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redorich · 3 years

Note

In the HermitCanyon au, How is my favorite Bee armored Admin doing? How long does it take for Xisuma to become.. aware of what is happening? For the first few sections it seemed like he was in a coma/unconscious. In the most recent bit Impulse tells Etho to get Xisuma, so at least theoretically he can now move, but how long has it taken him to get there, and where is he on the scale to full recovery? Are the other hermits keeping him safe with rabbit stew? (if they have rabbits that is...)

Part 2 of this.

Etho comes back twenty minutes later with a solemn look on his face. (At least, Puffy assumes. She can't actually see most of his face because of that mask of his.)

"X is in a bad way today," he says quietly. "I can take Puffy to him if you guys would like to stay here with Zedaph."

Impulse and Tango look nervously at each other. On one hand, they very much would like to stay with Zedaph, who is mostly healed but still very loopy and probably should not be moved. On the other hand, allowing Puffy deep into the Hermits' inner sanctum is a risk in and of itself, let alone with only one Hermit with her. Etho's a good fighter and a wily bastard, but Puffy is most certainly no slouch.

In the end, it comes down to trust. How much can they show Puffy before they can no longer trust that she won't snitch? How sure are they that she won't try to kill them all and steal their stuff?

"Tell Xisuma I said hi," Zedaph warbles from the bed in the corner of the room, out of any window's line of sight.

As Etho presses a button which removes a panel of the wall in a whir of piston noises, Puffy snorts out a little laugh. "I'll be sure to do that."

Tango nods subtly to Impulse. If Puffy brought Zedaph back to the canyon, saved him from a painful respawn, and didn't once ask for anything in return, then the Hermits can trust her at least this much.

Etho leads Puffy through a short hallway into a large circular room with a domed ceiling. The room is mostly quartz, though the walls are lined with sea lanterns and oak leaves. It’s beautiful. This place has been hiding under her feet this whole time?

“This is the Atrium,” Etho says, “or at least the main one. Come on, getting a mule will be more trouble than it’s worth if you’re not carrying anything.”

Puffy is speechless, utterly and profoundly, when Etho takes her through a tunnel on the opposite side of where she entered. It almost looks as though the tunnel here was carved by hand, then completely redone in dirt and grass and vines to give it a secretive, high fantasy look.

“Hey, Etho!” says a dark-haired man with a big smile as he comes trotting out of a branching hallway to the left. “Hey--” He catches sight of Puffy and his smile dissipates into panic. He shouts incoherently and dives back into the hallway he just exited.

“Hey Bdubs,” Etho greets impishly, then turns to Puffy. “Man, it’s like he saw a ghost or something. Maybe Mothman.”

Puffy bleats out a surprised laugh. Up ahead, she spots another Hermit lurking around the corner of the archway Etho is leading her toward.

“Etho,” says a tall blonde woman. “Cleo wants to talk to you about, er...” The blonde woman glances at Puffy. “Her thing,” she finishes lamely.

“Well, as you can see, I’m a bit busy at the moment. Would you mind telling Cleo so she doesn’t skin me alive?” Etho says sweetly.

The blonde woman snorts. “Face the music, Mothman. I’ll take care of Puffy from here. I assume you’re taking her to Xisuma?”

Etho wilts. Clearly, whoever this Cleo person is, she’s not someone to piss off. Puffy wonders what Etho did.

“See ya around,” Etho waves, somehow both cheery and morose at the same time, like a funeral for someone nobody liked. Puffy and the blonde woman watch him go.

“My name’s False, by the way,” the blonde woman says. “Thanks for the bandanna. Normally I’d be wearing it, but I just got back from beating up Iskall.”

The woman-- False-- laughs. Puffy is once again taken aback by the idea that the Hermits actually use the items that she makes for them.

False takes off in a brisk walk toward the archway she’d come out of. Jumping a little bit at being torn from her thoughts, Puffy hurries to follow. It’s hard to keep up, since all Puffy wants to do is stare. She must be in the living quarters-- they let her in the living quarters?! Each door matches the high fantasy, underground sort of aesthetic, but a few doors are left open and each one is remarkably different on the inside. One room is built entirely out of red and white concrete, whereas another is Nether-themed with actual fire, and the room down the hall is entirely underwater!

One door is different. It’s got blue-purple banners along the frame, and when False opens the door for Puffy, she can see that the room is made of blackstone bricks. Maps of the Dream SMP line the wall, and in the center of the room there is a mildly ornate table made of warped wood.

At the end of the table in the back of the room, opposite the door, sits a trio. To the left, there is a plain-looking man with a beard and an “at” symbol on his shirt. He speaks in a Southern accent to a man on the right side of the table, who wears a red sweater and twirls a feather between his fingers like the cat that got the canary.

In between the two, at the head of the table, rests someone very unique. He’s obviously tall, that much is obvious even when he’s sitting down. He’s also got mesmerizing purple eyes which glow faintly against the dark of the blackstone. Puffy doesn’t know why, but she gets the feeling that they’re supposed to be glowing much brighter.

As taken by the man’s eyes as she is, Puffy doesn’t notice the non-invasive breathing tube the man also has (a cannula? She doesn’t know what it’s called, but that sounds right) until the man’s gaze falls upon her, still standing in the doorway next to False.

“Oh,” the man says. “You’re not supposed to be here. Welcome.”

False steps forward, breaking Puffy from her trance. “Puffy, this is Xisuma, Joe, and Grian. I’d introduce you to them as well, but... you know.”

“I don’t know-- oh,” Puffy says awkwardly, catching sight of the massive crochet blanket she’d made for the Hermit months ago, draped across Xisuma’s shoulders.

“Why are you here?” Grian asks with a tilted head. “No offense or anything, but I just lost a bet. I had three diamonds on Cub bringing you in here eventually-- he’s the one you usually meet at the barrel, you know.”

False interjects, “I didn’t bring her down here, it was Etho!”

“Shoot,” Joe says. “Cleo wins yet again.”

“It was Zedaph, actually,” Puffy says. All eyes turn to her. “I found him on the surface. He was really injured, so I brought him back here. Impulse and-- Tango? Yeah, Tango-- told Etho to take me down here.”

Puffy uncharacteristically twiddles her fingers a little bit, feeling in over her head. “Uh, you know I’m not gonna tell or anything, so... Why am I here?”

The full weight of Xisuma’s piercing stare falls upon her. Even as fragile as he looks, even as strong as Puffy is, she feels a jolt of apprehension.

“You’d know more about the red vines than we do,” he begins. “Etho mentioned that they’re what hurt Zedaph; he’s mentioned them on multiple occasions, and never in a good way. How long do you think it would take for those vines to reach our village, and what do you think would happen once they do?”

“As far as we’re aware, there are several players who are proponents of the vines, and claim they originate from some sort of egg?” Joe adds. “I’ve had a hard time calculating how big of a mushroom we’d need to make an omelet out of the egg, but apparently most of my fellow Hermits do not in fact want evil eggs on their omelets.”

“And how come the End is inaccessible?” Grian cuts in with a whine. “I want my elytra.”

Xisuma huffs a laugh into the cannula. “As you can see, we have many questions which only a native Dream SMP player like yourself can answer. In the interest of keeping ourselves safe--” he trails off into a coughing fit.

Puffy bites her lip, feeling as though she really shouldn’t be seeing this. Joe rests his hand on Xisuma’s back.

“You give us answers, and we’ll give you diamonds, netherite, whatever you want. And when we move out-- well, it wasn’t much of a secret anyway-- we’ll offer you a safe place with us,” Grian speaks up on Xisuma’s behalf.

A thousand thoughts spin inside Puffy’s head. She feels like Dorothy in that tornado, and Grian’s offer is the Wicked Witch. “Did you guys really save Tommy’s life?” she finds herself asking.

The Hermits seem taken aback.

“The blond kid?” False asks. “Yeah, but he was unconscious the whole time. I think Scar told the kid to keep us a secret, but... I don’t think any of us expected that to actually work.”

Puffy laughs disbelievingly. “He’s the one person on the entire server who keeps insisting that you guys aren’t real.”

“That’s good to hear,” Xisuma says quietly. “Do you have an answer for us, or would you like some time to consider?”

There are a thousand and one variables Puffy needs to think about. What is Dream’s stance on the Hermits? Who will she be setting herself against by allying with the Hermits? What will Puffy have to expect, from both underground and surface-dwelling players alike? Which players can she take in a fight?

Fuck it, she thinks. “You’ve got yourselves a deal.”

Xisuma smiles. Despite his ill condition, she gets the feeling that this nice, mild-mannered man is far more dangerous than she could ever hope to be.

“I’m glad to have you on our side, Puffy,” he says. “Thank you for your help.”

#mcyt #hc x dsmp #hermit canyon au #captain puffy #ethoslab #zedaphplays #impulsesv #tango tek #xisuma #bdubs #zombiecleo #falsesymmetry #iskall85 #joe hills #grian #tommyinnit #dreamwastaken #me.cpp #me.txt

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pointnumbersixteen · 3 years

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How do you see The Captain's coming out, and growth in confidence and self acceptance thereafter taking place?

I like this question! …and I’m probably going to elaborate on it a bit more than many people will want to read (I noticed back when I was regularly writing essay length posts that they did not get a lot of love) and it’s probably going to get even more ramble-y than usual (brain has not been braining as cooperatively as it should recently and the decision to drink half a bottle of wine right before answering this- sorry- probably does not help), but here we are.

About coming out scenarios, none of mine are particularly elaborate. While I do think he needs to come out for his story line to progress, I can’t imagine him making a big thing out of it (long or elaborate announcements, heart-to-hearts, emotional displays of bearing his authentic self or any of the like), either with the group, or person-by-person, for several reasons:

First off, that sort of a coming-out to-do is a more modern notion, and I doubt he was a particularly modern person even when he was alive, seventy-five years ago. His notions of privacy and propriety are probably much more conservative than ours, and I feel like that makes it unlikely that he’d go into any sort of detail, at least at early in this process, about his feelings/emotions or the specificities of his attractions. We’re talking about a man who doesn’t even use his own name. It’s difficult to picture him going into depth about his desires and love life.

Secondly, he’s a bit of a social coward. (He’s not a physical coward, of course, he jumped on that bomb in the garden without hesitation, and acknowledged after the fact that he gotten caught up in the moment, and therefore hadn’t really thought about how a bomb couldn’t hurt him.) And I get it, I’m a bit of a social coward, too, so no judgement. He probably faced a lot of ridicule in his life. Being a social coward is totally fair. But he doesn’t put himself into situations that might involve awkward interpersonal interactions if he can help it, and legs it whenever interactions he’s already in become to awkward for him. I feel like he’s probably quite desperate (although he’d never admit to it) to save face and protect what bits of his ego remain unscathed.

Think about it: he could have spoken to Fanny on his own about her nightly screaming disturbing him in s1e1, they have a clear association established at the outset of the show, they leave Heather’s room together at the end of the very first scene, but he doesn’t do so until he has the weight of the whole group to back him up about the screaming at their meeting. He had to buck up his courage and give himself his little ‘over the top we go’ pep talk before going to speak to Alison in Gorilla War. Also, if there was actually something wrong with his soldiers’ horseplay after hours in Reddy Weddy- if it was breaking regulations or even his own orders for quiet hours- and he heard it, he could have gone down directly when he heard it, confronted whoever was involved and order them to stop or put them on report. But no, instead he addressed the entire group of soldiers in a sixteen point morning brief. He even dispatched Pat to confront Alison about the party in s2e2, instead doing it himself… and spit out his apology/reconciliation with Pat at the end as fast as possible. And as for legging it when things get awkward, see his retreats following the group confronting him in Getting Out and after Alison telling him he wasn’t needed in the Grey Lady- and on a more figurative than literal level, but most relevantly, his quick turn from ‘I’ll miss you’ to ‘we’ll miss you’ with Havers in Reddy Weddy.

This is not a man who wants to be in awkward or embarrassing situations. And I think that coming out, at least at first, will probably be a bit embarrassing for him- it was scandalous in his time, and I think it will take him longer to get over that feeling and come to terms with himself than it will to finally acknowledge that he’s gay. So I doubt he’d make more of it than he utterly feels he has to, at least at first. And of course, he’d have to be a bit afraid that people would judge him or stop associating with him over it, as sadly, in his own time many people would have done, and most of the ghosts are from even earlier times than he was. So that might add more hesitation…

And thirdly, he doesn’t like and/or respect many of his house mates. The other twentieth century ghosts are the only ones he spends much time with. I doubt he’d go out of his way to communicate much of anything to the rest if it wasn’t “mission related” much less discuss his sexuality with them. He mostly disregards Humphrey. See his, “Oh, it’s you.” Mary obviously doesn’t like him and he only associates with her when it might be useful for his ‘missions.’ He clearly doesn’t think much of Thomas and doesn’t really even bother including him in his plans. These aren’t people he’s going to have heart-to-hearts with.

With those constraints in place, here’s a non-exhaustive list of possibilities by which I might see his coming out finally happening. They’re really just scenarios I made for myself on how I might see him coming out and I like to keep my options open (the first three are strategies he might go for, the last is an alternate scenario, presented in decreasing levels of directness on his part):

1) The ‘pull the bandage off quickly and hope it doesn’t sting too much’ strategy.

The Captain waits for the end of one of their various group activities or meetings, where all announcements seem to be made, gets up, clears his throat, stammers a bit, announces it tersely, using the most proper popular word for homosexuality that existed in his time (think: “Heh-hem. Er. Um. Well. It has recently come to my attention that I am- er- well- as it happens- gay. I, uh, thought it should be noted. That is all.”), and then beats a hasty retreat, so he doesn’t have to try to cope with the potentially negative aftermath. Of course, there isn’t a negative aftermath, because many of the ghosts already have guessed and the rest don’t really care. Someone, probably Pat, because he does the bulk of the emotional labor in the group, and more importantly, he’s Cap’s closest friend, would have to go after him. He would of course be initially defensive, and Pat would have to sooth his feathers a bit- or maybe just spit it out over his defensiveness- that he guessed a long time ago and so had plenty of other people, and they were just waiting for him to be ready, and really, it’s fine, and no one’s going to disown him for it.

2) The ‘well maybe I should tell my friends with the hope they support me’ strategy.

He gets together with a small group, the people whose company he actually values, definitely Fanny and Pat, maybe Julian, probably Alison either at the same time or after he finishes with his ghosts pals, and says it in much the same way as the previous scenario, but waiting for their reactions rather than retreating straight away. Pat and Alison, I expect, would answer with something like ‘yeah, we figured that one out a long time ago, actually, and it’s completely fine’ and Julian’s reaction would probably be something like, ‘well, obviously.’ Fanny’s had a lot of character growth since season one, when I expect her reaction would have been very shrill and judgmental, probably still would be a touch less warm and/or nonchalant, but I picture it as something like a sigh, followed by a pat on the arm and something like, ‘well, I still like you better than everyone else here, anyway.’ Word would eventually trickle to everyone else by way of social osmosis. Or not. No one seems to care if Humphrey or the plague ghosts are well informed.

3) The ‘I’m not brave enough to actually go through the process of actually telling anyone anything about me so let’s just drop hints and hope everyone figures it out without making a big deal about it’ strategy.

The indirect approach (I’m rather fond of this one, but mostly because it was my own primary coming out approach)… he first sends out feelers to certain people on the topic of homosexuality, probably Alison, since she’s modern, hosted a lesbian wedding, and very much implied that she’d be ready to keep scandalous secrets for him in Reddy Weddy, and possibly maybe also Julian, as he’s the most sexually experienced/knowledgeable, and after Alison spent a while inundating him with ‘it’s okay to be gay’ messages (along with a sudden and entirely unexplained influx of LGBT media) as she’s socially clever enough to see that’s what he’s looking for and after Julian spent a while telling him probably far more than he ever actually wanted to know about the potentialities of gay sex, that might boost the Captain’s confidence enough to let him start dropping hints to people, instead of telling them outright (consciously commenting on the attractiveness of men they see rather than occasionally accidentally blurting it out- see ‘the handsome one’- occasionally putting forth an opinion or stance on the LGBT world ‘it would have been nice if gay marriage was acceptable when I was alive,’ maybe occasionally mentioning how certain men would make cute couple), expecting them to meet him in the middle and figure out the point on their own… of course, many of them have already realized, so this isn’t a problem. It’s entirely possible, though, that Mary (world view not terribly grounded in reality) and Kitty (lack of life experience and/or instruction about life, see the how are babies made subplot) never pick up the hints on their own and someone else eventually has to tell them.

4) The ‘someone puts him out of his misery’ scenario.

Cap acknowledges to himself that he’s gay first and then, wishing to avoid embarrassment or lack of acceptance, obviously, awkwardly, painfully tries to disguise it and in doing so draws attention to it, until a third party decides to put him out of his misery and tell him that many of them figured it out ages ago and that everyone is fine with it. Maybe Pat. Maybe Alison. I kind of like the idea of it being Fanny (with her lovely character growth and her couple of suspicious glances his way in the Perfect Day), actually, by way of something like ‘You know, I was entirely prepared to continue on living with my husband, George, keeping his secrets, about the, uh, sort of person he was, and you’re at least one better than him, given that you at least never murdered me- or, for that matter, never married some poor woman you had no interest in to shield yourself from scrutiny… and so, what I’m saying is, I wouldn’t turn my back on you for being the, uh, sort of person you are, either, and maybe things have progressed enough that you don’t actually have to keep secrets at all.’ Cap would take all of this in with a mixture of mortification and relief. I’m rather fond of this scenario, too.

As for the second bit of the question, once his sexuality is out there, though, and no one judges him or hates him for it- and some are quite supportive- I do see him becoming more self-accepting. If no one’s judging him, does he need to judge himself so harshly? And also more confident. Because some of those things that he’s always felt different about and in the past has probably been ridiculed about in the past (even if he’s in denial about being gay, he and quite a few other people had to at the very least note that he’s not particularly interested in women), are, apparently just fine now. So he’s a bit more just fine now himself. And that weight of always trying to be someone else, someone who’s just right, can lift and he can relax a bit more. And that would probably help him a lot, too. I see it as a slow sort of thawing process. No matter what way he comes out, I still see Alison as very helpfully providing a variety of LGBT media to help this process along. And maybe he’d eventually get to the point where he processed enough and warmed up enough to be able to talk more in depth, at least with his friends, about what it was like being him in repressed pre-war Britain, and what sort of men he’s attracted to (I enjoy the idea of him and Fanny- gradually overcoming her own repression- scoping out hot men together). Maybe he’ll even luck out one of his male housemates will decide (or has already decided) that bisexuality is a valid option and he’ll get a date (insert whichever ghost y’all ship him with here). I bet Alison would totally help him set up a nice date, too, with her convenient still-functional-in-the-mortal-realm hands. And it would be nice to maybe see him get a taste of actual happiness.

#bbc ghosts #the captain #coming out #sorry for the giant block of text friends #i find it difficult to help myself

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harryswatermelonsegment · 4 years

Text

Pool Party

Pairing: Reader/Harry Styles

Rating: R, text book smut

Word Count: 5k 😳

Warnings: Slight sub/dom tones I guess? & alcohol consumption

A/N: Sorry this is late, life somewhat resuming here in the UK so it means I’m back at my job. I managed to fall asleep mid edit folks 😳, this is my entry for the @helladirections Summer Feeling Fic Challenge, with the prompt “pool party” click the link for the masterlist. I’m still writing two more, one for @berrynarrybanana ‘s Sex Bucketlist Challenge but it’s turning out to be a 20k slow burn I wasn’t expecting 😬.Oops. But enjoy this one, I’m proud of her. My one other blatant thirst fic can be found here. Reblogs get free gratitude for the next 5 years 🍉💕

You'd been friends with Jeff since your teens, when his parents (despite their wealth), wanted him to get a job at the restaurant you worked at. In their rightful thinking, they wanted him to learn you had to work from the ground up.

Despite your clearly different class background you found a ton of common interests making the whole thing immaterial. He was a caring, down to earth guy and you were both people who really enjoyed sarcastically taunting each other every shift. You'd got used to visiting his house in the hills even though you'd been scared to get lost at first around his parents large house. Becoming solid friends quickly, you'd managed to keep in touch, as much as adult life would now allow anyway.

You knew his main role was managing a pop star but you'd not caught up in a minute and when you did, you kept your job chat out of the conversation where you could. This is why, as you barge through the kitchen, to the pool outside, you're shocked to nearly knock a stunned Harry Styles onto his behind.

"Fuck, shit I'm so sorry" you clutch your chest looking at the red wine on his tank top and his now empty glass. The soiled garment was tucked into some dressy shorts and partly covered by a loud hawaiian patterned shirt. Oh god what had you done?

You were quite honestly mortified. You'd never actually met the man himself, usually meeting Jeff at his for a few drinks or at a restaurant. You'd heard him mentioned in stories about travelling or how his campaigns were running Jeff into the ground with meetings. So, although you weren't a massive fan of his per se, in the way you didn't ask Jeff for updates or info, the way you'd hope you'd meet the attractive pop star was definitely not this.

He looked down at the offending stain then back up into your eyes, keeping his head angled down and blinking through his lashes. You couldn't read his blank expression and it put you on edge.

Maybe it was the heat trapped in the doorway, but as your eyes stayed locked you suddenly felt a fire spread from your navel up to your cheeks, and then from your center down to your toes. Your lower stomach clenched as you stared back at the guy covered in a good 2007 French rouge.

Fuck me he's pretty, you thought.

A rapid film reel of moments; sweaty bodies, those large biceps holding you against the nearest wall, smacking of lips against skin and moans of release flashed in your brain.

It had definitely been a while since you had got laid in your defense, your mood and pent up sexual frustration getting worse by the day as you tried and failed at the L. A. dating scene. Maybe you were picky, but horny and picky was an awful place to be.

However, the reality of the embarrassing scene you were currently a star of, flipped you back into the present.

Seemingly over the initial incident and hopefully not a mind reader to your thirsty brain, he takes you in and smirks.

Harry knew from the way your breathing hitched looking at his torso that you were at least a bit interested. He had clocked you the second you walked in through the big glass doors. A shirt of a band he liked and a natural beauty he wanted to spend some times with you he pondered. Ideally naked.

Zig zagging across the world promoting the album and had left little time to enjoy another person. Status and obligation to his job making it hard to just go out and meet someone. But here you were, dressed unlike anyone else, looking absolutely adorable in your embarrassment. You must be trustworthy if you're in Jeff's home,he wasn't a "bring your friends too" kind of host with his clients usually around.

This could be a fun evening for you both, he thought. Something unspoken, almost magnetic, drawing you both to one another. Surely that wasn't all his side right?

"I was told it was a good year, but I wasn't planning on consuming it quite this way?" inwardly he rolled his eyes at the barely there quip. But you laughed anyway.

"I am so, so awfully sorry, look, let's see if there's some dish liquid or something, possibly some of my next months rent in there too if I have to replace it" you let out a nervous laugh as you walked towards the kitchen. But in all honesty you weren't kidding.

Harry laughed at your sarcastic remark, impressed by your confidence in owning the situation and getting on with things. He casually watched your hips sway past a few people in to the open plan kitchen with as much subtlety as he could, you were confidentially locating all the parts needed to try and remove the offending stain.

"You seem to know your way around 'ere. I'm er…I'm Harry by the way" awkwardly waving as you mixed some solution in the sink drenching a sponge in it.

"Yeah" you smiled turning from the sink with the damp rag "known Jeff a good while, have definitely spilt red wine here before. I'm Y/N" you giggle. The beam from his own mouth matching.

"Ah! Y/N, of course, I've heard him mention you, didn't you once hide rotting mackerel in a unpleasant guys blazer?" he chuckled

"Heyyyy. Only after he spanked my ass getting him the check. Deserved a hot plate to the crotch too" you shot back.

You weren't sure where to go from here the thought of wetting down the white tank yourself definitely appealed but also seemed far too forward.

"Um…" you began gesturing with the sponge in your hand. You expected him to take it from you to sort himself out but..

"Oh yeah sorry" he replied shimmying his shirt off, dumping it on the back of a bar stool, then, crossing his arms across his stomach and lifting the tank top over his head you were slack jawed and frozen taking in the lean muscles and tattoos littered intermittently across his abdomen. He spread the top across the islands worktop flat, then grabbing the sponge with a simple "thanks" and knitting his eyebrows together in concentration as he tried to rid the dull red mark from it's center.

You still hadn't moved. A pink twinge to your cheeks as you watched his shoulder blades and back muscles scrubbing. Dirty thoughts circling your brain still.

"I would have helped you but I didn't want to start a wet tshirt contest in such a high end establishment yknow?" you thought out loud.

"Oh yeah, good call. I'm fiercely competitive Y/N so would probably be under that fancy waterfall thing by now showing off m'moves in my pants" he wiggles his hips trying to suggestively show you his "moves" but you can't help but smirk at just how endearing this man is. Dammit.

When he's finished with his shirt he drapes it over another barstool before handing you the sponge back.

If anyone asks him if he blatantly and deliberately got naked to gauge if you were into him he'd definitely deny it. But the truth is, he definitely did. Luckily for him, with the way you bite your lip and drag your eyes down his flesh as he brushes past your side to get back to the sink, he's right.

"Speaking of getting in the water in your" you use air quotes "'pants' I'm off to get out of mine" you declare, pushing yourself from the counter and keeping eye contact a second as you stroll back to the sliding doors leading to the pool.

"I… What??"

" The pool Harry?.... What did you think I meant?" you narrow your eyes and press your lips together before shutting the glass door again and turning once more to smirk at the opened mouthed man still by the sink.

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

You'd been schmoozing in the water for a few hours now. There were probably only 20 or so people still here and the 3rd frozen marg had got you buzzed. You were in the small hot tub type pool, attached at the top of the main one on a slightly higher level. You hadn't seen Harry for a while but the last few times you caught his eye he'd been surrounded by at least 3 other people fighting for his attention, so you banked your flirtations to soothe your own ego, grabbed another marg and tried to forget about how he had started a tornado inside you, yearning for his hands on your thighs and head peering up at you from where they met in the middle. The strong pull of lust was clearly in your head then. What a shame.

You put it to the back of your mind as you finished catching up with Glenne. Both flushed and giggly as usual, she was the perfect match for Jeff and their chemistry unmatchable. You always enjoyed hanging out with the both of them, if anything, they gave you hope your own match may be out there. She left you in the tub alone, as she went to grab herself another drink and check on her host duties boyfriend.

"Don't you find drinking whilst already in water the weirdest thing?" you look up to find Harry standing over your right shoulder as you sit with your back against the pool wall and your elbows propping you up behind you, drink in one hand. His eyes unsubtley slip down to where your breasts lay pushed together in your halter neck bikini. You definitely weren't imagining it then. Fucking fantastic, you think.

"I mean drowning yourself on the inside from the alcohol and being in more than 4 inches of water really adds a danger element to my life if I'm honest" you reply sipping your drink.

And there goes those dimples again.

He's just in a pair of yellow swimming shorts now which doesn't help the alcohol flush at all. Sitting by your right side, putting his short glass full of amber liquid and ice, on the side of the pool and sliding in to join you. He leaves a small gap, as to not appear a total letch but your smart mouth has him hooked.

Taking a sip of his drink with the water up to his collar bones he hums.

"I do feel incredibly dangerous now, you've got a point"

"I mean if you think that's danger" you edge closer, not drunk but buzzed enough to take your chances you whisper into the shell of his ear. "You should see what thrills are in the guest bathroom. 1st floor on the right? " he chokes on his drink as your suggestive whispers make his dick twitch. He definitely couldn't get out of the pool for a while.

You're gone before you get a verbal reaction. If this all goes badly then you can just hide in there and slip out to an Uber and never see Jeff again right? Right. Cool.

With a soft white towel around you and your heart rate high as you reach the main guest bedroom you enter the room, you notice a large weekend bag in there and freeze. Shit. Someone's staying over, you hadn't factored that in, but a glance to the tag and the embossed H. E. S tells you you're good. Well, if not you'll just be a creep hiding in someone's bathroom but let's not think about it too much. Your faux confidence was working well so far and what other chance was going to arise like this one? Hot celebrities need fun with strangers too right?

Entering the bathroom you rub the towel over you, leaving mostly dry skin. You'd peel away your bikini if you were definite you wouldn't need to peel it back up your limbs should this plan backfire. You move to the mirror to adjust the black flecks from your minimal makeup dispersing under your eye and just as you're about to smooth down the stray baby hairs that humidity has got to around your face, you see Harry appear in the mirror behind you. Your belly flipping over and over with the thrill he'd took the bait.

Wasting no time he smirks and holds your gaze, wrapping his hands around your waist whilst his lips attach to the junction of your neck and collarbone. His tongue drags over your soft skin and he licks and softly sucks swirls onto it with his plush lips.

"Hm. You're right. This is a more fun type of danger" he says between kisses but before he's even finished his sentence you've spun around in his arms.

The bottom of your spine cold against the marble countertop, arms around his neck as you smash your lips into one another's with urgency. Tongues and wet noises as you get to know one another through your bodies alone.

He runs his hands down your back and presses his hard length against your thigh. He's definitely packing you think as you lift up a little rub your pubic bone against his front, panting out a little moan as the sweet friction of your bodies colliding sends you into overdrive. Catching the noise through your parted lips he gently tugs on the bottom one, teeth grazing the supple flesh. This combined with his large palms kneading your ass and pulling you further, tighter, into the roll of his hips. Only two layers of damp clothing separate you,forcing your lips to break from his mouth and fully moan, not caring who may be around. You could not remember the last time a perfect stranger knew your body quite this well.

His own grunts were speeding up when he suddenly grabs the back of your thighs and hoists you up beside the sink, you gasp in shock but it was more the way the lean man thrusted you up there like it was nothing. What else could he do? You expect him to go back to kissing you but instead he pulls back with his rock hard erection outlined in the wet shorts he still has on. Looking at you dead in the eyes both raging with lust and concern. Whilst you try not to worry how you were going to accommodate him inside your tight walls.

"Is this…? I mean, you want this too right?" his hands are resting at either side of your parted thighs. You nod. "Need you to say it Y/N" he steps forward, lips wet and brushes the pad of his thumb across your bottom lip that was now puffy and pink from the earlier biting. He knew you were down to fuck, but now he wanted to test your preferences. What kind of fun you were about to have shall we say. So when you lick his thumb tip, holding his fist still and grazing your wet tongue up and down from knuckle to tip before closing your eyes and humming around the entire digit, he knew you were both in for a good time.

Removing the thumb he whispers a barely audible "fuck me" before smashing your lips back together, tongues massaging together as he peels your underwear to the side with his hand swiftly and presses digit you'd lubricated with your mouth against your clit, moving it fast from side to side with just the right amount of pressure to make your head spin. Gasping, you throw your head back, hands clasped around his neck as you lean back and feel yourself start to leak a little with arousal. The few spots dripping down on to the counter.

You could say it had been a while but really this guy was moving his way round your body in the same way you tune a guitar in key. Calloused fingers applying the right amount of pressure as you felt yourself start to get to the edge already. He was kissing down the front if your chest, between your breasts, not missing a beat when he pushed both triangles of your bikini aside and you moaned loudly as he kissed and sucked hard around your nipple, tentatively pulling it between his teeth firmly, the sound you let out made him clamp a little harder before sucking in the whole nipple again, soothing the skin his tongue. Most likely leaving a mark behind, but you kind of liked the idea of proof he'd been devouring you in all honesty.

You were becoming blissed out from all the stimulation. Clenching and moving your hips around nothing but this magical thumb working your clit up and down hard. You were overcome with this whole situation playing out the way it had. You broke away from his mouth again.

"Oh fuck.. Harry, I'm… FuckFuck I'm going to come, I'm gonna fucking… Ahhh" he pulled back one arm steadying you as your head hit the mirror behind you in your release. He just watched you and slowed his thumb down watching as the liquid cascaded onto the counter.

After you'd come down you open your eyes and shyly smiled before kissing him passionately, his hands moving around your waist tightly. You moved your hand to his shorts, teasingly grazing the outline of his cock between your fingers in hopes of repaying the favour. He does a single throaty laugh and removes your hand, holding himself against his thigh. You look at him in confusion when he splutters,

"Sorry, sorry its just I'm going t'blow my load if you touch me." then he's back on your lips "Too. Fucking. Sexy" he says between wet kisses to your jaw, neck and clavicle. "Wanted to do this since I first set eyes on you" one hand is on the back of his neck twisting nape curls between your fist whilst the other rests behind you, stopping you from hitting your head on the mirror again.

"Oh yeah? Before or after I ruined your clothes?" you laugh teasingly as he slides his hands around your back to finally remove the bikini top properly, lifting it up over your head and tossing it aside somewhere on the floor. He let's a laugh out himself completely entranced still by how natural you are around him, it was often hard to connect with strangers in his position.

"I'd spotted you walking in, was trying to open the door for you m'love" he says before sucking a red mark into your breast and massaging and pulling the other nipple slightly with his hand.

You struggle through sharp intakes of breath for a reply.

"Well….ah...that's what chivalry.. Oh.. Get's you these days I guess" and you're both laughing a little.

"Hmm. Have to try harder with my manners then won't I? I mean, I've got to clear up the mess I've made here" he cups his hand against your pussy rubbing it up and down a little with his palm. You let out a guttural noise at the friction. "Ladies first and all'tha too right?" he giggles again at himself.

You're practically cumming right then, you couldn't remember the last time someone actually went down on you. Your previous boyfriend not particularly into offering you foreplay. A main point of why he didn't stick around too long.

Harry kisses down your abdomen now, soft sloppy, sensual pecks, humming into your skin every so often in appreciation as he works at removing your soaked bikini bottoms with his hands, pushing them down to your knees before you help, letting them fall from the remaining ankle to the ground.

Harry is moving far too slow for you, kissing across each hip down to the top of your slit, breathing over where you desperately need him before paying the other side the same attention. Then he's licking up each crease where your thigh meets your pelvis.

"Y/N, just.. Just turn, that's it and lean back as far as you can there, shuffle forward until can't balance anymore" you shift your ass as forward as possible on the lip of the sink and prop yourself up on your elbows trying to be as flat as possible on the cold counter as you could, your toes behind the sink with one foot the other dangling over the edge. You keep you thighs open as Harry hunches over the counter where you now lay diagonal. He places his arms under your thighs and bends your legs flat out as he can stretch you, you're expecting some more teasing but he just looks down at your pussy licking over his lips and almost whining before burying his tongue inside you immediately. The force of his tongue lapping up your previous climax causes you once again to knock the side of your head against the mirrored wall. You turn and watch the scene almost as a spectator, witnessing yourself bare to this beautiful man, curly brown hair between your fists and making sounds like he's savouring every taste. He catches you watching before taking his mouth off you, immediately, you're whining in protest.

"Watch my eyes not my reflection baby, I'm right here"

His authoritative tone eclipsing every thought you had about the casual nickname, you stared down at the wonderful site of him lapping and suckling on your clit. Pointed tongue and firm laps against the swollen button. He then starts lapping up at your glistening hole,unhooking an arm to spread your lips open between his fingers and licking right from the bottom to the top with all the sloppy wet noises involved. He was feeling you contract as he locked faster and faster over you. His tongue deserved an award never mind his music. You couldn't believe you were on the brink of a second orgasm so quickly but when he sunk his middle finger into you at the same pace his tongue was working at, you were screaming his name into the extractor fan above before you knew it. You felt waves of liquid cascade from your pussy as he gently lapped up the produce of his work from you. You flinched in overstimulation but he cleaned up every last drop tenderly before carefully closing your legs and pivoting you round to your previous sitting up position on the counter. Neither of you had spoken a word since you came but as he leads your arms to drape over your shoulders, holding your fucked out body against his chest whilst peppering your temple with soft pecks . Then he kisses you intensely, letting you taste the sweet juices of yourself on his lips. You hummed in approval of the sweet taste as you came round.

A few minutes of carnal making out and things were heating up again. Your hands cupping his jaw then sliding to graze fingernails up and down his back, digging them in a little harder now and again and causing goosebumps to pierce through the skin rapidly under your touch.

You could feel him swallowing down grunts from the friction he was getting from his shorts covered cock brushing up and down between your slick folds.

He'd made you cum twice. Hard. He always got off of making his partners cum of course, so he was feeling beyond turned on and the slight heat of your glistening folds against his length was almostvsending him over the edge.

"I want you inside me" you whispered against his lips desperately.

No sooner had you said the words, his left hand was frantically searching through the vanities top drawer in hope. Finding a packet, checking the date quickly then tearing it between his teeth, spitting the seal onto the floor and pushing his shorts to his ankles, stepping out of them at speed before kicking them away.

He smirked when he caught your eyes bulge at his cock. He knew it was above average but the reaction was always a further compliment he thought.

Stepping forward he put on a show of putting the condom on, first rubbing the drops of sticky pre cum at the head and down his length keeping his eyes locked to yours as you wriggled on the counter with anticipation. He whined a little as it squeezed him rolling it on, so red and over sensitive from turning you on. So that's why, when you grabbed for it, he stilled your hand. Dimples appearing back in his cheeks as you looked again in confusion. He kisses you, languishing the moment before grabbing you forward from the countertop to the floor again, still keeping your lips attached. He lightly grips at your hips and turns you round to face the mirror once more.

Harry lightly grabs your throat, and the way you whimper and push your ass back against him, makes him mentally bank that idea for later perhaps. He runs his left hand up the column of your neck lightly holding your jaw between his thumb and forefinger, forcing you to look at him with his hand on your face and the other already working up and down your folds.

"I want you to watch us. Want you to watch yourself come apart. Want to watch you cum around my cock yeah? " he whispers in your ear. You noticeably shiver with excitement of what's to come.

"Please Harry, please, need it, need you."

You watch yourself babble and beg for his cock. The pathetic whimper from yourself as you try and circle your ass into his crotch again to encourage it happening. You were never patient and he's driving you insane here.

Bringing two fingers infront of your lips as you watch yourself in the mirror he looks you dead in the eye through the reflection.

"Spit" so you do, "good girl" he says kissing your cheek. His saliva lubed fingers are back rubbing your clit quickly whilst his knee nudges the back of yours to spread your feet wider as he kisses the back of your neck and shoulders. When he pauses next you're not expecting the hard thrust of him entering you entirely, sure you were dripping wet with the result of two orgasms but you cry out in a mix of stretch and pleasure as he pounds into you at a furious pace. His spare hand not on your clit is holding the bottom of your spine down as he keeps up his rhythm. His pace was that of a man desperate for release after watching you fall apart on his fingers and tongue. The build up meant he was already close as you tight walls fluttered around him. He pleads with you to stop tightening your walls around him or he's not going to last he whimpers.

You were already close again, you'd never cum this many times or this quickly in your life but you were ready for another round and by the sounds of him and the stutter his pace kept slipping you knew he was close too.

You quickly removed his hand, sucking your own fingers into your mouth to replace his own at your clit.

"M'gonna cum, but… OhOh fuck.. But need you harder. Deeper" you manage to get out.

He grunts a curse before squeezing your hips at a pressure that will leave marks tomorrow but the delight in the speed he was now able to snap his hips against the swells of your ass, was well worth it. It only took a few more seconds with the fingers that knew you best, for you to gush against his cock. Feeling absolutely exhausted you slump your sweaty chest onto the cold counter.

His orgasm taking him by surprise when you clenched up to milk him dry. He all but shouts your name as his hips stutter and you feel the warmth of his cum fill the one barrier between you.

His lips were back on your sweaty neck for a second whilst he disposed of the used condom. He ran the walk in shower and wordlessly you took his offered hand to join him under the hot spray. You'd never had an encounter end like this before not that you were a seasoned professional but after 3 orgasms the way his hands moved round your body under the water, washing away your antics with sweet strawberry-banana smelling suds on the flannel, left you with a warm floaty feeling the worn off alcohol never had.

He gently wipes your makeup from under your eyes then, smiling at the cute way your nose wrinkles slightly as he rubs at each eyebrow.

"I don't even have words" you finally laugh out blushing, not able to stand his gauge as you say it.

"Oh. So that's how to make that smart mouth o'yours stop is it? " he grins, you gasp in mock offense and go to say something but going under your chin with his thumb with his forefinger to connect your lips under the warm water spray he kisses you when you pull away you can't help but ask.

"So does this make us even on one ruined fancy vest then?"

"Hmmmm" he ponders with both hands on your face looking at the ceiling out if the falling water. " I'm not sure, I mean it was a custom, pretty high going rate those yeah"

"Yeahhhh you're right, you're right. Better factor in the cost of the custom job then hadn't I huh?"

You hurriedly sink to your knees on the tiled floor.

#harry styles #1d #harries #one direction #harry styles fic rec #harry styles imagine #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles smut #harry styles fandom #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fic #summer feeling fic challenge

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hermannsthumb · 3 years

Note

Lo and behold, HERMANN is the one with a long list of hunky ex-boyfriends (and it drives Newt a little nuts)

a req sent in by @k-sci-janitor and filled TIMELY ENOUGH on their BIRTHDAYYYYY 🎉🎉🎉🎉 s/out to them for discussing this fic concept w me months ago and also today 👀

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

It’s a relief to find out Hermann is gay. It’s not even because of Newt’s weird, repressed feelings for the guy—though he admits it’s equally a relief to know that he’s not barking up the wrong tree entirely. The thing is that Newt’s really not sure what he would do if Hermann wasn’t. Hermann has the distinct honor (displeasure?) of being Newt’s only friend in the Shatterdome, after all; this means aside from usual friendship duties (sitting with Newt at lunch, listening to him complain about his day, allowing himself to be dragged along to bars and movie theaters when they finally have a second to breathe), he’s also the person Newt goes to with tales of his romantic conquests (not that he has any), requests for dating advice (not that Hermann has any), and reassurances that whoever Newt has his eyes on that week is hot enough for him (could they ever be?). It’s just, like, easier to do that kinda shit with someone who would also be (hypothetically) eyeing up and dating dudes, if Hermann ever managed to take the stick out his ass and relax long enough to do stuff like that.

Hell, Newt would be first in line if he ever did. As it is, he just has to settle on knocking knees with Hermann under the mess tables and—for lack of a better phrase—checking the latest batch of ranger hopefuls out. Newt doesn’t normally go for the tall, built, and athletic type, but Shatterdome transfers are usually the only way he can score a date, because all the seasoned personnel know to avoid the weirdo biologist in the basement by this point. There’s a war on; desperate times call for desperate measures. Newt hopes at least a handful of them are desperate.

“He’s kinda hot, don’t you think?” Newt says under his breath to Hermann. He jerks his thumb over his shoulder at one of the new ranger trainees in line for soup behind them. He has dark hair and a nice smile, and—more importantly—Newt’s sure he’s been making eyes at their table for the better part of five minutes. He’s one of the latest batch that has only just arrived two weeks prior, and the smallest batch by far. Not many people are enlisting in the PPDC these days. Bad for the state of the world and Newt’s libido.

“Hm?” Hermann says.

“The guy behind us,” Newt says. “No, don’t be obvious about it—”

But Hermann turns, conspicuously, so (deciding it can’t get any more awkward than it already is) Newt sighs and turns with him. The dark-haired ranger notices: his smile hitches up an extra centimeter, and he winks.

At once Newt feels his ego swell. He winks back. “Still got it, dude,” he crows to Hermann, and is just rising from his chair to swoop into action when he realizes something; the ranger was not making eye contact with Newt. He was—and is—making eye contact with Hermann.

Hermann scoffs. “Oh, please,” he mutters to Newt. “If he thinks that’ll get him invited over again—”

But the ranger is abandoning his spot in line and jogging towards them, smoothing down his hair as he goes. He’s brimming with a palpable mixture of excitement and anxiety. “Hey, Dr. Gottlieb,” he says. “So, uh, last week was pretty fun?” It’s an invitation for approval, one which Hermann ignores in favor of jerking his shoulders noncommittally. The ranger presses on anyway. “It’s cool to see you. Haha. I, uh, just wanted to make sure you have my email, in case you want to get together again.”

“I have it,” Hermann says.

An awkward tension settles between them. Newt clears his throat in hopes of diffusing it, and the ranger’s eyes dart over to him. “I’m Newt,” Newt says. “Hermann and I work together.”

“Cool,” the ranger says. Disinterested. “Anyway, Dr. Gottlieb, I’m free whenever, so?”

“Yes, I’ll certainly email you,” Hermann says. He picks up his dinner roll and begins to spread butter over it, not bothering to look up when he adds “Lovely to see you again.”

The guy nods, and hurries back over to his friends, who begin debating something with him in hushed voices. Twice the group glances back at Hermann. Hermann’s—uh—friend seems to be blushing. Hermann begins to butter the other half of his dinner roll. “What the hell was that about?” Newt says.

Hermann sets down his roll and furrows his eyebrows. “What do you mean?”

“That,” Newt says. “Who was that guy?”

“Oh,” Hermann says. “Him.” He rolls his eyes, and to Newt’s alarm goes pink in the cheeks. “We had a, ah, a date, I suppose you could call it, last week. He turned out to be a bit rude, actually, not the very, er, courteous sort. Attentive. Or at least not as courteous as I like. You know.”

“I don’t,” Newt says.

“You know,” Hermann repeats, with more force on the know. His pink blush spreads down his neck. “In the—coupling—sense.”

“You hooked up with him?” Newt says, too loud. A few heads swivel in their direction, including Hermann’s quote-unquote date and his friends; Hermann whacks Newt in the shin with his cane, clearly mortified.

“Keep your voice down! I don’t want the whole bloody Shatterdome to know, do I?” Hermann hisses. “Yes, I had sex with him. I do occasionally take time to enjoy myself.”

Newt stares at Hermann in amazement. Hermann hooks up? Hermann hooks up with hunky guys? Hermann hooks up with hunky guys and then ghosts them? “I didn’t know,” Newt says. “That you…did that.” Months and months of talking about his shitty love life to Hermann and Hermann has never once bothered to volunteer information of his own. Newt always just assumed Hermann had put his emotional (and physical) needs on hold for the sake of the war. Apparently not.

“You never asked,” Hermann says. “Is it important?”

Yes, it is. Newt shakes his head. The rest of their dinner is quiet and without any further interruptions. It’s also without their usual bickering, though, which makes it feel oddly lonely, and when Newt gets back to his bunk that night, he can’t help but wonder what else he hasn’t discovered about Hermann yet. Or, really—what about Hermann’s love life he hasn’t discovered yet.

A bouquet of flowers arrives for Hermann at the lab a week later. Newt is the one to take the delivery, Hermann being too absorbed in his calculations and boring graphs, and also because Newt is harboring a secret hope they’re for himself from a secret admirer. No such luck. To Dr. Gottlieb, the heart-shaped label proclaims in pink cursive, and a few sentences of the sappiest attempt at poetry Newt’s ever seen follows. Love, Pedro. Newt smirks through a suffocating wave of jealousy, whether to be the one giving or getting the flowers he’s not sure. “Hey, Hermann,” he calls across the lab. “Your boyfriend getting persistent. Want me to stick these in water for you?”

Hermann grumbles something, then says “Boyfriend?”

“From the mess the other night,” Newt says. “The uncourteous one.” Newt double-checks the note. “Pedro. His heart is yearning for you, Hermann. Listen to this—”

But Hermann scoffs loudly before Newt can even start on the poem. “Don’t be daft,” he says. “That wasn’t Pedro. That was Jason.” He scribbles over something on his chalkboard and starts again on the line below it. “And Pedro is hardly my boyfriend—it was only dinner.”

“Dinner?” Newt squeaks.

“And drinks,” Hermann says.

“You’re seeing another guy?” Newt says.

Hermann finally turns around. “Does it matter if I am?” he says.

“Yes,” Newt says. “No? I don’t know?”

“I’m a grown man, Newton,” Hermann says. “I date. You ought to try it yourself—it does wonders for the nerves.” When Newt is clearly still unsatisfied, Hermann sighs. “I met Pedro on an errand to LOCCENT last month, and I found him charming. You’d recognize him—you actually, er, caught us in a bit of a compromising position the other night. Remember?”

Newt frowns. He hasn’t caught Hermann with anyway in any compromising situations recently—the only thing he can think of that could be considered remotely embarrassing is when he stepped out into the hallway the same time Hermann’s physical therapist did, and they ended up bumping into each other. But that was—oh, God, Newt’s an idiot. “That was him?” Newt says. He just assumed anyone stopping by Hermann’s room after work hours would be there for physical therapy, okay? And there had been a lot of…noise. Well, he’s not going to think about that now. “But he was so hot! Do you only date, like, hunks or something?”

“Really, Newton,” Hermann says. “You’re making yourself upset over nothing.” The corner of his mouth twitches up. “Though one of my old ex-boyfriends did become an underwear model…”

“Dude,” Newt says, and before he can help himself, blurts out “Shit, maybe I should start going to the gym.”

Hermann gives him a strange, searching look, and Newt immediately clamps his mouth shut in horror. He’s really gotta start working on his brain-to-mouth filter. Or at least work on not sticking his fucking foot in it every five minutes. “As I said,” Hermann says, cryptically, and turns away (apparently satisfied with whatever he saw in Newt), “you’re making yourself upset over nothing. I hardly find the need to limit myself to ‘hunks’.”

“Uh,” Newt says. “Right.”

Whatever that means.

#newmann #maria's fanfiction tag #Anonymous

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wistfulcynic · 3 years

Text

bound by sand and salt and sea

This is @courtorderedcake‘s fault. I was all set to write something completely different (poor, lonely WIPs) and then she sent me this:

So now we have selkie!Emma and Killian who is... well, you’ll see.

AO3

—

bound by sand and salt and sea:

It wasn’t as though he fixated on the blonde from the very moment she entered the restaurant, draped in a thick fur stole of the same captivating pale gold as her hair. Not really. It was just that the table she took was next to his, and the angle of her chair afforded him a perfect view of her—crossing her long legs gracefully as she sat, fingertips brushing along her collarbone as she spoke, peering up at her date from beneath long lashes and smiling at him with soft lips painted a deep berry red.

Something about that smile had Killian Jones wanting more.

“Real fur,” sniffed his own date. Arianne? Emily? Ariel? Yes, that was it. Ariel. “Not very politically correct.” Killian nodded absently. She seemed lovely, this Ariel, but she did a lot of talking, and he was struggling a bit to keep up. Even before any stunning blondes had entered the picture.

“Hmmm,” he replied with another glance at her, a more overt one this time since Ariel was looking too. His gaze lingered and he felt his throat go dry. “Perhaps it’s a family heirloom.”

“Maybe,” said Ariel. “Still.”

Just then the blonde, without so much as a flicker of an eyelash to indicate her intent, whipped a pair of handcuffs from out of absolutely nowhere and snapped them smartly on the wrists of her ‘date,’ while two men dressed in the kind of suits that only police detectives ever wear stood up and moved in to take him into custody. The woman’s lips curled in an entirely different sort of smile as she watched them go, one Killian would swear he felt echo in his soul.

In all the confusion the woman’s fur, still draped across her shoulders despite the warmth of the room, had fallen to the floor. Without a thought, Killian leaned forward and picked it up.

“I believe you dropped this,” he said, in the smoothest voice his parched throat could manage.

She turned with a laugh that died on her lips as her eyes met his. Met and locked and widened. Green eyes, was all Killian could think. Shimmering sea-green like the deeps of Tahitian waters, exactly the colour of... his thoughts grew muddled and he gave his head a shake... her cheeks flushed pink and then she smiled... a soft smile this time, slightly awed... he’d give anything, he thought, to learn each one of her smiles...

“Thank you,” she whispered, taking the fur. Her fingers brushed against his. “I’m Emma.”

“Killian,” he replied, his voice hoarse.

“Killian,” she repeated. “Do you want to get out of here?”

He glanced back at Ariel. It would be a terrible thing to do, the worst he’d done in ages. Definitely a top ten of all time despite his countless years of extremely poor decision-making. He found he didn’t care.

Ariel gave a shrug. On your head be it, the gesture seemed to say.

Killian turned back to Emma. “Where did you have in mind?”

—

The next morning Killian awoke to bright sunlight shining in his eyes and gilding Emma’s hair where it curled against her skin. He raked his fingers through it and her eyes fluttered open. She smiled.

“Good morning,” she said.

“Good morning,” he replied, kissing her smile as he trailed his fingers down her body, over the contours of breast and waist and thigh.

She hummed her pleasure into the kiss but when he moved to deepen it placed a hand on his chest to stop him. “Killian,” she said softly, “before we… again I mean... there’s something I have to tell you.”

“I find when a woman says that I’m rarely in for a pleasant conversation,” he quipped, still smiling despite her solemn words. “Can’t it wait, love?”

“Not really, no. I should have told you last night, but... well...”

“Aye, I remember.” He smirked. “I could hardly forget.”

She laughed and lightly smacked his chest. “I’m trying to be serious here!”

“Very well, darling.” Killian settled back into the pillows. “What is it?”

She bit her lip and he fought not to get distracted by it. “It’s not a big thing, not really,” she said. “I mean it is kind of important, but I hope you don’t—I mean I hope you can—” She broke off helplessly and he gave her an encouraging nod.

“I’m a selkie,” she blurted, then released a heavy breath.

He sat bolt upright. “What?”

“Ah.” She twisted her hands nervously. “You see, selkies are—”

“I know what bloody selkies are, I’m a—er, I work on the sea.” Killian raked a hand through his hair. “But you—but how—”

Real fur, he thought. He should have bloody known.

He took a deep breath and forced himself to stay calm. “How are you on land?” he asked. “And free?”

“My pelt was taken when I was very young,” she explained. “The man who took it—I thought I loved him, so I let him... I went willingly with him. He was a liar and a thief, I learned that later, but by the time I did it was too late. My pelt was his, and—I think you know what that means.”

“I do,” growled Killian.

“When he died I got it back,” Emma continued, “but though I felt called to the sea I chose to stay on land. I couldn’t go, knowing there were men like that here, walking free. I couldn’t just leave, not when there was something I could do to help. So now I work with the police to catch criminals, men like the one who used me.” Her hands were fisted tight in her lap and Killian covered them with his. She twined their fingers together with a grateful smile. “I will go back,” she said. “Someday. I know I will, I have to, but it’s just never felt right…”

“He didn’t return your pelt,” said Killian gently. “Not truly. He just died, and you got it back by default. You never had any closure with him.”

She nodded. “I think that’s it,” she whispered. “My time here felt unfinished. But then last night… you gave it back to me. My pelt is mine again, and you and I”—she cast him a quick glance from beneath her lashes—”are bound.”

“Bound?”

“Bound together.” She shrugged a delicate shoulder. “Look, I don’t make the rules.”

It occurred to Killian that while she might not make the rules she was interpreting this one rather loosely. “I only picked your pelt up off the floor,” he pointed out. “It’s not like I was the one who stole it from you—”

“Doesn’t matter.” Emma made a decisive slicing motion of her hand through the air. “It’s done now. I can feel the binding magic. Can’t you?”

He could. Killian stared at her helplessly, alarmed by how not alarmed he felt. “We should probably get married,” he heard himself say. “The human way, you know.”

Emma beamed, bright and glorious—a new smile to add to his collection. “I’d like that very much,” she said.

—

They were married on the beach at sunset, in a simple ceremony with none in attendance but the old sea captain who performed the rites and one witness for each of them. Killian’s was Ariel—a lovely woman, he’d always said so, and a surprisingly good sport about the whole thing. Especially after being introduced to Eric—Emma’s cousin and the second witness.

“A selkie,” said Ariel as they danced together after the ceremony, with a small shake of her head and a speculative glance at Eric. “I should have known.”

“Likely we both should have known,” agreed Killian. “And yet.”

“Are you okay with it?” she asked. “Truly?”

“I suppose I’ll have to be. I returned her pelt, after all.”

Ariel frowned. “I’m not sure that’s how it works—”

Killian made a decisive slashing motion through the air with his hand. “It’s done,” he said. “We don’t make the rules. And anyway, we’re married now.”

He’d married Emma with a deep-sea pearl, darkly iridescent and set in raw copper. It gleamed on her finger, lit by firelight, and he smiled.

“Yes,” Ariel agreed. “So you are.”

—

“Let’s go for a swim,” said Emma as they sat curled together on a rock after the others had gone. She slipped from his embrace and reached for her pelt. “A proper one.”

Killian toyed with the slender bracelet on his wrist. It was carved of ormer and set with black pearls and it shone in the moonlight.

“A proper one,” he repeated, then slid the bracelet off.

—

The sea was calm that night, its gentle waves broken only once—by the sleek arc of a golden selkie and the green glimmer of a merman’s tail. They flashed bright in the moonlight, circling each other, then dove deep and swam away and the sea was calm again.

—

@spartanguard I have a feeling this might be right up your street. Also, the usual suspects. @thisonesatellite @ohmightydevviepuu @katie-dub @mariakov81 @stahlop @optomisticgirl @shireness-says @kmomof4 @teamhook @captain-emmajones

#cs fic #cs ff #cs ff au #prompt fic #selkie!Emma #merman!Killian #creature au #magic au #ficlets #profdanglaisstuff #bound by sand and salt and sea

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ka-writes · 3 years

Text

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Notes: haha I did a semi short chapter... sorry... also this is chapter 4 of my space AU..

ALSO READ THE DAMN WARNINGS. Thank you ☺️

——————

Incase you missed:

Chapter 1:

Chapter 2:

Chapter 3:

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Inspired by:

Humans are Space Velociraptors

By:FreshRoses_InMyGarden_NeedTheRain

Some kids come from storks, others come from crashed spaceships

By: mmmajora

Home Again, Home Again

By: teeth_eater

All works can be found on Ao3

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Warning: Mentions of abuse (physical verbal and sexual) there aren’t any graphic recalls it is simply mentions. Mentions of being beaten up. Mentions of knives and blood. Threatening characters, and character pain. Again characters being trapped and not going home. Cussing. Characters passing out. Characters being distressed characters being malnourished. Yea I kinda was in an angsty mode sooo.... here you go..

——————

Ao3 link:

——————

“Humans are [Add text here]”

Chapter 4: I guess it qualifies as an introduction?

Phil wasn’t expecting to wake up at 4 in the morning to the sound of laughter.

It wouldn’t be the first time, definitely not the last.

Curiously the avian poked his head into his kids’ room. The laughter wasn’t coming from the gardener, guard, or scientist. The laughter was coming from the assistant who wasn’t in their room. Phil turned his attention down the hall. Sure enough the laughter was louder. Quietly he made his way to the holding cell. Phil sat in a smaller hallway and decided to listen into the conversation… What can he say? He always eavesdropped..

“What even is a you-tube?” The assistant asked through small giggles. To that the human gasped as if he was hurt by the statement.

“You don’t have YouTube?! Or like an alien version of it?!” The human replied, not even trying to hide his shock.

“Erm no?”

“Well it’s like this thing that humans use to make really cool videos and stuff.”

“What’s a video?” Ranboo interrupted.

“They’re kinda like moving photos that usually work as a sort of entertainment or info dump. I could probably tell you thousands of the times my stupid teacher made me watch ‘educational’ videos..”

“So they’re kinda like illusions?”

“Yea but you don’t see 'em in 3D. As I was saying, before I was rudely interrupted..” The enderian let out a small squeak of embarrassment at that, “YouTube is like a thing people use to post videos on. I am totally making an alien version of YouTube when I get out.” The air stiffened at that.

“Tommy.. you probably won’t get out for a while…” Ranboo said, Phil heard one of them shift and the entire atmosphere lost it’s warmth, “It’s not like you won’t get out! It’s just hard… especially when no one really trusts you yet.” Ranboo swallowed, as he usually does when he is uncomfortable, “Even when we let you out of the holding cell.. you probably won’t be allowed off the ship. It’s too dangerous for all of us..” the two fell into a deafening silence. Phil shivered at the tension, making sure to be silent while doing so.

“I assumed as much…” the human started, being the first to break the silence, “I-I… I guess I won’t be going home either… since the ISF absolutely hates us.. plus like you said, only already crazy humans are sent back..” the human sighed sadly.. For the first time Phil felt sympathetic towards a human. With that he decided it was time to start on breakfast.

——————

Three things happened after Tubbo woke up.

One, Ranboo passed out at the table. Phil simply shook his head and picked up the enderian with some unknown strength to the rest of the crew.

Two, a scream was heard from the other side of the ship, causing Wilbur to frantically run to the holding cell.

Three, Techno put his milk in before he poured his tea… I mean who does that?

Ignoring the last strange thing, Tubbo went to check on Ranboo. He was fine, so Phil said. “He only needs rest. Leave them be.” Was what Tubbo got as he peered into the enderian’s room. Shrugging off the weird behavior Tubbo made his way to the garden.

Before he made his way to the garden he noticed the human wasn’t in the holding cell. That meant he was probably in the lab… Which meant Tubbo would have to meet him.. Oh prime no. That’s not gonna happen.

He started sprinting to the garden. It was just passed the lab if only he took another step-

“Tubbo, I need your help.” Wilbur said from behind him. The droneling turned around reluctantly. Holding his breath he made his way into the medical part of the lab.

[gore and distressed characters, skim if you need to]

There, laying on the bed, was a human. He held back a scream which came out as a labored gasp. Sweat was bubbling on his forehead. With that he turned to Wilbur who examined the human from a distance.

“Go get some bandages and the stitching kit.” Wilbur commanded. Without hesitation Tubbo ran to grab the items. Wilbur took both objects and disinfected a bad cut on the human’s arm. He hadn’t even realized there was a cut until Wilbur cleared off the strange red blood. Wilbur then proceeds to stitch the wound and bandage the irritated wound.

That’s when Tubbo noticed the amount of blood the human lost. Most species wouldn’t be able to handle that much blood loss, but here was the beast of the galaxy, completely fine in a matter of minutes after losing quite a bit of blood.

[End]

When Wilbur was satisfied, he picked the human up and carried him back to the holding cell. Tubbo was unable to stop himself from following. Before thinking the droneling sat at the table and watched as Wilbur finished cleaning the human.

“Er.. do you want me to grab Techno so you can stay in here?” Wilbur asked, noticing Tubbo sitting in the corner.

Without saying a word Tubbo gave a small nod. Wil didn’t push like he usually did and left to get Techno.

Tubbo got up and approached the sleeping human. He was skinnier than what Tubbo thought humans should be. There were odd dark circles under his eyes and his hair clearly hadn’t had a good wash for what looked like months. He had injuries over his body and was practically shaking in his sleep.

Since Tubbo was preoccupied, he barely noticed Techno enter, or the door closing. Let alone the clangs and thuds from other crew mates.

He was preoccupied by the strange human who was sleeping in front of him.

The human stirred and the droneling stumbled away.

After a few seconds the human sat up and looked at the now fallen droneling.

“What the fuck?”

——————

Tommy didn’t expect another alien to push their luck in his space. But here he was.

The alien was smaller than Tommy by a lot. Further proving Tommy was the biggest man. Unlike the other aliens this one wasn’t threatening upon first glance.

The one from last night had been way more intimidating at first. Being way taller than Tommy and having weird lanky limbs and magical purple glowing orbs surrounding them. They had horns and a half and half complexion. One half of the alien being white with grey and purple freckles along with a red eye. The other half being a purplish black with grey and green freckles along with a green eye. They wore a suit with a red tie and dress shoes. He also had two tails of the same colors as his complexion. All of this being forgotten after they stammered through their introduction. It was honestly hilarious.

This alien was very different from the others. They had brown messy hair, encasing black antennas and small black bumps that resembled horns. Their skin was a honey peach color and practically glistened. There were strange hexagon patterns over their face along with three black stripes on either side of their face. They had bee wings, which was the only thing Tommy could relate to the alien too. There was also a black fuzzy tail, similar to a stinger, poking out of their pants. Their hands were lanky and pointed, completely black. There was also soft yellow fuzz poking out of their sleeves and holes in their pants. They wore ripped jeans along with a long sleeved green button down shirt. Their eyes were another thing entirely, being a honey brown in certain light but could also shift to a greenish blue in other light. They had fly-like pupils.

After a minute of them sitting in an awkward stance the alien got up. Using their wings to properly position them in a standing position. They brushed themselves off and approached Tommy.

“You lay a finger on anyone here and I will kill you. Understand?” The alien said, any intimidation that was lost from the alien falling was regained in an instant. The alien poked him in the chest with one of the lanky fingers, which started burning like acid after a minute.

Since Tommy was too, sacred, poggers to move he simply nodded, which is absolutely the best response to the situation. Sadly the alien didn’t get the gesture and dug their nail into his chest even more. Seriously, it was starting to really burn.

“Y-yes.” Was all Tommy could muster. The alien was satisfied with the answer and let go of Tommy. They walked out of the now open door. Shortly after Techno followed the door closing behind him. Tommy never realized the other alien was in the room.

[Mentions of abuse]

For a split second the interaction reminded him of his dad.

The way his dad did the same thing to his mom when she didn’t listen.

Or when his sister didn’t follow his dad’s friend.

Or when Tommy made a mistake.

Except instead of a nail, it was glass, or a punch, or sometimes a knife…

[End]

He shook off the thoughts and reminded himself that the aliens weren’t his father, nor were they going to do that to him.

They wouldn’t do that right?.. Right?

Tommy slapped his face, only to find there were silent tears flowing down his cheeks. He quickly wiped his cheeks and continued his train of thought.

Tommy trusted too easily. That in the end is how at nine he ended up getting beat up in his first foster home. He condemned himself for trusting the aliens. They were strangers. He knew nothing of them and they knew more about him. This was the moment in which Tommy shut himself off. Where he regained the ability to leave his blind trusting instincts.

——————

Chapter 4- End

Words: 1633

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Notes: I didn’t know what to add next so I decided to leave you here. Your welcome! <3

Again hope you enjoyed! Now go eat food, drink water, take a shower if you haven’t, and go to sleep. Stay safe, love ya! <3

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Tubbo: *falls out of fear

Tommy: ._. This dude ain’t intimidating

Tubbo: *threatens Tommy

Tommy: ,:^ never mind then...

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Reminder likes are appreciated but reblogs are better!!

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#tommy mcyt #dream smp fanfiction #my fanfic tag #my writing #wilbur soot #tubbo #ranboo #technoblade #philza #angst #reblog #;-;#space au

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hecticcheer · 3 years

Text

Hyponatremia (unfinished T/M/A fic)

Fiveish months ago I tried to write a fic based on this scenario post I made. I’m super definitely never gonna finish it, and, it just kinda trails off at the end? Also it’s very rough. Features some American measurements in brackets that I’m too lazy to convert, if that gives you an idea. But I figured I’d post it anyway on one-slice-of-cake>no-cake principle.

As for the plot... uh. Jon has a headache; Martin tries to help, but makes it worse. For *checks notes* ~4200 words. If it has one saving grace, it’s that you can mmmmostly understand it without prior knowledge of T/M/A? Long as you know Martin’s living in the Archives to hide from an evil worm monster, you should be good.

As usual, Jon was the first person to join Martin down in the Archives that morning, sometime between seven and eight. And, no more unusually, Martin had twelve-plus hours of nervous energy to work off, and nobody to shed it on but his boss. “Morning. Sleep well? Tim said you still had some work to do when we left for the pub, but I didn’t see you when I got back so you can’t have made too late a night of it.” (Jon shook his head.) “Shame you couldn’t join us, by the way. Elena and Clarisse and them destroyed us on geography, and Sasha says you’re pretty good on maps and that. Maybe you could’ve saved us.”

“Doubt it,” said Jon. Martin waited for him to add more to that thought, but instead he just sort of stood there. Pinched one nostril shut and inhaled experimentally through the other. Trying to figure out which one was clogged, maybe? Tim said Jon’d said he had a headache; maybe it was a sinus thing. Not that this was exactly reliable intel. On pub-quiz Wednesday Tim always regaled him and Sasha with Jon’s latest excuses not to join them. They were always bad, but some were so bad Martin suspected they weren’t so much Jon’s lies as Tim’s lies about Jon’s lies. Probably not a great idea to mention this one, then. He’d stick to the first excuse Jon had allegedly given:

“Did you finish what you were working on?”

Jon closed his eyes, for a bit longer than the average blink, but not long enough to count as a proper wince. “Not even close.”

“Oh. What… was it?”

“Cabinet of statements from 2003. Or at least, nominally from 2003, though by my count less than a third of them actually date from that year.”

“Yikes. Need any help? Extra pair of hands, or.”

“Not right now.”

“2003,” Martin mused—“are you still looking for Mr. McKenzie’s statement?”

A short, but hearty sigh. Enunciated, practically. He didn’t open his mouth until afterward, but Martin could see his nostrils flare around it. “No. Three days ago, when I started to look through the cabinets marked 2003, I was looking for Mr. McKenzie’s statement. Now I just want to find out which statements in there I can’t send straight to the discredited section.”

Jon stood in the open doorway to his office by this point, hand on the knob as if to remind Martin of his eagerness to close it behind him. Even so Martin tried to peer past him into the office, looking for a discard pile of statements he might offer to shuttle away himself. This was pretty hard to do surreptitiously, though. He’d hoped his eyes would land at once on the tallest pile, at which time he could point to it and say, Are those the discredited ones, then? But from his vantage point all the piles on Jon’s desk seemed taller than usual.

“Right,” Martin said instead; “good luck.” He smiled weakly and returned his gaze to Jon, meaning to restore eye contact before he remembered how seldom Jon looked at people’s faces anyway. At this moment both his eyes were covered by the hand not on the doorknob. It would’ve been weird, he figured, to just duck out now while Jon couldn’t even see him, so Martin told himself to wait until he opened his eyes and only then back off.

But then Jon just stayed like that, for ages, with his fingers on one temple and his thumb on the other, blocking all possibility of sight. Eventually Martin felt like he had no choice but to say, “Are you alright?—or, I mean, how’s your head, by the way? Tim said….”

“It’s fine.”

“Ssssso it—doesn’t still hurt, then?”

“I’m fine, Martin. Thank you,” Jon said, but in one of the least thankful-sounding tones of voice he had. And then he closed the door, without even waiting for Martin to back up.

—

“Thought you might like coffee this morning instead of tea. It’s got more caffeine, and, that’s supposed to help, right? Plus I remembered what you said on your birthday about tea having tannins just like wine does. Of course, for all I know coffee might too—”

“It does.”

“Oh. Well… maybe the caffeine’ll cancel it out and you’ll break even? Or, I don’t know, maybe if you already have a headache they can’t trigger one.”

Jon’s answering Hm sounded pessimistic. Sure enough, as soon as Martin had finished his sentence he said, “I’m not that lucky.”

“Probably not,” Martin agreed with a laugh. “Still, least it’s hydration. Though caffeine’s a diuretic, so if I recall correctly you only get about half, volume-wise. That mug’s about… [twelve ounces,] I’d say? So it probably counts as about [six toward your sixty-four].”

“Yes, yes,” replied Jon, picking up his bottle of water and shaking it. When he set it down again, one look confirmed what Martin had suspected from the sound it made—it was nearly empty.

“Oh hey, look at that! Looks like you’re doing a pretty good job even without…” he trailed off, realizing too late that the most logical end to that sentence was my help, and that that was a pretty pompous way to refer to a coffee he was pretty sure Jon didn’t even want. So instead he said, “I’ll go refill that for you.” And before Jon could look up Martin scurried off to the break room with it.

The water dispenser should’ve been changed yesterday. When the water got this low it took ages to fill even a mug, much less a tall bottle like this one. It startled as a trickle, and by about halfway up the bottle slowed to a glorified drip. In his mind he pleaded with the water spout not to make so much noise; promised it he’d put in a new one as soon as he’d returned Jon’s water to him, mouthed encouragements to it. Not much farther, just to the top of the M, come on, you can do it. (The bottle was an Institute freebie, with Magnus Institute inscribed on it in black-bordered green letters. Martin had one just like it somewhere in his flat. Worm bait now, he supposed.)

By the time he brought it back Jon’s eyes were on the statement in his hands. Skimming, by the looks of it, rather than either actually reading or pretending to.

Martin endeavored to set down his refilled water audibly, but not painfully loudly. But Jon’s answering “Thank you” took him so much by surprise that at the last moment his wrist jerked and the bottle fell over.

“Ah! Sorry, sorry.” It had a lid, so, not an actual disaster? Jon did snarl at him though, or at least at the noise. His hands flew up as if to cover his ears, but he seemed to reject that idea halfway through. Just closed his fists around thin air, then leant his temple on one of them and sighed through his nose. “Sorry,” Martin said again. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”

Jon’s emphatic blink seemed to stand in for a nod.

“Anyway, here’s a further [sixteen ounces] for you, looks like, or thereabouts,” ventured Martin, patting the side of the water bottle with one hand while holding it down with the other so it definitely wouldn’t topple again. “I’ll just leave you to it then.”

“Mm.”

“Good luck.”

—

After his stunt with the water bottle Martin had too much distrusted himself to risk making another big noise with the door, so he’d left it with its tongue sticking out rather than latching it. This meant he made almost no sound when he entered again. The first thing he noticed was that the water in Jon’s bottle still reached the top of the M. It still sat in the same place, too—not out of Jon’s reach but far enough away (Martin had told himself at the time) not to seem an imposition on his space. Almost definitely not where one would set it if one intended to pick it up again soon. His coffee seemed to have fared a bit better though. Half empty, one might say. Optimistically.

The second thing he noticed was Jon himself, who sat with his elbows on the desk, his chin on the heels of his palms, and his fingers arranged around his eyes like fence posts. Like a child peeking out at something they’re too scared to look at directly—except that his eyes were closed.

Martin snuck back to the other side of the door and knocked on it, gently. “Hey, uh, Jon?”

He didn’t look up, and opened his eyes for only a second before shutting them again. But he did drop his hands, threaded his fingers together and set them on the table, and bit his lip. “What, Martin.”

“Er—well, I know you said you’d given up looking for Marcus McKenzie’s statement, but I just realized I never asked if you’d thought to look in the discredited section. I mean, from what he said on the phone it didn’t sound like he took his dad’s statement all that seriously, so, maybe Gertrude put it in there, as, like, corroborating evidence that it wasn’t paranormal, and McKenzie senior’s statement just got misfiled?”

“Martin, I invented the discredited section.”

“Oh.”

“Anything else you wanted to say?”

“Oh, uh, nothing important. Just wondered if you’d like me to take that mug away.”

Instead of responding verbally, Jon picked up the mug and made what seemed a valiant effort to drink a little more of the coffee inside it. From what Martin could tell, he barely managed not to grimace in disgust.

“Do you like coffee? I’m not a big fan of it either, to be honest. Oh, well. If you can’t force that down you’ve still got plenty of water there, I see. Besides, it’ll wash out the taste.” (With an actual heh heh, which came out more like a small dog panting than like human laughter.)

Dramatic, snarly sigh from Jon. “Think I’ll pass. It seems to make it worse, if anything.”

“Oh. Sorry about that; must be those pesky tannins. I’ll just take your cup now then.”

But Jon only tightened his grip on it. “Water, I meant. The coffee’s fine. Not exactly my favorite beverage in the world, but, you were right. It’s a good idea.”

“Oh. Thanks, I’m glad you.” Martin smiled, then frowned. “Wait, water makes it worse?”

“Seems to.”

“Really? Are you sure it wasn’t just—too cold, or something.”

His laugh sounded bitter, hollow—theatrically so, in fact. A perfect Ha ha ha, except he didn’t say those words, didn’t enunciate them like Sasha sometimes did when Tim made a bad joke. He just made the exact sounds they were invented to transcribe. “No, Martin. I haven’t just been giving myself a brain freeze every time I.”

“…Right, of course not. Sorry, I didn’t mean to.” For a few silent seconds Martin picked at a notch in his thumbnail, carved there earlier this morning by a stubborn paperclip. Part of him wanted to tear the nail off and have done, but he knew it would bleed if he did. Nothing to clip it with in the Archives, obviously. “Are you sure you won’t try again? This water’s quite tepid, actually, since I got it literally from the bottom of the barrel—”

“Martin—”

“Sorry, sorry. Just thought it was worth—”

“Don’t you have something better to do.”

“Er… no, actually. Pretty much finished with everything, at the momen…t. Though if you’d like to give me another assignment I’d be happy to—yeah. Do that, for you. Or I mean, for the sake of the Archives; I don’t mean it’d just be, like, busy work. Not accusing you of that or anything.”

“Are you comfortable leaving the Archives?”

For half a second Martin heard this as a hint—an offer? a threat?—that Jon meant to have him transferred to another department. Then he wondered if Jon was hinting it was time Martin found somewhere else to live. “What, like, permanently?”

“No—just as long as it takes to track down and interview Georgie Barker about her role in the statement Ms. King gave us.”

“Oh. Yeah, I think so, uh. Thank you for asking? I mean, Prentiss said she was done with me, right. At least, me personally. And she already knows I’m here, so it’s not like.”

Jon replied shortly, “Yes.”

“I’d like to listen to Ms. King’s statement first, though, if that’s alright. What’d you say it was about? The Cambridge Military Hospital?”

Another short, emphatic, nose-directed sigh. Couldn’t be too stuffed-up then, Martin guessed. “Technically, yes, though Ms. King insists the building itself had nothing to do with it.”

“Huh. What was it about, then?”

“She alleges that a woman she hired to help film one of her ghost stories peeled the skin off her arm.”

“Oh my god! I mean, did you—was she okay? Did she show you her arm? Did it seem to have—you know—skin?”

“Her own arm, not Ms. King’s.”

“Oh.” Martin sighed for himself now, though with relief rather than exasperation. Managed a tiny laugh, as well. “Okay, well, that’s. Creepy as hell, but, not nearly as bad as.”

“Mm. Nor nearly as verifiable as your version.”

“T…rue, no, I guess not. Anyway do you have the tape? I’d like to listen myself, if that’s.”

Jon pointed to a small stack of tapes on the bookshelf to Martin’s right. Sure enough, the top one had M. King, 0161704 sharpied across the label on its side. “Ah! Found it. Thanks.” He had a tape player squirreled away already; on another day he might’ve pretended otherwise, but for the moment he was too relieved not to have to make a pest of himself by asking to borrow one to worry whether the absence of that request might make Jon suspicious.

Besides, Jon seemed pretty… absorbed in himself, this morning. By the time Martin turned to face him again one of Jon’s hands had crept back up to his face, where its fingers now seemed to comb the hairs of his left eyebrow. He didn’t think he’d ever seen Jon do that before, plus doubted the hairs in question needed his help to lie flat. Jon’s eyebrows had always struck him as quite neat. Plus Martin had tried that with his own eyebrows plenty of times before the mirror in his youth, and knew it didn’t work very well even if you licked your finger—which Martin assumed Jon hadn’t. So he figured he should file this behavior in the same box as the earlier fist-clenching-to-avoid-covering-ears thing. As, like, headache-soothing for people who don’t want to look weak. Or unprofessional, or something to that effect.

This gave him a sense of foreboding when he thought too hard about it. But Martin needed so badly to keep this job, now that his flat wasn’t safe anymore. It seemed wiser not to look directly at abstract threats like that. If he could make Jon feel better then it wouldn’t matter, right? Or at least could be put off til next time.

“Are you sure you’re alright?”

“Don’t recall saying I was,” Jon muttered.

Martin winced. He had said he was alright—Martin was certain. When he’d first come in that morning, he’d said he was fine when Martin asked, and then he’d closed the door. Didn’t seem worth correcting him over it, though. So Martin just said, “Try to drink something while I’m gone, yeah? Kool-Aid, for all I care, just. You really don’t look like you’re feeling all that well. And any kind of drink other than alcohol should—oh.”

He looked up, hearing Jon swallow what sounded like a lot more than the tiny sip of coffee he’d managed before.

“Well. Great. Thank you for obliging me.”

Jon continued to gulp down water, while staring right at Martin. He paused in swallowing to breathe, but even then did not remove the mouth of the bottle from his own mouth. When he tried to resume drinking it made him cough instead, and even then he didn’t set it down.

“O-okay, well, I’m sure that’s plenty, don’t—?” Hurt yourself, Martin wanted to say, but feared that would sound patronizing. The bottle was more than half empty now. Jon paused for air again. “For god’s sake, Jon, stop—that looks like it hurts—you don’t have to—?”

At last he slammed the empty bottle on his desk—more loudly than could possibly be comfortable for a man with a headache. Leant his elbow on the table, and between pants huffed a laugh and said, “Care to refill it for me?”

On a sort of autopilot Martin chirped, “Uh—sure! No problem I’ll just,” and rushed off with it to the break room. This refill took much less time, since he’d remembered to change out the thingy. But it still took long enough that by the time he got back he worried, “You’re not going to chug this one too, are you?”

“No,” said Jon, eyes and hands both busy now with a statement hitherto hidden by his elbow. He did not reach out a hand to take the bottle from Martin.

“Okay, I’ll just. Leave this here then. See you after the, uh. Yeah.”

—

And lo, it was as he had feared. Chugging [sixteen ounces] of water did indeed make his headache worse. By ten it seemed to count turning the page of a statement as an exertion worth pounding over. True, by lunch time it seemed to have backed off a bit—until he sat back down at his desk with his fork and plate. On his way to the microwave he’d thought he must be on the mend: his head throbbed a little harder than when he’d been seated, but not so much he’d have noticed the difference had he not set out to pay attention to it. Some food, maybe an ibuprofen or two and he’d be fixed, he’d told himself.

Once he got to the break room, though, he noticed something else odd. His limbs were weak. His knees seemed made of jelly, and wobbled beneath him every time he shifted his weight; his arms were steady enough, but when he set down the pizza box on the counter after retrieving it from the fridge he felt a surge of relief, which he hardly understood until he’d transferred a slice from the no-onion half onto a plate and picked up the latter to put it in the microwave. Even these tiny movements made his arms, neck and chest ache like they do when you hold your breath too long. He leant his elbows against the counter and gulped down air until his mouth felt so dry he couldn’t bear to keep it open. Wondered if he should sit down; he felt a bit dizzy. But he had less than 30 seconds left to wait for the microwave, which he figured couldn’t hurt him.

It didn’t, but the walk back to his office did a bit. Moving his legs’ sluggish muscles made his whole body ache—again like it does when you run too long and have to stop for breath. He figured it must be in a similar spirit that his head waited til he’d sat down to unleash its onslaught. Before leaving his desk he’d grown used to thinking of his heart beat’s faint buzzy shocks like the second hand on a clock, criticizing him under its breath from where it watched behind his eyes. This was… a great deal worse than that. He tried to time the beats against the ticking of his wrist watch, but couldn’t seem to focus on that and breathe at the same time. They were fast, though, at least at first. His heart rate did seem to calm down fairly quickly, but he could swear it never got all the way back down to its earlier rate—at least not before his attention shifted from the speed to just. How much it hurt.

Was that what made his slice of pizza so tasteless? When he cut his first bite, on its way to his mouth he thought he caught a whiff of the red onions with which its tip must have shared space, and only his horror of Tim asking What was wrong with that part, then? when he brought the otherwise-empty plate back to the sink stopped him from scraping that bite off his fork and trying again higher up the slice. But when he finally forced himself to eat it? Nothing. No onion taste, thank god, but everything else too seemed… muted. Hardly worth how the exertion of chewing made his head hammer after each swallow. Jon knew the taste of food was hardly the point of eating it, but? In the absence of everything he normally liked about cheese and meat and bread and vegetables, the fact the cheese squelched in his mouth made him wish he’d never left his bed. The way leaves of soggy spinach flapped over the sides of even his neatly-cut rectangles. His stomach tightened in revulsion, so that in his throat he could feel each swallowed lump shifting from foot to foot, waiting to be let in. Not to mention how the effort of cutting it shook the whole damn table.

He told himself he could skip the crust. If Tim asked about it, Jon’d just tell him it’d gone stale. Just get through the… other part, the crumb, the filling. Between throbs the ache in his tired jaw merged with the one behind his eyes. Why didn’t it always hurt to chew? Did the pleasure of tasting food give you enough endorphins to cancel it out? Would everyone have this problem all the time if we had to live on, say, dry toast?

Right, okay, close enough. Ibuprofen now. No, you idiot—other drawer. In the fantasy versions he’d rehearsed of this moment he clapped four of them from his palm into his mouth at once, and swallowed them dry. But his blister pack turned out to have only three left. Which was fine! Just fine. Better, probably, after so little lunch.

Also, dry-swallowing was kind of a misnomer? He’d never really thought about it before, but. Turned out it would only work if your so-called “dry” mouth had spit in it. As it was the pills stuck to his tongue, leaving streaks of spicy burnt-orange when he tried to claw them back toward his throat with his teeth. When they got far back enough on his tongue he had to concentrate not to gag, and they still stuck—even when he turned his nose to face the ceiling and thumped on his chin with his hand (which, ouch)—at that point he gave up and unscrewed his water. Allowed as little of it in his mouth as would let him swallow these damn things, and wash their stains off his tongue. And it still made his head throb harder.

Jon imagined shooting whoever next told him to stay hydrated. He derived little joy from the fantasy, though; couldn’t not think of the loud, sharp noise it would make.

Returning the plate could wait, he decided; not like it would attract worms in the thirty minutes it’d take for the pills to kick in. Meanwhile he’d just… keep sorting. He took a statement off the top of the pile in front of him and blinked at it over and over, until his vision resolved into a shape he told himself hurt marginally less than the others. 9720406, Nathaniel Thorp. Christ, 1972? “Misfiled” was practically an understatement for that one. And here he’d thought Gertrude had kept that part of the century in relative good order. Still, he stuck it on the all other years pile and reached for another. 0130111, David Laylow. Nope—still not 2003. 0002610, Jennifer Wong. 0910203, Lisa Jones. 0081711, Donald Gately. 0100912, Lawrence Mortimer. 0152101, Uzma Rashid. Ha!—0030707, Seymour… Backsides. Wait a minute. Hadn’t he seen a prank statement with that name before lunch? He grabbed a stack off the 2003 pile and found… Rashid, Mortimer, Gately. Had he switched the—? Look in the unsorted pile again, he told himself. Under where he’d found Mr. Backsides’ tale he uncovered statements 0031212, 0032504, 0031809, and so on. Great. After Seymour he must’ve got mixed up. There was no more unsorted pile—not on his desk, anyway. He’d have to pull some more out of the… open filing cabinet which stood across the room with its tongue stuck out at him. Yeah, well, that could wait too. For now he’d just. Check his email.

#a shifty tract #to be clear hyponatremia is uh. too little sodium in blood. it is the 'eat more salt' ailment #it's very common w/ dehydration so any diuretic (i.e. med that makes you pee more) can cause it?#my plan here was to have martin complain to tim and sasha that he Broke Jon and when he mentions jon said water made it worse ('god why #('didn't i just believe him?') tim as the only Sports Guy in the archives recognizes ah-ha! electrolytes!#and either get him himself or tell martin to get him some trail mix and sports drink #and have jon drag his feet since every other suggestion his coworkers have given him over the last few days of headache &c. has been Garbage #but eventually cave out of pure frustration--enjoy the taste of salty raisin and stale pretzel so much he grins til his face hurts--#and figure out it must be 'cause he switched adhd meds recently #(...tho apparently it's rare for them to have this effect BUT THEY CAN! i have two data points)#nonsearchable tma tag

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aswallowssong · 3 years

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Second Child, Restless Child

Chapter 9 - The Devil Whispered Lies

@valkyrie-5583

Read on AO3

If I told y'all I got engaged and that's why this chapter is literally a billion years late, would that make it better??

Jokes aside (not really a joke, I did get engaged, I just hid it in the notes a few weeks ago) spring break is one week away for this teacher, and my goal is to write a whole bunch so I can not have to post chapters like... 2 months apart.

Let me know what you think of this one!! Have a lovely day!!

Continuation of chapter 8 - Heaven Knows How Hard I Tried. The Keystone Killer has given Kit a lot to think about; including some things she wasn't quite counting on.

Kit wasn’t quite listening when they walked back into the precinct. Her conversation with JJ earlier in the day had helped. If JJ had met pushback, but now she was allowed to be a full part of the BAU team, she should stand up for herself. The director himself saw all of her reports, she could tell Ramos she disagreed with him. Especially if, for the time being, her work was good enough for the literal director of the whole FBI.

But her talk with Hotch outside of Harbin’s house hadn’t done her a lot of good. Her mind was still reeling from the events of the last hour, she still hadn’t slept since Friday night, and it was actively Sunday.

What brought her back to reality was Morgan’s voice, deep and steady at the front of their group. It caught her up to the present so quickly she almost stopped short, which would have sent Hotch right into her.

“Well, that's got to be a first. A killer actually leading us to another killer.”

“Come on,” Gideon said from further back, “we all know they make the best profilers. They admire each other's work.”

“Ya, but usually from afar,” Elle said as they spilled into the conference room.

Kit didn’t even let herself imagine sitting down. There was no way she would be able to stay awake when she had nothing of value to add. At this point, she was waiting to get back on the jet and back to her apartment. The image of Claudia was twisting in her mind, and she couldn’t help the desperate need she had to see Monty face to face.

Hotch didn’t let her stay in her head for very long. “At least we got Harbin off the street. All right, let's review. What do we know about the Keystone Killer?”

He’s killing women at an alarming rate.

“Well, we know that he's not dead or in jail,” Elle offered.

Gideon continued. “Enjoys taunting the game.”

“Ya,” Morgan agreed easily. “He's in complete control.”

Reid was quick to add on, statistics rattling from him easier than Kit was even keeping her eyes open. “He strangled seven women in the 1980's, stopped for eighteen years, and then began again suffocating them. Ten percent of all violent crimes are caused by strangulation, it only takes eleven pounds of pressure to fully incapacitate your victim and if you hang on for at least fifty seconds, they will never recover.”

“Yeah,” Kit said, stopping short once she’d realized the words had come from her mouth, not someone else’s. Everyone’s eyes were on her, and she took a moment before she voiced the fact her brain had produced for her, however reluctantly. “It’s one of the most lethal forms of violence. Victims can be unconscious in a matter of ten seconds.”

Hotch shook his head, confusion pushing from his before he said, “When you suffocate someone you actually have less control over their death. It's actually more passive because the killer doesn't feel the life leaving the body.”

“He's changed almost everything that he does,” Elle said. She was lost, mild annoyance and confusions coming off her in waves. Elle had joined the team just as JJ did, and Kit wondered if she ever felt as completely baffled as she herself felt.

In that moment, it felt like the answer could be yes, and that was comforting.

Gideon took over then, speaking to them as a whole in a series of questions. “Why why why why? What? I mean, what's he getting out of this new M. O.? Where's his payoff? You got Carla Bromwell, she sustains a significant head injury. Blitz attacks suggest disorganization, no self-confidence. This is a guy who walks into seven victims' homes prior to this. There was no forced entry at any of the scenes. Where's the loss of confidence?”

There was a beat of silence, and she really hoped anyone had any idea. It was moments like these that made Kit feel the most out of her element. She had no idea why the Keystone Killer would want to kill anyone anyway, how could she know why he would change his methods?

“He would never change the way he kills by choice,” Ryan said, breaking the silence.

“What?”

Ryan spoke again, confident in a way the rest of the team lacked. “We've been operating under the assumption that he purposely changed his M. O.”

It was like something physically snapped into place. Kit looked around as everyone was suddenly much more engaged.

“You're saying he changed because he had to change?” Gideon asked.

“He knocked her unconscious. And it wasn't to scare.”

Elle seemed to be catching on, and Kit wished selfishly she wasn’t. “Because he couldn't control her physically while she was awake.”

Ryan nodded. “He could be incapacitated.”

Gideon latched back on. “At least partially.”

“Maybe an injury.”

“Or a stroke,” Hotch added, and Gideon started nodding. “Either way you're gonna have to have medical records. Agreed?”

It took her more than a few seconds to notice that no one had said anything else, and she looked over at Gideon, who was looking directly at her.

Why is he looking at me? He never looks at me? We have a spoken rule to not look at one another during cases so why is he looking right at me?

“Colghain?” he said, and she shook her head. He most certainly was looking at her for an answer, and everyone else had gone quiet so she could answer.

“Yeah.” She said, and she saw Ryan raise an eyebrow in annoyance before she stumbled over herself to continue her answer. “Yeah, yes, sorry. Yes. There would be injury reports, charts, notes, scripts. It’s a lot of records, depending on who your doctor is and what hospital you’re at.”

There was another pause before they were all nodding, taking in what she’d said and running with it.

Morgan was first to speak. “Okay, so what are we talking about? This had to have happened after the middle of 1988 in Philadelphia?”

Gideon nodded, first at Kit, and then to Morgan. “Somebody who fits the rest of the profile.”

“It's a lot of hospital records,” Reid said, also looking towards Kit, who nodded her affirmation. “There’s hoards of people going into ERs every day for exactly those sorts of things. It’ll be a huge pool.”

He smiled at her, and she found herself taken a bit aback, but returned his grin with a shy one of her own.

“Call our girl Friday,” Gideon said, directed to Morgan, and as the flurry of movement and new hope danced through the room, she found herself feeling much less tired than she did before.

She’d been helpful. Gideon had known she was an expert about something and asked for her agreement and input before simply inserting a thought.

Her feelings were incredibly jumbled as she stood there, waiting for directions. Gideon’s affirmation made her feel better than she thought it would, considering they didn’t usually talk if not to argue. JJ’s conversation still lingered in the back of her mind, and she wanted to talk to Ramos. If JJ could stand up to the coms department and get what she wanted, why couldn’t she stand up to Ramos?

But Claudia filled the leftover space in her consciousness, and she didn’t know if she could fight for more time with the BAU, or to try to be more fully integrated, or whatever it was that she actually wanted if the cases were going to stay with her.

To scare her. To make her feel like she needed to know that her sisters were alright, even though there was no way to do that while knees deep in a case.

What do you even want, Kody? What do you want?

She didn’t have an answer for herself.

-----

Kit stood in front of the mirror in the bathroom of the precinct and splashed another cupful of water onto her face, holding her cheeks in her hands a moment before looking up at her reflection.

You look exhausted.

Monty’s voice, as always, chided her. Sometimes she wished the voice of her overinvolved consciousness was her brother Al instead. Alaska couldn’t be bothered over things like that. His biggest qualm in life was the fact that his name was Alaska, and it had been quickly remedied by Ari telling him he could just go by Alex at school.

You’ve got bigger problems than that. You’re having a moment in a police precinct in Philly while the rest of your team waits on a comprehensive file to be faxed.

A feeling of dread shot through her chest at the realization that Monty didn’t even know she was gone. She’d been so tired and so incredibly thrown by Garcia’s text, and then Hotch’s insistence that she was on the jet that she hadn’t thought to walk down and tell Ari she was leaving. He’d been on the clinic floor; out of sight, out of mind. Then she was on the jet, and then at the crime scene.

She hadn’t even sent a text.

Hell, she hadn’t even really slept since then. Her time in the jet and her few minutes in the car were nowhere near what she needed, and with all the feelings and thoughts she had flying around her head, she was surprised she hadn’t crashed. She was definitely feeling “Big Feelings,” and she didn’t have time for it.

Ari and Monty always helped the big feelings. They had to be wondering where she was. Why hadn’t they called her? Or texted? They had to be worried. Girls didn’t just go missing in the middle of the day.

But they do. And worse, they’re murdered too. Right out of nowhere for no reason at all. People are sick, Kody. They kill for pleasure. They kidnap for pleasure. They’ll take anyone at any time.

She had her phone out and dialed in record time.

“Penelope’s hotline for all things truth. Speak and know.”

“Garcia.” She swiped at her eyes. When had she started crying? “I need a favor.”

“Oh, Kit, hey.” Her voice was as sunny as always. “I’ve got that file almost through, the medical was-”

“It’s not about the case.”

There was silence on the other line for a moment. “Oh?”

“If I gave you the first and last name, could you trace a cell phone?”

“A cell phone? As long as it’s registered to the same name, yeah, I can. Why?”

“Virginia.” She said. “Virginia Colghain.”

She didn’t know why she picked Ginny. Something inside her said that Seese, George, and Lina would be at home with their mam. Ginny lived in the city, and Kit couldn’t call her.

Ginny didn’t know she was in the field. Ginny didn’t even know she’d been paired with the BAU.

“Where should it be? Just so I know what I’m looking for.”

“Probably the US Attorney's office.”

“Which branch?”

“The one in the district. On fourth street.”

Garcia hummed as she typed, the clicking of her keystrokes halting as she said, “Wait. Wait, Colghain?”

Kit bit her lip. She was sort of hoping Garcia wouldn’t notice.

Which is stupid, because of course she’d notice.

“Yes.”

“Virginia Colghain?”

“Yes, Garcia, can you track it or not?” Kit glanced at herself in the mirror, letting her reflection ground her. She tugged at one braid, and then the other with her free hand before wiping at her eyes again.

The clicking started again before Garcia said, “Virginia Colghain’s phone is, in fact, inside the US Attorney’s office on fourth street.”

Kit breathed a sigh of relief. While it wasn’t proof that Ginny was okay, it certainly helped Kit’s nerves. “Thanks, Penelope. Sorry about that.”

“Sure, my sweet clover. But, why don’t you just call her and ask where she is? I’m going to assume that’s one of your many many siblings.”

Because I haven’t quite told her I’m working with the BAU now, or going in the field again, and I’m not ready to have that conversation with her just yet, considering no one knows but Ari and Monty.

“I don’t want to interrupt her at work, I just needed to know she was okay.”

Garcia was quiet again before saying, “You know, we’ll get him. My system has faxed almost all the papers now, and then you can go bring him in.”

Kit took a breath, glancing again at the reflection in the mirror. She almost didn’t recognize the face staring back at her. Had she always looked so sad?

“Thanks, Pen,” she said quietly. “I, um. I’ve gotta go.”

“Go fight crime, clover. But, hey,” Penelope’s voice took on a different quality. A serious one. “You and I should talk when you get back.”

She sighed, but nodded. “Okay… bye, Penelope.”

Kit hung up the phone.

Ginny was fine. She knew that it was a given, and she probably just looked like a crazy, paranoid moron, but she also knew deep down that Penelope didn’t care. Maybe she understood.

Before she could convince herself otherwise she hit the first position speed dial, pacing a bit in front of the sinks as it rang.

“Dia dhuit?” Came Monty’s groggy, listless voice over the line, and Kit nearly burst into tears at the combination of her sister’s voice, her real voice, and their mother tongue.

“Monty.”

“Yeah, it’s me. Where are you? Thought you were in the living room, but I only hear you on the phone.”

Kit wiped at a stray tear trailing down her cheek. There was no way she was keeping it together when she finally got home.

Monty’s accented Irish was thicker than it normally was. Her voice was lower too, telling of the fact that she quite possibly woke her twin up. She bit back a bit of guilt, her own voice launching into a language just for them.

“I’m sorry, I woke you, didn't I?”

“It’s alright, I’ll go back when we’re done. Where are you?”

“Are you feeling any better?” She was stalling. “When was the last time you took-”

“Dakota.” Kit stopped in her tracks. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Everything is fine.”

“But why are you crying?”

Damn it.

She tried to keep any tremor out of her voice, but she knew Monty would always be able to tell. “I’m not.”

“Why are you calling me, crying-”

Kit sighed, her pacing stopping dead in its tracks as she tried to keep herself together. “Everything is okay. I’m not hurt. I’m fine. Everyone is fine. I needed to hear your voice.”

The coughing across the line was grating, and then, “Kody, where are you? What are you talking about? What’s going on?”

“I…” Kit started, steadying herself with a hand on the counter. “We’re in Pennsylvania.”

“You’re what?”

“It’s fine, I had to leave overnight. We’re on a case.”

“You didn’t call,” Monty said, obviously upset. “You didn’t even send a text. Ari was at the bureau last night, too, why-” She cut herself off to cough, the line being muffled as Monty pulled away from the speaker.

Kit ran her hand down her face. This wasn’t the conversation she needed to be having. She should have called Ari. He tended to be a little more level headed when he was upset.

“Why wouldn’t you say anything?” Monty finally asked, voice much rougher than before. “What if something happened?”

“Nothing is going to happen,” Kit said, her voice more steady than she felt it should be. “I’m sorry, Mont. I’m so sorry. I know I should have told you.”

“Why…” Monty trailed for a moment before she said quietly, “Why did you call now?”

Claudia’s face flashed to the front of her mind, and then Monty’s; the reflection of her own staring back at her in the mirror.

“I needed to hear your voice. I had to know you were alright.”

Another moment of silence passed before Monty asked, “Something happened, didn’t it?”

Kit sighed, sniffling quietly before letting out another, deeper sigh. “I don’t know if I can do this, Mont.”

The door to the bathroom swung open, JJ standing on the other side.

“Hey, the whole file finally came through, we’re meeting in the- are you crying?”

Kit’s head whipped around to look at JJ square, and she hastily wiped under her eyes. “No, I, um. I’ll be right there.”

JJ tilted her head, but nodded and shut the door again. The air between the twins crackled quietly before Kit cleared her throat.

“I have to go. I… hopefully I’ll be home tonight. I’m sorry, Montana. I am.”

“Kody, wait-”

“I love you, Mont, I’m so sorry.”

“You can’t just say those things and then go put yourself in danger! You can’t do that to me! I-”

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, I-” The door to the bathroom was pounded on. “Lep! Let’s go!”

Derek.

“Dakota!”

“I’m sorry. I love you.”

Before Monty could say anything else, Kit snapped her phone shut.

------

Her leg bounced as she sat in the SUV in between Reid and Elle. She was twisting at the hem of her shirt, and some of the threads had ripped and stretched. It was keeping her from pulling on her hair though, so she didn’t care about that. Ginny could sew it for her when they got back to DC.

If Ginny’s still there. Anyone could grab her at any time. Anyone could-

“Are you okay?” Reid asked quietly, his eyes locked on her fingers as they tugged at the material.

She stilled her hands immediately, feeling the concern dripping from his tone.

“Yeah,” she said. “Just… tired.”

“You could probably sit out if you need to,” he said, not noticing the way her face had started to heat up. Everyone in the SUV was actively pretending they couldn’t hear their conversation, but Kit knew better.

“I don’t need to,” she said quickly. “I just want to get home, so the faster we cuff this creep, the better."

"Because of your sister?"

"What?"

How could he have possibly known what you were thinking about Ginny? Did you say something? Did-

"Your sister's sick, right?"

She stared at him for a moment before it clicked. He wasn't talking about Ginny. Of course he wasn't, the only one that knew about her minor meltdown was Garcia. Monty being sick was common knowledge.

"Oh," she said. "Yeah. And because he's, you know." She gestured vaguely. "Murdering women."

Elle laughed quietly next to her, nodding as she said, “Right, there’s that. We’ll get him. Right, Gideon?”

“Oh, we’ll get him,” Gideon said, sending more anticipatory energy into the world than usual. Kit didn’t have to think about the implications of that, though, as the SUV came to a halt outside a two story home.

They got out of the van quickly, all thoughts of Monty and going home gone as they strapped into Kevlar vests and double checked their weapons.

“I believe Walter Kern is in Sylvia Gooden's home now,” Gideon said, addressing the five of them and the SWAT captain. “Hotch confirmed he left the community center hours ago, and Kern's car's parked on the next block.”

“I want Walter Kern alive,” Ryan said quickly, and the SWAT captain nodded at his request. “I'll stand by for the word.”

“Reid, Greenaway, I'll call you when we've secured Kern. Morgan, Colghain, you’re with me and Ryan. Okay, let's move out.”

“Yeah,” Elle said, watching them as they walked away, Kit trailing just behind.

It didn’t feel right to her that she was going and Elle was staying back, but that was one of the reasons she was even on the team.

Or, working with them, at least. There’d been too many conversations surrounding that topic for her to understand her feelings about it.

They crept towards the house, pausing as the SWAT team pried the door open. Gideon led and Kit held the rear, covering and watching to make sure that nothing happened to them. Team or not, they were her responsibility.

They weren’t in the house for very long before they could hear Gooden crying for help on the second floor. Every movement they made was succinct, and within seconds they were in the room.

“Don't move! Don't move!” Gideon yelled, all weapons drawn at Kern as he tried to hold a plastic bag over Gooden’s face.

They scuffled for a moment, Morgan able to knock Kern’s gun out of the way before holding his arms behind his back. “Down on your knees! Down! Don't move!”

Kit held her gun steady, shifting into a position that allowed her to still have a sightline on Kern; at least until he was cuffed. Not that she believed he could get out of Morgan’s hold.

Gideon spoke quickly into the com, letting Reid and Elle know that Gooden was alive, and Kern was secure.

Morgan struggled a bit to keep Kern’s hands together, and Kit didn’t change her aim. “Cuff him, Morgan.”

“Gideon, I need your cuffs, man,” he said over his shoulder.

Gideon didn’t move right away, but Kit didn’t take her eyes off Kern. She couldn’t until she knew he didn’t have any chance of getting away.

“Why don't you do this? I'll take care of her.” Gideon had spoken to Ryan, who had clearly been soothing Gooden until that moment.

"That's enough. Now get up,” Morgan said, passing him off so Ryan could cuff him. “You got him?”

“Ya, I got him,” Ryan said, and Kit lowered her weapon as she heard the click of the cuffs secure around Kern’s wrists.

“Colghain,” Gideon said, “Some help, please.”

Kit turned quickly, realizing that Sylvia Gooden, who had just been nearly suffocated, was still crying and panicking with flex cuffs around her wrists.

She wasn’t done yet.

The two steps to the bed were swift, and Gideon stepped aside as she spoke to the traumatized woman. “Hi, my name is Kit. I’m a nurse, and I’m going to check and make sure you’re okay. Is it alright if I touch you?”

Gooden looked up at her for a moment before she nodded stiffly, taking a deep breath before dissolving into hysterics.

Kit grabbed her hands and squeezed gently, giving the older woman a small smile despite all the crazy going on around them.

“You’re going to be okay,” she said. “I promise. It’s all going to be okay.”

-----

Kit sat next to Reid on the jet, which was odd, because she normally tried to keep herself as far away from everyone as possible. She’d gotten a very strange read off of Hotch, though, who had secluded himself in the corner she usually would have taken, so she figured the conversation would keep her awake if anything else.

It didn’t stop her from propping a blue notebook open in her lap and tapping at it quietly with her pen. They were laughing at a story Ryan was telling about Gideon that made him seem almost human, and the laughter she shared was genuine. Gideon had stepped aside for her to take the lead with Gooden, which meant he was going to be true to his word when they were in the field. Stay out of each other’s way, and things will be fine.

She just hoped it would last.

“What goes in that notebook?”

She looked up at Reid’s voice, noticing that while she’d allowed herself to be in her own head for fifteen seconds, everyone had splintered into their own conversations. Elle had even walked away from them, and was now engaged in a quiet conversation with Hotch.

“Hm?”

He nodded down at the blue notebook in her lap. “What goes in there? I’ve only ever seen the red one, and that’s where you write all of our medical information, and things that happen to us medically during cases. Like when I was sick in New Jersey. But that didn’t happen this time, nothing did, and that notebook is blue, and it’s much more worn, and -” He stopped short, frowning. “I’m rambling.”

She shook her head quickly. “No, it’s alright. I don’t mind. I was waiting for you to be done before I answered your question.”

Reid’s eyes widened a bit, his jaw dropping for just a moment before he seemed to right himself. “Most people don’t wait until I’m done.”

“It’s a skill I picked up in college. It’s hard to help someone if you won’t listen to their entire story.”

“Huh,” he said. He seemed to think on that for a moment before he said, “So, what’s it for?”

She blinked up at him. “Oh.”

She hadn’t thought she’d actually have to answer. She was sort of hoping that he would talk himself in circles until he was on another topic completely. He’d done it a few times over the short time she’d known him.

“Oh?”

“Well, it’s sort of personal,” she settled on.

“Like a journal? A diary?”

If he noticed she was blushing, he didn’t let on. “A little bit, it’s like-” She stopped short as she saw JJ move from her seat towards the coffee machine, and her brain flipped a completely different switch. “Sorry, I need to talk to JJ,” she said, and before he could protest, she’d dropped the notebook on her seat and was across the short length of the plane.

“Hey, JJ,” she said, causing the blonde to turn around and smile.

“Hey, coffee?”

“No, actually I-” She hadn’t quite thought the rest out. “I um.”

She found her hands grabbing for the ends of her hair, but she stopped herself before she could start tugging. She was far too late on her meds, which were officially out of whack, considering the fact that she hadn’t slept in two days. She wasn’t even sure what day it was.

“Is today Sunday?” She said, which was not at all how she’d intended to start the conversation she wanted to have.

JJ laughed. “I have no idea. Maybe? When we left it was the middle of the night, so I would need to check my phone.”

“Right,” Kit said, easing a bit and giving a quiet laugh of her own. “I um. Well, I wanted to tell you that I thought about what you said.”

JJ tilted her head, eyebrows pulling together. “What I said?”

“What you said about pushing back.”

“Ah,” JJ said, eyes flashing with recognition. “And?”

“I… Claudia really threw me.”

Her head tilted before she said, “The woman they found under the bed?”

Kit shivered. “Yeah.” She didn’t regard the moment with fondness.

JJ didn’t seem to notice. She thought for a moment before shrugging. “I heard Morgan telling Gideon that you were incredible with her. That you didn’t leave when EMS got there because she didn’t want you to.”

Kit shook her head quickly, deflecting the praise. “I didn’t really do anything. She just… I don’t think she wanted all those men around her without another woman around.”

“And you were that woman for her.”

Kit stopped for a moment, watching JJ’s eyes soften. She was going to deflect again - insist that she’d done exactly what anyone else would have done, but something stopped her.

“I want to be here,” she heard herself saying. She hadn’t had time to process it herself, but it seemed she was going to do it outloud, in real time. “I want to be a part of this, but I’m scared. Because there will be more Claudias. And more Sylvias… And more Kerns.” She moved a hand to play with the seam at the hip of her slacks. “And we won’t always get there in time. I won’t always get there in time.”

The two women stood in silence for a moment before JJ reached out and took Kit’s right hand off her braid, squeezing it gently between her own fingers.

“But we’ll always try. And sometimes?” She shrugged. “We win.”

Kit took a deep breath, allowing that thought to fill her senses. Sylvia Gooden was alive. Claudia was alive. Kern lost.

“I think you should talk to Hotch when we get back. Not now. You look exhausted.”

They both laughed, Kit’s a little lackluster. “It’s that obvious?”

“You’ve got two black eyes.”

“Damn.” Kit shook her head, averting her eyes from JJ’s before saying, “Thank you. For listening and telling me what you knew and for making me feel like I deserve to be here.”

JJ nodded, saying simply, “You do.” She gestured to the coffee machine again. “You sure you don’t want some?”

Kit laughed, shaking her head again. “No, really, I shouldn’t. My body doesn’t know what time it is already, I think that would put me in dangerous territory.”

She stood on the Red Line platform, struggling to keep her eyes open. She pinched the skin between her thumb and forefinger, trying anything subtle to get her from point A to point B as quickly as possible. It was already dark, and she didn’t need to fall asleep on the train, or worse, while standing and waiting for the train.

That would really cap this weekend. Falling asleep on the train, missing your stop, getting abducted…

“Do you have a headache?”

“Ah!” She jumped, turning over her shoulder and swearing loudly. “Reid, what the hell?”

“Sorry!” He said, ducking just a bit, as if he was worried she was going to strike him. “That pressure point is effective in relieving headaches, grounding panic attacks, and quelling nausea. Are you sick?”

She groaned and rolled her eyes. “No, that’s not- I know exactly what this pressure point is used for Spencer, what the hell are you doing here? At my train stop? Again? I told you that I don’t-”

“I wanted to make sure you got home safely,” he said quickly, cutting her off before she could really get going. The anxious sincerity flooding off of him stopped her long enough for him to continue. “The odds of being accosted on the Red Line are significantly lower than the Blue, but you’re exhausted, and this case made you nervous, so I just wanted to be sure you…” He slowed, a dark flush rising in his cheeks. “Got home safe. Which I’m sure you can on your own, because your field scores dwarf mine. I, um…”

He had stuttered to a halt.

He’s embarrassed. And he wanted to help you.

She didn’t have time or energy to process the fact that he’d most definitely profiled her. The sentiment was sort of touching.

Sort of, as far as Spencer Reid was concerned.

“This… isn’t a Gideon thing?”

Reid chuckled quietly, shoving his hands into his pockets. “No. It’s, ah, a me thing. Gideon offered me a ride home, but I said no.”

She tilted her head at him, frowning as the train squealed into the station. “No shit?”

He laughed again, shaking his head and offering a small smile, his cheeks still flushed, but relief in his eyes. “No shit.”

“...Fine. But only because I’m really tired… You know, you could have said all this, or offered, in the bullpen, right? You didn’t have to follow me to the train like a stalker.”

The blush flooded his cheeks again, and he shrugged, unable to meet her eyes. “I didn’t want you to yell at me or something in front of everyone else.”

Her heart sank.

Look what you’ve done, Kody. You made him anxious to be alone with you because he thinks you’re some crazy person that’s going to fly off the handle.

Well, aren’t you?

“I wouldn’t do that, Spencer,” She said, starting towards the train door. “I appreciate the concern… thanks.”

He looked up, eyes flashing a combination of relief and hesitance. “Oh. Yeah. Ah, yeah, sure.”

They sat down inside the train, Kit immediately leaning her head against the window. She sighed, closing her eyes.

Maybe Reid isn’t so bad. Maybe he’ll stay quiet, or read the whole way and you can actually get a short-

“You know, there’s a staggering amount of germs on the window on a DC train. Approximately 45% of people…”

-----

Spencer stalked away from her door, his long legs making him look somewhat like a baby giraffe as he turned to descend the stairs. He gave a last, incredibly awkward wave.

“See you tomorrow, Dakota,” he said.

She fought back the instinct to groan. “Bye Reid, thanks.”

He grinned as his head slipped below her sight line and she let out a sigh, her entire body seeming to settle into exhaustion. It was late, and dark, and hopefully she would be able to slip into the apartment and deal with her siblings in the morning before she left for work. She’d talk to Monty then, and Ari at the clinic, and everything would be fine.

She’d need to call Ginny, but she could do that in the morning as well. She needed to sleep first. Sleep, and then deal with whatever came.

Her hand fumbled a bit with the key as she tried to fit it correctly into the door, eyes dry and tired and brain scrambled. The residual jittery, anxious feeling of both the case and messing the the time on her medication wasn’t helping her fine motor skills, and she’d nearly resigned to search through her backpack for the flashlight she kept when the doorknob was ripped away from her hand, the door flying open.

Something hard slammed into her body, arms wrapping around her in a vice grip and knocking the wind out of her.

Instead of words, there were hitching sobs from her attacker. Congested sounding, sad, and overly frustrated, matched with hot tears that were falling onto her shoulder. She took a breath, wrapping her arms around Monty and holding her as close as she could.

“Shh, it’s okay, dair, I’m okay,” she mumbled quietly, feeling her twin’s arms tighten around her.

“Don't… ever do that,” Monty managed, voice gravely and tearful. “Never, ever.”

“Oi, Mont, what-” Ari turned the corner, making eye contact with Kit over their sister’s shoulder. She watched physical tension release in his shoulders. “Ah. Okay. Mont, deirfiúr, come in and close the door. She’s okay. We’re fine.”

The mixing of languages wrapped around Kit, filling her like a breath she hadn’t taken in days. Monty let go, rubbing furiously at her streaming eyes as she walked back through the door, settling down on their couch and curling herself into a ball.

Ari pulled Kit through the door, looking at Monty and shaking his head. There was no need for the mix now, they could speak as they did among themselves. “Ah, no, get up. Come on. She’s tired, you’re sick. Bed. Now.”

Kit didn’t know how it happened, but they all ended up in Ari’s bed. Granted, it was the biggest. He didn’t share a room, and he was significantly taller than both she and Monty had ever hoped to be. They’d slept all together as children often, and when they were first living in the district on the floor at Ginny’s, they ended up in some sort of pile of limbs the nights they all worked the same shifts.

Now they rarely did. Six months before when they were back at home after Al needed to get his appendix out. A year before that when their Grandad had died. Before that? She wasn’t sure she remembered.

Monty’s head rested on her chest, quiet congested snoring coming from her in even breaths. Her face was flushed; from fever or crying, Kit wasn’t sure.

She’d been nearly pulled into Ari’s lap, and now her head rested on his stomach, rising and falling just slightly as he slept.

Regardless of how incredibly exhausted she was, she forced herself to stay awake and listen. To feel them breathing. To be sure they were there, and alive.

JJ’s words played in her head.

You do.

She deserved to be with the BAU. She deserved to be there.

Her senses focused back in on her cúpla, and the stress she’d caused them. The fear. The anxiety.

But do you really want to be?

-----

It's me again!

The plan right now is to make each season (year?) a different story, with a different song as the title and lyrics for the chapters. I'm a music person, this is the only way I operate.

If you've heard a song that made you feel feelings, hit me with it!

#Brenna writes things #or at least she tries #Second Child Restless Child #SCRC #Criminal Minds #Criminal Minds Fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction #Gaelic/Irish #OC #female oc #it happened y'all I'm posting again #let's hope it sticks

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zebrabaker · 4 years

Text

Choosing Destiny; Part 2

Here ya go!!

“Um, hi” Raven said, “My name is Raven um- Queen, it’s nice to meet you.” holding out her hand.

“My name is Epel, oh- Felmier, it’s nice to meet you too,” He shook her hand “Sorry if I’m awkward, this would normally be Vil’s job. He’s our dorm leader.”

“Ah, I understand. I’m pretty awkward myself. So, any tips on how to survive here at Night’s Raven? I’m pretty new around here”

“Well um- always avoid Azul. He’s the dorm head of Octavinelle, he loves to make these “deals” with people,” The boy spoke, leading Raven down the halls, “Oh, Also! steer clear of Riddle, he’s the dorm leader of Heartslaybul. There, the students have to follow a bunch of made up rules and if you don’t, Riddle gets mad!” and through twisting corridors, passing a cafe of sorts. They reached the dormitory, tall brick walls surrounded by thin pathways and evergreen trees.

“This is the Pomefiore dorms. You and I are going to be on the top floor, since we’re first years. We share the two bathrooms with every other first year” Raising his hand, he swiped a key card against the keypad, opening the door “The bathroom cleaning is handled by students, but magic is used, so we don’t have to scrub anything, lazy pricks.”

Raven didn’t seem to hear Epel’s afterthought; her attention was on the lavish lounge they walked into, polished chandeliers hung from the ceiling, white rugs with floral embroidery.

The chairs and tables filled to the brim with boys scattered about, studying, playing, talking, strangling each other wait what-

“There you are Epel! Today is your day to help repair the- who is this?” A boy with long icy blonde hair had come storming over, beginning to berate Epel before he noticed her.

He had flawless eyeliner.

“Hello! I’m- Raven Queen. It’s nice to meet you!” The boy stopped and stared at her for a moment. “I was placed here in Pomefiore, the mirror thingy said that it was because I was the Evil Queen’s daughter”

“Deep apologies, did you just say, ‘Evil Queen’s daughter’?” He asked.

“Er, yup.” Raven awkwardly rubbed her neck, heat crawling. “Apparently you guys call her the ‘beautiful queen’ here? Sorry, I’m new to Twisted Wonderland, I’m from Ever After” looking over her shoulder, she could see the students staring at her. The boy stood, gaping at her before being interrupted by Rook Hunt, who had bounded to them.

“Mademoiselle! It’s wonderful to see you again! How is your ankle?”

“I’m fine now, thanks for asking. I’m actually gonna be a new student, I start classes tomorrow... I think so anyway. The headmaster didn’t make it clear, he’s strange. Not as bad as Giles, but still pretty hard to understand.” Raven giggled, and the three boys couldn’t help but blush, she sounded like bells.

“Come on now, there should be an empty dorm on our floor.” Epel said, gently grabbing Raven’s hand, tugging her towards the staircase.

“Tch! Fool.” Vil scoffed. “This girl is the descendant of the Beautiful Queen; she can not just stay in a common dorm!”

“That is true, but where else should she stay, Vil? Pomefiore is quite packed.” Rook pointed out.

“There are two rooms for dorm leaders, I use the second as a staging room for my photos, Princess Raven-”

“Just Raven is fine”

“can stay there, I would never put the daughter of the Beautiful Queen in some commoners dorm!” Epel swallowed a scowl.

“If you could follow me, Princess, I can show you where you shall be staying” He turned on his heel at the other boys, he clapped getting everyone’s attention “Louis, Benard, Trachov-” they snapped off their seats and quickly came to Vil’s side.

“-Rook and Epel, you all will help move my equipment.” Raven was frozen for a moment, as the three boys from the lounge stood before her and bowed. Her greetings evaporated in her mouth.

“It is a delight to be in your presence” The first boy said.

“It’s nice to meet you too.”

“Sorry to be blunt, but you’re beautiful.” The second smiled in a charming way.

“Oh! Uh- thank you.”

“It’s an honor to have you in our dorm.” The third boy pressed a kiss to the back of her hand.

“It’s great to be here.” Raven quickly nodded back before following the group of boys up the stairs. She shied away from the curious stares of the other boys in the common room, how they had all perked when Vil had snapped at Epel, hungry for drama.

The room was much larger than expected, with a giant four-poster bed in the center left, while the far wall held a desk, a massive vanity, and a small dresser. On the right was a walk-in closet, and what looked like a private bathroom. Next to the door was a large marble fireplace, with a loveseat in front of it. It was a room that screamed ‘Vil was here!’.

Scattered around the room was photography equipment and make-up brushes, and many, many make-up palettes. Raven gasped a bit, in awe of the view through the windows. She could see over the woods for miles, all the way to the horizon.

“I apologize if it isn’t up to your standards, Princess Queen.” Vil spoke, bowing low at the waist

“Please, just, call me Raven. Where I’m from I’m not exactly considered noble.”

Raven laughed a little at the self-deprecating joke, leaving the boys stunned.

“Still, you are a direct descendant of the Beautiful Queen! You ought to be admired, revered even!” Vil was walking around, tidying up the room as he went, piling make-up palettes and brushes and styling tools into Rook’s arms who quickly shoved it to one of the other boys.

“Tell that to the kids at Ever After.” Raven scoffed, sitting on the edge of the bed, it was comfy, too much lace though. “So, what do you guys do for fun around here? Is there, like, a village square or a mall or something?”

“Could you sit up Miss Raven?” The first boy from earlier said.

“We’re trying to remove the sheets.” The second explained. Raven turned to the two students.

“Oh really, no it’s fine!”

“I asked them to,” Vil responded, noticing her dislike for lace. “continue as you were, please” he muttered something to the boy next to him.

“So anyways... if I was at home, I would be getting ready for Thronecoming, decorating my float for the parade, getting my dress tailored for the party Briar would be throwing…I really hope Maddie is okay.” she said, sitting back down on the newly changed covers.

“Pri- Raven, what’s a ‘Thronecoming’?” Epel asked, placing a light outside for someone else.

“Thronecoming is a huge parade held every year a week after Legacy Day. Each student gets to decorate a float for a parade, and that night we have a huge party. It’s the kick-off of the school year.”

“And ‘Legacy Day’?” Rook asked, still holding a teetering pile of beauty supplies, as the third boy struggled with the same task.

“That’s…complicated.” Raven sighed, flopping back onto the bed. “See, Ever After High is a school hex-clusively for the children of fairy tale beings, from prince charmings to wicked witches.” Everyone in the room was now listening, a few passer-by's stopping to investigate. “Every student, in their second year, signs what we call ‘The Storybook of Legends’. Once you sign, you’re magically fated to follow the path of your ancestors in life, be it eating a poison apple or sleeping a hundred years”

‘how dreadful’

‘eating a poisoned apple doesn’t sound bad, I’ve had quite a few’

“Louis, mind sharing your thoughts? You look distracted”

“Oh no, not at all. Deepest apologies for my offence, Princess”

“Really- it’s fine,” Raven sighed, I'm never gonna get used to this “Princess” spiel.

“My mother’s line is that of the Evil Queen from Snow White’s tale. A lot of people think that since it’s my supposed to be my destiny to poison my best friend and marry this- guy! He's so- old. But…I didn’t sign. The complicated part is, the Headmaster of Ever After High, Headmaster Grimm, told me that if I didn’t sign the book, everyone involved in the Snow White story would disappear from existence.”

She stood up, furious.

“And, well, I obviously didn’t!” Raven puffed out her cheeks, before hissing out air like a leaking tire.

“That’s…a lot to put on a sixteen-year-old.” Epel muttered.

“Fourteen.”

“What was that, Raven?” Rook asked.

“I’m fourteen. My birthday was a few days before school started. I was castle-schooled for most of my life, so I got to skip two grades. All the make-up and heels makes me look older.” Rook shot Epel a bewildered look. This girl was fourteen, and had almost been married to a man in his- what? fifties? That was…repulsive!

“Well, you’re safe here with us, Raven!” Rook chirped, everyone followed.

“You can expect nothing less from us!”

“Trachov, the boxes.” Vil snapped.

“Apologies, Vil.” So, he was Trachov, the last one is Benard then.

“Indeed. One so lovely as you are, deserves only gold! After all, beauty holds power.” Vil sniffed, checking his eye makeup in the vanity (it was flawless, as always).

“Thanks, but I’m really nothing special” Raven blustered, cheeks painted red.

“Nonsense!” Vil snapped. “You have a fair complexion, a flawless facial structure, full lips that look to be naturally red, unique coloured, large eyes, and you’re petite enough to be considered cute.” Raven looked at the other students, they seemed to agree “Add all that together and you truly look like a doll, Raven dear. Now, we need to introduce you to the rest of Pomefiore, and let them ask their questions so that they keep their hands off you tomorrow, you would not want them intruding in your studies”.

Benard- she thinks that’s right- arrived back in the room with a plate of cookies, he handed them over to Vil before leaning against the wall with Louis and Trachov.

“Remember to restrain yourself, usually I only allow confection sparingly but, I can make an exception for you”

Raven nodded and munched into them, it was simple but very tasty.

“Thank you, Benard- Oh they left”

“Vil asked them to get the Pomefiore students,” Raven jumped at the presence of Epel next to her, then she noticed him eyeing her plate of cookies.

“You can have them.”

“Really?!”

“Epel, the noise” Epel turned to Rook with a look, accepting Raven’s plate.

“And just so you know, Benard’s his last name, same with the other two”

Just when it seemed to get quiet, Raven saw the three who left sprint past the door screaming all sorts of profanity and laughing their lungs out.

“Quiet down out there!” Vil snatched up his jacket and chased after the boys.

Then, it dawned on Raven. they treated her differently, was going to be Ever After High all over again? small tears pricked at the corners of her eyes.

“Oh mademoiselle,” Rook saddled to her side, cupping her cheeks, “There is no need for tears.” Epel sat down by her side.

“Pomefiore can sometimes be hectic, so don’t worry.” The shorter boy reassured her.

“No, it’s not that. It’s just-” She sniffled a little, trying to stay calm. “I just want to be normal, treated normally.”

“If that is what you want,” They gasped, Vil was already back. “then tell them. You are a part of us too” He joined Raven, Epel moving out of the way, “You have what it takes, and you will do what it takes” They stood up, Raven’s eyes glinted.

“Why else are you here?” a small hug, among the four of them.

“Rook, Epel, go down with everyone else. I need to touch up Raven’s makeup. Your mascara is smeared, dear.” Rook and Epel left, and Vil guided Raven to sit in front of the vanity. From his pockets he withdrew a small pack of makeup wipes and gently stripped off her old mascara, before having her close her eyes and applying a new coat.

“There we are. Now, if you’ll follow me, Raven. Our audience awaits!” Vil clapped with a dramatic flourish, and Raven couldn’t help but giggle. Maybe being stuck here wouldn’t be so bad after all… in fact, it was going to be great.

@sayuricorner @keiwahikari

#ever after high #ever after high salt #twisted wonderland crossover #salt #writing prompt

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purplesurveys · 3 years

Text

1248

Your ex taps you on the shoulder and says, “I still love you.” You say? I feel like I’ve answered a similar situation recently, but I would assume it was a drunk text or wrong text, inform them about it, and move on.

Do you play video games? Nah. I do feel a sort of connection of video games since I grew up surrounded by them, though; but I’m more of a watcher than anything. I like watching playthroughs of video games I’ll never play. Do you spend a lot of time with family? No. We used to, back when the quarantine was still a relatively new thing – we hung out in the living room all the time. But now that we’ve settled in this new normal, we’re back to our normal routines and I usually like staying in my room.

Is your house more than two stories tall? Technically, yes. We have a rooftop that serves as the ‘third’ floor.

Have you ever hit your significant other? Has he/she ever hit you? My ex and I never hit one another; that’s a gigantic red flag even I would notice, considering I ignored most of the ones I saw hahaha.

What makes you an attractive person? (Talk about your personality too!) I’m not sure if I’ll be able to answer this question directly, but I like my generosity. I’m not sure if I can call it attractive, though. But if we were focusing on physical features, I like my smile.

What color is your hairbrush/comb? Pink.

What snacks do you have available in your household atm? My dad splurged on chips in his last grocery run so we actually have quite a lot of junk food in the pantry at the moment. He also bought several packs of cookie sandwiches, wafers, sunflower seeds, and garlic-flavored peanuts.

Has anyone recently told you that they like you, or find you attractive? Neither.

Are you attracted to the last person you Facebook messaged? No, she’s just a good friend of mine.

Do you care about anyone that doesn’t care about you? I guess I don’t, because I’m not even aware of them.

Was your last Facebook friend requests from a male or female? Guy. It was another reporter, so I just ignored it and luckily he didn’t PM me just to ask to add him back, which others have already done. I really hate when work people try to make their way into my personal accounts.

Which one of your relatives is most likely to embarrass you? My parents, especially when they are rude to service crew. Gen X-ers are impeccably talented at that, apparently.

When was the last time you ate a bar of chocolate? Around two or three weeks ago when I had dinner at Angela’s. Her dad gave me a bar of Crunch so I can have something sweet after our meal.

Do you play any games on Facebook? No, I never did hop on that trend.

What would you like to get a degree in? I wanted a degree in journalism, and graduated with such. At the end of my college stint I didn’t want to pursue it anymore, but I pushed through with it anyway because it was too much of a hassle to shift and start all over.

Do you wake up a lot in the middle of the night? Technically not, because I stay up until the middle of the night anyway. It’s been a while since I fell asleep anywhere between 8 to 10 PM.

Would you prefer to read a book, watch a movie or TV show, or play a video game? Watch a show.

Do you usually get popcorn or soda at the movie theater? I don’t like either; I get fries instead.

What genre of films do you like the best? Drama.

How many bank accounts do you have? Two but I haven’t been using the other one in months. That was the bank account I initially opened when I first started ~adulting~ but when I got employed I was required to enroll in this other specific bank, so that’s what I mainly use now.

Have you ever had the flu? Not really. I just get the occasional fever that pop out of nowhere.

What is your goal for the next few months? Start saving FOR REAL, and also prioritizing furniture over merch for a while so I can finally fix up my room, which is quickly starting to look and feel like just a warehouse and not very homey at all.

Have you ever had some kind of sleep-disorder? How did it affect your life? Nope.

Have you ever had food poisoning before? Describe the experience. Yeah, it was from barbecue that apparently went bad, even though it tasted nothing of the sort. I woke up at 3 AM sweating profusely and with the most excruciating stomachache; I was feeling hot, cold, and nauseous all at the same time, and it probably lasted for like an hour or so.

What are two things that you have no problem paying full price for? Sealed albums and my pets’ vet expenses.

Funny, charming, cute, romantic, smart - choose only 2 for the opposite sex. Charming and smart.

Have you ever let somebody use you? Why did you do it? It felt nice to help people.

You can go back in time & change something in your mom’s past - what is it? Good question; I’ve never encountered this before. I would let her live a more comfortable, privileged life, where she didn’t have to staple her shoes to keep them closed or have to choose between eating at a fast food restaurant or being able to commute back home.

Do you know anybody who is around the exact same size as you? Who? I’m not sure, actually. Everyone’s always slightly taller than me.

Ever been to a haunted house? How scared were you? I haven’t.

Been on any websites today you wouldn’t want your parents to see? Tumblr, I guess? My survey blog isn’t for any irls to see.

Which is worse: dusting or mopping? I don’t really do either often, but I’ll go with mopping.

Would you marry somebody who was intensely religious? Not for me.

Did you pull a senior prank? No, that’s not a thing here. Did you graduate? Yeah, elementary, high school, and college.

Have you ever been unfaithful in a serious relationship? Nope.

What was the last song you listened to? It’s a song called Epiphany.

Are you one of those lucky people with 20/20 vision? Not ever since I was like 9 lol.

Is fashion one of your interests? I’m way more interested in it now for sure, mostly because the celebrities I’m into these days put a lot of effort when it comes to their style; so it makes me more aware of the trends that come and go, as well.

Do you think you’ll eventually find that special someone? I’m keeping it as a possibility, but it’s not a priority for me now.

Do you care what people think? To an extent, I would say. My life doesn’t depend on it, though.

Is acting something you enjoy? Never been.

What was the last thing you broke/sprained? Do you mean a thing or a body part? Anyway, I’ll answer both. The last thing I broke was my BTS Mic Drop pen of V looooooooooool the figurine came off the pen :(( It was pretty cheap though so I’m fine with it; I can always get another one. Last body part I sprained was my ankle, when I had a bad fall a couple of years ago.

Have you ever fought with a friend because of their boyfriend/girlfriend? Because of yours? Either hasn’t happened.

Has a stranger ever yelled at you for your language? I don’t think so.

Whose house, other than yours and your families', are you most comfortable at? Angela’s. Also JM’s, just because their family doesn’t hover and that vibe can sometimes be nice whenever I’m at someone else’s place.

Has any of your friends’ family ever yelled at you? Never.

Did you ever play a sport as a little kid? Did you enjoy it? Not as a very young kid, but I took up table tennis starting when I was 12. Did you ever watch the show Full House? Nope.

Is there a celebrity you are just DETERMINED to marry? Now that’s just delusional haha. I’m pretty obsessed with some celebrities, that much I can admit; but thinking of them in the context of marriage is so many steps overboard.

Have you ever burned someone’s picture? No. I could, but I am scared of fire and will probably just think of other ways to express my anger, like tearing up the photograph. What’s the longest hike you’ve ever been on? Total length was probably like 3 hours. I haven’t gone too far when it comes to hiking.

Would you ever get a lip tattoo? Not interested.

Who is the first person of the opposite sex that pops into your head? Hans.

Do your parents smoke cigarettes? My mom tried it once in her life, I think. My dad has never smoked.

What does one of your T-shirts have written on it? “Hope right here!”

Name a pet you definitely wouldn’t want. Anything that’s supposed to roam freely in the wild, like squirrels.

Would you prefer your partner smaller or taller? Taller, since I’m already quite pint-sized to begin with lol.

Do you enjoy going through old pictures? Sometimes. Other times, it's too painful. It also depends on the era of the pictures. < Agree, especially with the eras. Childhood photos are always fun to look at, but I have had to delete a CHUNK of photos from years ranging from 2014 to 2020 because I’ve lost a handful of friends from that period.

Do you believe people when they say they don’t judge people? It’s hard to for the most part, but I’ve noticed very few people people really don’t. Most of the time it’s bullshit though.

What did you love the most about the town you grew up in? That it’s pretty close to the metro.

What’s a movie that you laughed the hardest during? Hmm, I prefer TV shows if I’m craving comedy.

What’s a movie you cried the hardest during? Life Is Beautiful.

What’s your favorite restaurant? Omakase for my sushi fix; School Tteokbokki if I want Korean; Yabu if I’m looking for a generous rice meal.

Is there a dessert you don’t like? Anything with fruits.

Favorite album? After Laughter by Paramore.

What’s a book that you read because everyone else was reading it? I can name authors instead of books – John Green and Haruki Murakami.

Underwater or outer space? Outer space.

Dogs or cats? Dogs.

Kittens or puppies? Puppies.

Bird watching or whale watching? Whale watching. I don’t get to be in the water as much, so I would jump at the opportunity.

What is your spirit animal? I dunno if I have one but let’s just go with dog and elephant, I guess? They’re my favorites.

What was your best subject in school? History.

What was your worst subject in school? Chemistry.

What is one thing you wish you knew in high school? Don’t waste your time.

Who is your fashion icon? Audrey Hepburn.

Diamonds or pearls? Diamonds.

What color dress did you wear to prom? For my own prom it was cream-colored/beige. When I went to Mike’s ball, I went with a royal blue gown.

What’s your favorite plot-twist? I don’t think I’ve found my favorite yet.

Honestly, are you jealous of someone right now? Not actively.

Honestly, what’s the worst thing you’ve done when you were mad? I dunno...road rage, maybe?

Honestly, ever made anyone cry when you were mad? It’s very likely.

Honestly, when was the last time you REALLY cried your heart out? Sometime in the last week.

Ever pop someone else’s pimple? No thanks.

Do you need to return anyone’s phone call? Nope.

Who are you closest to? Angela.

Have you ever had a bad concert experience? No, all the ones I’ve been to have been amazing experiences.

Are you currently sad about anything? Not really. I can’t complain.

Have you had any form of exercise today? Nah.

Can you handle blood? Nope, I will feel faint if I see it 100%.

Has any place hired you underage for a job? No.

Have you ever carried a concealed weapon? I haven’t.

Are you currently searching for a job? No, I like the one I have.

Does eating breakfast make you sick? No?

#survey #surveys

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ibijau · 4 years

Text

The Price of Wishes / On AO3

Sitting by the bed once more, Nie Mingjue stares at his brother as if he’s lost his mind. Which he might have. Nie Huaisang, lying in bed, doesn’t know what to think about anything at the moment, but this… this is the one certainty he has.

“A road, really?” Nie Mingjue insists.

“And a small altar somewhere in the Unclean Realm,” Nie Huaisang repeats. “It’s very important. And… and we need to find that god’s name to send them proper prayers.”

He glances at ‘Lan Xichen’ who stands just a little behind Nie Mingjue, smiling peacefully as if none of this concerns him. He probably doesn’t know that he’s not a real person, so he must just think that this is only Nie Huaisang being weird.

“Huaisang, that’s a little excessive,” Nie Mingjue scolds. “I’ll go make an offering to that temple if you want me to, but…”

“I’ll pay for all of it,” Nie Huaisang announces, half panicked at the idea of angering a deity so strong that they created a whole person out of thin air. “I’ll sell my fans, and those silk robes I never wear anyway, and… and we can take it off from my allowance for as many years as needed. I’ll paint a portrait myself for the altar. But it is so important. I can’t explain why, just trust me.”

He winces and regrets the words as soon as they leave him. Trust him? Right after he did something so stupid that could have gotten him killed? Nie Mingjue already didn’t trust him before, but after that…

“Fine, you’re getting an altar if it matters so much,” Nie Mingjue sighs. “I’ll see for the road. Those things cost a lot, Huaisang, and it can’t be a priority. You understand that, right?”

Nie Huaisang meekly nods. He understands for sure. Nobody really says it, but their sect is kind of preparing for the risk of a war with Qishan Wen. They have to spend money on things more important than Nie Huaisang’s whims.

“I’m sure that deity will understand that you are doing your best to thank them for their help,” Lan Xichen intervenes, his voice deep and calm, exactly the sort Nie Huaisang likes. It isn’t even a detail that made it on his list, that god is just that great, apparently. “It is to your honour that you are trying to keep your promise.”

Nie Huaisang smiles weakly, and hopes that having Lan Xichen’s approval is a sign that the deity themself is also satisfied with his efforts, at least for the time being. He can’t do more than that anyway, not right then, because the healer joins them with a foul smelling potion that quickly knocks Nie Huaisang out for the rest of the day and the night that follow.

His sleep is not a quiet one, plagued by nightmares of his father, of Wen Ruhoan, of an angry statue without a face that demands the price of a lover Nie Huaisang never even really asked for.

When morning comes, Nie Huaisang is up much earlier than usual, almost with the sun in fact. In spite of his dreams, he feels perfectly rested and full of energy in a way he never is at sunrise. It's fine though, there's a busy day ahead. Nie Huaisang is determined to find out more about his god, and to start working on paying his debt. For this he'll need to spend some time in the library, and maybe send some letters to neighbouring sects and monasteries if he can't find information on his own.

First, though, he needs breakfast. He's a growing boy after all, and he hasn't had anything since that broth yesterday.

After dressing up hastily, Nie Huaisang starts making his way toward the kitchens. As he crosses the courtyard toward those, he spots an unfamiliar silhouette walking around. A young man in white who smiles at him and comes closer.

It'll take a while to get used to Lan Xichen.

"Nie gongzi, good morning. Are you feeling better today?"

His voice is really so, so nice, it's awful.

"I'm quite well, thank you. I was on my way to grab something to eat, do you want to come with me?"

It's a stupid thing to ask. Nie Huaisang doesn't want company, least of all that of this boy who shouldn't exist, but a year in Gusu has left him plagued with crippling politeness and a fear of offending anyone wearing white. Even from this far, he can't shake off the fear that Lan Qiren will hear about any misdemeanour and punish him for it.

"I would be glad to do so," Lan Xichen replies. "People here really sleep in late, don't they?"

"By Gusu Lan standards, for sure," Nie Huaisang says as he starts walking again, the other boy following him. "But everyone will be up soon. Are you going to spend the day with Da-ge?"

From what Nie Huaisang understood yesterday, Lan Xichen is supposed to be friends with Nie Mingjue. It was on the list, after all. As for how close he is supposed to be to Nie Huaisang… it doesn't seem like there's anything official happening between them, or Nie Mingjue would surely have said something when his brother 'forgot' that Lan Xichen exists. Still, maybe the god has decided to give them a secret romance, so Nie Huaisang needs to be very careful until he figures out where they stand.

"Your brother said he would be busy," Lan Xichen says. "My presence was unplanned after all. Maybe Nie er-gongzi will agree to let me keep him company instead?" he adds with a warm smile that Nie Huaisang can't bear to look at. "After your fever, and the way you fainted, it might be better if you were not left alone."

Whose fault was it if Nie Huaisang fainted? And he so doesn't want to spend more time together, but it's hard to refuse anything to someone who smiles at him like that and makes it sound like he might be disappointed if his request were denied.

"It probably won't be much fun," Nie Huaisang warns. "I'm just going to check our library for… Ah, but maybe you'll be able to help. I really want to find whose temple it was, in the mountains."

"Nie gongzi is very determined it seems," Lan Xichen notes.

Determined is just a nice way to say stubborn, which Nie Huaisang has been accused of in the past, though he still thinks he's not nearly as bad as his brother. But Lan Xichen says it like it's a good thing, and that's... nice.

"Debts must be paid," Nie Huaisang grumbles as they enter the kitchens. It's early for sect disciples, but the servants are already hard at work, so they'll have to be nice and stay out of the way. "Lan gongzi, do you want to eat something as well?"

Lan Xichen eagerly nods, glancing all around as if he's never seen food before. It's… cute, for lack of a better word, but it also worries Nie Huaisang. He's pretty sure that if the truth gets discovered he'll be in a ton of trouble, so lan Xichen really needs to learn to act as if he wasn't born yesterday. Only, how to tell him that? If Lan Xichen himself isn't aware of it, he'll think Nie Huaisang is crazy, or maybe he'll get upset over the fact that he isn't a real person.

It’s a problem for later. Nie Huaisang manages to steal two bowls of congee and a pair of buns (earning a slap on the shoulder from the laughing cook who threatens to tell his brother, as always) and quickly goes back outside so Lan Xichen and him can find a quiet spot to eat.

Lan Xichen seems particularly delighted with the food, as if it’s the best thing he’s ever had. It certainly is a lot better than what they have in the Cloud Recesses, as Nie Huaisang can’t help bragging about. Food is just nicer when it actually tastes of something besides bitter and watery. Nie Huaisang could have dealt with the absence of meat, but the lack of taste is something he just can’t handle at all.

“Nie gongzi is very outspoken on this matter,” Lan Xichen notes with a small smile.

The tone is nothing more than teasing, but Nie Huaisang quickly shuts down. He’s been told before that he complains too much, and it’s against the rules of Gusu Lan. Everything is against the rules of Gusu Lan. In fact, Nie Huaisang is starting to feel bad for even talking during this improvised meal, and can't help glancing over his shoulder, fearing to be scolded by someone. He finishes eating quickly and silently, imitated in this by Lan Xichen.

After their bowls have been dropped back to the kitchen, they two boys head to the library. It's not the most impressive room in the Unclean Realm, but it's still a fairly decent library, Nie Huaisang thinks. There's all the normal classical texts of course, a whole bunch of cultivation nonsense he won't get close to if he can help it, but also some essays and notes on the history of Qinghe and its region. At some point in the past, one sect leader decided that he felt ashamed for being descended from a butcher and ordered his more scholarly disciple to research the issue and find out if maybe his ancestor wasn't secretly someone a little more glorious, linked to local nobility. He was apparently very disappointed to find it wasn't so, but at least now Qinghe Nie has some surprisingly serious historical texts in its collection.

Nie Huaisang has read most of them in fits of boredom. He knows some of them mention powerful local family building temples and making offering to gods in times of crisis or celebration, so hopefully he'll find something about his god as well. Without losing a moment, he starts perusing the shelves.

"So what are we looking for?" Lan Xichen asks, glancing around at the books.

"Histories of Qinghe, or something on local beliefs, or… Anything, really. It was a big temple, and the statue was huge. It's got to be an important god. They felt… powerful. Honestly, I wouldn't be surprised if it were one of the really big ones. I bet the temple has just been abandoned because it's hard to get there."

Lan Xichen smiles at that statement, though there's something a little sad in his expression.

"Gods rise and fall," he points out. "Perhaps the one you encountered is among the latter, and you won't find anyone who remembers them."

Nie Huaisang shrugs, and grabs the first book he can spot that looks even mildly relevant, quickly browsing through it.

"I think you're wrong," he says. "I think they must be very powerful. They have to be. They listened to my stupid prayer and answered it so well and so quick! Isn't that the mark of a powerful deity? And even if they're not, I've got to try. I've got to make them good offerings, so I must find who they are and what they like."

"Congee and buns apparently," Lan Xichen murmurs, but Nie Huaisang is too taken by his book to hear him.

Morning passes quickly, and brings them nothing. In all honesty Nie Huaisang isn't entirely surprised, but still had to try, and it's better than training in the sun with everyone else. He even appreciates that Lan Xichen is trying to help, though he does catch him looking at the books with puzzlement a few times. Of course if Lan Xichen was created with memories of Gusu Lan's great library, this one must seem very pitiful to him.

Around lunch time, Nie Mingjue joins them in the library and starts scolding Nie Huaisang for yet again leaving his bed without permission.

"But Xichen-ge was there with me," Nie Huaisang shamelessly points out, batting his eyes innocently. "And you trust him, right?"

"Of course I do," Nie Mingjue retorts without hesitation. "The servants told me you were with him, or else I'd have dragged you back to bed already."

Nie Huaisang laughs, and makes a note that he can probably use Lan Xichen when dealing with his brother. It's not what he intended when he asked for a husband who would get along with Nie Mingjue, but if Nie Mingjue gets soft with someone, it might as well profit his brother.

As they exit the library and walk away to have lunch, Lan Xichen hesitantly turns to Nie Mingjue, looking almost shy now.

“Mingjue-xiong, about that matter I mentioned yesterday…”

Nie Mingjue nods. “The woman was found where you said, and given the money. One of the disciples is from that village and he’s asked his parents to keep an eye out for her so we can help again if needed. She’s almost destitute and doesn’t have any family left. Apparently she’s got a reputation for being a little mad and impossibly lucky. I guess her crossing your path confirms it.”

Lan Xichen smiles. He rarely ever does anything else of course, but Nie Huaisang gets the feeling that it’s a lot more genuine this time, as if it really matters to him that this old woman gets treated well. It’s… sort of sweet, if Nie Huaisang is honest. But of course, kindness was on his list, so he shouldn’t be surprised.

“Who’s that woman?” Nie Huaisang can’t help asking, surprised that this newly created man already knows other people in the area.

At this question, a spot of red appears on Lan Xichen’s cheeks, as if he’s been caught doing something bad. Nie Huaisang’s heart speeds up a little, which is ridiculous and annoying. Maybe he shouldn’t have demanded for his future husband to be so handsome, since he clearly can’t handle that.

“While running that errand for my uncle, I became a little lost,” Lan Xichen confesses. “This old woman helped me get back on the right path, and she even insisted on giving me something to eat, though it was clear she doesn’t have much. I was in too much of a hurry to repay her then, but I thought your brother might be able to do something for her. I’m glad I was right.”

There’s something wrong about that story, because Lan Xichen definitely can’t have been running errands and getting lost due to not even existing a few days ago. But the joy and relief on his face over knowing that this woman will be taken care of seem real, so Nie Huaisang decides not to question it for the time being. If that god in the mountain decided to give their creation some fake memories to make everything feel more real, it’s for the best.

It’ll make it less likely for others to realise something isn’t quite right.

#xisang #nie huaisang #lan xichen #mo dao zu shi #the untamed #xisang wishes au #jau writes #people had been worried for lxc's believer so I hope this comforts you! he cares about her a lot and wouldn't just abandon her #also nhs doesn't know how to deal with very handsome people

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sovio-studio · 4 years

Text

To understand a ghost kid

[Maddie decides to interrogate Phantom in a final effort to discover his ghost obsession. The conversation ends up taking a more emotional turn than she expected]

~~~

"You won't be getting out anytime soon. That's a new anti ghost-power design."

Danny struggled in the luminous green net for a few seconds more before ultimately resigning with a sigh.

"I thought things were going well! You haven't tried to capture me for months."

His mother seemed surprised at his remark. She probably hadn't thought he'd paid much attention to their truce, thanks to her prejudices about ghosts not having emotions all together. However, she composed herself quickly as usual.

"A deal is a deal, I don't plan to harm you this time."

"This time?"

She ignored him. "I need to ask you some questions?"

"Then just ask me! No need for the stupid net." He retorted, pushing against the net once more.

"The net is a precaution. I can't have you running away before you can answer."

"Geez what kinda question is this?"

"It's about your origins. How you died to be more precise"

"Oh… oh! My er-" He settled uncomfortably onto the ground in a cross legged position, despite the net. This would be interesting. "Why do you need to know about that anyway?"

"We've recently been trying to make connections between ghosts, their obsessions, and their deaths. Majority we have solid hypotheses, and a couple we've even confirmed." Now that, Danny was curious about. They actually managed to track down who some of his enemies were before death?

"Go on." She seemed surprised but excited by his will to listen.

"Ghosts come from a range of eras which comes across in their mannerisms, and their passion at time of death is their obsession, which becomes more warped overtime. Whether it be passion as in love or their career, or as in revenge or desperate wants."

Maddie paused her pacing and glanced over to see if he was still listening. He was. She continued, now stood resolutely still.

"You are one of the very few anomalies we found"

"How so?"

He could guess.

"You have no indicators of how you died. Not only do you use modern speech and even slang, you wear a modern hazmat suit, that looks strikingly like ours at that."

That's cause it is.

"So I have two questions. When did you die, and what's your obsession?"

Danny wasn't sure if she was pausing for an answer or not. It was likely her way of testing his cooperativeness, but he had a question of his own.

"I appreciate your curiosity but this doesn't seem like the kind of thing you'd go through the trouble of trapping me for. Why do you really want to know this?"

Maddie walked closer to the net, her calm pace and lack of a weapon showing the gain of trust the two had gotten over the months, even if it wasn't perfect.

"That's pretty simple: I'm a scientist. I do research. And while I can't do physical tests on you as I originally wanted, I can at least do as much research as I can into how ghosts work without that. And your obsessions are extremely important to this." She leaned down towards him as he was still on the floor and pointed a finger upwards, like a teacher telling off a preschooler. Danny bit back an amused smirk. "You seem to break the clear rules that have worked just fine so far, so what I need to know is why."

"You didn't say anything about me breaking any rules."

Maddie stood back up straight and crossed her arms, Danny carefully stood up to join her as she talked.

"You've broken a few. The main being that you seem to have no obsession. My first assumption was that your heroics where just that. It would explain your desperate need to help people and likely meant your last moments involved saving someone, or wishing to be saved yourself."

That made Danny think. Had he wished someone could save him back during the accident? It was a pretty likely reaction considering how much that amount of energy had hurt, but he'd never considered it actually altering his perception or feelings.

"But," his mother's continuation snapped him back to the present, "I ruled that out. In most cases ghosts will stop at nothing to stick to their obsessions, including contradicting other aspects of themselves, or making unlikely alliances, excetera. But while I've observed carefully, every time I've encountered you over the last three weeks, you will often go on unusual tangents."

Tangents...?

~~~

Based on the look in the ghosts eyes he didn't know what she meant. He likely just hadn't recognised that his own behaviour was unusual. Not surprising, but she couldn't make any judgements until this mystery was resolved.

"In short, you aim to help people, but will go off elsewhere to finish a fight, or alternate between fights. You've also paused battles altogether to chat or tease your opponent. And how frequently you are late and disappear after or during fights or helping people. Whatever the reasons for that are, a ghost typically should follow their obsession no matter what, and at all times. In other words, you can get distracted which isn't right."

Not right for ghosts at least. It was definitely more of a human trait, but she left that out.

"So what's your next theory? Or do you have some explanation in mind for why I'm different?" Maddie looked intently back at Phantom to see an incredibly focused expression that was rare on the young spirit. He was strongly invested in this topic, but she couldn't tell why. Did he know something she didn't that had an impact on her theories?

"I had a couple other hypotheses for your obsession that fell through for basically the same reasons." She crouched down to unpin the net, carefully slinging it off of him. She was confident he wouldn't leave at this point. He watched it fall and smiled gratefully, but didn't try to move. "That's why I decided to ask you personally. Though I wasn't sure it'd be something you were willing to talk about."

"Why, because it supposedly involved my death?" He promotes. She hadn't expected him to be so blunt about it but,

"Yes, mostly. Do you actually have any memory of it? If you don't mind me asking?" Honestly that was the question she had wanted to start with. Phantom merely looked away in thought. Not as if he was avoiding it or recalling something, more like he was contemplating. Perhaps he was deciding how to explain.

"I… I remember having a family. And friends." He finally responded. She didn't fill the silence between his sentences hoping he'd add more detail. "I was just, erm, 14, and there was… an accident. It involved an explosion. Of sorts."

"An explosion?" That was awfully dramatic for just a child's death. He looked a little older than 14, but that part was sure believable.

"It was um, not a big one. A device in our home malfunctioned and I just happened to be around it at the time. It was a mistake." If it was an accident how could it also be a mistake? He was definitely leaving out some details but she couldn't bring herself to pry. This was clearly a touchy subject, for obvious reasons.

"So you do remember." He seemed to be startled back into reality and he looked back up at her, the energetic green glow she hadn't noticed had been gone until just now quickly coming back into his eyes.

"Yeah- sort of. It's a little fuzzy."

"Does anything about what you remember give us any clues to what your obsession is?" In other words, what he thought about right before death. That part of the question didn't need saying for him to seemingly pick up on it.

"I don't know exactly, no, sorry. I'm as curious as you are to be honest."

"What about? Your obsession or your death?"

"Both?" Phantom answered vaguely with a shrug.

Maddie had also secretly been digging for any strange circumstances around his death. If they couldn't find a plausible obsession, maybe they could find the reason he didn't have one instead. But his description sounded pretty normal. A household accident. An electrical glitch most likely. While it wasn't a common cause of death it wasn't as erratic as getting mauled while illegally hunting a rare species or burning your house down with you inside it over a guy. There was nothing to go off there, except…

Maybe she'd have to pry a little after all.

~~~

"You said it was a mistake?" Danny pouted at the tricky question.

He'd carefully spun his freak portal accident into a more believable and unrelated tale. She'd managed to catch his little slip up after he had dazed off into the memory, but at this point he'd stick to his half-truth story. He wasn't a very good liar after all.

"It was my fault really. I wanted to show my friends something cool but we shouldn't have been there at all. At least it wasn't either of them that got hurt because of me."

He could tell she was a little frustrated at how vague he was being, but any further would be too much. He stopped there.

"Maybe regret has something to do with it?" After a long moment of awkward silence Maddie eventually resigned back to her theories. "Regret that you went somewhere you shouldn't, or more likely, regret that you died young."

Danny was a little startled by her conclusion. She'd said that last couple words so clearly; she was sure of this.

~~~

Phantom's reaction only made her feel more strongly that this was the one. It actually explained so much. He acted like a teenager: he was up to date on what kids are into and how they talk, plus he acts just like a kid often. Getting distracted all the time actually complimented this obsession instead of contradicting it. His whole heroics act wasn't really that much of an act, because that was just his innocent moral compass, that he miraculously maintained in death thanks to desperately wanting to continue living out his teenage years like his friends could. It's why he seemed so human. He practically still was one because his obsession was to remain human or 'alive', and making the most of his second chance at existing. It wasn't an exact answer but it was too clear now to argue with.

Maddie turned to the ghostly teenager. She could see him in a slightly different light now that she knew his drive really wasn't secretly malicious after all. Not that she'd truly believed that recently anyway.

"You seem pretty human sometimes, Phantom" she commented, smiling.

Phantom looked up at her suddenly and his eyes widened a little. He stared at her for a long moment, seeming nervous. After a moment, he blinked and wiped the expression off his face, but his shoulders still looked tense.

"Really?"

"Yeah. I think that has something to do with your obsession. It's the only good explanation for your more unexplainable behaviour ironically." Maddie admitted.

“Ah.” Phantom’s tension eased and he looked down at the floor. His eyes seemed tired... He didn't look relieved, more… disheartened? Had he been expecting something else? And had he wanted to hear that or not, as neither reaction had been positive. She resorted to asking a question she never thought she'd be asking a ghost. Let alone one she spent half a year trying to catch and examine.

~~~

"Are you okay?" Danny heard Maddie ask, her strongest motherly tone coming through clearly now. He didn't look up at her yet, afraid he'd see her concerned expression and just break character completely.

"I'm alright, thanks. It's just been a slightly different conversation than I expected."

"Alright. I suppose this topic is hard on you. I know you might not think you can trust me but I'm here to talk if you need it okay?"

Danny smiled. She'd said this to him a million times before. "I know mom. Thanks."

~~~

#danny phantom #danny fenton #maddie fenton #danny phantom fanfiction

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bladekindeyewear · 4 years

Photo

HS^2 bloggin’ mainline 2020-09-29

More Homestuck time! Continuing on the outside-canon plot. Livebloggin’ starts now...

> CHAPTER 14. The Best Laid Plans

Wait, who’s house is this? Was this Roxy’s? (When I saw a glimpse browsing my twitter feed during the debate, I saw Yiffy on the ground accosted.)

> (==>)

THEY’RE JUST HOME?!?!?????

HOW??? HOW could the heat be off so badly?

Jane’s arrogant, but one of the CHARACTERISTICS of her arrogance is that she underestimates the character and capability of her political opponents. How would she NOT consider the possibility that these kids would return home again even while the heat was on?? How would she assume that JOHN would be too smart to come back to--

...oh right, she may not know John is involved or willing to do anything. That’s fair. But the kids??

I’m sure there’s going to be SOME sort of explanation of why the heat is off. Also, I wonder who made that anti-Jane battle plan chart? John himself, or Karkat or something? Karkat’s usually the chart-er.

JOHN: wow, i feel like i'm barely keeping myself sitting. JOHN: if it weren't for keeping you kids safe i'd be out there right now!

Hm. Are they counting on the fact that Crockercorp would KNOW that John and Vriska are both there to intimidate them from moving in against them? From a sheer difference-in-firepower standpoint after Vriska’s big display?

HARRY: and some of us aren't gods and shit. JOHN: i'm detecting a hint of judgement in your voice, there, harry anderson JOHN: don't you enjoy being a part of all this? finally getting to be in the thick of it all? HARRY: i mean i was having a fine time at school, if i'm being honest. HARRY: all this tear-assing back and forth between my home and various points of interest over the past few days has me pretty beat.

Yeah, most kids don’t appreciate being involved in war. Even Vrissy immediately showed some regrets no matter how much she liked to think of herself as wanting to get out there.

HARRY: also i wouldn't call this "the thick of it all" JOHN: oof, getting air quotes'd by my own son. JOHN: we had to hide in a forsythia bush on the way back here when that drone flew by! JOHN: that's the thick of father-son hijinks if i ever saw it! JOHN: well, modern day war hijinks, but i'll take what i can get, you know??

(Be more considerate, John!!) Hm, so they DID sneak their way back in here? I mean, John’s powers may have helped them get through unnoticed, but this is still a big stretch.

HARRY: i'm not knocking the old adrenaline thrill, or helping out Vrissy's moms or anything. HARRY: i'm just saying i was literally just here and you told me to leave, so i hope this is where we're gonna park it for a minute. HARRY: a boy's gotta breathe. JOHN: yeah, well, this wasn't my plan, either. JOHN: but rose sent out some false intel about us heading toward my house, so technically this is the safest place we can be right now, since they cleared the area and everything. JOHN: i guess.

Ahhhh. Okay. Yeah, a Seer of Light can float an attention lure and know it’ll be an effective enough distraction.

HARRY: hmm. JOHN: what? HARRY: now YOU look like you're hiding some extra commentary. JOHN: oh, i don't need to burden you with all the bureaucratic stuff, it's boring. HARRY: well now hold up, dad. HARRY: a minute ago you were all "we're in the fight together," and now you're backing out of sharing the details? JOHN: it's not really- HARRY: am i a part of this or not? JOHN: well i'd sure say you were! JOHN: but i guess maybe my thoughts on what is or isn't right for the operation aren't up to snuff. JOHN: because here i am, sitting in the dugout, same as you. HARRY: in the dugout?

Mhmm, John’s sore about Rose not counting on John as a heavy hitter. He got back INTO this in part because he missed all the action and relevance, and now they’re telling him to stop and stand still? That’s never been a command John’s easily agreed with. For now, protecting the kids (Blood!) is enough to keep him sitting, but if they (and Vriska) start encouraging him...

HARRY: plus i wouldn’t have been able to get your measurements for some clothes that actually fit you if we hadn’t come back here where all my sewing stuff is.

Thank god, we might get a non-embarrassing god-pajamas John back

HARRY: you were getting pretty into everything back there with rose and them? getting to be with the old crew and everything, like the stories you told me about the game? JOHN: yeah. HARRY: that sucks. JOHN: i had a good plan, too! JOHN: it just wasn't good enough for karkat, i guess. JOHN: i'm just not "experienced enough in combat strategy"

Oh huh, so that’s John’s discarded plan he’s holding. Karkat's faction hasn’t quite succeeded the bloody (heh) way so far, perhaps he needs John’s Breath to add some inspiration to it for the most success but they’re not giving him enough credit? It’s hard to blame them for doubting him, though.

JOHN: that is a plus of being here, at least. JOHN: it's been really nice to get to spend so much time with you. HARRY: um. yeah, it's not so bad. HARRY: anyway, before you ruffle my hair or anything, it looks like things are getting a bit heated between the vriskas over there. HARRY: maybe we should offer them a snack to bring the mood back down? JOHN: me, mess up your hair when you’ve worked so hard on that look? i do know you at least that well, harry anderson HARRY: thank god.

Cute!

VRISKA: So you actually want to know what I’m thinking now? You want my opinion? VRISSY: Um...Yes? VRISSY: I'm not Really Sure what’s going on right Now. VRISKA: What? VRISSY: I just was wondering why you’re so pissed off at me. VRISKA: What the fuck are you talking about? VRISKA: I’m not pissed at you, you haven’t done shit 8asically at all since i’ve been here. VRISKA: I just can’t 8elieve I’m 8ack stuck in this tacky rumpusblock after all of that!

Both Vriskas are constantly assuming the other Vriska is thinking about them because they’re both Vriska, when they’re really both self-cente-- no, that’s not quite true. Vrissy constantly assumes Vriska is thinking about her when she isn’t, and Vriska is somewhat grated because Vrissy belongs in this universe and she isn’t? Or--

Gosh they both have so many issues going on and firewalls up that I can’t actually make heads or tails of it. Usually what’s on Vriska’s mind is painfully obvious from her dodges, but Vrissy is so oblique with her OWN weird thought processes that-- god I dunno

VRISSY: We could do Something if You Wanted. VRISKA: Huh? VRISSY: If you’re 8ored. VRISSY: This isn’t my House, but Harry has video games and Movies and shit. VRISSY: Actually, we’re pro8a8ly 8etter off not watching his movies. VRISSY: His taste is Worse than His Dad’s. VRISKA: AGGGHHH!!!!!!!!

They’re from two different worlds, yeah.

VRISKA: No, I don’t want to watch a fucking movie! How the fuck can you think a8out movies????????? VRISKA: How are you okay with any of this? VRISSY: Any of What? VRISKA: 8eing left at home like a couple of dri88ling of wigglers!

Vriska invests all of her self-worth in what she can bring to the table relevance-ways. Her self-esteem couldn’t survive the sidelines.

VRISKA: How are you so calm right now? Your lusii were training you, right? And you’re a troll, you’re definitely five times stronger than a human! And if you’re my clone, you are way more 8adass than little miss Fussy Fangs. VRISKA: I can’t 8elieve you just stayed 8ehind?!?? VRISSY: Well...they told me to. And they’re my Moms.

COMPLETELY different lives. Vriska has never really accepted, never really KNEW what “peaceful life” is actually supposed to be, nor how alluring and satisfying it is.

VRISKA: Clearly not a good plan, 8ecause then I would 8e part of it! VRISKA: What’s the point of me even coming to this shitty fake reality if I’m not supposed to fix it?

hahahahahahahaha

VRISSY: Yeah, they told me about That stuff, but a Lot of the Shit that Happened in the Session if just not in the History Books. VRISSY: You weren’t Really mentioned that Much. VRISKA: Excuse me? VRISSY: People know who you Are, 'cause we had to Memorize the names of Every one of the Players, Even the ones who didn’t last very Long. VRISKA: You’re trying to tell me that there’s a whole recorded history of SGRUB, and I’m not in it? VRISSY: You’re not not in it. VRISSY: I guess they Mostly Focused on the Creators who Ascended, you know?

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

--hm, what if some of the pre-retcon timeline where Vriska WASN’T as involved DID fold its way into this one? Explaining Jane remembering Gamzee showing up early in her session to sell her troll blood when that was (if we’re remembering right, correct me if I’m wrong) erased by the retcon in favor of Vriska time-traveling in in his place?

VRISKA: Whoever was schoolfeeding you was a complete 8ulgesucker, because I “ascended” 8efore any of the humans did!! VRISKA: Literally 8illions of years 8efore, since our session was the one that created theirs!!!!!!!! VRISKA: I was the 8ne who 8uided John’s 8uffoonish 8lue ass all the way through his first 8ew days in the Medium! VRISKA: I m8de all the plans to take down the J8cks! VRISKA: I SINGLE H8ND8DLY! VRISKA: CURED YOUR MOTHER’S FUCKING ALCH8LISM!!!!!!!! JOHN: uh, vriska, everything okay over there? VRISKA: EVERYTHING’S FINE, J8HN! JOHN: okay. JOHN: do you girls want a snack? VRISKA: AAAAGGH!

HA!

HARRY: vriska, eat whatever. HARRY: just not the zebra cakes, those are mine.

(Zebra cakes are kinda Barbasol-bomb-like, right? Doom thing, because black-and-white stripes like most of the black-and-white-striped explosives in Homestuck? --Nah that’s a stretch.)

> (==>)

--That’s not Jane’s head, that’s JOHN’S head giving a thumbs up. Wow.

...Your plan prominently features Yiffy even though you didn’t know she existed until a couple hours ago?

JOHN: so anyway, as you can see, this would have worked just fine! HARRY: no i think karkat’s right. this looks like shit, dad. JOHN: you know, me letting your earlier use of the word "fuck" slide wasn't a blanket approval for all cursing in front of me. HARRY: sorry. HARRY: try not to make such a shit plan, and i won't call it that. JOHN: haha wow.

Harry really is his son, wow

HARRY: i mean, i still can't believe i told vrissy and them to bring a dead celebrity to school. HARRY: what was i THINKING. JOHN: you were thinking it sounded hilarious! JOHN: but yeah, in hindsight, maybe not the best call. JOHN: maybe it’s genetic? HARRY: yeah.

Harry really is his son, wow

HARRY: i kinda can’t believe we’re all still alive, actually. HARRY: and how did YOU make it this far, being so bad at this? JOHN: i had my friends with me, i guess.

Pretty much!

Plus, they haven’t really had time to talk about what happened with Dave, yet, and he doesn’t want to tank the mood by bringing him up.

Glad John’s taken some time to deal with that offscreen, so he can keep being cheery here.

He’d spent so long seeing mostly the best parts of Roxy in Harry Anderson. He forgot, he guesses, to look for himself in there, too. And if what they have in common right now is a lack of strategic foresight, hey, he’ll take it.

Hah, fair enough!

JOHN: speaking of friends, i will say the snacks were a good call, at least! JOHN: i don’t hear any more screaming, anyway. JOHN: see, that's one good plan between the two of us!

--they left, didn’t they.

> (==>)

HARRY: oh, that was definitely them leaving, wasn’t it. JOHN: ah.

--So was Vrissy peer-pressured along, or practically abducted?

> (==>)

--Oh, this was the picture I glimpsed and scrolled past on Twitter! She’s not on the ground, she’s running-- good.

> (==>)

--ALREADY! Fuck yes! :D

(and those cute paws on jade’s gloves wow)

> (==>)

--Oh I thought that was an air-lift! No, they were just diving to the ground with her.

Man, the pacing of this panel-to-panel composition throws me SO much. Stuff happens without being properly established, and we’re shown the wrong keyframes to internalize it easily. (I hope I don’t have to keep mentioning how much I miss Andrew’s talent at it, even though the art WITHIN panels is better here.)

So Jane is confronting them with soldiers.

ROSE: Oh, is this one of those rare and marvelous beasts, the "villain speech"? ROSE: I've written one or two in my time. ROSE: I'm on the edge of my seat. I hope it's better than your political material; I've always found that rather trite. JANE: I haven't given a political speech in years, Ms. Lalonde. I don't know what you're referring to. I'm just a simple business woman. JADE: right with her own talk show JADE: and multi billion dollar merchant company and lobbying groups! JANE: That's what a business woman is, Jade, dear.

--ah, in this perspective maybe Jane DOESN’T have the resources to be “everywhere” yet. Makes more sense that they could’ve left the home unguarded.

JANE: But enough of that. I'll skip straight to the point. JANE: You are on my territory, in the presence of my secret police, laying your hand on my investment.

QUIT DEHUMANIZING THE GIRL

JANE: You think I come anywhere unprepared? I haven't left the house without an armed guard in years. ROSE: Is it the libidinous power rush that comes from snapping your fingers at men with guns, or are you worried that you might accidentally do something heroic?

Rose usually has decent snapbacks I guess

I don’t think Rose’s plan was to admit themselves into custody like Jane is asking, but I’m not ruling it out.

> (==>)

(this image is so cute)

JADE: wow could you be any more full of yourself?? JADE: shut the fuck up for a minute and look up!

> (==>)

Ahwhoops. Jane misunderstood who’s in control of the situation.

> (==>)

Ooh! That’s threatening. :)

(Tavros is playing along, but he doesn’t HAVE to fake that sweat.)

KANAYA: If You Make One Single Move I Will Bite Him Directly On The Exterior Shout Tunnel KANAYA: I Will Turn Your Son Into A Rainbow Drinker KANAYA: Then You Will Have A Rainbow Drinker Son JANE: That's not how troll vampirism works, don't treat me like an imbecile! JANE: You think I don't know everything there is to know about your disgusting biology? KANAYA: KANAYA: Okay Then I Will Just Break His Fucking Neck

HAH

Yeah, mutual child-threat standoff. Jane isn’t going to make that sacrifice, AND can’t be SEEN making that sacrifice.

> (==>)

Jane Crocker hesitates.

This is something that she used to do regularly. Hesitate. Stop and think and weigh her options. Talk out every possible scenario and the impact they might have, morally and optically and socially. What would the political apparatus think? What would her social media followers think, her friends? As the years went by and she honed her instincts, she found herself doing this less and less.

Yeah, the difference between deserving a Just death or not is whether you’re willing to check yourself and allow another’s will to override your own. To allow someone who ISN’T you to have a say in how reality unfolds, to consider that what you want may not be right.

The impact that her words made became lessened when spread out across such a wide and thirsty audience, as public sentiment began to swing her way. She stopped thinking about how she would be received, and more about how she could play to the people she knew would receive her favorably.

Yeesh. Topical.

Looking up she sees Tavvy with tears in his eyes. Rage and guilt surge inside her. This situation is not her fault.

Anger is based in fear. Jane is not just afraid for Tavros, but afraid that she’s at fault. And the more she fears and has to deny that, the angrier she’ll get.

Is it angry enough to make a rash decision here?

> (==>)

JANE: This situation is not my fault!

Jesus, she even said it out loud?

JANE: I'm the only one who has taken any interest in her upbringing or education! JANE: Or have you forgotten who has been paying for her schooling and taking charge of her introduction into society? JADE: i never asked you to do that! JADE: you offered! JADE: so stop calling me ungrateful for not sucking your dick over things i never asked for!

Taking something that was a clear, ostensibly-selfless gift and using it as a transactional club. I hate that. Nothing shows how transparently little you actually believed in the “selfless thing to do” than that.

> (==>)

She can't just stand here and let herself be humiliated, allowing two architects of the insurgency mess her around like this.

If they were to kill Tavros, the entire world would see them commit this war crime. And weighed in the balance, Lalonde and Harley would be off the playing board. Saving your daughter certainly counted as a heroic death, and with the damage they'd done to humanity, it would also probably be just.

Tavros has not called out for her once. Perhaps he knows what her choice was always going to be.

Whoa you made that choice pretty easily, psycho-Jane. Are you actually gonna try it???

> (==>)

JAKE: Tavvy!

Oh shit, the plan! :D

--if Jake isn’t just. Um. Taking the threat to Tavvy seriously, not having realized this was a bluff. Um. Jake?

> (==>)

That looks like he’s taking it seriously. Shit.

At least Jane will look like even MORE of a monster if she gives the order this way.

> (==>)

JANE: Stand down!

I don’t think Jake’s gonna listen to you when it comes to Tav’s safety anymore.

> (==>)

JANE: Get out of my sight.

Oh.

Is she letting Jade, Rose and Yiffy go? --probably, but it’s unclear.

Damn this panel-to-panel framing not conveying what’s going on properly.

Guess that’s it for now! Patreon Commentary....... I’ve been putting off the commentary backlog for a long time, but I think the Homestuck Commentary coverage deficit still has to wait a while longer because the World Is A Fuck and I have to devote more time to stress relief than usual. Take care y’all

EDIT: extra bit on gamzee corpse here

#Homestuck #hs2 #Homestuck Liveblog #upd8 #Homestuck^2 #spoiler #spoilers

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