#I got really mad about Sybil and stopped

[umybitch]

Ranking TVD Female characters Part 1.

0/10, honestly I couldn't stand Elena she was annoying, self centered, selfish, and a hypocrite. She's not the good girl that she's made out to be. She always makes everything about herself, like Caroline's mom almost died and made it all about her and decided to have a makeout session with Damon like wtf. I loved how everytime if someone turned their humanity off they just realized that Elena is not worth dying for. She has a lot of Katherine qualities in her even though she would always say she's not Katherine. She used Elijah, Erasing Jeremy's memory, killing Rebekah. One thing about Elena I hate how when her friends would tell her how they felt and she would just disagree and she would just gaslight tf out of them. She also could not live without a man,. Also I hated how she dated Damon knowing damn well he abused Caroline.

10/10 in season 1 I could not stand Caroline she was so annoying and self centered and she was always in competition with Elena, and that's why Elena and Bonnie would cancel her out because she was just a hater. I think Katherine did her a favor turning her to a vampire because after she turned into a vampire Caroline was that girl 💅, I like that no matter what even if it would hurt somebody's feelings She would always tell them the truth whether they like it or not. Even when she turned her humanity off she really wasn't that bad I feel like they would've have just left her alone because she really didn't do anything we get it she wasn't herself. but I did not like when her humanity was off because it was like she was being her regular self and wasn't at the same time but she wasn't out murdering people until they started bothering her. But I still love her and she's still one of my favorite characters.

100/100 this bitch deserves better out of all of them I don't care, she has been through hell and suffered the most out of all of her friends. None of them wouldn't be alive if it wasn't for her. And I can't believe she stuck through with those people cause she loved them even though they killed every single one of her loved ones. Her grandma died because Damon wanted to open the fucking tomb to find Katherine even though she wasn't even in there, so her grandma died for no reason, then Silas came and killed her father right in front of her, Damon turned her mom into a vampire, Stefan killed Enzo, And she stopped a fucking hellfire. They were always using her for their advantage for something. I feel like they did love Bonnie to the extinct but only because she was so powerful and that they could help their narrative. They only call out to her because they needed something. She gave Caroline the sunlight ring, she resurrected Damon, Jeremy, she literally became the anchor.

0/10, she was so annoying I honestly did not care when she died. She's useless like her brother and she kinda led Jeremy on and would switch back to Tyler. I have nothing else to say about her.

100/100, Katherine was that bitch. I love how she stands her ground and she never to pretend to be something she's not. At the end of the day everyone knew she was trying to save herself and only herself and she made it known numerous times. I really hate how everyone used her and get mad at her when she leaves or when she does some shady shit but you guys literally hate her and all you use her for is when you need her and I feel like if they treated Katherine differently the storyline would be way different. And I feel like Katherine deserved better.

10/10, I love Rebekah she's literally my favorite Mikaelson, Also deserved so much more than she got and she was actually a sweet girl. The only reason they disliked her was because of Klaus, they did not like Klaus so they took their hatred of Klaus out on her.

10/10 I love Lexi she was nice and chill and a good best friend to Stefan,I hated how Damon killed her because I loved her. I really got mad when she decided not to be alive and stay on the other side.

10/10 i loved Sybil she was that bitch and she was an awesome villain of season 8. She did not deserve that much hate she's actually underrated character. she was just betrayed by her sister who turned her to a cannibal and abandoned her on a island. I didn't like that she got killed because I would love to see more scenes from her.

9/10 I loved her and her relationship with Mary Louise honestly I would love to see a little relationship with Bonnie not gonna lie. I know she did not get much screen time but her death scene with Mary was so cute but at least they both died together.

8/10 I love Jenna I know she was kinda oblivious of everything going on because no one told her anything, but her death was so heartbreaking for me but honestly she's underrated. We love Jenna.

#Vampire diaries #Elena Gilbert #Caroline Forbes #Bonnie Bennett #Katherine Pierce #Jenna Sommers #Nora Hildegard #Sybil #Lexi branson #rebekah mikaelson #Vicki Donovan

[adoracora-elizabeth]

We have been happy, haven’t we? Chapter 7

Robert found Cora already in bed, after dinner she went upstairs. She had spent the whole afternoon with Miss Dalgleish, he did not know what the two woman had done. But she came smiling into the dining area, so she must have enjoyed her afternoon. He had noticed she had dark circles under her eyes and was glad when she said she would go upstairs right away.

He crawled in bed, turned on his side and kissed the back of Cora's head. According to her breathing she was fast asleep. He scooted close and tried to fall asleep.

All of the sudden he was woken up by Cora.

"Who is Jane?"

"What?" He said groggy.

"Who is Jane? And why are you dreaming about her?"

Robert turned on his bedside light, Cora was sitting straight up, and her piercing blue eyes looked into his. He dreamed about Jane, he knew, but clearly, he had spoken her name out loud. He needed to confess, there was no other way. He also got up and leaned into the headboard. "You remember when you were ill with the Spanish flu?"

Cora raised her eyebrows. "I do not remember much, beside falling ill and feeling like I would not make it."

Robert looked at his hands. "The first evening, I....." He stopped.

"You what? Robert, do not tell me you..." She could not say the words.

"We only kissed." Robert tried.

"You only kissed?" Cora said almost inaudible.

Robert would prefer it if Cora would burst out in anger, but instead she went silent. Why was she not shouting at him. He took her hand. "Cora?" Cora pulled her hand back, her eyes were almost white as ice and it hurt to look into them. "It never went any further and I regretted it always. Always."

"Was she the instigator?" Cora asked calmly. "Tell me the truth."

Robert swallowed. "No, she was not. I was the one who made the mistake. She was constantly where I was, but I was the one who made the first move." He looked at Cora, her eyes fixated on his face, but she was not really looking at him. "I have always been ashamed by what I did."

"Why did you do it?"

"The war had changed so much, you were busy with running the convalescent home. I felt lonely and......."

"Lonely? Cora's voice was still calm, she was not raising her voice, no her voice was almost quiet.

"We were losing our darling Sybil, I did not know what to do."

"Maybe you should have told me, how you were feeling?" He could hear the anger now in Cora's voice, but she was still very composed.

"I tried, but you did not seem to listen."

"You are saying, it is my fault you cheated?" Cora was getting really angry now, she felt her stomach flip.

Robert felt his cheeks flush. He did not cheat, he never went to bed with Jane. He stopped in time, even though it was because John entered his dressing room, he stopped. And how could Cora be mad after what she did with Mr. Bricker? "I only kissed the girl. Send her away as soon as that evening happened. You were different, you kept inviting Mr. Bricker into our home and you were publicly flirting with him." Robert threw at Cora.

Cora's eyes widened, did he really say this. Was he justifying what he did and comparing it with Mr. Bricker flirting with her. She never realised he was flirting with her, how could she, when the first men who ever showed interest in her was Robert. She did not know how it was to be flirted with. She thought he was a dear friend, with whom she could share her interest in art. She felt her stomach flip again and she hurried out of bed towards the bathroom. She stumbled over a table and fell.

Robert jumped up to help her, but she pushed him away. She stumbled towards the bathroom and made it just in time. Robert held up her hair and rubbed her back.

There was a knock on the bedroom door, Edith's voice sounded. "Mama? Papa? Are you alright?"

Robert left Cora in the bathroom and opened the door. "Your mother is sick."

"Oh." Edith pulled face. I heard a loud stumble and was worried. "Can I do something?"

"Stay with your mother. I will get Baxter." Glad to have an excuse to leave, he left Edith to attend Cora.

"Mama?" Edith walked into the bathroom, where Cora was trying not to spew again. Tears where streaming down her face.

"I will get you back in bed, come." Edith put her arm around her mother and helped her mother up, she felt warm to the touch. The moment they walked back into the bedroom, Baxter entered. With some ginger tea in one hand and a bowl in the other one.

Both ladies helped Cora back in bed, who was moving slowly.

Everything hurt, her body but most of all her heart was aching. She tried to smile up at Edith, but it was more a grin. "Thank you. Can you ask your father to sleep in his dressing room?"

Edith was not expecting this question, but this was not the time to ask questions. "I will, Mama. Try to get some more sleep." She pulled the covers up and tugged her mother in.

Once Edith and Baxter left her room, she burst into tears. She could have known Robert had affairs, it was pretty common along men, but she always thought he was not that type of men. And with one of the maids even. How could he, how could he. She sobbed herself to sleep.

+++

"Is Mama not coming down this morning?" Mary asked, when she entered the library, where Robert was working.

He looked up, he did not sleep at all the rest of the night. "Your mother is not feeling well, I do not think we will see her today." He answered.

"Oh, I am sorry to hear that. Can I do something for her?" Mary asked.

"Maybe you can check on her later this afternoon?" Robert said.

"She promised Miss Dalgleish to help her this afternoon, I will check if she is up to that."

"What is your mother doing with Miss Dalgleish, I wonder." Robert frowned.

"I do not know, Papa. I do not know, and I am not sure I want to know." She chuckled.

+++

Not long after the dressing gong, Cora walked into the drawing room. Robert noticed she looked extremely pale, and she needed Carson´s hand to steady herself. He stepped towards her, but just one look from Cora made him freeze in his step.

Edith sat down next to her mother. “Mama, you do not have to be down here, if it is to much.”

Cora touched Edith’s hand. “I am only very tired at the moment. But I cannot wait to hear everything about tomorrow. They are going to film the final scene, right?”

“When you are sure?”

“I am sure.” Cora smiled.

“So about tomorrow……”

Robert watched how Cora leaned on Edith’s arm when they walked towards the dining room.

+++

When Baxter left Cora’s room, Robert knocked and entered. “Can we talk?” He saw Cora had already laid down, normally she would read some before she went to sleep. This day must have been extremely tyring for her.

“Not tonight.” Cora answered short.

“Cora.” He paused, he did not know what to say. “I am sorry.”

Cora stayed silent, she did not know what to say. And to be perfectly honest, she was to tired to try and answer him. She only wanted to sleep.

When Cora stayed silent, Robert turned around and closed her door. He whipped away a tear.

#downton abbey #downton #robert crawley #cora crawley #fanfiction

[lee-scribbles-and-doodles]

S3 ep5

Current emotional status: FEAR

Cthulu Max has been on the rampage for a whole week!?

Ew, the narrator

Oh man, are they sending the airforce after him?

I really like Cthulu Max's design

Momma Bosco 💗

Oh hey, Norrington and Papierwaite are alive.

Superball are you saying you tried to send the Maimtrons up Max's--

Also he's acting president while Max is... deposed of.

Superball is only giving Sam until 6am :(

Featherly!

"Wandering around the moleman tunnels is no fun without Max."

"You got it all wrong, we're trying to help Max." "We will help him... to a generous serving of ass whooping."

"That is one rabbit who will be multiplied... into 2,000 smoldering pieces."

Carol ran off with Blustet

"I only want her to be happy, is all." Aw, Curt

Superball just admitted to having separation anxiety from Max

Ok Momma can't come but Papierwaite and Norringron can.

I like Norrington :)

GASP

Is it?

It is!

SYBIL!!!!

RETURN OF THE QUEEN

Oh, she is very pregnant

She was a wizard at one point?

She's gonna help!

Superball there's no such thing as acceptable losses

Abe has his body back

"Four score and seven tons of raw power"

HE CAN FLY NOW!?

Sybil, I love you, but why did you mod someone else's car???

Grandpa Stinky I love you

Oh, he just handed us the recipe for once.

Asdfff the spore maxes swarming Grandpa

They stole Grandpa's hotdogs

"We must feed the host! Piglets and sphinkters make us stronger!" "We regret nothing!"

Grandpa hasn't slept in three years

Sam just casually taking the last of Grandpa's corndogs

The spores are trying to get it

Lol Sam slapped them

Sal's alive!

He's hiding from Sam :(

Lol we can control Cthulu Max with Corndogs

Ew, the cornstarch got mixed in with the giant puddle 🤢 Looks gross

Love how Sybil completely ignores the Flaming Max head

Also the look of disappointment on the spore's face made me laugh

Fifth trimester???

The way the one Max spore by Grandpa's truck is bobbing in circles with his mouth open is making me laugh.

Sam showing concern for Sybil because she’s preggers 🥺

Her being pregnant with Abe's child implies that statues have working genital in this universe

She put a weiner scented airfreshener in the desoto

At least Sam and a Max spore seem to like that (of course they do)

"Sybil you're the best!" Hell yeah she is!

Sam's mind went to the color bar codes to prevent being traumatized by Sybil's oversharing

We drowned the desoto

Asdfgh Sam just botched slapped one of the spores for trying to say "that's none of your damn buisness."

Ew, Max's spine is pointing out

Oh hey, Satan and Jurgen

Why is Jurgen wearing his old fashioned clothes instead of his emo clothes?

Lol Sam snuck into frame to shout "Go Mets! New York rules!"

"--besides it's just a good and noble thing to do." "You're not familiar with my previous work, are you?"

"Sam, what happened to you to make you so cynical?" Gee, Jurgen, I wonder what could have possibly happened.

Oh so the water tower counts as vegetable oil because Momma did something to it

Pfft we can replace Satan's microphone with a corndog

Omg they jumped off the building to avoid Max

Oh, they're fine, and the oil is in the giant puddle.

I'm thankful to Featherly for giving us an egg but I'd have preferred not to watch him lay it. Granted it was just in a cartoon way but he still made weird noises

Also TRANS FEATHERLY 2021

"I desperately wanted to see that, sir. Ask him if he'll lay another one."

Oh hey, the Flaming Max heads helped heat up the giant desoto corndog

Since I'm playing this in 2021 the Maimtron's song references are super dated, which defeats Superball's efforts

Oooh! A unique opening sequence???

Oh this music is jazzy af

Sam really doesn't like the Max spores

Sam how do you already know what Max's insides look like???

"Even when he's not a collasal monster Max's food comas can last for weeks."

Ok we wake Max up with the coffee beans, right?

Yup!

The gi Max spore is so sad he doesn't get to come 😢

"But I'm a horrible monster!"

"I suppose Max's brain always looks like a living room?" "Well, Max is host to all kinds of weird parasites, and he likes to he a good host!" WHAT

No really, this brings up so many questions about lagomorphs. Are they some kind of Symbiote or something?

And a previous episode confirmed Max is amphibious

Max has tumors!!!

It shocked Sam!

"Eugh! Get away fake Max!" "Do you find my warmth... alarming, Sam?"

"What do nightmares taste like, anyway?" "Pepsi"

Max wants to be author 💗

He also writes fanfiction about Flint 🤣

I'd unironically read his books.

Tina Belcher voice: Friend fiction

Max has an experimental fusion jazz band???

"He just killed a great white shark--"

Max being completely unable to describe a woman is very gay of him. Good for him.

Max's brain teleported everyone to different parts of the body.

Found Sybil in the gym/legs

The brain is broadcasting Sam's thoughts???

Sam couldn't think of a joke for the medicine balls :(

"Wow Max is looking pretty buff. Would it be too weird if I asked him to turn around?"

Sam! Stop thinking bad things about Sybil's pregnancy she can hear you you putz!

She's upset with him now

"Can you believe this guy?" "I find the entire situation to be very contrived and misogynistic." Same spore Max, same.

Sam stop being so mean omg!

"I changed Sybil, I totally get the whole parenthood thing now." "Really now?" "Tax deductions."

In Max's inventory now

Y'know, I never really thought about it as a storage house

Hit The Road reference :3

Baby roach hatched in

"Pa..papa?" "Now I am little champion, now I am!"

Max has a Maximus shrine

Sam turned into a roomba!

Aw, he named it Sam Jr 🥺

We won Sybil back through his love of Sam Jr

Found the conjoined twins

Huh, Max lost as eye. Does that mean he has a glass one, or do lagomorphs have regenerative abilities?

Pfft we have to play twister to control his arma

The brain is messing with things again

Oh, we need a roach to operate the game because of radiation

Well, let's kidnap Sal

Oh, poor Girl Stinky. She's really going through it

Aw, Sal feels bad

Sal?

Honey, are alright?

He's dying???

He's not immune to irradiation!?

Oh no, he's gone

I'm so sad 😞

Gotta pick up Sam Jr. Before I control Max

They mad Max do a magical girl pose

Ugh the narrator is back

Wait, what?

He's Max's brain??? SUPEREGO???

WHAT

"I was always ignored" Yo if my super ego was as pretentious as you I 'd ignore it too 😤

He wants to kill himself and Max???

I know Max had a self loathing complex but holy shit

The super ego is perfectly fine with destroying half the east coast what a jerk

Just noticed Sam's tie is red. Had no idea about this while drawing PI!Sam lol

We have to help Max get his memories back to use the ASTRO projector

Skunkapes has three Sam clones imprisoned

Sam had canon ocd?

Gasp Gordon???

No, it's Sammun Mak

I love him, little child tyrant

Just make him a mobile brain in a jar and let Sam and Max adopt him

Why is Grandpa here?

He isn't talking like Stinky

Too polite

Sam sees it too

He's a space gorilla

They switched brains?

Found the cloning g chamber

Let's go to Momma's first

CONE OF SHAME CONE OF SHAME CONE OF SHAME

Superball is "wracked with guilt"

"Keep it together Superball. Sam will be able to save the day. He always does."

Ok, let's go to the cloning facility

I'm still thinking about poor Sal yo

FLIIIIIINT!

He's punching space apes!

Girl Stinky really playing up the evil Mistress role

The doggleganger has a bomb on him!!!

Wait so Girl really is a mermaid??? I thought that was just her aestetic

God I love Flint

Haha we tricked Skunkape with scooby doo villain tactics

Got the robot

Her water broke... and it was pennies

Max wants to save Sybil! 😭🥺💕

Super Ego is here

Oh now he wants to save Max

The only thing here are those records

Super Ego waved goodbye

Cthulu Max is cute when he cries

Wait What?

His head is on fire!

The maimtron hit him!

He waved goodbye... and teleported away.

He exploaded!!!!

He promised he'd take Sam with him and he didn't!!!!

AAAAAAH

I thought the dead Max thing was popular angst fanon fic thingy!

We're cloning Max?

It didn't work 😭😭😭😭😭

Superball ran off crying

Oh God the credits are just Sam walking sadly what the hell

He's not even stopping to fight any crime 😢

💔💔💔

God the way he's clinging to himself

What?

The elevator???

MAAAAX

he's back???

Past Max???

He blew his Sam up???

Wait hold on I'm glad they're together again but this doesn't fix anything

There's so much trauma from this season

All the horrible things that happened during 301-304 happened in like 3 days tops, then Sam had to deal with Max being a monster for a week before watching him die!

And the new (?) Max had BLOW HIS SAM UP!!!

And they left the franchise like that for a decade????

What the hell?

I want to be happy but this shit is going to consume my brain for the next week at least what the hell

Aaaaaaah!

Like maybe they really do just brush it off but it feels unlikely

I know Max has a connection with his other selves so it'll be easier for him to adjust but certainly Sam is going to notice the discrepancies since he doesn't get the same deal

Someone told me there were multiple endings hold on

Aw, they walked off into the sunrise together

But still

AAAAAAAAH

#sam and max #freelance husbands #sam and max freelance police #sam & max #sam & max freelance police #freelance police #lee plays sam and max #305 #what the hell #flint paper #agent superball #momma bosco #sybil pandemik #sal s&m #general skun ka'pe #girl stinky #sammun mak #don't @ me I'm crying

[tealenko]

Ooh I want to hear more about your Dragon Age fics/head cannons!

Sure... I feel I don't talk about them enough lol... This will be long btw.

Ermmm, let's begin.

DAO: Alistair

- First videogame character I ever obsessed with

- Married to my Human - Rogue : Melissa Cousland

- King and Queen of Ferelden, of course

- I still cannot believed I forced this sweet cinnamon roll to have sex with his worst nightmare (upss)

Headcanons:

They always say "I love you" before going back to sleep

No matter how hard DA2 and DAI tries I DO NOT CARE!! This two are not separating no matter what -> they have so little time left together, I'm not going to send her away while he stays on Ferelden

She 100% cuts his hair... even when he is king

They won't have an heir, the crown will go back to Anora once he dies

Fics: Not many... I created a lot of stuff in my mind but I don't remember most of it... I know I did the wedding, but apart from that there isn't more I can talk about.

DA2: Sebastian (?)

The oficial LI in my universe is Sebastian, but this game is the only Bioware game where there isn't a romance that really catches my attention to obsession level.

I rotate between: Sebastian, Fenris and Isabella (But I'll focus on Sebastian here)

- Still mad I could not get into his pants

-Seriously Bioware... you take the 2 most beautiful men in this game and one is celibate and the other... well... the other will have the next game section all to himself.

- Married to my Warrior: Kyla Hawke

- Prince and princess of Starkhaven (duh...)

-You better bet I'm breaking his promise to the maker in order to make an heir (double duh!)

Headcanons:

He's the only thing keeping Hawke from doing crazy stuff

My Hawke goes back to him safe and sound after DAI

They love to read together

They hardly ever argue

At the beginning she's more passionate than him... that changes with time

Fics: None, as I said I quite liked it, but not enough to make me obsess.

DAI: Cullen [1][2][3]

- BEST. BIOWARE. ROMANCE. EVER. MADE (along with shenko of course)

-Thankyouthankyouuhtjanhkyoujjashdhflasdlifihals Bioware for finally giving me the chance of having A FREAKING NORMAL OFICIAL HUMAN ROMANCE THAT ENDS SO F~ING GOOD... give me just a second to calm down please.

- Married to my Human - Mage: Sybil Trevelyan

- No matter what happens in Thedas -> They'll always be happy... I'll make sure of it.

Headcanons:

They live in Ferelden after DAI

Have a daughter: Cassandra Rutherford (Cassie)

In DAI she always goes to give him a goodbye kiss before going on a mission and whenever she comes back (...and by she I mean me lol)

If they have the chance they are ALWAYS together... like always always...

Things they like to do together: read, take long walks, cook, play chess (of course), take care of the garden... you just have to think of things a cute married old couple would do XD

It was love at first sight for both of them (and I never do this... I prefer feelings developing little by little...)

Mage situation in my universe:

Cassandra as divine

Reform of the circles

Control over the mages but not imprisoned

Some sort of merit system -> the longer you work for the circle, if you don't have incident, if you do extra work, etc -> you earn more freedom

Sybil spends a few years only being able to see Cullen at weekends, until she finally gets to go home after work every day

Fics: Way too many, I love this man with all my heart since I set eyes on him in the Ferelden circle with my first warden mage (yeah... this obsession has been here for A WHILE lol)

My inquisitor origin story -> Never got much attention from her family (because she was a woman and they wanted a man to inherit the title) only close to his uncle. Her parents cut ties with her when her powers showed for the first time, they only wrote her once to the circle to tell her the uncle died and that she should stop bothering them with letters for him.

DAI (filling voids and that kind of stuff) -> Sybil developing a lovely friendship with Dorian and Varric / She falling hard for Cullen and terrified he'll never feel something for her because she's a mage / Dorian convincing her to confess her feelings, even though he doesn't know who are they talking about / her family trying to reconnect now that she's important and she sending them to hell / a lot of additional fluff to complement the canon / and a lot of additional angst in trespasser (I mean, they are 100% sure she isn't gonna make it) / a more elaborated wedding scene / her family disowning her for marrying Cullen (and she's like: I'm not even bothered by it)

Fave fic: Dorian, Varric and Vivienne finding out she's in love with Cullen -> omg I love this one lol, the 3 of them are at Vivienne's balcony and they get to see Sybil fight with herself and hesitating (going back and forwards until she finally enters into his tower) and they see the whole declaration, Jim's interruption and their first kiss from there (and of course, they bet about the possible outcome while they are it ehehehe)

They adapting to their new life together in Ferelden

She getting along with his siblings (Not a problem except for the younger sister, but they end up being good friends at the end)

Cullen getting in touch with Dorian and Varric to give her a surprise in a time she's feeling down

Cullen works just to fill the time he's alone (they're like super rich after everything my inquisitor stole in DAI lol)... so he works in construction for almost nothing, helping rebuild what the war destroyed

They end up presenting an initiative in Ferelden to build villages near the circle for mages and their families (I'm still working in this one)

The two of them building their forever house together (aw my heart)

Sybil finding out her uncle isn't dead and meeting him again after almost 20 years

She meeting my warden and (without even telling she's the herald of Andraste) fully going into "thank you for saving the love of my life during the blight" mode.

My warden finding out who she is and fully going into "thank you for saving the grey wardens" mode.

I'll stop here... for everyone's sake, but I could keep going lol

#fic list ask #ask away #dragon age origins #dragon age 2 #dragon age inquisition #alistair theirin #alistair x warden #sebastian vael #hawke x sebastian #cullen rutherford #cullen x inquisitor #cullen x trevelyan #commander cullen #headcanon #future fic

[royivia]

The Neighborhood

Sibyl Campbell wasn’t even mad when she woke up on a hot ass May morning in her room, drenched in sweat. Instead, she bypassed anger and went straight to resignation because the HVAC system in the Robert Moses Houses was broken — again — and she didn’t have the time or the energy to bitch about it. In fact, the heating and cooling stayed shutting off across Groundview Gardens. It had become a predictable kind of disappointment in the neighborhood, more so than flooding during superstorms or the fact that no matter which part of the neighborhood you were in, you could feel the rumbling of the shuttle every seven minutes.

Sibyl had spent all night coughing and turning in her bed from the claustrophobic heat that agitated her asthma. Her mother had already gone to work, otherwise, she would have heard Mildred Campbell yelling in indignant patwa over the phone at an Arcadian Realty & Management representative “to fix the damn AC” before she threatened to call 311 on their ass, and report them to the city. Both Mildred and the AR&M rep knew it was an empty threat, but to shut her up, they’d call someone who’d tinker with the system and the air would come back on for a couple of days or so, before it chipped out. And then, the routine would start again.

Sibyl checked the weather. It was already ninety-five degrees. She took a puff from her inhaler and scrolled through her timeline. The same picture of a little girl with a big bright smile captioned with different variations of “RIP Destiny’’ and prayers for her family flooded her feed. Sibyl forced herself out of bed. The sweat on her body made her feel uncomfortable. She hauled a clunky, old portable air conditioner out from her closet and plugged it into the wall. Management would fine them for the spike in their energy use, but she didn’t care. She pushed the power button on, and waited for the box to cough out some hot air before it eventually cooled the room down from a humid haze to a lackluster lukewarm.

#

SOIL had been trying to meet with AR&M, the neighborhood’s collective management company, about the HVAC problem with little to no success for close to three years. They had circulated petitions. Tried shaming them in the local news. They even considered organizing a rent strike, which would have done nothing because everybody who lived in Groundview Gardens received subsidies from the city that made rent practically free. And as much as people were pissed about freezing their asses off in the winter or not being able to breathe during the summer, nobody was tryna fight free rent. So, SOIL decided to annoy the shit out of their landlords instead. On their way into their coolly ventilated corporate office buildings, occupying their lobbies, picketing in front of their luxury condos, and most effectively, managing to damage one, or two, of their solar-powered generators in the hottest month New York City had ever seen. A few arrests and some pissed off rich people later, management finally agreed to hold a town hall to hear from their tenants, which meant SOIL’s next plan of action was to convince as many people as possible to show up. Nefi Ramos saw it as a challenge that they could surely accomplish. Her neighbors were like camels to water in a desert. They were thirsty, and had learned to go without for as long as they needed to, but lead them to a watering hole, and they would drink.

“It’s too fucking hot,” she shouted into her megaphone. She was standing in front of one of the many large screens around Groundview that cycled between ads for things they couldn’t afford and AR&M’s infamous “neighborhoods of tomorrow” promotional video. Most people just used the screens to check train arrival times and the air quality. The next shuttle was two minutes away, and the air was currently “unsafe for vulnerable groups.”

“Are we just supposed to take this shit?” Nefi asked. “We don’t deserve to live like this.”

Around her, the rest of SOIL handed out cold bottles of water, popsicles, and fruit cups from coolers filled with melting ice, along with flyers to people walking towards the train platform. They walked past the demonstration uninterestedly, only stopping long enough to take a bottle of water. Everyone had gotten used to Nefi shouting at them to care about things beyond their control, and learned to tune her and the rest of her angry SOILders out, taking their flyers every now and then only to chuck them into the nearest trash can. This morning, a few people did stop to listen for a second or two, the heat getting the better of them, before they saw the time flicker on the screen behind her, and realized that they’d be late for work.

Sibyl, her camera always strapped to her body, snapped a few shots of her neighbor. Nefi was like a loud older cousin who wasn’t afraid of a little trouble, or frankly anything. She both awed and terrified Sibyl.

“It’s time for these slumlords to sweat,” Nefi went on. “We need to organize. Our voices are stronger together — ”

“What makes you think anyone gives a shit about what happens to us down here?”

Mr. Solomon had been on his way to the bodega to buy his morning loosie, but stopped to sit in his walker, taking a moment to catch his breath.

“That’s exactly what they want us to think, vecino.” Nefi softened her voice in that way she did when she was trying not to shout. “The more we believe that we can’t make them pay attention to us, the longer they get away with treating us like shit.”

“I remember when they first moved people into Groundview.” In the midst of reminiscing, Mr. Solomon started coughing aggressively, prompting someone to hand him a bottle of water which he drank quickly before continuing. “We were protesting and shouting in the streets, but they didn’t care then. They’re not gonna care now.” The history lesson quickly turned into yet another heated debate about neighborhood politics between him and some of the other SOILders trying to convince him to take one of their flyers. Sibyl used the opportunity to catch Nefi’s attention, who waved her over enthusiastically.

“Yo, did you hear?” Nefi handed her a fruit cup. “We finally got a meeting with the overlords! Are you gonna come?”

“Nahhh, Nefi. You know that’s not really my thing…I’m not an activist.” Nefi was always trying to recruit her for some radical ass shit that just never seemed worth the trouble of explaining to Sibyl’s very Jamaican mother.

“Nobody said you had to be. You live in this neighborhood, and have just as much say about what happens in it as the suits who own it.” Nefi sensed Sibyl’s hesitation. “Please Sib! Come so we have more people in the room. You don’t have to say anything. We just want those dicks to see that we have power. People power!”

Nefi was very proud of the fact that she had an uncle, or it might have been a second cousin, who had been a member of the Young Lords and, drawing on their legacy of fighting for the liberation of Puerto Ricans, was always going on about the oppressive nature of renting, and self-determination for poor people, and community empowerment, and, and…

“Aight — I’ll go,” Sibyl assured her, trying to cut her sermon short. Nefi hugged her and thanked her a million times before shoving a stack of flyers into her arms to pass out and post up around the neighborhood.

#

The singular garden in Groundview Gardens was usually ten degrees cooler than anywhere else in the neighborhood. It was created — not by the architects who had designed New York City’s newest development, but instead — by the community out of desperation as an escape from their cramped apartments. During the days, the older folks used it to grow their herbs, medicines, and flowers for their healing practices. The local farmers grew produce that fed the community. After school and on the weekends, all the kids hung out at the community center at the heart of the garden where they learned to dance, make art, and play music.

By the time Sybil got there later that night, Groundview’s collective of artists had already transformed the greenspace into their Saturday night hangout. One of the DJs was spinning records. People were dancing, drinking, smoking, having a good time. Dante, Sage, and Felix had bottles in their hands when Sibyl joined them at their usual spot. Their clothes were covered in colorful patches of spray paint.

“Did you finish it? When do I get to see it?,” she asked them excitedly. She hadn’t seen her friends in about a week, which meant they were either done with their latest mural or were taking a break before they disappeared for another few days. “Soon.” Dante looked tired, but excitement danced in his eyes. “Shoot anything good lately?” He leaned in reaching for her camera, but she quickly pulled back from him.

He laughed at her and took a sip of beer. Dante was her oldest friend out of the trio. There was a quiet protectiveness between the two of them Sibyl hoped they could always maintain.

“It’s been a minute since I last checked.”

“How come?” Dante asked.

Sibyl usually couldn’t wait to hold herself up in the darkroom at the community center to develop her film, but she had been putting off her latest batch. She’d fallen in love with photography while taking classes at the center as a kid. So much so that one day, her mother came home with an old film camera and Sibyl never put it down. That first summer, she ran around the neighborhood asking to take people’s photos. It felt so natural to her, though it had taken a while to gain people’s trust. Take their pictures for what? What was she going to do with them? Skeptics, but curious, they eventually agreed. They’d uncomfortably pose or force a smile, and then immediately ask her to see it because if they didn’t look good, she’d have to delete it. Then she’d explain how film photography worked, and they’d cuss her out for wasting their time.

Weeks later, she’d find them again — at the corner store, or at the People’s Garden, and give them the glossy prints she’d developed. Through her lens she could see they were secretly afraid she’d see the things they’d all spent so much time and concern trying to hide. But those things would all melt away when they’d see themselves — some for the first time — with the same worth and value she saw in them. After that Sibyl didn’t have to ask. They booked her for quinces and graduation parties and engagement photos. People would stop her when they saw her around. “So you not gonna take my picture? Girl, you know I look good today. Quit playing and snap something quick,” and they’d pose with more pride than before, as if to officially celebrate the triumph of living, something they didn’t know they had accomplished until they saw proof.

After seeing so many of her neighbors’ pictures, some of which she took, circulate in online memorials, something lodged itself in the pit of Sibyl’s gut. She couldn’t fully identify what it was, but it left her with little energy to feel or do anything else outside of going to school and work. But she didn’t know how to explain that to her friends without being weird or bringing down the mood, so she just said, “Been busy with school.” She quickly changed the subject before anyone tried to press her on it.

“Are ya gonna go to the town hall?”

“What town hall?” Sage asked.

“The one with management. About the HVACs.” Sibyl handed them flyers from her bag. “I promised Nefi I’d go, but I don’t want to go by myself. Someone come with me?”

“Pass,” Felix snorted.

“I’ll go. Should be fun,” Sage said with a smirk on their face. “I wanna hear what those assholes say their excuse is for not fixing shit.”

“I’ll save ya the trip. Sorry, you’re too poor for us to care,” Felix mocked. “It’s not like they’re all of a sudden gonna have a conscience ya know.”

“You mad negative bro,” Dante said.

“What?” Felix asked animatedly. “You really trying to spend the rest of your life down here? We all need to focus on getting the fuck up outta here instead of asking them to fix some janky ass vents.”

It’s not like anybody was trying to spend any part of their lives in Groundview, but lately it seemed like the rest of their lives wouldn’t take so long. The sound of the shuttle, more muffled than anywhere else, reverberated throughout the garden.

“I’m out the first chance I get,” Dante admitted. His answer wasn’t surprising to any of them, but this was the first time Sibyl heard him say it out loud. Dante was one of the more talented and disciplined artists in the collective. It would only be a matter of time before he blew up and left.

“What happens when ya leave though?” Sage was upset. “You get out, but what about the rest of us? Not everybody can up and leave right? Shouldn’t we try and make shit better for everyone.”

“That’s a trap, Sage. Shit’s not gonna get better,” Felix said harshly. “Does it ever hit ya, like really hit ya that there’s no future for us here? Everybody’s so busy working to get by, we don’t even have time to realize how fucked up everything is.”

“I’m not saying it’s perfect.” Sage shot back. “I just don’t think we have to turn our back on our community. That’s fucked up.”

“Don’t take it so personally, Sage,” Dante cut in. “Nobody’s turning their backs on anyone.”

“Besides, no offense to Nefi n ‘em,” Felix said, “but everybody’s wasting their time if they think those suits are gonna fix anything.”

Sibyl listened quietly. Groundview was all they ever knew. She had never considered leaving it, and yet she also was afraid to admit that she thought Felix might be right.

#

The middle school auditorium only had like fifteen people — half were members of SOIL — in there that Tuesday night, which was more than Nefi had expected. The handful of people who told her they wanted to go to the town hall, but couldn’t, were either working, or would get home too late from work and would have to cook dinner or iron school uniforms for the next day. Everyone else couldn’t be bothered; like Felix, they thought it was a waste of time. That nothing would come from it. Sibyl didn’t show. No one who attended the town hall actually thought anything would come from it either. If AR&M had wanted to do something, they would have done it a long ass time ago. The people who did show up were mostly Nefi’s elderly neighbors who were always ready to spit their anger into a mic because if they weren’t going to get a solution, they would at least get to cuss someone out, and have an audience to witness it.

Nefi worked her way around the room to thank people for coming. These things always felt like family reunions to her. Old friends hugging and catching up because they hadn’t seen each other in a minute, with work and family and life moving everybody in this or that direction, even though they all still lived in the same neighborhood. She finished up her greetings and joined the rest of SOIL, huddled at the front of the room. They went over the order of speakers, before Benjy, the group’s designated peacemaker for the evening, asked everyone to quiet down and get seated so they could start. He reminded everyone to keep it civil. Then one by one, people got up to the mic to direct their anger at the empty faces in tailored suits, sitting at the table in front of them, who could all care less about the people shouting at them. There was a lot of finger snapping, and “that’s right” and “tell-em’s” from the crowd throughout.

Finally about half an hour in, a young woman, with a little girl clutching on to the left side of her body, got up to the mic.

“My name is Mercy Brooks, and this is my daughter Angelique.” Her voice was shaking, in that soft, angry, pissed off kinda way that warranted attention. Nefi hushed the crowd down so that she could speak her peace without interruption. “My daughter’s asthma acts up almost every day. She can’t breathe. Ya should be fucking ashamed of yaselves. Our babies are dying down here. Is that what we deserve because we can’t do better? We just supposed to take that shit. You ever thought about what it’s like to live down here, huh? I’m sure ya don’t cause if you did, you wouldn’t think it was right to keep people living like this. Or do ya not care cause it’s not your kids?”

There was silence from the table, which was worse than feigning any sympathy or remorse. It set the room off into chants, which meant it was over from there. AR&M security shut that shit down quick right on cue, and if you weren’t arrested that night, you were brusquely escorted out. Management promised to set up some vague kind of task force with representatives from the neighborhood, but it led to nothing. A fucking disappointment, that’s what that shit was. And it wasn’t a surprise to Nefi or anyone else, but it hurt all the same. A few weeks later, that same woman who got up and spoke, her daughter Angelique died because they couldn’t get her to the hospital in time after she had an asthma attack. AR&M still hadn’t fixed the vents in their housing complex. And they still didn’t change the filters or fix the ducts in the other housing complexes so that it wouldn’t happen again after that. SOIL kept trying to drum up some kind of anger. Anything to get people to feel something. To do something.

Murals of Destiny, Angelique, and every other person who had died that year quietly popped up around the neighborhood. Vigils and altars with flowers and prayer candles accompanied them. But as much as people were upset or sad, no one knew what else to do except mourn and move on because it was clear to everyone that no one gave a damn about them. And so, what was the point?

##

They called it the Subterranean Housing and Inner-City Tunnels project, or S.H.I.T. for short. A plan to provide affordable housing for everyone who had experienced the worst housing crisis New York City had ever seen. People were evicted left and right. Families were priced out of their homes and neighborhoods. The shelter system, swelled beyond its limits for decades, finally collapsed. The streets and subway were overrun with people in sleeping bags and blankets. So nothing new, but it finally annoyed enough people to warrant action.

Naturally, the city contracted its most blood thirsty developers, AR&M, to help solve the problem, which was kinda like asking an arsonist to put out a fire they had proudly started. To no one’s surprise, they didn’t want to forfeit any of their luxury condos that sat empty while people slept on the streets. Instead, they struck a deal to create the largest scale of public housing of its kind, in exchange for absolute, unregulated freedom. The only problem was there was literally no land left for them to develop because they had already bought it all. And then one day, the chief architect of S.H.I.T. had an epiphany when he felt the uptown 6 train rumbling beneath his feet. There was an entire part of the city he had yet to consider. Where a majority of the people who needed housing were already living. Sprawling housing complexes with multi-unit apartments appeared overnight 150 feet underground, with the pilot site in the South Bronx. A new subway station and miles and miles of foot tunnels connected New York’s newest neighborhood to the world above it.

There were protests, anger, outrage! That the country’s most progressive city could so blatantly, and quickly!, shove all of its poor people out of sight only seemed to bother the poor people because everyone else praised S.H.I.T. as the most innovative solution of the 21st century. New York City had done the impossible, and housed every single person. That was grounds for celebration and federal funding. Plans were quickly announced to roll S.H.I.T. out across every major city in the country. To ease people’s concerns, the mayor at the time, eyeing a presidential run, promised that his own city’s underground neighborhood would just be temporary — transitional housing at best. Transitional to what, no one could answer. Temporary until when? Until they could think of something else. One year became five, became ten, etc., etc.

In time, AR&M and the city eventually added a couple schools, a hospital, a library, and a sad excuse for a park that residents eventually turned into the People’s Garden. Folks opened up bodegas, 99 cent and liquor stores, and made themselves at home. It didn’t take long to accept living where they did as another fact of life because they had no other choice. Over time, the plan to move everyone back aboveground disappeared from the city’s housing briefings. Then, the briefings disappeared altogether. The high rates of asthma and chronic bronchitis that seemed to come from living in Groundview occasionally made the nightly news, but not enough to cause major concern or stop neighborhoods like Groundview from popping up across the country.

There were still those who remembered life before Groundview, and vowed to move out of the neighborhood as soon as the opportunity arrived. They kept the dream close to their hearts. And if it didn’t happen during their lifetimes, they’d make sure it would happen during their children’s. More realized it was a fool’s dream and moved on. Eventually though, everyone adapted to the vibrations of the shuttle inside their kitchens. The white, fluorescent lighting that lit every corner of their world like a harsh, artificial sun. The damp, muggy air that arrested their chests if they tried to breathe too freely. And the humming of the massive ventilation systems that heated and cooled their cramped, windowless apartments — when they decided to work.

#

An Artist’s Treatise on Survival

I don’t know how we do it sometimes. That is, put up with all the shit that life throws at us. Work jobs that exhaust us with little in return. Take care of our families with little to no support. Do so much with so little. And still be able to smile or laugh in the midst of it all. Then, I remember: it’s because we have to. No one else is gonna pay our bills if we don’t. No one else is gonna put food on our tables for us. No one’s gonna bail us out. Naturally, you learn to hustle. To channel your frustrations into working around the way things are because trying to fix things that were built broken takes time you don’t have when you’re just trying to get by.

What gets me even more is how we’ve perfected survival itself as an artform, and created whole new types of living from abject desperation. We wasn’t supposed to, much less find reasons to enjoy life, but we did anyway. Some even take on the added challenge of trying to make life more bearable, more enjoyable, for the rest of us. For example, sometimes when it felt like there wasn’t much to appreciate. That you were resigned to the fate of being alive and not living and didn’t deserve any better. You’d see a mural. On the way to the laundromat. Or the corner store. While you were running errands. Or walking home, bone tired, from the train after another long, shitty day at work. And like all good, beautiful things, it reminded you to breathe. You didn’t always know who created it. Or couldn’t remember if it was there the day before even though you’ve walked that way millions of times. You just knew that it was, in its own way, encouraging you to make it to tomorrow. Bright bursts of color and story interrupting the mundane, tiresome every day you’d come to accept with no protest. After a while, it becomes easier to accept a simple truth about living. That we can still manage to find a reason to laugh, to enjoy life, despite it all, and that we can be the source of our own power. It’s kind of audacious of us to still try and find joy even if it means creating it for ourselves. Maybe that’s why we do it.

#

At first, it started off as harmless tagging, and they kept it up chasing the thrill of not getting caught. Then they tried to outdo each other. It became a sport: who could paint the better mural. Get the most buzz around the neighborhood before they got painted over. But the better they got, and the more the murals looked legit, the longer they stayed up. Until they stopped painting over them altogether because people loved them so much. They didn’t belong to the creators anymore. They belonged to the neighborhood. And before they knew it, they’d created something much bigger than any of them could have imagined.

The tunnels just seemed like the next natural step for the graffiti artists in Groundview. Miles and miles of blank walls? Dante, especially, saw something to keep him busy after his brother died. Besides, painting murals felt like the only thing he could do. He’d stopped going to school. He’d just paint. When he ran out of ideas to paint, he asked Sibyl to see her portraits, and he started replicating them across the neighborhood. He was relentless — portrait after portrait. Sage and Felix started helping him out because they worried he would lose it, spending all that time in the tunnels by himself. He was grasping for something, but he didn’t know what it was. Until he saw it, lying on the ground near a garbage can.

The Groundview Residents’ List of Demands

The People of Groundview Gardens demand financial and social restitution for all residents, especially those who developed chronic health issues from living underground and/or have lost loved ones because of it.

The People demand New York City move all Groundview residents back above ground into rent subsidized apartments.

The People demand New York City disband all underground housing policies so that no one else has to live in Groundview Gardens or any other housing project like it.

Until the first three demands are met, The People demand Arcadian Realty & Management fix the HVAC systems in every single housing complex it owns and regularly maintain them.

Once Groundview Gardens is fully evacuated, The People demand New York City turn the entire neighborhood into a public memorial to commemorate the loss of life, preserving the art and The People’s Garden.

After the town hall, and the supposed task force, proved to be a bust, SOIL had created the demands to deliver to the city. They circulated leaflets with the five bullet points, but no one would take them seriously. Dante himself, admittedly, had checked out, and had ignored SOIL’s literature, up until that point. The demands appeared overnight on the walls of the tunnels in bold white paint for everyone to see. They were the last thing everyone saw coming into Groundview and the first thing they saw from the shuttle on their commutes leaving the neighborhood.

#

Nefi kept waiting for the moment when her neighbors would suddenly realize that they were angry — very angry. They’d decide they were fed up once and for all and refuse to settle for less anymore. They’d riot in the streets. They’d protest in front of AR&M’s offices. They’d refuse to go into work until something changed. Their anger would get everyone’s attention. Her own rage had burned intensely inside her for as long as she knew herself. She learned to channel it through SOIL trying to make Groundview a better place, even though everyone told her it wasn’t worth it; it wasn’t possible; it was a waste of time. But it was either that or literally set some shit on fire. But, it didn’t matter how many rallies, tenant meetings, town halls, or demonstrations SOIL organized. Nefi learned that she couldn’t have a revolution without people. And the people? They were tired and overworked. They didn’t have time to overthrow anything. And, even though no one would admit it, they were also afraid — afraid of change, of what they could lose, of realizing that something greater than what they had come to know was possible. So to save themselves, and Nefi, further disappointment, they rebuffed her again, and again: Nefi you need to chill. Girl you’re doing too much. Don’t waste your time. Nothing’s gonna change. After the town hall, and years and years of holding hope, the fire inside Nefi dulled until she couldn’t recognize herself anymore. She conceded her rage for high-functioning hopelessness. She withdrew from her friends, from her neighbors, from SOIL, only tapping into enough energy to wake up, go to work, and make her way back home. The days bled into each other, so much so that when the night Nefi had been waiting for eventually came later that August, it caught her completely off guard. It caught everyone off guard because it wasn’t the HVACs or the deaths of toddlers, or even the wrath towards AR&M that finally set people off. But it shouldn’t have been a surprise to anyone who’s lived in New York City long enough because it was the one thing that could incite the level of large-scale anarchic rage Nefi had been holding out for — and that was the MTA.

#

The night in question, the air was hot, muggy, and heavy with potential. Like any other evening, people were heading home from work, the collective exhaustion weighing down on their bodies, stamped into their faces. They waited together, huddled in a sweaty mass on the sweltering Third Ave-138th St. platform for a train that felt like it would never come. When an empty shuttle finally did arrive in the station, the doors opened to the grating sound of a man’s voice coming through the train’s speaker system:

“Attention passengers. This is your conductor speaking. Due to unplanned construction up ahead, we are disbanding all trains to Groundview Gardens at this time. I repeat, we are disbanding all trains to Groundview. Sorry for the inconvenience.”

This shit had happened plenty of times before. A disruption of service that made it difficult to get home. Everybody was so used to it and had even come to expect it. The inconvenience of being poor and powerless consistently working against them. It too had become a predictable kind of disappointment. Even the audible, collective disapproval was muted and slightly rehearsed, nothing more than a reflex. They would have to find their way home, some two-odd miles on foot, through the tunnels. But that night, Ms. Claudette, who had been on her feet all day at work taking care of her elderly patient and still had to go home and iron her scrubs for the next day, was fucking tired. She had paid her fare. And, she had paid her taxes. She had also paid her dues in this country — twenty-seven years worth of struggle and debasement — for what? This could not be it. Life could not just be disappointment. The least she expected was that the train would get her home like it was supposed to. She decided that she was going to let the conductor have a piece of her mind.

“This is nonsense. Tell me, just tell me, how am I supposed to get home?” Her boisterous St. Lucian accent traveled well beyond her.

Folks who heard her echoed in agreement, hyping her up. “They have the nerve to raise prices for this shitty ass service,” someone said loudly. They all collectively decided to board the empty train. The construction workers in their hard hats and massive boots, the women with their large tote bags and their tiredness neatly folded away into themselves. They were all going to sit on the train, until it started up again. It was going to take them home.

The conductor was tired too. Nothing as deep-seated as his passengers, but something not too far removed. He had no skin in this game though, and his job didn’t pay him enough to care. He was annoyed; they were keeping him from clocking out. And so, after listening to a bunch of people passionately curse him out, he told them to, and I quote:

“Write a letter.”

It happened so fast. I mean, when I say shit popped off before anyone could swallow their spit. Someone knocked over the trash cans on the platform. Someone else, set them on fire, with what to this day no one really knows, but their latent anger seemed to have ignited what they didn’t know was inside them.

The riots lasted for weeks. People boycotted the MTA and didn’t go to work.

The restaurants aboveground shuttered because they were understaffed. Construction on all the new developments stopped because the workers, a lot of whom lived in Groundview, refused to show up. People aboveground had to stay home because their nannies and house cleaners weren’t able to come and relieve them like they had come to rely on. Groundview had forced the city to come to a complete stop. The mayor held a press conference saying she didn’t condone the behavior of the vandals at the train station. SOIL led protests and demonstrations in front of city hall until she had to hold a second press conference to apologize for her statements at the first press conference. She promised she was going to make sure that it would never happen again — not just the riots, but the unnecessary deaths in Groundview, the resentment the residents felt towards the city. They were going to fix the HVACs, and the MTA! They were going to heal the great divide the city had long thrived on once and for all, if, and only if, the workers called off the strike and went back to work. It sounded so sincere, everyone wanted to believe it. Tired of holding all the power, they asked SOIL to represent them at the bargaining table. Deals were made. Hands were shaken. And things went back to a semblance of normal with a few slight adjustments.

#

Sibyl was heading out of her apartment when she saw a piece of yellow paper on her front door.

60 DAYS NOTICE TO INCREASE RENT

Mildred Campbell 207 167th St. (GG), Unit 10E

Beginning September 1, 2041, the monthly rent will go up an additional 5% for all units located in the Robert Moses Houses. Please make the appropriate adjustments within the AR&M digital payment system.

We appreciate your continued tenancy.

Sincerely, Arcadian Realty & Management

Pieces of yellow paper were taped to every single door she passed on her way to the train. It had been a year since the last time the heating or cooling had stopped working. Everyone held their breath celebrating, just in case that was when the heat would shut off or the air would decide to stop working again, but it never did. The number of deaths and hospitalizations went down, and everyone seemed content enough after the strikes and boycott ended, to go back to work. The trains even went back to running as efficiently as possible for the MTA, always teetering on the edge of collapse, but never actually approaching it for fear of recreating another opportunity for mass rebellion.

On her way to the shuttle, Sibyl saw a group of people congregating near one of the murals. She clutched her camera in her hand, ready to raise it to her face, when she heard a voice she didn’t recognize shouting through a megaphone. It belonged to a man she had never seen around the neighborhood before, and he was walking backwards while talking to a group of people Sibyl also didn’t recognize.

“Groundview is the latest up and coming neighborhood in the city,” his voice echoed. “Some of the most promising young artists have gotten their start in this urban — ”

She didn’t stick around to hear more.

After the riots, small groups of tourists descended regularly on Groundview like vultures to see the murals they had seen in viral photographs. They’d rudely block the paths from the train platform, or take up way too much space on the footpaths of the tunnels posing in front of the murals for pictures. Not long after that came the opportunistic hacks who had never stepped foot in Groundview before, running “culture tours’’ around the neighborhood. The residents felt like they were stuck in some sick and twisted museum. Out of annoyance, they banned the tours and non-residents from the People’s Garden, preserving their one last sanctuary in the community.

Sibyl had been in the middle of it all the first night of the riots. She was on the subway platform on her way home from classes and started snapping pictures once she realized what was going on, catching the fervent energy better than anyone could describe to everyone else who wasn’t there. She had no idea her photos would end up everywhere. But they did, and they not only helped draw attention to the plight of her neighborhood. They also drew attention to the wealth of talent germinating underneath the city. Her photos of her friends, their murals, and the other members of her neighborhood, had also attracted a lot of attention that felt good to the young artists who all of a sudden saw opportunities previously unavailable to them right at their doorsteps.

The shuttle arrived on the platform before her. Sibyl boarded the cool air-conditioned cart; the beads of sweat on her skin quickly evaporated. Nefi had warned them to be careful early on. “These things always end up having you exploit your own people for a cheap come up, and it’s never worth it.” Everyone thought she was trippin’. There Nefi was again just looking for another cause to fight now that her crusade against A&RM had seemed to come to an end. Even Sibyl thought she was overreacting at first. People were finally paying attention to Groundview. If she and the rest of the artists could help show the world how important the lives of the people who lived there were, maybe things could change for the better.

The train disappeared into the tunnel towards the 138th St. station. A lot of things had quietly changed over the last year and a half. Many of the families who had lost loved ones, including Dante’s, received settlements from the city and moved out of the neighborhood, leaving a sizable number of the apartments empty. Leading to perhaps the most visible addition to the neighborhood. AR&M had a couple of the younger artists looking for their own big break paint over SOIL’s list of demands and replaced it with a more “aesthetically inviting” message for the new visitors to the neighborhood: Welcome to the Mural District. Sibyl had only heard the tour guides call it that, in an unveiled attempt to rebrand Groundview. It didn’t take too long to find out where they got it from. The name and the welcome sign led to intense debates between the artists in the collective, including her friends, about people selling out and what they owed to each other as artists and their neighbors, which led to a few people splitting off and doing their own thing. The mural made Sibyl sick to her stomach, and she tried her best to avoid seeing it on her commutes. Then one day, someone started covering it up with black graffiti making the message unreadable.

No one knew who it was because they never got caught, but it didn’t matter to AR&M. Like clockwork the next morning, they had cleaners paint a fresh welcome message over it in time for the daily tours at noon. When the welcome message started appearing on the AR&M screens, the screens started getting covered in graffiti too. After a few months, Sibyl expected the guerilla painters to give up and move on, but they didn’t. Fresh graffiti kept appearing over the mural and on the screens, prompting AR&M to deploy their clean up crews, and then the routine would start again. Sibyl looked out the window in anticipation. “OURS.” The word, written over and over again across the mural, quickly came into view and then vanished out of sight.

#short story #original fiction #creative writing #writers of tumblr #fiction

[amycuscarrow-me-to-hell]

— isn’t that amycus carrow? yeah that is them, outside the three broomsticks! they used to be in slytherin but apparently they now work as a wizengamot seat holder. sybill once said that they reminded her of anger – cold, righteous, violent, unceasing; a set of twins held together with linked fingers from the cradle to the grave; the bitter resentment of the son who can never get anything right no matter how hard he does or doesn't try, so why bother; and a sculpture reworked into something more remarkable, which seems about right. anyway i’ve heard they’re still a bit obstinate, abrasive, and dark-humorured. they’re twenty six now but some things never change! i wonder how being a pureblood is affecting them after school, especially now they’re a marked death eater? i guess only time will tell… — playlist || pinterest 

→ NAME: amycus apollo carrow → NICKNAMES: carrow, am, ams, amy, bastard, etc (it’s a long list, most aren’t kind) → AGE / D.O.B.: 26 / 31 october 1950 (soon to be 27) → SPECIES: pureblood wizard → GENDER / PRONOUNS: cismale / he&him → SEXUALITY: not up for discussion → RELATIONSHIP STATUS: single and slutty

FAMILY → PARENTS: alcaeus and calliope carrow → SIBLINGS: alecto → COUSINS: none? → PETS: family owls; panther: despina (he loves her); does mookie count as a pet? (the elf says no, but amycus says yes)

LIFESTYLE → BORN:   swindon  , england → RAISED:   england, primarily, but they have a lot of properties and he doesn’t care enough to really think this one out. he likes the house in greece. → CURRENT RESIDENCE:  swindon → NATIONALITY: english, → LANGUAGES: english, russian, bulgarian, greek, french, german, sarcasm, etc → OCCUPATION:  wizengamot seat holder; completed hitwix training, and was looking forward to the dream job, but was unable to accept the position; thanks dick dad → DRINK | SMOKE | DRUGS: yes, yes, yes  → RELIGION: he believes in something, but he won’t tell you what

PHYSICAL ATTRIBUTES → FACE CLAIM: tyler hoechlin → ETHNICITY: caucasian → HEIGHT: 6′0 → WEIGHT: 210 lbs → BUILD: broad, athletic, stocky   → HAIR: black, short → EYE COLOR: green → DOMINANT HAND: right → SCENT: pine, bergamot, and lemon → NERVOUS HABITS: paces, glares, picks fights (but he does that anyways)

CHARACTER → MORAL ALIGNMENT: neutral evil → MBTI: estj → WESTERN ZODIAC: scorpio → SONG: motherfucker got fucked up - folk uke  //  getting away with murder - papa roach

MAGIC → WAND(S): cyprus, doxy wings, 10″, sturdy - picked him at 11; ebony, basilisk skin, 13″, rigid - heirloom wand goes with the wizengamot seat. amycus uses both, daily. → PATRONUS: he can’t make one → BOGGART:  looking into the mirror and seeing his father’s face - then, behind that (over his shoulder) he can see the people he loves, limp, as he’s taken their lives.

BIO

MY BOY IS STILL A DICK - THAT WILL NEVER CHANGE

he’s the oldest twin and yes it fucking matters

he’s also one of the biggest bastards in this bitch and that matters too

to him, but whatever. you don’t earn a reputation for being as awful as amycus without putting some elbow grease and pride into what you do.

surrounded by a dorm full of other bastards amycus would say he had a pretty good time with the bros back in his school days

and yeah, he was a bully.

he was the first carrow marked - being the older twin does have perks (he’s not 100% sure this was one of them but he wasn’t  mad about it either, since he got marked with bas) 

S L Y T H E R S L U T (that didn’t change either, but he might, that’s up to him)

alecto has always been his number one - don’t test this. stop testing this.

loves to build a swamp and/or flood rooms/floors/homes as a petty vengeance

he’s real fuckin petty let’s put it that way

home has never been kind or happy, and since reaching adulthood, amycus (and alecto, usually, they come as a package, always) prefers to live wherever his father is not.

for most of their lives, amycus has taken the brunt of the responsibility and the consequences – even when it wasn’t his fault, he’ll always take the blame for her. 

he can’t stand to see her hurt, so it goes without saying that he couldn’t bear to see her punished for anything -- and the twins were punished a lot over the years.

again, amycus, primarily, but this is because, at the end of the day, most of their problems can be traced back to him, and he refuses to let anyone lay a hand on his sister, whoever that person may be, when he can stop it

by that alone he spoiled her, keeping her from learning about consequences of her actions, though he’ll never say he regrets it

but where their parents continually let them down, they’ve always made up for it for each other.

one day, amycus plans to kill his father, but until that day he bides his time

he’s a dick to almost everyone but he does genuinely care about people

he likes to fight

loves it

he doesn’t need a reason to fight you

he will just throw hands in your general direction

you’ve heard the term, “if you’re good at something, never do it for free?”

well, amycus, is so good at fucking people up, he decided he should make a career out of it.

he couldn’t wait to join the hit-wix training program, and he made it all the way through with excellent marks, only to be gifted the family wizengamot seat on the twins’ 23rd birthday.

he never wanted it, but he’s not allowed to hand it to his sister – and even he knows that’s for the best

surprisingly, you know, amycus is the stable twin.

well, the more stable twin.

marriage has never been something on amycus’ to-do list, and he’s ruined MANY betrothals 

if he calls you by a nickname feel special

he likes cats and stops to pet every cat he comes across and dares you to judge him for it

he hates his parents (he’d be a momma’s boy if his mother wasn’t useless)

has a stabbing problem

(he wouldn’t call it a problem, he’d call it a solution)

prefers the not literature in any …. oddities shop, shall we say

**** can conjure and control fiendfyre****

#dawn:intro #the devil’s in me father .. he’s inside of everything i do || amycus #intro #violence tw #abuse tw #death tw

[fics-not-tragedies]

Redemption: Chapter Four

one - two - three - four - five - six - seven

I know it took me 84 years to get back to updating my chaptered fics, but that’s how life works folks 🤷‍♀️ I can’t promise I’ll do it more regularly, ‘cause I’m at weird point of my life right now (both personal and work related) and I’m trying my best to keep it all going. Well writing is one of the few things that keep me going, so don’t worry about that, recently I’m more of a ‘no schedule’ type of gal.

Words: 2624; Warnings: few smutty bits; Summary: London’s Continental is still Isobel’s and John’s safe haven, but the current danger is the old feeling between them that still burst in flames.

Readers tag list:

@spookier-than-u; @sparrowsparrow; @oreofenyloetyloamina; @derangedcupcake; @geostarr; @catsmieow; @wickedlangdon; @bodhi-black; @bugalouie; @onebatch--twobatch; @fandom-lover-4; @mikaneonox; @drunkonyellow; @spadesandaces2342; @harrisongslimited; @a–1–1–3; @hhighkey; @lunilate; @i-cant-remember-my-old-login; @sgt-morgan; @coloursunlimited; @childrenofthegun; @weminiaturestrawberry; @silverlambcaptain; @scarletmoon83; @howtoruin-someones-perfect-day; @krazycags01; @charlottebonnie; @moonlit-raven-haven; @girl-at-the-verge; @boopdedoop; @jardani-jovonovich-bitch; @ladyreapermc​;

“There’s nothing wrong with you wanting to kiss me” John breath out and she finds herself wrapped in his arms. She missed that, feeling him close, feeling the heat of his body, but somehow it felt wrong this time. Perhaps because of all the things she never told him about.

“For me, Jonathan… there’s nothing right with it either.”

Heavy rain was pouring right behind Continental's window, droplets of it cutting through the air like sharp knives. The building itself was wrapped in scaffolds all around - it was the renovation after all.

They were still sitting at the empty bar. Another bottle of bourbon just got emptied. John decided to take a walk on the empty hallways, leaving the two women alone for a moment. He desperately needed to clear his mind from all of the annoying thoughts that were running through it after the last conversation he had with the two ladies.

For a brief moment, when he was looking at her for a tad bit longer than he should, admiring the view of her sitting in front of him, one leg atop of the other, ankles crossed, smile on her rouged lips as she pressed them closer to the drink she held in her hand, he thought that maybe… that maybe Isobel still loves him. But the thought itself was too unreal to be true.

“Did he at least said ‘thank you’?” Sybil broke the silence between them. Her dulcet tone mixed with the sounds of glass clinking and liquid pouring. The alcohol induced haze was slowly wearing off and it seemed like Sybil fancied to keep the intoxication on a steady level.

“He should be thanking me for what?” Isobel was really surprised by her friend’s question, she kept drawing circles with her wrist, the ice in her drink rolling from one side to another, before she lifted it up to her mouth, barely dipping her lips in the liquor.

“For saving his life in that shithole bar?” the black haired woman was pouring more vodka into her tall glass.

“Didn't you had enough of that?” Isa tried to grab the bottle her friend was holding in her hand and take it away from her, but Sybil was faster and she moved away from her reach.

“Hun, if we all going to be dead by tomorrow evening I'd rather die drunk and happy” she said and after mixing her liquor with a blue syrup, she drank it all in one big swig.

The blonde just rolled her eyes and took off her black sweater throwing it across the room onto one of the leathered settees. She fixed the strap of her lacy black corset she had underneath the sweater. The rest of her outfit was composed from matching black jeans and a pair of old not-so-surprisingly black work boots tied all the way up to half of her calf.

“Bullshit. They can't kills us here, you know the rules better than we do. You're the Manager after all” Isobel lit her cigarette and took a deep breath inhaling the smoke from it.

John was smoking his cigarette in the hallway, while looking through the window, staring at the people walking on the streets. He was thinking about all of the things she never told him about. What Isobel never spoke about? What was she hiding deep inside?

He trusted her with his whole life, he knew she would die just to save him, but he also knew that she had secrets just like anyone in the world did.

What is she whispering to Sybil when he's not around? About what things she really wants to talk about, but she's still too afraid to do so?

There are many things she wanted to tell him. But she's too afraid of how he will react to them. It was bad idea that they decided to split. She needed him so much back then, he had no idea. He was too focused on his work, never noticed that there was something bad going on with her. Few years passed, he married Helen and Isobel’s heart was broken once again.

“Just have another” Sybil said, putting new glass filled with alcohol next to the one her friend hasn’t really emptied yet.

“For fuck’s sake…”

“Cut the bullshit, just drink. You can't say “no” to me, I'm your host! We have a renovation going on, I'm hiding a man worth 14 millions at my place-” Sybil was cut off by the ringing sound of their phones.

“15 millions now” Isobel corrected her friend, while looking at her phone’s bright screen.

 “...15 millions, perfect… and a woman who’s mad about the man. Hun, if you weren't my friend I'd shoot your Jonathan and right now I would be taking a bath with some handsome men in the Caribbean.”

“Who wants to shoot me?” John walked into the lounge area, holding another cigarette between his cut lips. His face was still swollen in some places, few bruises visible here and there, but overall he looked as handsome as always.

“The same set of people as usual,” Isobel said and finally managed to took away the bottle of vodka her friend was holding and threw it across the bar, “I know about your Russian roots, but for fuck’s sake stop fucking drinking right now!” she shouted at Sybil, making her jump up in her bar stool, “you can't shoot straight when you're too drunk!”

When Wick approached them, the blonde pulled a pack of cigarettes from his jacket pocket, took one from it, placed the pack onto the counter, then stuck the cig between her lips and lit it with the matte black lighter that was laid right next to her glass.

“I ran out of mine,” she spoke to him, her hazel eyes sparkling with something he wasn’t able to name. It was probably the alcohol, but he’d rather think that she’s just happy to see him, “and I really needed another one” she pulled him closer by his suit jacket, then unbuttoned it, slid it from his arms taking her time touching them, feeling how his muscles tensed under the her warm hands, and threw it into the same direction she had thrown her sweater earlier.

“Wow, are we getting into the nudity right now?” he asked surprised by her movement.

“It’s hot in here and you’re sweating. Don’t annoy me, please” Isobel took a gulp from her glass. She looked at him, taking another drag from her cigarette and laid back in her chair. John grabbed the drink she was holding in her hand and took a big sip from it. She didn’t objected. They used to drink like that, because it was faster. Two fast drinks before any assignment and they were ready to roll.

“You probably had enough of that” he said before downing the contents of the glass.

“But I’ve never had enough of you” leaning towards him she exhaled the smoke to the side and crushed the cigarette butt in the ashtray that was on the counter placed between every other thing, “and trust me John, it was fucking hard living that way” the fierce tone of her slightly tipsy voice made him giggle inside a bit.

His eyes glued to her face begin to slide down her scarred neck and onto her exposed collarbones. The tiny lavender branches she got tattooed ages ago were still in the same places he discovered them back in their days.

Wick felt the urge to touch her, to lay his hands on her body and feel the warmth she always radiated. He wanted to kiss her lips, to press his mouth atop of her and see if she tastes the same. The beard on his face would scratch the soft, but slightly scarred skin on her cheeks and she would giggle like she did back in the moments they shared together.

She was looking right in his eyes, her gaze strong, unavoidable. His face was looking better, maybe because of her skills and hotel’s first aid kit or maybe because the light was different now. Isobel’s face was inches away from his and all it took was to lean forward just one bit and she could finally kiss him, press her lips close to his.

The truth was that she knew it all was wrong, especially the thoughts she had in her mind now were terribly wrong, but she couldn’t help it. The feelings she hid ages ago wanted to burst out and onto the surface.

She moved from the high bar stool, sauntering further into the lounges area, disappearing between them from John’s sight. He was torn inside, didn’t know if he should follow her or just leave her alone. Perhaps she just needed some time on her own, so many things happened in the recent hours that it was unreal just to believe all of them.

Sybil was the one that sent his doubts back to where they belong: she poured another two glasses of bourbon and handed them to him, pointing with her head that he should run after her, “I’ll leave you two alone, don’t worry” she breathed, her voice just a mere whisper, so only John could hear her. “Just… be easy on her Wick, remember you’re the reason of a rumble in her chest. Don’t fuck it up this time, alright? She’s determined to save you… let her do it.”

He just nodded his head to her and without saying a word, still holding firmly those two drinks in his hand, turned around on his heel and moved into the lounge area, determined to find Isobel.

There she was, curled on one of the sofas, her head pressed into the headrest, eyes closed, lips slightly apart. Her chest was slowly moving up and down, as if she was in a light state of dreaming and John couldn’t fight the urge to stare, his eyes flickering between her soft facial features, the exposed skin of her collarbones, the cleavage of the corset she had on…

“It’s not polite to stare like that, John…” her hazel eyes were piercing right through him and when he looked up and their gazes met she smiled. His face was flustered, cheeks rosy with the memory of every night or morning they had the chance to spend together. She quickly discarded her boots and moved to the other end of the sofa, grabbing John by his tie and pulling him closer.

John placed the two glasses he held in his hands on the table and sat right next to her, their thighs pressed together.

“I want to hold you close…” John mumbled out, his hands gently caressing hers, then sliding over to her thighs, where he ran them upwards, slightly moving in the seat, so he could press his body to hers.

“John please” Isobel cupped his face in her hands, leaning closer to him, almost crawling onto his lap.

“Yes you’re right… I should have pleased you more often” he pressed his face further to her, their lips so close together they were almost touching, but he flinched backwards and looked her in the eye, his features scrunched, his own dark eyes wide.

“That wasn’t the issue… you never failed to please me” her fingers moved to the collar of his shirt and undid the first button, slowly fiddling with his black tie.

“Then why you left? Without even saying a word? Without leaving a note?”

“Can we talk about it while being sober?” she undid another few buttons on his shirt, unwrapping his tie from around his neck and let her hand slide down his chest.

John purred a little, when she scratched his skin, “I want to feel your skin pressed against me tight” Isobel mumbled into his mouth, pulling him closer by his shirt, making him fall atop of her and she straddled him a little, wrapping her legs around his waist.

“Isa…” he breathed out, the sound of her nickname she hasn’t heard in ages falling from his lips send shivers down her spine.

“I know John… I missed you too” he was like an open book to her and he didn’t even have to finish his sentence, she knew him too damn well.

There was something in the look of his chocolate eyes, in the stare he held on her face, in the way he couldn’t look away from her; it seemed like he was enchanted by her and the spell, she put on him back in their military days, never fade away.

John was under her charm, it was true, he never fell out of love with her. Even when he married Helen, Isobel was still in the back of his mind, in his heart in that hotel suite where she lived for so long, it’d be too strange if he suddenly forgot her.

Isobel was his true love and he couldn’t be able to deny it. As well as he couldn’t be able to deny the fact that he was still madly in love with her. The feeling never changed, nor would with her gun pressed against his forehead.

“John…” she breathed against his mouth making it curl into a smile. His large hand cupped the back of her neck, keeping her securely in place.

You tugged very lightly on his hair and he looked right back up at you, only to press his lips to yours in a soft kiss. He pulled your body closer against his again with his hand flat against your back, needily moving his lips with yours.

“I missed that” he mumbled against the skin of your neck, leaving a path of wet, open mouthed kisses all the way down to her arm.

“And I missed that…” her voice is like a soft music to him, the familiar tune he hadn’t heard in ages.

“I want to touch you…” his voice is deeper, more lustful and he dips his head to press a searing kiss between her breasts.

“J-John… you’re already doing that” he slid downwards, until he stopped at her hip level and she lifted them so he could pull down her pants, discarding them to the side before crawling over her again.

Isobel let her hands run over his chest and he sighed, leaning into her touch and closing his eyes. She quickly undid the rest of the buttons and slid the shirt off his arms, letting it fell to the floor. Wrapping her arms around his neck and pulled him down to press her lips against his she kissed him passionately like they were young again.

Feeling him smile into the kiss, she wanted to pull him closer but he teasingly bit her lip before sitting back up and unbuttoning his trousers, making her watch his every move intently as if she was afraid she’d miss something. Isobel watched him stand up and take off his trousers and she used the moment as an opportunity to sit up and undo her corset, just in time before he crawled back over her again, picking up the kiss where he’d left off as if he’d never left her lips and without warning let his hand run down into her underwear, making Isobel gasp against his lips and hold on to his arm when he began to rub his thumb over her most sensitive spot, his fingers teasing her entrance.

She stared at his bruised hand that slowly disappeared between her legs and there was something different about it now. The lack of the cold feeling that should’ve been caused by his wedding ring that was previously wrapped around his finger, or rather the view of it simply not being there was burning her eyes.

#Redemption #john wick #john wick fanfiction #john wick fanfic #john wick fic #john wick imagine #john wick chapter 2 #John Wick Chapter 3 #john wick chaptered series #keanu reeves #keanu reeves fanfiction #keanu reeves fanfic #keanu reeves fic #keanu reeves imagine #fanfiction #fanfic #fic #imagine #chaptered fic #fic series #chaptered series #john wick/ofc #john wick/isobel #john wick x ofc #john wick x isobel #pairing: john wick/isobel #redemption: chapter four #chapter four #kr:parted_fic

[anxiousstark]

緣分 ⎪Yuanfen {4}

Pairing: Tony Stark x Reader.

Summary: A relationship by fate or destiny; the blinding force of two people. But it is more difficult than that.

Warnings: None.

Word Count: 1799.

A/N: THIS HAS SCENES FROM THE AVENGERS! IT WILL FOLLOW SOME THINGS BUT NOT ALL OF THEM!

All Rights Reserved. The author, me, don’t allow any type of copy or adaption.

IMPORTANT: Tony Stark is 45 years old in this story and the reader is 28.

It had been about two months since Y/N arrived at Stark Tower. Her relationship with everyone had improved, except with Clint. She could feel him, sending her looks of disgust from the other side of the room where they were.

But, in general, the relationship with others had improved. Thor was really sweet and always looked out for her. With Bruce, she didn't talk much because he was a little quiet and she was quite shy. But there were times when Banner could not help but talk enthusiastically about his experiments and knowledge, and Y/N wasn't bothered by it because she saw how much he enjoyed it. 

Steve was really sweet to her, and even though they didn't talk much, Steve seemed to know when Y/N wasn't feeling well. So it had become a habit for Steve to raise her head and smile at her, letting her know that everything was fine.

However, Natasha had become her best friend inside the tower and she was also the person who she spoke the most with when they were both alone.

And finally, Tony. Tony Stark. Y/N didn't know how to feel about Tony. Sometimes, she felt a pain in her chest that seemed to leave her breathless and she couldn't tell what kind of feeling it was. It seemed like a bitter feeling because it hurt, but at the same time, it seemed like a feeling of comfort, protection and well-being.

They were all in the living room or the kitchen. Each one doing his things silently so as not to disturb Tony who seemed to read some papers. But that concentration was interrupted by JARVIS. “Sir, the telephone. I'm afraid my protocols are being overwritten.”

Tony took out of his trousers what seemed to be a really advanced and modern phone. The face of a man that Y/N didn’t know came out. “Stark, we need to talk.”

Tony rolled his eyes and looked at Y/N, he winked at her and then answered the man. “You have reached the life model decoy of Tony Stark, please leave a message.”

She tried to hide her smile. But then, she was surprised when the door of the elevator opened showing a man. He was short and he was wearing a suit. And seemed annoyed at Tony. “Stop joking. This is urgent.” He walked toward Tony and handed him some papers. He sighed, grabbing them and going over them quickly.

“Loki?” He read aloud and Y/N noticed how everyone sighed except Thor, who seemed to be nervous while biting his lower lip. “Who is Loki?”

“According to mythology.” Bruce decided to speak aloud and everyone’s attention went to him. “Loki was taken care of by Odin, who killed his giant father. It is believed he felt guilty for a second and decided to bring Loki back home where his wife and son waited. His son is Thor.”

“He is my brother.” Thor whispered, but it seemed like Y/N was the only one who heard him.

“He stole the Tessaract.” That man who Y/N learnt his name was Phil spoke.

An alarm began to sound, making everyone cover their ears because of how loud was the sound. "Stark, what's wrong?" Natasha asked, closing her eyes because of the pain she was beginning to feel in her ears.

Large screens appeared in front of Stark and images of Loki appeared on the screen. Y/N felt a great pain in her chest when she saw Loki. Those clothes, that helmet, that face and those cold eyes, trying to hide true feelings... She had seen him before.

Steve got up from the couch. "Avengers, it's time to go." Everyone started to move.

Y/N was confused, she knew what they were doing, but she had never seen them in action. Her gaze remained on Tony, who already wore the suit except for the face part. He realized that she was looking at him and he walked toward her "Stay here."

"What?" She didn't want to stay in the tower, but she also knew that she could not do anything to help. She had been training with Steve for the last two months in case something happened. But she did not have a shield or super strength or a suit or things like that. What she did would not help anyone. But still, she did not want to feel stupid, waiting in the tower for them to come back.

"We'll need someone to stay out with people to reassure them and not putting them in danger, if the Avengers are busy with Loki, someone else will have to help, right?" Phil decided to talk. He had been watching both of them and after saying those words he noticed how Tony looked at him pissed off.

But Stark could not say 'no' because she was looking at him with a special glow in her eyes. "Ugh, okay, go with Natasha and Clint, they'll take you." Tony ran to the balcony and using his hands and feet, disappeared into the dark sky.

When everyone arrived where Loki was, the first image they saw was that of thousands of people running out of the building and him walking slowly, following them. Golden light illuminated his body. His suit showing up.

He multiplied himself and appeared in different places, stopping people from running away and he repeated multiple times for them to kneel before him. “NOOOOW!” He screamed and everyone knelt down. They were terrified and you could see that on their faces.

Due to that gesture, Loki embraced his arms out, smiling. “Is not this simpler? Is this not your natural state? It's the unspoken truth of humanity, that you crave subjugation.” He walked slowly among the people who didn’t even dare to look at him. “The bright lure of freedom diminishes your life's joy in a mad scramble for power, for identity. You were made to be ruled. In the end, you will always kneel.”

An old man got up from the crowd and Y/N’s heart started to beat rapidly, asking herself when will the others act against Loki. “Not to men like you.”

Loki smirked, but you could see the rage on that smirk. “There are no men like me.”

“There are always men like you.” The man decided to speak again. And after something she didn’t hear, the Tessaract started to form a blue light.

That is when she felt Steve move from her side and in seconds, he was kneeling before the old man, protecting him with his shield. The power of the Tessaract bounced off the captain's shield, hitting Loki and knocking him to the ground.

A conversation between both of them occurred, but she couldn’t listen to it from where she was hiding. Then, Natasha appeared in the Quinjet, taking out a machine gun. “Loki, drop the weapon and stand down.” Her voice seemed robotic due to the microphone of the Quinjet.

But Loki wasn’t going to listen and he started fighting against Steve. For a moment it seemed like Steve was going to lose as he lost his shield but he kicked Loki.

Y/N noticed that all the people had run away and then he looked back at Steve, worried about him. But that concern vanished when Loki was attacked by some kind of orange light, she could not help but smile. Tony Stark.

For a moment it seemed that Loki was going to give up, but no one noticed that Loki had looked to the side. Y/N followed his gaze and saw a small boy behind a tree, shaking. He had probably separated from his parents and tried to hide from Loki.

She could sense that Loki wanted that child to escape. Tony and Steve would not attack him if he had a child in his arms. Loki moved his body a little, positioning himself to run to the boy and grab him.

She came out of hiding. “What's going on?" Steve whispered to Tony. Objects on the ground were floating in the air. "Who is doing that?"

Tony decided to look behind him for a few seconds, and it was at that moment when he saw her, her eyes shining again. He had just discovered another of her powers. An inhuman force, coming from her, caused the child to end up in her arms. At first, the little boy was surprised but then he hugged her tightly while crying for his mother.

Y/N started stroking his back. "Don't worry, you'll be with your mother right away."

Steve looked over to where Tony was looking. "Another power..." he whispered.

Now with no escape, Y/N decided to get a little closer to Tony and Steve and it was at that very moment that Loki got up, confused. Then, he started to laugh. "Do not tell me you've gone to the side of the good guys."

She looked at Loki when she realized that he was talking to her. He smiled again. "It's a pleasure to see you again, Y/N. You've grown a lot." Tony looked at both of them, confused. Steve felt a little defensive and Y/N was still totally confused. "Well Tony, now that you have captured me." The smile did not leave his face. "If you're going to put me in that cell, you should put her in. I can tell you that she is even worse than me." He looked back at Y/N. "I'm not surprised that you were able to deceive them. Lying is one of your best qualities."

.

.

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“What happens when two people meet by fate but it is physically impossible to be together?”

緣分 ⎪Yuanfen ⎪Masterlist

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[becausetherearestars]

Harry’s Life

Chapter Six of Lord Thanatos here

~

“I guess you could say it all starts with a prophecy,” Hadrian started. Severus’ face paled and he was suddenly very glad he was already sitting down.

“A young Sybill Trelawney met with Albus Dumbledore in the rundown Hog’s Head for a job interview. All was going fairly normally before the crazy bat made a prophecy:

“The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches ….. Born to those that have thrice defied him ….. Born as the seventh month dies …… and the Dark Lord shall mark him as his equal …… but he shall have power the Dark Lord knows not …… and either must die at the hands of the other …. For neither can live while the other survives …… the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies.”  

“Now Albus Dumbledore, being the man of infinite wisdom that he is, heard this prophecy and immediately started looking for candidates that fit this description and he came to two conclusions; Harry Potter and Neville Longbottom. He immediately moved the families of these two children into hiding in order to protect the prophecy child from the evil Dark Lord Voldemort.”

Said Dark Lord sat chuckling at the looks of horror on his followers faces. Lucius was horrified that someone could talk so openly about the Dark Lord while the man sat right next to him. He could not comprehend ever feeling comfortable enough around the immensely powerful man to joke about him. He noticed Draco’s look of horror mixed with wonder directed at the young Vampire and vowed to stop his son doing something infinitely stupid, like become attached to the young man.

“A young Death Eater,” Hadrian looked pointedly at Severus, “heard the first half of the prophecy and reported it to his Master immediately.”

Severus was not enjoying this story. Not at all.

“As payment for his follower’s work, the Dark Lord promised to try and spare the young man’s childhood friend, despite the fact she was a muggle-born, fought faithfully for the light and birthed the Dark Lord’s prophesied downfall.”

“Voldemort, who at the time was nothing short of insane,“ Tom rolled his eyes at the teen and his constant hints that he rejoin his horcruxes, “came to the same conclusion as Dumbledore and immediately searched for the boys. Why he chose the Potter’s that night, I don’t know, but he did, and after gaining the address from their secret keeper Peter Pettegrew, Voldemort went after Harry Potter.”

Tom offered up no explanations when five imploring looks were suddenly directed at him. A few moments of the deceptively innocent look plastered on the Dark Lord’s face caused Hadrian to continue after muttering about stupid secretive dark lords under his breath.

“This is what happened that night,” Hadrian said as he pulled out his wand. He drew a memory from his temple, but instead of summoning a pensieve as expected, Hadrian muttered a few Latin words and a scene rose from the end of his wand.

The room watched as young Harry heard his father call for Lily to ‘take Harry and run’. Watched as the young witch barricaded herself in the nursery and waited for the inevitable attack. No one was breathing as Voldemort burst through the door and demanded Lily move aside as she begged for the life of her son. They saw the frustration and resignation on the Dark Lord’s face as he finally killed the young witch and pointed his wand at baby Harry. The curse was cast, backfired and the spirit of the most powerful wizard of his time was forced from the room as his body disintegrated.

Severus sat, staring wide-eyed at the Dark Lord as he realised his mistake. His loyalty had always been with the Dark until Dumbledore used Lily’s death against him. She had always been his weakness and the old man had used her to manipulate him for the past fifteen years. To know his Lord had honoured his promise and tried to spare Lily’s life shocked him to his core. Severus had to alter his world view to fit this revelation. And not for the last time that night.

“Now here’s where things get really interesting,” Hadrian said as the memory seemed to change, moving to a different moment of that dreaded night.

The image of Sirius Black erupted from the wand, lifted Harry from his cot and out of the house containing his dead parents. Dumbledore and Hagrid were waiting for them and Hadrian’s audience gasped as the esteemed Headmaster cast a full body bind at the young Black heir. Draco and Lucius wore identical faces of disgust as Dumbledore ordered Hagrid to take baby Harry from Sirius and head to Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey. As the half-giant walked towards a large black motorcycle, a quiet ‘Imperio’ could be heard before Hadrian stopped the memory.

“Dumbledore’s actions now, I’m not entirely certain of but, taking advantage of a mind plagued by guilt and despair, he managed to get Sirius to hunt down the traitorous Marauder who sold out his friends and ignore his urge to look after his godson.” Hadrian’s face was murderous as he talked of the man he thought most responsible for his parents deaths.

“My godfather eventually caught up with Pettegrew and, in the chaos that followed, Pettegrew called out that Sirius betrayed the Potters before he managed to blow up the street, killing 12 muggles, cut off his own finger and escape to the sewers in his Animagus form. At this point Sirius had delved further into the Black family madness than he had ever been, and by the time the Aurors got there he was all but confessing to the Potter’s deaths. That was cause enough for the stupid ministry to throw him in Azkaban without a trial even before Dumbledore got involved.”

“They threw the heir to a Most Ancient and Noble House into Azkaban without a trial?” Draco suddenly asked. An incredulous look on his face, as if he couldn’t believe a Noble pure-blood could possibly be treated that badly.

Hadrian knew Draco would be the first to break the no talking rule and tried his best to keep the fond look off his face as his mate spoke. “You’d be surprised what the Ministry is capable of when left to their own devices Draco, they really are quite stupid not to think of the consequences of insulting the House of Black.” Hadrian’s smirk grew as he watched Draco suppress a shiver at the promise in the young Lord’s voice.

Hadrian drew another memory from his temple and a painfully boring looking muggle street appeared at the end of his wand. Hagrid, Dumbledore and Minerva McGonagall stood outside number four Privet Drive oblivious to the fact that baby Harry was wide awake.

They watched as McGonagall told Dumbledore that these were the worst kind of muggles she’d ever seen. As Dumbledore dismissed her comments with meaningless words about family and love and not letting fame get to the boy’s head. And as a sobbing Hagrid placed baby Harry on the doorstep with nothing but a blanket and a letter.

“I’m not sure what was in that letter.” Hadrian said as he paused the memory yet again. “I have my suspicions, of course. Something along the lines of ‘tell the boy nothing of his parents and make sure he is weak and malleable by the time his Hogwarts letter comes.’ But Petunia and Vernon Dursley were, of course, horrified that the freak baby of Petunia’s sister was dumped on their doorstep and vowed to make the child’s life as unpleasant as they could without actually dropping him off at an orphanage.”

Severus snorted at this, still apparently under the impression that Harry Potter was a spoilt, arrogant child who was loved and cared for in his home. Despite all that he’d already found out about Dumbledore’s deceit. An angry glare was sent his way from both Tom and, surprisingly to Severus, Barty as Hadrian said a quiet, “watch my life, Severus.”

The next series of memories made three of the Dark Lord’s most ruthless followers sick to their stomach. They may have condoned the torture of blood-traitors and muggles, people who deserved it, who had done the world and magic wrong. Never, had they seen this level of torture on a child who, for all that anyone knew, had done nothing more than possess the gift of magic in his blood.

They watched countless times as young Harry was thrown in the cupboard under the stairs, watched him cry silently in the dark, praying to escape his relatives. They watched as a large, fat, walrus-like man punched and kicked and whipped the young boy from as young as three years old. They saw a horse-faced woman order a four year old Harry to cook breakfast and refuse to give him a stool even after he burnt his hand on the cooker he was too short to see properly.

Barty turned away as the image of a bruised, five year old Harry was thrown outside in clothes barely small enough to stay on his tiny body, and told to give his horrid Aunt an award winning garden ‘or else’. He could not bare to watch the memory’s of his young Lord once again. He could never understand how Hadrian had survived his early childhood.

Lucius lost all composure as he watched a young Harry be beaten for levitating a toy in the presence of his Uncle. He remembered watching Draco perform accidental magic and the overwhelming pride he and Narcissa had felt at the proof their son was gifted by magic. It was a time of celebration in a young child’s life when they began manifesting magic and to be punished for such a thing was unheard of. How Dumbledore had left this poor child to such horrible muggles and no one questioned it astounded Lucius.

Draco felt an overwhelming sense of guilt as he watched a round, pig-like boy taunt Harry about his lack of parents. He remembered saying similar words to the boy in their early years at Hogwarts. Suddenly Harry’s refusal to his offer of friendship made a lot more sense to Draco and he wished he could go back in time and tell his younger self not to be such a prat. His guilt turned to horror as he watched a group of six large boys yell about ‘Harry Hunting’ before chasing after the tiny form of the young Potter who seemed so desperate to get away. Draco didn’t know how much more he could take as he watched one of the boys catch up to Harry, knocking him to the dirt, before all six of them began beating on the smaller boy, who didn’t make a sound.

Severus was frozen as he watched young Harry hand his first report card to his Uncle, a proud glint in his eyes at the ‘A’s he’d gained in all his areas of study. He dared not breathe as Vernon Dursley’s face turned an impressive shade of purple and Severus’ swore his heart stopped as the fat man exploded. He watched as Dursley dragged the young boy towards the cupboard under the stairs before throwing him against the wall. Yelling about the ‘ungrateful freak’ who dared get higher grades than his stupid son. He watched as the man removed his belt and whipped the boy in front of him until all he could see was red. Severus watched as a young Harry Potter was thrown into his cupboard, blood streaming from the lashes in his back, and told he would be staying there, with no food, for the week.

The memory faded and the room remained deathly quiet.

#fanfiction #my fanfiction #harry potter #draco malfoy #harry x draco #lord voldemort #severus snape #lucius malfoy #lord thanatos

[sybbelle]

To @magfreak Merry Christmas!! I hope you have a wonderful holiday and I hope this present fits all your requested 🎄🎁🎄🎁🎄

She was going to kill Edith when they finally got back to Downton.

Perhaps she’d kill Edith and burry the body in the backyard with the help of Thomas…or Mary. Either way, Sybil would make it look like an accident; and if she got caught she’d simply plead insanity because who wouldn’t go senile trapped within the four walls of an old run down hotel that the owners had the gall to label as ‘rustic chic’ thanks to the New York blizzard that meant they were now snowed in…. trapped in the misery of an American Christmas. Sybil’s stomach rumbled at the mere thought of Mrs Patmore’s Christmas pudding she was missing out on or the melt in your mouth shortbread cookies cut out in the shape of Christmas trees and Santa Clauses. Even Granny went wild around this time of year and endeavoured to bake her infamous Yorkshire pudding, showing a very rare domestic side to the Dowager Countess that always put a smile on her father’s face.  

But was Sybil enjoying the yuletide festivities of Downton; she could just picture it now. Her mother would be in a heated debate with Mrs Hughes over where the best place was for the exuberant Christmas tree; only to end up in the same place it always did, in the saloon for every guest to enjoy. Once that was ticked off her list, Mrs Hughes would be running around like mad trying to arrange the decorations that would adorn the rest of the estate; while Carson stomped around Downton like the Grinch who would steal Christmas if only she’d let him.

“Are you still moping?” Edith sighed, cautiously sliding onto the old barstool beside her little sister before waving the bartender over. Her Grandmother’s lessons in poise and propriety never left forgotten, she kindly asked for a glass of sparking wine; because women should never be seen drinking ‘the hard stuff’ as Granny would put it. But then Sybil was never much for rules and decorum if the amber liquid she continued to swirl inside the tumbler glass was any indication. Granny was certain that Sybil was determined to send her completely mad or completely grey before she died.

Slumped over the bar with her head in her hand Sybil scorned at Edith, “my mouth is watering just thinking about the smell of the kitchen back home right now, the smell of Mrs Patmore’s mince pies baking away in the oven while she chases Daisy around with a wooden spoon because the poor girl’s mixed up the measurements for the ginger bread house yet AGAIN.”

Sybil choose to ignore the snort she heard down the other end of the deserted bar; she really couldn’t care less about the opinion of a stranger she was never to cross paths with again…let alone a stranger who willing chose to stay in a place like this. The walls were cracked and the paint was peeling from a lack of attention over the years, while there was a distinct odour that carried throughout all the hallways but Sybil wasn’t game enough to ask anyone what it was. The bed was harder than a slab of concrete and there was a kink in her neck after a night’s sleep that she couldn’t get rid of; the thought of that bed taunting her above only reminded her of her own bed back home.

Damn Edith and damn this snow storm. They were only meant to be in New York for four days; a ‘girl’s weekend’ as Edith had put it when she asked Sybil to accompany her on her trip to visit her editor of the New York Times. They were meant to be on a plane and halfway across the Atlantic Ocean by now, but Sybil should’ve known better considering it’s well known amongst the family that Edith is a notoriously bad planner. She didn’t think there would be much harm in catching up with Sir Herbert Pelham for a quick drink down in Soho in the middle of winter two days before Christmas despite having to be at JFK Airport by 3pm…because who never heard about New York traffic. Sybil couldn’t help but roll her eyes yet again at her sister’s stupidity. They were never going to make it to the airport in time thanks to Edith’s ‘quick drink’ turning into a ‘late lunch’.

Maybe she should’ve just caught that cab to the airport without her sister Sybil thought to herself as she twirled her empty tumbler around the wooden bar top. But then how would she have explained that to her mother and father when she pulled up to the driveway by herself? How would she explain to them both that she was forced to abandon her sister in the great big concrete jungle of New York City because her sister had seriously underestimated traffic in order to meet a boy?

Taking a dainty sip of her flute glass Edith gently placed the glass down before running her fingernails over the cracked crevices of the old weathered bar. “I get it ok. You’re terribly angry at me, and you have every right to be. We’re stuck in the ‘Americas’ as Great Uncle Edward refers to it rather than being home for Christmas; and it doesn’t matter how much money one has it’ll never be enough to buy mother nature or sold out hotel rooms. Who knew that all the quality hotels would be booked solid on Christmas Eve” Edith laughed awkwardly, hoping that a bit of self-deprecating humour might score brownie points with Sybil.

“Geez who would’ve thought it” Sybil snorted with contempt, she couldn’t help it. She knew she was being childish; but Sybil wanted to cross her harms and stomp her feet as she cursed every man and his dog for being snowed in for Christmas. Sybil was one hairsbreadth away from a full blown tantrum. All she needed was for one more thing to go wrong, and Sybil knew without a doubt she’d be on the floor kicking and screaming like George did last Christmas when Mary refused to let him have another Christmas cookie; which she felt was completely justified on her nephew’s part…they were incredibly delicious cookies damn it.

Running her finger up and down the glass Edith looked like a fish out of water, opening and closing her mouth as she struggled to find the right words that wouldn’t result in her head getting bitten off. “I have an idea…” she hesitated.

“Oh splendid, and will this ‘brilliant’ idea have us stuck here for New Years Eve too” Sybil snapped, instantly regretting her acidic tone. She knew that her sister was only trying to make the best of a bad situation, but considering the year she’d had Sybil had really been looking forward to being home for Christmas. Who knew that one seemingly innocent trip would send her into d downward spiral.

“I don’t know how many times I have to say I’m sorry Sybil” Edith snipped as she slid off her chair, placing a $10 bill under the glass. “Edith Crawley screws up once again; surprise, surprise!” she cried derisively as she threw hands up in the air, scurrying towards the entrance hall in an eager quest to escape.

Sybil watched her sister storm out of the hotel into the freezing cold with nothing but a sheer cardigan to keep her warm. She knew she’d have to run after her soon with a coat and scarf as a peace offering, but the mocking snort she heard coming once again from the other end of the bar caught her attention. The man sitting at the end of the bar was a striking man grinning at her like he was short of a quid or two; yet there was something striking about the glint in his eyes. He quickly downed the rest of his drink before ordering two more from the bartender; pointing his finger at Sybil before making his way towards her. Sybil was subconsciously captivated by an obvious charm that he no doubt had, but there was something about the way he walked that suggested he wasn’t all too aware of just how attractive he was. And in Sybil’s eyes that made him even far more dangerous than the Larry Grey’s of the world.

“Seems like someone isn’t having a good run of it today” he observed with a brogue Irish accent that had Sybil biting down on her lip in a futile attempt to stop herself from groaning out loud. Sybil Crawley had always been a sucker for an Irish accent; there was something lyrical about a way a man could talk despite Mary’s jesting that it was more to do with the attraction of ‘slumming it’ with the lower class that Sybil knew would press her father and Granny’s buttons.

She took a deep breath as the bartender slid another glass of scotch towards Sybil; downing the amber liquid in a single gulp. She was about as undignified and unrefined as she could get right now; and if her grandmother could only see for herself. Sybil scoffed at the thought; Granny detested the fact that Robert and Sybil would always share a glass of single malt scotch after dinner while the other ladies insisted on a glass of sherry or a cup of tea. Granny always felt the need to point out to Sybil that men of wealth and stature were in want of a wife with propriety. As far as Sybil was concerned those men could go and stick their propriety up where the sun doesn’t shine.

“Look I’m really not in the mood at the moment, so if you don’t mind please leave me alone” said Sybil tersely; hoping that her prickly personality would send the poor sod running in the opposite direction.

“Fair enough” he held his hands up in surrender. “I couldn’t help over hearing your conversation and I was just going to say…”

Sybil slammed her glass down onto the bar, essentially cutting the cute Irishman off. “You were what huh? You were going to tell me how sorry you are to hear that I’m stranded on the other side of the world from my family at Christmas; then what? Then you’d try and offer to buy me another drink, console me in my hour in need. But here’s the thing, I’m not like the rest of your lot here. I didn’t choose to slum it in this dingy old hotel on Christmas Eve because I had nothing better to do.”

His nostrils flared at her unexpected outburst, his jaw clenching as he griped the glass tumbler tighter then was necessary. Damn it why does he have look so good pissed off? Sybil thought to herself, and like a balloon being popped she felt all the hot air deflate out of her.  

Rising from his chair the poor bloke bowed before her, swiping his hand across the room. “Well my Lady I’m terrible sorry, it was my mistake for thinking that the Brits had moved on from their Imperialistic notions of aristocracy; but it would seem that some of you have yet to join the rest of us in the twenty first century” he seethed before storming off towards the exit.

Sybil was stunned by his retort, rendered speechless by his emboldened and impassioned speech that reminded her of a man who was no stranger to assumptions and stereotypes; but before she could call out some fleeting apology the man turned on his heels and marched back towards her.

“And for the record, although it isn’t any of your business, I should be half way back to Ireland by now. Instead I’m stuck here talking to a seemingly innocent woman who is in fact nothing more than a snob who sees herself as being above everyone else.” His chest heaving as he struggled to catch a breath; Sybil cursed her own mind because she couldn’t help but wonder what other activities would get him as breathless.

Behave woman! Get control of yourself! And since when are you your grandmother? You’re the one always preaching about equality and acceptance to the Dowager, so why the hell are you being a right royal cow?

“I’m sorry” the words got caught in her throat as she tentatively reached out to take hold of the man’s bare wrist; choosing to ignore the spark she felt tingling down her spine at the mere touch. “I was a complete cow and it was uncalled for, I’m just…I’m just not coping very well. I’m not trying to make excuses, but it’s been a really crappy year so I was hoping Christmas would help. But I guess that was my mistake, I shouldn’t be so surprised that a crappy year ends with a crappy Christmas.”

His shoulders slumped and Sybil’s mouth quivered a little, offering a brief smile at the handsome stranger as she held her hand out; “I’m Sybil Crawley” she introduced herself.

Taking her hand into his he couldn’t help but notice how smooth and soft her porcelain skin was; or the way her eyes shone with relief at his forgiveness. “Branson. Tom Branson.”

Gesturing towards the empty seat beside her Sybil order another round of drinks and asked if there was any chance that the kitchen was still open. She couldn’t help but groan in relief at the news that the chef was closing up for the night, but he could still fry off some chilli cheese fries if she wanted.

An awkward silence sat heavily between the two strangers; Sybil was at a loss for words and that was more disconcerting to her than anything else because she always knew what to say. But there was something about Tom, something that threw her off and rendered her speechless or completely defenceless. Either way, it was a feeling she wasn’t used to.

“So what brings you to this neck of the woods?” she tried to joke, but it fell flat based on the stoic look on his face. She laughed awkwardly to try and break some of the tension only it came out more as a gurgled snort.

Tom took pity on the beautiful Brit and smiled apologetically; “I’m here on business. I was supposed to fly home for Christmas, but alas mother nature decided that it was not to be.”

Nodding her head in sympathy Sybil took a sip of her drink to try and clear the sudden frog in her throat. “What is it that you do for work exactly?” she asked with genuine curiosity. Sybil prided herself on being able to read people well; to understand what made them tick, but with Tom she was self-conscious around him.

Tom couldn’t help by smirk at the seemingly innocent question, “what is it you think I do?”

Sybil couldn’t help it; a burst of laughter erupted from within as she threw her head back and laughed. “There is no way I can answer that question without offending you in some way” she giggled, “or be accused of being a British Imperialist who is intent on continuing to subjugate the Irish” she teased with mirth in her eyes.

Shaking his head with a smirk Tom couldn’t get over the amazing sound of her laugh, the lyrical music that just made him want to break out in a Cheshire grin. “I promise there will be no more accusations” he crossed his heart then offered his pinkie to her in a rather juvenile attempt to lighten the mood.

She side eyed him for a second before taking him up on his offer, pinkie swearing as though they were eight year olds out on the school playground; promising not to dob on one another when they finally got caught.

“Well let’s see…” Sybil hummed as she drummed against the bench top. “You seem to have an understanding of the political and social history between England and Ireland, which means you’ve either undergone tertiary education on the subject or you like a bit of light reading on the subject matter.”

“Fancy yourself a bit of a detective Ms Holmes” Tom teased, winking at her blush that was quickly creeping down her neck. “Does that make me your Watson?”

Nearly choking on her drink Sybil spluttered across the bar, this man was well versed in literary and political subjects. Definitely an educated man. “If I remember correctly Watson tolerated Holmes’ eccentricities…”

Quirking an eyebrow at Sybil, Tom nodded his head in agreement; “well it’s only fair. There are some people in the world who just can’t see beyond the end of their own nose.”

It was as though they were caught up in a staring competition, waiting to see who would crack first; only to end up calling a truce in which they both laughed manically at their own stupidity.

“Ok I clearly suck at this. So I give up…what is that you do?” Sybil asked, pinching one of the scolding fries that was placed before them only a minutes ago.

Tugging on his royal blue suit jacket and straightening his shoulders Tom smiled with pride; “university lecturer…Professor of Modern Political thought; I deal mostly with political theorists like Marx, Foucault, Habermas.”

Dipping her fries in extra sauce Sybil chewed on that information for a minute or two. It seemed that Tom was a mystery wrapped up in what would appear to be Ralph Lauren. “So do you have the tweed jacket and Clark Kent glasses to go with the title?” she asked jokingly, yet the sexy smirk Tom shot at her sent warning bells off.

“Well now that you ask?” he drawled, reaching into his suit pocket only to pull a pair think black rimmed reading glasses.

Sybil scoffed, shaking her head in disbelief as he put them on. Damn it the man needed to come with a warning label. She wasn’t one to drool over a man, let alone become tongue tied. But there was something about him…something that made her heart speed up and her palms sweat. “Seriously? This is a joke right…something that you and my sister Edith cooked up together?”

Reaching out for a fry of his own Sybil couldn’t help herself, playfully smacking his hand away. “Get your own mister. I don’t share food.” She teased, popping another fry into her mouth a smug smile.

“So that’s how it’s going to be” Tom laughed, shaking his head. “You really are something Lady Crawley.”

Sybil could feel her cheeks warming as she bowed her head, a compliment from Tom felt like the most precious thing in the world. Pushing the plate towards him as a gesture of good will Sybil rested her chin in her hand; sighing gently at how a crappy day suddenly turned into a pretty good night.

“And what is that you do for a living?” Tom chomped away at the fries, “besides handing out insults for free.”

Twirling a piece of hair around her finger Sybil gnawed at her lip, a sudden urge to kiss the complete stranger had taken over. “I’m a paediatric nurse back home in London; but I’ve just sat my BMAT test, so I should be getting my results in February. If all goes well then I can begin medical school.”

“Wow” Tom whistled, he was thoroughly impressed. “Brains and beauty; you really are an incredible woman” he raved without even thinking. His ears burning bright red from embarrassment once he realised what he’d said.

“So Ireland. What’s it like growing up in the rolling hills?” She asked, trying to play down the comment.

“There aren’t much hills in Dublin” Tom answered as his phone vibrated in his pocket. Pulling the iPhone out of his pocket he couldn’t help but smile at the photo of Santa’s little helper; aka Gwen and John’s little girl Adeline.

“Something funny?” asked Sybil, gnawing at another chip to help try and distract herself from the sudden surge of jealousy coursing through her.

“My friend, Gwen, we’ve been best friends since we were little. She just sent me this photo of her little girl Adeline” Tom explained, turning his phone towards Sybil.

She couldn’t help but awe at the beautiful little baby with deep blue eyes and bright red hair; sitting on Santa’s lap with a candy cane in her mouth, wearing a little elf outfit. “She’s adorable” Sybil replied, staring longingly at the photo. She knew if her plans for medical school went through it would be years before she could even think about settling down, let alone think about having a baby. But she wasn’t so stubborn that she couldn’t admit there was a small ache at the way George lit up whenever Mary walked into a room; or the way he runs towards Matthew as fast as his little legs would take him.

“She’s absolutely adorable” Sybil sighed, reaching out towards the device to get a better look.

“Do you come from a big family?” Tom asked with fascination, he wanted to know everything he could possibly know about her.

“Depends on what you consider big. I have two older sisters; Mary and Edith. Mary is married to a barrister, Matthew and they have a three-year-old son George. There’s my Grandmother Violet, who is the Dowager Countess…”

“A bloody dowager?” Tom interrupts aghast, “you Brits and your titles. So that would make your father…” he drawled, waiting for Sybil to fill in the blank.

“My father is the Earl of Grantham, or Lord Grantham, and my mother is the Countess” explained in a matter of fact. The titles were always bells and whistles to Sybil, they never really held much importance to her despite her grandmother’s frustration with her devil may come attitude to their family title.

“Geez Louise, and here’s little old me proud as punch with my title of Professor” Tom scoffed tugging away at his shirt collar; has the room gotten hot all of a sudden?  

Tentatively reaching across the bar Sybil took hold of Tom’s hand with a gentle squeeze; a silent gesture of comfort. “I’ve always much preferred Professors to Lords and Earls” Sybil whispered softly as if this was a secret that must be kept between the two of them.

Before Sybil even had a chance to pull away Tom threaded their fingers together; holding on tightly as he leant across the bar. “Well I guess it’s a good thing that you go for nerdy chic instead of sexy rich” he whispered softly, his hot breath caressing her cheek.

Sybil’s could hear the blood rushing in her ears, feel her heart pounding in her chest. “I’ve always thought of your kind more as the sexy nerds.”

Pulling on Sybil’s hand he couldn’t help but notice a bit of chilli sauce right on the corner of her mouth; and something embolden took over. Tom has never been this forward with a woman before as he leant across and kissed her.

Sybil had always been that girl who rolled her eyes at every rom-com or chick-flick, never really buying into the sappy love scenes. But in that brief moment it felt as if time had come to a complete stop; that they were the only two people in the whole room and nothing could have ruined the perfect moment. He certainly knew how to kiss, and Sybil was only to eager to figure out what other talents lay beneath the surface.

“You had a bit of sauce right there” Tom whispered pointing to the corner of her mouth. He couldn’t help but chuckle at the stunned look on her face, he hadn’t set out to kiss her…at least not from the get go. But by the end, Tom knew he had to take a chance because he may very well never get to see this beautiful creature sitting beside him ever again.

The soft rhythm of a jazz rendition of “Dreaming of a White Christmas” echoed throughout the bar, comforting the few hotel guests who refuse to return to their lonely and cold hotel rooms. But sitting beside Tom she felt anything but cold and lonely; instead she felt warm and excited…adrenaline buzzing through her veins.

“Well I guess it’s a very Merry Christmas for the both of us” Sybil retorted, yanking on Tom’s shirt as their mouths clashed together; duelling against one another in heated game of cat and mouse. Neither them could have cared less who took the lead, or who called the shots; because at the end of the day they knew that they both won. Only this was a Christmas gift with a no refund policy, terms and conditions which they were both very happy to bare the cost of.

#sybil x tom #sybil crawley #tom branson

[maryomac-blog]

Introducing Miss Mary Mac

hey isn’t that MARY MACDONALD over there? yeah that is HER, standing there with those other GRYFFINDORS. i’m pretty sure they’re in SIXTH year and i think i heard sybill saying they look like DANIELLE CAMPBELL… whoever that is! when she looks into her crystal ball she see’s that they’re the SACCHARINE. anyway i’ve heard they’re pretty COMPASSIONATE and ALTRUISTIC but kinda ANXIOUS and INSECURE too, apparently they’re a MUGGLE-BORN but i’m sure that’s not related.

b a c k s t o r y

Mary was an accident child, born 13 years younger than her older brother and sixteen years after her older sister. That didn’t make her any less loved. Infact, she was spoiled by both her siblings and parents, who all adored sweet Mary. Her mother, Irina MacDonald, was a primary school teacher and her father, Harold MacDonald, a farmer. They lived a modest but comfortable life.

Her parents, both muggles, were proud to discover their daughter was a witch. However, she was not the first magical person in their family. Magnus MacDonald, Mary’s uncle on her dad’s side, was too a muggle-born. He took great joy in introducing his niece to the wonders of the magical world. On their first trip into Diagon Alley, he bought Mary a cute white kitten. She named her Sabrina.

Life at Hogwarts was an adjustment to say the least, but a wonderous one. Mary’s been able to surround herself with good friends, and has mainly ignored everyone who looks down on her because of her muggle-born heritage. It gets tiring to constantly hear that she doesn’t belong, and at times she finds herself doubting her place in this fantastical world. When this happens, her friends are there to give her a swift kick in the butt and turn that attitude right around.

Yes, there was that incident with Mulciber and dark magic last year. Yes, she was excused out of her OWLs and left Hogwarts a week early. Yes, Mary would like everyone to stop talking about it - thank you very much.

r a n d o m    a b o u t s

You won’t find a kinder soul than in Mary. Kill them with kindness was her grandmother’s motto, and she lives by this. That’s not to say that she’s never had a mean thought in her life, she just holds them back, smiles sweetly and continues on her way.

More often than not, she’s helping someone find a lost item, offering a listening ear to friends, wrangling first years with the prefects, anything she can do to assist. She’s always concerned with the wellbeing of others, and goes out of her way to avoid hurting others. Maybe others see her as a pushover, but she’s actually quite strong willed - she wont do anything she doesn’t want to. It just happens that she usually wants to help.

Bottling things up is Mary’s expertise. Sadness, anger, jealousy, she does her best to keep it all buried deep inside her. Only those closest to her has seen the bottle shatter and been on the receiving end of when it all comes out, though it hasn’t happened often. The more that bottles, the more anxious she gets. Jumping at sounds, worrying about antics her friends get into, stressing about school work, it all gets worse with the amount of things she’s holding in.

She’s arrived at the castle this year with more nervous ticks than she had last year, dark bags under her eyes and a new love for coffee. Once an early riser, it’s not uncommon to find her up late and sleeping in late… if she sleeps at all. Nightmares are a regular occurrence, and she’s nervous about being back in the dorms where her friends might notice.

Mary has always felt like she had to prove her place in this school - and the most obvious way is in excelling in her school work. Though she doesn’t spend 24/7 with her nose in a textbook, she’s always worked hard to keep her grades up. Herbology has been a subject that just came naturally to her, though she’s had to seek extra help in DADA outside of the classroom

Mary’s romantic life is practically non-existent. Secretly she dated Milo McKinnon (her best friend's brother), but they broke up over the summer and she's heartbroken. Though she's one to have crushed on boys a lot in the past, she's probably not looking at anyone too closely right now with the state her heart is in. (Though the mun, Rexie, would love someone to plot and help heal her heart lmao).

Drinking and partying is something Mary only does when her best friends Marlene McKinnon or Lily Evans are involved in. She’s no stranger to being drunk though, and has gotten into a fair bit of mischief with her friends because of it.

w a n t e d     c o n n e c t i o n s

friends! friends! all the friends.

an anxiety buddy! someone who sees when her anxiety is building or notices her when her nervous ticks are increasing and tries to help calm her down. tea buddy, gobblestones opponent, etc

exfriends? if you’re character is a pureblood, maybe they were friends before the pureblood propaganda got to them, and mary really misses their friendship?

enemies - blood status qualms, maybe someone’s mad at her for getting mulciber in trouble, maybe someone thinks she’s too sweet and thinks she’s fake, maybe she doesn’t like you because you pissed off one of her friends, or misconception enemies those are good.

someone gimme a mulciber to plot with. maybe mary got him temporarily expelled (that could explain his absence thus far and make him really hate her lmao)

exes - either on good terms, bad terms, aWKWARD terms (please gimme the awkward). she secretly dated someone in the later half of her fifth year, but other than that she’s open

current love interests! honestly, give me all the drama with this, but also mary’s heart is B R O K E N over milo, so she needs some healing touch for that.

she needs a dada tutor

she’ll help anyone with their herbology in return (or not in return)

AND MORE! (seriously, hit me up with any and all ideas)

#everyone's doing this so i thought i would too #petrificus.intro

[tk-duveraun]

Title: Resilience 3/? Fandom: Star Wars: The Old Republic Rating: T Genre: Drama Warnings: Unsettling imagery Summary: It doesn’t have to end like this. Rathi might be dying, but that might just be what Fox needs to live on.

AU + POV Swap of Morning Comes Notes:  @quizzikemen Click here for mood. Parts: One Two 

Rain pours out of the sky over Olkin II, as if the world itself is mourning Fox. Certainly all of the residents are. They were told that his fate is uncertain, but they still speak in hushed tones and walk around with thin lips and wet eyes. Twenty people have approached Rathi with hesitant steps and lowered gazes. He wishes they wouldn’t.

He wishes a lot of things as he stands in Fox’s place in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows in their flat. All of the fingers on his right hand are touching the glass and Rathi just stares out at nothing. Peace doesn’t come to him, the way it did to Fox, but standing there makes Rathi feel closer to him. He can understand how it helped, even if the view gives him nothing.

“Arimo,” Oct says from behind him.

Rathi turns his head, but not enough to see the Sith. “Aucht.”

“I have a plan,” Oct says as he walks over to stand beside Rathi. Under normal circumstances, the Sith would have layers of illusions in place to make himself seem taller and more imposing, but either out of grief or respect, Oct appears as his normal, short self.

“By all accounts, you have a lot of plans.” Rathi pauses and sighs. “Nevermind. What plan?”

“If he’s still in there, as soon as he’s conscious, his neck is back under Sybil’s blade. His blood calls to her; Force quarantine isn’t enough.”

Rathi pulls away from the window and nods at Oct. If Force quarantine was enough, Fox could have just hidden forever. “He wouldn’t agree to sacrifices before. I can’t imagine anything’s changed.”

“You nearly died.”

“Let’s not kid ourselves.”

A ghost of a smile crosses Oct’s face before his scowl returns. “Yes, I agree. He once told me about an amulet that could contain Force energy for later use. I researched it after the body was put in the tank here. It seems they used to be quite popular. They can somewhat mitigate the corruption effects.”

Rain continues to pound on the window as Rathi considers this. “His problem was morals, not corruption, not really. So I can only assume that this amulet will work if you do the killings.”

“There are some slaving operations I’ve been meaning to dismantle.”

Rathi lifts an eyebrow. “Then what do you need me for?”

“The ritual. The circle in the manor is gone. The entire lab is gone. He sapped the Force out of the ancient wards and the very foundations. She’ll feel him the moment he comes back to himself, we can’t waste time bullying him into creating the circle.”

With a frown, Rathi turns back to the window. “I understand. You have my consent. Take it from my memories.”

“I can’t. The protections he put on your mind are sustained by your own Life Force. “

“And breaking them would kill me. Of course.” Rathi rubs his temples. “But I’m not Afflicted. I can’t make it.”

“You can draw it well-enough. I’ll do the initial enchantments and we’ll just have to trust he can fix any mistakes in time.”

Rathi smiles, just the smallest hint of amusement on his face. “I could barely trust him to get up in the morning.”

---

The circle is drawn only in green chalk and completely lifeless. It takes up most of the floor in the quarantine room. Rathi draws it in the glow from the kolto tank with Fox’s body. It’s a terrible, macabre thing, especially since Rathi dimmed the overhead lights, but he doesn’t particularly care what anyone else thinks of what he’s doing.

The ritual can’t be done anywhere else, according to Oct. Since Fox would have to act on his own blood, doing it inside the quarantine room is safer. He doesn’t look up when Tava walks in.

“Well it certainly looks… Sinister enough,” Tava says. He’s standing near the far end of the circle and rubbing the back of his neck.

“It should. We got it from a spirit of one of his ancient ancestors that was a rather evil ghost.” Rathi leans back on his haunches and shuffles to the side to look at the circle from a different angle. He’s nearly done, at least with as much as he remembers. Fox may well have made modifications during the six days he was gone.

“If he’s… Not in there, will you be okay?”

“No.”

“Will you be… worse?”

“Tava, I’m doing this for something to do. Fox is dead. He worked himself to the bone and ripped those out to prop me up. He had nothing left and gave it to me anyway. He’d best not be in there because if he is, I’ll kill him myself.”

Tava chuckles, though it’s strained and echoes oddly in the room. “I hope he is in there. He makes you so happy.”

“He’s suitable,” Rathi says. His cheeks hurt from the first real smile after so long, so he doesn’t let it last.

“What will you do if… not?”

“Retire, like as not. I’ve no real interest in the Ascendancy anymore.”

“We all know about you and Lord Fox. Anyone will hire you, if it comes to that,” Tava says. “It’d be nice to have you around more. The Armandes are great, but no one could replace you.”

Rathi sighs and rubs his temples. He can feel the chalk he’s just smeared on his face, but he doesn’t mind enough to wipe it off. “I suppose that’s what he was thinking.”

Tava sits on a chair near the kolto tank, but pointedly doesn’t look at it. He watches Rathi with some interest for ten minutes before leaning forward. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“I haven’t eaten in a few hours. You could bring me some food, spare me the lecture from Mardh.”

---

The amulet is a sinister, acid-green crystal bound in a cage of gold wire. Rathi lowers his arms into the kolto and carefully secures it around the neck. His breath shudders in his chest when he pulls his arms back. He snatches up a towel and wipes his arms off even as he watches the kolto levels drop.

Oct is the only other witness. Mardh is too important to lose in the event of a catastrophic failure of the plan. Oct is done up in full Sith regalia with dangling jewellery, flowing robes, a bone-white mask and enough illusions to fill every circus on Dromund Kaas.

They stand shoulder to shoulder, neither flinching when Fox’s body hits the side of the tank with a loud thunk when the kolto level drops low enough that he’s no longer suspended. They say nothing as the amulet comes to life and engulfs the body in a sickly green aura. Rathi’s nostrils flare when one pale hand comes up and slams into the glass. The eyes open and the irises are visibly orange, even with the green light.

“What have you done?” Faximil says with a thousand voices.

“Saved your ungrateful hide,” Oct says.

“Repaid the favor,” Rathi says. His emotions are held solidly frozen. Anything can happen. There’s no guarantee that Faximil will live more than a moment, that Sybil won’t be ready with her own ritual, that this ritual will even work.

Without further words, Rathi and Oct separate, leaving the ritual circle in Faximil’s sight.

Faximil’s lip curls and a hungry expression consumes his face. He makes a fist and the tank’s glass shatters into tiny shards that cascade across the quarantine room. Though he’s only wearing a thin pair of hospital pants, Faximil stalks out of the ruined tank like the perfect predator. He lifts his hand and the ritual circle flares to life in a brilliant flash of red light that clashes with the green glow from the amulet. When he reaches the edge of the circle, he holds his left palm out to Rathi.

“It’s time.”

Rathi sets the Faximil’s lightsaber in his palm, but the Sith tosses it aside and grabs Rathi’s wrist. Faximil turns the full power of his orange gaze on Rathi and there’s compulsion in his voice when he speaks. “You’re helping.”

Without fear, Rathi says, “As if you could stop me.”

Faximil grins then, a horrible expression of madness that’s all teeth and blown-out pupils. “I chose well with you.”

“I found you, Sith,” Rathi says, half to keep his mind off the way the crystals in his chest are suddenly burning with piercing red light that shows through his uniform.

“Did you?” Faximil doesn’t seem to expect an answer because he turns back to the circle and raises his empty right hand. He chants then, some combination of Ancient Sith and a rumbling, guttural language that shouldn’t be possible from human lips. The skin on the palm of Faximil’s hand splits open and the blood that explodes out seems to catch fire in the air.

Rathi closes his eyes and lets the power wash through him.

#resilience fic #morning comes au #swtor fic #fox #fox au #fox & rathi

[aredhel85]

Blood and Tears

If you want to read this on Archive of our own, please follow this link:  https://archiveofourown.org/works/23368564

I apologise for the long foreword. Feel free to skip it if you’re not interested, it just says why I wrote this story in the first place. Just heed the spoiler warning for “Blood and Gold” and “The Vampire Armand”. If you haven’t read those books yet and still want to read the story, the foreword might be helpful for understanding what’s going on.

I’m currently rereading the Vampire Chronicles which I loved so much for years as a teen and in my early twenties! And guess what? I still love these books. However, knowing what is to come in “Blood and Gold”, which made me so mad that I fell out of love with the series for over ten years, I decided to write a fix-it before I even get there.

To understand why I badly need a fix-it, I’ll have to rant a little. I didn’t read any further than “Blood and Gold” over ten years ago when I first read the Chronicles and want to reread all books before starting the newer ones, so if Anne herself tackled the topic in any way, I wouldn’t know. Somehow I don’t believe it.

My problem with “Blood and Gold” was that it ruined Marius for me, at least partly.

The way he acted all vengeful, didn’t accept Maharet’s decision to let Santino live … it just seemed so out of character for him, and he didn’t even have the guts to do it himself, he let Thorne do it, obviously with his approval, though. Armand just stood by as Thorne killed Santino, looking “confused” or “puzzled” or something like that, which is not just a non-existing reaction to Santino’s death (remember, Santino was an important figure in his life, not really in a positive way, but you expect a little more than confusion in this situation, especially coming from someone who’s about 500 years old), it was also a non-existing reaction to Marius’s story, and sorry Anne, lazy writing. Anyway, that didn’t bother me the most. It bothered me a lot, but there was worse long before that.

Just an example: When Marius told his story, he found out that Armand was alive and had joined the coven. He basically blamed him for it (yeah, how dare he trying to survive) and claimed due to him being his maker, Armand would be capable of freeing himself. Right. For what reason, though? Armand was still very young and Marius had been his whole world and he thought him dead. He saw him burn, which must have been so traumatic. You need a motivation to fight. Why would he fight to leave the coven if there was nothing for him out there? That in combination with Marius telling Lestat that making Armand was his greatest crime against their kind because of his youth in “The Vampire Lestat” really pissed me off. And there was no reaction at all to Armand’s book “The Vampire Armand”. Wouldn’t Marius have read it? In “Blood and Gold” Marius acts like Armand didn’t care about him or at least doesn’t anymore, but Armand dedicated about (or more than?) half of his own book covering 500 years to his few years with Marius. And don’t even get me started about the fact that he still thinks he knows what’s best for him, although he deserted him, let him down, forced him to be on his own in a terrible situation after claiming everlasting love to him. He doesn’t respect Armand’s wish for Sybil and Benji to remain mortal, he just makes them vampires, thinking he knows what’s best for Armand, although at this point he had proven many times that he didn’t give a f*** about his well-being. In “The Vampire Lestat” he even said he didn’t think Armand would make it after the coven was destroyed. Still no intention of at least revealing himself to him. You know what you can do with your everlasting love if this is how you show it?

So, rant over, I’m sorry, not about the content, but a little about the language ;) I guess it says something about how much I loved this series and the pairing of Marius and Armand in particular when this part still makes me so angry, and it’s actually rare for me to remember so many details of books I last read a decade ago, so I’m not hating on the series, honestly. Everyone should read it, it’s great. But I still think Armand was treated unfairly and Marius’s character was at least partly ruined.

So, what I did was writing an epilogue to “Blood and Gold”. Please keep in mind that English is not my first language, I apologise for any mistakes!

The story is written from Armand’s POV.

I hope you like it!  

  ------------

Blood and Tears

------------

Everyone else was finally gone. Everyone but me.

Marius didn’t know about that yet. There were some advantages about maker and fledgling not being able to feel each other or read each other’s thoughts after all.

I stood on the balcony, looking inside, seeing him sitting on the sofa, a contemplative look on his face. He was beautiful in the dim artificial light from the ceiling lamp. As beautiful as he had been in Venice. Back then, looking at him had made me happy, now it just broke my heart.

Part of me wanted to go in, talk to him, tell him how he had hurt me, over and over again, and part of me wanted to run and never see him again, part of me wanted to go back in time and feel his arms around me. No … to my own surprise, that last part was silent for the first time in five centuries. Maybe it was dead, finally gone for good.

Still, I remained perfectly silent, just looking at him, trying to come to terms with what had happened tonight, what I had heard. Why Maharet had called out to me to bear witness, I did not know.  It had been so hard to remain stoic while secretly listening to Marius telling his story Thorne together with the others, not revealing my pain to them, my maker’s words cutting into my soul like a thousand knives.

Watching Santino die in such a horrible way then, was also not something that gave me pleasure. We hadn’t been friends, but we had been at peace. I had always known that Santino had only done what had been expected of him as the coven leader, as I had done many times myself. It had taken me a while not to hate him, but hatred had eventually ceased. It had greatly disturbed me to see him go like this and I even felt slightly guilty for not speaking up for him. But it had all happened so fast. Pandora probably felt that way, too. After all, she had travelled with Santino for a while.

But that was over. It was too late to change anything. Just like it was too late to unhear what I had heard.

Marius hadn’t moved, neither had I, but now I spoke up, my voice soft, but knowing fully well that he would be able to understand every word. “Are you happy now?”

Slightly startled, Marius looked up, his blue eyes finding me immediately.

After one more moment of silence he finally addressed me, despite not answering my question. His voice, too, was quiet. “I thought you left with the others. Why don’t you come inside?” He forced a smile. It was so very different from the way he had smiled at me in Venice that I couldn’t answer immediately. It was not too late to act as if everything was fine, exchange a few polite words, and leave. But that was not why I was here, was it?

“I was hesitant to remind you of your greatest mistake, the greatest crime against our kind.” A quote from Lestat’s autobiography.

I hadn’t expected my voice to remain so calm, almost cold, my face to remain expressionless, and I had certainly not expected Marius to be the one to flinch slightly. Such a human reaction, but Marius had always acted so much like a human.

“Amadeo, I …”

“Don’t call me that,” I cut him off. “Amadeo died long ago. He died when he lay awake in his coffin until the rising sun forced him to sleep, thinking of you, grieving for you. He died with every nightmare of you burning.” My voice trembled with anger, but remained quiet, and I hated myself for feeling my eyes sting with blood tears. I forced them back. Damn you, Marius, for still making me feel like the abandoned child I used to be.

Marius was obviously taken aback. Never, not even in my own book, had I revealed how much I was hurt by him not at least revealing himself to me, letting me know he was alive. Why did it have to be Lestat to tell me that? Throwing it at me in anger, together with what my maker had said?

Slowly I entered the room now, not taking my eyes off Marius, who was staring at me. I was not afraid, still I did not believe that he would physically harm me, despite what had happened with Santino tonight. And if he had tried to harm me … well, maybe it was worth it.

But he did not move.

I sat down in an armchair, facing him. “Are you disappointed?”

“In what?”

“In me. No, I know you’re disappointed in me. I mean in the fact that I survived against your prediction. You told Lestat that you thought I would go into the fire or the sun sooner or later after the coven was destroyed. Are you disappointed I didn’t do it?”

“What? Of course not.”

My lips moved upward; the smile was grim.

“Ama … Armand, please, I know how all this must sound to you, but …”

For some reason, this made me angrier than anything he had said until then. All these hurtful things dimmed in comparison.

“Stop it!” My voice was no more than a hiss. “You know nothing! How would it sound to you, if your maker, who swore he would love you forever, called you his greatest crime?”

“That was merely because of your youth.”

“I was not that young, Marius. I look old enough to get along just fine.” My voice was rising now for the first time. Just slightly. “And I am more than 500 years old now, I don’t think you should keep using my ‘youth’ as an excuse!” I got up, I just couldn’t sit still any longer. For the lack of having anything else to do, I walked over to the window and leaned against the window still. “How would it sound to you if your maker, who claimed he loved you, who you thought dead for the longest time, only hours ago revealed to a total stranger that he knew very well that you were alive, knew that you were in the hands of satanic coven, and just decided to walk away?”

Now he was on his feet, too, crossing the distance between us, raising his right hand as if he wanted to touch me, but he decided not to.

Good.

“If you had wanted to leave, you could have. You could have saved yourself. I made you what you are, my blood is powerful, you were stronger than them.”

“Does that make you feel better about yourself? Or do you not even need such a reassurance because at that point you didn’t care anymore already?”

“Armand, I do care, and you know it.”

“Do I?” Finally I felt tears running down my cheeks. I was beyond caring. “Then tell my, why would I have left? What was waiting for me outside of the coven? I thought you were dead, you were everything and I saw you burn, and my whole world went down in flames with you. Tell me, Marius, why should I have left and where would I have gone?”

Pain in his eyes, in his voice. Maybe even regret. Still he tried to justify himself. “You could have started a new life. Lestat was alone, too, after Magnus …”

“Oh yes, Lestat.” My voice was bitter now. Of course, Lestat, to whom he had revealed himself, whom he had immediately fallen in love with. Who doesn’t? “So I was not strong enough for you, is that it? I was not as strong and bold as Lestat, was I? Maybe not. But when Lestat’s maker went into the flames he had known him for mere hours. But I loved you, Marius, with all I had in me. And then I saw you burn, I was grieving, I was alone, I didn’t care what happened to me. And at some point, I had just … I didn’t know … how to …” My voice broke off, at a loss for words, but also unable to speak through the tears now without sobbing openly. My pride didn’t allow me that.

Now he did touch my arm, but I pushed him away. He was still so much stronger than I was, but he let it happen. “Armand, I couldn’t have known, I cannot read your mind, you know that. I had been hurt myself, I was disappointed to see you there …”

Was that supposed to comfort me? His voice had an uncharacteristically helpless tone to it and there had been a time when this would have been enough for me to calm down, enough to swallow my own feelings to make him feel better. I couldn’t do that now. I couldn’t.  “They would have killed me, if I hadn’t joined them! I was still in shock from everything that happened, I was weak from them starving me. I couldn’t have fought them then if I had wanted to. But them killing me would have been preferable to you, wouldn’t it? You could have grieved for the sweet little martyr, painted his portraits and I would have been out of your life for good.”

“No!” I took a step back, feeling the window still in my lower back once more. His voice had been so loud that any mortal would have covered his ears. His face crumbled ever so slightly, and something happened that shocked me. Bloody tears where escaping his eyes, too. I had never seen him cry. “I never ever wanted you to die, Amadeo.” His voice sounded so pained that I didn’t even comment on the use of my old name. Never had I seen him so helpless … not since Venice had I seen him so sincere. “In all my existence there was not a single moment in which I wanted you dead.”

“Well, you have an interesting way of showing that.” It was easy to hide behind sarcasm, and it helped me to keep at a little bit of my dignity while the tears had certainly left red marks on my cheeks. But then again, so had Marius’s.

He looked away, his voice once more very quiet. “I was afraid, you know.”

“Afraid? Of them? The coven?”

“No. If I had known that you would have come with me, I would have fought them gladly. I was afraid you had forgotten me. Afraid you would join them in fighting me. I may have just let you kill me if the alternative was hurting you. That was what I was afraid of.”

I stared at him, no longer crying, completely silent, stunned. My first instinct was to contradict him again, to laugh at him even, but his whole demeanour made me stop. He looked away, yes, but not because he was insincere, he was very sincere in fact, to my surprise I found that I still knew him well enough to see that, but out of shame. I understood that he was not just confessing this fear to me, but also to himself for the very first time.

“I would have come with you.” A whisper now, barely audible, not audible to mortal ears at all. “If I had known you were alive, if you had come, if I had seen you, I would have fought them all myself.”

Was that a sob coming from him? I thought I must have misheard. But then again, maybe not.

“I will not insult you again by asking for your forgiveness. But I am sorry. For all the pain I caused you. For not being there when I should have been. For breaking all the promises I ever made you.”

Still, he seemed utterly sincere. Was this really the truth? Was this really the reason for all of Marius’s actions? The fear of rejection should he come to me? It seemed that way. Ah, how could one so old be such a fool?

I took a moment to compose myself, dry my tears unceremoniously on the sleeve of my dark blue pullover. My voice was still rough when I spoke again. “So you told the whole world repeatedly – because this will be published too, you know – what a terrible and weak fledgling I am because you were afraid I’d reject you if you came to me? You didn’t come to me when I most needed you, because you were afraid I wouldn’t want you?”

He hadn’t bothered to wipe the tears away, but he was no longer crying either, although the pain in his eyes was something I would never forget. “It does sound ridiculous, doesn’t it?” He said it so solemnly, so seriously that it made my lips twitch for a second before I forced the neutral expression back on my face.

“So the Great Marius is not perfect after all.”

A joyless little laugh. “Believe me, I’m far from perfect. For what it’s worth, Armand, I am proud of you. You have come far after the theatre was gone, after Louis and you parted ways. You are not weak, I never thought you were.”

I sighed. This was so difficult, so different from what I had expected from this talk. All the fight had left me. I had been wrong, too, not even an hour ago, on the balcony. The longing for feeling his arms around me was not dead after all.

“It means something,” I admitted, slowly looking up at him. “It means a lot.” When he reached out again to gently touch my arm, I didn’t push him away, but I glared at him slightly. “You’re terrible, you know. I came back to be angry with you.”

“Which you have every right to.”

“Indeed.” Wonderful, now that just felt silly. I sighed again. “I came here to tell you I hated you and I never wanted to see you again. I wanted to tell you to stay out of my life.”

He looked like I had slapped him and I rolled my eyes. “Originally. You can’t even let me hate you properly, can you?”

We looked at each other, I full of defiance, which was obviously exaggerated at that point, he still guiltily and quite obviously trying to figure out whether it was alright to smile over my last remark, and then, at the same moment, we both broke into a short, unsure little laugh. Still full of tension, but it felt good.

“It is almost dawn,” he mused with a look at the window behind me, as if he couldn’t feel it without looking. “Will you stay? It is too late to safely go somewhere else. You can leave tomorrow.” He hesitated, still not looking at me. “Or you can stay. We can hunt together and then … if you want to … talk some more."

A last moment of hesitation. I understood him better now. He had made mistakes out of fear. He wasn’t perfect as I thought him to be as a child. But who was I to judge wrong behaviour on the basis of fear, of a mistake?

“Do you want me to stay? Be honest, Marius, please. If you made this offer because you feel guilty now or any kind of obligation, please be honest this time. Please.” My voice was steady and calm, maybe the slightest tremor in the last word, no more.      

“No.” The answer came immediately. “I do feel guilt, that is true. But I see now that you don’t need me.” He sighed. “I want you to stay. I want to get to know the person my boy has become. Pari passu this time.”

My Latin, though not perfect, was good enough to understand what he meant: On an equal footing, without him having control over me, without him making decisions for me like the oh so painful one with Sybil and Benji. But I didn’t want to think of that now. He had obviously realised his mistakes. No need to start the accusations anew. And no time. Dawn was indeed near.

“Alright then”, I said. “Pari passu. I will not call you Master again.”

“I would not ask for that. And you haven’t today. Marius is fine. I am no longer your master and you are no longer a boy.”

I nodded. It felt good to hear it from him.

“I will stay for the day and … tomorrow night.”

I made no further commitments, but he smiled at me nonetheless and the way he smiled this time, the way he looked at me, reminded me of Venice.

 -------------------

 So, this was so not what I intended. I wanted Armand figuratively rip off his head and then leave him for good. They didn’t play along, they acted all on their own, I swear.

I hope you still like it.

I’m kind of interested in writing this again from Marius’s POV. What do you think?

#vampire chronicles #the vampire chronicles #vc #fanfiction #blood and tears #my fics #marius #armand #post blood and gold #fix-it #angst #angst with a hopeful ending

[txnystarkimagines]

All Work and No Play

Pairings:Tony Stark X Reader

Requested By: @cajunlizard

Words:2043

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Author’s Note: I am not really happy with how this turned out to be. And I think I kinda dragged it a lot. So meh,I decided to post it anyway.

MASTERLIST  | REQUEST HERE | TAG LIST IS OPEN

"Now you hold the brush,put on some paint and stroke."You instructed to the 5 year old boy sitting beside you.

"Yay!"You exclaimed,raising up your hand for a high five."You did it."

Sam's palm slapped against yours,diverting his friend's attention towards him. As they got involved in useless babble,you felt someone tugging at the hem of your shirt. "Melissa sweetie,what is it? How man times have I told you,you always wait for the person to turn to you,you never pull at them.Okay?"You explained to her softly.

"Sorry Ms. Y/N,but there is a man at the door."

You immediately turn towards the play rooms entrance, only to meet Tony Stark,leaning against the door frame. Your eyes widened in shock. What was he doing here? In a pre school?

"Hello, Mr. Stark." You walked over to him.

"Ms. L/N."He nodded at you.

"What brings you here?" You asked him quietly,not wanting the kids to know.

"I am here to talk to you about the Avengers Initiative."

"Does the administration know,that you are here to talk to me when I'm on duty?" You asked.

"Obviously."

"I don't believe you."You snapped. He was Tony Stark,why would he ever take someone's permission to do something. "Wait here while I go and have a talk with them?"

"Kids,"You acknowledged the whole class."I have to speak to Mr. Brown,please behave and carry on with your work."

"Yes Ms. Y/N."All of them chorused.

Your shoulder brushed against his leather jacket,as you moved past him. "Make way!" You snapped.

Technically you knew why he was here. Years of hiding and this new job had put on the radar after only a few months. You were angry. How dare he come to the school where there are kids to talk you about something? The kids were the most important for you and if anything ever happened to them you won't be able to forgive them. He should have waited for your off. You rolled your eyes. There was no way you were going to join his super secret boy band.

After getting to know that the admin had given you the whole day off,and arranged a sub for your class at the persistence of Tony Stark,you were annoyed. As you reached the vicinity of your classroom you hear shouts and laughter from the room. Your heals created loud clicks against the floor as you fastened the pace. Entering the classroom,your jaw dropped in shock. There he was Tony Stark sitting in the middle with the kids all around him. Two sat on his lap, shuffling around with his glasses while he was talking to the other two,probably telling them a funny story due to all the laughter.

"What the hell?"You mumbled under your breath.  "Kids! Stark!"You called for their attention.

"I told you to stay put didn't I?"

"Sorry miss."They exclaimed,moving back to their seats as Tony too sat up.

"Now I won't be here for the day so Miss Sophia from Room B will be taking over. Behave. I don't want to hear any complaints."

Immediately questions filled the room. The children's curiosity and tendencies to want to know everything and anything.

"Are you sick?" "Is he your boyfriend?" "Are you going on a date?" "Are you a secret hero like Iron Man?" "Is he really Iron Man?" You chuckled at the last one,grabbing your coat and purse from the desk.

"Come on kiddos,don't pester your teacher. If you behave I might as well come and visit again."

"No, you won't." Both of you exited the room and cries of cheer echoed around the room. You greeted the sub with on your way out.

Walking down the hall,you were trying to put on the coat when he stopped all of a sudden. He took it from you holding it out for you and you quickly slipped into your arms. "Really? I could that."

"What a time,"He stated dramatically."Being a gentleman gets you nowhere."

"You are no gentleman Stark."You sneered.

"True.Now where to?"

"Oh no,no! Nowhere. We talk right here."

"In the cold,no way woman."He cried out."Your place or mine?"he smirked.

"Mine."You snapped,using your telekinesis to move the car keys out of his palm and into yours. "I drive."

He looked at you with wide eyes."What?" You asked him. "Never seen a woman drive?"You asked him,walking over to the red Audi R8 Spyder that was obviously his.

"Never seen a woman do that."He replied.

"I thought the witch had similar powers. Whats her name Wilma? No Wendy it was,I think."

"Wanda. And no. Her powers are not natural. Yours are." He stated,getting into the passenger side without any protest.

"So what brings you here?" You asked him again,pulling out of the car park and onto the main road.

" I told you. I am here to ask you to join the Avengers."

"And I am telling you there is no way I am going to join that super secret boy band of yours."

"Funny,how years ago I said the same thing to the Director of SHIELD.God it's too early!"He huffed."I can't do this without a drink."

"Well wait then. We are nearly there."You answered,speeding up.

"Make yourself right at home."You told him,hanging your coat and purse on the hanger in the foyer.

"I am making some coffee. You want that or scotch?"

"Coffee.Black."

"Coming right up."

Tony looked around the living room,void of any pictures. It was a small apartment,probably one bedroom,one bath,a living room and a kitchen he guessed.A black leather couch was pushed far up against the wall,with a shelve above it. Opposite to it was an led TV and a fire place below,currently turned on.A white fur rug rested there with a bench on top to sit next to the fire. In the end a floor lamp stood in the corner next to window,covered in sheer white curtain. The floor was black and the walls a light grey. He had to admit though you got a taste.

"Nice place you have here."He complimented as you entered the room with two mugs in hand,with the Avengers on them.

"You have got nicer."You stated handing him the mug.

"Really?"He raised his eyebrows up at you.

"What?! They were on sale."you shrugged.

"So.."You took a seat adjacent to him.

"We need you to join Y/N."

"Who's we?"

"Well me,War Machine, and uh Vision."

"What about the others?"

"We are kind of not together anymore. They are war criminals now."

"I see."

"Look Y/N. I am Tony Stark and I can have whatever I want. But I came down here personally right now to ask you to join because I need you. The world needs you. And I hope you do."

"What does it entail?  Whats in it for me?"

"You get to live in the Avengers Facility,Upstate New York 24/7. Food and clothes,furniture included. You have 320 working days in a year. The rest are off. However global catastrophes don't count. And a hefty sum of money paid to you by yours truly.State and you will get it."He gestured.

"I still don't see whats in it for me."

"You will be paid whatever you want."

"I don't care,not everything is about money. I want to know why you need me. What made Iron Man come to my door step personally?"

"Something big is coming. "He started." Something cruel,all I know its gonna destroy everything we know and love. There is word about a Mad Titan,the most powerful being in the universe. Far more than us. And his eyes are down here on earth. We need all the help we can get it. For the sake of those whom you love,Y/N please."

You considered his offer for a bit. Was it really worth it? You could redeem everything. Clear the red from your ledger.

"I have a deal."You say.

"Ask and it's done."He looked at you.

"I need protection."

"From?"He asks.

"Not from,for.Whatever it is that you speak of,I need protection for Dean."

"Boyfriend?"He smirks at you.

"Son."You stated. His eyes widen in shock.

"You have a son? Wow, you don't look like a mother."

"And what does a mother look like? Anyways I am sure you have read my file."

"Obviously."

"So you also know that there was a time when I was running from HYDRA. I was seven months pregnant at that time. I didn't really see the point of bringing a child into this world. So I went for an abortion."

He sucked in a breath.

"The doctor, a woman surprisingly was gynecologist but didn't have any children with her husband. She was barren. So we made a deal. I told her everything,and she adopted my son. In return, she would tell him who his real mother was when he turned 15. He is 6 now. Joining you would mean that I don't get to see him regularly. And if something happens to me,or this Titan of yours comes,I need to be assured that Dean and his parents will not be harmed. Not a scratch."

"Wow." Tony really didn't see that."You've got yourself a deal." He got up.

"I'll see you on Monday. "

"Nope,you will see me next month. Someone has to wrap up everything here." You answered.

"Ok."He extended his hand towards you for a shake. Instead, you just pulled him in for a hug,rising on your tip toes to reach his neck as you weren't wearing the heels anymore. You pressed a soft kiss against his stubbly cheek.

"It gets better you know."You tell him as you walk him out.

"What?"

"That look in your eyes. I know it well. While it might not seem like it right now but it does get better."

He just smiled at you in return. Soon you could hear the sound of rockets blazing and the Iron Man suit land beside him,opening up to reveal the insides.

"What about your car?"You ask,staring at the way the suit wraps around him. Damn that's sexy,you think.

"Keep it,at least I know you will return."The mask slams shut before his face.

"Ms. L/N." He nods at you.

"Mr. Stark."You nod back,and then he shoots up into the air.

#tony stark x reader #tony stark imagine #tony stark fanfiction #tony stark one hot #tony stark angst #tony stark smut #robert downey #robert downey jr #rdj #tony stark #robert downey imagine #avengers imagine #marvel imagine #rdj smut #robert downey x reader #captain america civil war #avengers

[fadedelegance]

Things about Downton Abbey that really make me go: *head tilt* What?

The guy who could have been Patrick, the original heir, randomly showing up in s2. Nobody but Edith believes he is who he says he is, AND WE NEVER FIND OUT EITHER WAY. Huh? Isn’t that important since OMG WHO’S THE HEIR was a big theme in s1? Guess not! Fellowes just threw that at us, and it was kind of a bid deal, he only makes it last one episode, and then he never resolved it. Just...what?

Mary & Edith not getting along. Why? We’re never given a reason. I guess because of the sexist trope Women Can’t Get Along/Bitches Be at Each Other’s Throats.🙄

If they were just going to kill Matthew off, why even have him be the heir?

Killing Matthew off. I have a way that all could have worked out: it turns out that that guy really IS Patrick. He becomes the heir, leaving Mary & Matthew free to do as they wish. They both leave, both are off the show, but the actors are free to make an appearance now & then. Ta da!

In s1, Robert told Mary that if he had his way, she would be the heir. But then, in s4, when he finds that letter from Matthew naming Mary his heir to everything, he’s all butthurt! Wtf? When did you stop supporting your daughter, Robert? You know you’re not going to be running the estate forever, dude, why you mad, bro?

If everything was just going to Mary anyway, why write her & Matthew having a son who could be the heir to the estate? And there just HAPPENED to be a letter? How convenient!

Why have Gwen randomly come back towards the end of the series? Sybil’s dead, what’s Gwen’s success matter now? Why not do that while Sybil was still alive? She and Sybil were friends, and Sybil helped her out! Why bring that up without Sybil there to hear the success story?

Why did Sybil have to die? Dramatic Purposes™?

The dog gets cancer & dies. What’s the point of all that? That’s like JF was trying really hard to come up with a storyline but couldn’t, so he decided to go with that.

The whole hospital merger thing. Who cares?

Edith having a child out of wedlock makes her look like a MAJOR hypocrite. She called Mary a slut for being raped by Pamuk, yet she has a consensual affair and gets pregnant. Yeah, okay. Mary has to apologize, but Edith never does.

Mary tells that Bertie guy that Marigold is Edith’s daughter. Why are those two such bitches to each other? Why not show love between sisters instead of some cut-throat sibling rivalry that exists Just Because™? Why was all that drama necessary? It also feeds into the misogynistic trope of Women Can’t Get Along. That bugs the shit out of me. It makes Mary & Edith look like bitches.

Why would Mary feel nothing for George? That makes no sense. He is all she has left of Matthew. Wouldn’t that make her want to be close to him? Unless she had PPD, that makes no sense. It’s sad, and it makes Mary look like a bitch.

Mrs. Drewe freaking kidnaps Edith’s daughter! WTF? That’s a little intense.

Recycled plot lines: Bates was already accused of murder in s2, and the poor bastard goes through it AGAIN with that guy who raped Anna! Really? Really?

Mary gets an operation so she can have children. Matthew didn’t have fertility issues due to his injury? It was Mary all along? What?

Anna gets that same operation for the same reason! Why use that plot bunny twice?

ALL of the drama with Anna & Bates. Just...what the heck? You couldn’t come up with anything better, Julian Fellowes? It was all so petty and out-of-character!

Henry Talbot is a race car driver. Matthew died in a car crash. What?

Henry Talbot is introduced in the last season, and he & Mary get together in the last season, she even rejects him twice, yet they get married at the end, and I’m supposed to buy into their True Love™? No, sorry, I don’t think so. You give me development if you want me to bite.

Henry Talbot had a marriage license before he proposed to Mary. Creepy and possessive much? That’s gross.

Mr. Carson being a sexist prick about Mrs. Hughes as a wife. Just makes him look like a dick. What was the point of that? Again, it looks like JF couldn’t come up with anything better.

Mr. Carson & Mrs. Hughes even getting together. Their relationship has been strictly professional this whole time. Talk about coming out of left field! I also thought from the beginning that if they ever got together, it would be predictable. Again, Julian Fellowes, could you not come up with anything?

I understand she was an obstacle, but it seemed really convenient to me that Lavinia Swire got sick and died. She got sick & died REALLY QUICKLY. Why not just have her & Matthew break up? What’s wrong with a mutual breakup? Nothing! They happen every day! But, no. Kill the poor girl off.

No offense to anyone who likes the show, but those things just really baffle me.