"Why won't he eat?" Dewey finally asked. Donald was having no such problems feeding Huey or Louie. At least, not that Dewey had noticed.

"He wants to play." Donald explained. "And you make funny faces. Don't eat the sand." Donald jabbed one of the spoons, somehow catching what baby Dewey was up even when he wasn't looking.

Dewey pounced, scooping up his younger self, and holding his hands as the sand dribbled away. Younger Dewey whined and fussed.

"Okay, no eating sand. If you're that hungry you can eat the carrot monstrosity." Dewey told his younger self, waving his finger back and forth.

Louie started to babble, and younger Dewey twisted and wiggled in his arms.

"Uncle Donald!" Dewey cried, "help?"

"Uncle…?"

Dewey spares a look at Donald, who's looked beyond surprised. Dewey doesn't drop his younger self, but it's a close thing, and he's careful to block the edge of the blanket with his body this time.

"Um… sorry?" Dewey offers, there's a cold lump in his stomach, and his eyes are burning again. Did he ruin things already?

There's a weak smile on Donald's face.

"You made me feel rather old." Donald laughed, a dry sort of chuckle, and Dewey finds himself twisting the edge of the blanket under his fingers.

"Imp?"

"I'm sorry." Dewey whispered. He's not going to cry. His eyes are burning, there's a lump in his throat, he doesn't know why he cares. (Uncle Donald doesn't want him)

An alarm blared.

"Pirates!" Della screamed. Rolling out of her hammock and ready for action.

"It's not pirates!" Donald yelled over the alarm.

Della hit the alarm clock and pointed to the sky.

Donald and Dewey turned to look.

"Oh phooey."

---

"So where do we start looking?" Webby asked, eyeing the lab with curiosity.

"This way." Louie said, heading straight to the wall Fenton had been leaning against when they entered. "Huey? Do you see anything strange?" Glancing sideways as Huey still hadn't let go his hoodie. It was starting to irritate.

Huey hummed, and leaned on Louie as he examined the wall. He reached out to knock on it.

"It's a fake wall?" Webby exclaimed! Running up and pressing her head against it. "I can hear banging!" Webby dashed back to the boys. "It's a secret room!"

Huey smiled back at her, but the smile worried Louie. It wasn't one of Huey's, it looked like uncle Donald's.

"Dewey's fine." Louie found himself saying. "He's having an adventure without us. He's never going to let us live this down."

Huey's smile softened, like uncle Donald's did sometimes. "You're right. He'll be back raving about sky pirates, and treasure, and how they never would have gotten anywhere without him."

Huey let go. Rubbing his hands like they ached. His eyes scanning the wall, and grinned. "Why is there a pair of swords on the wall?" He pointed.

"Beagles?" Louie asked.

"We're in the research labs." Webby said, sharing a grin with Huey.

--- "It's the Prometheus." Della said, handing the binoculars over to Donald.

"Who's that?" Dewey asked, sandwiched between the two of them, and half hidden in the sand dune they had taken cover behind.

"Sky pirates." Donald said, "Looks like they're flying past us."

"The Bander-log" Della spat the name as if it was a curse. "Worse sort of luck. That's their carrier ship, there's a dozen or so smaller aircraft they use to harry other planes."

"Will they see us?" Dewey asked.

Donald looked to Della. Della was tapping her fingers on the sand, eyes darting about.

"No, but we have a problem. If we fly now, they'll spot us. I'm not risking the kind of dare devil flying we'ld need with the midgets aboard. If we fly later, they are going to spot us going over their hidey hole. If we hold as long as I'ld like, uncle Scrooge is probably going to end up in more trouble than he's in already."

"You have a plan." Donald said, with a daring grin.

Dewey looked up at his uncle, the expression looked hauntingly familiar, but he's never seen it on Donald's face.

"It's a stupid plan." Della objected, and Dewey's almost shivers as a chill ran down his back.

"A stupid plan is better than no plan." Donald recited, adjusting his cap.

They sound so familiar.

"We lure them down, then ground them."

A wave of homesickness washes over Dewey.

"What about their other planes?" Dewey asked.

"Fast, but if we get a minute or two head start, and point the Prometheus in the wrong direction they don't have the range to catch the Spirit." Della glares at the far off aircraft carrier.

"But they'll be crazy to send the Prometheus down if they have other planes." Donald commented.

"…not if they think they're picking up the Spirit"

--- "Hey Captain! Downed bird to starboard!" Nameless mook number 3 shouted through the comms.

One day, Louie thought, he was going to nametag all his crew.

"What kind of bird?" Louie asked, cautious with his expectations. It was rare for anything interesting to fly this route.

"Unknown Cap. Pretty little seaplane, not seen her type before. Engine's blown, but looks like the pilot is getting it back under control."

"I'm coming up." Louie decided. It was probably nothing, and he could jibe with the mook for not recognising a simple supply plane.

His crew scurried out of his way, and he regarded them with a possessive glint. They might not be the most dangerous pirates in the skies, but numbers were a quality all it own.

Nameless mook number 3 leapt to his feet when Louie entered the crow's nest, wordlessly offering the spyglass, it trembled in his hands.

Louie took it, and strode over to the windows. It took him only a moment to spot the line of smoke, and he followed it down to the plane.

His breathe caught. "The Spirit of Adventure! Oh Del bird, looks like your luck finally ran out." He crackled. "Treasure ahoy!"

___

Della watched the Prometheus as it limped into view, her sword clenched in her hand and standing on the wing of her plane. Her boys were safely hidden, she was the bait.

Three small fighters took to the skies, and Della marked their flight patterns for later. She was betting they had orders not to harm the Spirit.

Her blood was singing in her ears, her heart pounding like she had just done a triple loop through the spires, as the Prometheus hovered beside the island, a heavy ramp dropping with a clang.

She grinned.

A flood of men descended, a mix of monkeys, bears and wolves. They eyed her with wild grins, teeth bared, and vicious laughter as they spread out in a wide circle.

She raised her sword. "Bander-log!" She snarled.

"Della Duck!" A deep voice yelled out, and the sea parted to reveal their Captain.

"Louie." Della's eyes narrowed, but she relaxed her stance. "And here I thought you were going to give up being a pirate, and settle down."

Louie chuckled, "And give up the sky?"

Her eyes flickered right, catching a flash of blue near the ramp. She braced her sword against the wing and leaned forward. "What? Your girl left you again?"

There it was. The quickening breathes, the clenched fists.

Then Louie smiled. "Last I heard, the great Della Duck was brooding a clutch. What happened Del Girl? The little ducks all go bye bye?"

Her vision went white. She screamed. She was going to kill him!

---

A scream of pure rage filtered up to the engine room. "Oh no." Donald said, snapping another wire.

Dewey looked towards the sound despite not being able to see a thing. "Is she okay?"

"Lost her temper." Donald said. He hesitated as other noises filtered through the hull. "We should go help her out. Think you've finished up here?"

Dewey jammed a rod through a whirling fan. "Aye aye Captain!"

Donald ruffled his hair. "Good lad."

---

Forty men verses one rather short duck.

Louie wanted to facepalm. The duck was winning.

"Spread out men! Surround her!" He ordered.

Nameless mook number 5 came scrambling to his side. "Captain! Look what I found!" And held out a duckling.

It was rubbing it's eyes, and seemed rather undeserved by the sound of screaming, and flesh hitting fists.

Louie took it from the mook. It was fuzzy soft in his arms. Baby duck.

"Kinda cute, for a duck." The mook crooned.

Louie held it up out of reach. "Del bird! We have your…" he paused. Held it closer to his eyes. The baby giggled and tried to grab his nose. "Daughter?" He decided, the baby was too cute to be a boy.

"Louie!" Shouted an unfortunate voice, and Louie turned automatically at his name. There was another duck standing on the ramp. "Put him down you dirty pirate!"

Louie glanced at the duckling again. "I don't think your Daddy is happy with me." He chuckled.

"Uncle!" The duck with an unfortunate​ voice yelled. "And he you don't put down Louie right this instant…" the duck rolled up his sleeves, stalking down the ramp.

"Wait." Louie said, wondering if he had misheard. "The duckling is called Louie?"

The fight with Della paused, she was standing on the chest of a wolf twice her size, a dozen mooks lay groaning on the ground.

"His name is Louis." Della growled, her eyes locked onto the duckling.

Louie felt his heart dissolve into goo. "You named your son after me?"

The strange duck started to laugh.

Della's gaze flickered to him for a moment, then all her attention was back.on Louie and Louie. She smiled, and started to approach. "Well, you are my biggest rival for the skies." She purred.

Louie glanced down at his namesake. "He's the cutest thing ever. I'm claiming godfather." The duckling laughed, and Della lifted him out of Louie's arms.

"Who's mommy's little terror?" She asked, tucking the duckling against her side, and combing her fingers through his hair.

She looked back up at Louie. "So…"

Louie glanced at the pile of mooks on the sand. The others had fled deeper inland. He was sure he had heard the sound of sprung traps and screams.

"Truce?" He offered, extending his hand.

"Truce." She agreed, shaking his hand, and whistled.

Louie winced when he saw another small duck exit the Prometheus. "You've sabotaged my engine, haven't you?

Della grinned, "Alls fair in love and war Godfather. I have ducklings to protect." She waved.

Louie sighed. As the Spirit rose into the air, he could hear the crackling of his carrier. It crashed into the water, a wave of water soaking Louie and his mooks.

"Damn you Della, you got me good this time."

---

Thanks go to @donaldtheduckdad for inspiration with Fenton. I was stuck until we started chatting about him XD

And thank you @miilkydayz for fuelling the ships.

I hope you all enjoy! Tomorrow is going to be a great day! XD

#ducktales #donald duck #scrooge mcduck #ducktales 2017 #huey dewey and louie #huey duck #dewey duck #louie duck #webby vanderquack #time travel #fanfic #lost twin au #well not yet #but we'll get there

[xehanortsreport]

I Feel So Inarticulate [Fic]

[Hey it’s another Parasite AU fic who would’ve guessed]

The fever came on suddenly.

Just after dinner, Hayato fell ill--so much so that he could barely make it to the sofa in the living room, where he immediately collapsed, Shinobu hurriedly covering him with a blanket and shouting to Kosaku that she was going to make a quick trip to the store to get some medicine.

Kosaku had agreed to watch over the child...something he was barely doing currently, as he sat in the recliner adjacent to Hayato, steadily clipping his nails, clinically observing the length of the pearly clippings before somewhat reluctantly casting them aside. Hayato glared at him. The fever made him doubt his convictions, made him think perhaps he had hallucinated everything he had seen...but in his gut, he knew.

He knew that the creature he was looking at in front of him was not his father.

Kosaku glanced at the boy, and the child scowled back, coughing slightly before spitting out a string of threats.

"Don't think you'll get away with this...I know what you are...I'm gonna kill you..."

"He's still in here, you know."

Hayato's mouth hung open, his speech dying in his throat, his movement stopping as abruptly as a puppet snapped from its strings. All that sounded now was the sharp snapping of metal against fingernail. He knew without that man even saying, there was only one person who it could be referring to...but Hayato was afraid to say it. Kosaku stayed quiet, letting the silence choke the boy until it was too much to handle.

Hayato summoned the courage to finally ask.

"You mean...D--"

"Your father," Kosaku spoke, cutting through the tension, stealing even the relief of being able to finish a single thought.

Silence fell once again, terror overtaking the boy's expression. Kosaku let the silence hang in the air, enjoying the reaction as if he were ripping into Hayato's despair, shoving it down his throat in huge gulps, as if starving, as if needing it. Hayato wanted to reject it completely...he didn't want to believe that anyone could be trapped so entirely, to have their body taken over and held prisoner by some monster.

And suddenly, the atmosphere changed.

Kosaku's shoulders began shaking; the clippers dropped from his hands. His breath hitched, his pitch rose--the voice was the same, but the quality of it had shifted in such a way that Hayato, even in his sickness, could recognize that something was different.

"H...Hayato...please...I'm sorry...I'm so sorry, I'm sorry this happened, please--"

Kosaku's shaking whimpers shook Hayato to his core, and his aching body jolted upward, making him wince--but he ignored the pain, instead desperately reaching out to his hurting father.

"Dad--!"

Kosaku's shoulders immediately dropped, and as he turned his face to meet Hayato's wide eyes, the boy shrank back, a chill overcoming him. Kosaku's eyes darkened, a shadow appearing at the corners of his lips as the barest hint of a smirk scraped at his mask.

"...Oh. Was that convincing, Hayato? My apologies...that wasn't him at all. I'm sorry if I mislead you."

Hayato wanted to run the moment he saw his father's face shift horribly, contorting into something he never thought his father was capable of expressing--and now that he saw it, he wish he never had. Kosaku's eyes widened, his lips stretched grotesquely, his teeth gleaming fiercely with saliva and a giddiness Hayato had never witnessed before. His voice lept, spiking up and dropping down, tearing past his throat as he switched between a mocking voice that was nothing like Kosaku, and a shaking sobbing that was too convincing to have not been him...right...?

"Hayato...I'm still your father...would you really kill me?! Even though I'm still in here?"

"I know we never had the best relationship, Hayato, but please, please don't let me die like this!"

"I'm sorry for not having been there for you--I regret it so much--! I also regret eating all those people...one or two...or five...or twenty! Hahahah, I'm sorry, I lost track! Hayato, won't you forgive your poor father for being so bad at keeping track?! Won't you?! Won't you, Hayato?!"

The way Kosaku's skin stretched sickly over his features, the way his mouth twisted unnaturally as he cackled uncharacteristically, was bad enough. Hayato could only stare, body overtaken by fever, sweating as he flashed between torturous heat and disturbingly cold. But as his eyes searched his father's face, he could notice it--the barely visible glimmer of tears behind the eyes, as if in pain--

That was too much.

With a defiant, cracking grunt, Hayato forced himself to swing his legs one at a time over the sofa. He had to run. To somewhere. To someone. He had to get help. His knees buckled under him, sending him crashing to the ground as Kosaku stopped his sickening laughter, all emotion fading away too quickly as he now frigidly watched his son. Hayato strained, shouting desperately, as he fought through shivers and shudders, pushing himself to his feet, wobbling as quickly as he could towards the kitchen. Fear made his heart beat rapidly, almost too quickly for him in such a weak state. His mouth was cotton, his limbs jelly.

To the phone. The phone could help him. Kosaku did not follow him, opting instead to stay lounging in his chair, not even turning to track Hayato's movements. The boy fumbled a bit as his fingers tried to grasp at the kitchen phone's receiver, clumsily trying to string together numbers--

"Mom," he choked out, lips trembling. "I have to call Mom--"

"I wouldn't try that, Hayato. Not unless you'd like to see her mutate like the others."

Hayato's mind filled with noise. His hand gripped the phone so hard he thought he could shatter the plastic, the sweat of his palm making the receiver unbearably sticky.

Mutate? Hayato had seen those abominations...those hissing and creaking and croaking creatures, former humans whose limbs bent backwards and eyes twisted around in their skulls, whose skin crackled and hardened, whose faces warped and squashed and crushed and enlongated. Whose bodies were permanently morphed into monstrosities of nature, whose clacking jaws and snapping mandibles spit forth one name, reverently....

Who never turned back to the way they once were.

Instinctively, he pleaded, though he knew it was useless, though his heart had already ceased to beat in his chest.

"D--don't touch my mom..." He rasped, futilely. "She doesn't...she can't be infected...Don't even lay a hand on her..."

"Of course she's infected," replied Kosaku, amused and yet blunt, without a hint of surprise, as if he had predicted Hayato's every line.

Toying with him.

"The bomb has been planted, shall we say. I just need to flip the switch."

Hayato's body couldn't support him anymore. His mind rapidly cycled through who he might be able to call, and each option came up hopeless. He didn't know who he could trust--if there was anyone TO trust. Josuke...maybe he couldn't even trust Josuke and his friends, who had been fighting so hard against the worm. Maybe they had been infected, too, and didn't even know. Hayato fell to the ground, curling up, pressing his head against the cool tile, squeezing his eyes shut.

Maybe he was the last uninfected person in Morioh. Maybe this battle had been lost long ago. He was alone. He was scared. He was an eleven year old boy, trembling, trying helplessly to fight a horde that vastly outnumbered him. Who could he tell? Who could he call?

His body shook ferociously as he started hiccuping, snot dripping down his face, tears pushing against his eyes. He didn't want to cry; hadn't he faced enough humiliation? Wasn't this enough? He fought as hard as he could against the pain...but the tears eventually pooled, hot and oppressive, against his cheek, spilling and spreading out over the floor, marking him shamefully.

He barely noticed the soft footsteps of his father beside him, nor the towel roughly thrown in front of his face.

"Be sure to clean up if you vomit. I don't think your mother would want to come home to this mess."

#fic #parasite au

[jessvsbrain]

The Letters That No One Will Read

If anyone does come across this, know that these are old and I’m no longer in crisis. I’m putting these here as a safe place so that I can delete it everywhere else but still go back and read all of the guilt that kept me from hurting myself if I ever get to a bad place again. 

I wrote these coming down out of a manic episode during which I put myself in about 13,000$ of debt, pushed away a lot of good people, and decided that at the end of my big trip I would kill myself. Go out with a bang, so that everyone would remember the good times. Most of them were written on the plane ride home, and trying to say goodbye was entirely what kept me from killing myself. I don’t think a day will come when I can look every person who I love in the eyes and say goodbye, so I won’t. 

June 10, 2019

It’s an odd feeling, writing your goodbye letter. I’ve written this once before and it was probably a lot more eloquent than this will be. It was years ago. I had a lot more love in me then, even if I couldn’t see it at the time. All of my love is out of me now, I’ve given as much of it as I can and it lives with all of you now. Please keep it forever. I hope you can forgive me, but I know that you won’t. I don’t blame you. I blame me and I hope that you will too; this is all my fault. I have bipolar disorder. I’ve written about it at length, but I won’t give her any more of my words except what is important to this story, the story of how I failed you all. I have bipolar disorder and most of you don’t know what that means. The ones of you who think you do still probably don’t, but to the few who saw me in my true psychotic moments and stayed: thank you. My mental illness is what killed me, try to remember that in the moments when you hate me. Please, if you can, don’t hate me for this. I’ve known for a long time that I don’t want to be here anymore. I’ve felt so guilty knowing this and not saying anything, and I’ve felt even more guilty for the things I have said about how I’ve been feeling. I know I am so loved, I know this is going to hurt you all so much. I need you to know this is not spur of the moment. I have felt this way many times and I’m tired of being stuck in this cycle. I know this is awful, I deserve for you to hate me. I love you all so much. I’m so sorry. Aries We don’t talk anymore, but I still love you as much as I did the day that fate put us next to each other on the choir bus on our way to competition. The way I loved you always had me confused, but I hope maybe without me you’ve been able to sort it out. I haven’t been able to, I still see you in the faces of strangers and in the bottom of shot glasses. I hope you find your direction in life, or maybe you already have. Tell your mother I’m sorry for lying to her about the pictures; I still feel guilty about that. I feel guilty about a lot when it came to you and I. I never stopped loving you, even if my fear and insecurity made me bitter. Taurus Isn’t it fucked up that you were one of the most influential people in my life, all those years ago and under such abysmal circumstances. Kids are so mean, I’m glad we got to meet as adults no matter how briefly. I still think about you sometimes, I hope you’re better than you were. Your ghosts will always haunt you, but try to make peace with some of them. Thank you for playing pretend with me all those years ago under the city lights. I loved you, I don’t know where you are now but I’m hoping it’s somewhere better than where you were. You’re so talented, share that gift with the world for as long as you can. Gemini We’ve been through so much together through so many different parts of our life. You’ll be angry with me and I won’t be here to see it, but it’s justified. You’ve been through so much and do such a wonderful job calming your anger, I hate myself for adding to your struggles when you’re doing so well. Follow your joy, not your obligations. I haven’t gotten to see your talent firsthand, just glimpses of you dancing when we’ve been out taking the world as our own, but I have seen your passion. And your passion is beautiful. You are beautiful. Don’t let anyone make you think otherwise. Cancer My dear girl. We’ve been through it all together, haven’t we? You’re the sweet half, the good and pure half. I’m so sorry I couldn’t be strong for you anymore. You don’t deserve what I’m going to do to us, but but I know you aren’t surprised.  We’ve known this inevitability for years. Thank you for being the part of me that is responsible for all of the people that these notes are written to. You are the part of me that they’ll forgive, if they can forgive any part of this monstrosity that I’m soon to become. Leo Thank you for making me a part of your family for all of these years. I love you, and I love all of them. Please tell them I’m sorry. Tell A all of the wonderful things that I already know you’re going to tell her because you are a great mother. Don’t forget to take time for yourself, too, and that it’s okay to ask for help. Thank you for coming back to me again and again, through all of the turbulent years where our own warped mirrors made our friendship look shattered. It never was, and it never will be. Not even now. I’m sorry. Virgo However creation works, you and I came from the same star. You are so strong, and even when it’s so dark inside you are the only person on earth who can make me laugh until I don’t want to anymore because it hurts. You’re creating such a beautiful life and I’m so honored that I got to be a part of so much of it. I hope that you never stop learning. I hope you never stop finding the absolute best shows and movies and music. I hope you see Regina again some day, and I hope she sings a lullaby. Libra I Don’t be afraid to give your love away. Things won’t always turn out well, but it isn’t about how they turn out. You’ve come so far on your journey and you have no idea how much it means to me that I had the opportunity to be your friend and see your growth over time. Despite your struggles, you have been my voice of reason since before I knew that I couldn’t trust what my head was telling me. Thank you for all of the nights that you answered my frantic calls, talked me down. Thank you for seeing the bad and still being my friend. Libra II Our friendship was literally founded on you helping me in my hours of need. Over time it’s evolved from complicated calculus problems to life dilemmas, but there hasn’t been a moment in all the time that I’ve known you that you haven’t been a marvelous friend. I’m so thankful for all of your sound advice and have been so inspired by your determination and humor, even in the face of turmoil. Please hold on to that spark that makes you you, never dim yourself or let anyone tell you to tone it down. You are one of the most delightful humans I got to know. Scorpio I’m so sorry I put so much on you. You are my best friend, and you are worth so much more than you know. Please listen to yourself once in a while, you don’t give yourself enough credit for how wise you really are. I’m sitting next to you now and feel so much guilt that I can’t sit next to you forever like we promised. Follow your passions and follow your dreams. You love, and that is the most beautiful quality that a person can have. Remember to give some of that love to yourself, and make sure that you aren’t being led astray from your morals and your goals. Sagittarius I I never stopped loving you. We were so unhealthy together as friends and I’m sorry that I couldn’t see that and try to be better for you. Please take care of yourself. I forgave you a long time ago, I hope you can forgive me too. Sagittarius II You’re going to be pissed at me, and you’re right to be. Tell your family thank you for always being so generous with inviting me into the fold. Never stop believing in yourself, you’re doing wonderful things. I know we joke about luck, but you do deserve everything good that comes your way. I love you and the way you’ve kept your wonder and hope through every amazing and horrible thing you’ve gone through. Sagittarius III I love you differently than I’ve ever loved anyone. You make me feel so peaceful and so loved in a way that I had never experienced before. Be unapologetic in your goals, but keep yourself grounded. I love you, thank you for making me feel safe during times when I didn’t know what that meant. The problem was never you, I wasn’t able to take care of myself and in the end it all became too much. I mean every word I ever said, every time I send ily a million times in a row and every hour that I whined about missing you. I’m sorry that I couldn’t be what you deserve. Capricorn I I’m so proud of how far you’ve come in your personal growth. I’m so proud to be able to have been a friend of the the smart, successful, honest, fiercely loyal woman you’ve become and will keep becoming. We’ve shared so many beautiful, fun times and I treasure them now and wherever is next. Don’t let the world make callous, hate me if you need to but don’t hate the world. I love you. Tell your mother and sister that I love them too, and that I’m sorry I wasn’t as strong as they are. You ladies were always an inspiration to me. Capricorn II It still amazes me that after all of this time, people still call me by your name. I always get a nice laugh out of it and think of you fondly. Thank you for sharing stories about your adventures and for occasionally coming back home so we could have some of our own. Travel far and never stop dreaming. If you’re never sure of anything else in your life, be sure that you have the unmatched ability to make any place feel like home. Aquarius I I can’t write this letter. I love you. I’ve written you so many words, you can read them if you would like. I’m sorry. Aquarius II You were there for me in ways that no one else was able to be, and I’m so sorry I put that on you. Try not to feel guilty for moving on with your life, everyone who loves you wants you to be happy, and there are tons of us. I hardly know what to say- I’m letting you down and I promised you that I would always be there for you. I love you. Aquarius III You’re wonderful, and you’re never going to stop being wonderful. Remember that. Thank you for all of the stupid memes, all of the times you answered my late night calls, all of the laughter and inside jokes we made. Keep your head up, enjoy your life, travel far and see the world for me. I know you don’t always think so, but you’re one of the bravest people I know. Pisces I I wish we’d had less distance between us. You were my favorite mentor, the most perfect work mom I could have asked for. I’ve missed your smile and your laugh for a long time. I’m sorry that I didn’t come visit more when I still had the chance. Pisces II The brightest person I know, please never let the darkness take over. I know it’s there, and I know it’s hard, but you shine so beautifully. Thank you for keeping me on the ground when I was flying off of the world itself. You always gave me the best of yourself, made the best of our time together.

[angelwingsrp]

My head still against the window, I raise my eyes to view the sky. The colors change from blue to a beautiful painted sunset collage of oranges, yellows and even pinks. “I suppose I hadn’t given it much thought,” I reflect truthfully, “I doubt anyone up there would enjoy seeing the world as much as I. Maybe it was meant as a gift somehow?” Too busy watching the colors, I’m inattentive to the change in the houses, the cost of them becoming increasingly inexpensive.

I nod in slow agreement, "It may well be. It could also be a test for both of us. See if you are worth investing in and see if I am a monstrosity who would break you at a whim..." I muse per this for a moment more. "Well we can hope that the answers are yes and no to that." I grin a little sadistically to myself. "Although you have done a good job of fixing your reactions after your huge underestimation of me at the start." The car pulls up to a stop to pass through a pair of gates and then up a driveway. "Ah... we have arrived."

In a tenacious defense, my eyes narrow at your comments, uncertain if you mean to purposefully attack me. With your quick change of the topic, I don’t get a chance to support myself and my previous actions. Rather, I see why your funding of the hospital would be considered so minute and stress free. “You’ve created quite the palace for yourself here,” I say, my words trying to remain judgement free in tone.

"Mortals bring luxury in abundance and since I am stuck here with them, I might as well partake." I laugh a little, opening the door and getting out of the car. The entrance stairs are wide and lined with marble, large oak doors shut before us. "You can have any room of your choice. Just do let me know which one so that I can provide you with Earthly experiences as and when."

Walking steadily to the doors, I wait for you to open them, the interior just as breathtaking as the exterior. As much as I try not to get caught up in the materiality of your things, I move quickly to the right side of the double staircase, and walk up it to get a better view of the diamond chandelier in the entrance. My golden eyes showcase my wonder, and I hold back a look of marvel at all the beauty in the entrance room. I wait for you to catch up with me on the second floor, but simultaneously also peak into a room just a bit down the corridor. “Any room will do. Is this one right here?”

I follow you, faint amusement plastered across my face at your obvious wonder. I look into the room you have chosen and nod. "If you wish for that room then it will be so." I turn the light on in the room to reveal the four poster bed in the centre of the room, the rest all lavishly furnished with fine furniture and fittings. "I will always be in earshot, even if you cannot see me. Just call me and I will come to assist you with anything..." I gently reach up and caress your shoulder, the personal hopes of corrupting you raisin within me again.

“So,” I say, jumping slightly at your sudden dark energy pulse, “what do most mortals do at night? Dinner and like... games?” I close the door to what I suppose is now my room. “Is that on the agenda for tonight? Giving me the full experience before I leave?”

"It varies from mortal to mortal." I tell you. "Many will indeed play games. All eat and find some form of entertainment. Play games, watch television, have sex... Like I said, it varies." I grin and start to lead you back down to the main hall and then over to the dining room. "Any preferences? Or would you like me to just offer you an event for the evening?" There is a glint of mischief in my eye as I think of all the possibilities. The dining room is a large room with double doors into the kitchen at one end, a large table and chairs dominating the centre of the room and varying artworks adorning the walls, from paintings to even a tapestry.

Equally excited, though for vastly different reasons, I enter the kitchen my eyes drawn first to the artwork at what appear to be some highly valuable originals from the high-renaissance period. “Umm... you can pick,” I respond, distracted by a particularly gorgeous possible Michelangelo. “Do you normally do the food preparations around here?” I add, a bit eager to try out my own skills. My attention has moved into the kitchen itself, and I’m hoping that my help will be needed in whatever preparations you choose.

"I choose to prepare my own. I can only assume that you are eager to try your own hand at cooking by that tone?" I grin at you, leading you through the doors to the kitchen which is a high tech, top of the range fitted kitchen with a sleek black design. "You can help as much as you like or take the lead if you know how." I say, moving through the kitchen and pulling various knives from their places and chopping boards from their drawer. "I'll cook something else to be on the safe side. Wouldn't want you to accidentally poison us, would I?"

My lips pout, displaying my slight dejection with that comment of yours. Nonetheless, I’m excited to be in the action, so I hop up onto a dark countertop, perhaps over doing it, but wanting to get the best view. Swinging my legs, I bend forward watching you get dishes out, “What’s on the menu?” I ask keenly, before adding, “I would love to help, but I don’t have a lot of experience with this particular area.”

"Well since you are not used to mortal food, we will keep things relatively simple. Pasta? Chicken Arrabiata?" I suggest, plucking various ingredients out of their respective homes, arranging them before myself. "You can help. I am sure you are capable of chopping things without harming yourself." I smirk a little and move some of the ingredients over to a second chopping board next to me.

Hopping off the counter, I move gracefully to the board, looking for a bit more instruction before I begin. When I see you cut things up yourself, I attempt to mimic the motion with whatever has been placed in front of me. “Does that work?” I ask, without really any clue of what I’m doing is correct or not. You seem pretty busy, doing most of the work, and the meal seems pretty simple indeed in getting prepared.

"Good enough for me." I say with a light smile when I examine your work. I purposely had given you ingredients that only needed to be roughly chopped so the quality wasn't so important. "You are very curious for an angel." I state.

"It still just surprises me that they would send you of all people." I shake my head to myself as I start to fry up the ingredients for the pasta that we have prepared. "But you are here now and I might as well make you as welcome as possible. As it stands, I intend to do exactly that whether those Above intended it or not."

I shrug, not really interested in overthinking that subject. You seem to want to analyze my appearance for being here, and I just want to enjoy it. “I’m glad you’re welcoming me,” I respond, a bit ironically thinking back to our first encounter. “If you want to talk about our shared ‘history’, then I’d rather hear more about about yours,” I add on, “What were things like in how ever many years ago you were up there?”

"Things were..." I stop and frown for a moment trying to remember what they actually were like. "Slow. Tedious. Wrong." I keep cooking for a moment and keep thinking. "Everyone was interested, everyone wanted to be a Watcher, a Guardian. But then when mortals began profaning and failing to care for the world and each other as they should, none wanted to do anything. He said nothing and they did exactly that. We are angels! Are we not supposed to do good? What is good about sitting around and waiting?" I shake my head, dark wisps coming off me as I stir more vigorously. "There were many of us then. Humanity had had less chances to make mistakes and so Angels were far easier to make. The more corruption seeped into the world, the harder it was for us to exist. So I came to change things."

I lean back next to the stove top, my hair falling just above the pitch black top counter. “That’s what I don’t understand,” I muse, thinking through your story, “Did you come for your own reason or did you come under His word?” As much as your dark energy warns me to step back, I’m interested in hearing this out, and scarily even able to empathize a bit with bits pieces of it.

"I came for myself. I chose not to act against His word, but to act. He did not forbid me but nor did he give me the command." I glance over you before adding more to the pan. "With no words of guidance for any of us, I left of my own accord to guide humanity down a better path. I failed. And tried again. And failed. Again. And again and again and again." The dark energy exuding from me grows stronger for a moment before I suppress it again. I cook in silence, checking and testing the pasta to see if it is done. "In the end... I gave up."

Sensing that I’ve gotten as much out of you as I’ll be able to for a bit I offer my own words, “I’ve never actually seen or spoken to Him. After I was born, there was such a shortage in angels that I was put to work in the smallest training period ever, and there had been no word from Him in my time nor in quite some time before me.” I look around me, once again, dropping my voice, leaning in close to your ear as you test the pasta, “I shouldn’t say this, but some even above question His power, perhaps even His existence.” I sigh, a bit dramatically, “Not me obviously, my existence is thanks to Him, and this experience as well.” I smile at you graciously.

"Well... This experience is also thanks to me being an evil despot, so you are welcome." I grin back at you and start to dish up the food from the pans. "I may not doubt His existence, but I doubt His choices. I outright disagree with them so I do what I want." I walk back into the dining room with the two dishes and place them down across the table from each other and pull out a chair for you. "Let us hope you find the rest of this experience... tantalising." I say as I wait for you to sit.

“Thank you,” my eyes wondering in the delight of the hot meal, while sitting down. I wait for you to join, but go ahead and place my napkin on my lap knowingly. “I don’t plan on arguing about His choices; I’m sure you have your reasons and I know I have mine.” I fiddle with my fork, placing it on your table, perhaps not in a politely way, but uncomfortable to ask this next question, “But, I am curious if you fear His power?”

"Do I fear His power?" I ask as I sit down. "If He were to smite me down, then I will accept that for it would mean He has chosen to take action. I do not fear His power as He does not use it." I pick up my fork and gently gesture with it as I speak. "Perhaps He has already struck me down as I have fallen. Perhaps He considers that punishment enough. Either way, He should do more in this world and if that is to smite me, so be it." I take a forkful of the pasta and swallow it, smiling.

I raise an eyebrow, take my fork off the table, and twisting it into the pasta, picking up a small bit. “You consider Him then to be lacking power?” Before you can respond, I try a small amount pasta, coughing a bit from the spices, “That’s good, but a bit... more flavorful than what I’m used to.” I brush my hair back, relaxing my thinly covered chest back into my chair.

"Well I am sure we can adjust you to life here." I say with a smile coming to my lips as I allow my eyes to roam across your face and body as you are sat opposite me. "I do not consider Him to lack power. I am sure He has power. But what is the point in power if you do not use it? I do not fear His power because He will not use it against me. There is a breed of spider with venom that can kill a mortal in moments. It lives all over the world in peoples houses. Do mortals fear it? No. It cannot open it's mouth wide enough to bite a human, so they need not fear it's power." I shrug as I eat, my eyes still wandering across you.

I take another bite, reflecting on your confident words and stance. While I don’t reply, I tilt my head slightly, craning my bare porcine neck to inspect you. It doesn’t take more than a few bites to fill up my body, my metabolism clearly not used to mortal food. “That was really nice, thank you,” I express my gratitude while using the napkin to clean my lips.  

"You are welcome. I should have remembered what it was like to adjust to mortal food, but then again it was a long time ago." I say in reference to your mostly full plate. I keep eating as you sit there and clean your lips. "You have more questions." It is a statement rather than a question but it is an invitation nonetheless. "Since you are here, I would answer as many as I can." I take a drink from a goblet on the table and study you carefully, waiting for your response.

Laughing, I push my hair back, and lean forward, “Of course.” I study you, looking for a prying point. “I don’t think I can hold them back though,” I say truthfully, “if I start to ask one, many will come out.” Seeing no change of expression on your face, I assume that I’m to ask away anyway. My polished fingers drum the table, before a glint catches my golden eyes, “Okay, get ready for a few questions.” I pause, mostly to give myself breath to ask these questions, but also to give you a chance to back out, “You say that you lost faith in humanity, I want details on exactly how, and when that happened. To counteract that likely disheartening story, I want a joyful story of your best memory on earth. Then I’d like to know the best things the earth has to offer. What experiences can’t I miss out on?” I break my speech again, waiting for you to interrupt me, “And, if it isn’t too much to ask, if you still believe in your soul, you said that you committed some acts of deadly sins. Which ones? And, do you think, you can come back from whatever acts you have done?” I blush as I finish, “That was a lot, I’m sorry. I understand if you don’t answer all of the questions, but as you say yourself, I’m quite curious to know these things.” As I silence myself, I lean back, anxious for your response or a reaction.

"Well..." I say between mouthfuls of food giving me time to think over your questions. "As for your first question, that is a long story. A very long story. A very, very long story. I will tell you, but not tonight. It would take too long." I hold up a hand to stop you from jumping in with protestations as I take another mouthful. "And along with that, I will save my best memory as well. That way, we can have a series of stories of it all without getting depressed all the time." I set my cutlery down and lean back in my chair. "What experiences can you not miss? It varies. There is so much to see and do... Eat. Try all sorts of mortal food, even if it is just a bite. Drink. And I mean alcohol. Mortals have had such success in brewing amnesia, it has to be experienced. Sex. Such a simple and highly mortal thing, but believe me you have no idea what you are missing out on." I grin at you with the last on the list, hunger in my eyes barely concealed. "As for anything else, that just depends on you. As for my soul... I have committed acts of Lust, Greed, Wrath and Pride. Can I come back? Well, if you saw the true extent of my darkness I doubt you would ever ask."

Although I don’t hide my disappointment from your unwillingness to share an answer to the first two questions, I listen carefully as you reply to the rest of my probes. “I think you forget,” I express purely to your last statement, “I have fairly forgiving standards. I don’t think you can’t comeback. It’s only shame you think that.” I push my plate forward slowly, hoping I don’t regret these next words, “Did you pick an activity for tonight?” I do take your advice to heart though, and I mull it all over in my mind, not wanting to commit any sinful acts, but also hoping to have a holistic experience while I’m here.

"Well... I know what I want to do... But I shall put that aside for the moment to allow you to sample another feature of this world. Drink. I fill a goblet with wine and place it before you, taking our plates back into the kitchen and returning moments later. I raise my eyebrows at you upon seeing the glass untouched. I lift my own and gesture for you to follow. "Come. And please drink."

I consider the goblet in front of me, looking at it for a few moments before turning to you. Seeing you drink your own, turns me back to my own glass, and I study the contents carefully, bringing them closely to my lips. The liquid goes down fairly easily at first, but again I cough almost halfway through from the strength of the drink. “Stronger than I imagined,” I say, placing the cup back on the table, giving it another look. It takes me a second to pick it back up, and drink again finishing most of it, “Not unpleasant though,” I add. I’m uncertain as to how my body will react having no mortal tolerance for alcohol.  

I scoop up your goblet on the way out and lead you through to the living room. "No. It tends to get easier the more you drink too." I look over my shoulder to check you are following. "You won't mind if I let my hair down a little?" I raise an eyebrow before starting to slowly exude shadow from my body, darkening the brightly lit room slightly even though very little power has been released.

Trailing you into the next room, I give you a bit of a compulsorily smile, “I suppose this is your house, and since no one is around…” My words give you my consent, and I wonder how my power you must have where you need to let off steam this way. My eyes survey the room that has become increasingly dark, “It’s a pretty room.”

"Thank you." I say, channeling the raw energy so that the darkness grows thicker into a sticky blackness that hides out of sight rather than a cloud filling the room. There is a large TV on one wall, a series of sofas scattered around making the room comfortable and relaxed. Tables, varying art pieces and other decor are scattered around the room. I sit down on one of the sofas and motion for you to sit beside me, opening a small cabinet next to me and drawing out yet another bottle of wine and filing both goblets. "Drink up Alexis." I say with a smile, relaxing again and causing some of the darkness to come seeping out from its hiding places and cloud the room again.

I lightly fall on the sofa, resting on a pillow next to you. My long legs tired from the day walking in the heels join me on the couch, and I bring one up to massage it, not used to walking so much. Once seated, I carefully accept the wine glass as to not spill it on my white dress. You seem to be a master pourer, as you’ve easily filled it to the brim with our spilling a drop. I drink a few sips, so that I can adjust my position without having to be so careful and watch the glass. When I raise my eyes from the glass, and view the now hazy room. My heart beats in my chest as a natural reaction, and I move one hand from my leg to my chest, while my head and body cuddles the pillow next to my head before taking another could tense sips. “Is this much…. normal? I mean, just at the end of a single day?” I don’t say the word, but I know you’ll know what I insinuate.