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scarlettwitcher · 4 years

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The Funny Thing About Life

Summary: Dean struggles with the aftermath of a difficult event in his life involving reader. (It’s super vague I know, but if I literally explain anything, it’s all spoilers. I swear it’s good)

Characters: Dean, Reader, Sam, Cas, OC!Leu, mentions of Ellen and Jo

Word Count: 5,300

Warnings: Angst up the wazoo, mild description of wounds, also some of the warnings are spoilers so I’m putting them in the tags lol

Author’s Note: Here’s this fic that I wrote a few weeks ago. I haven’t had a chance to post it till now. I was inspired after watching a youtuber play a game based on this concept. If anyone’s curious about the theme I was going for, let me know. I’m very glad to explain. I hope you guys like it, I haven’t written Dean in years lol. I apologize in advance if it’s bad, I’m not good at angst.

Death was inevitable. Dean knew that, Sam knew that, even Cas knew that but given the type of life they lived, they didn’t know when it was going to be permanent or if it was just a never ending cycle of lost heartbeats and gasps for air. Sometimes death was permanent and there was nothing they could do about it, watching countless friends and family pass away right under their noses. Sam and Dean somehow always found a way to cheat death though. Come back and walk the earth as if they hadn’t just been lifeless moments ago. Deal after deal after deal trying to protect each other from what was the inevitable end for the brothers. It wasn’t until you had just danced your way into their lives that they started to value life for what it was without trying to die. You traveled with the brothers for years, keeping them company in the back of the impala, cracking horrible joke after joke, offering your candy to a grumpy dean, or just sleeping the previous hunt away. To the outside world, it probably would’ve been weird just how comfortable the three of you became in a short amount of time but you just understood each other. The brothers had already lived a long and hard life before you came into the picture. They took their necessary precautions when it came to you but in a few short months, you had become one of their own.

Living a life with the Winchesters was tough and sometimes downright impossible but you proved loyal to them every moment you could, sticking by through their hardest moments. Dean became attached not only to your beautiful face and appealing form but to your kind soul, your caring nature, your inability to give up. If he was to be completely honest, he fell in love with you the moment he first met you but he’d never admit it. He’ll never admit how much your smile can brighten his days instantly, how your laugh is his favorite song over Zeppelin and Jovi, how every moment with you is his favorite. He always had it bad for you since the moment you joined his misshapen crew. Dean could never understand how lucky he got that you even glanced in his direction, let alone fall in love with him too. He was terrified at first. He knew he had destructive habits, moments of lost clarity where he wasn’t himself truly. Having traveled with Dean for years before finding the bunker, you understood this, understood him. You were patient, loving, and Dean would never say it, but in a way you were his salvation. You showed him how to love himself first and how to better improve for himself and not only did he grow and achieve that, he learned how to truly love you.

“Dean. Dean? Hey!” Dean snapped out of his thoughts of you to look up at Sam as he waved his hands in front of Dean trying to get his attention. Dean looked at Sam emotionless as Sam sighed, flipping his computer around to show Dean some camera footage. “There was a sighting of a man and a woman in New Mexico and caught police attention. Here they are passing through a gas station.” Dean clenched his jaw as he watched the tape play, the man they had been tracking for weeks walking across the aisle, motioning towards the girl to grab food for herself. The girl looked timid, almost broken as she grabbed a few bags of snacks, and water. Even though the tape was grainy and just a bit laggy, he could see the shake in her hands, the tremble in her body, the way her eyes looked everywhere in desperation almost as if she was waiting for someone to save her. The girl looked up at the camera, her eyes wide and teary, one eye clearly bruised up, cheek swollen, lips parted from what only looked like constant abuse. Dean felt the anger boiling inside of him as he pushed the laptop back at Sam, a bit more forcefully than he meant. Sam only let out a quiet click of his tongue as he took his laptop back, scrolling through a few more camera feeds.

“When?”

“Two weeks ago.” Dean grabbed the whiskey bottle as he filled his cup back up, throwing the glass back, the amber liquid burning his throat. Dean let out a quiet hiss before moving to refill his glass once more.

“Dean, how much have you drank?”

“Does it matter?”

“You know she wouldn-”

“Dammit Sammy, she’s not here is she?! She’s not here to tell me I shouldn’t.” Dean growled out loudly as he stood, chest puffed out as his breathing became more ragged and hard with every breath he took. Sam said nothing as he stared his brother down, trying to get his thoughts together. Dean was tense and if Sam pushed him, he’d probably break and take it out on him and that last thing they needed was to waste time they could be using to find you.

“We’ll get her back, Dean. I know it’s only a matter of time but she’ll be home soon.” Dean only shook his head as he grabbed the whiskey bottle, leaving his cup on the table as he made his way towards his room which really was his and yours. Dean walked in, looking around, almost as if he was searching for you from instinct, searching for any movement, smell, any indication that you were in the room, hiding from him like you always did. He clenched his jaw, knowing you weren’t there and he felt the tension building in his bones again at the reality of the situation as he took a large sip from the bottle, trying to drown everything with the golden liquid. He wanted to drown his memories of you, thoughts of you, the smell of you, and forget. Forget you’re gone, out of his reach, forget that he didn’t protect you like he promised and had failed you.

A month had passed since you disappeared. Dean couldn’t find you and after a week of no contact, he grew increasingly worried. It wasn’t like you to leave without a notice, without a call, or a note, or even a text. Saying that Dean was losing his mind was the understatement of the year. No one had heard from you and not even Cas could tune into your location. Dean denied it. He denied any idea that you had abandoned him, that you were fed up with your life with the Winchesters. He denied the thought that you didn’t love him anymore. Sam reassured him constantly that there was no way you had left him, that you were just as love sick as Dean.

Another week passed and nothing. That was until Sam found something, or in this case, he was sent something. A video. Dean threw up after the first few minutes of watching the video and he couldn’t stomach watching the rest, leaving Sam to have to watch it, searching for any clues that could aid the brothers. The video was of you, bound and bloody, screaming into a mouth gag as the hooded man carved into your skin, making you sing songs that Dean would gladly never, ever listen to again. You looked like you had gone through hell and back. The man laughed in the video as he finally showed his face. “Hello Deaaanie! You’re probably wondering who I am. You can call me Leu.” The man chuckled as he moved closer to your exhausted form, wincing as he grabbed your chin hard, making you face the camera. “Say hello to your dear husband sweetie.”

Your tired eyes fluttered for a few seconds before focusing on the camera. Your lips parted slightly as you took a deep breath. Your throat was sore, like you had swallowed knives from all the screaming. “Dean, baby, don’t.” That’s all that you managed to say before the man slapped you hard, knowing the few specs of oxygen out of your lungs, leaving you almost breathless as you tried to breathe.

“Well that was lame, I was expecting something more heartfelt. Oh well. Come and find me Dean.” The video went dark after that, Dean’s solemn and terrified face staring back at him. He grimaced and looked away, feeling the shame building inside of him more and more as the seconds passed by. He should’ve protected you better, should’ve been a better partner to you. Your blunt statement started ringing in his ears as he remembered what you said. Don’t. He knew exactly what you were talking about but he couldn’t bring himself to listen to you. How could you tell him not to when he had to and would. Sam had begun to do everything he could, tracing the video, searching for the mystery man in all of the databases, and unfortunately, re-watching the video for anything he missed, anything that could tip him off about your location.

Dean laid on his bed as he stared at the bottle of whiskey, his anger boiling inside of him, his inability of being able to find you, adding gasoline to the fire burning inside of him. Sam had found a lead though and it seemed promising. He was about to take another sip but the loud call of his name had him running down the bunker, towards the main room where Sam was typing away furiously into his computer. “Dean, look at this.” Sam was about to show him another video feed before the video was interrupted, the skype window filling the whole screen, someone trying to call them. The name showed ‘Unknown Caller’. Sam sighed as he pointed towards the screen. “This is the third time this person calls.”

Dean grunted and clicked on the answer button ready to tell whoever was on the other end to go screw themselves but before the video loaded, there was a soft moan from a woman, one in pain, one Dean recognized all too well. The video loaded in and Dean was face to face with your broken body and the so-called Leu beside you. He had a large grin as he moved closer to the camera. “Finally! I really thought you were ignoring me for a second. Wouldn’t want to make our dear Y/n worry.”

“Son of a bitch! I’ll kill you!” Dean roared out, almost tempted to punch the computer screen but Sam was very ready to contain his brother.

“Now now Deano, don’t be so rude. We have a guest.” Leu walked closer to you, poking you with the knife in his hand. You stirred slowly, groaning as he touched another wound on your skin. You looked thinner, you clearly lost a lot of weight and that really worried Dean. “Don’t you dare touch her.”

“A little late for that remark. I really think I’ve created a masterpiece. So many different hues of blue and purple but my favorite is red.” Leu began to drag his hand across your arm, pulling grunts of pain from you before chuckling quietly as he walked back towards the camera.

“What do you want?” Sam chimed up when he realized all of Dean’s focus was on you, watching as you struggled to breathe and move. Your bones ached with every movement and there was a point where you just stopped moving, the uncomfortable position better than the burning of your skin.

“I want you to suffer.” Leu smiled wide as he turned and motioned to you. “It’s pretty easy really. The cycle of life, if you’d like to give it an official name. ”

‘You will pay for this. You will suffer as much as she has and worse.”

Leu let out a full belly laugh as he looked at the camera, wiping away fake tears. “Oh wow I’m definitely trembling in fear.” Both the brothers stared at Leu. If looks could kill, Leu would’ve been assassinated gruesomely. “ You can’t hurt me but I can hurt you. Enjoy this moment because after this, you will never see her again.” Just before the camera cut out, Leu blinked his eyes portraying the black eyes that constantly mocked the brother their whole lives. Demon.

Dean felt his jaw clench and as he opened his mouth to speak, say anything, the call ended. The screen was blank and that was the last time he ever saw you just as Leu promised and that drove Dean just a bit closer to insanity. Dean didn’t waste a single second before moving back to his room and hastily packing his bag, shaving any clothes he could get his hands on in it. He grabbed his weapons and anything else he needed before moving back towards the main room where a confused Sam sat, typing away at his computer. He looked up as Dean dropped his bag on the floor, moving towards the bookshelf looking for something he also needed.

“Dean, don’t.”

“You can’t stop me Sammy.”

“She wouldn’t want this, you know that.”

“I’m leaving.” Finding what he needed, Dean grabbed his duffle bag from the floor before he hastily made his way to the garage. Sam knew better than to try to even reason with Dean. When it came to you, he would move heaven and hell a million times over to get to you. As Dean entered the garage, he threw his bag in the back of the impala, before slipping into the driver’s side, speeding out of the Bunker, a man on a mission. He knew the way to the crossroads like the back of his hand. He had done this countless times, he knew the drills. Crowley was no longer an option and he had to resort to old ways. Pulling up to the location, he moved on autopilot. He opened the trunk and pulled out a tin can, already prepared. Dean double checked it before making his way towards the middle. He set the trap in place before he dug the hole, burying the box.

“You know, we had a bet going to see how long I’d take for you to appear here.” Dean turned to face the Demon. Dean’s expression never faltered, if anything it became more menacing. The demon smirked as it watched Dean, walking around in the circle as she sighed, clearly already bored.

“Then you know why I’m here.”

“Yes… I do.” The demon moved closer to Dean, almost taunting him as her eyes flashed black. She chuckled quietly before clicking her tongue. “Unfortunately for you Winchester, I can’t make the deal.”

“Then get me someone who can.”

“That’s the thing pretty boy, we can’t.” Dean felt his lip curl in anger as he tried to stay composed but it was getting harder with every second that passed that he wasn’t getting what he needed.

“I don’t want time, trade me for her.”

“I’m sorry Dean but no can do.” The demon was clearly amused and not an ounce of sympathy was in her actions. Dean licked his lips as he nodded his understanding. He rubbed his chin with his thumb before quickly turning and stabbing the demon straight in the gut. The demon flashed as it died on Dean’s blade but Dean showed no emotion. It didn’t matter how long it took, he would find someone who could give exactly what he wanted and what he wanted was you, safe at home.

Demon kill after demon kill, Dean was relentless. Weeks and weeks of capturing and torturing any demon he could get his hands on. Then, they stopped appearing completely. The demons stopped appearing and Dean was losing his mind. He never had felt so out of loss of control as he did in that moment. He was sitting in his motel, staring at a photo he had of you and him. You were sitting at the bar table with Dean at your left side and Sam on your other. You all had chosen to stop at Ellen's for the night. Sam had gotten up to go to the restroom and left you and Dean at the bar. Dean thought it would be smart to say something funny and you were laughing hard as Dean watched you with a huge smile himself. Jo was working the bar and thought it was a cute sight and snapped a quick photo with her phone. Looking at the photo now, Dean realized this was when he really started falling in love with you. It was super obvious in the way he was smiling in the photo, watching you as you laughed your worries away. Dean ran his fingers across the creases the photo had from the wear and tear of being in his wallet. That moment felt like it was a lifetime ago when it really only was a few years old.

Dean took a deep breath as he gingerly put the photo back into his wallet before tossing it on his bed. He grabbed the bottle of whiskey he had bought earlier, popping the lid, and taking a big swig of it. The amber liquid burned his throat but he didn't care. He welcomed the pain. He welcomed any distraction from his reality. Dean was no stranger to depression and feelings of inadequacy but this was a whole new level of low. Everything he promised he would and wouldn't do, he had done and that wasn't his biggest failure. His biggest failure was keeping you to himself when he knew you were worth more than someone like him and here you were, paying the consequences for his inability to admit that to himself. Dean felt the anger slowly dissipating, being replaced with the sorrow your absence created. He never wanted to know what life was like without you and now he did. He hated it.

Dean never stopped looking for you. The days passed and he kept looking, pouring himself into his work, but each day, it was harder and harder for him. He'd drink his pain away, resort to the devil's liquid to get through his days. He became an empty shell of himself. Sam stopped calling after a few months of Dean ignoring his calls. Dean knew his brother deserved better too. It wasn't just losing you that affected him, it was losing his best friend, his hunting partner, his wife. Till death do you part. The few days he was conscious, those words rang through his head. Were you even alive? Had you escaped and just not come back? Was your body at the bottom of a lake? In a ditch? He didn't know and that's what sent him down his dark path.

After a year passed, his depression got worse but he knew he had to return home. He wasn't Dean anymore and he didn't think he would be again. He felt numb at best. Walking back into the bunker by himself, was a new slap to his face. This was it. He had to accept that you were gone and you weren't coming back. Sam heard the door and made his way to the stairs, staring at what was left of Dean. Dean was thinner, he had new scars, he looked like he hadn't slept in months, and his eyes were just different. "Hey Sammy."

Dean would like to say it happened quick, that he was okay within a year, but that would be a lie. It took him years before he could even say your name again. Sam had finished making dinner and they sat in the library in comfortable silence as they ate before Dean pulled out his wallet, pulling out the photo of the two of you, dropping it between the two on the table. Sam looked at the photo with furrowed brows before looking up at Dean silently asking about it. Dean cleared his throat as he tried to organize his thoughts but in reality, he didn't want to. He was tired. He just wanted to talk.

"Remember when we stopped at Ellen's? Y/n was just whining and whining about how much she missed her and Jo? She drove us crazy that whole drive?" Dean chuckled quietly as Sam nodded.

"She said she wouldn't be your friend anymore if we didn't stop there."

"I couldn't believe she had even said that. Thought I was having a nightmare."

"I mean, we both know she was just fibbing. Had she pushed just a bit more, you would've caved anyways."

"Yeah, she did have me wrapped around her finger, didn't she?"

Sam scoffed and smiled as he stared at the photo. "Since the first day we met her." Sam felt his smile falter a bit as he nodded towards the photo, his eyes flicking up to watch Dean, being careful with how he approached his next question. "Do you miss her?"

Dean felt his eyes water. He wasn't one to cry but when it came to you, the tears always flowed freely. "Always. Every day. I don't think I ever stop missing her."

"You haven't said her name since the day you came back."

"I know. I think I'm ready."

"To talk about her?"

"To let her go." Sam didn't need to ask what Dean meant. He knew exactly what it meant. Sam nodded his understanding before motioning for Dean to finish eating.

By the end of the day, both boys had organized everything they needed, standing in front of the Hunter's funeral they had created. They didn't have a body to burn but had replaced it with all of your favorite things, everything that made you you. There was a plate with your favorite food, your favorite shirt, and little things you loved to collect. Dean stared at it all. This was it. Sam waited for Dean to ask him to stop. When the minutes passed and he said nothing, he threw the lighter onto the wood, watching as it all engulfed in flames. Dean accepted your death and hoped that you were in heaven, enjoying yourself. You deserved it.

"Dean?"

"Yeah Sammy?"

"Wake up." Dean furrowed his brows as he looked over at Sam.

"What?"

"Dean, wake up!"

Dean jolted awake, pulling the gun out from under his pillow, aiming it at Sam's head as Sam jumped back with his hands in the air. "Woah woah!"

Dean groaned out as he put the gun down, sighing as he rubbed at his eyes. "What's going on Sam?"

Sam sighed as he rubbed the back of his neck, hating what he had to do. "Dean, come on. It's today." Dean felt the blood run cold inside of him as he looked up at Sam, feeling the anger raise in his blood.

"Is Y/n ready?" Sam swallowed thickly before nodding his head. He felt his throat closing up before clearing it.

"Yeah." Sam didn't want to talk more as he made his way out of Dean's room. Dean let his head fall back into his pillow as he stared at the ceiling. What a fucking nightmare he just had. He looked over at the picture frame he had on the small bedside table. He picked it up and stared at the photo before taking a deep breath.

"When I come back, I'll tell you all about the nightmare I had. You won't believe it. It felt so real." Dean kissed the frame softly before putting it back on the table. He got up and made his way to the closet, pulling out his fed suit. He remembered clearly that you had asked him to wear his best suit, he had to dress up fancy. You wouldn't accept anything less. He chuckled as he could hear your words echoing in his head. "You better look good Winchester or else you'll feel my wrath. I won't even make you pie for a whole month."

This feeling in Dean's chest was heavy, it felt like he had swallowed bricks and they were sitting in his lungs, ready to suffocate him. He grabbed a red tie you had bought him just for this. You had to match, you told him when you gave it to him. He stood in front of the mirror, going through the motions he knew all too well. Once he was done, he walked over to his dresser, slipping on his wedding band, smiling at the relief the known weight brought to him. Once he was ready he made his way outside where Sam, Cas, and you were waiting for him. He felt the breath in his lungs be knocked out of him as his eyes fell on you. You were wearing a beautiful red dress, your favorite dress. Your hair was curled and you weren't wearing any makeup, your natural beauty shining through. Dean swallowed thickly as he kept his eyes on you, committing the memory to sight.

Sam nodded his head to Dean before looking over at you, feeling the swell of emotions bursting in his chest. The weight of the lighter heavy in his palm. He took a deep breath and threw it, watching as you burst into flames from the moment it made contact with your skin. The three boys stood watch as you slowly burned away, moving on to heaven where you wouldn't suffer anymore. "Goodbye baby." Dean murmured as he watched the flames slowly die out. The sky trembled and within minutes, the rain poured onto the men but they didn't care.

"I'm sorry Dean."

"It's not your fault Cas."

"I should've done better.”

"It's what she wanted Cas." Cas took a deep breath before turning back to the burned embers of where you used to be, of what's left of you.

"She deserved better than this."

"That's the funny thing about life isn't it?"

. . . . . . .

"What's your name Sweetheart?"

You chuckled as you pulled your knife out of the monster you had just killed. "Wouldn't you like to know sweet cheeks?" Dean chuckled as he licked his lips. Sam joined the both of you as you all made sure there were no more threats. "But if you really long for this information, I'll indulge you. It's Y/n."

. . . . . . .

"Dean?"

"Yeah sweetheart?"

"This isn't a one time thing right?" Dean frowned as he looked down at you as you laid on his bare chest. The fact that you even had to ask him hurt his heart. He knew in that moment he wanted nothing more than for you to wake up everyday in his arms.

"Of course not. It never was." Dean kissed your head gently and you hummed your appreciation, slowly succumbing to sleep in his hold.

. . . . . . .

"Dean we need to talk."

"You can't break up with me. We're already married." You let out a choked laugh as you tried to think of the best way to tell him.

"I need you to be serious with me for a second." Dean felt cold. Whenever you said something like this to him, it was never good news. He didn't say anything and you took a deep breath, unknowingly speaking what would be your demise. "The doctor called me today."

"And?"

"I tested positive."

. . . . . . .

"So when do you start losing your hair?" You chuckled quietly as Cas grabbed your hair, looking at it like it would attack him.

"When I start treatment. Doc said it would be aggressive." Dean sighed as he held your hand and you looked at him with a soft smile.

"There's still time."

"No Dean besides, I'm okay with it. I'm not scared to die."

"But I'm scared to lose you."

"I'm still here and I'm not going anywhere." As much as Dean would've loved to push you, he knew he needed to support any decision you made. He owed you that much as much as he hated it.

. . . . . . .

"We should name it."

"Name what?"

"My sickness duh." Dean looked at you like you grew a second head and you laughed. "Don't look at me like that?"

"Why do you want to name it?" Sam was also looking at you the way Dean was and you rolled your eyes, poking at your food with your fork. As the time passed, it was getting harder and harder for you to eat but Dean pushed you, trying to get you to eat anything.

"To make it normal. For me."

Dean took a deep breath as he watched you poke your food before licking his lips. "Alright, I'll bite. What do you want to name it?"

"Well I don't want to name it something outrageous. I was thinking about Leu. "

"Leu?"

"Short for Leukemia. I thought it was clever."

Dean smiled slightly as he nodded. "Very clever."

. . . . . . .

"Dean?"

"Yeah sweetheart?"

"Promise me that if you see a girl in a bar and she's hot you'll go for it."

"Now's not the time for jokes." You coughed quietly as you tried your best to scowl at him.

"I'm not joking. I'm serious. I want you to have a life after me, after all of this."

"There's nothing after you."

"Don't be such a romantic and promise me you'll live your life when I'm gone."

Dean sighed and remembered his promise to support what you wanted. "I'll try."

"Good. You need some friends." Dean laughed as he moved to get comfortable. Sitting next to the bed where you lay, surrounded by tubes and wires wasn't the best place for comfort but he didn't care. Before he could respond, your nurse came in to check on you for the night.

. . . . . . .

The day you passed away, Dean was in shock, numb to the world. He never thought it would happen. A whirlwind of doctors running into the room, pushing him out so they could try to revive you, except they couldn't. You signed a DNR. Dean was left with himself, having to watch as you took your last breath. The loud dinging of your heart monitor making him feel like he'd lost his hearing, forever cursed to hear that sound. He didn't sleep that night. He couldn't. Returning to an empty bed, a bed you belonged in, was the icing on top of the shit cake he was handed. He broke a lot of furniture that night.

. . . . . . .

"Yeah, I guess it is." Dean felt his lungs cut off his air as flashes of memories of you played throughout his head. Sam patted Dean on his shoulder, relaying his silent support. Dean nodded towards him in thanks. The sound of Sam's boots crunching in the dirt sounded behind Dean as Cas moved to stand next to Dean.

"Did you dress her?"

"Sam couldn't and asked me to. She picked a nice wig. It’s really close to her natural hair."

"Thanks Cas, really."

Cas stayed quiet as he looked at the burnt spot on the floor. He didn't want to leave his friend alone, not during his weakest moments. He knew Sam left because he didn't want to cry with Dean around, it wasn't about him, it was about Dean. Cas smiled slightly as he thought of you. "You can go inside Cas."

Cas nodded as he pat Dean in the back. "I'll be inside."

Dean stared at the floor, the rain completely drenching him. His hair was matted to his head and a slight breeze made his teeth chatter but he couldn't move. He had to stay around just a bit more. His eyes were glued to the ash on the floor. He took a deep breath as his fingers fumbled with his wedding band, trying to figure out what to say. “I know I said I’d tell you about my nightmare later but I think now is a good time. You’ll probably laugh but it started with me and Sammy..”

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reelperspective · 3 years

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I’m generally not the type to mourn celebrity deaths. It’s usually beyond me to truly mourn the passing of someone who is so completely removed from my life. I tend to reserve grief for personal losses. I would say that is still true - I don’t know if you could call what I’m feeling grief, but it’s definitely something akin to it.

When I heard that Naya Rivera had passed away in a drowning accident, I thought “my god that sucks. That glee cast is cursed or something.” Then I moved on with my life, as one does. I felt it in the moment because Santana was my favorite character (well her and Brittany), but I didn’t dwell on it. I hadn’t seen the show in years, so I felt removed from it.

Months later, I go down a YouTube recommended video rabbit hole and end up watching the Glee version of Fleetwood Mac’s Landslide. I’d always loved that cover of the song. From the moment I first heard it, I thought it was beautifully arranged and flawlessly executed, but I digress. The point is, after watching it, I started watching other Glee videos (again, recommended videos). At a certain point I thought, “fuck it, I haven’t seen this show in years. Maybe it’s time for a re-watch.” So, I started to binge watch it. It is just as hilarious and awesome as the first time. And again, just as the first time, Santana proved to be my favorite character.

I think that Santana was the most emotionally complex character on that show. I think she had a great arc as a character that started off not being very sympathetic at all, to becoming a character that people could really relate to and root for. She had a fascinating duality to her as the bully who sometimes had a heart. Her love for Brittany added a significant layer to her character - displaying a side of her that had previously been unseen. A side reserved only for Brittany- the exception to her rule. Which is remarkable because, being that she was an idiot, Brittany should have been an easy target for Santana’s ridicule. Later, Santana reveals in a rant against Rory the Irishman, that she believes Brittany to be beautiful, innocent, and “everything good in this miserable, stinking world.” This revelation spoke to the heart of the character because it showed that despite her blatantly “Evil” characteristics, what Santana truly values most is goodness and purity of spirit. Brittany was the only person Santana never insulted. You could say that this is because she loved Brittany. That’s a factor, for sure, but I think the main reason is that even she couldn’t tear down someone so innocent. This, and other instances of vulnerability, developed Santana into a more three dimensional character - someone real, rather than just the caricature of a mean girl.

Yes, it’s true that the writers can be credited for this nuance in her character, but I believe it can be argued that Naya highlighted these nuances flawlessly. She did a beautiful job of portraying Santana’s *reluctant* displays of humanity. Not to mention how fucking talented she was when it came to the singing and the dancing. Vocally she’s top three along with Amber Riley and Lea Michele - and she’s a better dancer than either of them.

I noticed all of these things during this recent re-watch of mine. I’d always enjoyed Santana’s viscious barbs and her scathing wit, but this time I gained a deeper appreciation of the character as well.

Why am I talking about the character when this post started off being about grief? Well, watching the show again really drove home what a goddamn tragedy it is for the world to lose someone so talented and hilarious. This feeling drove me to look into Naya as a person. I listened to her audio book, and I read what people have said about her, and the general consensus is that she was an all-around amazing individual. She was Kind but sassy, tough yet compassionate, funny and intelligent. I then watched some of her interviews, and her personality was positively magnetic. She always lead with a blunt honesty that she delivered with this matter-of-fact attitude and wry wit. She owned up to things that most people in her position would hide. Despite the bluntness, she never seemed tacky or crass. Then to add to these revelations is the observation that she so clearly loved her little son with a tremendous passion. I’m sure all celebrities love their children more than life itself, but most don’t speak out about it specifically or so frequently. Naya, on many occasions, spoke of her passion for motherhood, and how much it meant to her to be Josey’s mom. With all of the things she has accomplished, she credited her son as her greatest success. Topics that get repeated across many conversations tend to be subjects that the speaker is fairly obsessed with. It is clear that her son was her whole world. He was not only her responsibility and her greatest love, but also her greatest source of joy. I’m not surprised that she somehow found a way to save him even though she couldn’t save herself.

Which leads to the final straw on the camel’s back - the manner in which she died. As was mentioned previously, she saved her son - which kicks you right in the feels. He had to witness some of her final moments - kick #2. Then there’s the tragedy of the circumstances of the death itself. Drowning is a horrific way to die. She must have been so terrified in her final moments. To add to this is the fact that had any of a number of events transpired differently, she’d still be with us today. Had she not gone to the lake that day. Had she gone with at least one other adult. Had she not jumped out of the boat. Had she worn a life vest. Had the boat had an anchor and a ladder attached to It’s side.

Then I’m confused about how this all went down. Apparently, she was sucked under the water by a current - I guess the equivalent of an undertow - but I thought undertows only happened in the ocean! Considering that this is a lake - a man made one at that- and not a river or an ocean, where the fuck did this incredibly strong underwater current come from? A lake is pretty much stagnant water, is it not? I looked at a map of it, and from what I can tell, there are no rivers feeding into this lake. So, I’m confused and this death is not only tragic, but senseless.

It’s just so fucking sad - every which way you look at it. I feel it in my very soul, and as I said before, I never feel celebrity deaths like this. I can’t stop thinking about her poor child having to grow up without his mommy. I lost someone as a child, and it left an enormous hole in my heart. I remember feeling so profoundly and absolutely destroyed. There are no words to describe the depths of my despair, and I can’t help but think that Josey is feeling that now. Though I was older than he is - I don’t know how much his young mind can make sense of or process the reality of his mother’s death. I know for sure that he is feeling it - he will miss her forever. Ryan Dorsey, his father, released a statement in which he said that he had to explain to his son that his mother was in heaven, and Josey asked him how he could go there too so that he could be with her. That just breaks my heart - I know exactly how he feels. I can’t stop thinking about Naya’s mother and how she collapsed on the dock at Lake Piru and threw her hands out in a display of pure, all-consuming grief. As I’ve said, I’ve felt grief like that before. I’ve collapsed to my knees under the weight of it. So, I feel for her family and her friends. I saw an interview in which the actress who played Santana’s abuela says that Heather Morris was so distraught, she wanted to jump into the lake to search for Naya herself.

I also feel a keen sense of loss for all of the wonderful things she will never do, all of the hilarious things she had yet to say, and all of the characters she might have been destined to bring to life with a singular authenticity. Lastly, and least importantly, I feel this keenly because she and I are the same age. The reality of such a thing just slaps one in the face.

That being said, I keep having these moments of cognitive dissonance as I’m watching the show. I feel her loss so much, yet it seems like she’s not dead. She can’t be! Look at her. Look at how full of life she is. She’s so young. That can’t be the reality - but alas, it is. I keep remembering that it is, and the cycle of emotion starts up all over again.

I know that part of the reason for my deep feelings about this tragedy has to do with my own experience with loss. I’ve lost so many people in my lifetime - some of which, I’ve loved more than life itself. At least one of which, I had wanted to follow into the grave because I could not fathom my life without her in it - it just hurt too much.

So I lay this all out here on tumblr. It is very likely that no one will ever read it, and that’s okay. I just needed to express it anyway as it has been building up inside of me.

#naya rivera #naya rivera son #naya rivera death #gleek #glee #heather morris

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villainousshakespeare · 4 years

Text

Offerings

Loki/OFC one shot

Rated M: Angst, tooth rotting fluff, love, some light smut,

Summary: Laek is a healer from Alfheim sent to Asgard to train under Eir. She is lonely on so alien a world, with no one to talk to and all her dreams of adventure on hold. When she begins to receive gifts from a secret source, she cannot begin to imagine who has left them, or why.

**Set before the events of Thor I, when Loki was still a sweet (if mischievous) untraumatized soul.

I have been feeling a bit blue this weekend, and wanted to write something angsty and tooth-achingly sweet. This was the result. I hope you like it!!!

@arch-venus25 @caffiend-queen @ciaodarknessmyheart @devilish--doll @hiddlesholic @hopelessromanticspoonie @izhunny @just-the-hiddles @kellatron55 @myoxisbroken @nonsensicalobsessions @poetic-fiasco @shiningloki @yespolkadotkitty

*If I ever tag you and you want off a tag list, please let me know!

OFFERINGS

She did not belong here. The thought echoed like a silent scream through Laek's mind, try as she might to suppress it. Looking around her, at this strange world she'd been thrust into, it was all she could do not to weep. Laek knew she was being self indulgent and melodramatic, but she could not seem to help herself. What, after all, was a young woman like herself, born and raised to heal the injuries of men and gods, doing in a realm that celebrated war?

All around her, men and women dressed in armor, encased in and carrying the steel that was designed to do harm to one another. The air filled with the clang of weapons on a constant basis, accompanied by cries as blade edges found their homes in flesh. Even wielded as they were here in practice, mistakes were bound to be made, injuries acquired. They celebrated scars here, badges of honor for the noble race that elevated all that she had been raised to strive against.

It was not that she was a pacifist. Laek knew that there were things worth fighting for, causes that she would die to defend. It was just that the level of worship here accorded brute strength, the ability to maim and kill, was out of all proportion to her mind. Surely, surely, she thought, there were other skills of equal value.

She had been brought here to train in her arts, for it was on Asgard that the Goddess Eir, worshiped above all by healers such as herself, resided. It made sense, in its way. Where else would she be more needed than on this barbaric world. And Laek was learning much and more from the blessed Goddess. Her own powers and knowledge were still green, if great in latent strength. Laek was the strongest natural healer to be born to her people in generations, but at just 700 years old she had much still to learn. It was thought that 100 years under the watchful eye of Eir would be exactly what was needed to nurture her gift. 100 years. She had been here for one month, and already she wanted to throw herself off the much vaunted rainbow bridge to escape.

It would be easier, she often thought, if she didn't look so different on top of all else. She was smaller than most of these Asgardians, both in height and body mass, and her clothing was soft and flowing rather than hard and protective. Her pale gold hair she kept long, after the fashion of her Alfar people, braided across her temples and tied with ribbon woven through. Under a high brow, her wide, tilted eyes shaded different colors, from gold to green to crystal, depending on her mood, an embarrassment to her now that she found them so often a cloudy grey that gave away her discontent.

Laek was not mistreated, of course. Eir and her acolytes were kind to her, in their fashion. But the Goddess was old, dry, and set in her ways. The All Mother, Frigga, had pulled her aside upon her arrival in a most kindly manner, telling Laek that her door was always open, should the young healer need to talk. Occasionally she had thought of taking her up on that offer, but in truth she was more than a little intimidated by the regal Goddess that ruled Asgard at her husband's side, and her courage had failed her every time. Odin himself flat out terrified her, as did their two sons, the golden Thor and the sleek, dark but pale Loki. She watched them, but never dared approach.

And so Laek spent her time in a somber routine. In the mornings she would rise, bathe, dress, and report to the infirmary. Once there, she would spend the early half of the day tending to the sick and injured, attending on Eir and absorbing as much knowledge as she could at the healer's side. In the afternoon, she would head to the library, where all of the written knowledge of all 9 realms was stored in the pages of books and scrolls, a collection that had no rival in any universe. She would loose herself there for hours in reading, studying healing or simply learning about the customs and practices of other places, places she longed in her secret, adventurer's heart to see for herself one day.

She ate her meals at the end of a table in the great feast hall, alone amidst a sea of strangers. At night, she retired to her chambers to an early rest, often walking in the moonlit garden beneath her rooms, where she could pretend for a moment that she were home and at peace.

It was in the library one afternoon, in the beginning of her second month, that the first token appeared. She had found her eyes glazing over as she studied a text on blood transfusions, and in an attempt to rouse her mind had gotten up and wandered to the section that contained dwarfish riddles, pulling a book at random to bring back to her seat.

When she returned to her bench, her breath caught in her chest. There, lying atop the open tome that had so sedated her, was a pale blue crystal. The stone, smooth to the touch and oval in shape, had a pure clarity that made the sparkling fire at its depth shine so brightly it looked like the evening star. Laek had seen many such stones in her time, for they came from her home, from Alfheim, but never one so perfect, so incandescent.

Dropping the riddle book, she had picked it up with trembling hands, and then, unable to do anything else, had run to her rooms, thrown herself on her bed and wept, clutching it to her breast. It was home, a talisman of all that she missed in this strange land.

She had asked the next day, in a shy, anxious voice, if the librarian on duty had seen where it had come from, who had left it. In response, she had gotten a terse "no" and a lecture on leaving her books unshelved when she was finished with them.

Eight days later, she had been walking in the garden as the first stars rose, blue stone secreted into her pocket so she could feel it cool against her hand. When she reached her favorite bench where she always stopped to gaze up at an unobstructed view of the heavens through a circle of elder trees, she found a flower. Placed carefully in the exact center of the bench, it was a perfect red rose, a flower that she had only read of until then. It grew on neither Asgard nor Alfheim, but was prized on Midgard for its beauty. She raised it to her nose and inhaled the lovely aroma, a soft smile coming to her lips.

After the rose, it had been a snowflake, perfectly preserved between two pieces of glass found in her cubby in the healer's quarters. Larger than any she had ever seen, she knew it could only come from Jotunheim, home of the fearsome Frost Giant. How anyone could have gotten it, let alone why they would have left it for her was a mystery she couldn't begin to explain. Still, the gesture touched her deeply. Someone had noticed her, other than to sneer or pity. Someone was being kind. She only wished she knew who it was.

Laek began to hope for the small tokens, to take greater note of her surroundings in case some small item were to be slipped in. It was a good thing, too, as she could easily have injured herself had she accidentally sat on the twisted puzzle box made of small metal daggers that had obviously come from Nidavellir. She spent all that night unlocking it, to find a bright green gem set on a silver chain within.

The tokens made Laek's life exciting again. Oh, she knew how pathetic that sounded, but she didn't care. She had a friend, even if they didn't make themselves known to her. Every time she searched the area where a gift was deposited, there was the same result. No one had seen anything. No trace was to be found of the person who had left them.

When they stopped, she was devastated. Three weeks went by, and there was nothing. Not in any of the places she frequented. As time went on and no further offerings of friendship appeared, Laek grew despondent. Perhaps whoever it was had found a new game, a new way to pass the time that did not involve the strange Liosalfar who was all alone on Asgard. On the day that marked a month passing with no new token, Laek begged off early from the infirmary, pleading fatigue of her own, and returned to her quarters. She knew it was silly to feel so bereft, but she could not help it.

She was aware something was wrong the moment she opened the door to her outer chamber and her eyes shifted to amber. She had magic deep within her, at her very core. A warding over her rooms, her sanctuary, was a automatic outcrop of that magic. She could tell beyond a shadow of doubt when someone had breached that warding, no matter how subtle the magic the intruder had used. Tiptoeing silently, she made her way towards her bedroom, where a quiet rustling could be heard. Opening the door, her eyes went to a figure standing over her bed.

"Frjosa!" she said, arm twisting out towards the intruder, who instantly froze in place.

With a pounding heart, Laek pushed door the rest of the way open and gaped in stunned disbelief. There, next to her bed, was the frozen form of Loki, Prince of Asgard, Odinson. She had caught him just raising his head, his green eyes wide with surprise as the spell hit him. His hair, dark and straight, brushed against the collar of his green tunic ornamented with gold. One elegant, long fingered hand was extended towards her pillow, and in it was grasped a rolled up piece of parchment tied with a green ribbon.

"What in all the Nine?" Laek said allowed, staring at the frozen prince.

Why would he be in her room? It made sense in one way, only a strong sorcerer would have been able to break her wards and enter. She knew he was known for his mischief, had he had some prank in mind to play on the unsuspecting foreigner thrust into their midst? With his mastery of magic, he could pull any number of tricks on her.

Shaking her head in confusion, Laek made a small motion with her fingers, and unfroze his body, still, however, containing him within a parameter of limited space.

"My Lady," he gasped, a flush of red suffusing his cheeks. "I pray, forgive me my intrusion."

"You," she said, stupidly.

"I am Loki," he told her, sketching a courtly bow.

"Yes, I know," she replied with a little laugh, feeling her eyes shade to blue as she blushed. He was royalty and handsome as sin, she could hardly not know who he was. "I am Laek of Alfheim. But I suppose you know that, since you are in my room."

"I do," he admitted with a small nod of his head. "Again, a thousand apologies for my trespass."

"But why are you trespassing?" she asked, tilting her head as she stared at his handsome frame. She could feel his magic pulsing from him, attempting to find a chink in the stasis field she had him trapped in. Only in her own chambers would she be able to confine one as strong as he she knew.

"I don't suppose you would believe this is a shortcut to the armory?" he asked with a devastating smile.

"Through my bedroom? I think not."

"Ah, well then."

"What is that you have in your hand?" she demanded, noticing how he was attempting to hide it behind his back.

"Nothing," he said shortly, blushing again.

"It is not nothing!" she approached him warily, as one would a cornered animal. She knew he could do no magic, not bound as she had him, but that did not mean he could not use physical strength should she come too close. Against that, she had no defense unless she chose to freeze him again, and such a course would not yield the answers she sought.

"Your magic work is commendable," he praised her, sending a spark of something warm shooting through her. "Normally I could break a spell such as this in a matter of seconds, but your construction is seamless."

"You are in my nest," she shrugged, inching closer. "It is the way of our kind to protect our homes."

"Perhaps you could teach me," he smiled again, unleashing a lethal charm for one so young. She felt her own lips begin to tilt up, struggled to get them under control.

"Perhaps," she said non-committaly. "Once I know your intentions."

With speed that she knew surprised others not of her race, Laek's hand shot out and snatched the scroll from his hand. He made an unconscious noise of protest, but she had it out of his reach before he could grab it back. Was it a spell, she wondered? Some joke he sought to play on her? Biting her lower lip, she untied the ribbon and unscrolled the crackly parchment.

Her eyes widened with shock as she read the words written in an ornate, ancient hand. It was Vanir in origin and dialect, but the words were not a sorcerous incantation, but rather a poem; a rather romantic, lyrical poem set in a forest by night.

"I meant to be gone before you found that," he stammered. "I had no wish to embarrass you."

"You!" she breathed, realization hitting her. "You are the one who left all the tokens for me!"

Her left hand dipped into her pocket to grasp the blue stone, while her right flew to the green gem around her neck. Her eyes flicked to her bedside table, where the rose stood in a crystal bud vase next to the pressed snow.

"I did," he admitted, not meeting her eyes. "I ran out of locations to leave them for you. You go so few places. It took me weeks to breach your warding and make my way in here. I never expected you to return so soon. It is not your normal habbit."

He was babbling, she realized. As though he were the nervous one.

"Why?" she asked, at last. "Why leave them for me?"

"You seemed so lonely," he said, arms coming across his chest and head ducking down defensively. "Always by yourself, not really fitting in here. It caught my attention."

"It did?"

"Yes," he said softly. "I know a bit what that is like. Let us say, it piqued my curiosity. An easy thing to do, in truth. I watched you often in the library. I spend a portion of most days there. Tracked what you read. It seemed you had a desire to see the worlds."

"I do," she admitted. "I always have."

"I know a bit about that too. I know of course that you are here for study, and what a demanding teacher Eir can be. I trained under her for a century or so myself you see. I thought, if you could not go to the world, perhaps the world, or a small representation of it, could come to you."

"A stone from Alfheim, a snowflake from Jotunheim, a puzzle and gem from Nidavellir, a rose from Midgard, and a poem from Vaniheim. You went to all of those places? Found these things?"

"I did," he said, as though it were nothing. "It is easy enough if you know how. I admit, I was stumped as to what I would do when I reached Helheim on my list. Even I might have difficulty breaking in and out of there."

"Again, why?" she asked, staring at him with wonder. "It must have been so difficult. Why go to all that trouble? You might have just talked to me."

"I like a challenge," he said proudly, lifting his chin. After a moment though, his eyes dropped. "And I did not know if such an overture would be accepted. I am not... well liked or understood on Asgard."

"That makes two of us," she laughed, a bit breathlessly.

"I suppose it does," he replied, chuckling himself. "My dear Laek, do you think you might undo the stasis barrier? While it is causing me no physical distress, the wound to my pride is nigh on unbearable."

"Of course!" she said at once, moving her hand in a lateral swipe that dissolved magic.

"Thank you," he said with a deep breath of relief.

"I liked the gifts," she told him quietly, suddenly feeling shy now that he was free.

"Did you?" he asked, stepping towards her.

"They are all that has made these past months bearable on this planet."

"You are all that has made the past months bearable," he said, gazing into her eyes in a way that made her breath catch. "Before you arrived, I was miserable. Nothing changed, everyone was the same. Then you appeared, and I couldn't breath. I wanted... needed to know you."

"Me?" she she breathed in awe.

"You. Have you no idea how beautiful you are? And then to discover you were smart as well, gifted in magic, and curious to boot? For the first time in centuries there was someone in this accursed realm besides my mother who I thought I might understand. Who I wanted to know. To know in so many ways."

"You could have said hello," she said, feeling far out of her depth as he stood so near to her, took her hand in his.

"I could have," he said. "I chose not to. Can you forgive me?"

"Yes," she said simply, willing in that moment to forgive him any sin.

"Will you let me kiss you?" it was the uncertainty in his voice that touched her the most. He honestly didn't know if she would allow it.

"Yes," she said again, transfixed.

He was slow, gentle. His lips touched hers softly at first, brushing against her like silk. When she tilted her head towards him, he sighed into the kiss and gently lapped against her lips with his tongue. Laek opened her mouth willingly to him, inviting him to explore, to taste her. His arm came around her waist and pulled her flush against him as her fingers fanned out over his chest. He at last pulled away from her, leaving little nipping kisses on her lower lip as he did.

"Minn svass," he murmured as he gazed at her. "Your eyes are crystal."

Laek blushed crimson. She could tell from his smug voice that he knew what crystal meant. Her truest color. She wanted him. Wanted him desperately.

"Do not be embarrassed, sweetheart," he smiled. "Mine would be too."

As he took a step away from her, her eyes drifted downward and she saw the proof of his words, tenting his trousers.

"I would not disrespect you," he told her in a rough voice. "Would court you as your station deserves."

Laek bit her lower lip, struggling for words, always a problem for her when her emotions ran high.

"Could you not disrespect me just for one day?" she asked at last, flashing him a nervous smile.

A slow, wide grin spread over Loki's face as he stepped back towards her, pulled her into his embrace.

"I can do that," he practically growled at her.

He was kissing her then with a newfound ferocity, claiming her mouth, her neck, anywhere he could find flesh. Her hands fumbled at the hem of his tunic, and he raised his arms to help her pull it off. Her dress quickly followed, and he tumbled her down onto the obliging mattress just inches away.

"So beautiful," he groaned, eyes wandering her body where she lay naked before him. "Delicate as a flower and all for me."

"Loki," she panted as he devested himself of his trousers and stood before her in all his glorious nakedness.

She guided him into her, sweet and wet and open to his invasion. Her slim legs rose to wrap themselves around his hips as he buried himself within her walls. He had wanted her for so long, the beautiful, alien woman who had captured his interest from first glance. The reality was even more perfect than he had imagined. She was soft yet supple, molding around him as he thrust within her. He could feel the magic that was part of her very being, and it mingled with his own in a way that made their coupling more intimate than he had ever known it could be. When he felt her walls clamp down around him, felt his own release pump warm and strong inside her, filling her, it was with an intensity he had never experienced before. He cried out her name, almost as though in prayer, heard his own name called back with equal urgency and bliss.

When at last they could breath again without panting, Laek lay cradled in Loki's arms, head resting on his slim, muscular chest. One of his hands toyed lightly with the stone around her neck, and she smiled at the thought of him finding it for her.

"Promise me," he said to her, "that you will wear this always."

"I promise," she told him without hesitation.

"Tomorrow I begin to court you officially," he reminded her.

"I look forward to it," she smiled at him with a dreamy smile. The smile faded after a moment as her crystal eyes sought his green. "Loki, I have been so lonely."

"Think not on that, love," he told her, covering her with his body. "I am with you now, and you will never have to be alone again."

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bottleofspilledink · 4 years

Text

God's Watching, Put on a Show || Chapter VII

It was just another regular Monday morning for Eve.

Except for the fact that it wasn't.

In the span of a day, the mere notion of normalcy had been stripped from her, the routine she valued flipped on it's head.

P.E. was now on Monday rather than Friday. Her last subject was history rather than English. She didn't even share a single lunch block with her friends, the only time she'd ever see them in school was in class or quick waves as they passed each other in the halls.

Eve dragged her feet to what would be her new homeroom, lamenting the sudden switch all the while.

Unfortunately, this was the least of her worries.

The biggest of her problems -- besides her sexuality, which she refuses to acknowledge or admit to -- sat in the third row, next to a window, eyes roaming over the worn, hardcover book in her hands.

Eve took a seat next to her, as casually as she could given what had happened just a few days ago and greeted her.

"Good morning." She managed to say, voice as stiff and tense as she was feeling.

"Hey..." The girl mutters back, blue eyes never leaving the paper.

Eve waited for her to continue, expecting her to say something, anything, only to be hit with an awkwardly silence, the only other noise coming from Lilith was the occasional turn of the page and an even rarer shift in her seat.

Why was she so disappointed by this?

Didn't she want Lilith to leave her alone?

Shouldn't she be happy Lilith was no longer paying her any mind.

She had no right to feel so dejected, especially considering Friday's events...

Her hands clutched the rosary around her neck as she thought back to that day.

The things she'd said made her want to shovel soap into her mouth.

Lilith trusted her, that day in the library, she trusted her with a daunting secret, one that could ruin her if word ever got out of it, all to make Eve feel better about herself.

And she destroyed that trust.

She blackmailed someone.

Not just someone; she blackmailed Lilith.

While Eve wept in the dim light of the garage, she could still picture Lilith's face so vividly, eyes glassy with unshed tears.

To her, she had no right to cry as hard as she had, but she did anyway.

Friday til Sunday, Eve would find her eyes tearing up the moment her mind was unoccupied.

She could only hope Lilith hadn't done the same.

...

She forced her eyes to her book, completely aware of how close Eve was to her, yet refusing to acknowledge it.

"I should just be happy she didn't report me," Lilith thought to herself, mindlessly turning the page of her book where she felt that enough time had passed.

In all truthfulness, her mind hadn't retained any of what she was reading the moment Eve had settled down next to her, eyes merely skimming what was on the paper.

Just being next to Eve affected her.

Without the distracting company of Joan and the comforting words of Paula, she could already feel her eyes welling up.

"How dare she."

The thought echoed in her mind as her vision blurred, eyes stinging, throat tightening, breathing barely controlled.

How dare what started as a mere infatuation worm it's way into her heart and turn into a crush, even making itself room to blossom into something more before being cruelly crushed by the weight of Eve's words.

How dare Eve turn her into this emotional wreck, stealing away the little stability she had left and replacing it with a wretched ache and a deep yearn, just as Sarah had all those months ago.

How dare Lilith herself allow this to happen, her guard lowering and her heart longing, still weary from what had happened before yet not the slightest bit used to it.

She had wasted an entire weekend lamenting what could have been and crying over what she thought was there while Eve had probably moved on from what happened after an hour had passed.

"But," she thought, slowly blinking away the rising tears before they could escape her, "I still don't want to see her cry."

Even though she had spent her nights sobbing into her pillow, chest heaving and hicupping, she couldn't bring herself to wish that same heartache onto Eve.

And that scared her.

Maybe it was because she knew herself as a petty and spiteful person.

Maybe it was because she knew only one other person who she could never wish harm unto.

Maybe it was the implication of it all. She knew what it meant, not to want pain to befall Eve despite her wishing it on so many others.

And that scared her, too.

However, wallowing in her misery would have to wait, the nun arriving to start the class off with a morning prayer and daily reminders before they went their own separate ways.

...

With all the guilt that gnawed at her, Eve would admit that she had only been half listening to the announcements, though her mind came crashing back down to earth soon enough when a form was passed back to them.

"You and your partner will also have to be in the same club." Sister Deborah said, pacing by her desk to the front row back and forth.

"This is to ensure that as long as you are inside school property, you will never be separated for too long."

The woman finally took a seat after she saw that the papers had reached even the very back, satisfied.

"So I suggest that you all talk it over now and try to find a compromise so that sign-ups won't take too long later." She swiftly put on her reading glasses and pulled out some papers, a clear sign that they were allowed to speak as long as they weren't too noisy.

"This is my chance," She thought, eager to try and break the ice, and hopefully making up for what had happened before by choosing a club that Lilith would like.

Eve turned to face her, expectant, though immediately disappointed to learn that Lilith was still reading.

She had to say something, Eve reasoned, so she might as well use this as an excuse.

"So, do you have any idea what club you wanna join?" Her voice came out squeaky and strained, the sound of it making her wince.

No response.

"I'm open to anything, really, so you can sign us up wherever you like." She sounded desperate, even to herself, the embarrassment that was being ignored slowly rising in her stomach, spreading to her chest, and at last reaching her cheeks, painting her a splotchy, shameful red.

Finally, after an agonizing second of deafening silence, Lilith turned to her and spoke.

"Sorry, what?"

Eve sighed, not even knowing she had been holding her breath, relief flooding her.

"I was asking about what club you wanted to join," She said, the smile she had plastered on earlier for appearances sake becoming more and more real by the second.

"They said that we have to stick together during club time, too."

"Oh, okay."

"So, do you know which club you want to be in yet? They gave us a list along with the sign-up sheet." She nudged the back of Lilith's hand with the paper.

"This is it! We're talking again!"

Her mental hoorah didn't last for long, however, Lilith's response cutting the conversation short.

"I'm fine with whatever."

The dismissive reply rendered her silent and scrambling for any loose thread of conversation she could continue.

Her amber eyes landed on the book Lilith held with such reverence, and Eve grasped that remaining thread with a vigor.

She wanted back her bold, talkative, and boisterous Lilith.

She wanted back the girl who'd tease her in the library, the girl who'd insisted she ride on the back of her bike when she got it injured, the girl who lent her a pair of oven mitts on that cold autumn morning.

She wanted back the girl that she...

No.

Eve cared for Lilith, yes, but not like that. She didn't care for her like a That.

"Okay, maybe you just need more time to think. There at least has to be a club you don't want to be in." Eve tried to bring a natural end to the first topic before moving onto the next.

"Anyway, what are you reading?" She was no thespian, but at the very least she could try to sound casual. "It must be pretty interesting if you didn't hear someone who was right next to you."

Lilith grinned, like that day by the dumpsters, as if she knew something Eve did not, as if she was part of some elaborate inside joke.

"I don't think you'll like it." Her hand pressed against her mouth, trying to stifle what seemed to be giggles.

"Is that so?"

"Yup. I don't think the genre is for your type." She said the last part as if it was some salacious piece of gossip or a king of innuendo.

"Try me." Eve replied.

If there was one thing she didn't shy away from, it was books. And besides, she needed to keep this conversation going somehow!

"Can't." Lilith turned the page, making a big show of it all the while.

"Why not?"

"Can't tell you that, either."

Eve pouted, bottom lip jutting out in an exaggerated manner, taking great care to ensure that Lilith saw this as playful rather than a tantrum, unwilling to return to the awkward silence that was a mere five minutes ago.

"Why not?"

"'Cause you might snitch on me."

The blonde winced at that, trying her best to think of a way to keep things going between the two of them.

"And, if I were to tell on you for this, just what exactly would I be reporting you for?" Eve quirked a brow, rubbing her hands together in a cartoonishly evil manner, hoping the humor would be enough to crack the girl or at the very least give her an opportunity to change the subject before the air grew too tense.

...

"Persistence isn't gonna get you very far in this case," Lilith chuckled.

If only she knew what this old, 246 page book contained...

"It ain't just my head on the chopping block if word of this gets out."

Lilith knew that, by continuing this conversation, she was endangering herself and what little she had left to hide from the people that mattered, but she couldn't, or rather, didn't want to stop.

"It can't be that bad." Eve whips out her copy of the student handbook, skipping to page thirty eight. "The punishment for possession of pornographic material is just a week long suspension and a conference with the sisters about God's plan on human sexuality."

Lilith chuckles again, eyes looking at Eve with a strange mix of mirth and jealousy, taking both amusement and envy out of her innocence.

"Wrong rule." She slipped the worn, nondescript book back in her bag, in case Eve got the idea of just snatching it away.

"Try page twelve, paragraph four."

Lilith watched as Eve turned the pages in rapid succession. After years of reading those lines over and over, she could tell exactly where the girl was reading just by the subtle shift of her big, brown eyes.

The words on that page scared and sickened her to no end. She knew it by heart.

Her mind followed Eve's eyes, recalling what had been printed there word for word, comma for comma, the small, Arial font disgustingly vivid.

"Any student found to have been a part of or currently engaging in any sort homosexual relationship or activities, after informing their parents or legal guardian, will either be handed over to the closest psychiatric ward to receive treatment, or brought to the local church in order to make arrangements for their enrollment in "Godly living", a sister school of St. Agnes School For Girls, where said student can be guided back to the righteous path God intended them to take through the help of His word."

Those eighty-seven words had burned through her skull and into her mind, making her fear her every movement, lying awake in the dark of her room, stomach in knots, scared and worried and wondering if she would live to see another day.

She saw Eve's expressive eyes and the fear that filled them. It was so similar to what she had felt when she had first laid her eyes on that accursed paragraph. Though she was certain that Eve had read it before, mind most likely pushing it away as the girl tried to convince herself that she needn't concern herself with that particular rule, seeing as it didn't apply to her.

She remembered the first time she read it, a mere thirteen years of age, eager and lively, only somewhat aware of how she liked women, yet completely unaware that others did not feel the same as her, knowing what a homosexual was only from sermons and sneers from other children in the apartment as they looked and whispered about the two men who lived on the third floor, or as the adults liked to call them, fags.

That morning, she didn't wake til half past noon, and now she lay in her bed, restless, bored, the only thing in her grasp to pass the time being the rulebook of the school she would soon be attending.

She remembered walking on the tips of her toes for just a few paces, wary of how she distributed her weight over her bedroom's creaky floorboards, quickly grabbing her old night light to aid her in her reading.

What a darling child she had been...

So nice.

So unquestioningly obedient.

So normal.

But alas, that obedient little girl grew, seeing and learning and feeling, no longer reliant on her family to tell her what to think, no longer trusting them to, knowing their love for her was fleeting and conditional.

She read the book on the floor of her room, lying on her stomach, inches away from where her night light was plugged in, elbows sore by the time she reached that damned paragraph.

All the wind got knocked out of her, chest aching like it had when it came in contact with a stray soccer ball, yet somehow deeper, the pain lingering far longer than the marks of the physical hit, travelling down into her stomach the longer she thought about it, making her nauseous and killing her appetite the next morning.

"I'm sorry," Eve suddenly spoke, pulling Lilith from her thoughts.

"It wasn't my intention to pry, I just-"

The shrill shriek of the bell interrupted her, however, and they left class.

Lilith never did know what Eve was going to say, and she mourned the loss like she did all the almosts in her life.

...

Never in her life did Eve think that the school, the people who ran it, and thus, the church could be so... cruel. Inhumane. Just plain wrong.

"Receive treatment," Her mind echoed.

"What does that even mean? They're sinful, not ill. They need prayer and support and guidance-"

"All rise for the opening prayer." Sister Lydia said, voice stern and strict as ever.

Eve's lithe fingers were shaky as she made the sign of the cross, palms encasing her rosary as she prayed as if to make up for the lack of strength behind her words.

"Glory be to the Father."

Her mind desperately tried to make what she had been told all her life and what she had learned mere moments ago mesh and mold together to form one coherent truth.

It couldn't.

For if God is all loving and all forgiving, should he not make all who follow his word cease the so-called "treatment" they inflicted on the sinful, allowing the sinners to dig their own graves while the faithful remained holy, hands never casting stones upon others, as they too, had sinned? And should he not wait for the sinner to come to him in their own time by their own will, uncoaxed and true in their faith, like the merciful father waiting for his prodigal son to return to him?

"And to the Son."

Did he really deserve that glory? Should she really be singing her praises to an entity that had never once answered her, never once lifted a finger to reassure her? If he was willing to lay down his life for the forgiveness of her sins, could he not as easily give her a sign, tell her what was true, what wasn't, and help in restoring her faith?

"And to the Holy Spirit."

How long has it been since she felt it's presence? Since she felt holy? Where was the Holy Spirit to guide her when she had begged for it, sobbing at the weight of her sins?

"As it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be, world without end."

Just how could that be?

She was born with the burden of original sin, baptized and made pure, only to sin once more, in a different, despicable way, every act she commits counted on the ever running tally that was the slate of her soul, little lines appearing on it like chalk with her every movement.

Was her soul, and all others, truly like they were in the beginning? Or were the sins marked on it now heavier, graver?

Would her soul stay like this? Or would it be cleansed in the second coming, erasing every scratch save for the very first, save for the one she was given for merely being born?

"Amen."

She did the sign of the cross once more. Her hands seemed to move all by themselves, accustomed to routine, as she hadn't even realized the prayer had ended, body running on a sort of autopilot as she tried all she could to make to opposing thoughts co-exist and cooperate.

Unfortunately for Eve, no amount of mental gymnastics seemed to work, infinitesimal details throwing all possibilities and interpretation into useless, incomprehensible garbage.

It was all she could think about the entire period and everything after, though something less serious would soon come to occupy her thoughts by the end of her class just before lunch, gym.

Or more specifically, gym with Lilith.

________________________________

Taglist: @anon-nom-nom95 @littlemisscalamity @phillyinthebathroom @melpomenismask

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eak8753 · 4 years

Text

High School AU

There were two people at Rebel High that you didn’t mess with. Damian Wayne and Raven Roth. Damian was the son of playboy billionaire Bruce Wayne. He was a violent little shit that got into fights just for the fun of it. He had been kicked out of numerous schools so his Father sent him to the only public school in town as punishment. He could hold himself in a fight and even if he couldn’t, he knew his Father would bail him out of anything.

Raven was a part of the demons, one of the deadliest gangs in America. She was born into it by her Father, as it was her birthright to be a part of it. She was the school's best known drug dealer and had spent the summer before junior year locked up. She had no quarrels with kicking someone’s ass if she needed to, but her preferred method of attack was verbal abuse. Both of them could cut you down to size with a single look and people were far too scared to get on their shit lists. That didn’t stop the rumours though.

“Todd, what are we doing here? I thought you were taking us to get food?” Damian asked his older brother, Jason. He had told their Father that he was grabbing a late lunch, when Alfred had insisted that he take Damian along. That had been thirty minutes ago and they still hadn’t gotten a single thing to eat. Instead they were at some trailer park on the opposite side of the city. The trailers were smaller than his room and it didn’t make sense why Todd would want to come here.

Ignoring his younger brother, Jason got out of the car, banging on one of the trailer's doors. Following his brother's actions -for what reason was beyond him- a man with two dyed white streaks in his primarily black hair, eyes the colour of ambers, covered in tattoos opened the door. looking Jason up and down he motioned for them to come in. Upon entering Damian noticed two things, it was bigger on the inside, and the place reeked of weed.

“I need papes*” Jason told the man once they walked in. “What happened to the ones I gave you?” the man questioned turning the T.V off. Damian always had to marvel at how differently they all handled their problems. Todd used drugs and alcohol, Drake would isolate himself, Grayson would throw himself into work, and Damian used violence. Sure they each tended to do what the others did -minus Damian and drugs- but they all seemed more prone to do one thing.

Damian was snapped out of his thoughts when he heard a girl’s voice, one he had heard a couple of times before. “Hey fuckhead” the girl said, anger evident in her voice. Turning to the sound he looked at a form dressed in a white tank top, black sweatpants, and a bat in hand. Right in front of him was Rebel High’s most feared female; Raven Roth. “Shit” the man Jason had asked papes for pailed. “Rae…” he said trailing off as she went towards the television. She glared at the man, then proceeded to take the bat and swing it into the T.V. effectively rendering it useless. Glass shards fell to the ground, all the while the lavender haired girl never took her eyes off the man.

“What the fuck Raven” the man yelled at the young women, looking back from the shattered T.V. to her. “Remember this next time you wanna go through my shit” she said walking up to him, stopping only a few feet away, dropping the bat. “As your older brother I can go through your crap whenever I want to, and how else was I gonna find out that you’re fucking a thirty year old” the dark haired man replied, still in disbelief over the events that took place not even five minutes ago. “Simple, you don’t. Besides it’s not like it would be the first time” the girl replied with venom, clearly still angry, for what was lost to Damian.

The Roth siblings glared at each other, while the Wayne brothers -or the ones there at least- kept glancing at each other, in mild confusion and fear. She looked at him for a moment. Damian had never had a conversation with the young dealer. She rarely ever spoke unless it was to rip someone apart, disrespect someone -who more often than not deserved it- or was to talk about deals. Seeing as Damian and her didn’t run in the same crowd -that of which meant he was popular, thus meaning he sat with popular people and she was always by herself- and he didn’t have a purpose for drugs, they never spoke. Although they did have English together. Turning back to face her brother she flipped him off and walked out the door.

Damian briefly wondered if he had been possessed as he saw her walk out the door, slamming it. He didn’t want her to leave, which was unusual in itself since he wasn’t much of a people person. Looking at the two older men before him, Damian ran out of the trailer home, running up to the young girl, calling out her name.

Stopping a couple of meters in front of him she slowly turned around, her arms crossed in front of her, confusion visible on her face. “Wayne?” she questioned, raising an eyebrow as he ran the last few meters to her. “Hey, I um” he stammered, suddenly his mouth felt dry. Despite other’s beliefs, he had no clue how to talk to teenage girls, especially ones who were just as explosive as him. He knew he had to be cautious, not say or do anything that might make her upset.

“I didn’t know you had a brother” he said casually. “I have five more,” she said, never letting her defences down. Why was Damian Wayne talking to her? It didn’t make any sense, and honestly she couldn’t be bothered to figure out the truth at the moment. She hadn’t eaten yet and was fully aware of how violent and rude she could be if she didn’t eat. “Really? Where are they” he asked with genuine interest. He was observant and used that to his advantage, he pretty much had everyone at Rebel’s High story -or the basics of it- figured out, all’s except her’s.

“Prison” she answered sharply, turning on her heel, she started walking again. Then a hand reached out to latch on to her own, effectively stopping her. Spinning around to him, she looked at his hand on her arm, then at him. Did he have a death wish? Moving his hand from her after a moment -way to quickly, he noted- he went to speak, but was beaten to it. “Look Damian, if my brother asked you to check up on me-“ “Your brother didn’t tell me to do shit. I just wanted to make sure you were okay” he cut her off, nonchalantly.

She was suspicious, he could see that but she didn’t ask “why” which he was grateful for. Honestly Damian didn’t know why he did it, maybe it was because something about Raven had always intrigued him or that she had yet to throw herself at him but he did want to make sure she was okay. Plus if what her brother said about the thirty year old was true, he wanted that pedophile to get locked up.

“I’m guessing you’re one of the shithead brothers Jay is alway complaining about?” She asked him after a moment, still keeping her guards up. Raising his eyebrow slightly he crossed his arms. “He talks about you guys, so are you Kiss Up, Replacement or Demon Spawn?” the girl question. “Demon Spawn, definitely Demon Spawn” the boy answered, smirking.

Sure being called a demon spawn wasn’t something to be proud of, but honestly he couldn’t give two shits. When he first went to live with his Father seven years ago he purposefully was a disobedient, cruel, nasty child, something he undoubtedly would be punished for when he lived with his Mother and Grandfather. He also really liked the names for his other older brothers. Kiss Up had to be Grayson, Father was always comparing everything the others did to their eldest brother. Replacement must have been Drake then, which for Todd was fitting, considering he was adopted a few months after Father had sent Todd off to boarding school in London.

Tuning back into his conversation with Raven he asked “what does he say about us?” “53% of the time it's complaints, 17% is talking about how we should sell him a gun“ this shocked Damian for two reasons; why did Todd need a gun? And he didn’t know the Roths dealt them. Of course he wasn’t stupid and valued his life so he brushed it off as if he already knew these things. “What about the remaining 30%?” The young Wayne asked. At that Raven just grinned.

It was then that she came closer to him, he stood still, tensing up at the contact. He didn’t really like being around people, females no less. He had only really ever had two females close to him; his mother and ex girlfriend, both of which were no longer a part of his life. Raven, being completely oblivious to his uneasiness reached forward for the front of his jacket, playing with the unzipped sides before looking up at him. “Is that a Balmain Biker Jacket*” she questioned, still playing with the sides. “Yeah it is, how did you…” he trailed off, looking at her suspiciously. “Just because I can't afford it doesn’t mean I don't know what it is,” she smirked.

He looked at her a bit sheepishly, then she quickly pulled away from him. For some reason he liked having her close to him, but he brushed it off as wanting physical contact from a female -that he was comfortable with- after going months without it.

“I'm hungry” she stated, and started walking away. Before he could do anything she turned to him again with a raised brow. “Well, are you coming?” She asked. It took him a moment to realize what had happened. Raven Roth had just asked him if he was going to eat with her, it really wasn’t her style. He had rumours that she had slept with -or done something similar- with almost every guy at school. He didn’t think she did dates, then again this wasn’t a date. Did he want it to be a date? That was a question he didn’t need answered at the moment, running up to her he made sure to leave a good five inches of space between them.

Entering Big Belly Burger, they sat down at a booth, across from each other. “Need help deciding what you want,” Raven asked with an amusing smile, clearly teasing him. It wasn't a secret that Damian always had the best of everything; clothes, technology, and food. He knew that she thought that this was his first time coming to a Big Belly Burger, or any fast food place. Yes it was true he didn’t usually go to places that served food high in fat, but he did indulge once in a while, this being one of those times. “Nope” he answered, popping the P, as the waitress came over to them.

“What will it be?” The waitress asked, who Damian quickly realized was a new girl who went to their school, a sophomore he believed. “I'll have a grilled chicken burger and an ice tea, with a side of fries” Raven said, putting the menu down. “I'll have the same thing except for a surprise veg burger” Damian responded to the waitress. Looking up from her notepad, she looked both of them over, registering who exactly was in front of her.

“Holy shit, you’re Damian Wayne” it wasn’t really a question but he nodded anyways. Immediately she became much more cheery. She patted her uniform skirt down, fixed her hair slightly and put on a bright smile. “So what brings you here” she said, he cringed internally at the overused pickup line. He found it a little disrespectful that she would try and talk to him when he was clearly in the middle of something with another person. The complete disregard for Raven infuriated.

He gestured towards the purple haired girl in front of him, the waitress just scoffed. “You certainly are a cheap date” she said to Raven. “Didn’t know you were into rich boys, then again I wouldn’t put being a gold digger past you. Or is the trailer trash you’re used to just not cutting it anymore, you would sleep with anyone who wants it” she said with clear disgust, Raven for her part was keeping her cool, she didn’t even seem bothered by what this girl was insinuating. Damian knew the rumours, and what her brother said didn’t help her case, but she didn’t have to take this kind of treatment.

Looking away from Raven, the younger girl looked Damian, bright smile again. “You know you don’t have to go through the trouble of buying this skank lunch right? I mean you could do so much better-“ no doubt referring to herself, he thought “-and she never needed to be dined before. I heard that she” “I don’t give two shits what you heard about her. Now can you please go get us our fucking food” Damian snapped. The girl, slightly taken aback by his outrage, just nodded and left, all the while having Damian glare at her.

Looking back to Raven he saw her brow raised, something he noticed she did a lot. “You know you could report her right, get her fired. No doubt that she deserves it” he said, still not understanding how she managed not to be angry. “It’s not that big of a deal” she shrugged, playing with a ketchup packet. Not that big of a deal? She had just been disrespected and thinks it isn’t a big deal.

Then a thought struck him. “Does that happen often” he questioned, although deep down he already knew the answer. She pretended to think for a moment. “All the time” she answered, leaning back in her seat. “You don’t have to take it,” he said, placing his hands on the table leaning forward slightly. “Look, I'm a Roth” she sighed. “People are always gonna talk. If she wasn’t bitching about me being a slut, then it would about me being a dealer” she said, eyes pleading with him to just drop it.

“That's fucked up” he said, staring out the window. “I come from a pretty fucked up family” she responded with a smile in her voice. “Yeah, my family’s pretty shit too” he stated, still not looking at her. He was upset with his Father for not knowing about him until he was ten years old, he was upset with his Mother for not telling his Father about him, but more importantly he was upset that they both never treated him like a normal child, then again Damian wasn’t a normal child.

“Damian” Raven's voice snapped him from his thoughts, turning to look at her; she had an incredulity face. “From what I heard you have a pretty great family” she stated matter of factly. Seeing the look of confusion on his face she elaborated. “I know that your Father is sort of a distant asshole, but he also has a multibillion dollar company to run, so he can’t exactly be there for all of you. Clearly he shouldn’t have so many kids but you all turned out pretty fine. The worst of you being Jason, dubbed by the media, and all he really does is smoke weed” she gave her two cents. She wasn’t wrong, in fact she was completely on the nose. Damian understood why his Father was away all the time, but a part of him still wished he could see him after he came home from school like most kids.

“Still wish he’d be there for us sometimes though. We really only see him on Fridays for a mandatory family dinner” Damian said, a hint of bitterness in his voice. “Family dinner sounds nice, if my Father isn’t locked up then he’s doing something to get locked up” she responded as their food arrived, thankfully it was a different waitress this time. “How much time has he done?” The young man questioned, taking a sip of his ice tea. “30 years on and off” she answered, taking a bite of her fries.

“So, what’s your story?” She asked him after about three minutes of silence. It wasn’t an awkward silence though, and he actually quite enjoyed it. When he was with his -now ex- girlfriend she hated the silence and would talk for hours, which was fine with Damian if it meant he didn’t have to talk about himself. Obviously this tactic wasn’t going to work with Raven.

“I don’t have one” he simply answered, taking a bite from his burger. “Bullshit” she said, taking a sip of her drink. “Everyone's got a story, whether they acknowledge it or not” she stated. “If that’s true then you must have one” he countered, crossing his arms and leaning back into his seat. “Yeah I do, but I asked first” she shrugged, reaching over and grabbing one of his fries.

His eyes followed his fry in her hands, all the way to her mouth, looking up he realized she had been watching him the whole time, sighing he had no other choice but to answer the young woman. “I grew up with my Mother and Grandfather. They took care of me and taught me how to defend myself. After my Grandfather was killed my Mother had trouble taking care of us, so she brought me to my father.”

“Apparently he didn’t even know I was born and made me take a DNA test to determine if I was even his or not. Surprise surprise, I was. I’ve been living with him ever since, sometimes my Mother comes to visit but I wish she would just leave me alone” at her confused face he explained. “My mother was mentally abusive, and kept me isolated from most of the world. It wasn’t until I lived with my Father that I realized how shitty she was though” he finished, taking another bite from his burger.

They just sat there for a while, unmoving. That was until he reached out to take a sip of her drink, she followed the movements with a raised brow, at his smirk she slightly chuckled. “So...” he drawled out, indicating for her to finish, she sighed. “I lived with my mother up until I was eight” she started. “She was murdered and I was taken. Apparently my father didn’t take too kindly to her running off after they found out she was pregnant.”

”Of course I was beyond angry at him for what he did to my mother. Sure she was a bitch at times but she was the only person I had. He went to jail, for unrelated reasons, after that. My brothers were in and out of the house, so I enlisted in school and about four months later he was released. Forced me into the family business. High school kids are more prone to buy drugs than adults. Of course then the rumours came and he totally lost his shit. Went full on psycho, I had to leave for a while so I got my ass thrown in juvie. While I was locked up he got caught for some shit and now has to do 18 months with a chance of parole in 12” she replied in a monotone voice, not betraying how she actually felt.

“Why’d he go psycho” the youngest Wayne questioned, what rumours had her Father heard that would make her want to go to juvie. “That I was a slut” Damian couldn’t help but snort at that. “Yeah, he thought that I was doing it with everyone; high schoolers, felons, junkies, guys in their thirties” she gave him a small smile as she finished her burger. It was odd, he had never told anyone as much as he had told her. He believed that his mind was something for him and him alone, which drove everyone else crazy. But for some reason he was willing to tell her all of his inner thoughts. Then it struck him.

Thought? What do you mean he thought you did those things. No offence, but you have done those things” he told her with a face of confusion. She looked at him with dull eyes, and shook her head slightly. “I've only slept with one man, Damian, and it wasn’t even consensually” she said with the utmost seriousness, then again when wasn’t she serious? “What...what about the rumours?” he probed with a frown, he believed her, he was just taken aback that someone would spread such nasty lies about another person.

“A few weeks after I started school I was invited to this girl’s birthday party. There was this boy there and he tried to kiss me, I said no. Next thing I knew he told everyone that we had hooked up. Guess he got some of his friends into it too, because they made up shit as well” she shrugged, taking another one of his fries. “Why didn’t you deny it?” He asked. “I did it, but by then the damage was done. It only got worse when I became a freshmen” her eyes had clouded over, as if she was remembering something; something particularly painful.

“What about the guy your brother was talking about?” He inquired, looking her over. Snapping back into reality she answered. “My brother doesn’t know shit. I'm not sleeping with the guy, he's my Social Worker. I have to report to him every two weeks on how shit in my life’s going and based on that he deems whether I can continue living with my father or not” obviously she hadn’t told him the truth, or the entire truth at least. There was no way he would let her live with that maniac if he knew what really happened.

Her words bounced around in his mind. “I’ve only slept with one man, and it wasn’t even consensual. Wasn’t even consensual” she hadn’t given consent. “You were raped” he blurted out. she looked at him with a face of indifference. “Well I wouldn’t go so far to say that-“ “did you and this man have intercourse?” He cut her off. “Yes” she answered honestly, “did you give him consent” “No” she shook her head. “That means you were raped-“ she was about to protest but he continued “-he invaded your body without asking or having permission.”

“Even if you had given consent, that still makes him a pedophile, you have to report this” he couldn’t believe this. The girl everyone had belittled for being a slut was actually a rape victim. “I can't,” she whispered. “Why not” he raised his voice slightly, maybe she didn’t understand the magnitude of this situation, but he did. “Because in some fucked up way...I care about him” she laughed but there was no humour in it. Looking up at him he noticed the unshed tears in her eyes, and he knew that this was hurting her, breaking her. She was pleading with him to drop it. “Rae...” he trailed off, he was sorry for her, not in a pity kind of way, but in a you-don’t-deserve-this kind of way.

“Look,” she said, straightening up a bit. “It happened years ago, I have no way to prove that it even happened. The bastard is already in jail anyways” she said, reaching across the table to put her hand over his, not to take a fry. She smiled at him softly, he didn’t agree with her and was willing to take this to court, even pay for a lawyer, but there wasn’t much he could do if she didn’t want to. So, he just returned the smile.

It was weird, less than an hour ago he hadn’t spoken to her once, and now it felt like they knew each other better than anyone else. He had just thought of her as a skanky dealer, another criminal that should be locked up. It was true, what she had said, that everybody has a story. He silently vowed to never judge another person without truly knowing their story first. This may have been their first conversation, but something told him it wouldn’t be their last.

***

A/N: This came to me when I was watching Euphoria and Shameless videos :)

Papes - The paper you roll weed up in (I think, don’t know if that’s how you spell it)

Balmain Biker Jacket is this expensive leather jacket

#demon birds #damirae #damian x raven #fanfic #fanfiction #high school au #damian x raven fanfic #damirae fanfiction

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twistedapple · 4 years

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Bianca Bosconero - Snow White stayed in the wild

Biographical Information

Gender: Female

Age: Rude.

Birthday: November 1st (Scorpio)

Height: 158cm

Eye colour: Golden

Hair colour: Black

Homeland: Valley of Thorns

Family: Neve Bosconero (twin sister), unnamed parents

Professional Information

Dorm: Pomefiore

School Year: Second

Class: 2A, Student no.5

Occupation: Student, Part-time worker (NRC’s library)

Club: Writing/School newspaper

Best Subject: History of Magic, Defensive Magic

Appearance

Petite but fit and light on her feet, Bianca moves gracefully and learned to look regal in most circumstances. If one were to solely judge by appearances, it’d be very obvious that she is in Pomefiore. Her natural beauty is amplified by the various contrasts between her snow white skin, hair dark as night, red lips and eyes like golden amber. Unsurprisingly, she learned to work around it all to enhance her features with the help of solid routines and a proper knowledge of makeup. As a personal rule, she favours styles that are simple and efficient, that create a line, a memorable silhouette. It is both reflected in a rather minimal makeup - smoked, deep brown and some eyeliner to intensify her cat eye look, some clever pin point correcting and a bit of red added to the lips - and her choice of outfits, especially in the way she wears her regular uniform.

Her school uniform underwent modifications, either subtles - such as the higher collar of her dress shirt and the sharper waist line of the Pomefiore purple vest - or straight up individualised, with a skirt tailored to emulate Edwardian walking skirts with a shorter, more modern length right below the knees, but the ever present pleats in the back to give her silhouette an iconic S-shape (also achieved with the use of boby shaping underwears). Opaque black stockings held by garters, as well as black high heels in a fine suede leather to maintain a visual continuity, complete the overall tailored look, elegantly mixing a rather masculine top with a more feminine bottom for a sharp look.

Her dorm uniform matches the standards, with long purple robes over a black adjusted outfit. However, she deemed the height of the boots over her ankle ill-fitting and managed to have them become thigh-high instead. There may or may not be regular bickerings about that.

Her PE uniform has a purple, long sleeved undershirt to protect as much skin as possible, as well as matching leggings under the school overall - which she wears with short sleeves and legs. With this outfit, she wears grey trainers with orange details and laces.

Her ears are pierced - she removes her earrings for PE class -, she has a beauty spot below the right eye and she uses a deep red nail polish on her carefully manicured nails - not too long, not too short, the ideal length for her slender hands without having her nails in the way on a daily basis. Her long hair is partially pulled up in a cleverly messy bun, with braids and golden ornaments to animate the updo. She keeps it in a simple braid for PE.

Personality

Bianca knows how to provide a good first impression and as such tends to be fairly laidback and willing to interact with her surroundings. Polite and pleasant, she enjoys having fun, be it with other people or at their expanses. This relaxed, go-with-the-flow type of behaviour makes it easy for her to fit with all sorts of people, and she’s probably that one person who’s more or less familiar with half the school, since she’s decent with people and excels at them.

Perceptive and adaptable, she keeps going back and forth between an active behaviour and a more observant position. Her habit regarding people watching means she pays a great deal of attention between what is said and what is shown. With a detail-oriented nature, she tends to pick up on subtle cues and signs that quietly provide her informations regarding the persons she interacts with - whether they like it or not. Paradoxally, it puts her in a situation where people may be tempted to question her logic and wonder if she’s dense or whimsically clever. It’s especially visible in her not-so-equal results as a student: she may be clueless while facing simple tasks, while pulling a full mark off on delicate exercises, because she possesses an out-fo-the-box line of thinking that isn’t always suited for the conformism required by a school. This is because being perceptive is fine, but being interested matters just as much for her. If she’s not interested and/or doesn’t get the logic behind what’s presented to her, failure is more likely to happen. As such, despite her adaptability, she can also demonstrate a fickle, stubborn nature that’s not the easiest to handle.

Independent and bold, she has a good head on her shoulders and is quick to take informed decisions. This behaviour is especially informed by certain events in her life, that forced her to grow up faster in order to move forward and deal with certains issues. As such, she’s a fast learner and demonstrate a level of wisdom and maturity that isn’t exactly common in a school full of teens. In consequence, her insight tends to be valued, especially since she tends to provide her opinion while considering as many angles to a problem and its solution as possible, thanks to her out-of-the-box type of thinking. She has the grace to provide her advices without giving a judgement - unless one abuses her patience and keep slamming a wall without considering her suggestions, in which case she’ll be prompt to tell that person what she personally thinks. This side of her personality has been feeding her Local Reliable Big Sister sort of reputation.

However, while people tend to come to her to talk about their problems - and she’s not going to spill anything out -, she remains very secretive as far as her own life is concerned. The smallest handful of people knows what’s going on privately, and half of that handful if the NRC staff because certain events recently affected her to the point she had to put her school life between parenthesis for a time before coming back. Despite her pleasant, if quite fickle, personality, she tends to bottle a lot of things up and isn’t a fan of nosy people. She’s quick to catch up of these people, and even quicker to tell them to mind their own business. As far as she is concerned, she picks who she’s going to confide to, and that choice will be carefully informed. Nobody decides for her, not anymore.

Magic

Her Unique Magic is called Forest Queen. It allows her various levels of summonings on a “territory” she can expend up to a certain degree to make the summons appear. She can declare herself the territory (which she usually does because it’s the most economic method magic-wise) or make it as large as a magift stadium (though she’d only do that as a last resort for now, as it’s really taxing). In this territory, she can bring forth up to seven dreadful beasts - each having its own characteristics and appearance. Some can hide and strike before retreating to the shadows, others can straight up be wild, brutal beasts out for a hunt. When fully expanded, her territory takes the appearance of a dense primal forest where one could easily feel lost.

She very rarely deploys her full strength because it’s dangerous for her and puts her at a very high risk of overblotting - however when it happens, don’t expect her to pull any punch. She will become as wild as her territory - revealing that side of herself she usually keeps in check to put people at ease.

Most of the time, she declares herself the territory and summons up to two beasts. Using the territory recently added new strange effects, as she improved her skills: it seems she’s become “closer” to her magic and gained a passive ghost-like presence, while the forest itself seems to act more and more like a locked space. It seems she still has some things to uncover in regard to Forest Queen.

Fun Facts

Dominant Hand: Ambidextrous (initially left-handed)

Favorite Food: Apple and cinnamon tart

Least Favorite Food: Anything greasy or overly sweet

Bad With: Authoritarians, noisy places, mathematics

Hobby: TTRPG, reading, people watching

Talents: Writing, singing

#twisted wonderland #disney twisted wonderland #twst #twisted wonderland oc #twst oc #OC #Bianca Bosconero #my girl hath arriveth ♥#feel free to interact!

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johnnydeppfuckyeah · 4 years

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Abuse a Man Unjustly, and You Will Make Friends for Him

“Tell the world Johnny, tell them, I Johnny Depp, a man, I’m a victim too of domestic violence… And see how many people believe or side with you.”

A survivor of hellacious abuse, who was falsely accused of being the abuser, has gone above and beyond to prove his innocence. Despite the profuse amount of evidence in his favor he still is not being believed in the court of public opinion. He did everything and more that one would expect from an abused party. Detailed notes in the form of gruesome photographs, video footage, medical records, audio confessions from his abuser, fleeing the area when violence would erupt, sinking into the bowels of depression as those around watched and could do almost nothing to help or stop it.

This man begged for there to be no more violence. He pleaded with his abuser, “there can be no physical violence..” in the audio tape. “Don’t tell me what it feels like to be punched”, as she tried to redefine his words and experience for him. “I lost a finger man..” He reminds her as she chastises him wildly for insinuating he is a victim of anything at all. The first tape is the result of couples therapy according to the accompanying documentation. We also know he was seeking professional help for his addiction issues. He was trying to change and do better for her. Little did he know at the time it would never be enough. There is nothing he could have done that would ever satisfy her lust for violence, nothing that would have made her stop abusing him. In fact he’s lucky to have gotten out when he did because in all likelihood it would have only continued to get worse for him. Amber Heard is a sick individual who lacks self control and thrives on brutality and combativeness. She is only truly living when she is sucking the life out of someone.

She managed to insert her tortuous ways into his opioid detox by withholding medication from him that would send him into spasms. This is an act that easily could have killed him by triggering him to go into cardiac arrest, not that she likely would have cared much if it had. She sought vengeance on him at all times. Her jealousy and envy of him and everything that he’s accomplished, everything that he has, and everything that he is are unmatched. Certainly by anything I’ve ever encountered anyhow. She didn’t just want what he had but I believe she truly want to be him. Right down to the cheekbones. She dressed like him, she mimicked him, she pretended to be interested in his interests. She tried to turn herself into a female version of him and lured him into her villainous talons. A literal siren.

Johnny Depp has several very impactful witness statements but the one that stands out most to me is from Tara Roberts in the Bahamas. She is his property manager there and has known him and his family for over a decade. She talks about watching a man that she knew as jovial, active, and family oriented suddenly resort to sleeping all day and becoming more reclusive. She goes on to describe several events which took place with Amber on the island, one of which sees Johnny fleeing his home on his ATV just to get away from her monstrous behavior. It proves futile as she catches up with him anyhow, continuing to attack and berate him at length. This man was fleeing his own homes to escape her on a regular basis. His security guards attest to this, having to pick him up from the Eastern Building on multiple occasions after a Heard rampage and taking him back to his West Hollywood home. Heard wanted him to stay and take her abuse because it only made her more angry for him to leave. She became enraged because he refused to stay and be her personal punching bag. It’s vomitous that anyone holds this woman up as a pillar of justice for women when in truth she is the voice of abusers everywhere.

She and her supporters try to say his witnesses are unimportant because they’re his employees. Taking into account that there are over forty of them are we really to believe that all these people agreed to be bought off with not a single soul showing conscience? Beyond that not a single soul ratting the others out and turning on them all? To the contrary several of Amber Heard’s friends have pivoted on her. Her interior decorator and friend Laura Divenere submitted a declaration that Amber had never spoken of domestic violence nor did she ever appear injured in Laura’s presence. We have recntly learned that her own personal assistant will be testifying against her in The Sun trial as well. Not one person from Johnny Depp’s camp has flipped sides. Out of all the people he has spent significant time with in his life not one person has stepped up behind Amber’s claims to echo any sentiment of violence. I don’t mean the inaneness that will inevitibly be brought up if I don’t mention — The Mark Hotel incident, the paparazzi incident with Vanessa Paradis, the crew member on City of Lies who was already proven to be a liar multiple times. I’m talking about claims of true personal violence against someone he was romantically involved with. The time was more than ripe after Amber accused him and not one other woman came forward, in fact they all defended him. I find that astonishing in a marvelous way. Character profiles are extremely important here as abusers usually have a pattern over many years. There is one person in this relationship with a pattern of abuse and abusive behavior. Hint: it’s not Johnny Depp. There is also one person here on whom you can easily find distasteful comments about meeting, interacting, and working with. Hint again: it’s not Johnny Depp.

There’s so much here already and I know we, the public, have not even seen a drop in the ocean compared to what Johnny Depp has in his possession and evidence. People aren’t thinking about that though. They see everything that comes out as some kind of diabolical “leak” from his side, designed only to slander Heard in the media. They don’t realize where these leaks come from. In the United States we have the Freedom of Information Act. All of this documentation is available to the public for anyone who cares to go and look. In the UK I understand the laws are a bit different but a member of the press can go and request the records be released to them. Why would he deny it? He has everything to lose by not being 100% open during both of these proceedings. The antithesis to this is anything coming from Heard’s camp. Anything she (or her lawyers) releases is seen as the smoking gun and people seem to forget there are two recordings out where she professes her lunacy to him let alone two trials looming with an exorbitant amount of evidence yet to be revealed. To be clear, what’s come from her side has been feeble attampts at character assassination and pathetic bids to make him a sniveling, mustache twirling, villain more than anything of real value to her case -which she only states she’ll prove, “if necessary.”

Amber Heard has now requested in both the defamation lawsuit in Virginia and The Sun suit in the UK that her evidence be kept private. In the US that request has already been denied along with two attempts to have the case dismissed flat out. She has a third dismissal attempt still pending as of this writing. That just doesn’t sound like someone who wants to prove their claims beyond a reasonable doubt. It sounds like someone who wants to shut the whole thing down by any means necessary because they cannot substantiate what they say. The courts even agreed in 2016, she can never refile these domestic abuse claims against Johnny Depp and she had hired a criminal defense attorney at that time. Does that not sound suspect to anyone else? She’s been subpoenaing irrelevant people, productions, and companies left and right. She also avoided sitting for a deposition like it was the coronavirus. After multiple excuses and delays they finally got her into the room where she threw a nine hour temper tantrum and refused to be questioned under oath. It was ultimately completed and what has come out of it doesn’t look good for her either.

She has contradicted her own stories so many times I don’t even know where to begin. For starters she seems to not remember when she got married or when her honeymoon was. She stated she only ever hit Johnny one time in defense of her “baby sister” whom she suggests he was about to push down the stairs. We now know, thanks to her deposition and audio confessionals, that couldn’t be farther from the truth. She wholly admitted to multiple violent attacks against him along with the throwing of pots, pans, cans, and vases. She admitted to kicking a door into his head while he was hiding from her in a bathroom and proceeding to punch him in the jaw directly after. Other’s have declared they’ve seen her violently assault him, spit on him, throw purses, and heavy TV remotes to name a few. The list is frankly and sadly endless, and when all is said and done I can’t imagine that Amber Heard comes out smelling like anything less than a thousand year old egg. Johnny may never be fully redeemed by all, just look at the reaction to the absurd necromancer text, some genuinely believe a man must be without any fault to be a victim. He will have his day(s) in court and he will prove himself.

Please feel free to look up any of her declarations and filings to verify the information stated here. I don’t often use a ton of citations but that’s because I assume the base of my readers to be people who are intimately familiar with the case already.

Johnny Depp is a very powerful man, just not in the way the media wants you to believe. Although it may not always seem like it, Depp has made friends around the world throughout this ordeal. People who are victims of abuse have flocked to his side after seeing what, to them, seemed like extremely obvious proof that he was the victim. Men have begun speaking up for themselves about violence they have suffered at the hands of their significant others. They no longer feel ashamed or put down because a woman laid hands on them and inflicted injury, sometimes very seriously. If nothing else Johnny should be extremely proud of himself for speaking up. It may well have been the hardest thing he’s ever done in his life and people should take him seriously. He should take pride that he influenced a large number of people to speak out about their own experiences and find catharsis with him in finally letting it out. He should be proud for giving people hope and he should be proud that he survived and continues to thrive and fight for what’s right. I hope that even in his darkest moments, and when he might be feeling most alone, he can find that one little synapse in his mind that reminds him that we are all here for him, and that he has been there for us. Johnny Depp is innocent. Johnny Depp is a survivor. Johnny Depp will have justice and Johnny Depp has already begun to rise from the ashes of this hideous ordeal. May the film offers pour in and the musical fulfilment be never ending. The best is yet to come.

#article #johnny depp #amber heard #johnny depp is a victim #justice for johnny depp #justiceforjohnnydepp #amberheardisanabuser #amber heard is an abuser

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comesassylostchild · 4 years

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Why Cass IS Worse than Varian and Also A Worse Villain

Alrighty let me just start by saying NONE OF THE BAD THINGS EITHER CHARACTERS DO IS EXCUSABLE OR OKAY Now with that out of the way I’m sick to death of people excusing Cass but still treating Varian like a horrible person So lets take a moment to actually analyze the differences between them Lets start with this The main excuse for Cass is that she is being manipulated by ghost girl. Remember that MANIPULATED she’s not being controlled she’s being manipulated. Cass has the power to not listen to ghost girl, actually think about what she’s doing and stop doing bad things but she chooses not to. All for the sake of getting power that she wants to satisfy her personal issue of wanting something Rapunzel doesn’t have. Rapunzel and Varian have given her multiple opportunities to back out of the villainous path she’s on and even work out the problem and she still chooses to keep going. All of this to make herself feel more important while she throws herself a jealous pity party. A tragic event that happened when you were 4 doesn’t justify her behavior especially when Rapunzel didn’t have any choice in the matter. As for her current life, I do understand that she is in a job she doesn’t like and wants to do more with her life. I also understand how it must feel to be the lady in waiting to Rapunzel and feeling like your dad kept something important from you. But I’m sorry to say, most people get stuck in jobs they don’t like and have something more they want out of life. That’s just the way life works out a lot of the time and you have to make the best out of it. She’s also an adult and can just leave to find her own path if she isn’t happy. She’s an adult she is capable of making her own decisions of not doing bad things and can choose to leave if she isn’t happy. And again she’s being manipulated not controlled so she has the ability to not listen to blue girl but chooses to do what she tells her to despite Rapunzel trying to solve the problem and work things out with her. I know it must be hard for her to be Rapunzel’s lady in waiting when others tell her she’s a servant and Rapunzel has some big destiny and Rapunzel can unintentionally say or do something to make her feel less important. But Rapunzel has at every opportunity done everything she can to show Cass that she values her as a person and friend. Cass is the one who refuses to talk things out even to solve a problem between her and Rapunzel so you can’t fault Rapunzel for not being able to read her mind and I know Rapunzel can slip up and say or do the wrong thing that hurts Cass unintentionally but Rapunzel is still learning how to interact with others and deal with the world. She’s only been a part of the world for around two years of course she won’t perfectly handle complex issues and emotions. Cass also is flat out rude to other people including Eugene and sometimes even Rapunzel and she gets upset when Rapunzel unintentionally makes her upset but Cass refuses to talk things out. Cass has not only gotten angry at her own father but even attacked him for not telling her Gothel was her mother but attacked him without even letting him explain himself. Cass makes an assumption that her own dad lied to her out of selfishness and attacked him even though he has only ever tried to be a good father to her and she attacks him without even a chance for him to explain himself. The problem with Cass is that she is hurting people when no one is trying to hurt her or even treat her like a villain. She attacks Rapunzel and even tries to kill her even though Rapunzel is trying to work out the issue with her not fight but Cass refuses to listen and fights anyway She attacks her dad even though he has only ever tried to be a good dad to her. The kingdom isn’t out to get her but she says ‘give me the scroll and I’ll leave Corona in peace’ meaning she would attack the kingdom if Rapunzel didn’t give her the scroll. Cass is being a villain to people even when no one is trying to hurt her. She’s deluding herself into thinking there’s a war when there isn’t. Yes I know that’s what blue girl is trying to trick her into thinking but one tragic backstory doesn’t excuse her for not being able to think logically like an adult 5 seconds and see that what she’s in the wrong. She has the power to choose but always makes the wrong choice. Cass is also upset about not getting a chance to shine but she was awarded for taking down Andrew, given a chance at a guard assignment and being trusted to lead the battle against Corona. She gets what she wants but its never enough for her Now Varian Let me start off by saying I know his actions are wrong and I know they were his own choice. But there is a big difference between Cass and Varian 1. Varian was in a really bad situation that he was trying to get out of just going about it the wrong way and was pushed to his breaking point while Cass is fighting a war that only exists in her head which I will always say I know is ghost girls manipulation but Cass has the power to choose and see what’s right and wrong and chooses wrong anyway 2. Varian had the kingdom against him before he did anything wrong while Cass is hurting people even though everyone wants to resolve the issue, she’s the only one making this into a bigger deal then it should be, she’s starting a war where there isn’t and refusing to resolve the issue. Once again I know that’s ghost girls manipulation but Cass is still capable of making choices and she’s given multiple opportunities to resolve the issue but refuses every time. Also Varian was very much a kid on his own and scared while Cass has people reaching out to her that she refuses to listen to. 3. Varian was fighting for the specific goal of saving his dad he just went about it the wrong way until he hit his breaking point and snapped while Cass is fighting for vague destiny that doesn’t belong to her but she says it does like a child and wants to hurt Rapunzel who has basically done nothing to her while Varian actually had a reason to be angry at Rapunzel who let him down in his time of need (it wasn’t her fault during the storm I know) and didn’t bother checking on him so he suffered a great loss alone. Cass gets angry at Rapunzel for saying wait when Rapunzel has no idea why that bothers her while Varian gets upset that Rapunzel said promise when Rapunzel would know exactly why that would bother him, because she broke an important promise to him. 4. Varian blaming Rapunzel is wrong no doubt about it and we know the amber is in part his own fault. Firstly though part of the reason Varian even touched the rocks when he was told not to is because Quirin wouldn’t be honest with him of why he should stay away from them while the situation was getting worse. While things were getting worse Quirin just expected Varian to take his word without being honest why he should listen to him. Varian still disobeyed him which was wrong but it was partly Quirin’s fault for not being honest. Varian not excepting his own fault in Quirin’s encasement and blaming Rapunzel is wrong. But Remember, as far as Varian knows his dad is dead, which means accepting its his fault would mean Varian accepting that he killed his father which is a terrifying thought for any kid. Its wrong that he blames Rapunzel but its the reaction of a scared kid terrified that he killed his dad. Cass simply targets all her anger at Rapunzel because she needs something to be angry at. Both Cass and Varian are kind of the same for blaming Rapunzel just because they need something to blame. But Varian at least has the reason of being a kid who is terrified of being the reason his dad is dead. Cass has 0 reason to blame Rapunzel other than she’s sad and needs someone to blame even though she’s an adult targeting her anger at someone because she needs someone to blame like a child. Cass and Varian do most of the same things so lets look at it side by side Choosing to take the sun/mooddrop Varian did it because he was in a desperate situation running out of options because knowing Varian he defiantly tried everything he could to free his father but nothing was working and the sundrop seemed to be his only hope of getting his dad back. Tricking Rapunzel was the only way of getting it other than force because the kingdom already hated him for attacking the princess when he didn’t. He even was driven out of his own home by the kings men trying to cover up information, There was no way he was going to get the flower other than tricking Rapunzel or force and he had to trick Rapunzel because he knew she likely wouldn’t let him have it either. And he has a point that it is just sitting there rotting and this is his only chance he has of saving his dad. Also we see later that Varian crushes it so the sundrop is gone and it doesn’t effect anything. The kingdom is against him when the flower being gone doesn’t effect anything and it does not belong to the king. He wanted it to save his dad but of course he wouldn’t get it other than tricking Rapunzel or force because the kingdom was against him for attacking Rapunzel which he didn’t. I will say Rapunzel begging him not to take the flower was his only chance out but he thought he had the solution to his problem and everything would be over while Rapunzel had no solution to offer and already let him down which makes it understandable why he didn’t back out when Rapunzel told him to stop. But that is the only time someone tries to actually reach out to him. Varian didn’t have everyone reaching out to him like Cass did which he desperately needed and would’ve taken while Cass just keeps turning down people reaching out to her. And before anyone says anything whether or not Varian unintentionally hurt Rapunzel a little in his panic it was clearly obvious that he was scared and begging for help so the kingdom being against him for attacking her wasn’t fair because it was only an assumption that he attacked her when he was clearly begging for help and scared. So Varian only chooses force to get the sundrop later because he has no other options and the entire kingdom is against him. I am in no way saying that makes what he does okay but Varian was not given any other options Cass stole the moonstone knowingly putting the fate of the entire world on the line for her own personal gain just because she’s jealous and wants her own destiny. She’s only thinking of herself not caring that she’s putting the world in jeopardy for her own personal satisfaction of destiny. At the very least even if what Varian was doing was wrong which it was it was to save someone’s life. Using the truth potion Both Cass and Varian used the truth potion to get information. However with that information Varian was only planning to steal the flower to save his dad, he was not planning to use that information to hurt anyone. Cass used the potion to get information she would use to hurt someone. Varian did drug the palace as a distraction. But he had done it by giving adults cookies so he used a trick and didn’t force anyone into take the potion and adults were dumb enough to fall for off colored cookies from a stranger in a bush. Varian didn’t force anyone into taking the potion, adults were just dumb enough to fall for off colored cookies from a stranger in a bush and Varian didn’t mean any harm to the palace by doing it or any harm with the information. Cass drugged an unconscious minor to get information with the plan of hurting someone. Cass drugged an unconscious minor which is giving him literally no choice in the matter. Drugging a conscious adult with an off colored cookie from a man in a bush at least means the adult had the chance to see the red flags and they weren’t forced into taking the potion. Varian literally had no choice in the matter because Cass drugged him while he was unconscious. She also put an entire bottle of potion in his mouth while he was unconscious which he could’ve choked on and used an entire bottle on one person. And let me just say Part of the reason people are disturbed by Cass drugging an unconscious minor is because of the real life uncomfortable territory. Drugging a kidnapped minor while they are unconscious to make them give into what the adult wants. That is very uncomfortable territory that I know the tts crew was in no way trying to allude to but it is uncomfortable that they wrote that in without thinking of the real life uncomfortable territory that the scene is unintentionally treading around making the scene a bit uncomfortable. Both Varian and Cass threatened people Rapunzel cares about to get to Rapunzel. Both are not okay. Varian at least has the reasoning of not only trying to get at Rapunzel but his kingdom failed to help him when he desperately needed help and the kingdom was against him even before he actually did anything wrong which made it why he grabbed Arianna and Cass who were innocent. Not only to get at Rapunzel but because the kingdom failed to help him and hated him before he actually did wrong. And no one ever reached out to him which is why he went as far as he did while everyone is constantly trying to reach out to Cass but she turns them down. Cass even decides to hurt Eugene similarly to Varian hurting Arianna and Cass but Eugene literally had nothing to do with the conflict so she is involving and hurting Eugene just to get at Rapunzel and no other reason. Varian was a desperate kid in a really bad situation who needed help and no one reached out to pushing him to him to make bad choices. Cass is a grown adult acting like a child wanting to hurt someone for selfish and petty reasons just to make herself feel better and and her excuse of being manipulated doesn’t work since she is being manipulated not controlled she has the ability to choose but chooses wrong every time because she’s too busy wallowing in her own self pity to listen or think clearly. Varian did what he did because of a really bad situation. Cass is doing what she’s doing because she’s wallowing in self pity and making a mountain out of a molehill.

#tangled the series #tangled #tts #rapunzel's tangled adventure #tts cassandra #tangled cassandra #cassandra #Varian

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tsarinastorm · 4 years

Text

Dreams Were Thunder-Adam Sackler/Reader-Chapter 2

No smut yet but it will be here next chapter. Enjoy the angst and sexual tension.

Words: 2.6K

Chapter 1

It had been five days since you last saw Adam, but you couldn’t keep your thoughts off of him. You found yourself wondering how his play was going, and wondered what his thoughts were on Jane Eyre. Hannah was packed up and ready to leave, now all she had to do was finish packing Grover’s bags. Before she got in the car with her parents, she turned and gave you a hug, “I’m going to miss you, Y/N. I feel bad leaving you all alone, but it won’t be for long. If you need anything call me.”

“Hannah, I’ll be okay. I promise. You go and have a great time. Be sure to facetime with me so I can stay updated on my little buddy here.” You say the last line in a cooing voice as you gently pat Grover’s head. You will miss Hannah, even though she drives you crazy, she’s one of your only friends in the city. And of course, you grew attached to Grover too.

You need to be doing writing for your next manuscript, or preparing for the slew of final promotional work for your latest piece. Instead, you procrastinate by cleaning the apartment, that’s the only time cleaning really interests you. You work your way through the living room and have moved on to the kitchen cabinets when you hear the doorbell buzz. That’s unusual, you weren’t expecting anyone today and surely all of Hannah’s friends would know that she was leaving in the morning. You go up to the door, and are surprised by who you see on the other side.

Adam is standing outside your door carrying two books, and dressed in athletic attire, as if he was just running. His chest was heaving and his brow was covered with the sheen of sweat.

“Did you seriously run here?” You finally ask, as you motion for him to step in your apartment. He follows you in, and sets the books down on the small table in the foyer as he took his running shoes off. He nods and answers your questions while stretching his long arms, “Yeah, it wasn’t that far. I enjoy my exercise.”

You force your eyes to look at the table to refrain from openly ogling his muscular arms. You think about what those hands could to do to you, and what those arms would be like holding him above you. You will yourself to turn your attention to the conversation at hand before your mind goes further into the gutter. God, there was something about this man that practically haunted you, no matter how much you tried to ignore it.

“I like to run too but not as extremely as you do apparently. Did you like the book?”

“I see what the hype is about. The characterization of the leads by Bronte resonates through time. I feel so bad for Rochester though. Stuck with a crazy wife and it costs him his deepest love for a while.”

“Rochester is sympathetic, but I understand Jane’s devotion to her ideals, and Rochester should have been honest with her from the start.”

“Good points. I don’t disagree with you. I brought you 1984, by the way.” He hands you the book, you take it and set it down near your favorite spot on the sofa. You’re shocked when Adam goes with you into the living area, and he sits down on the sofa like he lives there. You sit down next to him, but still keep a reasonable, respectable distance.

“Thanks, I’ll read it as soon as I get time. Did you come to see Hannah? She’s already left, she headed out this morning actually.”

“I didn’t come to see Hannah, I came to see you, Y/N.”

“You did?” His amber eyes bore into you as he nods his head yes. You spring up from your spot on the sofa and offer him some leftovers, then you offer to order takeout if he wants something to eat. He declines the offer and continues on with his own agenda, not at all bothered by your diversions.

“Are you seeing someone?” You can’t control your face as you process the shock from that question. Damn, he really gets straight to the point you think.

“No, I haven’t met anyone special yet and I don’t really have time. Why do you ask?”

“You know why I asked. I thought your reaction to me was because you had a boyfriend or something.”

“Uh, no boyfriend. And no girlfriend either.” You can hear the awkwardness in your own voice, and you know he had to hear it too.

“Do I make you uncomfortable, Y/N? Because you act like I do.”

“Not uncomfortable, per se. I just don’t know what this is. I mean, we talk, and we have a lot in common, you then show up here to see me, but you’re roommate’s ex-boyfriend, who also happens to be dating her friend.”

“I don’t think Hannah would be that upset over it. We’re to the point that we’re friends now. Jessa and I were very tempestuous even at our best, and it’s over between us anyway. She’s left the city again. I’m single and you’re single, we like each other, what’s the problem?”

“The problem is that Hannah is my roommate and I can’t imagine a situation where me being with her ex-boyfriend doesn’t end up awkward and miserable.”

“You’re a good person, Y/N. You think of other’s feelings before your own. I guarantee that Hannah wouldn’t think twice about it if it were the other way around. She does whatever she wants and doesn’t give a fuck about the consequences.”

“Fine. I’m not having that conversation with you, let’s move on. So tell me about your relationships. I’ve heard Hannah’s side of events, I want to hear yours. And if you must know, I’m not particularly encouraged by your past.”

“If I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.”

You now know more about Hannah’s life than anyone should. Adam talks about how intense he and Hannah were, but also adds how rough it was. He tells you how she said she’d be worried about paying the rent if he died. How she made the decision to go to Iowa without telling him. He gets to meeting Mimi Rose and how it felt so different and he felt he had to pursue it, and how it was mostly driven by his feeling of abandonment. You can’t hide your feelings about that part of the story.

“I’m sorry you felt abandoned or whatever but it was fucked up. You don’t move someone into your shared apartment without formally ending your relationship. Then you expanded the master suite that you and Hannah talked about with someone else. If someone did that to me, I’d likely be on trial for my first murder.”

“I’m assuming that you were a fucking angel in all your relationships, then?”

“No I fucked up too in the past, but I seem to understand the concept of basic human decency!” You yell without meaning to. You urge him to continue, “What happened after that?”

“Things ended badly with Mimi-Rose, and I wanted to try again with Hannah. But she said that she couldn’t. I then realized I had some feelings for Jessa. Jessa didn’t want to do that to Hannah, but it ended up happening anyway.”

“Well, fucking and dating your ex’s friend is a low blow. I really don’t know how Hannah ever forgave either of you and moved on from that.”

“It’s clear who’s side you’re on!” He storms passed you to the door. You wonder if you should try to stop him, or apologize but you decide to let him go.

You hadn’t heard from Adam since your argument, but you did finish reading 1984 in his absence. You had to text Hannah to get Adam’s address so you could return the book, and you were anxious to see him again. He probably had moved on to some other girl by now for all you know. You decide to run to his apartment to see what the journey is like. When you make it in, your eyes are drawn to all the construction all over the building. There’s also fluorescent yellow tape everywhere and you begin to wonder if Adam’s even here, because why would anyone be staying in this mess?

You cautiously approach what you assume is his door and knock. You hear some kind of shout behind the door and Adam bounces to the door shirtless but with pants on, thankfully. You stare at his chest and abs. He clears his throat and asks you, “What are you doing here?”

“I brought back your book. How long have they been doing construction here?” You say as you point to the obvious work that’s being done all around you. He takes the book, looks around as if he’s just now noticing it before answering, “A week or so, but it’s no big deal. Just some kind of structural shit or something.”

“Structural stuff is pretty serious. Are you still staying here?”

“Why would I stay anywhere else?”

“Because this building might fall down around you.”

“And you’d care if it did?” Well now you know for sure he’s still mad about your last encounter. “Adam, you shouldn’t stay here! I have an extra room that no one is staying in, and the sofa pulls out into a bed. Don’t put yourself in danger when you don’t have it. Jesus Christ.”

“Okay, I’ll pack a bag.” He says in an excited tone, clearly pleased that you offered for him to stay with you. You assumed you’d have to beg him not to stay there. He apparently liked that you were flustered over his wellbeing. You wondered if you would regret making that offer, but you would soon find out.

You give him a short tour of the apartment even though he’s already seen most of it. You tell him to make himself at home, not to feel bad about eating any food, and if he needs anything to let you know. He sets his bag down on Hannah’s bed, and watches you as you lean against the doorframe. He has no problem making himself at home as he moves on to sit down the sofa and grab the remote to the television. He eventually chooses on some kind of mind-numbing show that mainly just provides background noise and little entertainment value.

The two of you settle into a conversation that encompasses your life stories, bad date stories, favorite foods, things you hate, names that sound pretentious, and talk about belief systems. You weren’t expecting to go into that kind of detailed conversation so soon after he had left the apartment in a fuss. You stand up to get more popcorn, and you have to step across his long legs as they’re propped up against your ottoman-slash-coffee table. You straddle his legs and try not to think about how inappropriate it seems. At one point, your ass ends up right in front of him, and you can see he’s admiring the view. He breaks the silence and confirms your suspicion.

“Wow, Y/N, you have a really great ass. Seriously, it’s perfect and round but not fake-looking.”

“Thanks, it’s good to know that the squats pay off.” You can’t hide how flustered you are but you continue and fill the bowl with popcorn.

You settle back into your spot on the sofa. After finishing the show, Adam stands up suddenly and announces that he is going to take a shower. You acknowledge his statement with a nod. Some time passes and you hear the shower head turn off, and hear his feet moving on the floor. You turn around to find Adam, fresh out of the shower with wet hair and droplets flowing down his chest, come out into the main room with only a towel hanging around his hips. He looks around for something and you can’t take your eyes of him. You think about how you want to run your hands through his luscious, damp locks, then think of licking the droplets off his chiseled pecs before removing his towel.

He continues to wander through the kitchen looking for something. He finally pours himself a glass of milk, and takes a big gulp like it’s the most normal situation in the world. You think that having Adam as a temporary roommate will be interesting if he keeps torturing you like this. He smirks at you, obviously pleased that he’s flustered you yet again.

“See something you like, Y/N?”

“Not necessarily. You know my last roommate didn’t run around the common areas nearly naked.”

“Well sounds like your last roommate wasn’t as fun as me.”

Adam has been staying in your apartment for a week now without a major incident, and it seems like the two of you had settled into a semblance of a normal routine. The one of you who was out later would bring back dinner, and the one who was awake first made breakfast. He did his fair share of the domestic duties, and didn’t do anything to get on your nerves, other than his insistence on running around with the least amount of clothes on as possible. You really wanted to jump his bones, but you felt like you couldn’t do that to Hannah. And you knew that it wouldn’t be just sex either, you felt something real for him, and he felt something for you too. If you crossed that line, you couldn’t go back, and it could make your life miserable.

It was a typical night for the two of you, you had brought home Greek takeout, and Adam had set the table. You sat there and ate dinner while carrying on the normal conversation about your day. You stand up and begin moving the dishes to the dishwasher as Adam finishes cleaning the table. You turn around after turning on the dishwasher, and Adam bumps directly into you. Neither of you move away, his hands are placed on your shoulders and your hands are placed on his chest. You can feel his fast, yet steady heart rate under your fingers, and you find yourself moving your hands on his chest as you gently tread the muscle there.

He looks into your eyes then down at your lips and back up to your eyes as he searches for permission. You grant him permission as you move in towards him, you can’t take your eyes off his plush lips. His hands move from your shoulders so one is now wrapped around your waist as the other edges up to rest on your neck with his fingers pressing on your pulse point. Your hand moves up his chest so it’s now resting on his clavicle. In one quick motion, he reaches his head down and captures your lips with his. His lips are soft yet taut on yours as you wrap your hands around the back of his neck. He suckles on your bottom lip while you wind your fingers through his hair and pull him closer. Your body is pressed flush against his and his hand descends to your bottom where he gives it a light squeeze. You can feel the heat pool between your legs. So you kiss him back with every bit of passion in your body. He pulls away for a brief moment to look at you.

“Bed?” He asks, and you nod in your respond as you jump and wrap your legs around his waist. His hands are steady as they hold you up. You press kisses down his neck as he carries you to your bedroom.

@misskitred

#adam sackler #adam sackler x reader #hbo girls #girls hbo #girls fanfic #adam driver

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jflashandclash · 4 years

Text

Tales From Mount Othrys

This story comes soon after the Roman ambush on Alabaster’s laboratory. After the Pax brothers and Alabaster defend the lab until reinforcements show up, the question hangs in the air: who revealed the location of Alabaster’s lab? The Spy Master is assigned to find out or, at least, find a scapegoat.

Mercedes: Interrogation Letdown

If you asked Mercedes, she would say that she didn’t drink coffee. Her hijab always smelled of the robust aroma, one that wafted memories of her mother, of her mother’s lips as they pressed Mercedes’s forehead in a morning goodbye. Another day of work. Another disposable cup of coffee. Another hour to torment her brothers as Mercedes corralled them ready for school.

There were few personal items in her Camp Othrys cabin, but two of her most valuable were a rug (for when she went to “tend to the Hecate garden” in the chapel) and a small French press.

Few were awake early enough to witness her trek from Fajr prayer to the Spy Wing. There, she dumped some coffee beans and hot water into the glass container. After capping it, she would lean over the golden lid to inhale the fumes. Normally, the French press, accompanying mug, and coffee were all cleaned and away before anyone came in.

Today, she set her coffee mug in the center of the interrogation table. Steam curled up between her and Pax. She tapped her pen against her Othrys notebook. She hoped her irritation was prominent enough to cover up her worry. Pax didn’t need to know she was worried about him. It would get into his head, inflate it, and he’d become the next astronaut to circumnavigate the world and her anger.

This silence was one of her and Pax’s many games: invite him into the spy wing, give him no clear instructions, then ignore him for thirty minutes. At the end of his twitching, squirming, and sprawling across the table, she would ask him which three suspicious activities she had done. She would ask for the exact timestamp for each.

There weren’t always three. Sometimes there were none. Sometimes there were eleven. She wanted him to question her authority, and she wanted him to use his brain, something many people found abhorrent, she knew. At least Pax could be bribed into it.

Today was not one of those exercises. However, she didn’t correct his assumption that it was. She enjoyed his rapt attention and silence.

At the top of the page, as she did in every page of this notebook, she scrawled, “To me, death is nothing but happiness, and living under tyrants nothing but living in a hell” and “The end justifies the means.”

Pax, as suspected, broke first. “Are you going to drink that?”

“No,” she said, “It’s there for the aesthetic.”

As per usual, Pax couldn’t tell if she was serious or sarcastic. That’s exactly where she liked him. His face scrunched up in his I’m Over-Thinking expression. Mercedes loved it. Pax’s unending chatter put her at ease. Ever since he went to Tartarus, his liar’s tells had become obvious. If she waited long enough, he’d rat himself out.

That’s why she left Pax’s interview for the end. He was uncomplicated and comforting after the morning’s slog.

Underneath her paper’s quotes, she wrote, Suspects.

“Did you decide it wise to tell someone about Alabaster’s super secret layer before its defenses were activated?” With others, she couldn’t be so direct. With Pax? If he thought he was at fault, he would crumble to guilt.

Instead of falling apart, he fell onto the table. The coffee mug jerked, the brown liquid sloshing against the white, ceramic sides. She forced herself not to grab for it, to maintain her composure as cool and collected.

“Oh! Mercedes! Do I have to answer more questions about this?” He peaked at her through his fingers, his amber and black eyes glistening. “Axel and I didn’t know the location until we got there! We were just told we’d be Alabaster’s pack mules for the day and we’d do less of a half-assed job that the empousas would.”

From the information she’d collected, this was correct. Mostly. Alabaster verified it: he hadn’t told the Pax brothers anything until moving day.

However, Axel, after several rounds of questioning and clearing his throat, admitted that Alabaster had given him a rough approximation about the plans and location. This either meant Alabaster was willing to lie for one of his “meat shields” or that he had forgotten that detail. Alabaster had come to their interview with a stack of papers meticulously chronicling each time he’d mentioned the lab project over the last three months. If he had forgotten, Mercedes was a Zeus fangirl.

Mercedes had checked his records and found that Alabaster had altered them. He probably thought she wouldn’t notice, but….

But Mercedes knew Alabaster. She knew all of them. It was her job. She knew that Alabaster rubbed the upper left corner of pages when he was thinking. Several pages from his records had unmarred corners. The penmanship was sloppier on those pages. (He forgot to dot an “i;” an atrocity in Alabster’s book of How to be a Hard Ass.) The margins were five millimeters wider than the other pages, something he would balk as being a behemoth waste of space. He likely rewrote those pages, omitting that he told Axel anything. And he thought he adjustments were small enough that she’d overlook them.

From Pax’s reaction, neither Axel nor Alabaster had told him.

“Pax Two, you’re—”

“I know, I know.” He sighed, slumping back into his chair. “I’m excreting salacious facial sweat onto your interrogation table.”

She forced her lips not to twitch. “Sebaceous,” she corrected and immediately regretted it. It brought her joy to envision adult Pax on a CSI crime scene, taking fingerprint samples and discussing how “salacious” or “lustful” the evidence was to the appall of all of his coworkers, all left to theorize about his sex life.

Mercedes was always pleasantly surprised by how carefully Pax listened to her and remembered what she said, even if he did mispronounce a word way out of their grade’s reading level.

“How did you detect the Romans?” she asked. Part of her wanted to be proud of him: he was her trainee, after all and he thwarted the Romans with his snooping.

“One of them shot Sphinx.” The playfulness was gone. He stared at the coffee mug’s rising steam.

Mercedes set the pencil down. Her instincts said to touch his hand or give him a hug.

Impartial, she reminded herself, tracing quotes in her notebook. I’m supposed to remain impartial. Not to think about Lou Ellen crying when she went to the lab, where Sphinx used to live. Not to notice Pax shamefully avoid his best friend’s gaze, horrified Lou Ellen might blame him for not saving Sphinx.

I’m as impartial as a campaign poster.

Mercedes often caught herself daydreaming about ending this war without any deaths. This was the problem with being a spymaster: you had friends on both sides of the war. Little divided you other than a sense of loyalty or cultish idealism. When most Romans defected from Camp Jupiter, they left everything and everyone. But, Mercedes was the spymaster. She needed contacts. She could never truly leave either camp.

No one had won this fight, though New Rome definitely lost. Alabaster no longer had his lab, half-a-decade’s worth of priceless magical artifacts, and one of his spell books. The full death toll wasn’t in on the Roman side, but they had lost a lot of people. Mercedes still needed to verify the death of their prisoner. Rumor said that he had consumed a suicide pill during Jack and Flynn’s “questioning.” Lucille and Mercedes normally did the interrogation. They kept the interrogation humane. Jack and Flynn didn’t.

Mercedes shivered. She didn’t like Flynn and Jack doing interrogations. She didn’t like that Jack’s mind was waning alongside Luke’s.

On top of that, rumors swept the Roman legion of a new monster, this creature that had awaited the legionnaires in the Mist of the Witch’s Layer. No doubt, this was a rumor started to preserve some soldier’s honor, to make the Pax brothers and Alabaster seem an insurmountable foe instead of three panicked kids. From the way Pax retold the story now, he had no idea about the impression they had made.

Pax was retelling the events—enumerating the soldiers, recalling their location, their armament, their words—when he choked. “I couldn’t kill her, Mercedes. Is that bad?” He puffed up his cheeks and popped them. His eyes were glassy. He had been talking about a soldier that he’d caught in a noose. “Good thing to know I’ll always go for the high five. I’ll never leave you hanging there.” The last words broke with a hiccupped sob.

Impartial. You’re impartial.

Mercedes gripped the handle of the mug. The warmth was fading from the ceramic. She lifted it. What was left of the heat and the scent of tangy undertones—she exhaled, shuddering. How would she get through this talk without hugging Pax?

He shouldn’t have been at this fight. He ought to have been failing out of middle school. Really, he ought to be playing with a pegasus at Camp Half-Blood. She tried not to consider how their relationship would differ if he was.

She set the mug back on the center of the table. “No. A propensity for murder isn’t a skill I value and… and the availability of a compassionate heart is a rare delicacy on this ship, despite what Luke and Kronos preach.”

Pax’s watery eyes went wide. He sniffled. His gaze shot around the room before resting back on her. “You don’t like Luke very much, do you?”

Mercedes scowled. “That is a dangerous accusation, Pax Two. I feel for him the same way I feel for my father.”

Irresponsible. Power-mad.

Luke had made her exchange her fear of one monster for another.

She did not always see eye-to-eye with Axel; she’d been to one of his cage matches and was unfond of the sensationalized violence he so easily exhumed. However, she’d never been more relieved than the day he stood between Annabeth—a bound and gagged, thirteen-year-old girl—and her would-be molester. That changed her mind about Luke forever.

This was not a conversation to have aboard the ship.

“I made you something,” the words exploded from Pax. It startled Mercedes and reminded her of the time that Pax smuggled thirty containers of pudding from the cafeteria in Matthias’ spandex boxers. The seams ripped, much like Pax had sputtered these words: clumsy and a little too excited to escape.

Trust Pax to easily dodge a conversation and to make you think about someone’s underpants.

He withdrew something from his jacket pocket. A bulge had inhabited that it since he’d returned from Tartarus, though she’d assumed it was some kind of safety blanket. Knowing Pax, it could have been a preserved piece of skin that hadn’t properly reattached to Lou Ellen’s hand.

When he unfolded the brown silk, Mercedes stopped breathing. While scrunched up and crinkled, the embroidery was still beautiful: all pink and gold thread. It swirled in an elegant floral pattern along the square’s edges. He made this?

“And—I—I made you a magnet pin to hold it together so you don’t need to be worried about piercing the material…”

When he fumbled in his pocket again, Mercedes could feel her lip trembling. Before he looked up, she shut her jaw and dabbed her cheeks with the back of her hand. By the time he had set the items on the table, she managed her expression into a neutral one. She added Practice Facial Expressions to her list of spy exercises for his training. Vitally important if he ever had the karma of training a mini-him later down the road.

“I made a different one and ruined it when I practiced pinning it. Can you show me how to put one on right? The fabric slides and goes everywhere so I can’t test it properly. You won’t tell us when your birthday is, and I’ve been wanting to make you one for awhile, and this is one of the many things I wanted to do to make it up to you...”

His voice trailed off. Although he tried to keep his eyes sheepishly on the table, they kept flicking up to check her reaction. His information cataloguing demeanor was so obvious: wide-eyed excitement, the hint of a smile curling his lip, a slight lean forward.

Mercedes couldn’t keep her hand from shaking when she reached for the fabric and magnets. He would notice the weakness; she had taught him to notice.

Both sides of the magnets were decorated, one a subtle brown that matched the hijab and another with bold gold and pink paint to match the embroidery, presumably to either blend or use as an accessory. Both were coated in a smooth gloss, likely for comfort. From what she could see, there was no trick or prank attached. Just a small, thinner section, where he must have fiddled with the fabric when talking to her.

This was one of the nicest things someone had done for her since she got to Camp Othrys.

His words echoed in her head. I wanted to make it up to you. To make up for lying and going to Tartarus.

“This is an acceptable start, Pax Two,” she said, “This does not mean you’ve dissuaded my wrath. Continue to grovel and do not expect any items in return.” If he thought she was mad, he was less likely to do something so stupid again. Mercedes almost swore. Technically, Pax was younger than her, even if by less than a year. She ought to give him something, even if it was a few pennies, for Eid al-Fitr. He better not look at that as an apology acceptance.

Pax’s conniving smile broke into a goofy grin. “Gifts are not gifts if you’re expecting something in return.” He sounded like he was quoting a childhood mantra, adding in a little jingle.

“Then they’re transaction pieces,” she agreed absently. Mercedes folded the fabric and attached the magnet to assure she didn’t lose it. She shoved the gift out of sight, under the table. If she looked at it for too long, he’d catch her smiling. She was furious that some part of her wanted to be somewhere private, so she could examine the embroidery in detail.

She began again, “The investigation—”

Pax whined and sank right back onto the table.

Mercedes waited until he quieted his whining. “Did you notice anything suspicious? Oh competent assistant of mine? Or were you too busy examining Alabaster’s assets.” She flipped her notebook to a previous page, one with two columns of names that were subdivided into tables. “This is my list of people who found out or were told. Who would you find most suspicious? Who do you think can’t keep a secret and to whom would they relieve the secret’s burden?”

She read it aloud from a second copy before he could point out that he couldn’t read:

Involved in the planning process: Alabaster, Matthias, Lou Ellen, Hecate, Prometheus.

Involved in construction: Matthias, Alabaster, a rotation of blind-folded minions under Matthias (see back)

Knew the location: Alabaster, Matthias

Found out the location: Flynn, Jack, Luke/Kronos, Phil, Pax One, Pax Two, Mercedes, Morpheus

Two days of constant interviews had taken its toll. Tension clenched her jaw, something she didn’t notice until Paxton forced her to relax. Had she had water since before Wudu? Her mouth felt dry.

Paxton began to babble, “Matthias is a great secret keeper. I still don’t know how he shaved an underwear pattern into Phil’s—”

“Pax Two.” She meant to stop him from going off on a tangent. He took it as an accusation.

“Who, me? I’m a huge security flaw.” He gave her a sly smile. “I tell you everything.”

“That’s amply evident.” Since his return from Tartarus, he felt the need to tell her each time his color switched from green to transparent.

Pax tapped the lower part of the paper. “You forgot the centaurs. They didn’t know until we got there, but they did find out.”

Mercedes applauded this observation with silence. This would indicate that she had not forgotten the centaurs, but wanted to know if he would. This type of testing was so customary to Pax that he continued unhindered.

“Oh! And that sun god—the old one? Hecate’s friend that can see everything under the sun, like Greek Santa. How come he gets the privilege of being Greek Santa but the sky god doesn’t? If I were Zeus, I would want some those powers re-sorted

“Helios,” Mercedes said. She had forgotten him. Rumors of his power (near-forgotten at the likes of Camp Half-Blood and Camp Jupiter) were rampant in the Othrys ranks. Helios sometimes claimed his powers didn’t work because he didn’t have the sun chariot, but she would need to be sure. Mercedes sat very still. Would she need to interview another titan? One she did not want to see?

“You forgot about him.” Pax sounded cheery.

Slowly, Mercedes nodded. “I had. This is why it’s good to keep parasites around. Sometimes they keep things in their digestive systems longer than the host. Or, maybe, sometimes hosts need partners more than parasites.”

Elevating Pax’s position—that was a conversation for another day.

Mercedes felt sick. She wanted to accuse a friend of espionage as much as she wanted to volunteer them for an interactive presentation on degloving. No one had given her much to work with, but most didn’t fit the bill.

Matthias had gone in rambling circles during his interrogation. The main thing saving him? He was too clever and resourceful. Had he wanted to capture the three boys in a building that he had designed, there would have been an attack of chloroform-coated underwear automatons.

Prometheus, likewise, would not have been so sloppy. He, as he admitted, would have gassed the boys or poisoned them.

Alabaster and Lou Ellen suspected Lamia. Apparently it would be easy for such a powerful witch to locate the magical objects transported there. Mercedes had Lamia on a different suspect list.

Luke, in his ever-increasing paranoia, thought it was Alabaster who set himself up. A charming disposition to cover up Luke’s insecurities, but Mercedes knew that Alabaster had no use for subterfuge. His family made up a third of the army. If he wanted, he could have the Princess Andromeda make port in San Pedro Bay with a Welcome Legions of Rome! sign.

That left an option Pax should have pointed out but never would.

Axel.

He was close to all the right people: Luke (formerly. Mercedes blamed their falling out on a lack of shared interest. Axel didn’t have the propensity for pedophilia and domestic abuse that Luke had), Alabaster, Jack and Flynn, and, of course, Pax. By being close to Pax, he was close to Mercedes and all of Mercedes’ documents. He was one of the only souls aboard the ship not pledged to Kronos—incapable since he was full-blooded Maya.

There was no point in interviewing Flynn. Flynn could tell Mercedes that she was innocent; with her charmspeak, Mercedes would believe her. Any argument against Flynn would have to be cautiously researched, compiled, and brought to Lucille, Prometheus, and Luke in full secrecy.

For that matter, Lucille could be a good option, but there seemed no reason: she was happily courting Ethel and had taken Charlie on as her own daughter. She didn’t feel right… Although, Mercedes guessed Silena Beauregard wouldn’t feel right as a spy for Camp Half-Blood, and Silena had been cheating on Beckendorf and getting campers killed for at least two years now. Having children of Aphrodite around was always dicey. Thank god the Roman editions weren’t as powerful.

Although it was unwise to be too close to anyone with Mercedes’ job, she wouldn’t want to accuse Lucille without hard evidence. Lucille made sure no one bothered Mercedes about her hijab, just as Mercedes assured that no one bothered Lucille about her relationships with women.

Mercedes watched Pax’s gaze flicker over the symbols on the paper, pretending to read them.

She didn’t think Pax would accuse his half-brother or his surrogate mother, even if those were the most logical conclusions.

Pax set the paper down. His rounded cheeks puffed into a frown. Insecurity wrinkled the edges of his eyes as they gazed intently into hers.

Mercedes took in a deep breath. Would he?

“Mercedes,” he said, sounding grave, “I’m thinking about having my first kiss—well, my real first kiss.”

“Ya Allah, save us from the sins and hellfire,” Mercedes mumbled, exhaling. The tension eased out of her muscles as she restrained a laugh.

“I’m thinking about Alabaster, though Lou Ellen says he might not be ready yet. But, that’s like saying she shouldn’t try to make a move on my brother during our victory dance party, and she should totally make a move on my brother.”

As he spoke, Mercedes collected the list of suspicious names, tucked it into her flip notebook, and closed it. She rose, took her cup of cold coffee, and dumped it down a sink along one wall. As the brown liquid splattered against the white porcelain, she sent a mental prayer of safety for her mother, brothers, and friends back at home.

No one seemed to realize she eavesdropped on her comrades as much as she spied on her enemies. If there was one thing she knew, Alabaster was not ready for intimacy, with anyone, let alone with Pax. And Axel would certainly have a heart attack warding off Lou Ellen, who, she knew for a fact, Axel thought was too young for him.

“I want it to be perfect. Jack agrees and he’s been brainstorming with me. He said he doesn’t remember his first kiss and that makes him really sad and Flynn won’t tell me about hers. But, it has to have great atmosphere—music! And maybe outdoors—maybe with a garden—but what if something goes wrong? I’ve been practicing on my hand—You know, to make sure I’m not the worst while keeping the purity of the first kiss—and I’ve been asking for advice all around, from Lucille and Prometheus won’t tell me anything, he just laughs in his ‘I’m a titan who can predict the future’ kind of way. And what if it isn’t perfect?! Like, I want it to make Alabaster happy and make me happy and be a good story for future Pax generations like Jack wishes he had a good story for me!” Pax rose to his feet to follow her around the room.

From the frantic cadence of his tone, she knew, with relief, they were done for the day. The part of Pax’s brain capable of none-meandering thoughts had a clear timer and that alarm had gone off.

She walked back to the table, gathering her notebook and new hijab. The fabric felt so soft when she tucked both against her chest. “Too many expectations lead to inevitable disappointment. What if you’re a bad kisser?”

“What if I’m a bad kisser?” Pax’s eyes widened. He puffed up his cheeks and popped them.

“Planning isn’t in your nature. What if nothing goes according to plan?” She ushered her stunned friend towards the exit of the Spy Barracks.

Pax stumbled alongside her, eyes clearly visualizing the worst case scenario. “You’re right! What if nothing goes according to plan?!”

“What if you make a big fuss over something that won’t matter and you worry yourself needlessly?”

“What if I—hey!” Pax’s features scrunched up into a pout. He folded his arms.

Mercedes sighed. Like Alabaster, she didn’t have time for experience in this field and couldn’t offer much advice. As someone who ran spy operations, and someone with a cute, unpredictable parasite pouting in front of her, she knew things tended to fall apart in correlation with how hard you tried to keep them together. “You can’t control if something goes wrong, Ajax, and you can’t control how Alabaster will react. If things go wrong, then you’ll find someone else later, whose lip sensitivity is closer to that of your palm.” She pointed to his right hand, the one she assumed he’d been practicing on.

“But what if—”

Pax went quiet.

Mercedes had, much to her own surprise and skipped heartbeat, leaned forward. His nose was cold when it pressed against hers; his lips, warm. There was a faint hint of something citrusy, like he had drunk orange juice for breakfast. Fortunately, no reek of bacon.

Several jittery questions flashed through her brain: What constitutes as a “real” kiss? Was I supposed to close my eyes? It’s awkward if I keep them open, right? How long am I supposed to do this for?

The insecurity shook her nerves—it shouldn’t have. This was Pax. And they were just friends. Just two friends who spent 90% of their time together.

His eyes had gone wide with shock. His gasp sucked air from her before he gently exhaled.

Four seconds was plenty, plenty enough to make her face feel hot. Mercedes saw movement out of her peripheral—either he was about to push her away or pull her close. She didn’t wait to find out. She withdrew, absently fussing with her notebook and hijab like she’d finished another closing procedure. Both items had almost slipped from her grasp.

Pax looked lost. His mouth moved a few times, before remembering how to form words, “Why did you do that?” The question was quiet and uncertain. Not angry. From his hesitant tension, she got the feeling there was more he wanted to ask, but was scared.

Mercedes quirked her lips into a smirk. “Because, no one will believe you when you tell the story later.”

His mouth moved a few times more times; Mercedes resisted the urge to remind him that they were no longer kissing.

In the most delayed startle she’d seen, he jumped. “But—wha—it—Mercedes!” he cried in protest. Mercedes ushered him outside the spy barrack’s door while he was still floundering for words. “I—but—” He huffed. “I wanted to share my first kiss with someone who hadn’t had theirs!”

Mercedes paused in the doorway, widening her grin. “You just did.” And, she shut the door on his face, locking it. Mercedes pressed against the wall, flipped out her dulled mirror, and tilted it to watch him through the window.

Pax paced back and forth across the entranceway, paused, raised a hand to open the door again, threw his hands up, and dropped them. After six seconds of standing there, he touched his lips and blushed. The blush remained as he walked, unsteadily, away from the Spy Barracks.

He’d be pouty with her for another week. To keep any ideas out of his head, she’d have to pretend she didn’t know why. She unfolded the hijab to admire the embroidery. This must have taken Pax weeks to make. She pressed the silk against her face, enjoying the smooth coolness. The slickness would be a pain—she’d have to wear an undercap to keep it in place.

She thought about how hard her mother would slap her if she ever found out Mercedes had kissed a boy. At home, she would have been forbidden to see Pax or, at least, be forbidden to spend time with him without a chaperon—no, it would be fully forbidden. Pax was raised Catholic. There was no potential for—

The elation in her chest crushed when she glanced down at her notebook. This was a botched job. There was no time for any daydreaming or—had she been flirting? Luke expected a report from her by the end of the day, and she needed to give him a name in that report. If she didn’t—

Mercedes tried not to think about the hunger in Luke when he stared at Annabeth, the way he’d smacked Phil across the room, the times she’d stumbled into Jack healing his own battered face with a hushed, “Don’t tell Flynn or the boys. They won’t understand that Luke has bad days the same way that I get confused.” The way Kronos’ darkness seemed to spread through the underlings like a contagion, through how Jack and Flynn had future plans to torture-heal-torture any new captives (for Jack, as some displaced revenge against Thalia for failing his friend; for Flynn, for fun) and the increased violence and spectacle of Axel’s now labyrinthine cage fights.

And here she was, holding a gift against her face like she could have a Catholic Maya boy as a sweetheart even if she were at home. People died and were seriously injured because of her lack of oversight—how dare she. What else had she clouded from her vision?

Pax is a good suspect. He has access to all your files. But, he had no reason to alert Axel and Alabaster to the ambush. Breath choked in Mercedes’ throat. And she couldn’t do that—she couldn’t do that to Pax or herself.

She knew this—suspecting friends—came with the job. But, that had been a distant thought when she—terrified and desperate for some good to come out of the inevitable slaughter of her Cohort—realized she would make the perfect spy for Camp Othrys. Before she knew the ease of Lucille’s smile, how special Pax could make her feel, how horrifying Flynn was.

Pain spread along her forearm. She dug her nails in. Underneath were the lines of her Roman tattoo, of Mercury’s symbol and her bars of service. The marks didn’t vanish when she pledged her soul to Kronos, when she forsook any chance of joining her real family after death. Was there a chance Allah would understand? To what extent could you step into the dark to stop tyrants and false idols before you were consumed?

When she inhaled sharply, she could almost taste the scent of her centurion’s perfume, a smell as comforting as her mother’s brewing coffee. She thought about that home—Rome. About her real home in Spain. About her real name, the one she had to abandon, and the one she took upon joining the legion, now reserved for her contacts in New Rome. She could never keep a name. If she did, and something went wrong, if she couldn’t do her job right, legionnaires or titans might find her real family and kill them.

Like not finding a satisfying suspect for this report.

Life seemed complicated when she lived in Granada, helping to raise her brothers while her mother worked. It seemed more complicated when she had to abandon them to keep the monsters away. Tiny Mercedes could have never predicted life would get worse.

Allah does not burden a soul beyond what it can bear.

But, she didn’t feel that right now. She’d been so careful not to feel anything. And then Pax gave her this stupid hijab and she was dumb enough to kiss him.

Her breath felt tight; legs, weak. She had to lean against the wall for support. How many homes can you have before none of them are a “home?” How many identities can you wear before all of them lose meaning? How many times could you pledge a soul before it shatters?

There were no answers to these questions, and Mercedes still had to pick from one of her friends to throw to Luke as a scapegoat and sacrifice.

Mercedes slid to the floor, pressed her face completely into the hijab and sobbed.

Authors note:

Thank you for reading! I’m sorry for the hiatus--I aim to get back to a bimonthly schedule. Every time I edited this piece, it just didn’t feel right/good enough. I hope you enjoyed anyway! I also hope all of you are well and being gentle with yourselves! Stay tuned for one of my first (sorta?) fluff pieces, Alabaster’s Delicate Dance of Chance (hopefully during the month of October >>’‘)

#Tales from Mount Othrys #TFMO #PJO #HOO #fanfiction #It has been so long since I've done this that I don't remember my normal tags >>''#I love Mercedes but I'm terrified of doing her POV #I feel like it will never quite be right.#Though--in theory--the last chapter of TFMO is supposed to be in her POV #Something that doesn't take place right after TFMO--more a retrospect thing #we'll see if I stick to it > . <#Also--I wish all of you cute weasels at some point in your day

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violetsmoak · 5 years

Text

Appetence [1/?]

AO3 Link:https://archiveofourown.org/works/20251420/chapters/47997634

Blanket Disclaimer

Summary: Red Robin is investigating the disappearance of a friend and stumbles into a spot of supernatural trouble. He doesn't expect to be saved by Jason Todd, miraculously alive five years after his death and now with the inexplicable ability to commune with the dead. Meanwhile, when Jason returned to Gotham he meant to maintain a low profile and not get involved with Bat business. That was before he found out how hot his Replacement is.

Rating: PG-13 (rating may change later)

JayTimBingo Prompts This Chapter: #cemetery #haunting #relics

Canon-Compliance: Alternate Universe; Jason still died but was not found by Talia when he was resurrected. All other events mostly follow the same chronology as New Earth continuity, with mentions made to events in New 52

Author’s Note(s): My attention span was really terrible today and I couldn't focus on either of my two other fics even though the next chapters of both are completely planned out. So I'm posting the start of the third (and final) story that I'm doing for the JayTimWeek/Month challenge. Also, I'm really excited about this one. I spent more time planning this than either of the other two and I can't wait to hear what you guys think!I've got work stuff to do tomorrow so there may not be anything updated until Friday.

Beta Reader: I’ll get back to you on that.

________________________________________________________________

The Bat-Signal cuts through the dark and hazy clouds lingering above Gotham City, and for a split-second, Jason Todd has the urge to drop everything and race for the roof of the GCPD Headquarters. It’s hard to ignore the nervous jump of excitement in his stomach, the phantom sensation of a domino mask on his face and the heavy drag of a cape at his shoulders.

Which makes no sense, since it’s been at least five years since I even wore that shit.

Taking a drag of his cigarette, the smoke mixing with the familiar summer smog, Jason turns his back on Gotham’s literal beacon of hope and steels himself against nocturnal threats of his own. The city is for the caped crew—because apparently, the Bat has a posse now, he thinks with only a hint of a bitter sneer—and Jason has been fighting in a different arena for quite some time now.

He takes a final drag of the cigarette, and then grinds it beneath his boots, and shoves his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket. It’s a weathered and worn thing that reminds him of one Willis Todd wore in one of the few memories Jason has of him that doesn’t involve alcohol or fists. He thinks it’s less pretentious looking than a trench coat and probably gives off fewer ‘creepy motherfucker’ vibes like the sartorial choices of certain other people. It’s also less likely to snag on things when he needs to make a quick exit while digging up graves.

Yeah, it’s a thing in his line of work.

Gotham Cemetery is a sprawling necropolis, as dark and forbidding now as it was the night he dug himself out of his own grave. Half a decade of Gotham-style tender, loving negligence has left the somber green hills overgrown and the majority of the old tombstones fallen or rotting.

You’d think in a city with the highest homicide rate in the country, the mayor would spring for better maintenance. Then again, it’s Gotham. The dead don’t pay taxes, so fuck ‘em.

Which…enough said.

Gotham and the world think Jason Todd-Wayne is dead and has been for five years now; in a way, it’s the truth. He’s no longer anything like the boy that was beaten to death by a psychotic clown, no longer the shrimp who fastidiously dyed his hair black and jumped into someone else’s cape and pixie boots just so he didn’t have to be his own screwup self anymore. He outgrew wanting to be Dick a long time ago, outgrew wanting to be Bruce, too, and embraced a whole new other set of skills to put him apart from them.

Most occultists and even homo magi need to put conscious effort and intent into calling up or even seeing a spirit. Ever since Jason died and then mysteriously got better, the dead appear to him as blatantly and a solid as the living.

John told him he was a fool to come back here.

��Someone with your gifts, they’ll drive you bloody mad,” his mentor warned him when he left London. “And I ain’t talking about the dead ones, neither.”

“You’re just saying that because Batman wouldn’t hold your hand that one time,” Jason retorted, shrugging off the concern. He is Gotham born and bred, his blood is in those streets, and he has always wanted to come home, even if it wasn’t necessarily to a stately manor or its inhabitants.

He clenches his fists.

Inhabitants that wasted no time in replacing him after he died. Jason was rotting away in fucking Arkham, and Bruce was shoving another kid into the tights.

If it didn’t involve seeing him, I would hunt him down and break his jaw.

He surveys the graveyard proper. The everyday observer considers cemeteries to be places of peace and eternal rest; quiet, if a little bit spooky. To Jason, they’re as gruesome as any major battlefield.

Spirits pack the way before him; some of them look relatively normal if dated by their clothes; many others are disfigured and bloody from whatever killed them, whether natural or unnatural. They clamor and crowd, eternally shouting to be heard, or screaming as they relive their deaths in their own personal purgatories.

In the beginning, that din almost drove Jason insane. Bruce’s teachings kept him rational as long as it could in the months after he woke up, and then John’s training helped him temper his own awareness further. By now, he can function almost normally, automatically filtering the voices out as he goes about his daily business; it’s only in places like this, where the dead outnumber the living, where it’s harder.

Jason reaches up, adjusting the noise filters in his ears—mechanical devices that need regular winding but are still more reliable than anything running on electricity of batteries. They’re like steampunk hearing aids, only instead of magnifying sound, they drown out the constant moan of the ghosts when he can’t do it himself. Just one of many methods of protection he’s learned over the years. Some are physical, like the prayer beads wrapped around his wrist or the bottle of holy water in his pocket; others—spells and symbols and mantras—are carved all over his body in tattoos and blood writing. Anything to keep the otherworld away.

“Personal space is a key to a medium’s sanity,” John told him once. “That and a good bottle of single malt scotch.”

Jason ignores the moss-covered path that winds through the larger and more prominent mausoleums. He deliberately doesn’t search out the one in the distance bearing the Wayne crest—

(Still remembers the feel of his fingernails splitting against the wood of the coffin, choking on clumps of soil and insects.)

—and instead seeks a small structure much farther away. It’s in the furthest part of the cemetery, the shabby section almost hidden by overgrown willows. Half of the name above the doorway is obscured by vines, but it’s easy for him to make out the name etched into the stone with bold letters.

HAYWOOD.

According to the public record, Sheila Haywood’s body was returned to Gotham at the same time as Jason Todd’s. Bruce paid for her funeral and internment, which was just as well since she had no other family, and then she was promptly forgotten about.

By everyone except Jason, it seems.

It took some doing and a few weeks tracking down everyone that had worked at the same refugee camp as his mother, but he’d finally managed to collect what possessions she left behind. A colleague of hers had put them aside when there appeared to be nothing of actual monetary value in them.

A gold coin, small bone carvings of stylized animals, dainty trinkets of garnets, amber and lapis lazuli, a compact mirror, some seashells, a decorative fan, quartz paperweight, and a brightly colored feather. There was a picture of Willis in there, too, young and almost Jason’s double. No picture of Jason, though, but he hadn’t expected it.

He kept the picture but left the rest in the small wooden box, which he now removes from his messenger bag and sets down in front of the stone bearing his mother’s name. He follows that with various tools and ingredients. Black candles arranged in a star shape around the box, a chalice, a jar of detritus—teff seeds, driftwood and soil, all from the place where she died—that he sprinkles around in a circle, a handful of smooth obsidian stones to mark a pentagram joining the candles, the dagger John gave him for his last birthday, vials of oil and holy water.

Murmuring a few protection oaths, he shrugs off his jacket, leaving his arms bare, and then digs out a pack of matches to light the candles; flickering shadows dance across the mausoleum walls. He takes up the chalice to combine the water and oil, and then reaches for the dagger.

Hate this part.

Training to ignore pain doesn’t mean it goes away, and he grits his teeth a little as he draws his blade across his forearm, not deep enough to nick anything vital, but enough that the blood runs easily into the chalice. Without bothering to bandage the wound, Jason holds up the chalice in front of him and centers himself.

“Phantasma inrequietum, te voco,” he intones. “Eloguiorum mei audi: Sheila Haywood, te nominas!“ The stagnant air in the mausoleum starts to pick up. “In nominee creatricis, te impero, hic locum decede.” Hand over the top of the chalice, he swirls the liquid within, and then tips it into the open keepsake box. “Per sanguinem hominis et per sanguinem filii tui, non remane et apage! ”He strikes a match and lobs it into the box, not even flinching as the whole thing flares into flame; he intends to watch it until it burns to nothing.

“That’s not going to work, you know.”

“Jesus fuck!” Jason explodes, whirling to the right and glaring at the interrupter. “What did I say about sneaking up on me? Or just—showing up around me in general?”

The apparition in front of him doesn’t look impressed.

Sheila is still beautiful—or, at least, the side of her body that isn’t covered with third-degree burns and sections of pulverized bone—and still sharp. Cold, untouchable and self-interested.

But unlike the way she was before, she’s all-too present in Jason’s life now.

“Goddamn it,” he snarls, and against every lesson John has ever given him, lashes out and knocks the candles and detritus hard enough to send it skidding across the floor. “What the hell. I’ve done everything. You had last rites, your body was cremated, I just torched the things that had any value to you, why the hell won’t you just move on?”

“You’re asking the wrong questions,” Sheila replies, as always.

Jason scowls. “And of course, you can’t just tell me.”

She gazes at him balefully, and he runs a frustrated hand through his hair.

“Sheila, we’ve been over this. You can’t stay here. One, you know spirits that stick around past their time go Dark Side, and I really don’t want to have to exorcise your spectral ass. Two, it’s fucking creepy for a twenty-year-old guy to be followed around by his mother wherever he goes. What the hell is keeping you here? What more do you want from me?”

“Your forgiveness,” she tells him patiently.

“I already forgave you. Years ago.”

“You still call me Sheila.”

“That’s your name.”

“I’m your mother.”

“Who sold me out and got me murdered.”

“See? You haven’t forgiven me.”

“I have. I’m just stating a fact, Jesus…”

“Apparently the cosmic balance doesn’t agree enough to let me move on,” the ghost says dryly. “And to think, I used to be an atheist.”

“This is total bullshit,” Jason snaps, grabbing his jacket and stalking out of the mausoleum in frustration.

Three years of this mediumship crap, and neither he nor John have ever been able to figure out why the ghost of Jason’s dead mother won’t stop haunting him. Wards and sutras that keep even the nastiest spirits away from Jason don’t even phase her, and she’s inexplicably coherent.

And persistent.

As Jason stalks back through the cemetery, he can sense her in his periphery, gliding along beside him, unconcerned with his irritation.

“Can you just…stay away from me? Like you did in the beginning?” he grumbles.

“You were just learning how to communicate without going insane. I wasn’t about to disrupt that.”

“How considerate of you.”

“I try.”

“Look, I’ve had enough of the ghost-stalker thing for today. I went out of my way for this, you know. I didn’t even want to come back here. And now I’m back to the fucking drawing board.”

“It may not have been a waste of a trip,” she replies and vanishes.

“Oh, you can fuck off when it’s convenient for you,” he grumbles, though he already senses what she was speaking of.

Several yards away, a small boy, maybe eight, is clinging forlornly to an angel headstone. Translucent tears stream down his cheeks, but every now and again his face shifts, like a television caught between two channels, and his mouth widens into an unnatural smile.

Jason could have gone the rest of his life without seeing that smile again.

Still, he sighs and heads toward the kid.

“Hey,” he says, keeping his voice low and maintaining a safe distance from the boy, whose head whips up to stare at Jason in sudden fear.

“Who are you?” he asks, voice thick with tears.

“I’m Jason. You okay, kid?”

“I can’t find my mom,” the boy murmurs, wiping at his face. “I keep going looking, but I forget the way home. And then…I always end up back here.”

He sounds on the verge of tears again; it’s something Jason can understand.

With the puzzling exception of Sheila, who appears to come and go as she pleases, most ghosts are stuck in certain patterns and paths when they die, frozen in an infinite loop until they break themselves out of it or until some arbitrary higher power decides they’ve suffered enough. And for some reason, Jason can break them out of it.

“You could always try again,” he suggests. “I think you’ll manage it this time.”

The boy shudders. “There’s scary people here.”

No arguing with that.

“I know. I see them, too.” Jason glances at the headstone, scanning the name and dates. “Your name’s Cole?”

“Yeah.”

“If you’re missing, there are probably people looking for you. They might have posted something online about it. I’ll check it out, but it could take a bit.” He holds up his phone, glad to see it’s at full charge and bars; that’s hit or miss around so many ghosts. “Can you hang around here until I’m done?”

The boy nods, silent, face flicking back and forth between sadness and the unnatural smile.

Fucking Joker…

Jason does a quick search of the kid’s name, pulling up obituaries in the Gotham Gazette in the past year. It doesn’t take long for an article to pop up concerning the Joker’s latest escape and a list of the dead.

He narrows his eyes, startling the kid.

“It’s fine,” he lies. “The internet is just really slow.”

“Or our phone is really bad,” Cole tells him with the blunt honesty of a kid that grew up constantly surrounded by functional technology.

“Everyone’s a critic…”

Another quick search for the parents, phone lists and social media, and he’s got an address. Crime Alley, of course. He brings it up on his map and enables a view of the street, holding the phone out to the boy. “Is this your house?”

Relief settles and settles over his face. “Yeah.”

“What if I helped you find your way home?”

Cole makes a suspicious face. “I’m not supposed to go anywhere with strangers.”

“Which is really smart. But you see, I’m not really a stranger.”

“Oh yeah? Why not?”

“Well, I’ll let you in on a secret.” Jason bends down, conspiratorial, and Cole’s eyes gleam the way any kid gets when hearing a secret. “When I was a little older than you…I was Robin.”

The boy gapes. “Like…Batman and Robin?”

“Exactly.”

“No way!”

“Way,” Jason smirks, crossing his arms. “And I’ll tell you all about it on the way to your house. Including the time that I stole the wheels off the Batmobile.”

“No way!”

Despite his scandalized disbelief, the kid is obviously hooked.

Jason’s heart clenches a bit at the open curiosity on Cole’s face, the reality hitting him that this boy will never have a chance to do anything mischievous or fun ever again.

From one dead boy to another, this sucks…

As he leads him out of the cemetery, Jason starts to tell the little ghost about his life. He edits out the less pleasant bits, like dying and returning to life half brain dead with the ability to see and hear ghosts.

He figures a good story is the least he can do for the boy.

⁂⁂⁂

Next Chapter

#jaytimweek2019 #jaytimweek #jaytim #jaytimbingo2019 #fanfic #jaytim fic #jason todd #tim drake #prompt: supernatural #romance #drama #mystery #angst #cemetery #haunting #relics

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komakitigerdrop · 5 years

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Apparently I didn't express myself accurately. As you said indeed, certain scenes don't mean anything, so my question is, what scenes would actually mean something? (I'm being hypothetical, not trying to say existing scenes mean anything.) Or are you going to keep believing in YxF even after something big happened between MxF/TxF/YC/AxF? I'm the kind who buys whatever couple the author sells, but I'm curious about shippers loyal to one specific couple.

Ahh, thank you for sending another ask. I was not pleased with my previous answer either - I was pressed for time and didn’t articulate my ideas very well.

I think that the best way to answer your ask is to break it down into a few different parts, if you don’t mind. I will hide it under a cut so that I don’t clutter people’s dashboards.

1. About Shipping

I am not the kind that buys whatever couple the author sells, just because I am not naturally invested in most fictional couples (regardless of media type - I guess I am either too cynical, or just overly realistic). I read other mangas and in most of them, either only one couple draws my attention, or none. I find most of the tropes used in yaoi either dumb, childish or both. That is all to say that I hardly ever find myself emotionally invested in a fictional couple, but when I do… I do.

2. About Finder specifically

This part will merge with the next, “scenes that matter”. The reason why I can’t bring myself to find Mikhail and Fei a believable/interesting couple is because their relationship is not organic. By organic, I mean: something that was construed over time, something that followed a trail, that was built upon events that primarily existed to advance other parts of the story. Finder started in 2002. Fei Long and Mikhail were introduced in 2007. For twelve years, FxM interactions were limited and emotionless. Even their sex scene in Volume 9 was a transaction. Nothing was built to suggest any kind of emotional connection between these two individuals, nothing was said, on the page, about either of them being remotely interested in starting a romance.

Bear with me here.

Reason being, Fei Long was a character created to gravitate around Asami. The crux of his existence in the manga was always the relationship with this one man, the feelings for this one man. No one else. Not Mikhail, not Tao, not Yoh. Flash forward to 2018, and YA gives us that iconic scene in which Fei Long ships Akihito and Asami to a desert island, and I think that this is the gamechanger. Now Fei Long is in a position to move on.

Coincidentally, we readers are given back Yoh and a sex scene with Mikhail in the same damn chapter.

Two suitors with feelings for him.

On one hand, Yoh, whose feelings he admitted to Fei Long in the wrong place, at the wrong time. Of course he was not reciprocated. Then, there was Finder no Rakuin, in which their affection was mutual. Had its plot not been written by Yamane Ayano herself, dialogues reviewed and all, I would happily cast it aside as “non-canon”. But it was, so I won’t. If one accepts Finder no Souen as canon to explain Kuroda and Asami, then one needs to accept Finder no Rakuin as canon to explain the feelings Fei Long and Yoh have for each other. I won’t label those feelings because in all honesty, I wouldn’t know how to. Fei Long’s heart was not within reach, and yet Yoh still managed to touch it. There is a connection between those two men based on trust, on forgiving, and yes - on physical pleasure. It delivers in all fronts.

You ask, what would be necessary to convince me that Mikhail is the real deal? I’d say, I would need to see him deliver in those three fronts. I’m sorry, but a night of sex in exchange for a favor, and a moment of compassion after a session of torture won’t cut it for me. Mikhail going to see Yuri, as I mentioned before, was due to concern and a sense of duty - but in all honesty, he is not the first and won’t be the last to put his ass on the line for Fei Long. Akihito did it. Asami did it. Yoh did it. Do they all get a ticket to Fei’s heart? If they do, then what is the point?

It was the need to save Asami that ultimately brought Fei Long and Mikhail together. It was not mutual attraction, interest, or compatibility of values/goals/personalities. What happens when Asami is safe and sound? Has Mikhail made that much of an impression that his presence in Fei Long’s life will be justified long after their current shenagigans get sorted out?

Again: maybe yes. Maybe YA will find a way to make Mikhail relevant, maybe the road she chooses is a passionate romance. But will that convince me that she is “picking Mikhail over Yoh”? No. Because these two relationships do not compare. Mikhail is an open flame, Yoh is a slow burning amber. It’s just who they are, it’s what they have to offer. Their purposes and benefits as “love interests” are very, very different. And yes, I will even say that Fei Long might have a thing with Mikhail, but is Mikhail going for the marathon or just a sprint? As I said, things change. A moment of tenderness does not equal a love affair; a love affair does not equal a lifelong commitment. YA, smart woman she is, will probably leave both doors open until the very end, because with Fei Long, she can do whatever she wants with his love life. She can give us all or nothing, then have Tao reach age of 21 and join the race as well.

And I bet she will have a load of fun playing with our emotions.

(She does it so well, tho!)

Part 3: About scenes that matter

I will talk about the scenes that don’t matter: the ones that could easily be removed from the manga without any harm to the characters’ development or to the plot. My favorite example: the infamous Sakazakigate. I might come here later to post an apology but it does look like sensei completely abandoned that idea (she had Sakazaki record a video of the whole thing and never used it. Why? What was the point of it?)

In terms of Fei Long and Mikhail: I might be wrong about this one as well, but I think we never got confirmation that is was Mikhail who got the temple set on fire in exchange for Sudou’s info about the goods. Which is a shame, because this demonic deal could easily contribute to his hero journey if it was revealed that Mikhail himself sent Sakazaki to warn Akihito about the fire (hence double-crossing Sudou. Or triple-crossing - who knows at this point!)

I could backtrack and find more scenes that existed for apparently no reason but this is too long already. My point is: scenes that don’t matter are those that promise great waves and in the end, fall short. Time will tell how much of the current arc will have an impact in the future - do the scenes between Fei Long and Asami when they are saving each other’s lives really mean this new phase of their relationship or were they there just for the action? Does Fei Long’s moment of tenderness with Mikhail indicate that the doors are open for romance? If yes, will we see that romance now, later, two years from now?

All in all… the scenes that matter the most are those that change characters and the story in some kind of irrevocable way. I think certain scenes in Finder no Souen did that to Asami, same can be said to Fei Long in Finder no Rakuin. And those scenes cannot be invalidated by any other future scenes, because they happened, the people involved in them changed, the mark was made.

I will continue to celebrate Yoh and Fei Long simply because their past and everything they went through, their trust, their synergy, all of that deserves to be celebrated. If Fei Long ends up with Tao, then be it. With Mikhail, okay. If he ends up alone, okay too. There is more than one type of relationship between two people and that’s what I’m here for.

#in which komaki rambles!#but it's my boy yoh #I cant help it #finder no hyouteki #yoh #Liu Fei Long #Liu Feilong #mikhail arbatov

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qhostqizmo · 4 years

Text

Date Night

*pounding fists on table* Let them date!! Let them date!! Let them dATE!!

- - - - - - - - - -

She played the conversation over and over again in her head. Try as she might, she couldn’t deny that everything about the invitation had been rather… intimate.

Maybe Adela and Abe had been right when she’d offhandedly brought it up to them. It sure sounded like Amon had asked her out on a date, as the duo suggested. Just her, and the heir to the Illiad name; no one else, going to dinner and play. No one else had gotten an invitation. No one else had gotten to see his quirky nervous half-smile, and see the color rise in his cheeks, or the joy in his face like she had.

She could make the excuse that because they were Aurumval, everyone else had other plans in mind. Adela had been hitting up the jewelry shops a lot lately. Rava had been joining her, or trying to pester the Master Seeker into further training pranks. Sulhadur was spending much of his time with his idol or practicing alongside Abe; and Abe himself was spending time with either Sul or Pen (when the later was not out looking for a lay). Even Pri’cha had found themselves a hobby in meeting with the local shopkeep at Whitemore’s for conversation and study.

But the fact that the nobleman had asked no other than her was suspicious. He hadn’t made it secret that he’d only come to her, but the word ‘date’ had never entered his vocabulary. She’d thought nothing of his offering, other than eagerness at being able to spend any time with her nobleman.

Staring at the sets of clothes laying out out on the bed, Essätha was at a complete loss with what to do.

“Wear the wine one, it makes the gold of your eyes stand out and goes with your skin tone.”

“But should I really be wearing a gown? Maybe just a shirt and slacks…”

Adela peered up from the necklaces she’d been picking through with an empty expression. “Honey, he’s taking you to the theater in Aurumval and out to dinner. It’s going to be an event. This isn’t a ‘nice blouse and skirt’ occasion. You’re in the capitol. Everything’s going to be expensive taste and fine etiquette.”

Nibbling on her lower lip, Essätha folded up the camisoles and pants to put away. She peeked over the dresses left; some more conservative than others. The deep purple one Adela pointed out did have a nice off the shoulder, with a cinched waist, and a flowy bottom. There was a slit on the right side that went a few inches above the knee, though.

“Don’t you think it’s a bit… much?” she choked out.

The Tiefling did a sideways glance towards the garment. “Looks fine to me.”

“I like it,” Rava agreed, her hand getting swatted as she reached over to examine a bracelet. She pouted at the jeweler pitifully.

“No touching, you’ll mess up my organization method.”

“What are you even doing with all that jewelry?”

“Trying to find the right hues of gold and amber that fit well with the dress and Essie’s eyes, now shush. Let me concentrate.”

Essätha met the wood-elf’s gaze. The young elf shrugged helplessly. She’d only joined the preparation party as a way to scope out Adela’s gemstones.

Giving an enormous sigh, Essie picked the dark plum dress up off the bed. As though stamped with a life sentence, she sulked with her head low in the direction of the bathroom.

“Wear this with it too,” Adela remarked, pointing at a thin cashmere shawl. It looked like it was made of spun gold, and had a sheen over it.

“Uh… okay?”

“Listen if I can’t go out with my fiance, I’m going to have to live through your date,” the Tiefling explained. “Now go get dressed and let’s talk about some shoes while we get your hair and makeup done.”

“That sounds a bit selfish,” Ravamora remarked, picking up a set of earrings to study. “How much are these?”

Determined to escape the squabbling (and the rogue’s attempt at learning to gauge jewelry value, as if that couldn’t go wrong), Essie discretely slipped into the bathroom and softly closed the door behind her. She thunked her forehead gently to the doorframe to groan with despair.

Which was worse, going over the top to a mediocre event, or going underdressed? And frankly, why did she care?

Grabbing the hem of her shirt, she ripped it roughly off her head, musing her bun in the process and scattering her hair pins to the floor in frustration.

She was going to make the best of the damn evening with Amon, regardless.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“Essätha, are you ready to go?”

Ready as she was ever going to be.

Smoothing out the front of her gown, Essie opened the door to the restroom to slip nervously out. She clutched her hands nervously in front of herself to avoid messing with the tedious waterfall of braids Rava and Adela had done for her. The one thing she’d managed to push the pair off of was cosmetics. The last thing she wanted was a test run between the pair of them. She went with her usual mostly nude hues, with only a single outrageous change from her comfort zone; adding a shimmering metallic gold eyeshadow that went well with the glittering jewelry.

She didn’t bother to look up, tightly holding her clutch in her hands. “I think I’m ready…”

The gasp that escaped Amon was partially a wheeze, as though someone had struck him in the chest.

Startled, she looked up from the short pumps her eyes were fixated upon to the Briarton Lord. His jacket was a tailcoat was a shade of navy so dark, it could almost qualify as black. The white dress shirt he wore beneath was crisp and freshly pressed beneath his dull gray-blue vest. The only color on his person that stood out in his hands; which were shaking, a single hybrid peachy to red rose.

Her face felt as hot as Amon’s looked; as though someone had dusted his features with a the pink of a setting sun. A wash of humiliation immediately settled over her as he had trouble staring at her for more than a second at a time, twirling the flower in his hands.

“It’s too much, isn’t it?”

The nobleman cleared his throat. “No… No you look… sublime… like perfection.”

“Thank you.” Her face felt even hotter. “You look exceptionally handsome yourself, m’lord.”

His jaw worked, and he swallowed loudly. Essie reached for his hand out of impulse. He looked so distressed, she couldn’t help herself.

He startled beneath her touch, looking from her hand to her face. The tension in his smile was still prevalent as he offered her the bloom sheepishly.

“For you,” he squeaked, voice cracking.

“Oh, thank you.” She accepted the rose, holding it awkwardly. Her eyes looked around the room. Should she leave it here…?

“Um. Well. Here, may I?”

“… S-Sure?”

“Sorry, I didn’t think this through,” he mumbled, accepting the floret back. She stood absolutely still as he tucked the stem carefully behind her ear, through the bouncy twirl of her curls. The brush of the back of his hand skimmed her flush skin and against her cheekbone as she glanced shyly away. He had a tremendously careful touch, adjusting the petals and lightly brushing his fingers along her hairline.

“There… Your beauty accents it well.”

“I thought it was supposed to be the other way around.”

The warmth in Amon’s eyes grew. His smile softened. “No. Your beauty definitely outshines even the most exquisite flower.”

She gave a stiff, nervous laugh. “Perhaps I should wear a dress more often, I didn’t realize it made such a difference.”

A pained look of hurt flickered through the nobleman’s eyes. “It’s not the garment that makes you so gorgeous, Essätha.”

“… What?”

“I… I just… You are a very beautiful woman, Essie. You don’t need any of these things to prove that. I was a bit stunned; in a good way, seeing you in something so different, but you are always… breathtaking.”

She could not meet his eyes. She could not look at him any longer, fearing the trembling in her knees and fluttering beneath her ribcage. If he had any idea the way he made her feel; strong yet vulnerable, resolute but shy, spirited and on the other hand calm. She felt a hundred emotions around him; some old, some new and freshly budding that she had never felt before. She wanted things her mind could not comprehend, her lungs could not voice. Things her heart yearned for against the protest of sense.

How was she supposed to keep eye contact with him tonight, when he was so lovely, so sweet, and so charmingly handsome that it made her insides nauseous with want?

He took her hand; the one not holding her handbag, with a gentle grip. It was a safer place to look then to the ocean of his eyes that she would otherwise get lost in.

“May I escort you to our carriage, Miss Essätha?”

Straining on a nervous giggle, she curled her fingers between the spaces between his. She liked this better than simply holding his forearm, even if her palms were a bit sweaty. It was like a security blanket. She knew everything would be okay, if he kept his hand in hers.

“You may; I will grant you that honor.”

“And what an honor it is.”

Gods have mercy, she was going to faint before the evening was over.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The coach came to a halt outside of what looked like an elite restaurant. Everyone stepping in and out of the building was dressed in finer clothes; though few had attire quite as nice as the two of them. It made Essie’s insides squirm all the more as Amon lead her out by the hand of the chariot. He spoke briefly to the coachman as she anxiously bobbed her weight from one shoe to other, passing him a few shillings and a nod before joining her once more.

“What was that about?”

“Oh, just affirming roughly the time he should be back by to pick us up from the theater. It’s only a short block away from here, so I thought we could take a stroll there after we dine in…” His eyes suddenly widened with panic. “Unless you would rather take the ride-?”

“No, that’s okay. A walk sounds fine.” Gods she hoped her smile didn’t look as dopey as it felt. A walk? Like, a romantic stroll down the boulevard?”

Amon only appeared somewhat relieved by her answer, taking hold of her hand in his once more. His fingers were clammy, and a bit awkward as he fumbled with hers. “Let’s get checked in for our reservation.”

She nodded, stupidifed. Reservation? How long had he been planning this? She hoped it hadn’t been booked days in advance. This seemed far more high-class and over her head then she was used to.

He opened the door for her as they approached the building, as usual. It eased some of her nerves. Some things never changed, just like the bold triumphant lingering in his eyes upon hers. He took her hand again as they stepped inside, sending sparks hurtling through her bloodstream once more. So much for clear-headed. She felt drunk off him all over again; and intoxicated by the aroma of ginger, sage, and tonka bean blended with leather and agarwood on his skin.

Holding on to his hand, Essie’s gaze moved throughout the elegant décor while he spoke to a gentleman up front about their reservation. It was even more dazzling on the inside than the outside. Everything was glowing in shades of amber, illuminated by glass and mirrors that made the candlelight bounce from room to room. Her insides swelled, taking a daring moment to glance at the distracted, chuckling man at her side as he spoke with the doorman.

Definitely even more wonderful on the inside than the outside; which seemed impossible, but true.

“Right this way,” the host acknowledged, nodding to the pair of them as he snapped his booklet shut. Amon passed her a proud but shy smile, following their guide close to her side as they made their way through the establishment. The man stopped at a privately enclosed curtain, adjusting it for them to pass with a murmur for them to enjoy their meal.

The view was spectacular. She held her breath, staring out at the remnants of the setting sun and incoming twilight stars sprinkling the skyline. Her eyes ventured to Amon’s, and the patient but bashful expression he wore.

All of this, for her?

“Here, allow me,” the nobleman rasped, clearing his throat while tearing his gaze away from her. He appeared flustered as he pulled the cushioned chair out from the table.

Brushing the back of her dress flat, Essie gratefully accepted her seat. She looked up, seeing how distant the other end of the table was with a twinge of remorse.

“How much trouble would we be in, if I asked you to move your chair closer?”

Was it possible for the man to have a devilish grin of mischief? It seemed so.

“I’m renting out the space, I think they’ll make an exception.”

She snickered as he picked up his seat to place it adjacent to hers. Her greedy hands sought his to hold as she leaned over to rest her head against his shoulder, staring out at the last light of the day fading.

“This is nice.”

“I thought you might like this place.”

Biting into her lower lip and smudging the stain of color on her lips just a touch, Essätha tilted her head so her eyes could meet his. They were twinkling with the light of the stars, and the flame of the lanterns throughout the space.

“I… I meant this,” she clarified, her voice small as she squeezed his hand.

There was no mistaking his wide-eyed surprise. The shape of his pupils exploded within his iris.

“I…”

“Good evening, monsieur and misse- oh, m-my apologies-”

The pair of them instantly sat up straight, eyes snapping towards the red-faced waiter stepping through the thin curtains.

“I- I will be back I’m so sorry-”

“N-No that’s okay,” Essie rasped, her fingers still lingering in Amon’s grasp. “You can stay.”

The man’s face went from her, to presumably Amon’s. Too embarrassed to look back, she wondered what the nobleman’s face said to the man. Probably something impassive. He was good at covering his emotions, unlike her.

“Very well,” the gentleman squeaked, slowly approaching to offer out two identical sheets of fine parchment. It had very few items on it to choose from. “Can I get the two of you anything to drink to start off with?”

“Bring a bottle of sauvignon blanc, thank you,” the nobleman requested hoarsely. Essätha’s lips pulled into a frown as she side-eyed the nobleman. He was very flush.

“Excellent choice sir, I’ll be right back,” the server replied, bowing quickly before he disappeared behind the veil.

Lord Amon cleared his throat, taking her hand from beneath the table to hold fondly. He looked mesmerized even through the pinkish blush on his face as he smiled adoringly back at her. “Now then. You were saying how much you enjoyed the view?” he teased.

Giddy laughter bubbled up in her chest, and she made a playful swatting motion towards him.

“I do. The atmosphere is… staggering, but I’m glad you’re here to keep me grounded. I’m happiest when you’re with me.”

His smile was downright goofy now. “As am I, when I’m with you.”

“Really?” she breathed, amusement dancing in her eyes as she insisted, “You’ve outdone yourself. This is a stunning location. The view reminds me a bit of a lodge I stayed at once. It was situated at the highest point in the town; made it an easy landmark for people to direct around that way, and it had some of the spectacular sunset horizons above the buildings and treetops…”

“Tell me more.”

She wasn’t sure who was more breathless, him, or her. Equally absorbed with only each other, as the rest of the chatter from the restaurant seemed so distant in their private space.

Beaming from ear to ear, she jumped right in to the story, finding it never easier than that moment to tell anyone about her past in her life.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Huffing, Essie pushed aside the plate containing the remains of the chocolate lava cake. “Not another bite.”

“You? Turning down sweets?”

She scowled at the taunting curl of Amon’s smile. “You fed me too much food! If I eat another bite, I’ll explode.”

“Well, we wouldn’t want that,” he chuckled, wrapping an arm around her shoulder. He adjusted the shawl as it slipped, wrapping it delicately back into place. “Oh, here, let me just…”

She froze, confused as the nobleman lifted his napkin from his lap. She squinted her eyes as he dabbed at the corner of her lip.

“Ganache.”

“Thank you.” Oh dear. That was embarrassing. Not nearly as embarrassing as the idea of how she’d wished he’d taken it off though; her face inflamed at the thought.

Amon’s gaze lingered a moment too long on her mouth. His face turned a shade of beet red as he cleared his throat, scooting back his chair from the table and tossing the cloth upon it.

“We had better start walking, I’m afraid. We’ll be late for the play otherwise.”

“Oh… okay.”

Amon dug into his coinpurse, leaving a large handful of extra coins on the table. Before Essie could decide what to do; conflicted, the nobleman slowly drew her chair a bit from the table for her to slide out easier.

“Always a gentleman,” she remarked warmly, stroking his arm. Amon’s gaze followed her touch, and his throat jumped once more.

Timid once more, she drew her hand back to fiddle with her clutch.

As they stepped from behind the drapery, their server hurried over. Amon spoke quietly to the young man as her eyes scanned the main room, now bustling with even more bodies then when they’d entered.

A large, round table of boisterously laughing men near the doors to the kitchen looked their way.

Essätha looked away, but it was too late. Two of them had already gotten out of their chairs, and were headed over.

“Lord Amon? Is that you?”

“Oh… Hello.”

She winced in sympathy to the hollowness in Amon’s voice. Not everyone was aware of his stripped title.

“And who is this scrumptious treat you have here with you?” one of the men inquired, offering a respectful bow. He extended a hand towards her.

“Essätha Meduza, sir.” She placed her hand uncertainly in his. That’s what he wanted, right?

“Essätha? An exceptional name for a fine looking lady.”

As the man lifted her hand respectfully, his lips puckering, she quickly pulled it free of the man’s gentle grip. He seemed a bit surprised, but quickly corrected his composure.

Her eyes slipped towards Amon’s. She hadn’t done so terrible taboo, had she?

His jaw shifted like he was grinding his teeth. He had a narrowed gaze locked upon the man who’d touched her. If he’d known any sort of magic, she’d swear he was preparing to cast an inferno upon the wealthy looking gentleman.

“Found yourself a young lady willing to tolerate your time, aye Bearmaster?” The other man jested, passing a wink to Amon.

He smoothed out much of his expression, but she could still see the frosty annoyance beneath his eyes.

“I do hate to break a reunion short, but we’ve a play to get to-”

“Oh. Oh I- we- apologize, milord. We should get together though, sometime. Maybe a hunt. It’s been what, three years since I last saw you?” He nudged the other man with his eyes still taking in Essie’s face. “Let us leave these two to their night. It was nice to see you Amon, Miss Meduza. Enjoy your show.”

Confused, she inclined her head to the man politely. He grabbed the other by the arm, almost requiring to drag him to get him to take his eyes off her. She ventured her gaze, meanwhile, back towards the nobleman at her side. Amon stiffly tugged on his coat, trying to get it to lay flat again as he unbuttoned and buttoned it. She reached out, brushing her fingertips against his anxious hands.

He turned his eyes back up to her, slowing his movements to a crawl while staring into her eyes.

“Ahem, I…” Swallowing, Amon offered out his hand with a nervous smile. “Are you ready to go?”

Squeezing his hand, Essätha gave a short nod. “With you, m’lord Amon, of course.”

The rigidness in his shoulders relaxed. With a tender regard upon her, he steered them through the restaurant and out to the street. With the darkness settled in on the city like a chilled blanket, Essätha shivered as the night air struck her exposed arms, creating goosebumps.

Popping open the buttons he’d frustratingly just fixed, the nobleman dragged off his tailcoat to drape it across her shoulders as soon as she went to clutch herself, shivering.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” He pulled the sides around her to block out the breeze with a smile. She stepped closer, sighing gratefully as he tentatively wrapped his arm around her waist. There was an open spot on his shoulder for her to rest her head against gratefully.

“I guess I should have had the caddy pick us up…”

“Don’t feel bad; this is fine.” She breathed in deeply, soaking in the scent of his fragrance that was in the coat.

He chuckled quietly after a moment, resting his cheek against the side of her head as they wandered down the cobblestone street.

“Let’s not waste any time though, I don’t want you to get a chill.”

She hummed in vague agreement, too focused on how good it his arm felt against her, and the heat of his jacket that felt like a permanent embrace of him hugging her, encircled all around. She was fine catching chill, and going slow, if it meant stealing a little more time, and a little more him, all to herself for just a while longer.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Amon fished their admissions out from his pocket, and slid them across the table to the ticketmaster. With a nod after they examined the stiff pieces of paper, the manager motioned for them to enter into the parlor ahead.

Essie moved to shrug off the jacket and return it to the nobleman, but he shook his head gently. “Keep it a while longer; if you get too warm I’ll take it back.”

That suited her plenty. When he took her hand to guide her inside, she smothered her face discretely into the collar of his coat. The scent of his cologne made her insides feel warm, light, but lonely. It was a weird feeling that made little sense when he was right in front of her.

The venue entry was spectacular. Sofa arrangements were in the middle and around the sides of the room, allowing people to sit and converse during half-times and prior to the plays. Servers were wandering the floor, offering out drinks and small hors d’oeuvre’s. A large chandelier hung high in the middle of the room, with glass dangling off to send the candle flames dancing across the room. Smaller candelabra dotted around the room as well, and the carpeted floor had a fanciful looking golden pattern upon plush red.

Unlike the restaurant, where Essätha felt her clothes were a few tiers higher quality then most of the nice blouses, skirts, and dresses some women were wearing, she felt positively peasant-like here. Women were wearing dresses studded with gemstones, large pearl necklaces, colorful decorations and even a few exotic furs and feathers. Meanwhile she was in a single-tone gown, hiding beneath a coat too large for her that she wished could swallow the rest of her up.

“Would you care for some wine, Essie?”

“I’m okay, thank you m’lord. Help yourself though.”

There was a twinge of concern in the frown that tugged at his lips. As they stepped further into the room, his hand holding to her own, one of the waiters did approach.

“Can I get you two anything?”

“Water, please.”

The server raised their eyebrows, but made no objection. They bowed elegantly from the waist, replying, “Give me a moment, sir and madam, I will return with two glasses at once.”

Her eyes scanned the room, searching for some place less stuffy to stand. It smelled vaguely of alcohol and tobacco through the theater, although no one appeared to be smoking or chewing anything at the moment.

“Would you like to take a seat somewhere?” the Illiad heir inquired, licking his lips anxiously.

“I…” Her eyes moved around the room, pausing awkwardly on a woman staring directly at her. The lady smiled, and before Essie could decide which flight instinct to follow, she was already moving their way, tugging a man along with her.

“Well hello there! Lord Amon, is that you? Fancy seeing you here!”

The nobleman winced slightly, and turned to offer the woman a polite smile. “Lady Darcy, Lord Moreno a pleasure seeing you two as well.”

“Yes yes I know,” Darcy sang, ignoring him completely. She had her thousand watt exuberant smile aimed towards Essie, which was a touch on the overwhelming side.

“Who are you, sweet dear? Awful young to be seen out with an old dull man like this one.”

Amon’s face turned scarlet, and he looked torn between appalled and infuriated by the insult.

Uncomfortable in her own right, Essätha offered a poor courtesy. She refused to loosen her grasp on the coat as she introduced herself quietly, “Essätha Meduza, ma’am.”

“Meduza? I’ve never heard that house name…”

Essie’s smile grew tight. “You wouldn’t have.”

“Mmm. I see. Where are you from, dearie? And what in the God’s name is someone as youthful and with a face as pretty as yours doing with the Bearmaster of all folk? Now I have a nice son-”

“Darcy.”

“Oh but honey I’m only kidding!”

“I’m so sorry Miss,” her husband muttered, joining in on the congregation of blushing and humiliated individuals. “She’s got a poor sense of humor. Love her to death with or without it though. Don’t mind her trying to sell our boy off, she’s always trying to push him on any lass we meet.”

Pawing at her partner as though to silence him, Darcy leaned eagerly towards Essie. “Where did you say you were from, dear?”

“Ahem, Lady Darcy, though I hate to intervene, Essätha and I were going to take a moment to go find where our seats are going to be in the theater. If you don’t mind…”

“Oh, always a bore Amon. Yes, go, run away with her if you must.”

Nodding curtly, he gave the smallest tug on Essie’s hand to draw her attention. She obliged, murmuring a respectful ‘good evening’ as she trailed at Amon’s heels.

“She’s… interesting.”

Amon grunted. “Darcy is a… nice woman. Means well. She gets under people’s skin though.”

“I can see that a bit, yeah.”

The nobleman gave her a thin smile. She twined her fingers in through his, until the nervousness in his expression melted into one more genuine, and sincere.

“I guess we really should go check where our seats are…”

Spotting the server hurrying in their direction briskly, with two goblets, she leaned into the warmth of his side with a grateful sigh.

“I’m okay with that.”

She wondered if it was her imagination, but she could swear through the hitch of his breath, the noise, the lights, the laughter in the room, she could feel the sound of his pulse acutely against her wrist, jump erratically. It was a steady heartbeat; strong, confident, dare she think almost wishfully… beckoning.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Listening to the drama unfold on the theater floor; actors shouting, singing, throwing their arms into the body language of their character, it was miraculous. A true character of showmanship. Parts were funny; parts were sad, other things made her question and ponder.

She rested her head on Amon’s shoulder; turned into a parenthesis curling against him. The arm of the chair prevented her from climbing into his lap, but only just. He found his own way to the edge of his seat; his cheek atop her head, his arm around her, rubbing heat into the coat. She wished his hand was beneath it. The thought of him any closer made her shiver; conflicted and yearning.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The concession area was even more packed than before as the show cut into half-time. Those who showed up late, or went to seat early, all were huddling into the room for drinks and snacks, or hitting the bathrooms off to the left. There wasn’t enough seating for some, left so squat or shuffle if they didn’t go back to their seats; a lady or two taking up residence on their date’s lap here and there. Essie had to smile, catching two young women huddled in an embrace on the arm of a chair, oblivious to those around them to share quick pecks between words.

Her eyes moved to look up to Amon, and down to their unified hands. Nagging questions nipped at the back of her mind, and the ache in her heart seemed to intensify. She couldn’t put into words the solitude in her bones; the sense of homesickness in her veins when she looked at him. What did she possibly want? What did he have that some part of her needed; something beyond the wonderful friendship they shared?

Among the conversation and quiet chatter they picked up; between each other and some of the other guests, they sipped their glasses. Her own held a sweet dessert wine, while she was pretty sure his red was something dry. It smelled good though, on his breath. It made her curious how it tasted.

If her cheeks weren’t already a bit heated from the drink, they sure would be then from the mortifying thought. He wasn’t likely to share his drink. Shared backwash and all that. She tried to ignore the root of the thought; the true though, buried in the back of her mind. She’d not drank nearly enough to think in such a manner. Warm, soft lips…

“Oh milord, it’s been far too long.”

Essätha’s thoughts shattered, turning her attention to the blonde-haired woman that approached them. Her eyes were like seafoam, and there were pointed tips on her short ears. Half-elf, she’d assume.

Amon straightened against her; his spine going rigid. It made her go tense, too.

“Good to see you, Carmen.”

She offered her hand out. To Essie’s surprise, he tried not to notice. He nearly gave himself whiplash snapping his head to turn to the nearest server, and take a fresh glass.

The woman’s lips thinned, but she recovered to place her hand against her hip. “You still look quite regal in your outting clothes.”

“Thank you,” he grunted. His grip tightened against her side. Essie looked between them, her confusion only growing.

Carmen’s eyes darted over to her. Essätha could swear she saw the woman’s lip twitch, like someone resisting a sneer before she smiled wonderfully once more, reaching out to stroke Amon’s shoulder.

“I’ve missed you, casanova. Thought you might try reaching out to me again after a while.” She pouted. “At the very least, see if you needed someone to help you keep that shoulder loose and everything else… stiff.”

Oh. Oh no.

Mortified, she looked between this Carmen woman; her hourglass figure, seductress bedroom eyes, and to Amon, who was grinding his teeth and blushing deeply. She tried to unsee the way the woman looked at him, like she was undressing him with just a glance.

“My shoulder’s fine,” Amon reported in an impassive tone. His eyes darted over to meet hers. He looked nervous? She blinked, and he had shouldered off Carmen’s hand to angle himself more towards her.

“Carmen, this is Essätha.”

The half-elf woman forced a smile over towards her. “Nice to meet you! Are you Amon’s… secretary?”

“She is my friend, and my date for this evening,” Amon jumped in firmly.

“Oh! Oh a friend, I see. Well, we all must have plenty of those lying around, shouldn’t we? Never enough friends in the world.”

Essie’s smile grew less real the more her stomach twisted into knots as she stared back at the woman and her lethal cheeky grin. The woman was vile. She wore her jealousy shamelessly, and spat venom like a cobra.

But why did it hurt so terribly?

She looked off to the side, feeling a rift crack through her. She just wanted to go home.

As Carmen turned her proud smirk back to Amon, Essie glanced up to him, hopefully.

He was still looking at her, concern in his eyes and a soft smile.

She flickered his glance towards his ex-lover, and back to him. He ignored the woman’s ramblings. He seemed to be waiting on something. Or looking for something?

Whatever it was Lord Amon searched for from her expression, he must not have found it. He looked even more worried, and gently took hold of the Carmen’s wrist as she flamboyantly flung her hand in the air. She grew silent. There was fire in her eyes. Victory. Desire that was more than hunger.

“It was nice seeing you, Carmen. Perhaps you should go see if your own escort is looking for you?”

As though she had been slapped, the half-elf recoiled; her cheeks pink. “I…” She snapped her gaze down at Essie. She was livid; and barely managing to conceal it.

Amon overlooked the wounded, angry look in Carmen’s face; jaw hanging open, to pull Essätha closer. He smiled down at her, muscles taut but otherwise, calm. Focused. He kept his composure, and his attention, on her.

“Let’s see if we can’t stop another server; your drink’s getting low.”

“Amon?” Carmen weakly murmured.

He raised his brows questioningly to the woman. Her mouth worked, but no words escaped her.

Essätha looked between the pair of them. He shut her down without hesitation. Turned her away without a second thought. She still wanted something from him; but he wasn’t looking back he was looking… forward.

His puzzled gaze darted over to meet hers.

I choose you.

Now she was certain no drink could ever make her face feel as hot as it did now. She had to be glowing.

Between the women who knew him who knew him how long enough; still hanging on for hope, still flirting with him, teasing him, yearning. He was turning down a woman who clearly held some kind of status that had been hoping to catch his eye again, all these years, to spend his time with her. Her, who came from nothing; escaping herself and a place thousands of miles away, staring at her like she brought out all the stars in the night sky.

He must really think the world of her, to give up an open invitation to spend the remainder of the night with her.

She could almost scoff at herself. And to think, she’d been frightened and intimidated by the woman. Carmen was about as much a threat to their time and happiness together as a fly was; obnoxious, but easily disregarded.

“M’lord Amon,” Essie piped up, winding his arm around her shoulders. “I can get the drink myself, if you’d like to finish your discussion?” She held her head up confidently; pretending that the half-elf’s dagger-eyes were bouncing off metaphorical armor.

“No, we’re already done here, right Carmen?”

The woman faltered. “I-I…”

“Wonderful. Again, charming to see you,” Amon remarked, dipping his head. His arm tightened around Essie’s shoulders. “Lead the way.”

Essätha passed the woman a smile. It truly said what she could not; that she wished her all the best.

She looked defeated, and dejected.

Her heart pitied the half-elf. She tried to picture being in her shoes, and shuddered. Maybe it would be easier to consider if it was any other man other than Amon shunning her, but that image…

Just to check. Just to verify the fearful stab her soul took, she peeked up at the nobleman.

He was still all warm, enchanted grin and dark eyes unwavering upon her. All her energy felt zapped and gained all at once. She wanted to collapse, but at the same time she never felt taller, braver, and more empowered.

He picked her in that moment. Wearing her most giddy, ridiculous smile, she felt as though she’d won everything she’d ever wanted, or needed. Even if it only lasted a little while, right now, she had it all.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Moving through the corridors of the palace, Essie couldn’t shake the events of the night out of her head. She wrapped up Amon’s tailcoat like a blanket, his arm around her, it all seemed so surreal. Maybe it was the liquor talking but it really had felt a lot like a… date. All that careful planning, just the two of them. The special spot for them to dine, the seats close to the front to see the play, the way he stood up for her; held to her most of the date.

As the nobleman opened the door to their bedroom, her brow knitted as she stepped inside. The gears were turning over and over. The rented carriage ride throughout. The walk to the theater, where she could see other’s; couples, making their way in a similar manner to the theater. Even recalling the ride back; how she’d rested, leaning into his chest and his arms around her, the heat of his breath tickling her neck, the steadiness of his hands warming her and their legs tangled.

As Amon stepped into the room, closing the door, she turned to look up at him.

“M’lord, why did you only ask me to go out with you tonight?”

He startled, and staggered. She hoped all that wine wasn’t getting to him, too. Making him see things… feel things…

Scratching the back of his head, he exhaled loudly. “… I thought it would be nice, just the two of us. Did you… not enjoy yourself?”

“I did,” she affirmed quickly. “I… I enjoyed myself immensely. I’m just… trying to process. You didn’t ask anyone else, did you?”

He shook his head, wide-eyed and breathing heavy. What was he acting so shaken up about?

Reaching up, she tried to run her fingers through her hair. She’d forgotten about the waterfall braids; tangling her fingers through some of them. A curse tumbled out of her, and Amon stepped closer. He murmured something; she was too flustered to really hear, and helped her remove her fingers from her hair.

Gods he was close. He looked more than just flush from when they’d left the play. It hadn’t been cold out enough to warrant him looking quite this red. How much had he drank? No more then her, and she was pretty sure she was still mostly clear-headed…

Their fingers were still wrapped around each other, and she was lost in his eyes. She breathed in; breathed out, mumbling, “Why me?”

“Why not you?”

“Why only me?”

The demanding note in her voice slurred a bit. His smile crept up further; grew more handsome and made her entire body ache. She wanted that joy more then anything. She wanted his happiness like she wanted air, or water. It was so fulfilling; so beautiful and so perfect. She wanted that for him, always; and she wanted to give it to him.

“I like spending time with you,” he explained sheepishly; the red wine still on his breath. He held her hand close to his chest. “You make every occasion better, and brighter. I like how you make me feel. I like how you make the world feel. I only asked you because… I didn’t want to split my concentration. And I didn’t want you to split yours,” he admitted, almost guilty; shameful.

“So… you wanted me all to yourself?”

His gaze was strangely piercing. “Does that upset you?”

Her heart fluttered. “… No. No I… I like being all yours.”

Amon smiled. It was dangerous. It did things she couldn’t explain inside her.

“I’ll let you use the bathroom to get ready for bed first,” he whispered.

She nodded, numb and aware she was doing so. “Okay.”

There was indecisiveness in his stance. He teetered for a moment in place. The blackness of his pupil was an eclipse, and it was washing over her.

He leaned in, and brushed his lips in a kiss against her cheek she barely felt.

“Thank you for joining me tonight, Essätha.”

He was too warm, and too close. The deep, raspy huskiness of his whisper made her knees turn to jelly.

Suddenly afraid she was going to do something stupid and irrational, like throw herself at him, she turned her burning gaze and cherry-red face away. “It was my pleasure, m’lord,” she crooned softly. How her feet found locomotion to move towards the bathroom door, she’d never know. Perhaps she had a bit more power left in her then she thought.

As soon as she was inside the restroom, she closed the door behind herself, and placed her back to it. Sure enough, she slid down; her jelly-legs unable to support her weight until she sagged to sit upon her rear on the bathroom floor.

Placing her face in her hands, Essätha breathed raggedly. The whirlwind in her chest had turned into a hurricane; throwing her world out of balance. An incredible first date; unexpected, denied up until the very end but… She knew what she wanted; what she needed, what her wanton heart longed for.

Him. Every road, every yearning, every happy thought and plan for the future, it all lead back to him. Her nobleman.

She groaned into her palms, grinning so hard it hurt. She was in love with Lord Amon Thomas Illiad.

She wondered if he was in love with her, too.

#qhost story #Essatha Meduza #Amon Illiad #OTP: Essamon #softly written

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