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hannibals-favourite-meal · 2 years

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I Burn for You (Literally)

Bucky Barnes x plus size reader

A day in the sun has serious consequences, like getting cock-blocked

Warnings: bad sunburns, not full-on smut but heated, nudity, massages, this is just fluff

WC: 1.8k

A/N: This was written for my best friend in the world who I'm completely in love with and is my platonic soulmate

Minors DNI

1000 Follower Celebration

The white sand beneath your feet was blazing as you ran back up to the mega mansion Tony bought specifically for an Avengers’ vacation. Well, he actually bought the fucking island and then had a house built but those are semantics.

Everyone had been loaded onto a huge private plane and flown to the isolated island where they were each given their own room and free range to do whatever they wanted for the week. Mostly it was staying the fuck away from each other until dinner, when everyone would gather in the insanely massive kitchen and get hammered.

The water was a crystal clear blue and calm, and with the sun always out, it was constantly the perfect temperature, both in and out of the ocean. So you had no issue with stripping down to the very expensive black bikini Natasha bought you and guilted you into wearing, and going for a dip.

Well, it was less than a dip, and more of a ‘spend the entire day in the water and now my hands look like they’re 80’. You romped around in the sea for hours, like you weren’t a highly trained, greatly feared assassin. You, of course, never noticed the icy blue eyes gazing adoringly at you as you dove into the surf.

After a few hours, the sun and salt had finally gotten to you. You needed a huge glass of cold water, a snack, a shower, and a nap, specifically in that order. Well, maybe a nap first.

You hadn’t bothered to bring a towel since the beach was barely twenty steps from the massive patio hanging from the back of the house. “Ow ow ow ow.” You hissed, tender feet coming into contact with the burning sand. You hopped from one foot to the other as you ran up the small path through the row of flowering hedges around the property.

You sighed in relief as you stepped onto the considerably cooler deck. Thankfully, none of your teammates were in the house today, having gone out to explore the island a bit more, so none of them saw you sprint to the outdoor shower, stripping down completely and drenching yourself in cool, fresh water.

“That’s the good stuff.” You practically moaned as the cold water ran down your overheated skin, washing away the copious amounts of salt that covered you. You pulled a small bar of soap off of the shelf hidden in the wooden slats of the house. The peppermint smell invaded your senses as you lathered yourself up, running the suds over your generous curves.

Your eyes fluttered shut, turning beneath the spray so the cold water could drip down your back. You shot forward as the first drops of water landed on your shoulders, pain shooting through you. Fingers running up the back of your neck, you felt it, the tell-tale heat from a sunburn. “Fuck me.” You whined, shutting off the shower.

Gingerly stepping into the multi-million dollar mansion, overly conscious of the water you were dripping on the pristine floors, you rushed up the stairs, shooting for your room. It was tucked away from the rest of the bedrooms since you were the only one in a couple and no one wanted to ‘hear you and iceman going at it every hour of the day’ as Tony so eloquently put it.

The room was just big enough for a king sized bed and a small wardrobe that was the perfect height for you to be bent over and- well you get the picture. Stepping over the many clothes that had been left on the floor in your haste to get out and swim. Scooping up a pair of boxers and a loose tank top that belonged to your partner, you waddled into the en suite to get a good look at what was probably going to be the most horrendous sunburn of your life.

You turned your back to the giant mirror above the marble sink after throwing the clothes on the counter beside you. Your eyes widened at the sheer size of the burn. It spread across your shoulders, up the back of your neck and all the way down your back, leaving only small strips of undamaged skin where your bikini sat on your body.

“Well that’s not good.” You groaned as you shifted, your tender skin burning. “Doll?” A deep voice called out to you. Hurrying, you pulled on the boxers and shirt just before a large form filled the entryway. Bucky smirked as he glanced down at you, his blue eyes getting darker at the sight of you dressed in his clothes, obviously not wearing anything underneath.

“What do we have here? Cause it looks like a sweet little doll was waiting for her big strong man to come play with her.” He growled playfully, his bulky body moving forward to capture you in his thick arms. His lips immediately descended on your throat, nipping at your pulse point.

You couldn’t help it, your head lolled back as he gripped you tighter, pressing his hard body even closer to yours, and since he was only wearing a pair of board shorts, there was almost no barrier between the two of you. You could feel the heat of his hard cock against your soft tummy through his shorts as he bit and sucked on your throat. “B-Bucky.” He groaned at the way you gasped his name.

“That’s my good girl. Keep saying my name like that, see where it gets you.” He threatens, his voice deep and breathy, teetering on the edge of a growl. You clutched onto his wide shoulders, nails digging into the firm muscle you knew so well.

As his hands moved from your hip bones up to your back, the hot and cold of his palms sent a shiver of anticipation through you, and then you suddenly winced. Immediately he stopped and pulled away, eyes hard and searching for an injury. He glanced over your shoulder to the mirror behind you, that showed exactly what was causing you pain.

“Oh doll,” He murmured, cold fingers tracing your upper back with a delicate touch, “This looks like it hurts.” Your skin was on fire, heat radiating from your body. But the chill of his metal hand, soothed it temporarily. As soon as he moved onto another spot on your back the throbbing returned with a vengeance.

“I told you to put on sunscreen this morning.” “I did!” You whined, trying to pull out of his grasp, but he wouldn’t budge. Damn those super soldier muscles.

He chuckled. “C’mon then baby, let’s get you fixed up.” With practiced ease, he lifted you up, letting your feet dangle above the title floor before tucking you into his chest, mindful of your sore back. Your nose fell to the crook of his neck and you couldn’t help but inhale his scent, that spicy cinnamon smell that clung to all his clothes.

His embrace was comforting, like it always was. The feeling of unconditional love and safety he exuded relaxed you, making you sink into his big arms as he carefully turned from the en suite, his steps surprisingly light as he tried not to jostle you.

Striding into the room, he dropped you, face first, onto the bed, the silky sheets cooling down your body. “Now just stay like that for a bit doll. I’ll be right back.” You heard him walk away and seemingly out of nowhere, you were exhausted. With the cool ac blowing directly over your burnt skin and the smell of Bucky on the pillow beneath your head, you were easily lulled into a light slumber.

A weight on your legs makes your eyes flutter open. “Don’t worry doll, I’ll take care of you.” With gentle movements, the tank top was lifted over your head and dropped back down to the floor. The sound of a plastic cap opening woke you up a bit more, but not enough to motivate you to properly open your eyes.

“We can have sex later, let me sleep in peace.” You muttered into the pillowcase. The deep rumble of his quiet laugh shook you slightly. “It’s not lube sweetheart, besides you always get wet enough that I can just slide right in.” You feel his breath on your ear as he drops his voice low, the way he sounds on nights when he wants you to follow his every command.

A moan bubbles from your throat and you wiggle your hips back. He kissed your ear lobe before sitting back on his haunches, straddling your thick thighs. Squirting out some of the gel onto his hands, he rubbed them together so it wasn’t too cold. “Fuck.” You whimpered as he finally put his palms onto your skin.

“That’s my good girl.” The cold gel immediately soothed the fire on your back, making you breathe out a sigh of relief as you relaxed into the sheets. His touch was soft at first, the calluses on his hands barely brushing over your back, but the more relaxed you became, the more pressure he applied. “That feel good pretty girl?” You grunted in response.

It was like that for a while, just silence between the two of you as Bucky carefully massaged your back, making sure to apply more aloe where needed. He pushed his thumbs into the knots along your spine, avoiding the more tender spots along your body. As the fire died down and it felt like your skin was finally able to move without feeling like it had been stretched too tight, you slumped onto the mattress, a calmness overtaking you.

“Alright sweetheart, we just have to let that sit and you should be good as new.” He kissed the base of your neck and made a move to get off your legs. Your arm shot out and held tightly to his firm thigh. “More kisses. Please.” God, he couldn’t resist that little whine in your voice when you desperately wanted something.

He could never deny you anything.

“Whatever you want, doll.” You smiled lazily and let go of his thigh, pushing your hands underneath your pillow. You felt the tickle of his long hair as he bent over you, lowering his face to your back once more. His soft lips pressed lightly to your skin, the scrape of his stubbled jaw making heat pool between your legs.

He methodically kissed every inch of skin he could touch, falling into a steady rhythm. He lived for moments like this, where he could worship your body quietly, appreciating that you trusted him enough to let him see you like this, to let him touch you like this. By the time he reached the plump curve of your ass, your breathing had evened out and your heart rate was slow.

He smiled dumbly at you sleeping beneath him. Kissing you one last time, he slid off of you in favour of laying on the bed beside you. He rested his metal arm on your back, knowing you liked the chill of it against you when you slept, and just watched you, until he, himself, drifted off, content in your presence.

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historia-vitae-magistras · 10 months

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Part Six: Landings

First Installment: Here. Last Installment: Here. Current Installment: You are here!

Author's note: Inspired by the 1950s short story "The Man Who Came Early" by Poul Anderson. This installment of the Viking-time-travel au sees Alfred being his most personable self.

Alfred’s fingers curve over a branch. He lifted his hand to grasp the handle and propel himself inside the shelter of the ISS airlock nearly two hundred and fifty-odd miles above the earth and its atmosphere. Now his hand was on a branch.

He had reached for that door and fallen. Only for a moment, he had fallen through a void. Did voids have air? It had sounded like a hurricane and felt like one. Maybe a wind tunnel. When his palm gripped the branch, when he finally got a decent hold, when he found it was real, all the breath left him. Alfred crumpled to the ground, arms splayed, breathing hard.

That was wrong. That was wrong, and he must have been so disoriented that his senses left him. It happened when the gravitational force hit. Physics couldn’t stroke him out the way they would a normal person, but they could certainly still be uncomfortable. That was all. It was just G force.

He’d open his eyes when he got his breath, and the next thing he would see would be the bright interior of the station. He pressed his palm heels into his eye sockets. He wasn’t insane. He wasn’t. Alfred waited a long time, breathing, waiting.

When he opened his eyes, the tree was still at his back. There were pine needles under his fingers and fog in his mind as he pushed himself and rolled over, gagging as he spat and stood, lightheaded and disoriented. There was a branch between his fingers. He smelled earth and felt ill.

There were pines above his head. Big, looming pines. The sort Alfred and Matt both pretended they didn’t hate the age of industry for stealing. The sort Matt would put his hand against and call holy with all the honesty he had in any language as Alfred pretended he wasn’t uncomfortable with his brother's idolatry. In the palm of his hand, the bark came away easily enough. These were real.

His mind re-calibrated and calmed, rejecting his anxious thoughts and replacing them with logic, with what must be reality. G forces must have fucked up his tolerances. Time in space could do that too. Just what the hell had he and Matt put in the bong this time? Let's get baked and watch the northern lights, his brother said. What’s the worst that could happen? His brother said.

Matt could put away his magic brownies like a garbage disposal, Alfred had no such luck. He sat up, head swimming. He was still in his jumpsuit. What the fuck? It must have been a crazy post-mission after-party. There was no wreckage, and he hadn’t fallen to earth. Shit. Where were his boots? He raked his hair off his forehead and felt the vague weightiness of hair washed with no-rinse shampoo. Christ, he hadn’t even had a proper shower since getting off? That was usually first on the list. Christ, when would he learn not to dip into the vodka after G-Force? He'd done this busting the sound barrier, but it hadn't been this bad.

He turned about, trying to make sense of his surroundings. There were trees, what he thought was a hill, and he smelled salt water but couldn't hear the waves. He ducked under the branch he’d grabbed and stepped into a clearing. He expected to find Matt sprawled in the shade of a tree not far away, or maybe having a piss just out of view. He never wandered far when they went drinking.

Alfred stood at his full height, glancing left. He heard a noise, a branch snapping. He jerked around. Standing not twenty paces away were a dozen men. They looked at him cautiously. They were dressed strangely, in tunics with shields and spears and swords. Two had helmets. Another wore a fantastic bearskin replica as a cloak. Alfred bounced to the balls of his toes, suddenly excited, and energized beyond whatever his hangover was and the trepidation those spearheads had given him.

“Oh shit! Nice helmet! The flight suits real.” He tapped the embroidered NASA logo sewn above old glory on the sleeve of his upper arm. “I’ll trade you a patch for a ride to the renfaire!”

#hws america #the dangeld axe to grind: the viking age time travel au #my writing || cacoethes scribendi #alfred || o beautiful for spacious skies #watch me figure out how the hell PLOT works lmao #scene by scene im so sorry this is a trash fire

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indecentpause · 6 months

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in celebration of hitting page 100 on my second draft, here is a little fic thing I wrote about Meara's life with his boyfriend before The Most Beautiful Puzzle starts! No spoilers for the story, you learn about Drake right away.

cw: violence, intimate partner abuse (verbal, physical, psychological)

Your band was never that big, was it, Meara? You have your own little cult following, but nobody outside of the city knows of you. That’s okay, though! You and your friends are in it because you love making music, not because you thought you’d be famous one day. Because, let’s face it, you were a couple decades late when you started a ska band.

You get to be someone else onstage: someone bright, someone beautiful, someone who wasn’t constantly fucking things up, because you’ve been playing guitar since you were tiny, and it comes to you like breathing, now.

It‘s nice when Drake comes to your shows, at first. Not many of your band have partners, and seeing someone who’s there just for you, just for your guitar and your voice, specifically to cheer you on--it eases the sting from all those years with your shitty family who always treated you and your hobbies like garbage.

At first, Drake gets along pretty well with your bandmates. Danny, being his friendly self, often makes the time to talk to him in between sets if you‘re getting some water or washing your face, so he won’t feel alone or awkward, and he always steps back to give Drake space with you. He’s the perfect best friend for a lot of reasons, but that’s one of many, one that everyone sees, not just you and him.

Then the first accusation comes.

“You’re sleeping with him, aren’t you?”

You just home from band practice, a little late because of traffic, and those are the first words Drake says to you. Not “Welcome home” or “Was traffic bad?”

He skips right to accusations. Who else would you even be sleeping with?

When you ask just that, his face darkens, and he takes a step into your space, and for the first time you realize how much bigger than you he really is.

“What are you talking about?” You try asking again, softer.

“Danny. You’re sleeping with him.”

It’s so absurd you can’t stop the laugh from bubbling up, but it dries on your lips, heavy, like salt.

“You think it’s funny?” Drake demands. You shrink back against the door.

“No, it’s not--” you start, stumble, like your words are always stumbling because of your stammer. “It’s not funny.” You try again. “I just… Danny? Of all the people in the world you could accuse me of cheating with, you pick Danny?”

Danny’s your best friend and has been since you were five and he was six. You’ve heard about childhood sweethearts, mostly in movies, but he’s so much like your brother that dating him would almost feel like incest.

Drake opens his mouth, but you’re so tired, and you’re covered in sticky, dry sweat from jumping around in Danny’s garage at practice, so you duck under his arm and say, softly,

“I’ve never cheated on a partner in my life. There’s no reason I would start now.”

You go back to work at 6:00 the next morning, and it’s hard, and it’s exhausting, and you don’t have enough masks for all the crews because of the shortage, and so some of you have to go without. So you only use them when you’re in the hospital or dealing directly with Covid positive patients, and pray that they aren’t lying to you when they say they’re not.

When you get home after one of your roughest shifts in ages twenty-eight hours later, you pull out your old sewing tote and get to making some cloth masks. It’s not ideal, but it’s better than nothing. You’re three and a half in when you start to fall asleep over your work, but then the bedroom door slams and you jerk back awake.

“What--?”

“Why are you home so late?”

You rub your eyes and turn toward Drake and his quiet demand. At least he’s not yelling this time.

“We got held over and then I took a nap in the break room because I didn’t think I could drive yet,” you say. You put the half sewn mask to the side and stretch. “Chill, Drake. It happens.”

“But you didn’t call me,” he presses.

You finally turn to look at him. “I never do?” you half-ask, confused. “Why would I have to now? Do you want me to start calling when I’m going to be home late? I can start sending you a text or something--”

But Drake storms through the living room and into the kitchen, where he very loudly bangs around while making a pot of coffee.

You don’t have the energy for this. You’re going to bed.

And it keeps going like that, and going, and going, on and on.

He starts accusing you of stealing money, even though he never keeps cash around and you don’t know any of his bank information. He tells you what and when you can eat, like a child who can’t feed himself on his own. And always, after every band practice, he accuses you of sleeping with Danny.

Five months later, you can’t handle the stress of Drake and working in unsafe conditions and band practice. And your band is the only thing keeping you sane, and you have a fair amount of savings, so you quit your job.

And the next month gets worse and worse. The only time you have to yourself is band practice and when Drake is at work. He hovers and accuses and sneaks around, tries to get into your phone and email, constantly asks you where you are and what you’re doing even though you told him five times already.

It’s six months later when he barges into your band practice at Danny’s house, like he’s going to catch you doing something other than tuning your guitar. There’s yelling, and pushing, and crying, and Danny tries to get between you and Drake but Drake is too quick. He grabs your arm and throws in you the car, and he speeds off back to your apartment.

When you finally regain your senses, you shout, “Drake, what the fuck?”

“I don’t want you hanging out with them anymore.”

“You don’t--Drake, I’ve known them a hell of a lot longer than I’ve known you, and we’re in a band, I can’t just not see them. I--”

But then he turns on his shitty ‘80s music and blasts it so high you can’t hear anything else, and you slump back in the seat with your arms crossed over your chest, glaring out the window.

When you get back to the apartment, you storm up the stairs. You’re done. No more.

You throw everything you can manage into a duffel bag, grab your emergency cash from the back of your closet, and storm out. You don’t know to where. Danny’s, probably.

Drake chases you down and reaches over your head to push the door closed again. You turn around, with everything you have willing your voice not to shake.

“Back off. I’m leaving. This controlling bullshit has gotten out of hand. We’re done.”

You force the door open and he stumbles back a step, then grabs your wrist as you start down the first step. He jerks you back and your ankle twists and you cry out hoarsely, pulling your wrist out of his grip. You stumble, you fall, you struggle to push yourself up because now your wrist and ankle are throbbing. Your ankle collapses underneath you when you first try to get up, but the second time you manage it, crawling up the handrail.

Drake is staring at you, wide eyed and terrified.

“We’re done,” you repeat, and you stumble down the stairs and to your car. For a moment, Drake just stands there, but then he takes the stairs two at a time to try to reach you before you get to the parking lot.

It’s the hardest thing you’ve ever done, but even with your sprained ankle, you jog to your car, throw your bag in the passenger’s seat, and slam the doors closed and lock them.

Thankfully your gas foot is still fine. You speed out of the parking lot, whirling down alleyways and one way side streets for a good ten blocks, just in case he tries to follow you.

But he’ll know you’re going to Danny’s. Where else would you go? And you can’t, you can put Danny in harm’s way like that. So you make a U-turn and head away from the suburbs and into Chicago. There are so many people and so many motels, it would take him months to track you down.

Danny still has your guitar, and he’ll keep it safe. He has your furniture because Drake had his own when you moved in.

You tell your phone to call Danny, who has already called you and left five messages and countless texts. He answers in a panic.

“Meara, what the fuck was that? Are you okay? Did he hurt you? What’s going on?”

“I’m leaving,” you say vaguely.

“What? Where?”

“I don’t know. Into the city.”

“Meara, don’t be stupid, come to my place and--”

“No, Danny, he knows I’d do that. I don’t want you to get hurt, too--”

“Too?”

You interrupt “Just. Just hang onto my stuff until I can get settled somewhere else. I’ll keep in touch and let you know where I end up. But. I’m gonna have to disappear for a while. That means I can’t stay with the band, not right now. I’m so sorry. Tell everyone I’m so sorry. Maybe sometime in the future we can--”

“Meara, it’s fine, we all know you have to be safe first and foremost. Just. Just be careful, okay?”

“Yeah,” you say softly, and you take a right onto the highway.

General taglist: @ohsugarfoot @abalonetea @only-book-lovers-left-alive @poore-choice-of-words @leadhelmetcosmonaut @jasperygrace @drippingmoon @athenswrites @kaiusvnoir @magic-is-something-we-create @idreamonpaper

Puzzle taglist: @winterandwords

#my writing #writeblr #original short story #amwriting #the most beautiful puzzle #sheraton academy #sheraton academy au #meara ryanne #danny yazdi #drake the stalker

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uzumaki-rebellion · 2 years

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“Sinner & Saint: Creed III” Chapter 2

Masterlist HERE.

youtube

"I wanna pick you up whenever you're down baby I'm gonna make you stop when you're in my town baby You make me pour some rum when you're not around I was lost, but now I am found If I know somethin', I know it sounds crazy It's gonna feel so good whenever I'm close to you Promising I'll do the things that you want me to Whenever you need some, you know I got some I hope you don't plan on making me run All you gotta do is call me up and I'll come"

Emmavie – "Tune"

Adonis Creed knew from jump that Damian Anderson coming back into his life was the universe's way of telling him that some debts had to be paid in full. It cost to be the boss and walking into his regular grub spot had him on a hook for his past.

The two men slid into a booth across from one another and his regular server greeted him right away with a sunny smile and an even sunnier disposition. Freda was an older woman who had worked at the neighborhood restaurant for over twenty years. She knew Donnie from when he first moved in with Mary Anne, Athena, and Apollo Jr.—A.J.

"The usual, Donnie?" Freda asked, not bothering to give him a menu.

Her thick salt and pepper hair sat stacked on her head in a pretty bun. If she dyed her hair, she could knock off a good ten years and fool people into thinking she was in her early thirties instead of the sexy mature catch she enjoyed being. Before he married Bianca, Donnie used to flirt with Freda all the time, until her husband, the owner of the spot, told him to back his young ass down. She still enjoyed the playful teasing he gave her about running off to Paris with him.

"Yeah. I only want egg whites for my omelet, though," he said.

"And what about you, young man? Can I start you off with something to drink first?"

Freda held a menu out to Damian.

"I'll have whatever he ordered," Damian said.

"You got it, hun," she said.

Freda stepped away from their table, writing nothing down. The two men stared at one another warily.

"Hope you brought a big appetite. She's gonna bring back a monster plate with sides," Donnie said.

Damian rubbed his stomach, then folded his hands on the top of the table. There was no sense beating around the bush with the man. Donnie cleared his throat and leaned forward.

"How long were you locked up?" Donnie said.

"Eighteen years, bruh. Just got out last week."

"Shit."

Donnie glanced down at his hands. He used to write to Damian. Tried to keep consistent. He even used his own allowance money to send him something. Purely out of guilt. He tried so hard to be Damian's friend and got them caught up in some mess that tore them apart. Damian kept Donnie streetwise and connected to the real world. Being dropped into an insanely wealthy family out of the blue at age ten had him acting like a real-life Fresh Prince of Bel Air. Damian was book smart and street smart, and Donnie wanted to maintain that balance, too. Mary Anne had him connecting with well-off Black families and celebrities that knew and loved his father. The difficulty of juggling where he fit wasn't helped by the animosity of his new older siblings. It took A.J. a few years to adjust to having a baby brother that came from some strange cocaine junkie who had a one-night stand with the boxing champion of the world. A.J. eventually accepted him as a past indiscretion in their father's life. They grew close.

Athena…

She never accepted him totally. Never forgave her father, even in death, for hurting their mother. Donnie was the constant reminder that her daddy wasn't perfect and embarrassed the family. Over the years, she treated him as Mary Anne's pet but pretended to be welcoming and warm for interviews or family gatherings when they were teenagers. He learned to ignore her discomfort and simmering disdain. They stayed cordial and created a sibling dynamic that eventually became a begrudging liking of each other for the sake of their love for Mary Anne as adults.

Freda brought them water and juice along with big plates. Donnie fingered his toast.

"Glad to have you back out," Donnie said.

"I know I've been away a long time, but I've kept myself in shape. I still got gas in the tank."

"Come by the gym."

"Thank you."

"You were one of the best."

"Still am," Damian said with a shy grin.

They ate some food in silence, and Donnie noticed how hungry Damian was. He licked his fingers constantly. Donnie pretended to get full fast and pushed his half stack of pancakes toward him.

"Finish this man. I hate wasting food. My eyes were bigger than my stomach today."

Damian nodded his thanks and attacked the stack. He slowed down when Freda brought them fresh glasses of water and orange juice. When they finished the meal, they stayed at the table and Donnie ordered them coffee to go.

They took a long drive around Venice Beach. Damian told him he liked to ride the bus there every day to get his mind clear. Donnie parked in a lot near the sand and they watched the waves roll in.

"I'm sorry I stopped writing you… sending money. Once I got to college and started down a business degree, Mary Anne… she kept me on a tight leash to do well and I—"

"Don't worry about it. The letters you sent me were enough to keep me motivated. But I still had money on my books."

"Must've been Mary Anne. She made me stop sending money online. Maybe she wanted me to focus on my life and she'd give you the funds instead."

"A good woman."

"Yeah, she is."

Damian dug into his jean pocket and pulled out a letter. Donnie took it and read all the words.

"This still stands, man," Donnie said.

Damian smiled.

"All I need is for you to open the door. I can do the rest on my own."

"I'll hook you up with free membership to the gym… and a trainer."

"I'm looking for a job. Might take some time. Still figuring out things being free. Everything moves so fast on the outside. Most days I feel like I was frozen in time and can't catch up. I stood in a coffee shop on my first day out and watched people pay for coffee and donuts by tapping their phones on the register. For a minute, I thought everything was cashless, and I was freaking out. Technology just went warp speed. Things are loud all around me and it feels like a billion people live in L.A. now. I feel far behind… like I'm in a whole different dimension than everyone else."

"Take your time. I'll see what I can do to help you find employment. Where do you stay?"

"A transitional house downtown. I have to stay there for another month and then I can look for my own place. L.A. is so fucking expensive. I'll probably stay on the East side."

Donnie kept his eyes on the water.

"I don't know if I can ever thank you enough for what you did," Donnie said.

"Mary Anne helped make sure I could be up for parole with that lawyer she got me. Right now, everything is on me. Letting me use the gym, getting me a trainer and stuff… you've done your part. You kept your word. That means a lot. Real talk… everyone else who I thought was on my side bailed, man. Family. Old homies. You're the only person who didn't turn me away or ignore me. I was lucky your sister found me out on the street. I owe her."

"Nah, man. Athena's wrapped a little too tight. Best to leave her alone. This is probably her one good deed for the year."

"She seemed cool. Didn't kick me away like a stray dog."

Donnie checked the time in his car.

"Can I give you a ride back to your spot? I have to pick up my daughter soon."

"Yeah, that's cool. Thanks."

Donnie typed in the location of the halfway house on his cell and drove Damian onto a crowded freeway.

"Damn, this shit is packed," Damian said.

As far as the eye could see, there was only the scarlet red of rear car lights in the stop and stop yet again traffic. It took forever to get downtown. The transitional housing complex was lodged between an auto shop and a church in a seedy area.

"Come through to Delphi tomorrow at ten. I'll show you around, hook you up and we can talk more," Donnie said.

He held up his hand, and they clasped palms.

"I'll be there," Damian said.

Donnie watched him leave his car and grab the black bag he had toted from the back. Once Damian was gone from his sight, he headed out to pick up his daughter Amara from her private school in Los Feliz. He tapped his cell and Bianca's voice filled the car.

"Hey," Bianca said.

"On my way to pick up Ladybug. Do I need to bring anything home from the store?"

"No, I have a lasagna ready for the oven when you two make it back."

"Ok, cool."

"What's up?"

"Whatchu mean?"

"You sound funny. Did Tony bug you about doing the exhibition again?"

"Nah. I ran into an old friend today. He just got out of prison."

"Who is this?"

"I'll tell you about it later. Seeing him made me remember some old times. Haven't seen him in almost eighteen years."

"Mary Anne left a message for you on the landline. She wants you to call her when you get in, and please… tell me you cleared your schedule to come to the Hollywood Bowl on Friday."

"I did. Rearranged my day just for you."

"A.J. is coming down from Seattle with Janice. I haven't heard from Athena yet."

"If A.J. is flying in, she'll go with us. Ma is bringing her new gentleman friend, too."

"Ooh, she's doing the whole meet the family in a public place routine," Bianca teased.

"She likes him and he makes her smile. I like that. She's been alone a long time and I'm glad she feels comfortable enough to venture out with companionship."

"Me too."

"See ya soon."

Donnie hung up and parked near Amara's school. He scrolled work emails from his agent and thrummed his fingers on the open windowsill of his SUV. Damian stayed on his mind until his favorite little munchkin bounced into view, swinging her book bag and using ASL with fellow deaf classmates. She sprinted to the car when she saw he was driving their SUV instead of Bianca.

"I didn't know you were coming to get me!" Amara's hands signed.

She hugged Donnie tight across the console.

He stared at his daughter and moved his hands and fingers with fluid ease.

"I came back from New York early and wanted to surprise you, Ladybug."

Amara hugged him again, then buckled up. Donnie turned up his music, and the bass rattled the SUV. Amara wiggled in her seat and rested her left hand on the console, the vibrations traveling up her arm and through her body.

His daughter was growing like a beanstalk. Slender in body with a slender face and features, she was the apple of his eye. He had followed Rocky's advice and treated his daughter as the blessing she was always going to be. There was no feeling sorry for her being deaf. Amara lived a full and busy life, learning to box at the Delphi under his supervision, while also learning to write poetry from Bianca. Spoiled rotten and loved beyond the stars, she made Donnie and Bianca's life complete.

They stopped off for ice cream and while they waited for their order, their fingers chatted together. Amara could read lips too, and he loved the way she huffed with excitement when she wanted to communicate about her busy day. After stuffing their mouths with Rocky Road and Butter Pecan Toffee sundaes, they drove to their new walled and gated residence in the hills above Los Feliz. Their two-story Spanish-style home was a terraced lot of 1.5 acres with a lagoon pool and spectacular city views.

"Finally made it," Bianca called, and signed to them from the kitchen.

Amara grinned.

"Went for ice cream," Amara signed.

"Didn't bring me any back?" Bianca teased. "Go change your clothes."

Amara dashed out of the kitchen and Donnie wrapped his arms around his wife.

"Smells good in here," he said, looking around.

"Made fresh garlic bread," she said.

Donnie kissed her cheek and ambled over to his home office. There were ten messages on his office phone. He ignored them. Bianca brought him a glass of red wine and he wandered out to the backyard to watch the sun go down.

As the color of the sky shifted and evening settled across the horizon, Donnie forgot about the world outside of his home.

Athena Creed held her cell against her stomach and stared at the number on her screen. She vacillated between putting the phone away and tapping the button on the screen several times. Staring out of her luxury penthouse view overlooking South Figueroa, downtown L.A. looked hectic down below. The night always brought it to life with a sultry glamour that had people returning to that part of Los Angeles in droves.

Damian had been on her mind all day.

Observing him plead his case to her mother earlier made her curious. She left the Creed family mansion early so that she could glimpse him close up. His body looked bulky under the jacket and sweatshirt he wore, with dark jeans snug on his gorgeous ass. With a face chiseled to rival the masculine splendor of an Italian sculpture she once saw in Firenze, it struck Athena with how beautiful and gentle Damian seemed. She was the one who had gone to the family emergency safe hidden in a secret room and taken a thousand dollars cash for him to have. She sealed it in an unmarked envelope and passed it off to the private guard to give to Damian. Mary Anne kept her cheeks puffed out and her lips twisted with disgust as she studied Damian's image on the security screen on her cell.

"Adonis has achieved the perfect life, and that hoodlum suddenly shows up," Mary Anne spat as she stomped into her tea room.

Athena hustled herself out quickly. She had a yoga class to attend and a bottle of Chablis waiting for her at home.

But then she saw Damian's face and grew curious. Backed her car up and everything when she glimpsed him walking in her rearview mirror. What she witnessed in him wasn't self-pity or the gloomy energy of a downtrodden man. Firm determination sat etched across his full features.

She tapped the phone.

It rang five times, and she nearly hung up when Damian picked up.

"Hello?"

"Damian?"

"Yeah."

"It's Athena."

The long pause on his end made her think he hung up.

"Damian?"

"I'm here."

"Were you busy?"

"Nah. I was sitting here reading."

Athena walked to her kitchen and poured herself a glass of wine.

"What are you reading?"

"The Forty-Eight Laws of Power."

Athena guffawed.

"Are you really reading that trash book?"

"It was in the book library here."

"Hotep central. That shit is full of contradictions and bullshit cut-and-paste cult maxims that have been used to dupe niggas for years."

"I don't know. It seems good so far."

"You enjoy reading?"

"Yeah. Always have."

"What's the best book you ever read?"

"You called me to talk about books?"

His voice was pleasant.

"I called to see how your reunion went with Adonis."

"It went okay. He's going to meet with me at Delphi tomorrow and hook me up with a trainer."

"How did you feel about seeing him again?"

"Why did you ask for my number?"

Athena stopped her wine glass from reaching her lips.

"I was curious," she said.

"Curious about what?"

"What do you really want with Adonis? He forgot about you after all these years. You expect him to fix your life?"

"No. I can do that on my own."

"How?"

"Getting back into the ring."

"I looked you up," Athena said, moving back into her living room that perched high above the downtown landscape.

Damien kept quiet on his end.

"Still there?" she asked.

"Yeah."

"You were on your way to the Olympics again. Already won a gold Junior Olympics title. Sports agents predicted you would be the next great professional champion. What happened? Why did you throw that all away?"

"I met your brother."

Athena closed her eyes and gripped her phone tight. Fucking Adonis. Whenever he showed up, people's lives changed for the worse.

"What's your favorite book?" he asked.

"Thich Nhat Hanh's 'Peace is Every Step'," she said.

"What's that about?"

"He's a Vietnamese monk. I once did a silent meditation walk with him in San Diego. He teaches we can use the hard things in life that antagonize us and turn them into something positive that connects us to mindfulness."

"I'll have to look for that one in the library."

"I'll let you borrow my copy. It helped me a lot over the years."

"You into all that new age stuff?"

"Thich Nhat Hanh is not new age. He teaches old wisdom. So does Malidoma Somé, Sonbonfu Somé—"

"Slow down, let me write this down—"

"I told you. I can loan you these books."

"You only dig into spiritual stuff?" he said.

"It keeps me focused on my work."

"What do you do?"

Athena grinned. For some strange reason, talking to him over the phone was like talking to a blind date.

"I work for a sports marketing agency. We represent elite athletes, sports teams, and sporting events."

"You like doing that?"

"I love it."

"I have to do some leg reps before it gets late. Can I call you back tomorrow?" he said.

"Sure. I want to hear all the gory details about your day with my brother."

"Wasn't nothing out of the ordinary. We had brunch, and he dropped me off. I'll see him tomorrow at ten and then I can move on with my life."

Athena took a sip of wine. His voice was confident.

"You two didn't talk about what happened in the past?"

"Not in detail. He feels bad and wants to help me. That's it. Can I still call you?"

She grinned.

"Yeah. Call me. I'll be running errands tomorrow. Leave a message if I don't pick up."

"I'll do that."

"Goodnight, Damian."

She hung up first and cradled the phone against her chest. After a few minutes, she checked her schedule on a phone app and rearranged a few appointments. Swiping her fingers across the screen, she highlighted the Delphi Boxing Academy. Ten a.m. on the dot.

Chapter 3 HERE.

Tag List:

@unfriendlyblkhotti3

#Creed #Creed 3 #Creed III #Sinner & Saint #adonis creed fanfiction #Damian Anderson #michael b. jordan #Jonathan Majors #shannon thornton #tessa thompson #Uzumaki Rebellion #Uzumaki Rebellion Writes #I hate uzumaki rebellion

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amorphine · 1 year

Text

first paragraph game

Rules: share the first paragraph of ten of your most recent fanfics and tag ten people. If you have written less than ten, don’t be shy and share anyway.

my dearest beta and friend @cormorantgospel tagged me in this and i have posted only four fics so far and also i don't feel like first sentences are my strong point but i have WIPs and audacity so i will still do it.

Published fics

Air Bubbles (Stray Kids - Changbin/Felix) The screen of Felix’s phone is blazing in the dark, burning his eyes, but he doesn’t look away. He hasn’t moved since it started buzzing next to his pillow. Unblinking, he stares at the name that is branded in angry red letters across his heart as he lays there and allows himself to pretend that he’s not going to pick up. That he’s going to close his eyes and let it ring until the screen goes dark again.

Salt Water (Stray Kids - Changbin/Felix) Rain is drizzling against the dark skylight windows of the dance studio as the song finishes and Felix stumbles to the ground. His chest is heaving and he can feel every single time he has repeated this routine in his muscles. He grimaces as he feels a cramp coming on in his thigh and stretches out his leg.

Armor of my Skin (BTS - Jimin/Yoongi) (this is not the first sentence of the fic, it's the first sentence of the second scene. bc i'm a rebel and i like this one better) Jimin can see his reflection in the dark window of the interrogation room. The front of his bathrobe is drenched in blood. There’s blood in his hair and on his face. Streaks of dried tears run through it. His hands are cuffed to the table in front of him. He looks like he just killed someone.

Lost Stars (BTS - Jeongguk/Yoongi) Jeongguk was drunk, confused and a little bit horny as he watched his hyung disappear around the corner of a limestone house. WIPS

Liminality (Stray Kids - Changbin/Felix) (i'm co-writing this fic with @cormorantgospel and this is the first sentence of the first scene i wrote for this fic) Changbin found out exactly how dangerous Felix is in the summer before he left Leyton for college. Clarity came to him the night Seungmin was having a party at his parents’ lake house to celebrate the end of exam season. Out by the lake with a twenty minute bus ride between them and the next town they could be as loud and as stupid as they wanted to be for the last time they would all hang out together.

Another Line to Blur (BTS - Jimin/Yoongi) Yoongi reeked of vanilla. As soon as he entered his hotel suite he immediately peeled off his blazer, threw it as far away from him as possible and dropped onto the large couch in the living area. This was his second night in New York and he already wanted to go back to Seoul. Seoul had its fair share of arrogant assholes, he just usually wasn’t the one who had to deal with them. He always made sure that his end of the deal only included spending all his nights and days in the studio, writing, producing, recording, and none of the socializing and negotiating. Here however, for the next three months he had to represent his label on his own, which meant blazers, polite smiles and pretending to know what a Pinot Meunier is.

Unnamed ABO fic (Changbin/Felix) Felix could barely breathe when he stumbled down the stairs that led off the stage. He gripped the railing hard but his palm was slippery with sweat and he fell down the last two steps, landing painfully on his knees. Immediately there were hands on him and voices asking him if he was okay. He didn’t feel okay. He was shaking and his skin was burning, sweat was dripping from his hair into his eyes. A sharp pain in his lower abdomen made him double over.

Working Title: Felix's adventures at KitKat Club (Changbin/Felix) Berlin is a dirty city. Less than 24 hours ago Felix was walking around the streets of Seoul with its sparkling clean sidewalks and cute storefronts. In Berlin everything is covered in dirt and stickers and graffiti. It feels like a different world. One that pulls you in and asks you to be part of it. Here you can’t stand around for five minutes without being approached by someone who wants something from you. Attention, money, directions, for you to take their flyer.

Working Title: Out of this World (Stray Kids - Bang Chan/Hyunjin) Chan can’t sleep. The digital clock on his bedstand jumps from 4:59 to 5:00 and it’s such a familiar sight that all he thinks of it is that at least the birds aren’t chirping yet at this time of the year. They make him feel even more guilty for not being able to sleep than he already does. It’s okay to still be awake when the sun isn’t rising yet.

Working Title: Mahogany and Bullets (Stray Kids - Changbin/Felix) In his line of work death is always a possibility but Changbin knows that his chances of dying have never been as high as they are on this September night. He can feel his pulse in his throat. He’s sitting in his car watching the minutes disappear on his dashboard clock and his hands on the steering wheel are damp with sweat as he looks at the entrance of the luxurious mansion that he is going to have to enter in a few minutes.

i wish i had ten writer friends to tag but i really don't. so i'll tag @northerniodine again even though T already tagged them, and also @bulgyoongi and @yoongsgguktae and everyone else who wants to do it <3

#tag game #fanfiction #fic game #writing #stray kids #bts #changlix #yoonmin #hyunchan #yoonkook

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late-to-the-magnus-archives · 1 year

Text

Snippet of CORRUPTED - Magnus Archives x Malevolent fic

Danny Stoker died trying to keep a weird, cursed book away from some very bad people. Tim opened the book, and has been thrust into an entirely new world.

A snippet in which Tim is growing increasingly concerned about whatever has taken up residence in his head.

And in which some of that being's nature begins to slip through...

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

A few kabobs later, Tim feels significantly better. Stable blood sugar is a hell of a thing.

He still hates not being able to see. It’s awful. It’s terrifying.

But John is doing a really good job of keeping him safe, and as long as Tim tells himself this will be over soon, he’s all right.

He has to be all right.

Tim also tells himself not to think too much about Bouchard’s description of John.

That was… not a safe-sounding creature. And maybe Tim is just being some sort of speciesist, but he doesn’t know how to approach the topic at all.

It brings to mind again the question of why John had been bound in a book held by humans.

It brings to mind again that John is manipulative, and is controlling. And Tim is more than fine with both of those things in certain circumstances, but depending on the guy to stay alive is definitely not one of them.

It brings to mind the question: what else is in that book that John cannot see?

Tim believes Bouchard. Something else is in there.

He wonders if it’s safe in the backpack. “Hey, John?”

The shop we need is about twenty steps ahead and to your right. Yes?

“Is the book safe? Should I, like, wrap it in my belt, or something, so it doesn’t open in the bag?”

It won’t matter if it opens in the bag. It could fall down a cliff and flutter completely agape, revealing its perverseness to the seagulls, and nothing would happen. It must be opened by a living, sentient being.

“Wow. If they could go that far, you’d think they’d put some kind of lock on it, yeah? A safeword, or something.”

John sounds amused. You mean a fail-safe? Or a password, perhaps?

“Sure, whatever. Still, that’s good to know. Wouldn’t want to release Cthulhu in the middle of London.”

No, we wouldn’t want to do that, says John with absolutely no inflection at all. Store to your right, now.

Oh, that wasn’t spooky. Nope!

Tim sighs. It’s still early morning, he tells himself. There’s safety in that, even if he can’t see the daylight.

John doesn’t have a body, Tim tells himself. He’s not Cthulhu, either, since that is an old-timey story by a crazy dead racist. (Speciesist, Tim’s brain adds.)

He’s safe, he tells himself. It’s not like weird gray-skinned monsters are going to come at him on a busy London street.

John directs him into the store, which turns out to be a health-food, raw sugar, vitamins-the-size-of-thumbs kind of place. There, John directs him to buy just… stuff.

A block of salt. Six small candles, unscented. Various herbs. A hand-built clay bowl. Matches. Distilled water. Rubbing alcohol.

Then they leave, and find a hardware store, and John directs him to buy a length of rope, a hammer, six cleat hooks, one plastic pipe, and one copper.

Tim has played games and read books and seen movies, and cannot for the life of him figure out what all of this is supposed to do.

Very good, Tim, says John, who has obviously figured out Tim likes to be praised. Now we need a place to cast. I do not suggest your apartment, as we need to keep that location completely separate.

“Cast?”

Yes.

“I’m going to cast a spell?”

We are.

Tim’s not sure about that. “You… how are you going to be casting it?”

In the same way that your thoughts can sink into me, my power can just barely be lent to you - not much, or it would hurt you, or break your mind, and I have no need to do that.

The unspoken right now might only be in Tim’s head.

He hopes it’s only in his head.

“You’re going to make me magical for five minutes, or something?”

Less time than that. As I said, I don’t want to burn you out, and unless you have an affinity for magic, using it would harm you with longer exposure.

“So I don’t have an affinity for magic?”

Well, we don’t know, do we? Have you ever tried to cast it?

Tim snorts. “Have I ever tried to cast the thing I didn’t think existed twelve hours ago? Yeah, no.”

Then we’re going to find out, and I’d rather that not result in your harm. Now, as I said: we need a place where we won’t be disturbed.

Tim thinks for a moment. His heart pings painfully, and he has to rub his eyes dry.

Tim?

“Sorry, just… Danny. Got into exploring derelict buildings not too long ago. It’s what I thought he was still doing when he showed up ranting about cultists, but… I'm pretty sure he knew some places. We need to go back to my flat and get his laptop. For his pictures, and… all of that.”

Mister Smooth is in the metaphorical building. Of course, Tim. Whatever we need to do. I’m sorry for your loss.

“Look, don’t… don’t do that.”

Do what? Even smoother.

“You’ve got one hell of a set of pipes, and we both know it, but you whip out that voice every time I get upset. And I don’t think you’re doing it to comfort me.”

Why else would I be doing it, Tim?

It’s not a flat tone. He’s not angry. He’s testing the waters.

Tim doesn’t want him angry. He needs him to fucking navigate. “I don’t know. I just… I don’t want to be manipulated. I know I’m all kinds of fucked right now, okay? Fragile. So maybe I’m being prickly, but…”

I have no reason to wish you any harm, Tim. If I have chosen a manner of speaking to you with the goal of it being effective, perhaps you should ask yourself what effect I’m trying to achieve.

Huh. That was… kind of hard to just argue with. Tim is still sure in his gut that it’s another form of bossiness, but the goal of the bossiness wasn’t one he’d considered. “Hm.”

Shall we go back to your apartment? John isn’t pushing.

Suspiciously not pushing. Maybe he wants Tim to think about it.

Or maybe Tim's still feeling paranoid because of the spooky Eye god. “Fuck that place,” Tim mutters.

What? Ah - the Institute?

“It’s still messing with my head.”

There’s a pause. I wonder if we can block him.

“Who, Bouchard?”

It might be unwise. We could anger his god. But… it might be satisfying, too.

“We can do that?”

Let’s complete this conjuring first. I need to see how you take it - if you’re in any way harmed, Tim, we won’t be doing it again.

There’s a weird little thrill in him - the same kind of thrill he had when he realized he could outrun everyone else in track and field, the same little thrill when he realized he had a skill for editing almost no one around him possessed, the same little thrill (though a touch more complicated) when he realized he did, indeed, like all the genders in whatever configuration they came.

“You think I could do magic?” he says.

I don’t know yet. We’ll see.

Tim suddenly snickers. “Are you telling me I could actually be a wizard called Tim?”

John laughs.

It’s a real laugh, not a chuckle - a deep and genuine guffaw.

It’s also possibly the wickedest sound Tim has ever heard. There’s something terrible in it, like it’s often cruel, and it feels like a sound so bottomless he could fall in it, screaming, forever.

That reference is far too old for you, isn’t it? John finally says.

“Do not tell me you’re familiar with Monty Python.”

And why not?

“It… it’s just weird, is all.” Unnerving. “How the hell long have you been on Earth, anyway?”

Oh, Tim… the things I could tell you.

And then John doesn’t.

“Okay,” says Tim, slowly. “So. Um.” Choice time: pursue that spooky line of questioning, or just go the hell home?

“Let’s go the hell home,” he says. “Need the bus number?”

No, I remember. Turn around. The closest stop is behind us.

John remembered that?

Had he already been looking for a bus stop?

Tim knows that if he’d been in the position of having to navigate through some dude’s eyes, he wouldn’t have been focusing on surroundings enough to catch that.

John is… scary smart, actually.

Combining that with the manipulative tendencies, the bossiness, the obviously good memory…

Tim?

“Sorry. Right.”

It has to be obvious he’s lost in thought, but John doesn’t push.

Of course he doesn’t. It wouldn’t be scary smart to do that, would it?

A few more steps. Stop. It says the bus should be along in about fifteen minutes.

Since last night, Tim’s been running from cultists, from gray-skinned claw-monsters, from an eyeball god and its creepy priest.

For the first time, he genuinely wonders if he’s in serious danger from John, too.

Some of that must be getting through. Water in porous stone. You’re going to be all right, Tim.

“You don’t know that.”

How about this, then: you’ve shown yourself worthy of reward, throughout this. I will see to it that you receive it.

Funny. After all the casual humor and the relatability of shared media, John has casually dropped an abjectly alien and terrifying sentence.

“Glad… to know I’ve fit your standards?” Tim says after a moment. “Though there’s not a lot you can do to make that happen.”

Not yet. But the time is coming soon when I will.

Oh, fuck me, Tim thinks. “Um… how?”

Would you like to know why I was in that book?

Would he? “Yes!”

Home. We do this conjuring. If you handle it well, Tim, I’ll show you.

Was it his imagination, or was something… bad about the way he said that? “And if I don’t handle it well?”

Then I will just tell you.

And that would disappoint John.

Tim exhales slowly. I am in so much trouble, he thinks.”So this conjuring will find some power to help us.”

That’s the idea.

Then they really had to do it. It was that or go back to Bouchard, and Tim would rather eat a rat. “All right.”

Bus.

They’re both quiet on the way home.

Without meaning to, Tim dozes until they’re about twenty minutes from his stop.

John lets him rest.

#tma #malevolent #tma fic #malevolent fic #tma crossover #malevolent crossover #fic in progress #wip #amwriting #tim stoker #yellow malevolent

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krethes · 2 years

Text

@wolfstarmicrofic Day Thirteen: sunburn

"How could you?!"

It's the ultimate betrayal, a knife to the heart, a severing of the soul. A complete and utter disregard for their years of friendship, the decades of their love, ruined in a single moment. A moment that had to have been calculated; cold, discerning, plotted out!

"You had it coming," Remus says frostily, seemingly unbothered by Sirius's accusations.

Sirius splutters as Remus steps in close. He smells of sunshine, salt water, and honey, and Sirius has to hold on to his anger to keep from just melting into him. His chest heaves and his head reels. He tries to look away, but Remus grabs his jaw with one big, hot hand and jerks his face back to the front. Sirius struggles but as usual, he's no match for Remus's strength. In an act of desperation, he turns into Padfoot and slips out of Remus's hold to bolt out of the house to lick his wounds.

Remus finds him, as he always does. "Why?" Sirius asks when he's a man again, and his voice cracks from the sudden return of the pain.

"Are you really upset?"

"Yes!"

Remus sighs, Conjures a pale green gel into his hands and beckons Sirius closer with his fingertips.

"I trusted you," Sirius pouts, sensing he's found a chip in Remus's resolve, in the humor he's somehow found in this whole thing.

"Actually, you told me to, and I quote: 'get away from me with that Muggle tosh, it smells like arse and tastes far worse,' and also that, quote: 'magic is better than any fake Muggle potion, I will be fine, Moony, so piss off!'" Remus levies a flat, hard look at Sirius who...well, perhaps he had said those things. "...Am I misremembering?"

Sirius looks away, and Remus lets him this time. His skin hurts.

"Come here, you daft boy," Remus tuts and begins to smooth the gel over his cherry-red shoulders and arms and further down. It feels divine on his skin, and Sirius moans at the relief it brings. When Remus's hands reach the small of Sirius's back, his husband breaks out in snickering, bubbling laughter.

"What is so funny, Moony?!" This was all his fault! He should know better after over twenty years than to let Sirius get his way when the sun is involved! "This is assault, you know. Husband abuse!"

"Elder abuse, you mean."

"No, I do not mean!" They're only 37, it's not that old.

"Have you seen Hazza since this morning?"

Sirius blinks, not at all sure where this is going. "...No? We were having a wonderful time on the beach and then he got that tellyphone call from...fuck, which Weasley? Charlie! From Charlie, and then I fell asleep, because I'm allowed, and when I woke up, I was sunburnt to shit!"

Remus Summons two mirrors and angles them for Sirius to see. Under the runes dotting his spine is: "IF LOST RETURN TO R J LUPIN", starkly white against the lobster scarlet of his back in Harry's messy but unmistakable handwriting. Remus is reduced to giggles again at Sirius's cry of outrage, and lets Sirius tackle him flat against the ground.

Mortified (and a little proud, if he's honest), Sirius buries his face in Remus's neck. When Remus recovers from his giggles, he resumes applying the gel on Sirius's back and down to his arse and lower thighs, and between his- "I'm not sunburned there, Moony!"

"Hm? Oh, I know," Remus says in a tone that has his hair standing on end and, annoyingly, his dick paying attention, like a dog to its fucking master. "Aloe makes a decent lube."

#wolfstar #remus lupin #sirius black #my fics #microfic #wolfstarmicrofic #sunburn

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risustravelogue · 3 months

Note

the sea wind was cold and rigid, breezing past the couple; a hard bite on their skin that further added to the somber mood.

“how’s wriothesley?”

“i’m afraid even the most exquisite teas could not lighten the heart of a man most distraught, my dear wife.”

“….”

the rough waves carrying the scent of salt and the slightest fragrance of cherryblossom petals rocked the boat harshly. the vehicle wobbled like an erratic pendulum in the face of a storm.

“although i must say ー a few months in inazuma with no news... this predicament hits a tad too close to home, i’m afraid.”

“ahaha... b-but you found me in the end! so i’m sure we’ll find her too!” meirin leaned her head to her husband’s shoulder, sighing, “i mean, for all we know, she might be doing great and was just too busy. although that’s very unlike her…”

“it would be more believable to say that the vision hunt decree was being re-established,” the man by her side commented.

silence fell. thunder rumbled in the distance, the dark clouds approaching. water splashing onto the deck, rebounded by a golden sheen of a shield.

“our arrival in inazuma is in twenty four hours. let us get some much-needed rest before stepping foot in the electro archon’s domain.”

@i23kazu - hehe another entry :)

2 drawings + 255 words.

It was a clear night. The moon’s reflection rippled as the waters moved.

Kurisu stared at the white glowing orb in the sky from the shore.

She pulled her borrowed obi tighter and sighed.

I need to return as soon as possible.

She slowly walked back into the house, thinking about how to approach the subject along the way. She slid the door to the dining area open, where Itto, Shinobu, and Granny Oni were drinking tea.

Inhale. Exhale.

“Itto, Kuki, Granny… I want to talk about something,” she said.

“Yes? What is it, child?” Granny Oni smiled.

“I… First of all, I want to thank you for your hospitality and care for me these past few days,” she started. “But I don’t want to burden you further, and I really must go back to Sumeru soon. I’ll get expelled from the Akademiya if I go absent for too long.”

Kurisu fidgeted.

“Kuki, Itto… Can you please take me to the harbor tomorrow morning?”

The room went silent.

Itto opened his mouth to say something, only for Shinobu to speak first.

“I understand,” Shinobu said. “But the harbor is in Ritou, which takes two days of walking to reach. To say it’s very far away would be an understatement,” she explained.

“Yeah, what she said!” Itto chimed. “You’re just starting to recover. It’s better for you to stay here for a few more days.”

… A few more days…

…

“... I guess it wouldn’t hurt,” Kurisu smiled. “Thank you so much for letting me stay.”

#kurisu plays ebg #genshinblr january ebg 2024 #ebg 2024/01 plot asks: meirin #kurisu's ebg 2024/01 lore

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thronesfms · 1 year

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𝐖𝐄𝐋𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐓 , and may the gods have mercy on you as you play the game , angels ! these faceclaims are now taken . please make sure to follow each step on our checklist and submit your account within 24 hours .

╰ ┈ [ kiko mizuhara , 36 , female , she/her ] in the time of dragons , Sarisa Mormont is entering the game of thrones . said to be direct + protective , we can only hope that is the case as regrettably they are also well known to be bitter + demanding . when asked about them , people are always reminded of the bitter cut of a winter's wind , sharp eye contact across the room , rough hands elegantly folded , and a warm fur pulled over their shoulder . though they are the Ruling Lady of Bear Island , their true loyalties lie with House Stark and Mormont and rumour has it that if given the choice they would support independence of the seven kingdoms above all else . those of us in the shadows wish them luck and can only hope they will survive what is to come . ── finn , 24 , est , she/they .

╰ ┈ [ natasha liu bordizzo , 28 , cis female , she/her ] in the time of dragons , SCORPIA FOWLER is entering the game of thrones . said to be charming + intelligent , we can only hope that is the case as regrettably they are also well known to be manipulative + cunning . when asked about them , people are always reminded of a serpent hidden by delicate flowers, pride for a homeland that longs for its former glory, notes hidden in library books just waiting for the right party to find them. though they are the LADY OF SKYREACH , their true loyalties lie with house martell and rumour has it that if given the choice they would support the independence of the seven kingdoms above all else . those of us in the shadows wish them luck and can only hope they will survive what is to come . ── lucy , 25 , aest , she/her . *a spy for aegon, vasila’s lady-in-waiting, a double agent spy for the martells if that’s okay

╰ ┈ [ madeleine madden , 24 , female , she/they ] in the time of dragons , violet drumm is entering the game of thrones . said to be practical + devoted , we can only hope that is the case as regrettably they are also well known to be reserved + inflexible. when asked about them , people are always reminded of the haunting crash of waves on the shore, bleeding hands leaving behind dark stains, banging desperately on a door to be let in. though they are the lady of old wyk , their true loyalties lie with house drumm and rumour has it that if given the choice they would support independence of the seven kingdoms / their family above all else . those of us in the shadows wish them luck and can only hope they will survive what is to come . ── sun .

╰ ┈ [ ewan mitchell , 23 , male , he/him ] in the time of dragons , SIGFRYD WYNCH is entering the game of thrones . said to be loyal + obedient , we can only hope that is the case as regrettably they are also well known to be resentful + sly . when asked about them , people are always reminded of dark green waters crashing along the shores, tears mixed with salt water and the sound of swords clashing together. though they are the LORD OF IRON HOLT , their true loyalties lie with house Harlaw and rumour has it that if given the choice they would support the independence of the seven kingdoms above all else . those of us in the shadows wish them luck and can only hope they will survive what is to come . ── marie , 28 , GMT + 1 , She/Her.

╰ ┈ [ pinar deniz , twenty-nine , cis woman , she/her ] in the time of dragons , DENYSE MALLISTER is entering the game of thrones . said to be dauntless + good-natured , we can only hope that is the case as regrettably they are also well known to be melancholic + ingenuous . when asked about them , people are always reminded of a hand reaching for something but never quite being able to touch it, moon lit ship that sways at low tide so far away from shore, nights spent awake enjoying the calm before the daily storm . though they are the LADY OF SEAGARD , their true loyalties lie with house mallister & house tully and rumour has it that if given the choice they would support the prince of dragonstone / their family above all else . those of us in the shadows wish them luck and can only hope they will survive what is to come . ── ali , 26 , gmt , she/they.

╰ ┈ [ abigail cowen, 23, cisfemale, she/her] in the time of dragons , ROSALINE MANDERLY is entering the game of thrones . said to be sunny+ and nurturing, we can only hope that is the case as regrettably, they are also well known to be tenacious+ and willful . when asked about them , people are always reminded of the scent of freshly turned earth, winter roses in full bloom, a full moon peaking through the red godswood leaves. wildlings roaming . though they are the LADY MANDERLY OF WHITEHARBOR, their true loyalties lie with house Manderly and rumour has it that if given the choice they would support their family above all else . those of us in the shadows wish them luck and can only hope they will survive what is to come . ── gia -- applying for MERYEM STARK best friend WC.

╰ ┈ [ ellie bamber, twenty-two , cis woman , she/her ] in the time of dragons , aelinor targaryen is entering the game of thrones . said to be vivacious + endearing , we can only hope that is the case as regrettably they are also well known to be mischievous + childish . when asked about them , people are always reminded of gold jewelry that sparkles every time she moves, blonde curls that never seem to be out of place , a faint unseen giggling throughout the walls of the red keep . though they are the lady of castamere , their true loyalties lie with house targaryen and rumour has it that if given the choice they would support themselves above all else . those of us in the shadows wish them luck and can only hope they will survive what is to come . ── ooc kat

╰ ┈ [ phoebe dynevor , 28 , cis woman , she / her ] in the time of dragons , MORRIGAN FREY is entering the game of thrones . said to be dependable + observant , we can only hope that is the case as regrettably they are also well known to be opinionated + willful . when asked about them , people are always reminded of the absentminded twist of strawberry blonde curls around ones finger, watching the sun set while ankle - deep along the river's edge, reading a well - loved book against the trunk of a great tree and the whisper of turning pages lost on an afternoon breeze . though they are the LADY OF THE CROSSING , their true loyalties lie with house frey and rumour has it that if given the choice they would support independence of the seven kingdoms above all else . those of us in the shadows wish them luck and can only hope they will survive what is to come . ── andie , 24 , est , she / her .

╰ ┈ [ han so hee , twenty7 , cisfemale , she and her ] in the time of dragons , cilina celtigar nee gargalen is entering the game of thrones . said to be disarming + informed , we can only hope that is the case as regrettably they are also well known to be deceptive + self interested . when asked about them , people are always reminded of knees that were once stained with dirt and grass now bathed in a tub of crimson liquid , a paralyzing smile beneath the mask of innocence and softness , the sun setting and the moon rising on opposite sides . though they are the lady of salt shore , their true loyalties lie with house gargalen and stark and rumour has it that if given the choice they would support the independence of the seven kingdoms / their family / themselves above all else . those of us in the shadows wish them luck and can only hope they will survive what is to come . ── love .

╰ ┈ [ anya chalotra , 27 , cis female , she/her ] in the time of dragons , VHAELYSSE VELARYON is entering the game of thrones . said to be confident + adaptable , we can only hope that is the case as regrettably they are also well known to be tenacious + manipulative . when asked about them , people are always reminded of the sound of waves hitting a shore at night, a supportive hand resting on one's shoulder during trying times, priceless jewels around a neck that shine bright when light hits them . though they are the LADY OF DRIFTMARK , their true loyalties lie with house velaryon and rumour has it that if given the choice they would support the prince of summerhall / their family / themselves above all else . those of us in the shadows wish them luck and can only hope they will survive what is to come . ── dina , 23 , est , she/her . Filling Aegon's Broken Betrothal wanted connection!

╰ ┈ [ milly alcock , 24 , cis woman , she / her ] in the time of dragons , narcissa 'cisi' clegane nee karstark is entering the game of thrones . said to be cunning + alluring , we can only hope that is the case as regrettably they are also well known to be manipulative + deceitful . when asked about them , people are always reminded of auburn hair that reflects the light of a setting sun , freshly fallen snow freckling that hair as the freckles do her cheeks and a single perfect tear falling from an icy blue eye . though they are the dowager ruling lady of clegane's keep , their true loyalties lie with house karstark and rumour has it that if given the choice they would support themselves above all else . those of us in the shadows wish them luck and can only hope they will survive what is to come . ── iris .

#appless rp #got rp #asoiaf rp #mumu rp #thrones.accepted #round one is old members

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brightdeadthing · 2 years

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- Ocean Vuong, from Time Is a Mother (text under the cut)

We are shoveling snow, this man and I, our backs coming closer along the drive. It’s so quiet every flake on my coat has a life. I used to cry in a genre no one read. What a joke, they said, on fire. There’s no money in it, son, they shouted, smoke from their mouths. But ghosts say funny things when they’re family. This man and I, we take what will vanish anyway and move it aside, making space. There is so much room in a person there should be more of us in here. Traveler who is inches away but never here, are you warm where you are? Are you you where you are? Something must come of this. In one of the rooms in the house the man and I share, a loaf of rye is rising out of itself, growing lighter as it takes up more of the world. In humans, we call this Aging. In bread, we call it Proof. We’re in our thirties now and I rolled the dough just an hour ago, pushing my glasses up my nose with a flour-dusted palm as I read, reread, the hand-scrawled recipe given me by the man’s grandmother, the one who, fleeing Stalin, bought a ticket from Vilnius to Dresden without thinking it would stop, it so happened, in Auschwitz (it was a town after all), where she and her brother were asked to get off by soldiers who whispered, keep moving, keep moving like boys leading horses through wheat fields in the night. How she passed the huddled coats, how some were herded down barbed-wired lanes. The smoke from our mouths rising as the man and I bend and lift, in silence, the morning clear as one inside a snow globe. How can we know, with a house full of bread, that it’s hunger, not people, that survives? He pours a bag of salt over the pavement. From where I’m standing it looks like light is spilling out of him, like the dusty sunray that found his grandmother’s hands as she got back on the train, her brother at her side, smoke from the engine blown across the faces outside, which soon fell back into pine forests, washed pastures, empty houses with full rooms. The man clutches his stomach as if shot, the light floods out of him—I mean you. Because something must come of this. When the guard asked your grandmother if she was Jewish, she shook her head, half-lying, then took from her bag a roll, baked the night before, tucked it in the guard’s chest pocket. She didn’t look back as the train carried her, newly twenty, toward where I now stand, on a Sunday in Florence, Massachusetts, squinting at her faded scrawl: sift flour, then beat eggs until happy-yellow. The train will reach Dresden days before the sky is filled with firebombers. More smoke. A bullet or shrapnel, failing to find her. The brother under rubble, his name everywhere outside her like the snow falling on your face forty years later, on December 2, 1984, while your mother carries you, alive only three hours, the few steps to the mini-van where your grandmother, sixty now, crowns your head with her brother’s name. Peter, she says, Peter, as if the dead could be called back into new, stunned bones. The snow has started up again, whitening the path as though nothing happened. But to live like a bullet, to touch people with such intention. To be born going one way, toward everything alive. To walk into the world you never asked for and choose a place where your wanting ends—which part of war do we owe this knowledge? It’s warm in this house where we will die, you and I. Let the stanza be one room, then. Let it be big enough for everyone, even the ghosts rising now from this bread we tear open to see what we’ve made of each other. I know, we’ve been growing further apart, unhappy but half full. That clearing snow and baking bread will not fix this. I know, too, as I reach across the table to brush the leftover ice from your beard, that it’s already water. It’s nothing you say, laughing for the first time in weeks. It’s really nothing. And I believe you. I shouldn’t, but I do.

#this and reasons for staying. they just. ugh. him. words #poetry #ocean vuong #quotes #lit #archive #also fun fact when doing the text transcription from this i copy + pasted from an old version of it online #and its so FASCINATING to see what he switches out and what he leaves in rlly and truly #maybe an analysis ab that too soon. maybe

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duelistkingdom · 2 years

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i hate accidents (except for when we went from friends to this)

Summary: they'd been dating for a few years now, and yusei's planning on a special anniversary for this year.

Rating: T

Ships: Yusei Fudo/Aki Izayoi

Author’s note: written for @faithshippingweek! two in one day, let’s GO

read on ao3 / consider supporting me on ko-fi / join my discord (18+)

Whatever surprise Yusei was planning had Aki growing impatient. He’d pulled a blindfold over her eyes, promising her that it’ll be worth it in the end. She couldn’t imagine what would be worth losing one of her senses for, but she trusted Yusei well enough. He’d taken her on his bike, and they’d been driving for a while now. Or maybe it just felt longer because she couldn’t see. Either way, she finally asked, “Yusei, how much longer is this going to take?”

“We’re almost there, Aki,” Yusei answered back, and she gripped tighter to him. Her hands were starting to wander now, and Yusei groaned. “Aki, I’m going a hundred and twenty miles per an hour right now. Now is not the time to get frisky.” She barely paid attention as her hand ran along his jeans, biting her lip as she thought of the mere idea of getting him off while he was trying so hard to focus. The wind seemed to slow down around them, and she giggled. This time, Yusei’s voice was low and dangerous as he growled her name. “I’ll turn this bike around and have Crow bring you instead if you can’t behave.”

That was enough to cause her to pull her hand away with a pout as she rested her chin on his shoulder. “Why aren’t we there yet?”

“We’re almost there, I promise,” he said, and he had tilted the bike as if he was exiting the highway. The wind blew around them, and Aki caught the smell of the sea salt breeze, the wood of the pier, and the smell of the deep fried food the pier offered. So they were heading to the pier? “You know, we’ve been dating for five years now.”

She considered this. Five years of dating. “You did say this anniversary, you had a special surprise for me,” she said, poking him in the side. “What is it?”

The bike was now at a standstill, and Yusei focused on kicking the kickstand into place. He helped her off the bike, the balls of her feet hitting the ground first out of nerves. Whatever they were on was smooth, however, as her heels didn’t catch in anything. She smoothed her skirt out before reaching for the blindfold. Yusei gently grabbed her wrist, clicking his tongue. “Still not there,” he said, pulling her forward. “Follow me.”

Aki had no choice but to follow after him. Sure, she could reach for the blindfold but something thrilled her about the surprise Yusei was keeping that required it. Whatever it was, Aki didn’t want to spoil it by peaking. Considering his track record, she knew that whatever he was planning would be worth the wait. Instead, she focused on the noises and smells. She could hear children screaming on what sounded like rollercoasters, which reinforced her suspicions that they were at the pier’s amusement park. Children were definitely around, running past them.

She heard some of them mention them as Yusei ignored them, blowing past everything. Aki’s smile only grew as she caught the smell of the boardwalk’s restaurants. Were they going to have a simple anniversary dinner at one? But then why the need for the blindfold? No, that couldn’t be right. And as they passed by them all, Aki’s suspicions only grew. “Yusei, where are you taking me?”

As soon as she asked the question, they came to a stop. He’d lifted her up into a bridal carry, and now he was carrying her. She heard water sloshing as he stepped onto something that she couldn’t be sure of. He finally set her down, and Aki felt the rocking of the sea. So they were on a boat. It took him a moment before he finally said, “You can remove your blindfold.”

She removed it, blinking as she looked around. They were on the sea, and the sun was setting. The moon had risen earlier - both the sun and the moon in the sky. He’d poured out two glasses of champagne, and in front of her were all her favorites. She looked up at him, and he was smiling gently. He’d ditched his jacket, and the white short sleeved shirt clung to all his best assets. “This is the surprise?”

“A private boat ride, yes,” he said as he handed her the glass of champagne, their hands briefly brushing as she took it. “I wanted… to ask you something privately.” He looked nervous now, and he took a swing of his drink, running a hand through his messy hair. He’d now sat next to her, looking at her as if she might shatter his heart tonight. And he’d pulled something out of his pocket, small and nondescript. His cheeks flamed, and Aki had never seen Yusei like this before. If she didn’t know better, she’d think he was nervous.

Yusei opened the box and placed it in front of her. She tore her eyes away from him to look at what it was, and then she gasped. Nestled inside the box was a tiny silver rose with clear diamonds decorating it. “Yusei,” she said softly, setting the champagne glass down and staring down the ring. “Is this…”

“Wait, before you answer…” For once, Yusei was stumbling over his words, fidgeting, and Aki realized now that yes, Yusei was nervous. He’d faced worse, and it was becoming increasingly clear to Aki that Yusei was more scared of her answer than anything thrown his way. “I know this might… seem sudden. But we’ve been dating for five years, and I’ve known for a while that I want nothing more than to make this official. I want you to be my wife, and I want to be your husband, Aki. I want you to be my future, Aki. Will you marry me? Please?”

She was blinking back tears as she nodded, taking the ring into her hands and passing it to him. “Put it on me, please?” The nerves Yusei was expressing transformed slowly, until finally as he pressed the ring onto her finger, he looked as if he’d just won a Duel. And as he captured her lips in a kiss, Aki thought this might be the best anniversary they’d ever had. At least for now.

#faithshipping week 2022 #myfanfic

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faetedwill · 2 years

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12 Feet Deep || Sloane & Cass & Leah

TIMING: Current LOCATION: Beyond the Grave PARTIES: @faetedwill @stolensiren @phoenixleah SUMMARY: Cass is lured to Beyond the Grave by Sloane’s mom for a selfish rendition of the classique banshee ritual; the activation. In the aftermath, Leah hears the scream(s) thinking it’s Regan and comes to the rescue. CONTENT WARNINGS: Allusions to emotional abuse, parental death, gore (not detailed)

Shannon sat with her back to the front entrance, fingers tapping delicately and melodically against the vinyl countertop. It would only be a matter of time before Cassidy arrived. There was a part of her that felt guilty for leading the girl astray, but all would be understood in due time. Her own daughter would learn to forgive her once she could feel the pull of fate, she just knew it. Sloane’s phone sat in front of her, the text message sent to Cassidy being as simple as meet me at Beyond The Grave. There had been no lying involved, and therefore no deep, unsettling feeling stirring about in her chest.

It was about twenty minutes later that Cassidy walked through that Shannon turned around, smile broadened. It was a pity they would have to do this downtown of all places, and though it would be dangerous, there was a backroom that could accommodate them well. Once Sloane arrived, the door would need to be locked. “Cass, welcome.” Shannon moved from behind the counter and gestured for the young girl to follow her towards the back. “I believe Sloane stepped out for just a moment. Why don’t you help me back here until she gets back?”

Her heart skipped a beat when Sloane texted her. Ever since that day in the other girl’s bedroom, when she’d told Cass she didn’t want to see her anymore, the siren had been plagued by a sense of grief. She missed the way Sloane’s voice made her heart skip a beat, missed the way she laughed in the kind of way that made all the bad things fall away, missed how she felt around her. More than any of it, though, she missed her friend. Sloane’s text felt like a life preserver thrown into the middle of the ocean after days of treading water. It didn’t solve everything at once, but it gave her some semblance of hope to hold onto. And she could use it to stay afloat for however long it took for a ship to come in.

Still, she was nervous as she made her way to Beyond the Grave, heart pounding in her chest. Sloane wasn’t the type to call her here just to throw salt in her wounds, but the terrified part of Cass that was so used to being left behind insisted that she might be planning on doing just that. Her hand trembled as she pushed the door open, and she faltered in the doorway as she stepped inside. There was no sign of Sloane anywhere; instead, it was Shannon who greeted her. “Uh. Hi.” It was unexpected, to be sure. Maybe Sloane had changed her mind about wanting Cass to talk to her mother? But then why not say that? Why the vague text? Hesitantly, the siren followed Sloane’s mother towards the back. “Okay. Yeah. Um, did she… tell you I was coming?”

Cassidy looked confused. It seemed as though Sloane had cut the other girl off after finding her at their home. Why her daughter was being so difficult, Shannon would never know. “She didn’t, no, but I assume you’re here for her?” With a tilt of her head, the banshee skirted around the answer to Cassidy’s question in half-truths. Technically Sloane hadn’t been the one to tell her that Cassidy would be coming. “Maybe she wanted it to be a surprise. Follow me, please.”

Shannon didn’t give Cassidy time to decide to hang back, and instead headed into the back room where her office was. On the walls were plaques, photos, as well as a taxidermy bobcat. “You’re more than welcome to take a seat and wait.” Shannon gestured towards the plush velvet chair in the corner of the room. It was by far one of the most expensive things the Kennedy family owned, and it was only because Shannon felt it important to fit the part in their nature of business. “Would you like anything? Water?”

“Yeah. She texted me.” Cass pulled out her phone again, opening the text as if to reassure herself that it was real. If she’d misunderstood somehow, if Sloane hadn’t wanted her to come here, her being here was only going to widen the rift that had been opened between them. Making the same mistake after Sloane had made it painfully clear how she felt about it would be the kind of move there was no hope of coming back from. But the text stared up at her, just as vague and heart-stopping as it had been when it had first lit up her screen. Cass tapped her phone screen absently, finding some relief in the message. Maybe Shannon was right — maybe Sloane had wanted this to be a surprise, somehow.

Nodding, she followed Shannon back to her office, glancing around as she settled into the cushioned chair in the corner. It was comfortable enough to make her relax just a little, even as the nerves continued to cause her stomach to flutter. The offer of water was one that elicited another nod; she wasn’t really thirsty, but it would give her something to do with her hands besides cradling her phone, offer something to focus on that wasn’t the pounding of her heart. “Water would be great.” She almost added a thank you as a nervous habit, biting the words off at the last moment despite the fact that this was Sloane’s mother. Marina and Correy and their fae lessons were the kind of thing that stuck, after all. “Um, did Sloane say when she’d be here?” She wasn’t sure how much Sloane would want her talking to Shannon, despite the fact that she’d only come at the other girl’s invitation. After the way their last face-to-face had ended, it was easy to second-guess everything she did, easy to wonder if each move she made was right or wrong. Cass was nervous in a way she’d never been nervous with Sloane before. And that hurt a little, too.

Shannon offered Cassidy a gracious smile before she turned to the mini fridge that sat in the other corner of the room. She opened it and grabbed a water bottle, twisting the cap preemptively for the young girl before handing it over. “Oh, I’m not certain… she comes and goes, as you know.” Shannon waved a hand in the air before taking a seat at her desk, swiveling the chair around to face the younger girl. She seemed uneasy. What kind of fight she and Sloane could have had, Shannon was uncertain. It wasn’t like her daughter to quarrel. Then again, her daughter begging her to consider somebody else for their ritual was enough to convince Shannon that perhaps she did not know her daughter as well as she thought she did.

“My daughter tends to do what she pleases, though I suppose that’s not all bad considering I believe in having agency over one’s will.” Shannon kept the smile intact as she turned towards her computer, moving her mouse around absentmindedly, clicking into her e-mail and then out, trying to find something to busy herself. It shouldn’t be this difficult, finding the words to say to somebody on the younger side. Though, she supposed the conversations she had with her daughter were far different than those she had with others who did not understand the way in which fae lived and existed.

After a moment, the sound of the front door opening alerted Shannon to Sloane’s arrival. “Ah, here she is.” A smile, brighter than the last, pulled at her lips as she moved towards the desk drawer. Inside was the dagger that her daughter carried on her person for the last several years, and it was only fit that this be the blade to do the job. “We’re in here, darling.”

Sloane had forgotten her phone and really, it took her way too long to realize it. It wasn’t until she was halfway to campus that she felt its absence and had to make the trip back to her mom’s shop. The pain from her run-in with Nicole was still present, making it hard to open the front door of the shop. Once inside, she took careful note of her mom’s absence, but saw her phone on the front desk. It didn’t take long for her mom to call for her, and thinking that the we meant her father, Sloane headed towards the back.

To her surprise, it wasn’t her dad who sat across from her mom. “Cass.” Sloane felt her heart drop into her stomach and she looked over to see her mom brandishing her dagger. “Cass, come on.” Sloane grabbed Cass’s hand, dragging her back towards the front entrance.

“Sloane’s her own person,” Cass agreed, tone fond even in spite of the tension that existed between her and her friend now. It was her own fault things with Sloane had become what they had. None of it made her care about the other girl any less. It might have been easier if it had, simpler, but… Cass wasn’t built that way. She cared too much, sometimes. But she didn’t regret it, either. Not with Sloane. Regardless of how angry Sloane might be with her now, her friend deserved to have people care about her. Cass had never doubted that for a moment.

The bell above the door sounded, and Cass was ashamed to admit that she felt a flood of relief at the sound. Part of her couldn’t help but wonder if Sloane hadn’t anticipated her mother being here when she’d asked Cass to meet her, thought it was a strange thought. Why wouldn’t Shannon be at her place of work in the middle of a work day? But why wouldn’t Sloane tell Shannon Cass was meeting her? The pieces didn’t fit together quite right.

Preoccupied by Sloane’s arrival and her own flood of unspoken questions, Cass didn’t pay much attention to Shannon’s movements. Her eyes were glued to the door, and she offered Sloane a small, uncertain smile as she entered. Something was off, though. Sloane looked surprised to see her, like she hadn’t been expecting it. Uncertainly, Cass stood.

“Yeah, we can go,” she agreed, some confusion furrowing her brow. “But I don’t — Why did you ask me to meet you here if you don’t want me here? And why wouldn’t you tell…” She turned back to Shannon, trailing off when she saw the glint of the dagger in the woman’s hand. A strange thing to fiddle with mid-conversation, but this was White Crest, wasn’t it? Plenty of people had knives. Ari had, like, a billion. So why was there a pit in Cass’s stomach now? Turning back to Sloane, she let the confusion on her face ask all the questions she was afraid to put to words.

“I can explain later, but we have to go.” Sloane’s hands were clammy as she dug her fingers into Cass’s wrist. Her friend was still alive, and it would stay that way. Cass would grow old and she would die old. She wouldn’t fall apart for Sloane’s activation, Sloane refused to let that happen. She couldn’t. Not only did Sloane care about her, but there were other people who cared about her, too, and Sloane wouldn’t let those people lose her to an untimely death. This was different than those who had fallen to fate before, because this wasn’t Cass’s fate. This was a cop out by her own mom who refused to follow the nature of their rituals, and while Sloane couldn’t blame her— she didn’t want to lose her dad, it was unfair that Cass was being used as some kind of crutch.

Sloane managed to get Cass through the door of the office out into the main room. Before she could push the other girl in front of her, the sound of heels clicking against the tile sounded, and in a flash, Cass was being ripped from her grip. “Mom, please!” Sloane turned around frantically, chest heaving as she noticed the blade at Cass’s throat.

Shannon would not allow her daughter to throw this away. After the years of training and explanations— of the stories and promises built between them without the actual bind, she refused to allow her daughter to make a mockery of not only fate, but of her. As soon as Sloane approached, guiding Cassidy through the doorway, Shannon leapt into action. She crossed the distance easily, manicured nails digging into Cassidy’s arm as she tore the girl away from her daughter.

The dagger was at the brunette’s throat now, and Shannon knew what she had to do. There was no other choice, and this was the only way. “I’m disappointed in you, mo leanbh.” She applied the dagger’s pressure against Cassidy’s neck, her opposite hand on the young girl’s shoulder digging into the clavicle. “You knew the cost, and I’ve waited so long for you to join me, I will not allow you to destroy everything for some crush, especially on a human, no less.”

It was clear that Sloane was desperate, and while Cass might not understand the situation fully, she could empathize with her friend’s clear fear. She allowed Sloane to lead her out of the office, glancing nervously down to where her arm was secured in Sloane’s grip. “I’m sorry,” she said uncertainly. “I just — You texted. I thought…” That was her problem, wasn’t it? She always thought wrong. She always made the wrong choice. “I didn’t even know your mom would be here. I — I would have… Waited outside if I knew. I swear.”

She might have said more; in fact, she probably would have. Cass had a habit of rambling when she was nervous, and she was certainly nervous now. But before she could launch into a myriad of apologies and desperate pleas, a firm grip on her shoulder was yanking her backwards. “Whoa, what —” Cool metal settled against her throat, and Cass froze. She couldn’t see it, but she knew it was the same dagger Shannon had been holding before. The one that had looked sharp and deadly. And she wondered, with her heart pounding in her chest, just what she’d stumbled into here.

Her first thought was that Shannon was a hunter. It fit well enough with her perception of them, with the experiences she’d had with them in the past. They could sense her, Metzli had said once, could tell what she was just by being around her. Could kill her for it. But if Shannon were a hunter, it would mean Sloane was one, too, and Sloane had never given Cass any reason to think that of her.

The more Shannon spoke, the more obvious it became that the hunter theory was out the window. This was something else, something strange and new. Cass might have an easier time focusing on it if not for the blade cutting into her throat, the thin line of blood running down as she swallowed nervously against the metal. She found herself caught on two words — human and crush. The former was utterly untrue, though neither Sloane nor Shannon was aware of it. And the latter…

Cass’s eyes flickered up to meet Sloane’s. This wasn’t really how she’d wanted to confirm that her crush was a mutual thing. There was no warmth to the realization the way there would have been without the knife against her throat, and any pleasant fluttering she felt was outweighed entirely by the icy fear that seemed to have taken over. “I don’t — I don’t understand what’s happening, but this isn’t… Sloane wasn’t going to mess anything up. We’re just friends. That’s all. You don’t have to do whatever you’re doing, please.”

Sloane didn’t know what to do. Her phone was too far away to call anyone, and even if she did manage to get ahold of Correy, Marina, or even Metzli, they’d be too late. Her mom would carry on with the plan, and though Sloane hadn’t promised that Cass wouldn’t lose her life, she might as well have had done so. She stood frozen across from them, the blood dribbling down Cass’s neck stark against her tanned skin. As much as Sloane had wanted to fall into step alongside fate, this was not how she wanted it to happen. Sloane swallowed thickly, glancing over her shoulder through the windows to see if anyone might see them. Sloane didn’t want her mom to get hurt in this, either. It was more than a difficult situation— it was terrorizing Sloane.

“Please, mom.” Sloane’s voice left her, thick and distorted. This was unlike the stories she had heard of others’ activations. Her own mother’s hadn’t been this perverse, despite the loss of her own father. “I’m begging you. Please. Not her, I’ll— I’ll find you somebody else. Just not her.” Sloane itched to reach forward, to tear Cass out of her mom’s grip, but that could end up with the dagger lodged further into her throat.

“I told you I refused to allow you to make a mockery of us. Of this family, of yourself. You will not stand in the way of your own purpose, Sloane.” Shannon spoke low and quick, smile spreading as she gripped Cassidy’s shoulder tighter, dagger pressed firmly against her throat with about as equal pressure of her fingers digging into her clavicle so that she couldn’t easily move from beneath her grip.

Shannon looked from Sloane to behind her, taking note of a man across the way. Something stirred in her chest; the beginnings of a scream. What a wonderful opportunity to incapacitate Cassidy so that she wouldn’t make this harder than it needed to be. Of course, Shannon could keep hold and allow the scream to fill the young girl’s chest, but that would only further instill her daughter’s hatred towards this decision. Quick and clean, that was how it needed to be. Shannon let go of Cassidy before the scream made its way through her chest and out of her throat. The man across the way would die with a knife to his abdomen, and it would be painful. She could see it so clearly, and soon, Sloane would join her.

The scream shook the store’s foundation. Shannon had taken precautions, hopeful to protect herself, but she hadn’t thought of the way that the building might buckle beneath the pressure of her scream. The ceiling began to groan, its decades old structure unable to withstand the pressure. The light fixture directly over herself and Cassidy started to unhinge from its bolt— a forgotten project, and one that would lead to Shannon’s untimely demise.

Sloane knew the telltale signs of a scream— had been raised staring into her mother’s darkened eyes as her skin became crackled with a midnight black. Was this scream for Cass? It couldn’t be, she thought. Sloane surged forward as soon as her mom let go of Cass, grabbing onto her hand, pulling her backwards. In the rush, she hadn’t taken notice to how unaffected Cass was by her mom’s scream. All she could think of was keeping her out of harm’s way, of getting her out the door before her mom came to.

Instead, Sloane watched as the lighting fixture just above her mother became unhinged, its sharp edge driving itself directly into the woman’s chest, coming out through the other end. Frozen, Sloane stared at her mom as she tried to piece together what had just happened. Sloane let go of Cass’s hand, throat constricting— something stirred in her chest, her skin crawled. Everything felt hot— everything felt— no. The struggle to control the scream, to keep quiet as she’d been taught failed miserably as the scream tore its way through Sloane’s chest, splitting from her in a way that she’d been taught it would. The ceiling groaned once more, tested by the second scream— only this one lasted longer than it should have. Grief struck Sloane, and she felt herself spinning out.

Sloane didn’t have time to move before the ceiling collapsed, rotten wooden beams falling from overhead. The opposite end of the lighting fixture snapped loose sending her mom to the ground, now covered in the rubble as the building shook beneath the aftereffects of the two screams.

None of it made any kind of sense to Cass. Not the knife against her throat, not Sloane offering to find ‘someone else’ to fill the shoes the siren was in now, not Shannon’s frustration. Why did it have to be anyone at all? Why did Shannon — and evidently, Sloane — think that someone needed to die here? What did any of it have to do with Sloane’s purpose, as Shannon had put it? Cass had a thousand questions, and it didn’t seem as though any of them would be answered. And it felt supremely unfair to die without knowing why. It felt so cruel.

Suddenly, Shannon froze behind her and, for a moment, Cass thought that this was it. She was going to put that promised pressure on the knife in her hand, was going to spill Cass’s blood all over the pristine floor for reasons no one thought to tell her. And of all the ways Cass had thought she might die — because she had thought of it, thanks to both the nature of White Crest and the uncertainty she’d lived with all her life — this had never been one of them. She could have never seen this coming.

But that knife didn’t find a home in her throat — at least, not yet. Shannon shoved her forward, letting out a piercing scream that… oh. A piercing scream that Cass recognized. She’d heard Regan do the same thing, after all, in the woods the day they’d met Bigfoot. A banshee. Sloane’s mother was a banshee. Which must mean that Sloane was a banshee. Which filled in some gaps, maybe, but not everything. Not why it was happening.

Sloane grabbed Cass and pulled her to safety, and the light fixture that was above them rumbled. Cass didn’t have time to call out a warning, but she wasn’t sure it would have mattered. The light fell, sharp and deadly not unlike the woman it landed on. And then…

Another scream, from Sloane this time. Loud and mournful and powerful enough to tear the whole world apart. The ceiling began to fall, and Cass threw herself on top of Sloane, curled up with her and tried to make them both targets too small to be hit by the falling debris. It seemed an impossible task. She felt like the chicken in that old story, screaming out for anyone who would listen. The sky was falling. The sky was falling. And all Cass could do, superpowers be damned, was try to protect Sloane from the damage.

A simple walk was never just a walk in White Crest. At least it wasn’t for Leah Ramirez. The Autumn air was turning brisk and chilled, and normally, she loved the contrast it held against her warm skin. People seemed jovial, for some reason, a stark contrast to the usual dim mood that White Crest’s citizens boasted. So it made sense, then, why she was so surprised and taken off guard when she heard the tell-tale sign of a banshee scream a few blocks away. “Regan…”, she whispered, and then took off down the street toward where the noise came from.

For some reason, the banshee screams in town were typically explained away as moose, which made even less sense than the explanations everyone tried to offer for the fish rain. But as funny as the explanation could be, banshee screams around town always tended to place a turn in her stomach she just couldn’t solve until she knew Regan was okay. Activation was never easy, but Regan had gone through enough in the last few years to make all her screams concerning, especially when you consider all the trauma she had associated with her species. She had the displeasure of being in person for one of them only once, and she was feeling the effects of it, even all these weeks later. Her chest pinched and stabbed with every inch of her run, but she didn’t care.

Leah only stopped dead in her tracks when she heard another scream, this one much louder. Was it because she was much closer to it, now? What kind of mess was happening in the middle of downtown that a Regan was screaming twice in the middle of the day? She took off running again, this time at double speed.

The sight she eventually found left no doubt in her mind where the screams had taken place. She stood staring, breathless and confused, at the collapsed building. Surrounding buildings were void of windows, their glass littering the ground and the surrounding dented cars. People were looking at the sight confused, and she saw some approaching to help. Others took out their phones, but she didn’t waste time to see whether it was to document what was going on or to call for help. She didn’t bother waiting, and instead ran right to the debris, trying to move what she could and see if she could find Regan underneath. “Regan!”, she called, struggling under the weight of some wood. “Where are you?!”

Sloane choked on the dust that settled overtop of her. The rotten beams had splintered overtop of the three that had succumbed to the weight of the ceiling falling through on top of them, and though she was too disoriented to tell the true damage apart from the grief that laid overtop of her like a blanket, she knew something wasn’t right. It took her longer than it should have to come to, mind moving against the reality of her situation, of their situation.

Cass. Sloane felt somebody on top of her— she thought it was her mom until she remembered. The sharp edge of the light fixture branded in her mind as it pierced through her mom’s chest, the way she crumpled like the stuffed bear Sloane pushed in between her pillows all of those years. It spun and it spun, mocking Sloane. Fate had a funny way of playing itself out, but right now wasn’t the time to grieve. She had to get out and then she could address the feeling that stirred in her chest– the anger, the fear, the way that it felt like she was being split a thousand different ways.

“Cass,” Sloane coughed, chest heaving. She half-expected to see her with blood coming out of her ears and nose, but instead she was met with the scraped girl who hadn’t left her side despite Sloane’s urgency. “Are you—“

The voice from just inside cut off Sloane mid sentence. Regan’s name echoed across the rubble causing the banshee only confusion. At least, until it clicked. Somebody thought Regan had done this. She could hardly move, one of the larger, less deteriorated banisters hanging over herself and Cass across one of the less sturdy beams. “Over here,” Sloane managed to get out, voice hoarse. Too afraid to raise it too loud, she tried to push her hand through to the other side. She’d let whoever it was discover for herself that it wasn’t Regan. She couldn’t chance them not helping her just because she wasn’t who they were looking for. Her mind was still spinning from the chaos of it all to piece together that it was somebody she might know.

“I’m okay,” Cass said quickly, recognizing Sloane’s concern. And… she was okay, for the most part. Her chest was heaving, her throat stung where Shannon’s knife had nicked her, and she was certain she’d have some pretty wild bruises when all was said and done, but she was fine. Sure her ears were ringing a little, and there was blood on the floor where Sloane’s mother had spilled it, and her heart was pounding in her chest, but it was nothing Cass couldn’t handle. She was more worried about Sloane.

Sloane, who had just watched her mother die, who had screamed the world to pieces with the grief of it. Cass couldn’t imagine how it must have felt. One of the few benefits, she thought, of never knowing your mother was never knowing what it would be like to lose her. And considering the closest thing she had to one now was a nymph who was sure to live another hundred years or so, it was likely that Cass would never be where Sloane was now.

And what that meant, in this moment, was that Cass had no idea how to comfort her friend. She had no idea what to do, what to say. Nothing would be enough. Words failed, actions fell short. All Cass could do was keep her arms around Sloane and shield her from the only thing left to fall — dust.

A voice cut through the stifling quiet that came after the collapse, familiar and bringing with it a swell of relief. If anyone would know what to do, it would be Leah. Leah always knew what to do. Sloane called out, though she made no move to correct the mistaken identity. Cass wondered if all banshee screams sounded the same or if Leah just loved Regan enough to hear her voice in all of them. “Leah, we need some help!” She added her voice to the fray, hoping to help give Leah a better idea of where they were.

Close up, the damage was even worse than Leah first surmised. She looked at the rubble, trying to find any trace of Regan beneath, wondering if she had enough tears this time. A voice called back, and then another, and though she recognized both of them, they were decidedly not Regan. It gave her paused. She had been so convinced it was Regan’s scream she heard (after all, time after time that theory had proven true), that she hadn’t even thought to consider it might be another banshee in town. She wasn’t aware of any banshee families in the area, and least not on a first name basis. Not since Deirdre.

Her pause only lasted a moment, because before long she was climbing over the rubble, heading toward the direction of the voices and hoping to provide them some sort of respite. Though she recognized them, she couldn’t quite place them, not with the adrenaline and the rubble and the worry. She lifted up a large piece of wood, spotting the outline of a person underneath. “Cass?”, she asked, squinting, then working in double time to remove the rubble from above her. It was a relief, in some way, that Cass was the other voice she’d heard. The scream wouldn’t have hurt her, not really, and so the only other being that was with them was the screamer themself. Or, at least, she hoped that was the case.

“Who’s with you?”, she asked with desperation. “Who… was it? Is everyone okay?” She couldn’t see the other figure; couldn’t make out who it was. There was a small crowd gathering, most likely of people who had been in the area, and Leah was worried about the potential backlash of people trying to investigate what happened. “We need to get out of here, fast.”

What had once been pain only in her shoulder and chest had begun to blossom throughout her entire body. Her throat and chest were on fire, grief and anger struggling to one up another over what had happened. Sloane was too afraid that if she managed to be dug out from beneath the rubble that she might see her mom, even if only a hand, and that it’d set her off once more. The sound of Leah’s voice was clear as day now. Leah. Sloane could trust Leah.

The sound of something moving, and then, after what felt like eons, light. It came in small streams at first, and honestly, Sloane was too afraid to look, to even address Leah. The older woman’s questions cut like a knife through the groaning of what was left of the building. At any moment, the rest of it could come crashing down on them. “It’s— Sloane, it’s Sloane.” Sloane moved out from beneath Cass, a shaking hand positioned on the girl’s shoulder. Her hair and clothes were covered in dust and pieces of rotten wood.

There was a pain at her back now, too, and Sloane swallowed the urge to cry out as she tried to move upwards. She was stuck underneath something, even with Cass laying over top of her. Sloane awkwardly splayed her hand backwards trying to find what it was, wincing as her hand came away wet with blood. “I’m stuck.” It hadn’t occurred to her yet that what was beneath a broken gravestone was one of her newly acquired wings. “I can’t move.“ She tried to get out from beneath it again, a sharp whine leaving her as another groan from the building echoed overhead of them.

“It’s…” Cass glanced hesitantly down at Sloane beneath her, chest aching for reasons that had nothing at all to do with the rubble on top of her and everything to do with blood on the floor that was not her own and grief cutting the air in a way she would never understand. “It’s my friend. Sloane.” She wasn’t sure if the description was accurate anymore. Would Sloane want to be her friend, after all of this? Cass still didn’t entirely understand what had happened, but she thought it was at least partially her fault. She thought Sloane’s mother wouldn’t be dead beneath this rubble if she’d listened to Sloane from the beginning and stayed away when she was meant to.

But that wasn’t important right now. No matter how Sloane felt about her when all of this was over, Cass was going to make sure that she was okay to feel it. She shifted off Sloane when Leah lifted the rubble, moving back to crouch beside her instead. When she caught a full glimpse of her for the first time since that scream had pierced the air, her breath caught in her throat. Wings stretched out beneath Sloane, coming from her back. Thin and moth-like and beautiful unlike anything Cass had ever seen. Taking note of the way one was trapped beneath a slab of granite that didn’t yet bear a name, the siren scrambled forward and shoved the broken gravestone to the side with all her mite, just barely possessing the strength to properly move it.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” she said quietly, cupping Sloane’s face in her hand briefly. “It’s all right.” She glanced back to Leah, adrenaline still pumping through her. She told herself adamantly that that was what was making her hands tremble, that that was what made her breath come in quick, shuddering gasps. Not even the best con artists could fully con themselves, but Cass could sure as hell try it. “We definitely need to get out of here,” she agreed, eyes darting across the room to land, briefly, on the pile of rubble she knew Shannon lay beneath. Sloane didn’t need to see whatever state her mother’s body must be in now. Sloane didn’t need to see any of this, really.

The building gave another groan, offering another reason in favor of a quick getaway. “I — We need to get her someplace safe. Please, Leah, please, I need your help. I need her to be okay, and — and safe. And not here.”

And maybe she needed more than that, too, but she didn’t know how to say it. She didn’t know how to explain that tightness in her chest, didn’t know how to justify the way her eyes burned and her cheeks felt wet. Cass hadn’t lost anything. She hadn’t. There was no reason why it should be this hard to breathe, no reason why she should feel this strange sense of emptiness in her chest. She was fine. The thin line on her throat probably wouldn’t even leave a scar, the worst of the bruising would be gone in a week or two. She was fine. She was.

“Is there somewhere we can go? It should be — We need to get away from here. She needs to get away from here.”

Leah noticed Sloane, small and scared and buried underneath much more than just rubble, before she heard her verify who she was. So Cass and Sloane were friends. It surprised her more than it should have, but she didn’t have much time to think about it. Not now. Not when there was so much at risk. And then, there wasn’t much time for Leah to question if it were Sloane who screamed, or someone else who had fled before she arrived. Cass had shoved aside the slab of stone, and there, clear as day, was a set of beautiful, ornate, yellow and black wings. “Sloane…”, she breathed out, although her gaze was traveling between the two girls. She nodded at Cass, trying to be reassuring despite the terror at their situation growing in her stomach, and got back to work removing the rest of the rubble from around them as quickly as she could.

“We’ll go to the library”, she said beneath groans as she pulled the last bits of granite away. “We have a huge basement that only my sister and I have the key to-... no one will be able to find you there.” She stood up, reaching her hand out to Cass to help her up first, hoping they’d both be able to pull Sloane up together. “My car is around the corner, there’s a vial of phoenix tears in the glove compartment. Should be enough to…” She looked to Cass’ throat, biting her lip. Her words had been sort of a stream of consciousness until then, but the sight stopped her in her tracks. It seemed the more she learned about whatever had gone on here, the less she knew. Leah couldn’t let herself get caught up in the emotion of it all, not yet. “Books, too, that might help explain what’s going on…”

Maybe it was a little ironic, having been worried that Cass might accidentally let what was happening slip if Sloane would have filled her in, especially considering the fact that half of downtown was in front of their storefront now. As much as she wanted to shrink beneath the debris, she knew she had to get up and leave. If she was found here alongside her mom, what would they think? She had a better shot coming out of this unscathed if she wasn’t on the property by the time emergency services showed up and she knew it.

Sloane looked into Cass’s eyes as the other girl cupped her face. Her skin was warm, and maybe it was the adrenaline, or maybe it was the fact that Sloane was deathly cool now, she wasn’t certain. Sloane’s gaze lazily swept up to meet Leah’s who seemed frantic enough for all three of them. Everything felt like it was in a haze, and there was a constant vibration beneath her skin now. She wondered if this was what it would always feel like. Cass was panicking and Sloane wanted to reach out, to tell her that it would be okay, but would it? Would any of this be okay? Would they be okay after this?

As both Leah and Cass discussed their erratically laid out plan, Sloane was left to lay beneath the rubble, feeling more helpless than she had been even prior to her activation with only a canister of bear spray in her hand. The more that slabs of stone and rotten wood were moved away, the more Sloane felt like she could breathe. Finally, she was able to move out from beneath the rubble. As Leah spoke, Sloane tried to listen, but the constant stir in her mind, as well as her chest made it almost impossible to focus. She felt dazed, like there was some kind of cloak pulled over her, but she saw all of it that much clearer, too. It was confusing. Even though Leah had mentioned phoenix tears, Sloane felt something else trigger her.

“Wait—“ Sloane choked on the word, grabbing Cass’s hand. She felt herself stumbling even though she hadn’t yet gotten to her feet. “You’re— your ears, you—“ Sloane glanced between Cass and Leah, dark gaze searching from the injury at Cass’s throat to the way that she seemed fine, save for the trauma that Sloane couldn’t see, and maybe the couple hundred cuts that matched her own. Cass wasn’t hurt. Cass wasn’t hurt. Not by her at least. Sloane swallowed thickly and held onto Cass’s arm, her refusal to let go evident in the set of her jaw as she tried to maneuver herself up from the pile of rubble. The pain in her leg and shoulder was enough to send her back down to her knees as she tried to get up without help and she let out a low enough whine to not disturb the falling building anymore than she already had. “I’m sorry,” Sloane muttered as she grit her teeth, willing the pain to subside so that she could make it out of here— so they could make it out of here.

The library. It had always been something of a safe space, even before Cass knew Leah as well as she did now. She nodded quickly at the suggestion, feeling some relief that they had some semblance of a plan in place. If Leah hadn’t happened along, what would she have done? What would have happened? Cass was utterly useless to Sloane like this, all trembling hands and pounding pulse. She didn’t know enough about banshees to be any kind of help, didn’t know anything more than what she’d learned from Regan and what Marina had told her.

But Leah did. That much was obvious, given her lack of surprise at Sloane’s new wings or the way she’d come running expecting a different banshee, but a banshee all the same. Leah knew enough to have something of a plan in place and they were so lucky that she’d been here. They were so lucky that it hadn’t been left to Cass. Because when things we left to Cass…

Her eyes drifted again to the pile of rubble where, somewhere underneath, Sloane’s mother lay dead. She thought of that motel room with the dead hunter, of Jackrabbit in the woods. This was what happened, wasn’t it, when Cass tried to help people? This was what happened when she tried to solve problems. People got hurt. People got killed. And Cass was left in the aftermath, never knowing how to rebuild in any kind of way that mattered.

A cold hand grabbed hers, shocking her from her thoughts for a moment. A quick glance down showed that it was Sloane’s, and Cass wondered if she was freezing. Was this a circulation thing? God, she was so out of her depth that it hurt. She swallowed at Sloane’s question, chest constricting for a moment. It felt like she was underwater, like she was at the bottom of the ocean without Levi or any diving equipment to make it survivable.

Sloane was apologizing to her. With her mother dead just a few feet away, with her world laying in the rubble around them. Cass tried to make sense of it and couldn’t. She shook her head quickly, kneeling down next to the injured banshee and putting Sloane’s arm over her shoulder in a silent offer to carry the physical weight for her. The physical weight wasn’t going to be the heavy part, Cass knew, but it was the only thing she could help with now. “Hey, no. You don’t have to be sorry for anything, okay? This isn’t your fault. This never would have happened if…” If Cass had listened to Sloane from the beginning. If she hadn’t decided to try to make Shannon love her, even when Sloane told her to stay away. If she were the sort of person who could just exist in a world where not everyone wanted her around all of the time. If she weren’t so stupid, so needy, so reckless. If she were someone else, Shannon would be alive and Sloane wouldn’t be hurt. Cass knew that. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Sloane. I should have listened to you.” She swallowed, turning back to Leah. “Can — Will you help me? She’s hurt, I don’t… Can you help us to the car?”

Leah watched the interaction between Cass and Sloane with piqued interest as she cleared more debris. From their closeness and the way they looked at each other, Leah had assumed they were very close, great friends or even something more, but Sloane’s fascination at Cass’ lack of physical reaction to the scream proved that they were still learning each other’s ins and outs. Relationships in White Crest were funny that way. With some people so desperate to keep themselves safe, you could have a friend of a lifetime and never know that they weren’t human.

She wanted to give them their privacy. She wanted them to be able to share whatever this was between them without interruption, but their safety was much more important. So instead of staying out of it, Leah helped Cass lift up Sloane. She helped them walk the few blocks to her car, and she loaded them both gently in the back seat, so they could sit by each other and share whatever they needed without a nosy onlooker. The drive to the library wasn’t long, but it felt heavy, like the air on a rainy day. They may have picked up all of the physical debris they could, but Leah had a feeling they had a lot more cleaning up to do.

#chatzy: 12 feet deep #chatzy: cass #chatzy: leah #wickedswriting #gore tw #parental death tw #emotional abuse tw

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