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edelwoodsouls · 4 years

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all roads lead - ch. 3

When his mother dies, Stiles runs away, straight into danger - only to be saved by Peter Hale. Seven years later, after burying their alpha, Stiles and Malia return home.

Word Count: 3,357 | Also on Ao3 | Other Chapters: 1, 2, 4, 5,

Chapter 3: FATHER

Stiles stares up at the house.

He knew the address was familiar, felt his feet leading him unthinking, a familiar route from one house to the other. Lingering muscle memory of another life.

Yet he still finds himself rooted to the spot just before the garden gate, unable to move forward, as if the wooden barrier were made of mountain ash.

"Just walk up the path," Malia says, hovering impatiently by his shoulder, but she doesn't push him.

Stiles was ten when he left Beacon Hills - ran away, from everything he had ever known, unable to face a new reality filled with pitying looks from strangers, whiskey-stinking nights, empty spaces where his mother should be. He never really stopped running, afraid that doing so would allow him to remember how much he'd thrown away.

Things like this house. A boy with a crooked jaw and wheezing lungs, the brightest smile in the entire world.

Scott McCall. The name lodges something in his throat, more than being back in this town, more than the idea of seeing his dad again. Scott had been the one truly good thing in his life.

It's been seven years, he thinks fiercely. Get a grip. Things change. People change.

His father lives in the McCall house.

And the McCall house smells of werewolves.

He notices the scent the moment he finally pushes into the garden. Wet fur and pine needles, earth, something like freshly cut wood; the clear scent of another wolf nearby.

No- another alpha.

The something lodged in his throat expands, becomes a tightness in his chest. The sun is too hot, his skin itches- he wishes he could tear out of it, flee to the woods, lose himself in the animal heart clawing at the cage of his ribs. But his body refuses to do so much as breathe, and his head spins-

A sharp pain cuts through the overload, crystalises the world in a sudden burst of clarity. He gasps, air flooding back into his chest.

Malia waits a few moments before removing her claws from his arm. "You with me?" she asks, her voice soft. She saves these moments of gentleness just for him, just for his worst moments, when her instincts yearn for an enemy to fight for him, yet find only his own mind at fault.

"I'm with you," he assures her, the words a familiar refrain between them. He's not going anywhere, he needs to tell her, not leaving her, not dying, not wandering away with his thoughts, never to resurface.

He's not not-himself. Again.

He squeezes her hand. "You smell it too?"

"Werewolf," she nods. "A pack. At least five."

Stiles blinks. In all the panic of smelling anything supernatural, he never bothered to discern the overwhelming overlap of scents. Malia's nose has always been far better than his, but after a few moments the weave of pack begins to separate into individuals.

"So much for no supernatural," he mutters as he picks out two, three, four, five different werewolf scents lingering around the house. There's other scents too, some human, some not quite, but the nuances are smothered by age and unfamiliarity.

There's only one person in the house right now. He wasn't a werewolf the last time he saw his father, and yet Stiles knows him instantly. Gunmetal and printer ink, so familiar he has to blink away the sudden sting in his eyes. Because it's not just familiar, its a reminder of those seven long years that form a chasm between this man and his son. The stink of whiskey is almost a memory, and a light floral scent clings to him like perfume.

Someone else's perfume.

His feet carry him up the path, Malia trailing, on edge, behind him. He feels the past trying to settle over him like a veil, begging to be let in. The air is heavy against his skin, his body that is alien to this space where his mind calls to it like home. That strange paradox itches against his soul, held at bay only by the rhythm of Malia's heart behind him.

"Hide your scent," he whispers to her. As he knocks sharply on the door he does exactly that, wraps his wolf carefully beneath a veneer of humanity. It's always been a useful skill, allowing himself to appear weaker, less of a threat in the eyes of other creatures, but now the trickery comes especially easy to him. His thoughts flash to a fox disguised as a wolf disguised as a human, layers of deceit folded so effortlessly into each other they blurred the truth.

If you drop me I'll crack, but if you smile I'll smile back. What am I?

He barely notices the absence of his own scent - has barely gotten used to its new smell, laced with power and all-but absent of darkness - but the loss of Malia's from the air around him sends such a wave of sickness through him, like missing a stair in the dark. He reaches out blindly for her hand to assure himself she's still there, still warm, still real.

And so they wait, listening to his father winding slowly through the house, inevitably towards the door.

Nerves begin to climb Stiles' throat, reaching up to choke him on his own panic. The dull ache that lives ever-present in his bones begins to thrum in time with his racing heart. What if his father hates him? What if he slams the door in his face? Yes, Stiles never returned because he believed his father was dead, but he still left in the first place. What if his father shouts for him to leave, after all these years, he doesn't need a runaway son, a werewolf, a murderer, just go-

The door swings open, stealing the rest of Stiles' breath.

John Stilinski has aged far more than the seven years Stiles has been gone. His hair is thin, stranded with grey. His face is creased deeply with lines that aren't from smiling.

And yet, though it appears to be his day off, his clothes are nice, and clean. He holds himself with a deserved height and authority that had been long forgotten in those dark days before Stiles ran away. There's a brightness, a lightness to his eyes. Happiness.

That Stiles is about to tear to pieces.

"Can I help you?" his father asks. There's a frown forming between his eyes, a tug at his lips that implies an underlying unease, trying to place a familiar face into a jigsaw that won't quite fit. All of a sudden, Stiles desperately wishes he could be anywhere but here.

He swallows. "Hi, dad."

John's face crumples, predictably. He stumbles, body betraying him in shock. "Stiles?" The word escapes him like a gasp, an arrow loosed directly into his heart. Stiles feels it as if the wound were his own.

"Yeah, dad." He waves a small gesture, almost bashfully, wishing he had any better words. "It's me."

"Stiles," his dad repeats. He stares at his son - hasn't even registered Malia. And then, abruptly, he turns and walks back into the house.

Stiles blinks at the suddenly empty corridor, unsure. What is he supposed to do here? Why can't there be a manual, a step-by-step guide on how to reintroduce yourself to the parent you thought was dead, who likely believed the same of you?

"I think we should follow him," Malia whispers a little too loudly in his ear. "I mean, he left the door open. That's gotta be a good sign, right? It's, like, a really deep metaphor in one of those boring books Peter liked. The open door." She wiggles her fingers in front of his face to emphasise the phrase.

Stiles almost snorts at that. But she's right. She has to be right.

He steps into the house, wrinkling his nose as he's assaulted by the smells of other. His wolf rises despertely inside him, warning him about trespass, about the violence between packs, held in line by the thin veneer of civility and rules. Stiles is the invader here, the instigator - stepping into this house could be considered a declaration of war. He's been witness to a fair few bloody fights in his time - Peter had a very special talent for pissing other people off - and it's not something he's keen to repeat without him. Especially not with Malia at risk.

Five on two. The former him, the beta, would've laughed at those odds. Before the snap and fizzle of half his bonds. Before he knew what it was to have blood on his own hands.

He struggles to smother his wolf back beneath the surface. Those other wolves need never know he was here- so long as he smells human, it won't even matter.

And, surely, doesn't his father's presence negate those rules? Stiles clings to this loophole like a lifeline, drawing him through the dark halls of the house, to the man hiding in the kitchen.

John Stilinski is making coffee. The movements are robotic as he rummages through the cupboards, organises three cups on the counter. Three, Stiles notes- far more observant, or maybe just more compartmentalised, than he gave his father credit for.

"I need caffeine," John says, without looking towards them. "Before I go through anything new, I need this."

Stiles nods wordlessly. Anything new? A thousand questions bubble through his mind, beginning with werewolves? and ending in what?

The three of them stand uneasily in the kitchen as the water boils, unsure of whether to move, to sit, to talk. So they simply stand. At some point Malia frees her hand from Stiles' and begins wandering around the kitchen, exploring the new space, the new scents, with all the lack of subtlety he loves about her.

The timer dings, cutting through the silence like a shot. Stiles flinches, as does Malia.

His father watches the two of them with a detatched, analytical curiosity that Stiles knows he inherited from him. He's not used to being on the receiving end, being watched, being perceived so acutely, it feels like a knife under his skin.

The silence remains in place until John begins making up the coffee, and Stiles blurts out, "Malia doesn't like sugar."

With that, the spell shatters. John slumps into a chair at the dining table, all pretense of distracting his hands and mind vanished in an instant. He rubs his large hands over his face; Stiles is drawn to a thick gold band on his left. A wedding ring.

But not the one Stiles' mother gave him.

Stiles suspected as much, and still he's surprised by the knife to his heart. Seven years is a long time by any count of the clock.

He's alive, he tells himself. He's alive, and that's far more than Stiles ever expected.

John sighs and finally parts his fingers to look at him. "Are you really my son?"

Stiles thinks up a hundred ways to answer this. Who else would I be? No, I'm his twin. No, I'm his ghost. Instead, he nods.

"How?" Now the damn has broken, words pour forth. "Why? What happened? Where have you been? I thought..."

I thought you were dead.

"It's..." Stiles grasps for the words. "It's a long story, dad. But I thought you were dead, too. I would've tried to come back sooner if I'd known you were alive."

Is that the truth? Stiles honestly doesn't know.

"Stiles." Malia's voice demands his immediate attention. She's standing across the kitchen next to the noticeboard, pulling aside a few postcards and bill notices to reveal a piece of yellowed paper beneath.

A piece of paper pinned exactly where Stiles had pinned it seven years ago, written in his own childish handwriting. A chasm opens up beneath his heart.

"You said you wouldn't be gone long," John whispers, as transfixed as everyone else by the paper. "A few hours. And I-" his voice breaks, "I didn't even notice it for three days. I was too..." Too drunk. The words hang in the air, unspoken, because if they were then something - probably his father - would break from the impact.

"I didn't mean to be gone long," Stiles finds himself half-laughing. "A few hours. A normal day. But."

But.

He remembers the day he met Peter Hale like it's seared into his eyelids. The sun beat down as he climbed through overgrown trees in the Beacon Hills Preserve. He had been coming this way for months now. At first there had been no real goal except away, and that was enough. He had longed to travel further, to run as far as possible and never return, hike all the way to the East coast if he could manage it.

Instead, he had found the burnt-out shell of a huge house deep in the preserve. Blackened wooden structure, creaking in the breeze, still smelling of charcoal and ash and an awful acrid smell he would one day learn to be cooked flesh.

Five months since the Hale fire. Eleven since the death of Claudia Stilinski.

Even as a child, morbid curiosity had consumed him relentlessly. Hours spent exploring these ruins had revealed a treasure trove of what the young Stiles had called evidence, clues to the origin of the fire, or the identities of the people who had once occupied the home. A blackened cutlery set buried in the remains of what was probably a table. A teddy bear burnt half to cinders, holding its shape only until Stiles reached to touch it, and it blew to ash on the wind.

He'd cried and run away as fast as his short legs could carry him, that time.

This house of fire and ghosts had been his safe haven from the dark hollow of home - emptier and scarier for the fact that it still had two living residents haunting its halls. At least the Hale house reflected its occupants.

No childhood home should be so unwelcome.

That day, when his life had blown to the wind just like the ashes of the house he found sanctuary in, had started like any other. He'd left the house that afternoon with his usual, unnoticed routine. A torch with extra batteries, a water bottle, a pack of nuts for if he lost track of time and got hungry. A note for his father, scrawled as a hasty afterthought - pointless thus far, but it would be just like his father to emerge from his haze long enough to call a search and rescue, to find Stiles in the woods, to ground him once and for all inside the house. Imprisoned with no escape at all.

His visits had been kept to the ground floor of the house until then - his parents had instilled enough common sense in him to not risk the rotting stairs giving way beneath his feet.

But the basement, with its chiselled stone steps, was an entirely different question. Fear of the dark had kept him out this long, but curiosity of the unknown would always win out.

Even with all his preparation, descending the stairs in the Hale house felt like descending into hell. His torch guttered every few steps, despite a change of batteries, and as the shadows swallowed him he found himself wishing his father was there - not the father he had now, so much fuel in his system a stray cinder would set him ablaze. But the father who cried when they watched movies. Who made him hot cocoa on nights when the house felt too hollow with just the two of them. Whose smile was like sunshine filtering through clouds, who made the world a little bit warmer. The father who had thrown himself between every punch and barb his mother had thrown at her son in those last, awful days.

He knocked the torch against his head as if to clear them both. The light steadied. His thoughts grounded to here, now, and he descended into the dark.

The walls of the basement - a huge, round room, supported by columns at regular intervals - were made of rough stone, construction so old Stiles could barely fathom. His torch beam washed over scars in the stone, deep, repetitive gouges like claw marks. They layered the walls like paint.

Somewhere at the end of the room, pale daylight fell through a grate near the ceiling, washing the space in something other. This felt like somewhere ghosts lived and died. Where the walls between worlds were less than paper thin. He shivered, but not from the cold - this room was an oven, the memory of flames trapped between the bricks. He could smell the aftermath of smoke, see the char coating the bricks in places where the fire had burned brightest. He even thought he could hear the crackle and snap of wood and oxygen ablaze.

His heart dropped like a stone. He could hear something. At the other end of the room, a low rumble, like an earthquake cracking upwards through the floor, or a huge animal breathing. The crackle of dead leaves disintegrating beneath a shifting form.

Breath escaped Stiles, vanished like so much smoke. He gasped - a choked, aborted sound - and stumbled back towards the stairs. An animal that big should not exist, certainly not here, in California, in Beacon Hills, in this house which had become his haven. How long had it lurked beneath the dying floorboards? Had it listened to his movements, waiting for him to come to it, knowing somehow that a meal would walk to it with open arms if it just waited?

The next moments are little more than a blur. He remembers, in flashes. The sudden stillness of an animal waking, listening, waiting. Tripping, falling onto the stairs, his knees and palms scraping against stone in his desperation to get away. The face of death looming over him, a creature of towering shadow and fur practically falling over itself in its desperation to get him. Yellow claws, yellow teeth, sharp as razors.

Then fire - he was alight, ablaze, burning right along with the rest of the house, except it wasn't his flesh but his veins, fizzing with energy and adrenaline.

He was a phoenix, though he hadn't known it then, crumbling to ash only to emerge newly gold.

He hadn't known that crazed, ravenous creature in the basement to be Peter Hale then, hadn't connected him to the handsome stranger who'd happened upon him hours later in a crumpled heap of blood and dying leaves. And by the time he'd realised they were the same person, years later, he had already forgiven his alpha for any past crimes committed in the haze of fire-sparked insanity.

He had never told Peter he knew. He was willing to let the weight sit on his shoulders, allow Peter's to remain free of any more, for fear this would be the blow that crushed him to the ground. That was his job as beta, as family, as pack.

He's more than a little willing to let his father wallow in his mistakes, though. What does he owe this man sitting before him? Everything, a small voice tells him, the child of sunshine smiles and hot cocoa. Nothing, another voice argues, all jaded smiles and sharp edges. Stiles is neither of those voices, not anymore. Not entirely.

I have three heads. Cut off one, I become stronger. Cut off two, I become ten. What am I?

"I'm here now, dad," he finds himself saying. "I'm alive. You're alive." There's something aching in his chest, something he's been repressing beneath layers of time and pain, and now it threatens to consume him.

Strong arms wrap around him, and he is eight years old again. His father smells of ink and metal and flowers. The world feels small, feels safe, for just an instant.

"Stiles, Stiles," John murmurs into his hair like a prayer, as if it will keep Stiles here, keep him real, keep him alive.

Stiles cries, a dam he's kept below water finally crumbling; it doesn't feel half as awful as he'd feared.

#fanfiction #teen wolf #stiles stilinski #malia tate #sheriff stilinski #own work #morgan writes

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splendidlyimperfect · 4 years

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chapter 8 - you are enough

Geralt's filled with guilt and Jaskier is trying not to be angry, but when they leave Sayla's farm, all the feelings they've been trying to ignore come to a head.

Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 Fandom: The Witcher Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Geralt/Jaskier Other Tags: angst, hurt/comfort, major injury, guilt, caretaking, geralt’s an idiot, i hurt jaskier a lot

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They stay with Sayla for a week before Jaskier feels well enough to travel.

Stop looking at me like that, Jaskier signs one-handed as Geralt helps him tug a clean shirt over his head and around his injured wrist.

Geralt grunts in response, slipping the sling around Jaskier’s shoulder and helping him shift his arm into it. The healer stopped by yesterday to change the bandages again and show Geralt how to do it on his own. Both wounds are still ugly and red, but the ragged edges are sutured now, and Jaskier is able to move his fingers a little.

Only a little, though. Geralt’s stomach twists with guilt as he stares at Jaskier’s wrist and thinks of him never being able to play again.

Jaskier huffs and kicks Geralt in the shin. Stop it, he signs again. He adds a sign that Geralt doesn’t recognize but refuses to explain it when Geralt raises an eyebrow.

Continue reading on AO3

“I need to get Roach saddled up,” Geralt says roughly. “Can you—”

I’m fine. Jaskier pushes himself to his feet and spreads his good arm out in a ta-da gesture. I promise.

Geralt doesn’t believe it. There’s a half-smile on Jaskier’s face, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes, which are dark and tired. He’d woken up in the middle of the night again, shoving at Geralt’s chest and trying to scream, and Geralt had nearly cried as he’d held Jaskier close and shushed him back to sleep.

Jaskier hadn’t said anything in the morning when he’d woken up in Geralt’s arms. Geralt’s not sure if he’s pretending or if he truly doesn’t remember the dream, but Geralt’s not going to bring it up.

“Sayla made breakfast,” he says quietly, gesturing down the hallway. “Something soft, for…” He tries not to look at Jaskier’s throat.

Jaskier sighs, reaching out and squeezing Geralt’s hand before limping past him into toward the kitchen.

Fine, Jaskier thinks as he heads down the hallway. I’m fine. It’s fine. Fine, fine, fine. Maybe if he thinks it often enough, it’ll become true, because right now he’s the farthest fucking thing from fine and he doesn’t know how long he can hold it together.

“Good morning, love,” Sayla says when she sees him, gesturing for him to join her at the table. He settles down awkwardly, nodding in thanks when she hands him a cup of tea. “Sleep all right?”

Jaskier doesn’t reply, just grips the cup tightly and stares at the way his knuckles go white. He remembers dreaming – blood and teeth and things that hurt. In the dream he had screamed; had called out Geralt’s name over and over, begging for help that never came.

He’d woken to Geralt, sitting in the chair next to the bed, holding his shoulder and saying over and over, “It’s all right, you’re okay, you’re safe.” Anger had burned through the fear and everything had been white-hot, Jaskier’s fists pounding against Geralt’s chest, gasping around a sound he couldn’t make, terrified and trembling.

Waking up later in Geralt’s arms had been both suffocating and a relief.

“Hungry?” Sayla asks. She holds out a bowl of watery porridge and Jaskier does his best to not make a face. “I know it isn’t much,” she says, setting the bowl on the table next to him. “The healer said you can’t eat hard foods, though.”

I know, Jaskier thinks bitterly. He takes a sip of the tea and winces when he has to swallow. It doesn’t burn like the first time, but it still hurts.

Everything hurts.

He absently flexes his fingers of his injured hand and tries not to think about how it had looked yesterday when the healer had peeled back the bandages and re-tightened the splint.

“You’ll play again,” she’d reassured him when she’d seen him looking at his lute case in the corner of the room. “Just give it time.”

The front door scrapes open and the memory fades as Geralt steps into the house. Jaskier can’t look up at him because he knows that all he’ll see is the lines of guilt and regret that have taken up permanent residence on Geralt’s face, and Jaskier doesn’t know how to deal with that right now. He knows, logically, that none of this is Geralt’s fault, but he’s still bitter.

This wouldn’t have happened if you’d been there, the angry part of him thinks. I would have been safe with you, but you pushed me away.

“Ready?” Geralt asks. Jaskier hates the uncertainty in his voice. He’s guilty and Jaskier’s terrified, and nothing can make either of them feel better.

Geralt isn’t surprised when Jaskier refuses to ride on Roach. He’s stubborn – although not usually this stubborn – so Geralt doesn’t argue for the first hour or so. Instead he walks at Jaskier’s pace, meandering along the road underneath the soft blue sky. Roach doesn’t seem to mind, stopping every once in a while to nibble on flowers or patches of grass.

When they finally reach the crossroads at the edge of the city, Jaskier stops.

“What’s wrong?” Geralt asks, reaching out to touch Jaskier’s shoulder. Jaskier flinches and takes a small step away from him, and a piece of Geralt’s heart splinters.

What are we doing? Jaskier asks. He doesn’t look at Geralt, just keeps his gaze on the rows of houses that mark the edge of the city. There’s a slump to his shoulders that seems almost resigned. He signs something else that Geralt doesn’t catch, huffing at him when he doesn’t get a response.

“I don’t understand,” Geralt says.

Jaskier reaches out and grabs Geralt’s arm, then turns his hand up and writes can’t help across his palm.

“I can’t help?” Geralt says, frowning. Jaskier shakes his head, sighing in exasperation. “You can’t help?” Jaskier nods and Geralt studies him for a minute. “You mean you can’t help me?” Another nod. “I don’t—”

Useless, Jaskier writes, and the letters are almost too quick for Geralt to keep up. Should go. Before he can keep going, Geralt grabs his hand and holds it tightly.

“Stop,” he says, shaking his head. Jaskier looks away from him, staring down at the dirt, and Geralt can see tears in the corners of his eyes. “You’re not useless.” Jaskier huffs and nods at his broken wrist. “I don’t want you to go.”

Jaskier’s jaw tightens.

If life could give me one blessing…

“I didn’t mean it,” Geralt says, but he knows the words aren’t enough. He’s worried that nothing will ever be enough to fix the damage he’s done. “Come here,” he says, pulling Jaskier a little closer and gesturing to Roach. “You’re tired. Let her carry you.”

Jaskier looks like he’s going to argue, but Roach intervenes, swinging her head over and butting Jaskier’s chest. He exhales quietly – a hollow imitation of a laugh – then tugs his wrist carefully out of Geralt’s grasp and brings his hand up to stroke Roach’s forehead.

“I’m sorry,” Geralt says because he doesn’t know what else to do.

Jaskier sighs, pressing his forehead to Roach’s and then looking over at Geralt. Where are we going?

Geralt hesitates. “I want… to help.” He gestures vaguely to the bandage across Jaskier’s neck. “To fix things.” The words stick in his throat and he wishes it wasn’t so fucking hard to say what he means. “I don’t mean—not fix. You’re not broken, or useless. I don’t want you to stay because you’re useful.”

Jaskier frowns at him and Geralt sighs, tipping his head to the sky and running both hands over his face.

“You don’t have to be useful,” he says after a moment. “You’re enough. Just you.”

Something hopeful flickers across Jaskier’s face, and it lights a spark in Geralt. He reaches out again, carefully this time, and when Jaskier takes his hand, he exhales in relief.

Jaskier spends most of the day riding Roach. Despite his insistence on walking for the first while, he’s grateful to be off his feet. Even after a week of lying about he’s still exhausted, and when Geralt settles behind him in the saddle and murmurs, “Go to sleep,” in Jaskier’s ear, he leans back against Geralt’s chest and does just that.

Thankfully he doesn’t dream.

When he wakes again, the sun is beginning to set, spilling golden light across the fields as it sinks slowly toward the horizon. The air is cool, and crickets are starting to chirp, and it takes Jaskier a second to realize that Geralt is humming.

Jaskier quickly closes his eyes again and focuses on keeping his breathing even as he listens to Geralt. It’s not a tune he recognizes; nothing he’s ever sung, just a simple melody that repeats over and over. Geralt’s arm is wrapped around Jaskier to keep him upright, and his thumb brushes absently across Jaskier’s forearm to the rhythm of the song.

Something aches, deep in Jaskier’s bones, at the simple tune. It tugs at half-memories; little moments of his childhood that dissolve like spun sugar as soon as he tries to touch them. A warm sense of belonging floods through him, and he exhales, leaning back further into Geralt’s embrace.

He feels safe.

“Jaskier.” Geralt’s voice is rough in his ear and it takes Jaskier a second to realize he’s crying. “What’s wrong? Are you in pain?”

Jaskier shakes his head as best he can, nudging Geralt’s hand palm up and carefully writing, What song?

He expects Geralt to brush off the question, but instead Geralt says, “I don’t know.” Jaskier draws a question mark on his palm. “I think my mother used to sing it to me.”

The ache intensifies in ways that Jaskier doesn’t understand, and he’s grateful for Geralt’s arm around him as he continues to cry. He’s not sure exactly why he’s crying, but Geralt doesn’t ask, just touches his arm comfortingly and keeps humming.

Eventually Jaskier taps Geralt’s palm again. His hand trembles as he writes, I’m angry, but not at you. It’s like exhaling, and he suddenly feels lighter.

Geralt sighs. “I know,” he says. It seems for a second like he’s going to keep talking, but instead he pulls Jaskier closer to him. Then he leans forward and carefully presses a kiss to Jaskier’s temple.

Jaskier stills in surprise, suddenly very aware of Geralt’s slow heartbeat against his back. His hand hovers over Geralt’s palm, but before he can ask anything else, Gerald slides their fingers together.

“I care for you,” Geralt says softly, lips nearly touching Jaskier’s ear. Then he starts to hum again, rough and quiet, and Jaskier lets the sound comfort him as they continue to ride toward the sunset.

#the witcher #the witcher fanfic #geraskier #geralt/jaskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #angst #hurt/comfort #fanfic #update #new chapter #my fic

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bonnie-barstow-of-flag · 4 years

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The Not So Lonesome Knight part 13:

Parts 1 X, 2 X , 3 X , 4 X, 5 X , 6 X , 7 X, 8 X, 9 X 10 X, 11 X , 12 X, 13 X

The walk to the front desk might as well have been ten miles long, covering densely forested terrain, with the amount of time it took for the FLAG agents to get there from the trashed room. Neither Bonnie nor Michael dared debate the cause of their discovery, though it weighed heavily on both of their minds.

When the receptionist spotted them, she grinned widely. Cheerfully, she greeted, “ah, Mr. And Mrs. Knight! We’ve been expecting you!” She barely gives them time to correct her assumptions when she continues, “we’re awfully sorry about the trouble you’ve encountered with your previous room. We were made aware of the situation, not more than an hour ago. Anticipating your return, we’ve upgraded your accommodations for free. We’re going to give you the best room we have to offer.” Two keys are slid across the marble counter-top in their direction. “Enjoy your stay in the honeymoon suite.”

Uncertainty floods both Flag Agent’s eyes at the same time as their gazes awkwardly meet.

Why hadn’t the motel informed them of the situation? Especially, if they were made aware of the break-in without the addition of their complaints? It was strange, to say the least. That, however, was not one of the more pressing matters at hand. The fact that the hotel assumed they were married took precedence. At least, in Bonnie’s mind.

“No!” Bonnie protests loudly, physically recoiling. Her exclamation draws the attention of several onlookers in their direction. She repeats herself. “No.” The second time, the word escapes her in a far softer tone. The pent-up frustration is clearly evident in the slight quivering of her usually steady hands. The receptionist is locked briefly in the cross-hairs of her turquoise orbs. “I’m afraid there has been a misunderstanding! We’re not married!” She could almost feel the swirl of gossip that would carry that piece of information throughout the motel. She wasn’t that kind of woman!

A wistful glance is shot in Michael’s direction but he is being of no help. He is too busy chuckling like a giddy squirrel. She could have taken it a step further and argued that they weren’t even together which, in most respects of the phrase, happened to be the Gospel truth but she doesn’t. Her reputation couldn’t withstand another blow. The brunette can feel her forehead throbbing, foreshadowing the incredible makings of a headache. This was turning out to be a night from hell with her clothing getting snatched and the room situation not improving. “Don’t you have another room? A single or something?” She prods.

“No. No misunderstanding, I assure you.” The woman behind the desk remarks. “You asked for two singles rooms together. Right? We give you the largest of single rooms together.” The woman gestures with her hands the joining of spaces. She listens, almost offended, by Bonnie’s near refusal of the best room. It is fairly obvious that such an offer has never been rejected before in the motel’s history. She counters Bonnie’s next inquiry with, “we’re sold out. We just sold our last room at seven this evening. The only ones left unoccupied are your room from last night, the one without a door, and the honeymoon suite.”

In the grand scheme of things, this predicament was quite comical. Michael, having ceased in expressing the humor of the situation, languidly drags the pads of his thumb and middle finger across the backs of his eyes. A part of him can hazard a guess as to where the mishap in translation occurred between the receptionist and his favorite mechanic. She must have gone the long way around, having meant to ask for adjoining rooms. Now, here they were.

Sure. The honeymoon suite wouldn’t have topped the list of desired accommodations but it could be worse. They could be gearing up for a night in state lock-up surrounded by real felons. Sensing that the receptionist's explanation was grating on Bonnie’s already unraveling nerves, Michael intervenes. His one hand gingerly presses to Bonnie’s nearest arm as the fingers from the other hand clutch around the room keys. “It’s okay. It’s better this way.” He starts deploying his natural charisma and charm. Michael tips his head conspiratorially closer before murmuring in Bonnie’s ear, “listen. If whoever trashed our room comes back, I’d feel a hell of a lot better if you were in the room with me.” He is treading lightly, trying not to insult her lack of brute strength while also getting Bonnie to see the situation his way. Sharing the honeymoon suite shouldn’t be a problem for them after sharing a bed the previous night.

Knight’s reasoning makes sense, as resistant as Bonnie is to admit it. Her shoulders drop as she parts ways with a frazzled sigh. “Alright.” She ceases her petitioning with a placating rise of the hands. Turning back to the front desk, she prompts, “you wouldn’t happen to have a roll-a-way cot? Would you?”

The gracious receptionist's dark brows furrow together tightly. “No ma’am. We lent all of them out for the night. Some family with a horde of kids came in and required all five of our roll-a-ways. I’m sorry. If you’d like I can put one in your names when they next become available.” Her unwavering smile almost vanished when she thought Bonnie was about to argue with her again.

Michael too tired to watch Bonnie hit walls with the motel staff over room arrangements, presses, “do you think I can have a look at your surveillance footage?”

“Do you have a warrant?” The receptionist questions, looking him dead in the eye.

Michael clears his throat and straightens his stance. He hadn’t been expecting her opposition. “Well, no. But I was hopin’ I wouldn’t need one.” He cast her a doleful expression in the hopes that it would work wonders on the lady’s stubborn resolve.

“Why don’t you come back when you have one?” She quips.

It is clear that her patience wearing thinner than the coat of polish atop her fingernails so he dares not press her further. Instead, he’d do things the hard way. He’d hack into the system using Kitt’s extensive programming. “Sorry, we’ve troubled you this evenin’. We’re gonna go and check out our room and settle in for the night.” He states. If his remark was intended more for Bonnie’s or the receptionist’s ears he does not directly specify. Michael then makes a show of offering the brunette his arm. “Come on, Mrs. Knight. Our room awaits,” he teases. Michael is well aware that he is instigating but he is enjoying this too much to care. His lips pull into the widest grin that could ever fit upon his handsome face without warping it. Bonnie Knight. It had a kind of ring to it. Didn’t it? He kind of enjoyed the idea of claiming Bonnie as his, though he’d never venture to say that aloud. If only, he could be so fortunate.

“Very funny,” Bonnie grumbles. She wastes no time in linking arms with him even while she isn’t in the most upbeat of moods. Their progress is cut short when the brunette abruptly halts. “I just thought of something. Without my bags, I don’t have my pajamas...” She bashfully allows her voice to trail off. A part of her is too frightened to even meet Michael’s gaze.

Impishly, Michael teases, “you won’t need ‘em anyway.” A flash of lust colors his eyes while they sweep over her. An indecent thought definitely crosses his mind but he continues with the exuberant explanation of his statement.“We have the honeymoon suite.” He feels his external temperature rising by several degrees. The warmth translates into a shade of Salmon on his cheeks. As a result, he quickly diverts his gaze. A boyish mirth soon takes over the spaces in his azure hues that the lust once occupied when he dares to look at her again.

“Michael!” Bonnie chastises in the form of a hiss. Her heart thunders to life at the implication. She swats him with her free hand. “I’m being serious here.” He definitely shouldn’t quit his day job to become a comedian.

It took a lot of effort to return his expression to anything close to serious. When he finally manages, he replies, “you won’t need ‘em. You can borrow one of my shirts and a pair of my pants for the night. If the pants fit.” He knows his clothes were hardly the comforts of her regular night attire but he still them offered up the only things he had on hand.

Had it not been such a late hour, Bonnie could have called Rc3 to immediately bring out another set of clothes but she was left with very little option other than to accept Knight’s offer.

“I’ll inspect the room then I’ll give you time to shower and change. While you’re doin’ that, I’ll see what Kitt and I can dig up in regards to the surveillance videos. We’ll also update Devon and Rc3. I’ll even be sure to tell ‘em to bring out some new clothes for you.” Michael outlines his plan. Internally, he hopes she will agree to it as he hadn’t formulated an alternate one. “Hows that sound?” He questions.

Bonnie gives him a sheepish smile. “I like the sound of that.” While she had no choice but to have clothes brought to her, it still felt weird to ask Rc3 to rummage through her closets. They were all family at the Foundation and she trusted that Rc3 would be discreet about what he’d uncover in the way of unmentionables. Tasking Reginald with this mission, however, might mean she would have some really interesting wardrobe choices handed to her. That isn’t to say he didn’t have a fantastic taste in fashion, he did, it just wasn’t the same as her’s. His own sense was louder, more boisterous than her own. But entrusting Rc3 was definitely better than the alternative options of wearing the same clothes she had all day or traipsing about in Knight’s clothes. All she can do now is hold her breath and hope she survives the night.

#The Not So Lonesome Knight fan fic #The Not So Lonesome Knight fanfic #The Not So Lonesome Knight part 13 #bonniebarstowofflag #my fan fic #my fanfic #tw: long reply

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celestialvoid-fanfiction · 5 years

Text

If Gally Had Missed...

@thominho-week July 5: Canon Rewrite/Fix-It

If Gally’s aim had been off by a few inches, things would be different.

Thomas looked down the small hallway, at the large metal doors that stood before them.

He felt his chest swell, a sense of hope and relief filling him. They had made it. They’d made it out of the Maze.

Thomas drew in a deep breath. “Let’s get out of here.”

“No,” came a gruff reply.

The Gladers turned around to see Gally standing a few feet away, his face lit by the sparks of the broken consoles and the dull blue haze of the emergency lights. In one hand he held a Greiver’s receiver, the broken wires hanging limp and the screen still lit up by little red lights.

“Gally?” Thomas whispered, stepping out in front of the small crowd.

“Don’t,” Teresa muttered, grabbing Thomas’ arm and pulling him back. “He’s been stung.”

Gally’s face was red and blotchy, marred bruises and beads of sweat. Tears welled in his eyes as his body trembled. He held his hand out to the side and let the receiver drop from his hold, striking the floor with a thundering boom.

Gally sniffed back tears, his lips trembling as he said, “We can’t leave.”

Thomas’ eyes dropped to the boy’s hand, noticing the gleaming light that reflected off something metallic in his hand. Sparks rained around him, breaking the darkness and revealing what Gally held in his hand. A gun.

Thomas’s stomach dropped, his throat tightening as he swallowed hard.

“We did,” Thomas pointed out, his voice soft and cautious. “Gally, we’re out… We’re free.”

“Free?” Gally repeated, his voice void of any emotion.

He dropped his head and looked away. Slowly he shook his head, tears streaking down his face.

“You think we’re free out there?” he asked, gesturing at the large metal door behind them with his free hand.

Everyone looked at one another, eyes full of worry and fear as they looked at their friends. They couldn’t give up, not when they were this close.

Chuck looked up at Thomas, wanting to say something, but Thomas’ kept his eyes fixed on Gally, his gaze steady.

“No,” Gally said with finality. “No, there is no escape from this place.”

He lifted his arm, aiming the gun at Thomas.

Thomas raised his hands defensively, shifting from one foot to the other as he fought the urge to run, to fight. Thomas drew in deep breaths, trying to steady his breathing. The tension settled over him like a solid weight.

“Gally, listen to me,” Thomas said quietly, keeping his voice calm and level. “You’re not thinking straight… You’re not. And we can help you.”

In his peripheral vision he noticed Minho tighten his grip on his spear, rotating his wrist and readying himself for whatever came next. The leather grip creaked beneath the strain of the boy’s grip.

“Just put down the gun,” Thomas pleaded quietly.

“I belong to the Maze,” Gally argued, apparently not hearing Thomas.

“Put down the gun,” Thomas repeated, voice soft.

Chuck’s eyes darted frantically between Thomas and Gally, his lips trembling and his eyes wide with fear.

Gally’s face twisted in pain, tears falling down his cheeks. “We all do.”

Thomas feels his heart stop beating.

He didn’t have time to react.

“Gally!” he shouted, but it was drowned out in a rush of noise.

He heard Chuck shout, “No!” as he shoved Thomas aside. He heard the gut-wrenching thundering bang of the gun as Gally pulled back on the trigger.

Minho hurled the spear.

The metal pole tore through flesh and bone, impaling Gally. The boy staggered backwards, his body sagging weakly on the rod. He gasped for air, the sound breaking their hearts as the boy fell to his knees. The gun dropped from his hand and his body collapsed to the ground where he lay on his side. He stilled, his clouded eyes staring at them blankly as a stream of blood dripped from the corner of his mouth.

The others watched on in shock, their lips trembling wordlessly and their lungs burning for air as hot tears blurred their vision.

The silence was broken by a weak murmur.

“Thomas?”

Thomas’ heart skipped a beat.

Chuck.

Thomas spun around, his eyes wide with fear.

Chuck clutched his shoulder, streams of red blood spilling over his fingers. Tears welled in his eyes as he looked at Thomas.

“It’s okay,” Thomas said, trying to keep is voice steady—struggling to stay calm as he stepped over to Chuck’s side. He pressed his hand over the bleeding wound, applying pressure as he gently guided the boy to sit down among the shattered glass and debris. “You’re going to be okay.”

Minho stepped forward, pulling his shirt off over his head and holding it out to Thomas.

Thomas froze, his eyes focused on Minho’s bare chest, his heartbeat racing as his eyes traced the the seams of the older boy’s muscles.

“Shank,” Minho said, startling Thomas back to reality. He pushed the shirt into Thomas’ hand.

“What’s this for?” Thomas asked dumbly.

“To bandage his arm, you idiot,” Minho answered.

Newt rolled his eyes, taking the shirt from Thomas and kneeling beside Chuck. He wrapped it tightly around the boy’s arm.

One of the Med-jacks shook themselves from their stupor, hurrying over to their side and helping Newt tie off the make-shift bandage.

Chuck winced, tears glistening as they rolled down his cheek. He looked even paler than usual, his rosy-pink cheeks flushed and his eyes unfocused. He wavered slightly, unsteady.

Thomas held him upright, his stomach tensing as he watched the streams of blood seep into the fabric of Minho’s shirt.

“It’s okay,” he whispered. “We’re out. It’s going to be okay.”

There was a thundering bang as one of the large steel doors opened. The blinding light of day flooded the room.

Minho squinted against the glare Dark silhouettes flooding the building. He held his hand up, shielding his eyes as he watched the figured draw nearer; dressed in mismatched dark clothes, ski mask and dusty goggles pulled down over their eyes, and guns in their hands.

“Let’s go!” One of them shouted as they began to herd the Gladers towards the door.

“Come on, Chuck,” Thomas said, trying to help the boy to his feet.

Chuck blinked heavily, struggling to keep his eyes open. His lips quivered around words that Thomas couldn’t hear.

“Come on, kid,” Minho said, grabbing one of Chuck’s arm. “We’re getting out of here.”

Thomas took the other arm, carefully lifting Chuck off the ground. He limped as he and Minho carried the boy towards the open door, towards the light, and to the helicopter that was waiting beyond the churning sand that lashed at them. They helped him into the helicopter, sitting beside him as the thumping blades grew louder and they took off.

“Thomas?” Chuck said quietly. “What happens now?”

“I don’t know,” Thomas admitted.

“It doesn’t matter, because whatever happens, we stay together,” Minho promised.

“Together,” Chuck repeated quietly, letting his body fall weak against Thomas’ shoulder.

Thomas wrapped an arm around the boy’s shoulder, holding him close. He looked up at Minho, meeting the boy’s gaze as he said, “Together.”

[AO3]

#I wanted to do so much more for this year's thominhoweek #but time has not been my friend #thominho week #thominho week 2019 #thominhoweek #thominhoweek2019 #thominho #thominho fanfiction #thominho fanfic #thominho fic #chuck lives #please read the ao3 tags #tw: blood and violence

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lets-talk-appella · 5 years

Text

Fallen Leaves, Fallen Bellas

Ch. 6/6 - Charles

Summary:

“It’s not true, though,” Chloe’s voice jarred them from their thoughts. “I mean, it can’t be. Ghosts aren’t real, and they definitely don’t kill people. You made that up to scare us, right?” she asked Aubrey, smiling uncertainly.

Aubrey didn’t smile back.

Horror take on the Lodge at Fallen Leaves retreat, cabin in the woods style.

The end. Thanks for sticking with me on this one :) If you have questions at the end, shoot me an ask!

Word Count: 8k

Rated: T

AO3 and FFN

Chapter 1 - Chippy

Chapter 2 - Footsteps

Chapter 3 - Laundry Day

Chapter 4 - Murder of Crows

Chapter 5 - Psycho

“What just happened?” Chloe whispered into the darkness.

“I think…” breathed Beca, shoving off the shower wall to bring them both back to standing, “the power cut off.”

“Why?” Chloe’s voice cracked with fear.

Beca didn’t reply. She had no idea why the power would have gone out, especially while they’d been in the middle of… well.

“Let’s just get dressed quick, okay?” she suggested, hating how vulnerable they both were.

“Shame.”

“Chloe.”

“Fine,” Chloe sighed, moving away from Beca – who missed the contact immediately – and stepping over the edge of the bathtub to reach for one of the towels folded near the sink. She dried off quickly, glancing toward the door.

It was dark in the bathroom, but Beca could still see enough of Chloe’s body to really, really wish they hadn’t been interrupted.

Trying hard to control her gutter-worthy thoughts, Beca stepped out of the shower as well to dry off with one of the other towels. Once she was dry, she reached for the change of clothes she’d brought with her. She got dressed quickly, hearing Chloe do the same with a change of clothes she’d brought. More than once, she caught Chloe staring at her – not that she minded, as she was sneaking peeks as well.

Once she was dressed, Beca ruffled the towel over her hair trying to dry it as best as she could. When she finished, Chloe was already done and watching her, her hair damp but clean.

“Ready?” Beca asked, her nerves completely shot.

“Wait,” Chloe said, reaching for Beca’s arm before she could open the door. “Do we need to… are we okay?”

Beca paused, trepidation filling her insides. She didn’t like to think that Chloe might regret what they’d done.

Beca shrugged, hoping it seemed casual, “Yeah, of course.”

Chloe nodded, looking relieved. The next second, though, she bit her lip and looked down at her own feet.

Beca stared; she couldn’t remember ever seeing Chloe look so unsure of herself.

“So,” Chloe began, “I know this isn’t a good time, but, like… do you want to…” she trailed off hopefully.

Beca felt her eyebrows shoot up as her nerves were replaced with excitement.

Chloe took a breath, then finished in a rush, “Do you want to try this? Us? As in, doing that again?”

Happiness, unexpected and warm, filled Beca’s chest like an inflating balloon. She’d never felt so light from just a question before. Maybe that should have scared her, but it didn’t. If anything, it calmed her and settled something deep within her.

“Definitely,” she breathed, watching Chloe’s face light up. “I’d – I’d been thinking about that for a while.”

Chloe’s expression shifted until it looked almost predatory. “Oh, really?” she asked, her voice low and sultry.

Thrown, Beca thought back to what she’d said. She felt her face warm when it clicked.

“No! Not just that!” she cried, flapping her arms in the direction of the shower. “I mean – that’s great, but, like – us. I’ve been thinking about us.”

Chloe’s face softened to tender amusement.

“I’ve been thinking about it,” Beca repeated more steadily, her embarrassment fading. “And I’d like to. If you want to,” she finished somewhat awkwardly.

Chloe beamed at her. “Totes.”

“Right,” Beca huffed, rubbing the back of her neck. “That’s settled, then.”

Still smiling, Chloe reached to lace her fingers with Beca’s, her thumb smoothing over Beca’s knuckles. Feeling lightheaded at even that small touch, Beca opened the bathroom door carefully, just in case the masked freak was waiting outside.

He wasn’t.

Exhaling silently in relief, Beca led Chloe through the hall and down the stairs carefully, listening for a telltale board squeak or footfall in the dim hallway. Thankfully, nothing happened, and they made it to the stairs. They picked their way down slowly, careful not to trip in the semi-darkness.

“There you guys are,” Cynthia-Rose sighed, when they’d made their way down to the living room where she and Paris sat on the couch. “I suppose you noticed the power went…” she trailed off, staring at them in confusion.

“Uh, what?” Beca asked, glancing down at herself, wondering if she and Chloe had switched shirts or something equally mortifying.

Frowning, Cynthia-Rose asked, “Why do you both have wet hair?”

Beca’s face warmed instantly and she gripped harder to Chloe’s hand. It wasn’t a problem for Cynthia-Rose to know about them, she’d just have liked more time to adjust to the idea of her and Chloe being… well, her and Chloe before jumping in and telling people.

Not that there were many people left to tell.

“It was raining, remember?” Chloe said casually. If Beca hadn’t known better, she’d have believed that innocent tone.

Paris shook her head and pointed out, “But you’re both clean. You weren’t up there for very long, how’d you manage to –”

She was cut off by a huge gasp. Raising a finger to point at them, Cynthia-Rose probed gleefully, “Were you two in the shower together?”

“Gah…” Beca choked, panicking. “That’s not – I mean, it’s, well –”

“Yes,” Chloe grinned proudly. “We were. And what we did there is our business. Any questions?” she finished grandly, her eyes boring a hole in Paris’s face.

Paris’s mouth snapped shut and her eyes flicked between Beca and Chloe searchingly. Beca risked a glance at Cynthia-Rose, who winked at her, a small smile on her face.

“Good,” said Chloe smugly after a pause. “Can we deal with the power now, please?”

“Sure,” Cynthia-Rose shrugged, “but we’ve gotta find Amy now.”

“Why Amy specifically?”

“She owes me $30 on you two,” Cynthia-Rose replied with a huge grin.

Beca felt like strangling her only remaining Bella.

“Anyway,” she growled, “What do we do about the power?”

“There’s a backup generator,” Paris spoke up, gesturing toward the lake side of the lodge. “We just need to kickstart it.”

Chloe shook her head. “We can’t do that,” she said, “that’s obviously what he wants.”

“We’re sitting ducks either way,” Paris replied, her voice rising in pitch. “Would you rather wait for him to come bursting in here?”

“You mean there isn’t another option?” Chloe asked.

Paris replied snappily, but Beca had tuned out of the conversation; a large smear across the front window of the lodge had caught her attention.

She narrowed her eyes at it, unable to make it out. She walked toward it slowly, trying to see it better. It was scrawled across the window, framed by dark clouds outside and shrouded in shadow from inside. By then, the others had noticed her distraction.

“Beca? What –”

Chloe’s question was cut off abruptly by a flash of lightning that served to illuminate the smear. Across the window, red letters glistened and dripped down the glass, still wet from their application:

I see you

Beca felt like her entire body had been plunged into frigid water. Paris gasped and Cynthia-Rose swore even as the lightning passed and thunder rolled overhead, rattling the walls of the lodge.

Beca spun on the spot, her back to the window. “Did you see him?” she fired at Paris and Cynthia-Rose. “While we were in the shower, did you see him do this?”

They both shook their heads “no,” eyes wide with shock.

Beca crossed the floor to stand next to Chloe protectively, her eyes scanning the windows, searching for any sign of a burlap sack mask pressed against one. She didn’t see him, but her skin still crawled; she wanted to hide behind something, but there were no curtains to draw.

She shuddered, knowing he was watching them.

“That’s it, we have to go. I’m not waiting in here to get killed in the dark,” she ranted, fear flooding her veins like ice.

A hand smoothed across her lower back and she looked over to see Chloe nod once, looking scared. Paris rose to her feet instantly, a determined look on her face. Cynthia-Rose, however, didn’t move. Her eyes remained fixed on the window, wide with terror.

“Cynthia-Rose?” Beca prompted. “You want to come with us?”

“I’m not going,” she replied slowly, finally tearing her gaze away from the window to meet Beca’s eyes.

Beca drew back a little. She exchanged a surprised glance with Chloe, then looked back to Cynthia-Rose.

“But –”

“No. I’m tired of it,” Cynthia-Rose interrupted. “I’m going to go upstairs and hide under a bed or something until you get back. I’m not wandering around outside anymore.”

“Separating isn’t a good idea,” Chloe said quickly.

Beca agreed, thinking of all the times separating had just meant that someone was going to go missing.

“Neither is going outside,” Cynthia-Rose countered. “I’m staying.”

“Dude, you can’t stay here alone,” Beca protested. If separating was bad, then leaving one person on their own to fend for themselves was worse.

Paris flicked her hand in the air. “I can stay with her,” she offered.

“But you know how to fix the generator,” Chloe argued, her hand twitching on Beca’s back.

Paris shrugged dismissively. “That’s easy,” she said. “You just have to flip the breaker on the side, pump the button twice, and crank the handle clockwise until it goes.”

Beca raised her eyebrows. That didn’t sound terribly easy.

“Uh… you got that?” she turned to Chloe, who nodded with a confidence Beca certainly wasn’t feeling.

“I think so.”

Beca struggled to keep herself from looking too skeptical. It was kind of a lot of directions, and if they were going to be in the dark and in a rush, it was going to seem a lot harder.

“Well, if you’re sure…” she said, half speaking to both Chloe and Cynthia-Rose.

Chloe smiled, and Cynthia-Rose stared back resolutely. Beca let her eyes close for just a second to steel her nerves, then opened them to see everyone watching her closely.

Great.

“Okay,” she sighed, “we’re heading out then.”

“Bye. Good luck. I’ll be hiding,” Cynthia-Rose dismissed, already standing to make her way to an upstairs bedroom. “Try not to die.”

Gritting her teeth to keep from responding, Beca turned sharply to Chloe.

“Ready?”

“Whenever you are,” she replied bracingly.

“Right,” Beca said. “Let’s go.”

She regretted the decision almost as soon as they stepped outside. It had stopped raining, but the sky remained overcast and extremely dark for it being only late afternoon. Though, Beca thought, the day had felt like an entire month, so maybe it wasn’t that weird.

They picked their way down the steps, Beca forcing herself not to look at the gleaming red lettering on the front window. They started toward the empty pool, headed for the small shack that housed the generator. It was going to be a long walk; the shack was hidden behind the cabin where they’d found Jessica’s bloodied laundry.

Every muscle in Beca’s body was drawn tight, like wire ready to snap. Her breathing came in shallow gasps, and her eyes constantly scanned for movement, looking for a hulking figure to hidden in the swirling fog. She half-expected him to appear at any second, materializing from the mist with his wicked knife to attack her and Chloe without mercy. It had probably been a stupid idea to leave the lodge, she realized, but they hadn’t had another choice. It felt much better to be moving and doing something instead of sitting inside waiting for him.

Besides, she’d go anywhere with Chloe (who was probably just as terrified as Beca was, if the strength with which she was gripping her hand was any indication).

They picked their way over the leaves and twigs on the ground at a pace both too fast and too slow for Beca’s liking – she was anxious to reach the generator, and yet simultaneously terrified of what probably awaited them inside. They passed the cabins slowly. Beca’s heart pounded in her throat so viciously she wondered if it was possible to get sick from it. Her mouth was dry as bone and her legs quaked, every second they spent out in the open drawing out the horrified anticipation of seeing Charles’s stitched-on smile arise from nowhere.

Chloe stepped on a twig, snapping it with a sound like a gunshot.

Beca jerked violently, her nerves shattered.

“Sorry, Bec,” Chloe whispered, contrite.

“It’s okay,” Beca breathed back, gently squeezing Chloe’s hand.

Despite her terror, Beca found comfort in Chloe’s presence, warm and solid.

They drew closer to the laundry cabin, electing to walk between it and the neighboring cabin to get to the small shack Beca could spot behind it. It was small and, like everything else on the retreat grounds, incredibly run down. The foundation crumbled, the lone window was cracked and filthy, and the roof sagged dangerously. It looked far more like a garden shed than anything an important generator should be stored in.

As they made their way past the laundry cabin, a quiet scraping noise reached Beca’s ears. She paused.

“Do you hear that?” she asked softly.

Chloe froze next to her instantly, head turning and hand tightening around Beca’s. “What?” she breathed.

“There’s like a… like something sliding inside,” she said, gesturing to the laundry cabin and straining her ears.

They stood there for several moments, waiting for the noise to present itself again. There was nothing, though, and soon Beca began to wonder if she’d imagined it. It was likely; she was so on edge that she wouldn’t put it past herself to be hearing things, especially considering there was no reason for anyone – there was no one left, really – to be inside the laundry cabin.

“It’s nothing, I guess,” she dismissed with a shrug. “Let’s keep going.”

They continued toward the generator shack, every step closer sending a sense of doom settling into Beca’s stomach like rocks. They reached the door and paused; Beca pressed her ear to the wood and listened hard for anything amiss from within.

“Ready when you are,” Chloe said quietly.

Beca nodded, then reached for the handle. It was unlocked and turned easily in her hand. With a final steadying breath, she pushed the door forward with a squeal of rusty hinges.

A wave of musty air crashed out, filling her nostrils instantly. It was dim inside, but Beca could make out a wide, stable-looking floorspace, a wooden, slotted closet door on one wall, and a machine that must have been the generator against the opposite wall.

With one final squeeze of Chloe’s hand, Beca stepped inside, feeling Chloe move in right behind her. They left the door open to allow some natural light to spill into the building, which made the interior only slightly less gloomy. The floor creaked beneath their feet but held their weight.

Beca went straight to the generator, which wasn’t running.

“Okay, what do we do again?” she asked. “Crank the thing?”

Chloe frowned at the generator. “I think we flip the breaker, pump the button twice, and then we crank the thing.”

“Hmm.”

“Here,” Chloe supplied, reaching forward to flick up a little switch on the side. “I think that’s the breaker.”

“Great, so then…” Beca reached forward and pressed an important-looking button on the machine twice.

“Is that it?” Chloe muttered. “We just… crank and go?”

Beca’s lips twitched, her fear momentarily receding. “’Crank and go?’ Sounds dirty.”

“Shut up.”

“No. It was funny and –”

“Shut up,” Chloe’s tone abruptly shifted to something more serious. Beca fell silent immediately, listening.

The unmistakable sound of heavy boots clunking over leaves and twigs filled her ears. She froze for an instant as his footsteps drew closer.

“Hide!” Chloe hissed, her face suddenly pale.

Beca didn’t need telling twice. She whirled, seeing only the closet with the slotted door as a hiding place. It would have to do.

He was getting closer.

Beca lunged forward, tearing open the door. Chloe flung herself inside, trying to make herself look smaller among the mops, brooms, and various other cleaning supplies hidden within. Beca followed her, easing the door closed behind them both so he wouldn’t hear it close.

Once inside, Beca felt Chloe shrink back to press herself against the back wall of the closet. She shifted, adjusting her position so she was between Chloe and the door. That creep would have to go through her first before laying a hand on Chloe.

“Oh, no you don’t,” Chloe breathed into the back of her neck. Sturdy arms wrapped around her waist and pulled her back until she was standing beside Chloe rather than in front of her.

She wanted to argue, but her voice was snatched by the sound of his boots clunking right outside. She peered through the wooden slots in the door, able to see slivers of the main room through them.

The sight of a burlap sack peeking through the doorway of the shack stopped her heart.

She clamped a hand over her own mouth, stifling any noise she might make; next to her, Chloe did the same, stiffening with fear against Beca’s side.

He prowled into the shack slowly, his boots clunking on the floor. Light glanced off the long blade in his hand, rebounding into Beca’s eyes from between the wooden shutters in the door. She shuddered, adrenaline pouring through her veins. Chloe’s fingers dug into Beca’s waist painfully.

She watched him face the generator for a moment, but he didn’t touch it. Instead, he paced around the room as if trying to sniff them out. He passed so close to their door that Beca wanted to throw up. Surely, he’d open it, look inside, and see them. It was the only hiding place in the entire place; he must have known they were there.

He stopped right outside the closet, facing it. Through the shutters, she could make out every weave in his burlap mask. The nametag on his maintenance suit read Charles. Beside her, she felt Chloe stop breathing.

Beca’s mind raced, trying to see how anything in the closet with them could be used as a weapon. She supposed they could try to attack him with a broom or something, but what good was that against a knife?

She was sure he could hear their hearts beating; hers hammered against her rib cage traitorously, as if it knew its beats were limited.

He reached for the door handle, then hesitated.

A bead of sweat ran down Beca’s spine.

He turned away.

By some miracle, he clunked away from the closet. She watched his back as he went through the door of the shack and out of sight.

Beca let out the breath she hadn’t known she was holding. Chloe sagged and Beca glanced at her, taking in the relief on her face and the sweat on her brow.

“That was�� awful,” she whispered shakily.

“I know,” Beca breathed, her heart still pounding painfully. “Think he’s gone?”

“Seems like it,” shrugged Chloe, running a trembling hand through her hair.

Beca counted to thirty in her head, but the sound of his boots had long faded. She let her eyes slide closed briefly, still recovering.

“We still have to start the generator,” Chloe said eventually, making Beca’s eyes reopen to stare at the offending machine through the slots in their closet door.

Beca felt her face twist into a grimace; she’d much rather stay hidden in their closet for the rest of time. Chloe was right, though; they needed to get electricity back to the lodge so they could regroup there and… do something. Whatever the hell that was going to be.

“Okay,” she said. “I’ll go crank the thing. You wait here, just in case, and once it’s started, we go.”

“No way!” Chloe argued. “We’ll go out together and run for it!”

“Chlo,” Beca sighed, “please just… stay here for the two seconds it’ll take. Just in case.”

After all they’d been through together, Beca couldn’t bear the thought of Chloe being in any more danger than she had to be. It made much more sense for just her to be exposed for the instant it took to start the generator rather than putting Chloe at risk, too.

“But –”

“Please?” Beca begged, staring into Chloe’s eyes. “I’ll be fast.”

Chloe bit her lip, frowning. “I… okay,” she finally agreed, glancing away.

Beca nodded, relief lifting a weight from her shoulders. Before she could change her mind, she reached for the closet door handle, turning and pushing the door open carefully, her eyes fixed on the entryway to the shack. She made to step out of their hiding place, but before she could, Chloe grabbed her shoulders and spun her roughly. Before Beca could so much as draw a surprised breath, Chloe threw her lips over Beca’s, holding her in a searing kiss that filled Beca’s stomach like liquid fire.

The kiss lasted several seconds; when Beca finally had to break away for air, she felt dazed. Chloe’s eyes were also a little unfocused; Beca watched as she blinked several times to clear them.

“Wh-what was that for?” Beca rasped, still light-headed.

“For luck,” whispered Chloe, leaning forward to place a quick peck on Beca’s lips. “Now, go. Be careful.”

Beca could only nod, her brain still scrambled. She stumbled out of the closet, keeping a careful eye on the front door in case he showed up again. Reaching for the generator, she cranked the handle clockwise frantically, not caring if she was being too rough with the equipment. After three turns, the thing sputtered, then rolled over and started, humming surprisingly quietly for something that looked decades old. Beca felt a huge smile break over her face; it had worked, which meant the lodge almost definitely had electricity again. Victorious, Beca turned around to tell Chloe it was okay and that they could leave.

Instead, she stared directly into the burlap mask of the man, who stood in the entrance of the shack, framed in the doorway.

Shock shot through her like electricity. She was rooted to the floor, paralyzed with terror.

Her throat tightened.

He tilted his head to the side, as if curious about her.

She swallowed.

“Can we talk about this?” she choked, not recognizing the sound of her own voice.

He lunged at her, knife raised.

Her scream mingled with Chloe’s as she dodged to the side, avoiding his attack. He looked toward the closet at the sound, half-turning toward Chloe.

Beca acted on instinct. “Hey!” she shouted, moving toward the door of the shack. “Follow me, fucker!”

His mask faced her again and he took a step toward her; she threw herself out the door and into the cool air. She didn’t know where she was going, only that she had to draw him away from Chloe. She sprinted toward the back of the cabins, following the path they’d taken to get to the generator.

She heard rapid footfalls; she glanced back to see him running full-out behind her, knife slicing the air.

Terrified – but grimly satisfied – she turned back to see where she was going, urging her legs on faster, faster, faster. Residual mud sucked at her shoes, slowing her down, but she pushed ahead.

A shout from behind almost made her trip. She threw another look over her shoulder to see him chasing her, and beyond that, Chloe chasing after him at top speed.

Beca wanted to both laugh and scream; of course Chloe would follow.

It’s exactly what she’d have done if their positions were reversed.

She broke free of the cabins, running toward the woods with no goal in mind other than getting away from him. Her breaths ripped from her lungs in jagged gasps, the chill air stabbing at her throat. Her legs burned, and yet, she urged them to move faster.

She was almost to the trees, but knew he was drawing closer. She could imagine his knife raised in the air, poised to strike.

A stitch stabbed into her side, but she kept going; it wasn’t like she could stop. It felt absurdly like a dream, where no matter how fast she ran, he’d be right behind her. She kept running, just barely reaching the tree line, where leaves had fallen thickly to the forest floor. She ran over them, throwing another glance over her shoulder to see him still following, though further back than she’d expected.

Her foot landed on something spongy and she looked down, confused, as the ground seemed to rush up at her. In the next second, she was being hoisted into the air. She screamed and struggled, feeling ropes wrap around her; she was caught in some kind of net trap.

“Beca, no!” Chloe screamed from below.

Beca twisted, trying to break loose, but stopped almost immediately – the ground was a long way down. Craning her neck, she could see the man still running toward her. Chloe followed behind him, her eyes focused on Beca, her face filled with terror.

Beca wanted to cry. She didn’t see a way out.

The man was getting closer by the second.

Beca looked to Chloe one last time, wishing more than anything she’d made a move sooner. They could have had months, or even years, so to only have been together for barely an hour seemed cruel. Chloe wasn’t looking at her, though; instead, her eyes were fixed on the man’s back, glaring determinedly as she ran toward him.

He’d stopped under her net to gaze up at her. She looked down into his burlap sack face, hating it more than she’d ever hated anything, and above all, wishing that she had her Bellas back.

“I love you awesome nerds!” she shouted desperately, hoping that by some miracle they could hear her from wherever they were.

She watched the man raise his knife and point it at her, clearly ready to throw it or something, and she tensed.

Then, Chloe plowed into him from behind, tackling him to the ground. The man cried out in surprise as he fell, dropping his knife, and Beca stopped struggling against the net instantly. That had sounded like…

Chloe sat on him, straddling his waist to hold him down. She stared at him, brows furrowed, and before Beca could so much as shout out a warning, she reached for his burlap sack mask and pulled it off.

Long blonde hair tumbled out and Beca gasped.

“Aubrey?” Chloe asked incredulously.

“Hi, Chloe,” Aubrey groaned from the ground. “Nice tackle.”

Beca stared in shock. It wasn’t possible. And yet…

“It’s… it’s you?” Chloe whispered, the hurt in her voice obvious.

“Technically,” a new voice interrupted, and Paris – plus Cynthia-Rose – walked up out of nowhere, a smile on her face, “it’s all of us.”

Leaves rustled in the woods. Beca twisted precariously in her net to see David and Emily step from behind a tree; beyond them, Stacie and Amy appeared, and on their other side, Ashley, Jessica, and Flo moved out into the open. They all had huge smiles on their faces and, bizarrely, they began to applaud.

Beca gaped; she couldn’t believe it. They were okay. They were all okay. Relief filled her chest, even as her mind flooded with confusion. She glanced down to Chloe, who looked just as lost as she felt.

“What’s going on?” Chloe asked, looking at each of the Bellas in turn as their applause faded.

“I think you found your sound,” Aubrey said happily (still pinned to the forest floor.) “Happy team bonding, Bellas.”

Understanding filled Chloe’s face and she moved off Aubrey slowly, helping her to her feet.

Beca could only stare uncomprehendingly from her position in the net. Found their sound? Team bonding?

“Um, hi,” she said loudly, “but what the fuck?”

“Hang tight, Beca,” Aubrey called, “Lilly will get you –”

Beca heard the rope snap and before she could so much as swear, she landed on the ground painfully. Well, she landed on Amy, who’d moved under her.

Beca scrambled free of the net, rising to her feet and helping Amy up with a curse. Glancing up, she saw Lilly hanging upside down, her legs wrapped around the rope and tiny knife in hand.

The others watched her, smiling. Stacie even reached out to her, but she jerked away.

“What the fuck?” she repeated. “You’re telling me that this whole thing – this whole motherfucking thing – was some kind of sick bonding exercise?”

The smiles faded from most of the Bellas’ faces. Lilly shimmied down the tree to join them all on the ground.

“And you were all in on it?” Beca continued. “This entire time, you all knew?”

“Beca –” Emily started.

“No!” Beca cut her off. “Not cool, you guys! I was terrified! I thought we were going to die! What the fuck kind of –”

“Beca,” Aubrey said firmly. “Don’t be mad at them, they didn’t know. It was my idea.” She paused, then added, “Well, mine and Paris and David’s.”

Beca deflated slightly at that but rounded instead on Aubrey.

“What do you mean?”

Aubrey shrugged. “It’s a corporate retreat, but a horror one. We –” she gestured to Paris and David – “put on a horror theme and scare people into cooperating. It works remarkably well for team building.”

“There’s no ghost,” David added, “and no crazy dude. It’s just us.”

Beca opened and closed her mouth several times incredulously. “But – that’s – you’re – I’m –”

“Aubrey, that’s horrible!” Chloe gasped. “How could you do that?”

“It works,” Aubrey insisted, “and you guys needed some serious help.”

“Yeah, sorry, you guys,” Emily jumped in. “I was really scared, but then Aubrey explained, and she’s right. It did help us!”

“Tell them, Aubrey,” Stacie added, “before Beca has an aneurism.”

Beca glared.

“Yeah, I think you should explain,” said Chloe, moving to sit cross-legged on the ground and sounding much more calm than Beca felt.

Aubrey nodded and gestured everyone to sit on the ground. “This is going to take a while, so, everyone get comfortable.”

The Bellas all stepped out into the small clearing, settling down on the ground in a circle with Paris and David. Beca glared at them all and remained standing until, with an impatient tut, Chloe reached for her hand and yanked her down next to her. She reluctantly shifted to a more comfortable position, keeping a hold on Chloe’s hand.

“So,” Aubrey began grandly, “from the beginning. When I heard this campground was up for sale, I immediately saw the opportunity for a corporate retreat, because I like the yelling, but I wanted to add a twist. I’d seen plenty of movies about ‘cabin in the woods’ style horror camps, and figured, why not do that here? The location is perfect.”

“Out in the middle of nowhere,” Beca grumbled.

Aubrey nodded. “Exactly, and the low spot on the lake means tons of fog and creepy weather. Plus, nothing bonds people quite like pure terror, right?”

Beca was more than a little concerned by the enthusiasm with which the others voiced their agreement.

“So, I made it a horror retreat, and purposely made the cabins and everything look creepy with decorations and props. I drained the pool, bought that creepy costume, and hired Paris and David as actors to help me pull it off.”

“That’s why they’re so hot,” Amy interrupted. “Knew you were a shit gardener,” she added to David, who lifted an eyebrow.

“The story, though?” Chloe asked. “Was that real?”

“Well,” Aubrey said slowly, turning her discarded mask in her hands, “a camp counselor named Charles did die in a freak lightning accident, so the camp closed. But no one else died, and I made up the story of the kid and the ghost.”

There was a brief pause while they absorbed the information; Beca’s mind whirred, things falling into place gradually.

Aubrey continued, “Everything else on the retreat has been fake. Here, look,” she said, reaching for the knife on the ground. She picked it up and, before Beca could even gasp a warning, pressed her hand into the blade. It collapsed in on itself instantly, leaving her hand unharmed. It was clearly a prop made for a movie.

Aubrey put the “knife” aside and said, “My gun is fake, and the flickering lights are under my control with a little remote. There is actually cell service, but I had blockers installed so it would look like there was none and you’d give me your phones. We really couldn’t have anyone calling the police on us.”

Chloe leaned forward. “That’s so dangerous, though! What if someone got hurt?”

Amy coughed pointedly, moving her boot over the forest floor.

Paris waved off her concern. “Nah. We’re all trained in first aid, and we do actually have an emergency landline, just hidden away.”

“Okay, but how did you pull that whole thing off?” Beca asked abruptly, still annoyed. “You know, with the kidnapping?”

Aubrey smiled happily as if she’d been waiting for that question. “With a lot of planning,” she said. “We started by scaring you guys with the story, and then just made everything we did purposely really creepy.”

“Yeah, what was up with Chippy?” Cynthia-Rose asked with a shiver. “I hate that stupid thing.”

All the Bellas around the circle winced and nodded, including Beca. She’d really hated Chippy.

“Chippy was my idea,” David said, raising his hand awkwardly. “It’s a weird ventriloquism doll my dad used to have. That thing scared the hell out of me when I was a kid, so I figured it’d be perfect.”

“But he moved! He ate dinner!” Beca protested, the image of Chippy’s empty spaghetti plate flashing behind her eyes.

Aubrey waved a hand. “When the lights went out that first time, I just grabbed him and moved him in the dark. At dinner, I ate the pasta and just switched plates with him while you guys were distracted over the tent. I carried him around to creep you out, and then put him weird places when no one was looking to make it seem like he was alive.”

“But – it seemed like he was making you act all weird,” Beca said defensively.

She couldn’t believe she’d been scared of that stupid puppet.

“It’s called acting, Beca,” Aubrey said imperiously. “It’s really just a wooden puppet.”

“How’d you pull off the kidnapping?” Chloe frowned. “That all seemed really real.”

All the Bellas nodded at that; Flo even shuddered a little.

“Like I said, a lot of planning,” Aubrey answered. “And some help. The first few were the hardest, because we had to get you guys to separate. We’d had some elaborate thing planned for the first night in the tent, but then Amy got up to go… well,” Aubrey wrinkled her nose and flapped her hand uselessly. “That helped. She wasn’t supposed to fall in the pit, though, that was an accident,” she added.

“Yeah, and my ankle still hurts like a bitch, so thanks for that,” Amy complained.

Flo frowned. “What was the pit for?”

“It was a practice one we dug,” replied Paris. “The only pit we were supposed to have was the one Beca fell into.”

Beca grimaced. Chloe’s hand squeezed hers once in sympathy.

“Anyway,” Aubrey plowed on, “I was the one dressed in the costume that Amy saw when she started screaming. I was trying to make sure she was okay, but then you all split up to look for her, so it worked out. I doubled back and around and found Jessica and Ashley wandering, looking for her. I stopped them and explained that I was ‘kidnapping’ them to kick off a bonding exercise. They spent the night on an air mattress in my room.”

Beca shifted her gaze to Ashley and Jessica, who both smiled sheepishly.

“She nearly gave us heart attacks when we first saw her,” Ashley admitted.

“Yeah, but once she explained we were totally down,” Jessica added happily. Then, she frowned. “It sure took you guys a long time to notice –”

“So,” Chloe jumped in hastily, “the footsteps Beca and I heard?”

“That was me,” Paris said. “It was my job to wander around and make sure you guys didn’t get hurt falling in the woods or something. You heard me, and got creeped out, so I went with it,” she shrugged.

David leaned forward and said, “Then, after we’d patched up Amy and you guys went to bed, I went back outside to take the battery out of the bus and hid it in my room in the lodge. We’d already taken the batteries out of our cars before you’d even gotten to the retreat, to set the stage for that little stunt.”

“Told you he did it,” Beca muttered, earning an eye roll from Chloe.

Aubrey shifted her position on the ground and said, “The next day, we could tell it was already working. It got Beca to confess to her secret internship, and you guys were starting to work together to find Ashley and Jessica.”

Chloe nodded, looking thoughtful. Beca glowered, hating that Aubrey was right.

“The bloody clothes, though?” Chloe asked. “How’d you pull that one off?”

“That was trickier,” Aubrey said with a self-satisfied grin. “We had to make sure you guys divided into the right groups. Like, Paris purposely went with you, Beca, because she knew Chloe would follow.”

Cynthia-Rose snorted, and Beca glanced over to see a pink tinge appear on Chloe’s cheeks. She nudged her with her shoulder, trying to convey it was okay.

“I went with Emily and Lilly,” David said, “because Aubrey’d said we should take them next. And that left her with Stacie, Flo, and Cynthia-Rose. When we split up, I explained everything to those two, then I used some fake blood to make it look like I got hit by someone.”

“I’m sorry, you guys!” Emily burst, her eyes wide. “I wanted to tell you so badly, but David said it would help the Bellas to go along with it!”

Chloe shrugged and reassured her, “Anything to help the Bellas. I’d have done the same.”

“But where did they go?” Beca wondered. “You three” – she pointed between Aubrey, David, and Paris – “were with other people the whole time.”

“They met up with me in the woods,” Ashley said, “and I showed them where to hide until everything blew over.”

“And while they did that,” Jessica interjected, “I was doing the bloody laundry thing. Aubrey had us change our clothes, and we put fake blood on our other stuff.”

“Cornstarch and food coloring,” Ashley said helpfully.

Jessica nodded. “Right. So, we put the fake bloody stuff in the laundry room, and Paris took you guys there.”

Aubrey took over. “We had to be really careful about the timing and you finding the clothes and Emily and Lilly disappearing,” she said. “Paris’s scream in the laundry room was the signal for David to start yelling in the woods, so you guys would run out to him. Then, while you were with him, Jessica went back into the laundry cabin to clean up and write that message on the mirror in fake blood.”

“That was my favorite part,” Jessica said gleefully, wiggling a little where she sat. “After I cleaned up and hid my stuff, I got dressed in the freaky costume and hid in the woods while you guys walked back. I purposely let you see me,” she said to Beca.

“Yeah, that was scary,” Beca muttered, remembering the glimpse of the burlap sack she’d seen.

“So,” Chloe jumped in, “when we left the laundry and regrouped in the lodge…”

“Ashley, Jessica, Lilly, and I waited in the laundry cabin,” Emily finished. “We watched from there when you guys went to the bus, and then when David took you to the garage, I got dressed in the costume and went to the empty pool to wait.”

“While she did that,” Paris said, “the others went to hide in Aubrey’s room in the lodge to stay warm and to stay hidden.”

Beca leaned back, impressed in spite of herself. She hadn’t seen any sign of any of that, beyond feeling like she was being watched.

“What about the birds?” she asked weakly, cringing at the memory.

Aubrey raised her hand. “As it turns out, I have a talent for bending animals’ will to match mine. I trained the birds to attack like that. Not enough to hurt anyone,” she added, “just enough to scare people. I took Amy inside since she was in the wheelchair.”

Beca nodded, remembering how the birds hadn’t done nearly as much damage as they could have.

“That’s when I got kidnapped,” Stacie cut in proudly.

“Right,” David said. “We figured someone would make a run for it, and it happened to be her.”

Stacie flipped her hair over her shoulder with a wink.

“I climbed out of the pool in the costume when I heard Stacie running at me,” Emily said, grinning at Stacie. “Then I just had to grab her.”

“And I followed to make sure she didn’t panic too badly, and that Emily got a hold of her,” said David. “And we all fell into the pool onto a padded mat.”

“But you disappeared!” Chloe interjected, pointing at Emily.

“Trap door,” David dismissed. “Nothing big, just a little nook for us all to hide in while you guys were there.”

“It was horrible,” Stacie said with a shiver. “But once they got me into the little hatch, Emily pulled off the mask and David told me everything. He was very reassuring,” she added with yet another wink.

“And so then we were inside,” Aubrey redirected them pointedly. She turned to Chloe. “Sorry you got sick,” she said apologetically. “We didn’t mean for that to happen.”

Chloe shrugged. “It’s okay,” she said. “Bec and I had a nice bonding moment.”

Cynthia-Rose and Amy exchanged delighted looks; Beca, face burning, decided to change the subject.

“So, the floorboard I heard was actually…”

“That was us,” Ashley revealed. “Hiding in Aubrey’s bedroom. We were trying to figure out where you guys were, and you almost saw us.”

“Right. And Emily and Stacie were...?”

“We waited outside with David,” Stacie said. “He said the plan was to get half of you outside again.”

Beca let her eyes close; she could see it happening, could imagine the others watching them carefully, orchestrating the timing perfectly.

“So,” Emily said, “when we saw you guys come back downstairs through the window, I went around to the lake and screamed really loud a few times.”

“The pit? The splash?” Beca asked.

Emily shrugged. “I threw a big rock in the water.”

“The pit was us, remember?” Paris said, gesturing between her, Aubrey, and David. “It was supposed to distract you guys while we took care of the inside of the lodge.”

Chloe laughed a little at that, running a hand through her hair. “That was terrifying,” she said. “Good job.”

“Thanks,” Aubrey smiled. “When we saw you fall in the pit, we explained to Flo and Amy what was going on. Then, Lilly, Ashley, and Jessica came downstairs, and Stacie and David came inside, and together we trashed the lodge really quickly.”

“They wouldn’t let me start a fire,” Lilly whispered.

Beca’s mind flashed back to the upturned furniture, the messy kitchen, and the flipped table. She had to hand it to Aubrey; that was dedication.

“Then, before you guys could come back inside,” Aubrey continued, “we went out and hid in the laundry cabin.”

“And I went out to get you guys once it was all ready,” Paris concluded.

“Acting,” Chloe muttered under her breath.

Paris nodded, oblivious to the slight venom in Chloe’s tone.

Beca pinched the bridge of her nose. “So, then… while Chloe and I were… uh, in the shower…”

Several of the Bellas exchanged gleeful looks; Aubrey even looked like she was suppressing a small smile.

“Paris told me everything,” Cynthia-Rose supplied, saving Beca from further embarrassment. “So, we were all in on it, except for you two.”

Paris nodded. “Yeah, we were even the ones who wrote the ‘I see you’ on the window while you guys were… otherwise occupied.”

“And that,” finished Aubrey grandly, “was when I cut the power, knowing Paris would get you out to the generator. I put on the costume, and when you passed the laundry cabin where we were all hiding, I went outside to meet you at the generator. You know the rest.”

Chloe squinted at her. “You totes knew we were in the closet.”

Aubrey smiled crookedly. “Yeah. That was a bad hiding place.”

Amy nudged Stacie and whispered something in her ear. By the grin that spread over Stacie’s face, Beca had a feeling she and Chloe had just been the subject of an ‘in the closet’ joke.

Chloe sat in silence for a moment, looking like she was thinking. For her part, Beca was equally annoyed and awed. It had taken some serious planning on Aubrey’s part to pull all that off.

“That’s… really cool, Aubrey. I’m impressed,” Chloe finally said, a smile starting to grow on her face. “And you were all in on it!” she exclaimed, looking around at the Bellas. “That really is some good team bonding!”

Beca grunted.

“Bec?” Chloe turned to ask cautiously. “Are you still mad?”

Beca snorted. “Um, yeah. Abso-fucking-lutely.”

The triumphant looks on the faces of the others faded slightly. Beca waited, then tilted her head back and groaned.

“But that was also really awesome.”

The tension broke, and everyone laughed. Beca grudgingly allowed a smile to fill her face and picked up her head to meet Chloe’s beaming gaze.

“Seriously, Aubrey,” she said, looking past Chloe. “That was scary as fuck and you pulled it off.”

Aubrey’s eyebrows lifted in surprise at the praise. “Thanks, Beca. Plus, the Bellas…?” she trailed off, looking around hopefully at them all.

Beca looked around as well, seeing everyone smiling happily back at her.

“Come on, Shawshank,” Amy prompted. “We heard you say you love us while you were dangling up in that net.”

Beca refrained from rolling her eyes and conceded, “Yeah. I guess you’re all pretty great,” she sighed, knowing they wouldn’t let her live that one down for a while.

“What do you think?” she asked, looking to Chloe, running her thumb over the back of her hand. “Did the retreat pay off?”

Chloe nodded happily and replied. “I think we found our sound.”

And she leaned forward to press a kiss to Beca’s lips while the Bellas whooped and whistled around them.

“Come on, Bec, we’re gonna be late!”

“I’m coming,” Beca grumbled as she climbed onto the bus, the last one yet again.

She shoved her duffel into the overhead storage and plopped herself down in a seat next to Chloe, who immediately wound their hands together. Beca’s skin tingled even at that simple touch; she didn’t think she’d ever get tired of that.

“Everyone in?” Cynthia-Rose called from the driver’s seat.

“Yep!” came the chorus of Bellas.

“Let’s blow this popsicle stand,” Amy added, her ankle still in its boot and elevated on the seat across the aisle from her.

At that, Cynthia-Rose started the bus effortlessly (David had put the battery back) and they began down the driveway, leaving the retreat behind. As they left the main retreat grounds, they waved out the windows at Aubrey, Paris, and David, who were scheduled to receive another group – this time, corporate bigwigs – later in the evening.

“What do you think?” Chloe asked Beca softly as the bus blundered past the thicket of trees in the woods. “Do we have a chance against DSM?”

Beca nodded thoughtfully, staring out the window. “Yeah, I think we…”

She trailed off abruptly, catching sight of something in the woods.

“Uh, Bec? Beca?” Chloe tapped her knee once. “Earth to Beca?”

Beca refocused on her, blinking rapidly. “Yeah, sorry, what?”

Chloe lifted her eyebrows. “Uh, you were saying?”

“Oh, right,” Beca recovered. “I think we’ve got a real chance. I was thinking, and I have a few ideas. We need Mrs. Junk, though.”

“Oh, okay!” Chloe said brightly, twisting in her seat to find Emily. “Hey, Em?”

Emily replied, but Beca tuned them out, instead looking out the window again. Her eyes searched through the tree trunks, scanning anxiously.

She hadn’t wanted to tell Chloe, but she’d been sure that for just a moment, she’d caught a glimpse of a man in a singed-looking maintenance suit, holding what looked like a pool cleaning net.

Charles.

#bechloe #horror #my writing #fallen leaves fallen bellas #beca x chloe #beca mitchell #chloe beale #aubrey posen #cabin in the woods #pitch perfect fanfiction #final chapter #bechloe fic

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Sango - Thranduil Prompt Request Pt 6

Pt 1 - Pt 2 - Pt 3 - Pt 4 - Pt 5 -

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…

Two weeks, barely, that was all Tom’s attention hovered on you before his noticing the slimmer far more interesting female having much more scenes with him. You only had five weeks to film what shockingly few scenes you both as the lead couple had together. Thankfully you remained quite private, and never went past a peck on the cheek in public, holding the relationship between you as old friends to the world protecting what little pride you had left as the gaping hole in your chest bled just a little harder from his repeated abandoning of you.

All this through Lee’s sparce emails and texts wishing to start any sort of communications with you again. Alone and stoic you sat as usual on your sets, focusing on the script and notes from the director and writer wishing for you to get the role just right, sealing your reputation as dependable and dedicated in their minds. Though in all honesty it took all you had to not constantly be in tears on the set like you normally were in your newest b&b room making you feel like a giant at your need to hunch in several of the rooms.

In your third month a knock drew you from your bed, a low groan left you as you stood, reaching up to meet the roof reminding yourself not to hit it once again in the shifting roof height in the small office/mini apartment you had rented. Through the paned glass on the door to it you blinked adjusting to the bright sunlight soon dimmed by the giant body in front of it as they ruffled their hand through their hair after pulling off a cap. Under your breath you mumbled, “This, cannot be happening…Haven’t even had toast yet…”

Forcing a weak smile you unlocked and opened the door spotting Lee in his turn as he grinned at you anxiously. “Jaqi. Um.” His hand rose to rub the back of his neck unable to find the words.

“Your flight’s a bit early.”

“I caught a sooner one.” You nodded and he added, “I woke you up.”

You nodded, “After dark scenes yesterday.”

“Shit. Um.” His head tilted curiously as he asked, “After dark as in night time, or romance scenes?”

“Night time. Some firework car chase monstrosity. Had to sprint through alleys and a park for hours to time it just right on all the angles.”

“Ah. I feel even worse for waking you now.”

You shrugged, “I’m the only one to last the night without wheezing. You start up in three days still?”

He nodded, “Yes.” His eyes scanned over your shoulder towards the still packed suitcases stacked at the foot of your awkwardly small daybed in the opposite corner of the room across from the small couch and table across from the tiny imitation kitchen the room had offered. “If you have the supplies I could come in and make you breakfast, if you wanted.”

“I really don’t think that’s a good idea.”

He nodded, “Of course. Ya. I understand.” Wetting his lips he struggled against the urge to turn away only to glance back when you said his name.

“Lee.” His eyes met yours in a pleading expression only to narrow curiously as your hand rose and planted on the ceiling causing his lips to part and for him to lean down and peer inside seeing the other dips at the switching of areas in the apartment. “I have to duck in the toilet and bed area. Your role’s an actiony thing. I can’t have you hurting yourself.”

“Who did you rent this from, a Hobbit?”

You chuckled weakly, “Mrs Tilden is really nice. Barely four feet, but really nice. I’ve only got it another night anyways.”

His brows rose, “Then where are you going?”

You shrugged, “Saw some adds yesterday, but they’re not fond of the cameras. Had some troubles with actors before.”

“I,” He wet his lips again, “I’m renting a house, few blocks over, three spare beds. And it would give me a chance to apologize, and try and make it up to you. Your filming’s four months right?”

“Another three, actually. We managed to get a fair bit done already and something about flooding cut some of the travel scenes.”

He nodded again, “Well I’m here for four, so,”

With a sigh you turned, “I’m gonna get my shoes.”

A smile spread on his face and he crouched down with a chuckle and squeezed inside the doorway to get a better look of his place only making you giggle when you joined him again. “This, it is very homey.”

You rolled your eyes, “There was a lot of care put into it.” Missing his eyes scanning over the tight t shirt and jeans he loved on you then met your eyes with a more sullen expression.

“When I started acting I jumped on what I could. I had to focus on it. I know it’s a terrible excuse, but I really wanted to give you plenty of space to focus on it properly.”

“Not even five minutes a day, or even a week? You couldn’t just give me that?”

After a disappointed sigh aimed at himself he replied, “We were busy is such a pitiful reason to use. But it’s all I have.”

You nodded, “You could have texted me on the toilet if you had to.”

He couldn’t help it but his brow rose playfully, “You, wanted me to text you on the toilet?”

“It would have guaranteed me time.”

A smirk spread across his face, as he struggled to hold back a chuckle, “Yes it would have.” After a nip at his lip he said, “I promise, should, I win your trust, and possibly, just possibly get you to like me, even just a little again, I will promise you to always text you,” a chuckle left him as you rolled your eyes, “When I’m on the toilet.”

You giggled softly and nudged him towards the door. “Come on, you woke me, now you have to feed me.”

Lee chuckled leading the path to the door, “I feel like I should be recording these. For any future vows.” Making you giggle again, “No, I’m serious. Those are incredible vows. To always feed you when woken and to always text you on the toilet.” His smile grew when he was upright again outside watching you lock the door.

“I can imagine the looks of shame on your friend’s and family’s faces.”

“I think my Dad and Brother would be jealous not to have thought of them first.”

…

All together, since your first step towards dating after your fumble in the airport seven years had passed. Tears warmly still streamed down your cheeks through another sob you failed to contain as you packed your long since used duffel and large gym bag. On the message machine in the house once again Lee’s unnoticed recorded drunken conversation clicked off and saved when the machine went back to sleep until the next call would come in. Word after slurred word flowed freely from the man who’d so greatly changed since your first try together, one who’d hinted countless times at nearing popping a certain question. The hint of reluctance in your heart still lingered knowing just how poorly it would stand up against your first proposal, but you did truly love him, something his message paid no mind to at all.

Overall your pleasing personality and willingness to aid and support him through anything was a bit of an issue for him apparently, ‘too perfect’, was mentioned more than once. The sealing factor of his stated idea to simply ‘end it already’ was your pause in renewing your contacts with your agent and modeling agency. He simply didn’t understand why it would matter that when you had mentioned a feeling of not being safe in that modeling agency without any hard reasons not to, simply stating it was a decision a simple gut feeling shouldn’t stand in the way of when it came to the doubling of your salary and exposure.

He did, however find aiding in the hunt for a new acting agent a bit enjoyable for him as yours didn’t like your being with Lee. But the final stab was that he simply didn’t wish to be the guy having to follow up to your ‘supposedly perfect former fiancé’ one again the pit in your chest bled and pulsed painfully at the following cursing recounting of the proposal you had shared with him in confidence when you’d first gotten together.

Wiping your cheek you eyed the giant replica weapons encased in cloth that you shouldered out of some deep draw to take it with you as the voices of Richard, Martin and Graham had seemingly egged on stung in your mind’s replaying of the message. Somehow your greatest friends had thought it healing or helpful, in whatever way, to allow their drunken friend to spill all of this, obviously without realizing you had been listening in when he seemingly pocket dialed you. Yes you’d forgiven him, but not this time. Not when he’d been so cruel and they had so cheerfully egged him on, even adding in their own reasons to the list.

But as your hand settled on the doorknob your eyes clamped shut as you thought about martin’s first comment, “I told you, from the first time she had just fallen asleep in my home without so much as an invitation, she wasn’t the respectful sort.”

Not once had you ever been to Martin’s house, and Richard’s after being, “And those cakes she made. Whoever told that woman she could bake was painfully obtuse.”

Graham fired in not a moment after, “Then she just assumed she was free to claim my rum that once. Honestly, the jam bags on that one.”

Over your shoulder your ponytail swung drawing a faint jungle from the bell you’d woven back into your hair in your decision to leave. As it fell silent your eyes opened through a soft gasp as it clicked in your mind, It wasn’t a trail guide you’d lost but a King, in a world you were so painfully torn from.

A ring from your dusted off flip phone sounded signaling you to draw it out, in a glance at the scene your chest clenched seeing Martin’s name. After a momentary pause you hit talk and raised it to your ear hearing the echoing whispers of the shielded Hobbit currently hiding in the bathroom at Lee’s. “Jaqi, I, is this thing working?”

“I’m here.” Your voice wavered out.

“Oh, good! Well, it’s Bilbo. I’ve only a few moments left, Gandalf mentioned something about a time limit, Thorin and Dwalin were already pulled back.”

“Bil-.”

“Jaqi, I need you to know, Gandalf said something about returning to the crack. I’m not certain he knew where he was referring to, but, he said head to the crack and you’ll find the door there.”

“Crack?”

In an anxious glance around Bilbo stole a quizzical look at himself in the mirror before shaking his head and repeating, “It has to do with a memory about a hawk, one of your first you mentioned to Gandalf about your lost childhood.” A tingle went through his fingers as he felt himself starting to be pulled back again, “I have to go, he’s pulling me. We promised not to let you go back, come home.” A click on his screen later he’d set the phone down on the counter and felt his vision go blurry before his eyes opened to his room in Erebor again and he sat up first feeling his face then his hair and ears with a relieved sigh.

His eyes locked with Gandalf’s as he asked, “You told her where?”

Bilbo nodded, “Yes.”

Gandalf nodded with a soft smile, “Now the hardest part is up to her. To find this crack again.” His eyes met Thorin and Dwalin’s sullen figures slumped at the base of their chairs instantly feeling the hateful words they had urged out of the man poorly imitating your heart broken Husband still locked in his self imprisonment. Their eyes rose to meet the Wizard’s as he tapped their curled legs to say, “It is painful. But the ties had to be broken, or she would have stayed for any ties to him and you through the excruciating years time would grant her.”

They nodded and wiped their cheeks only to have Dwalin mumble, “Doesn’t make it feel any better. Breaking her heart like that.”

Gandalf, “I know. But, it will be worth it, to have her home again. Where she belongs.”

…

Closing your phone you looked to the door and exited, locking up and dropping the keys through the mail slot before you turned and eyed the taxi you’d called. One short ride after another you sat on a crowded bus staring out the window as it neared the next pit stop along the way to Arizona as you once again mumbled, “The crack. Really Gandalf…” with a sigh your mind wandered back to the first memory you had recounted to Gandalf on your prior trip to Middle Earth, one with your Cousins where you had befriended a hawk in the week long trip centered around the Grand Canyon. Softly again you mumbled, “I suppose it is rather small after seeing Moria and those tunnels.”

As the green around the long stretch of highway still lingered your mind wandered back to that first night in the King’s arms as you laid across his bed clinging to each other and peering out at the stars through his wall of windows. Against your neck Thranduil purred, “Which one do you wish for tonight?”

In a giggling reply you said, “When you word it like that it sounds like you’re gifting me the star Dew Drop.”

A smile spread across his lips as his head rose allowing yours to turn and face his, “What if I was?”

Your borrow rose, “I doubt the Valar would allow such a gift.”

He chuckled coolly and replied, “All the same, I humbly beg Eru, should you ever leave me, the stars are yours.” Your brow rose, “For I never wish to see them again in your absence.”

Warmly a tear streamed down your cheek as you could almost feel his lips on yours with his warm arms circling you tightly, drawing you to his chest once again. Shielding your sniffle you wiped your cheek and eyed the indent from the golden ring formerly on your finger, now zipped safely into your boot pocket again, wondering how it hadn’t affected you here after wearing it for so long.

With a sigh you were looking over the small rest stop around you before glancing at the small diner here only to snicker as your foot landed on the skateboard rolled in front of you through a pained ‘oof’ from the tall man having collapsed in a try at jumping the curb behind you. With a giggle you said, “Lio, you really are out of practice aren’t you?”

In an instant he leapt up to his feet softly saying, “Echo.”

The familiar voice drawing your eyes to the towering man with long curly raven hair down to his navel nearly with striking purple silver flecked eyes and small fangs identical to yours you recognized at once, “Ecthelion.”

A relieved chuckle stirred from him through tugging you into a tight yet brief hug then pulled back as he eyed you fully before curiously looking over the lands around you and asking in Ancient Elvish, “Where are we?”

“Just outside of California.” His brow rose, “It’s a bit of a long story. But Gandalf’s holding a door to get us back to Middle Earth.”

“Gandalf?”

“Oh, Olorin.” His face lit up, “One of the Isitari.”

As he glanced at the diner he wet his lips at the wafting scent of the food inside, “Are we stopping here to eat?”

You nodded and guided him inside as he bent to claim his skateboard, curious of why he was gifted the strange contraption. “So, how did you get here?”

He grinned at you, “I won the right to return to you from Namo.”

“How is that?”

His grin grew, “Chess.”

“But, it’s been Ages.”

He nodded and rubbed the back of his neck with an embarrassed chuckle, “Well, it did take me quite a time to master the game.”

“So for ages you just kept playing him until you won?”

He nodded, opening the diner door for you and following you to the free one sided corner table with two small chairs on the sides along the walls granting him both closeness to you and room for anything he wished for. “How much do we have for food and expenses?”

“I’m quite wealthy here, order what you care to try.”

With a quizzical brow he eyed the menu unable to distinguish what anything was past the pictures and relented to asking what you enjoyed and requested a match to your order. His smile only grew as he accepted the spare hair tie you had offered to him to pull his hair into a large bun while you gave your orders to the waitress smirking at him before his eyes shifted to the glimmer of silver tucked in your curls resting against your back. Gently he gripped the bell and held it over your shoulder asking, “Who are you courting? I cannot read these runes.”

“King Thranduil.”

His lips parted under his focused furrowing brows before he said, “I know of no King Thranduil.”

“Son of King Oropher, of the Great Greenwood in Middle Earth.” He blinked at you still unable to retrace those names, “Well, Greenwood is barely touching the borders of Lothlorien, which used to be called, Lindórinand, King Amroth, I can’t remember his Father’s name. Um,”

“I know the lands, I believed they were under the care of Silvan Elves.”

“They were, see, King Opherion wasn’t a King. He and his family lived in Doriath, when that fell they fled and were chosen to lead those Elves and joined with the Silvan Elves in Greenwood, who also accepted him as their King.”

“Glorfindel approved of this match?”

“Well,” You both turned to smile at the waitress bringing your food and thank her before you eyed him in his pleased inspection of the grilled chicken and baked veggies you had picked for you both before he claimed a sip of the iced peach tea you had also chosen with a pleased hum then glanced at you again. “At first, the gap between when I was taken from Gondolin and when I woke up in Middle Earth after, Olorin, had brought be there from this world, I couldn’t remember nearly all of it, or any of my former life in Valinor.” His expression shifted seriously as your words sank in. “For months I was on a journey to reclaim the homeland of my close friends, the Company of Thorin Oakenshield, where I met Thranduil. It wasn’t until we traveled to Moria after reclaiming Erebor that we passed Lolthorien, where Glorfindel spotted me, just a couple days before I was drug back here again.”

“Why here?”

You lowered your glass from the sip you’d taken and raised your fork in your hand, “Lady Galadriel, from Finwe’s line,” he nodded understanding the line you were referring to, “She got a ring of power, one of the Elven three, which she traded, certain people, to increase her power and beauty.”

“People, what people?”

“Gondolin.” His lips parted, “She traded the secret barriers, and me to gain power.”

“What right does she imagine she has to barter for your place so carelessly?!” He asked in a hushed whisper.

“I wasn’t the last. I’ve seen Aredhel here.” His brow rose, “Though her time here has done nothing towards her manners or cares for others.”

“Who else?”

“I’m not certain how many. I did hear from the Dragon that stole me she also was ordered to hand over her own Daughter as well.”

“When we return remind me to behead this so called Lady.”

“She’s trapped here. Followed be back after I destroyed her ring, tried to drag me back again. Eventually had to release control over her double’s body when the last of her strength faded.”

A proud smirk eased on his lips as he eyed his baby Sister and her new found strength he hated you had to find on your own, somehow seeing the pain this world had inflicted on you in your eyes. “I am glad to hear it. I cannot wait to see this Middle Earth and especially this King of yours.”

That night you guided your Brother to the motel near the bus stop and booked a room, accepting the last single bed room that he inspected curiously before taking his turn to bathe after you had, then smiled softly and joined you on the bed eyeing the food you had ordered and set there. Happily he sunk into sleep, full from the pizzas and smiling as he held you in his arms after your nestling there. The following morning with your bags and his on your shoulders he walked beside you on the street you were following that took you straight to the Grand Canyon national park. In awe he looked over these lands following after you, all through the park you followed the same paths you had all those years ago before your lips parted as you remembered exactly where you had found that hawk.

It took a few days but you had wandered your way back onto the same path you’d had to get lost all those years back to find. Peacefully you both shared all your times and pains the separating ages had left you to face through your near three week long hike. By the start of the fourth all those paths and rivers you had to cross had found you located outside a familiar crack in the rocky wall far too high to glimpse the sunlight over when you stood in its shadow. A smile slid onto your lips as you could feel a tingling in your fingers and wove your fingers with your Brother’s, who smiled against his nerves at the strange sensation, and followed you inside.

…

Seated along the wall of his bedroom Thranduil lost in his stoic silent pit of despair his eyes wandered from the bed again back to the doors of his balcony as his Son, who he’d somehow missed entering, had opened allowing a fresh breeze inside the room, nice and warm in the early night air as the first signs of spring were nearing. With a glance back at his Father’s blood shot eyes Legolas said, “Ada, you need some fresh air.”

Against his control his body rose at the notice of the time as interim King having left an exhausting weighty stoic expression on the once constantly smiling and soft, pleased by the simplest of things now unable to stir the smile it once did at his and his Father’s shared pain. Stiffly he walked to the balcony doors asking with his eyes aimed at the gardens below, unable to bear the pain of not seeing the stars you loved so dearly yet again, “The Niphredil constellation, is it shining brightly tonight?”

Under curiously furrowed brows Legolas once again eyed the sky confirming the presence of one of your favorites that had claimed its yearly chance to shine brighter, “Yes Ada. Just over the eastern tower.”

The King nodded, “Exactly where it’s meant to be. I hope she’s enjoying it, to ease her pain, at least.”

“Ada, Mithrandir gave his word, and Bilbo sent word, they had made contact and given her the instructions to the doorway.”

After a deep sigh Thranduil replied, clenching his fists on the thick marble railing, “Three months she’s been gone. And all the peace he can offer is to wait.” In a pained groan he turned to go back inside only to pause in the doorway at a soft flicker he caught in the corner of his eye. Slowly his eyes shifted to the glass reflecting small dots he got a clearer view of by shifting the door closer to him before he eyed the sky with parted lips. The small speckled reflected in his eyes, formerly absent since your parting drew a gasp from the Prince now growing an elated smile.

“Ada.”

A tear streamed down the King’s cheek as he whispered, “Thank Eru, our stars have returned.”

His eyes lowered to his beaming Son with a tear of his own streaking down his face, only to turn at the ghostly whisper signaling the appearance of the King of Dunharrow who bowed his head to the pair, “The Queen is nearly to Gondor.” The ghostly eyes scanned over them both, “I will pass the word to the Dwarves, she is calling to us.” Before questions could be asked the ghost King vanished leaving the pair to glance at one another before darting to the King’s closet to dress him quickly.

Deep in the Elven halls and the nearby green marble kingdom shouts for the preparations for marching to aid the stolen Queen filled each corner as all able and willing, except by direct order to remain behind for order or protecting the keep, the men readied to march. Though for all their eagerness the Dwarves could spare few, leaving simply the King and two advising Cousins, Balin and Dwalin alongside Bilbo readied to ride along with the Elf King and Prince leading their small legion of Elves ready to encounter anything. Nearly doubling when Lord Celeborn and Glorfindel joined them with even more protection for the Lords and Kings among them.

All watching the stars for the truest path as the Elf King relished the chance to see his most precious gift to you, once again promising his chance to hold you under them the first night he was able to share with you wherever he would find you. No matter what, his Queen was home.

Pt 7

#Lee Pace x Reader OC #Thranduil x Reader OC #Hobbit #lotr

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beatricethecat2 · 6 years

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out of place, out of mind - 6

(Read first) one step forward, two steps back (v.2.0): part 1+ part 2, (Previously) out of place, out of mind: part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5

One last adventure before wrapping this up! I hope you’ve enjoyed reading this, I had a lot of fun cobbling it together. To repeat, this is an Instinct replacement-and-forward fix it fic, in six chapters. I'll fix typos later and thanks for reading!

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

Myka and Leena make their way through the stacks to the vault of stored agents rooms. Leena cues up the Warehouse 12 sector, and they enter Helena’s bedroom.

“What exactly are we looking for?” Myka says, skimming a hand across Helena’s mahogany desk, in awe of the plans it bore witness to in its day.

“I’m not sure,” Leena answers, pulling a book off of a shelf and flipping through.

“Why did we start here?”

“Honestly? It’s the first thing that popped into my head.” Leena closes the book and looks at Myka. “It’s just a hunch, but I think the Warehouse is guiding me. It didn’t mean to leave Helena behind.”

“Then zap her back!” Myka shouts, waving her fist in the air, eyes darting around the room as if Helena will materialize in front of them.

“It would if it could, but I don’t think it—”

A loud thunk cuts Leena off, and they both turn around. Myka bends down and picks up a book on the floor, taking care to keep it open to the page it fell open on.

“This is one of Helena’s diaries,” Myka says, eyes widening. “This entry starts, ‘Had a lively discussion with a burgeoning architect on the merits of William Burgess and utopian space. And when I say lively, I mean miserable, for the man was an absolute pillock.'”

Leena sniggers and Myka smirks, her eyes skimming down the page.

“Listen to this: 'Oh how I blister under the weight of these so-called 'master builders,' their minds as insufferable as the rat mazes they design. Were I to lord over my own home, walls would be raised according to use, not gender; my genius never hidden behind propriety. I’d strew my tools about willy-nilly, stock my library to the hilt, and share my bed, openly, with another woman. It seems so little to ask, yet brazen considering this society I’m bound to. I dearly hope a future life shall find me settled as such, dwelling in a home of our own. Only then shall my heart be captured by another.'"

“Wow,” Leena says.

“Yeah,” Myka says, noting the exact date. “She was sixteen, maybe seventeen? And pretty miffed.” She turns the page and folds it out, once, twice, three times, then stares, dumbstruck.

“What is it?” Leena asks.

“Um, plans for a house?”

Leena leans forward and studies the drawing. “That open plan looks pretty revolutionary for the time."

“Leave it to Helena to predate the modernists. Hey, is it glowing?”

“I don’t see anything.”

Myka lays the book on the desk and rubs her eyes, but the glow remains. She turns the plans to the left then the right and looks around the room. “We came in there. So if I’m reading this right, we’re here.” She points to the plan. “Which means there should be something over there we can go through.” She points to the bookcase.

“Hidden passage? Very Victorian.”

“I’m sure Helena had an escape route for everything.”

They feel around for a catch or a lever and tip books back, but nothing activates a door.

“What are we missing?” Myka says, kicking the bottom of the bookcase out of frustration. There’s a click, and the case moves an inward an inch. A bright light spills out from a crack.

Myka looks at Leena. “What do you think?”

“I think this is where things get interesting.”

They work their way through a series of rooms, each intimately related to Helena. Bookcases prove portals in every instance including an inn, a ship, and even a yurt. One room, obviously in France, must be the house where Christina died, as a distinct chill fills the air. The one after that leads to Helena’s workshop in Warehouse 12, but the bookcase yields no door.

“Why won’t it open?” Myka says, riffling through plans on a table, squinting to find a glow.

“Anything?”

“Nothing.”

“I think we’ve hit a dead end.”

“There has to be something after this.”

“She was bronzed after this.”

“Then why did the Warehouse bring us here?” Myka says, eyes wild and round.

“It doesn’t know exactly where she is,” Leena says, in her most comforting tone. "Let’s retrace our steps. I bet we missed something important.”

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

Much to Myka’s dismay, nothing of interest pops up, and they find themselves back at square one.

“Should we try Helena’s Warehouse 13 room?” Myka asks. "We could bring this with us.” She holds up Helena’s diary.

“We can’t. Only Helena can take things from her room.”

“Bummer,” Myka says, staring at the tome. She reads over the entry once more, then places it on the desk.

They move back to the controls and Leena cues up the Warehouse 13 section, then make their way to Helena’s room. It's sparsely decorated with few personal items, reflecting the little time Helena spent in it.

“Maybe this isn’t right either,” Myka says.

“Or maybe we follow the same path.” Leena walks up to the bookcase and kicks the bottom panel. It swings open just a crack.

Myka smiles and Leena waves her through.

The next room, if it could be called that, is devoid of any demarcations. It’s grey and vast and wall-less through and through.

“This must be inside the orb,” Myka says. She and Leena stand back to back for fear of losing each other in the vast nothingness.

“How are we going to get out of here? I don’t know what direction I’m facing.”

“Neither do I.”

“Is this what it was like where you were?” Myka asks.

“I don't think so. It wasn’t this cold. Or oppressive.”

No wonder Helena has a hard time knowing who and where she is. “What are we standing on?” Myka says, stamping her foot, the sound echoing throughout the space.

“Good question,” Leena says, crouching down and skimming her hand over the floor. Her fingers catch on the edge of something, and she pries it up.

“Trapdoor,” Leena says.

They peer down into a black hole, then look at each other.

“Can’t be worse than this place,” Myka says.

“Don’t say that out loud.”

They jump into the hole and land somewhere familiar.

“Emily’s.”

“Interesting,” Leena says, quirking a brow as she scans the room.

“I think I know what’s next and I really don’t want to go there.”

“It didn't take us into the bronze, so I doubt it’d take us there. I’ll look for a portal anyway."

Myka hopes Leena’s right but also doesn't, because if she is right, they’ve hit a dead end again. Memories from Emily’s apartment come flooding back, and she grabs at the edge of the desk to steady herself.

"Are you ok?” Leena says, scurrying over to assist. “Sit. I’ll look around.”

Myka does as instructed, breathing deep breaths to calm down.

“No portals,” Leena says as she joins Myka on the couch. “But this place is a trip. In the bedroom, on her nightstand, there’s a picture of her and her cat dressed as twinsies.”

“She loves that cat.”

“H.G.?”

“No, Emily.”

“Emily’s still around?”

“Sometimes. H.G.’s wrestling with a lot of personalities lately. Most are artifact induced.”

“‘Ah, ‘the cowboy.'”

“Yeah. Three years stuck in a western. She disappeared not long after you.”

Myka looks down at her lap and clutches her hands together. Leena lays a hand on her arm.

“We’ll get her back,” Leena says. “But here’s a question: why is her room boxed if she’s here with you?”

“We figured the timeline she died in must have stuck.”

“I bet Mrs. Frederic ordered it boxed, so the Warehouse wasn’t collecting data while she was hiding with the astrolabe. That way Artie couldn’t find her.”

“That makes sense. Maybe it started over, now that she's back. Meaning there's another room being recorded.”

“That’s one possibility."

“Not that she’s ever in her room. She’s always in mine,” Myka points out.

“That’s it!” Leena yelps.

“That’s what?"

“Her first night back, after Sykes, where did she stay?”

“With me. Before the Regents took her away.”

“Would you say her ‘heart was captured by another’ that night.”

“I, um...” Myka smiles sheepishly and looks down at her hands.

“The passage, from the diary, ‘a future life shall find me settled as such—“

“—dwelling in a home of our own.’"

Two pairs of eyes light up.

“She’s in your room. Behind the bookcase. Go, now."

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

“Coffee,” Claudia mumbles as she pads past Pete and Abigail, both staring longingly at their empty plates. She knocks her shoulder into the kitchen door, but the door doesn't budge, so she reaches down to work the knob.

"I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Abigail warns.

“Again?” Claudia gripes but places her ear to the door, face pinching at the muffled sounds of pleasure emanating from behind it. She looks at Abigail and shakes her head. “H.G.’s sure making up for lost time."

“Therapy,” Pete says, in air quotes and Abigail shoots him a deathly glare.

Claudia joins them at the table and slumps down in a chair. “At least she’ll make anything we want after they’re handsy in the pantry.”

“I don’t mind waiting, as long as I don’t have to cook,” Abigail says.

Steve enters and sees the long faces at the table. “H.G.’s making breakfast?”

"Leena had to run an errand."

Steve sits. “Leena’s great, but H.G.’s got her own strengths. Maybe she’ll make those eggs with spinach again.”

“And ham,” Abigail adds, dreamily.

“Waffles,” Pete says, his hands waving as if the word were on a marquee.

“Seriously though, we should move the coffee pot out here,” Steve says.

Everyone agrees and talks amongst themselves. A few minutes later, the kitchen door bursts open.

“Sorry to keep you all waiting,” Helena says, setting a plate of piping hot biscuits on the table. “These just came out.”

Claudia snickers as Helena pours her coffee.

Helena raises a brow. “What?”

“Nothing."

“Today's menu has a Southern bent, a la the Food Channel yesterday, but I’ll take requests as per usual.”

Everyone blurts out their desires and Myka pulls out a chair. She sits next to Abigail, and a silly, crooked grin takes over her face as she watches Helena negotiate.

Helena disappears into the kitchen and everyone grabs a biscuit.

“So how are the house plans going?” Abigail asks.

“They look amazing. Helena's annoyed at all the permits she needs, but she’ll start building soon.”

“I bet the kitchen's specially designed,” Pete says with a wink.

“Why?”

Everyone looks at Myka and raises their brows.

Myka blushes.

Helena emerges with a tray full of jellies and jams.

“You’ll need a big ole’ pick up truck to build your house, H.G.,” Claudia says.

“She'd have to learn to drive better first,” Myka says.

“I drive competently.”

Helena looks around the table. Everyone looks away.

“I have Myka for that.”

Helena smiles. Myka narrows her eyes.

“Fine. Perhaps I’ll get a horse.”

“I thought 'the cowboy' was gone?”

“He is. Left in the ethos of the Warehouse, a trade for Leena. Yet unfortunately, traces of Emily remain.” Helena brushes flour off of her shirt.

“Because Emily <i>is</i> you,” Myka says.

“She most certainly is not.”

“Not this again,” Pete says.

“Let’s go back to the horse,” Abigail says.

“I can totally see H.G. rolling into Home Depot with her covered wagon,” Claudia says.

“Wouldn’t work in the winter,” Steve says.

Helena's face pinches. “Structures were built long before the advent of the combustion engine. And with precision.”

“Maybe not in a South Dakota blizzard,” Steve says.

“Careful Steve, H.G. might take that as a challenge,” Abigail says.

“We’ll do some driving lessons,” Myka adds.

“I’d like Pete to take me. You’re impossible to please.”

“That’s not what I heard,” Steve quips, and adds a coy smirk as he elbows Myka in the arm.

“You’d better hurry up building this house,” Myka grumbles.

“They’re stuck with us for now. Especially if they’d like to be fed."

“We worship at the alter of your breakfasts,” Claudia says, bowing humbly, adding a coquettish blink.

The rest of the group bow as well.

“That’s more like it,” Helena says. She walks towards the kitchen and opens the door, then looks over her shoulder at Myka. “Come along,” she says, raising both brows then throwing her eyes toward the kitchen.

Myka looks on, confused.

“A little help.”

“Oh, help. Right,” Myka says. She stands and scrambles behind Helena into the kitchen.

The door closes, and there’s a thunk up against it.

“We’re never getting breakfast, are we?” Claudia says, reaching for another biscuit.

“I thought H.G. was making it today,” Leena says, waltzing into the room, striding toward the kitchen door.

“Don’t!” everyone chants, frantically waving their hands as Leena pushes the door open.

There’s a clang of pans clattering and high-pitched giggling.

Leena draws her hand back and smiles. “Let’s leave them to it, shall we? Diner? My treat.”

Everyone grabs a biscuit and files out the door.

-FIN-

#BERING AND WELLS #W13 #fanfiction #fix it fic #Myka Bering #Helena HG Wells #yay i finished a thing #and it feels great!#question for the hive mind #when I port this over to AO3 could this pass for T?#I don't think it's M but I thought I'd ask #also a new chapter of if/then will be posting soon #just fyi for anyone still reading

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metawitches · 6 years

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In The Lost Sister, El continues her journey of self discovery with a trip to Chicago to find her psychic sister, 008/Kali. The sisters lost each other when Brenner separated them after Terry’s aborted rescue attempt. The episode is a stand alone featuring El’s storyline by itself.

We watch El learn about herself and face decisions about what kind of person she wants to be. She’s been physically lost since she left the lab, and a lost soul for her entire life. Kali is the same. They help each other begin to be found in ways that could only happen with each other.

As the episode begins, El is still wearing the blindfold and psychically communicating with her mother. She’s been there since the end of episode 5, so you would think she’d have gotten more than the repeating story of how Terry lost her mind, but she hasn’t.

El describes the visions to Becky over lunch, focussing on the other little girl behind the door with the rainbow. Becky suggests that El look through Terry’s files of missing children that she thought might be like El. El finds an article about Kali with a photo. El puts the blindfold back on and sits in front of the staticky TV, but she can’t find Kali.

Later that night, as she’s lying on a cot in her bedroom, she looks at the article, then thinks back to the image from Terry’s memory. That does the trick. She’s suddenly in the negative psychic space, observing Kali standing in front of a fire in a metal barrel.

She pops out of psychic space and rushes to tell Becky what she’s just seen. When she gets downstairs, El overhears Becky on the phone. She’s called the number on Hopper’s card from a year ago and is leaving a message with Florence.

El steals the cash from Terry’s purse and hops on a bus to Chicago. I appreciate that the writers and producers listened to my complaint from a couple of episodes ago and changed the story to put El on a bus, instead of hitchhiking again. Good to know that I have that kind of influence. 😘😘😜😜

El’s getting her mojo back, as evidenced by the choice of one of Bon Jovi’s best songs as her theme song for this section, Runaway, and bringing back the insult “mouthbreather” when an insensitive stranger bumps into her and keeps going.

She walks for a long time, into the worst part of town, worse even that the part of town where the pawn shops are. She finds the modern shantytown where the homeless drug addicts and mentally ill hang out, but keeps going. Finally, she reaches the abandoned building where Kali’s gang is hiding out.

They aren’t happy to see her, one pulling a knife and another mocking her overalls. (F*ck them, the overalls are cute, in style for the period, and a million times better than that horrible dress.) They become truly threatening when El shows them Kali’s picture, wanting to know how El found her, since Kali is in hiding.

Suddenly the guy who’s holding the switchblade knife in El’s face appears to have dozens of spiders running up his arm. He becomes frantic. Kali descends the nearby staircase like the queen that she is and tells him to stop torturing little girls.

The gang members give Kali the article and tell her that El knows about her. Kali asks how she knows about her and El says, “Mama, in her dream circle.” Then El pulls the knife to herself and away from Mohawk guy with her mind. Smug, she hands it to Kali.

Now she’s got Kali’s attention. Kali asks her name. El tells her it’s Jane. Kali looks for the number on El’s wrist, and El does the same with Kali. 008 and 011 are revealed. They call each other sister and embrace.

El tells Kali her story. Kali feels that Hopper is being naive. They will always be monsters to the scientists in the lab. The lab will never willingly set them free.

She also thinks it’s wrong for Hopper to stop El from using her powers. Her powers make her special. El asks about Kali’s power. Kali can make anyone see, or not see, whatever she wants. She creates a butterfly in her hand to illustrate. El asks if Kali is real and she says that she is. El touches her face to be sure.

Kali gets El settled into bed and tells El how happy she is that El found her. She feels like an empty hole in her life has been filled. She thinks that Terry somehow knew that they belonged together, and that this is El’s true home.

Once EL’s asleep Kali talks to the gang, and tells them how powerful El is. She wants to “do one” the next day, using El’s finding skills. The others worry that it’s too soon after the Pittsburgh job, but Kali overrules them.

El “visits” Hopper and hears the first part of the apology message that he left her. She’s startled awake by Kali before the end.

Kali introduces El to the gang: Axel, the spider hater, Dottie, the newest member, Mick, the eyes and protector, and Funshine, the warrior. They don’t have numbers or powers, but they are all freaks and outcasts. Kali saved them from hard times. Now they fight back against the people who hurt them.

El questions what the gang is doing, if the people they’re hunting really deserve death. The gang implies that she’s too sensitive to handle killing people. She tells them that she’s killed people before, when they were hurting her. Kali tells her that these are all bad people, too. Her group is just making the first move this time.

Kali takes El outside to work on her powers. She explains that she used to be like El, holding everything inside until her pain festered and spread. It wasn’t until she let it out that she began to heal.

They get to an old railyard. Kali tells El to draw one of the abandoned cars to them. El tries, but can’t. Kali counsels her to draw on her anger for strength. To remember all of the things that have been done to her, all of the things that have been taken from her, and use that energy. She brings the train car flying toward them.

Kali shows El their Most Wanted board and asks if El recognizes any of them. She sees the man who administered the ECT to Terry. Kali says that he hurt more than Terry, and remembers him using a cattle prod on her.

The gang has a hard time finding people like Ray because they know they’re being hunted. But with El, maybe tracking won’t be an issue any more.

It isn’t. She finds Ray quickly. They plan the trip for later that day, even though they will have to use the van that police are looking for in relation to their last job in Pittsburgh. They switch the plates and hope it’s enough.

Before they go, El gets a bitchin’ make over to match the rest of the punker, urban warrior gang.

As they leave the hideout, a cop notices the van.

They stop at a convenience store to stock up on money and supplies. Kali supplies an illusion distraction for the cashier in the form of a flooded bathroom. The cashier comes back before expected and pulls a gun on the gang. Kali tries to talk him out of violence, but El steps in and throws him against a wall. They make a run for it.

Ray is at home watching Punky Brewster. The gang sneaks in wearing creepy masks. Dottie and Axel rob the place while Funshine stands guard. Kali and El confront Ray.

He quickly cracks, and uses Brenner as a bargaining chip.

Ray: I just did what he told me to do. He told me she was sick.

Kali: You had a choice, Ray, and you chose to follow a man who was evil.

Ray: Wait, wait. I can help. I can help you find him.

Kali: Find who?

Ray: Brenner. I can take you to him.

El: Papa is gone.

Ray: No. he’s alive.

Kali: Do not lie to us Ray.

Ray: I’m not lying. He trusts me. I’ll take you to him.

Kali: If he is alive, Jane will find him, just as she found you.

El begins to slowly strangle Ray, using her powers. She notices a photo of him with his two young daughters just as Dottie and Axel find them on the phone with the police in their bedroom.

Kali orders El to keep going, but El stops. She doesn’t want to take a parent away from another child. Kali reminds El that Ray didn’t show any mercy to Terry. Kali pulls out a gun and prepares to shoot Ray, but El uses her powers to take the gun away.

The police arrive outside. The gang races for the van and takes off just in time. Kali is angry with El for taking the gun away. She tells El that she can show mercy if she chooses, but she’s never to take Kali’s choice away. A reminder that Kali may seem to have it together, but she’s just as traumatized and abused as El.

Back at the hideout, Kali sits down for a private chat with El. She used to be like El. She’s hard on El because she doesn’t want El to make the same mistakes that she did. El replies that there were kids in the house.

Kali: Does that excuse that man’s sins? Were we not also children? I remember the day I came to the rainbow room and you were gone. So when my gifts were strong enough, I used them to escape. I ran. I ran away as far as I could and it was there, far away, that I found a place to hide. A family, a home. Just like you and your policeman. But, they couldn’t help me. So eventually I lost them too. So I decided to be smart. To stop hiding. To use my gifts against those who hurt us. You are now faced with the same choice, Jane. Go back into hiding and hope they don’t find you, or fight. And face him again.

El: Face who?

Kali: The man who calls himself our father.

Jane: Papa. Is. Dead.

BrennerIllusion: That man tonight disagreed.

El: You’re not real.

BrennerIllusion: All this time, you haven’t looked for me. Why? Because you thought I was dead, or because you were afraid of what you might find?

El: Go away.

BrennerIllusion: You have to confront your pain. You have a wound, Eleven. A terrible wound. And it’s festering. Do you remember what that means? Festering. It means a rot. And it will grow. Spread.

El: Get out of my head.

BrennerIllusion: And eventually, it will kill you.

El: (yelling) Get out of my head! (Bursts into tears.)

The lights flicker and the Brenner illusion disappears.

Kali: This isn’t prison, Jane. You are always free to return to your policeman or stay and avenge your mother. Let us heal our wounds, together.

Meanwhile, the SWAT teams are assembling outside for an assault on the hideout.

El clutches the shirt she borrowed from Mike, and thinks back to her favorite memories of Mike and Hopper. She enters psychic space, and sees Hopper in the lab realizing that the firemen are in the boneyard. Then she sees Mike run up and try to warn the Owens and Hopper that the firemen are walking into a trap. She runs to her image of Mike, but he dissolves when she touches him, as people in psychic space always do. I’m waiting for her to meet her psychic match and see what happens when they interact.

El is drawn back into this reality by police breaking down the hideout door. Kali gathers up the gang and makes them invisible while the police search the hideout. As soon as the police are past them, they run for the van, getting stuck in a barrage of bullets outside until Kali raises an illusionary metal wall between the police and the van.

El hesitates while everyone else gets into the van. She remembers seeing both Mike and Hopper in the lab and in danger. (Can’t leave the idiots alone for a minute.) She knows that she has to go back.

Axel yells that they have to hurry, the illusion is going to wear off. Kali begs El to stay, saying that Terry sent El to her for a reason. They belong together. Her friends can’t save her. Jane says she knows, but she can save them. She turns and runs down an alley as the wall illusion disappears and the police start firing at the van.

Kali calls for El/Jane as she runs away. The van gets away safely, but Kali is devastated at the loss of more family. We get a gorgeous reflection effect of Kali sitting back in the van, and tearfully looking at her own reflection in the van window in the dark, as El’s reflection comes into focus next to it. Kali’s reflection fades, and we gradually see that El is once again on a bus.

A woman sitting across from El decides that she needs some company and moves next to her. She asks where El is going. El replies that she’s going to see friends. She’s going home. She’s made her choice about who she is and where she belongs.

We are sung out by Icicle Works’ Birds Fly (Whisper to a Scream).

This time on her own is an important step for El’s character, but it’s still curious that it’s not interwoven with another story thread. The decision to give this subplot this much time and attention means one of three things: 1-It’s a backdoor pilot for a spinoff starring Kali and her gang, possibly also including El after Stranger Things ends in two seasons; 2- the Duffers went on a rambling side track with limited immediate relevance to the main story just for the heck of it, which seems unlikely; 3- there are elements to this episode that are important to the story now and/or in the future, even if we can’t currently see what they are.

My policy with episodes like this is to treat everything as a potential clue for the future. The Duffers put too much care into their writing to suddenly go off on a narrative lark that won’t have more ramifications further down the line, even if it takes 2 seasons to pan out.

Kali was indeed a dark mother, as her name implies. She was the first person in El/Jane’s life, with the possible exception of Mike, to see her true self, to see all of her, and to accept everything that she sees. She’s the only one to tell El the truth about their lives and force El to accept it, both the good and the bad. Mike didn’t have enough experience of the world to understand the whole truth. Hopper wouldn’t accept that she could take care of herself, or that she might have to be underground, and on the run, for the rest of her life. Kali brings the final push that El needs to grow into her true self, to accept that she’s a good person with the power to potentially be a monster or to potentially help people. The decision is El’s.

But, like all dark mothers, she doesn’t make the growth easy. She is a warrior, and El is needs to be a warrior too. El needs to face and pass the tests that will prove her growth and worthiness.

There is a neon hamsa, an open hand with an eye in the middle, in El’s bedroom in the hideout. The hamsa is a Middle Eastern symbol of protection and good luck. The words Spiritual Advisor are written in neon on the hamsa sign. Kali is an important person in El’s journey, teaching her to take care of herself as well as others, and to think of herself as special and wanted rather than as a monster and a science experiment.

The hamsa makes Kali’s important role in El’s life clear. El will undoubtedly need guidance again, and a helping hand with psychic powers.

El’s psychic powers are getting stronger. When we met her, she needed the sensory deprivation tank or a radio to enter psychic space. Now she’s able to find random strangers over long distances with nothing but a photo and a blind fold. If she feels a close connection to someone, as with Hopper and Mike, she doesn’t even need that. She just needs to trigger deep thoughts and memories of them.

I don’t remember seeing El use her finding/tracking ability in the real world at all last season. I believe we only saw her use it to find people so that she could spy on them, and to find Will and Barb in the Upside Down. Or did she also locate people so that the FBI could send goons to arrest them?

Kali states one of the major themes of the season. Healing isn’t possible with repression and lies. The truth and the pain have to be faced and dealt with for healing to be possible. Otherwise the system/organism will fester, becoming worse over time, whether it’s Hopper becoming an alcoholic and pill addict to numb the pain of the loss of his daughter; the town rotting from underneath like a festering wound that’s scabbed over, because for decades it’s avoided facing the cancer that is Hawkins Lab; or Barb’s parents giving up everything they own to find her, rather than admit that she’s likely dead.

El has faced some of her pain, but not all of it. She’s realized that Hopper, Mike, and her friends in Hawkins are her family, even when they disappoint her. She knows that family means a give and take relationship, with each person giving what they are good at and capable of, and taking what they need in return. She knows that mistakes will be made.

But, Kali is right. She hasn’t faced the abusive bond that she had with her papa. Kali was old enough when she was taken to remember her birth family and original life. She was never prey to Brenner’s twisted love the way that El was. Before she escaped, El had never known any other life or parent but the lab and Papa.

Brenner was the first person to hold El when she was born. He continued to be the one to hold her when she needed someone. Even very abusive parents and their kids still love each other. The two aren’t mutually exclusive, and we saw that bond constantly between El and Brenner in season 1.

El’s not going to be whole until she deals with her feelings toward him, the loss of the safety and home that the lab provided, and all of the other feelings that she wishes she didn’t have. Plus, of course, the anger about what was taken from her and done to her.

El hasn’t checked to see if Brenner is alive, or looked for his body (she found Barb’s body, so that’s possible), because she’s afraid of what she’d find. She’d have to directly confront things she’s not ready to face, possibly even Brenner himself. She’s not ready for that. She may even be able to feel his consciousness somewhere in the back of her head.

Becky is still one of the sheeple after all. Did she believe anything El said, or was she just humoring El until she could get El out of the room long enough to call someone? Becky told El that El could stay with her, with the condition that El tell Becky her story sometime soon, but it didn’t have to be now. Turning around and calling the authorities on the first night is tantamount to a betrayal, and Becky would understand that if she believed any of Terry’s story, never mind what she knows of El’s. Maybe she doesn’t believe that El is really Jane.

El is probably remembering when Benny called the authorities, and ended up dead. Leaving Becky and Terry is as much for their protection as it is for her own. Maybe they won’t think that the girl in question was El if she’s not there.

After El leaves, Terry switches her TV to Action News 8, with the 8 filling up the screen. This was her plan all along. She’s more lucid than she appears, as I’ve theorized all along, but she’s like an oracle who speaks in riddle and prophecy. Until now, she hasn’t had anyone who could interpret her properly.

How did Terry find the stories of all of the kids in the files? You couldn’t do an internet search back then. Did El inherit her finding ability from Terry? If so, Terry’s seems more well-developed, since she can hunt for types of people, while El can only hunt for specific people.

Or was Terry looking up the backstories on children she’d seen with her own eyes? There were a lot of doors in that hall. Were children behind all of them? Where are those children now? Why did Brenner take those particular children? Did they already have powers, or did he know something about their genetics? Are they all the children of his former test subjects?

With Kali in the world, there will now always be the question of Real/Not Real? They had El/Jane ask Kali if she was real for a reason, then show us NotRealBrenner later for a reason. A powerful illusionist can start a war based on illusions, or stage a bloodless coup. She would have been able to walk right out of the lab by making herself invisible, perhaps with the help of a distraction off to the side. She and El may have been separated because they were learning to combine their powers, which would make them a formidable team.

At least there is a time limit on her illusions of 1 1/2 minutes. Enough to accomplish something, but not enough to use illusion to make someone a hostage in their own fake life.

I believe that Ray is telling the truth and Brenner is alive. The scene at the end of season 1 in the junior high hall happened fast, the demogorgon died soon after, and we never saw his body. No Body=No Death. Did the demogorgon even have time to eat him or take him to the Upside Down and make him an incubator? It’s believable that he was hurt but got himself to safety somehow, unnoticed in the chaos of that night. Especially if he has psychic powers of his own and could psychically call for help.

If you examine the articles that are readable from Terry’s file, it’s clear that Terry was collecting stories of strange child disappearances. Stories strange enough that there was probably a mutant inhuman psychic involved, unless Brenner himself has powers that strong.

These are the headlines from the file that I could catch-

Cleveland Teen Girl Missing in Indiana

Part of the article is readable as El flips through. The girl was a 16 year old honors student and basketball team captain, in Indiana for a basketball conference championship game. “After leading her team to victory, the girl disappeared somewhere between the Indiana junior high gymnasium and the bus waiting to take her and the rest of the team [back to] Ohio…

That sounds like Brenner either used Kali to help take this girl, he has a similar ability himself, or he has another mutant psychic who he’s manipulated into cooperating.

Another Girl Lost

From County Hospital (Photo of Toddler age boy)

end of word Schoolyard

Pawtucket Mother and Daughter Missing

Baby Boy Missing from County Hospital- Frank Williams, Memphis

A baby boy went missing during a nursing staff shift change. The nurse who took him had been out sick for the week before, and was found dead in her home, with no signs of the baby, when police went to investigate.

San Diego, State Police

Vanished! Indian Girl Missing in London (Kali is at least 6 in the photo)

Couldn’t tell how she went missing in London, but neighbors insist that she’s a stubborn girl who’ll surely be seen again.

Brenner was somehow taking children from very public places. It seems unlikely that he’d be able to convince all of those people that he’d have the right to take the children, or that he’d be able to buy off all of the witnesses. Psychic abilities have to be involved in the abductions.

Here are the clearest screen caps Metamaiden could get of the readable pages in the files. No doubt someone out there will have better images, but these are a start.

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

I’ll write more about El’s journey and growth across the entire season in my end of season post. For now, let’s look at El, Kali and their relationship to each other. Kali is a mirror of what could have happened to El if she hadn’t found the particular boys that she did, when she did in season 1. El started out with the same kind of troubles that Kali did: She had no knowledge of the world or how to survive in it, and had to rely on her power and the kindness of strangers. The first person El found was Benny, but he couldn’t protect her, and she was quickly on the run again.

Kali’s escape, as far as we know, was an individual event that didn’t make the news or stir up the town at all, unlike El’s, which was related to a major event at the lab that couldn’t be completely hidden, and that involved one of the boys. So Kali would be seen as a runaway, while El was able to be believed as part of a larger conspiracy that her rescuers had a stake in.

Even though it was covered up, Kali’s escape wasn’t actually without conflict, as she herself tells us. There was the body that was mentioned on the news the night Will’s fake body was found in S1 Ep4. The reporter said another body had been found drowned in the quarry 7 years ago. It’s never been mentioned again, and Hopper didn’t know about it, since he didn’t think there had been any unusual deaths in the town in decades. That would have been while he was still in the big city. Was that death due to Kali’s escape? Did the lab successfully cover it up, or was it Kali who dumped the body?

The lab and the Upside Down conspired to make El’s second situation temporary as well. She ended up wandering in the woods, with the lab under reorganization. Kali ended up on the city streets far away, with the lab still run by Brenner. Hawkins was too dangerous to stay in or near for very long.

At the end of season 1, El had another patron waiting for her, a father figure who’d lost his own daughter and needed a reason to pull himself out of his crippling grief, depression and addiction. Hopper also had the guilt of betraying El to Brenner to work off, though it doesn’t seem like anyone alive but him knows about it.

So EL had a safe, warm home with a parent, but she was a prisoner. Kali was on the streets, but she was free. Both were still angry and lost inside, not knowing who they were, without purpose in their lives, without biological family or roots to fall back on. The Lost Sister has layers of meaning for both sisters.

Kali assembled a gang of angry outcasts like herself, and they began to work through their anger by feeding on it, making revenge and street justice their careers. It’s a dangerous game, and she can’t get too close to anyone in her gang, because the truth of her past is still too dangerous to share. Her life is still empty in many ways.

El, on the other hand, spent a year clinging to hope and the word “soon’, trying to believe Hopper when he told her that she’d be able to live openly in the world before long. When she reached her limit, he was still caught up in his own emotional issues. He couldn’t see that her issues are real and serious. She can’t just decide to be okay with sitting alone in the cabin with her trauma, and anger, and the need to live her own life, all day, every day. She needs more or she will go crazy, for reals.

It’s scary to me how often I need to write this ⬆️ ⬆️ in recaps. Stop holding women hostage, guys, even when you think it’s for our own good..

So El leaves the cabin and visits Terry. She learns about Kali, and goes to find her. They discover each other and finally they each have someone with shared experiences. It’s like coming home. El and Kali feel an immediate bond.

But, while they share some profound things in common, they are also different people, possibly with different goals and priorities. Kali is a good person, who’s been doing the best she can with her lot in life. But she’s ruled by her hurt and anger. El doesn’t know what she wants yet, but she’s hesitant about killing that isn’t done in the heat of the moment, or to defend a friend in need.

Kali gives El choices every step of the way, unlike everyone else in her entire life. Everyone else has told her what to do, what to think, what to wear, where to go, and what she should see as right and wrong. Even Mike. Many judged her by things that were outside of her control: her past in the lab, her powers, her looks.

El loves being with Kali, but she has reservations about Kali’s lifestyle. Seeing Kali’s choices and being in her world clarifies things for El. She realizes what’s important to her. What she’s willing to sacrifice, and who she’s willing to sacrifice it for. Seeing the images of Brenner trying to manipulate her, combined with images Hopper and Mike in trouble, solidifies her resolution.

El has a family. She has ways of her own to save them. They need her and she needs them. That’s where she belongs. She’ll work things out with Hopper. Get him to understand that she can’t be a prisoner anymore. He can’t physically contain her if she doesn’t let him, anyway. It’s time to go home.

Kali watches El run away and feels like she’s losing one of the few true bright spots in her life. She misses El, and the human connection that El brought her, already. She wonders what El could have in Hawkins that would make her willing to risk sacrificing her freedom for these people.

Kali’s still angry, and doesn’t know if she could get to the point of living the almost normal life that El hopes to have waiting for her. She wonders whether it would be worth following El to Hawkins and trying it out, or whether she should follow and take out her anger on the original source of her pain, the lab itself.

For tonight she needs to focus on escaping the police and finding someplace safe to sleep.

Whisper to a Scream lyrics. That faithless daughter line is interesting.

Some things take forever But with building bricks of trust and love Mountains can be moved

Love come, down upon us ’til you flow like water Burning, with the hope of insight Feathered, look they’re covered with a bright elation Stolen, in the sight of love

We are, we are, we are but your children Finding our way around indecision We are, we are, we are ever helpless Take us forever, a whisper to a scream

Birds fly, in the eye of the faithless daughter Broken, at the bitter end Wasted, sacrifice for a new nirvana Night time, sends us on our way

We are, we are, we are but your children Finding our way around indecision We are, we are, we are ever helpless Take us forever, a whisper to a scream

Stranger Things Season 2 Chapter Seven: The Lost Sister Recap In The Lost Sister, El continues her journey of self discovery with a trip to Chicago to find her psychic sister, 008/Kali.

#David Harbour #Finn Wolfhard #Linnea Berthelsen #metacrone #metamaiden #Millie Bobby Brown #netflix #Stranger Things

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artificialqueens · 7 years

Text

Rain rain go away (Zeezee) - Bitney.

Summary: Courtney gets stood up on a date. When she decides to leave the embarrassing scene, it seems luck isn’t on her side. Drenched, she hitches a ride with an old friend she hasn’t seen since High School graduation. 2 years later, she’s still blonde, New York lights still kill the stars, and she’s still obsessed with the lips of Del Rio…

A/N: Inspiration came from the song ‘Strangers’ by Halsey/Lauren Jauregui. 20 year old lesbian fic. I hope you enjoy! - Zeezee

t“Do you think the universe fights for souls to be together? Some things are too strange and strong to be coincidences.” ― Emery Allen

Courtney sat alone at Square Diner, stirring what was now sludge in the bottom of her sundae glass, staring out the window at the murky view of New York’s deserted street. She rest her cheek against her hand, letting out a pathetic sigh as she gave into the confused, shamefaced tension racking her body. There she was, watching the hours draw in the evening, beautiful but tragically alone. There weren’t many other people at the diner but a few of High Schoolers, a couple with their new born baby and an elderly man reading his paper.

She’d waited over an hour for a date that was supposed to be perfect for her. A 6ft tall, brunette rugby player from Liverpool England, 23 years old and described to be broad and brutish. “A mans man” Alaska had told her, wriggling her eyebrows suggestively. He worked at the veterinary with Alaska and Farrah and both girls had recommended him highly, sending her countless photos of him at the reception desk, usually containing cringy emojjis or crude captions. He was stunning, and Courtney figured she had nothing to lose.

Alaska organised the blind date with high hopes the two would have a happy ever after ending. That’s how Courtney Act found herself alone, with her sad melted treat and her phone buzzing continuously with apologies from Alaska.

‘He’s a wonderful guy, I promise! Sorry about tonight, he got caught up at home with an emergency apparently!’

Courtney had given up answering after a while. She’d pretty much read the same thing at least 5 times: Alaska apologising, trying to reorganise, begging her not to blame herself and repeat. It wasn’t as if Courtney had put all her eggs in one basket and was relying on this stranger to be her soul mate, but she was excited for some intellectual dinner conversation with someone she could see herself getting lucky with. She liked how sharp his jaw was in photos, or how thick his arms were, and she bought herself an adorable baby pink summer dress that feathered her frame elegantly especially for the date, she’d rather it didn’t go to waste.

Courtney had never been stood up before. She was slim, athletic, blonde, and had a light aussie accent, and eyes a person could swim in - pretty much the moment a person set sights on her, she had them putty in her hands. Courtney wasn’t big headed, but she knew what she had to offer and the luck that she had been blessed with. Advantages came with her appearance that she liked to use when appropriate. Dates would drool at her feet, and it had been that way since puberty- she figured this muscle-bound crumpet would have been as easy as cake to land. Maybe Alaska hadn’t shown him a flattering photo of her, or any photo at all! Had she forgotten to reveal Courtney’s strengths, her stunning good looks?! Did she paint a repulsive, unimaginative, cruel picture to her blind date that he had no choice but to give her the cold shoulder?

She pulled her cardigan over her shoulders a little more, frowning as a breeze hit her. It had been a long time since she’d been on a date, which wasn’t because no one was asking, she had just put them off for a while to focus on her work. She thought it was about time she put herself back on the market, but apparently it was meant to be that she’d stay alone.

Rather than pity herself any longer - which was probably an hour too long already - she stood up and threw her cardigan over her shoulder, strutting out the diner.

New York City was as alive and breathing as Courtney was. She took every step like the beginning to a waltz and let the rich excitement of a New York’s spin her in a tranquil frenzy. The contradiction of New York was what kept Courtney laughing through all the hardships - no matter what the time, she could rely on the city that never slept to lull her with a lullaby. Some people hated the constant noise, but for Courtney it kept her from being driven mad by her own incessant worries. She walked down the streets with the upmost confidence, swinging her arms at her sides and swaying to the tune stuck in her head.

It was a particularly quiet evening, suspiciously for New York, but it didn’t stop Courtney organising an orchestra in her walk. A pristine, proud faith in her beauty, that caught the eye of a few passersby and one puerile car of frat boys that couldn’t resist wolf whistling as they sped past her. She enjoyed the attention, twirling on the spot before they were out of sight and giggling with enjoyment at the ego boost. She may not be on a date with a hunky man, but walking through the city when the sun is almost settled feels just as wonderful right now.

An optimist till the bitter end, that was Courtney.

Her apartment was quite a distance from the diner, but she didn’t feel like calling a cab. The walk would do her good she figured, so she took the time to gather the passing thoughts that had been floating around her head. When should she call her mother next? Should she get to the studio an hour early tomorrow for extra practice? Had she saved up enough money for next months rent as well as this one? The small worries that felt massive when she was rushing around the place.

About 10 minutes into her walk, her phone starts to ring. She digs into her Ted Baker piggy pink handbag and fishes out her mobile.

“Hello?” She cheerfully answers, her mimi toned lips spread from cheek to cheek.

“Hay baby, it’s me!” The nails on a chalk board voice let her know, it was Alaska. “Listen, I’m sorry about what happened. I just spoke to dreamboat, and he is dying to meet you. How about we reschedule for tomorrow?”

Courtney wrinkled her nose, concealing the irritated groan that wanted to come out. It wasn’t that she wasn’t still interested in the date - she had a working pair of eyes and knew exactly what she wanted to do with her English muffin, but the tedious job of getting dressed up all over again and forcing a sickeningly sweet smile just to prove there were no hard feelings for standing her up today just seemed to tier her out at the sheer thought of it. Alaska had the best of intentions, but Courtney wasn’t sure going along with the charade was worth a chance at sex.

“I don’t know Alaska…” She was about to go on when her friend interrupted, fumbling over her words in a desperate attempt to keep Courtney interested.

She listened fondly, grinning as Alaska listed the endearing qualities of her mystery man. It seemed like he didn’t have anything wrong with him, and when she was about to give in to rescheduling, Courtney’s attention was suddenly cut off by a loud crackle from the sky. She looked up, and there it was, the clouds disguised amongst the evening shades. Grey and ready to burst. Her eyes widened as she realised she was still 20 minutes from home, with no umbrella, and not a cab in sight.

“What the hell is going on today?!”

“Hmm?” Alaska half heartedly hummed.

She began scuttling toward a velvet shelter, leading into a hotel. “Sorry, it’s about to rain. I’m walking home!”

“Call a cab?”

“Yeah, there are none around. None! How is this New York without a damn cab anywhere on the roads? Is this a sign of the apocalypse of something, where is everyone?!”

“Oh, you know, I did hear there was going to be a massive storm today.”

Courtney wished it were possible to slap someone through the phone.

“Are you far away from your place?”

“Yes! I still have another couple of blocks to go!”

All of a sudden, the heavens opened up and let loose the nerve wracking tonnes of rain, drowning the earth in misery. Courtney’s mouth fell open as she watched the rain pour down and smack the sidewalk, the sound harsh like bricks being thrown at a wall. The water bounced off the ground aggressively and she felt splashes hit her ankles. It was going to be a hellish mission to get back home with the mightiest waterfall releasing on the streets on New York City.

“I don’t know what to say-”

“Look Lasky, I’ll call you later…after I have a brisk shower!” and before her friend could answer back, Courtney hung up. This was unlike anything Courtney had ever experienced with rain. A storm, pulling the city apart with the power of 20 dozen men, focused in on the wind. Courtney felt a sudden gush rush past her legs and blow her dress up. She squealed in panic as she tried to smooth it back down.

Courtney squinted her eyes as she stared out into the distance. Everything was decorated a dirty blue blur, the rain washing out any view there might have been. Why would Alaska organise a date when she knew there was a God damn storm?! Courtney cursed, stomping her heel and sighing. It wasn’t going to let up, leaving her with two choices: to stay stranded underneath the shelter of a hotel’s entrance for however long it may take, or run home and risk pneumonia. Her new highlights would probably get ruined, and she’d have to throw out her Sophia Webster Evangeline strappy heels, but the impatience her father had passed down to her began to take charge of her instincts.

After a few minutes of watching the streets practically flood, she took a deep breath and began running, squealing every few seconds when her foot got drenched in a puddle. The rain beat her bare skin mercifully, cleaning her of any sins staining her skin. The pain was horrific, she could feel the bruises being left already. She ran as fast as she could given she was wearing heels. Courtney was in good shape, but the humid air of heavy rain was enough to wind anybody regardless of their fitness.

It didn’t seem to let up at all in the short time she’d been running. In fact, it felt like it only got harder, hammering down as if it had been sent by God himself to smite the wicked. Maybe this was Courtney’s punishment for when she’d lied to that homeless man about not having change- she didn’t believe in a higher power until this moment, where her new outfit was ruined and her hair was a soggy mess. That’ll teach her to lie on her way to window shopping for Mikimoto earrings.

Adding to the disaster of her drenched appearance and the damning weather, a loud crashing suddenly announced itself, practically splitting Courtney in half as she screamed in panic and fell over herself. She landed on her hands, muttering profanities under her breath realising she’d cut up her palm on the rough stone pathway. The sting shot through her arms all the way upward. She clenched her teeth at the pain, trying to keep herself calm. A ruined outfit, cut up hands, and her worst fear lightening. Could it get any worse? She scooted over to the doorway of a small bakery nearby and sat, nursing her wounds and trying not to panic every time the heavens irrupted with a flash of light and a terrifying roar.

She felt like a drowned rat.

“Christ almighty.” Courtney blew at the cut on her hand, clearing the dirt and wincing when a particularly painful sensation shot through her veins. She looked out at the block she was on - cobblestone pathways, classic red bricked houses, the real sense of timeless nostalgia that still read modern and fresh.

Courtney sighed, watching the rain crash down upon the streets violently. It wasn’t going to let up anytime soon, and she must have had that thought more than enough times by now. The optimist she was kept hoping it would clear up and she’d be able to flee home without anymore inconveniences. Alas, it never came. She sat on the step of the bakery for 5 minutes, with no progress on the weather wearing off.

In the distance, the first car she’d noticed on her run, pulled up on the curb in front of her. An old fashioned 1972 navy chevy nova, glistening against the bolts of rain. She glared at it for a good minute, cautious of who the driver may be, and eventually the car beeped. Long and drawn out, demanding her presence. She sprang up in shock and rushed toward the passenger side, leaning over to peer in the window.

That’s when she saw her, the all too familiar face that use to send her through the motions in High School, making her crazy whenever her name slipped off the lips of another person. Suddenly the rain slamming around her didn’t exist, and all she could fathom was the ghost before her. The same slick eyeliner, the same pointed nose, the same bulbous ruby lips-

“Long time no see, cum biscuit.”

The same crude sense of humour.

Courtney laughed, pushing back the extensive strands of soaked hair from her face and signalled to open the door. Bianca nodded, and Courtney clambered in, shivering when the difference in temperature hit her.

“You’ll freeze in that get up. Get unchanged, I’ve got spare clothes on the back seat-”

“Trying to undress me in under a minute. That’s a new record for you.”

Courtney smiled, completely smitten with her joke, but was met with nothing but a stern stare. She nodded knowingly, and kept quiet while she reached back and grabbed the clothes. Some baggy sweat pants and an oversized tee with a few stains of paint. Courtney timidly wriggled out of her clothes, her eyes on Bianca as she drove on completely focused on the road. When she was in the new clothes, she pulled out the top and raised a brow.

“Do you paint now?”

“Nah, it’s an old top my roomie Shangela borrowed. She took up art to impress some pretentious French guy she met at a bar. Now he’s out of the picture, I get back my ruined top.”

“Why keep it?”

“It’s easy to throw on. You know, if I’m ever entertaining in the car,” Bianca rolls her head on her shoulders and gives Courtney a cocky smirk, snickering, “Like old times.”

Courtney’s eyes widened and she had to look away, in fear the rouge of her blush would open too many old wounds.

Bianca had once been the most important person in Courtney’s life just a few years ago. She was the the fire in her loins, the crack of her whip, the definition of desire for Courtney Act. Back in Highschool, it all began when they were 16 in gym class. Bianca threw a dodgeball directly at Courtney’s head and hit her so hard she fell a few inches backward, straight on her bum. Bianca had apologised profusely, helping her stand and getting her a cold water bottle to put against the blow. All the while Bianca’s friends giggling with one another at the whole scene. Courtney didn’t take it to heart. She shook off the initial shook and accepted Bianca’s apologies, giggling herself. Somehow, they ended up good friends. Inseparable almost, having to be with the other like they supplied the oxygen to their lungs. Bianca would go to every football game just to see Courtney cheer, and Courtney would stay behind after school as Bianca did extra work for her textiles class. Like opposites attracting, the two girls found themselves utterly obsessed with the goings-on of one another’s life.

Then Bianca came out, and Courtney found herself in dire need of Bianca’s affections more than ever. They spent what felt like everyday round each others homes, bitching and flirting. Courtney took the risk on Bianca’s 17th birthday, when Bianca took Courtney into the kitchen to cut her a slice of the cake her mother had baked and was shocked to be kissed. Then they kissed all the time, every chance they got, without any regrets or concerns for what anyone else might think.

It seemed like a forever feeling - stars aligning and air tasting like sugar, the two teens madly in love with each other. There were no hardships, no bitter exes, no rude homophobes…it was all too perfect. Bianca would fall a thousand feet under the earth if it meant she could make Courtney sublimely happy. Hands in a frenzy for the skin to skin contact, and hair caught in mouths, and legs trembling to stay solid. They made fire look like ice compared to them caught in the heat of a moment. There was nothing to complain about; they were in love, truly, madly, deeply so.

Then High School ended. Bianca went to college with two of her friends from class, Shea and Sasha, and Courtney got an internship in a studio as a mixer. Her girlfriend was miles away Courtney couldn’t just drive for a quick visit, and then the rumours started speculating. Alaska heard Bianca had slept with some grungy wanna be singer, then their mutual friend Bob told Courtney she’d been hanging around some girl called Adore a lot, and that’s when the safety pin of Courtney’s sanity was pulled, and she ignited like a grenade. The stupendous love she’d had was suddenly dust in the wind, and her trust for Bianca broke.

Courtney stopped returning Bianca’s calls. She made excuses to stay home rather than visit her girlfriend. Eventually Bianca broke up with her out of frustration and they hadn’t spoken since. Two years since the melt down, and here she was, soaking wet in her passenger seat.

Was it fait? Was that something Courtney even believed in? She hadn’t thought about Bianca in months, and even then, she hadn’t thought anything pleasant about her since the break up.

“I um…” Courtney coughed, trying to loosen the knot in her throat. “I can walk to my place, you know. I don’t want to be an inconvenience.”

“You really want to get back out in that?” Bianca asked, tossing her head toward the window, a sly grin on her face at the idea of Courtney struggling any more to get home. Courtney awkwardly laughed, shaking her head.

“How did you even see me in this weather?” What she really wanted to ask was ‘What the fuck were you doing in my neighbourhood, picking up girls off the streets? Regardless if it ended up being me of all people!’

Bianca looked as sexy as she did when they were a couple, Courtney shamefully thought. She didn’t want to see Bianca as such still, but that girl had an overwhelming power over Courtney, she couldn’t control her thoughts. She alluded such ease and comfortability, tousled and uncaring, like a true college student. Her hair was dyed blonde, unkept and fallen around her chest, and the dark brown of her roots had began to peak. She wore a lazy over sized blue denim shirt, hiding the booty shorts and black tee, and oversized punk dock martian boots. Her makeup was heavy, as it always use to be, and persist, in a way only Bianca could wear it and somehow come off casual. She was the same old Bianca, from the cosy clothes to the sharpe brows, not a colour outside the lines. Courtney wanted to spend all her time looking at her, recalling the familiar awe that always smacked her round the face when Bianca looked her way.

Bianca shrugged. “I have good eye sight I guess. I was heading back to my place, and I saw a blonde in the rain. I’m not one to let a damsel stay distressed!” Bianca joked. Her smile lifted high across her face, and there were the same dimples Courtney had fallen in love with. The dents in her skin, so unimportant, seemed to have meant the whole world to Courtney at one stage of her life.

“So,” Courtney took a hair tie out from the bottom of her handbag and messily threw her hair up in a bun, “What have yo- wait, where are we going? Do you know where I live?”

“Of course I don’t, dim wit. I’m driving to mine.”

“What? No! No, no, no, I just want to go home-”

“I haven’t seen you in how fucking long, and you want to skip out on a catch up?”

“I just want to take a shower and relax.”

“You can shower at mine.”

Courtney took a deep breath, frowning. “I don’t think that’s very appropriate, Bianca. I want to go to my apartment. My address is-”

A sudden boisterous roar of thunder tore through the air, causing Courtney to screech in distress. She dug her fingers into the leather of the car seat, as a shiver sent down her spine. She hated thunder, and even more so lightening. Bianca peered over, and rolled her eyes.

“Save it. My place is like 5 minutes away. You can dry off, I’ll make you a coffee and then I’ll drive you back to your place when the storm dies down.” She took a turn, then faced Courtney. It was hard for Bianca to keep a stern, cold look when she was met with the sunny, bubbly old flame of her affections. “I promise.”

Courtney remembers exactly what it was about Bianca she first fell in love with: her undeniable charm, laced in the gravelly tone and devil’s smile. She’s met with gorgeous, sparkling brown eyes, and she can’t seem to find the will to fight her corner anymore. Despite not having thought about Bianca in months, all she wants, more than anything, is to hear about her life, and be caught in the translucent fairytale of her what-once-was.

The sound of rain trickling down glass is the sweetest serenity that could mend a broken soul. Soft pitter patters grazing rooftops, tiny droplets splashing the grass and making it shimmer under the glow of the moonlight. Rain was truly beautiful when angled correctly. New York City, where the buildings shot up high into the heavens, and the lights blinded the angels above, it was hard to have a romanticised version of rain like others experienced. By the Irish sea in the countryside, with the tears of a vengeful God, translating into a peaceful shower for mother earth. Washing the nature, bringing life to the crops, and giving that grumpy old farmer another thing to complain about. New Yorkers could never have that same wonderful simplicity; but Bianca would be damned if she didn’t try and find tranquility in the rain.

Bianca had the delightful task of ringing out Courtney’s summery dress over the kitchen sink and resting it on the radiator. She didn’t mind all that much, but when she thought about it, it seemed more perplexing of a job than it should have. Not physically, but emotionally.

Courtney immediately jumped into the shower upon arrival, so all Bianca knew so far of her ex was she still had a killer body, and she had found herself lucky in riches somehow, noting the shoes and the handbag and the jewellry. She boiled the kettle and leaned against the counter top, pondering on the possibilities that could be Courtney’s lifestyle now.

Bianca lived in a shabby, run down apartment with three other girls. There was Sasha, the two agreeing to live together in New York after collage. Sasha was dealing with her heart being stretched to the point of snapping where Shea decided to stay in Chicago, so to be in the company of a friend was at least a little relaxing on her strained love. Then there was Peppermint, an overly enthusiastic girl who waited tables in the day and performed on stage in the evening. She always came home with treats for everyone and an infectious smile. Finally, there was Naomi. A buggy, twig-like creature who was never around very often since she was usually galavanting all over America modelling, but when she was there she was quiet and well-kept, and bitchy enough for Bianca to get a kick out of her company.

That was her life. A normal, hard working life, with bills, an empty fridge more than often, and a ton of stress weighing down her shoulders. Bianca was often jumping between jobs - being hired to do hair and makeup for special events or making costumes for party shops, and just recently she’d been employed to shadow a costume designer for a Broadway design company. Looking at Courtney, she saw all the success she only hoped to have in 5 years time, accelerated in the form of a beautiful, young fighter. Maybe even a little bit of a careerist, which, was a good thing and a bad thing. Not exactly the nature of the free spirited flower child she use to know, who preached love, peace and reaching for the stars.

What were the chances of running into Courtney after two years of separation? Out of all the zany characters that inhabited New York, she had to pity the pretty blonde that just so happened to be her ex. It couldn’t have been an underwear model, or a cougar, or even a prostitute! It had to be Courtney fucking Act.

Bianca pulls out two mugs from the cupboard and pours out the coffee. She stirs both cups, adds sugar, milk, then takes a refreshing sip from hers. The warmness alights her after the bitter cold of the outside, and she can’t help but smile to herself. She moves toward the couch, resting both cups on the coffee table to throw on the ratty grey cardigan draped over the arm of the chair, and settles in for the night. The idyllic setting of a dimly-lit room and the rain drumming on the glass, Bianca let out a heavy breath that had been stuck in her lungs for far to long, rigged and knotted with tension.

The shower shuts off, the door unlocks, and eventually Courtney walks through in the same oversized tshirt she’d borrowed in the car, her girly boxer briefs with love hearts covered by the material, and a towel wrapped around her hair. Bianca finds it near to impossible to look anywhere that isn’t the svelte legs, glistening with the few beads of water sliding down her skin. Courtney’s face now fresh and pink, with just a trace of mascara caught under her eyes. She’s divine, walking toward Bianca and shyly offers her a coy smile.

“Made you a coffee.” Bianca gestures to the lonesome cup, and Courtney skittishly takes it, mumbling a thank you before sipping the drink. Bianca resists the urge to roll her eyes. How was I ever with someone like this? She thinks.

“Thank you for the lift. I don’t mean to be an imposition.”

“You’re sat on my couch in your panties. You’re already some what of an imposition, but it’s fine.”

Courtney chews on the corner of her lip, avoiding eye contact as she tucks her legs into the excess of the top. In the absence of conversation, she looks around the apartment and admires the cosy decor. Clothes thrown wherever they balance, more than often brightly coloured and fitted, shoes discarded wherever the day ended for the owner, and run down, tacky furniture. Not styled or desired by anyone, but affordable and comfy, and good enough. The decor was exactly that: good enough.

Bianca groans, putting her mug down on the table and leaning forward. The look on her face makes Courtney nervous. “Can we just address the elephant in the room?” She gruffly asks, barely waiting for the other girl to interject. “This is weird. You, being in my apartment. Me, picking you up. This is all a little too fucking coincidental if you ask me, and I’m not into it.”

Courtney blinks a couple of times before clearing her throat. “Wh-what do you mean?”

Bianca raises her brow. “Are you messing with me? You know what I mean, Courtney, don’t play dumb-”

“I’m not! I just,” She gently places her coffee mug down and repositions herself, taking a deep breath. “I don’t know what to say, Bianca. Not many people get this kind of opportunity, to be reunited with their ex. We didn’t exactly end on good terms after all.”

“I know. You stopped talking to me, and then you became a bitch.” The statement punctured Courtney. The many shades of red pouring out like the accusations that left peoples mouths all those years ago when they dirtied Bianca’s reputation; dirtied their relationship status.

This girl in front of her, this stranger she once adored, made her angrier than anyone ever had in her whole life. To even dare insult her, after the intense admiration she once held for her- at least she stayed faithful in their relationship. There was no frolicking with other girls and completely destroying the relationship they had both cared for.

She crossed her arms and glared wickedly at her, hoping flames would burst around the scene. “You have some nerve to call me a bitch after what you did! You didn’t even come down from Chicago to break up with me! You were too busy galavanting with other girls weren’t you?!”

“Woah, what?”

“Yeah!” Courtney shouted unexpectedly, recoiling back into herself and looking around embarrassed. She hoped none of Bianca’s roommates were home. “I know you were cheating on me, Bianca. Some little floozy, I can’t even remember her name, but a bunch of people told me.” She lied - Courtney remembers the girl was called Adore, and she knew Bianca ended up very close to her, according to all the photos on her Facebook.

Bianca stayed quiet, her face completely shocked and her eyes flickering back and forth as she racked her brain for any name she might have meant. After too many silent seconds, she finally snickered, which escalated into proper laughter, and soon she was cackling. Courtney glared at the girl in fits of laughter till she couldn’t take it and shoved her.

“It’s not funny, Bianca! You cheated on me-”

“No I fucking didn’t.” Bianca tittered, sitting up. “I didn’t cheat on you. I would never cheat on you, why would I?”

Courtney opens her mouth to speak but stops herself, taking in the statement. She’s not sure how to take it, as a good thing or a bad thing given how long it took to even process at the time. The heart ache she endured, took as nothing but the truth- at the time it felt like someone had reached into her chest and poured acid over the wounds of her heart, squeezed it till it popped, and left her to survive with the damage done. At the time, love seemed like the most important thing in her life. It overpowered every other aspect of her being, warping her understanding of unity and strength, and she became accustomed to needing Bianca. No matter how many times she talked about wanting to sell albums, wanting to be a successful singer songwriter, her girlfriend would trump everything else on the table. Courtney could have died for Bianca, and it felt like she did when they were over.

Now she was older, sat in her ex’s living room, half naked, learning that what they threw away was for nothing. Childish insecurities and fiendish whispers, all acted as the fuel behind the out of control flames, setting their tender affections alight. Courtney’s mouth dried up, her chest collapsed, and the weight began to reopen the stitches on her poor, beaten heart.

“You…you’re lying?” She hoped, as peculiar as it seemed. To imagine she’d thrown away the best part of her teenage years all because of pathetic hearsay. Sitting beside Bianca, looking into her hypnotising eyes, she felt the familiar weakness that was once so pampered by her impulse to please her love. Bianca’s lips curled, and the dimples punctured more holes in her, deeper and more painful.

“I’m not lying, Court. Who even told you that?” Bianca asked, the undertone of chuckling still sewn in her voice. Courtney felt like heaving, but remained calm. She had no choice- how could she freak out after two years of no contact (especially in a situation where she wasn’t even wearing any trousers)?!

“Alaska, and Bob…even Chi Chi said she suspected something-”

“Why the flying fuck would you believe Bob and Chi Chi?! Those two have the biggest mouths around! Alaska I don’t fucking know what her damage was, but I can assure you…Never listen to Bob and Chi Chi.”

Bianca’s smile use to bring such comfort to Courtney. Now she just wanted to throw up.

“Well, what about Detox? She came to the studio when I first started working there. She told me you had your eyes on someone else?”

Bianca sighed, rubbing her forehead in annoyance. This was the conversation they should have had so long ago. 2015, pigtail, crop top obsessed Courtney. Flared jeans, brown hair Bianca, trying to contain the fireworks off entering adulthood, both separately and together.. This was a conversation that was well overdue.

“Detox is an asshole.”

“Because she told me the truth?”

“No. Because we had a huge fight when we were drunk. She visited me in Chicago and I wouldn’t let her sleep with my friend…” Bianca pinched the top of her nose before letting out a drawn out groan. “My friend Adore had just gotten out of a pretty serious relationship and she was going a little off the rails. Detox wanted to sleep with her and I called her an inflatable fuck buddy-”

“Bianca!” Courtney playfully slapped her, giggling nevertheless. Bianca faked being shocked, holding her arm as if she was in agonising pain, and then they laughed in sync.

What a sound, the harmonies of their happiness.

“If she’s gonna pump silicone in her ass and tits, I’m going to mock her for it! Anyway, she was so drunk and accused me of keeping Adore all for myself. And so, I’m guessing, as soon as she got home she decided to tell you some bullshit as pay back for me preventing her from getting laid.”

“Hmm. Sounds a little contrived if you ask me.”

“Well that’s the God’s honest truth. You know Detox has a sneaky side. She’s all bark no bite.”

Courtney pursed her lips, eyes falling to her drink. It had stopped steaming at this point. She thought about their conversation, the implications it had, and the stupidity she felt.

“So you…you never slept with Adore? Or, anyone?” Courtney timidly asked, feeling the size of a mouse the second the question left her lips.

Bianca scoffs. “Of course not! For fuck sake, Courtney, I thought the sun shined out your ass I was so in love with you! How in the name of Bob Mackie could you even believe I would dare ruin what we had?”

“I mean…you did break up with me.”

“You were ignoring me!”

“Because I thought you were cheating on me-”

“Which I wasn’t!”

They stayed stuck on one anothers gaze, before bursting into laughter. Lovely, light laughter like soft violins or flutes, floating through the air, singing along to the tunes of morning birds. Bianca rubbed her temples, being the first to stop laughing. Courtney still did the cute snort when she laughed- the one she despised, that Bianca always adored.

Honestly, Bianca did have fleeting feelings from time to time of great saudade. There was no English word to do it justice, the empty space left when they broke up, with the attempt to fill it with passing flirty gestures and sheets stained with faked moans. There was the occasional nights, when the moon was full or a star finally burnt out, that she remembered how she use to be a beatific vision when in the company of her love.

When she stopped laughing, their eyes met under a whole new context. It was strong and overwhelming, like a tornado. They felt sucked into the power of this feeling. Bianca now knew that Courtney worked at a studio, that she at least had a reasonable excuse to have been a bitch all those years ago, and she still possessed the easy-to-read hunger in the corner of her eyes.

“I’m sorry.” Bianca whispered, afraid to scare the moment.

“I’m sorry too.” Courtney whispered back, even quieter.

Bianca caught Courtney’s gaze flicker between her eyes and her lips. Usually she wore red lipstick- she cursed herself for not wearing red lipstick, it was always a winner, but it seemed the shade still had an effect on Courtney. Still staring, lustfully, her thin, pink lips slightly parted so Bianca could see the pearly sparkle of her front teeth.

God I missed those teeth.

What a strange thought? Bianca didn’t pounder on it for too long though, because soon she was reminiscing on all the things she missed; the freckle between Courtney’s collarbone; the light scar that defined when her frown lines rose; the bruise on her right knee that seemed to always return unbeknown to how it got there. Looking into Courtney’s eyes, Bianca was reminded of all the wonderful memories they shared together before the great storm-

“Shit.” She pounced from her seat, making Courtney jump, and she ran to the window. The weather had let up, and now it was only mizzling, a pathetic excuse for dampening the streets. “The storm’s stopped. Well, that’s…” she turned back to face Courtney, scratching the back of her neck. “Good.”

Courtney forced a smile. She unwrapped the towel from her hair and got up to rest it on a radiator. “Yeah, that’s great.” She combed through the wet strands of her hair, wincing as she caught a knot, before throwing it all back and looking at the other girl. “I’ll go put on my dress and uh, get out of your way-”

“Wait, Court.” Bianca interrupted, overly eager, rushing toward Courtney. They stood a few centimeters apart, not enough to lean forward and kiss, but enough to feel the wires connecting them tense. “There’s no rush. I mean,” She shrugged, “it’s been so long, you and I. We have a lot of catching up to do. Don’t you…” Bianca’s breath fell from her, the nerves rattling her bones. “Don’t you think?”

Only fools rush in, wise men recite, like a grand law. Yet, Courtney couldn’t help it. She was undeniably drawn to the magnetic force that ran through Bianca’s blood. Only fools rush in, wise men warn, but what other tragedies could fall upon Courtney when she’d already lost Bianca once? She looks into the other girls eyes, and all the anger she’d stored up from two years ago melts away beneath her feet, and she’s filled with a fizzling warmth instead, intimate and dear like how it once was.

Maybe it was stupid, but when her gut was telling her the same thing it was when she was barely 17 at Bianca’s birthday, she knew to listen. In a sudden spur of the moment, Courtney grabs Bianca by the scuff of her cardigan and kisses her, deep and passionately.

Her lips are still the same. Pillowy, smooth, and the best damn sensation a person could feel on their own. Courtney doesn’t let go of her cardigan in fear of falling through the floorboards, losing this feeling to the adrenaline. She wants this to be the kiss that repairs the scars on her heart- the kiss that transforms the apartment into the darkest corners of the galaxy, soaring through the stars trying to capture the beauty of light. She opens her mouth just enough, to seem sensual, and keeps kissing her like there was never a two year silence between them.

Bianca relaxes, and smiles against her lips. She links her arms around Courtney’s waist, and the dent of her back is so cold where her hands have been gone so long. Courtney’s lips still taste like cherries. What working girl in her fucking 20s wears flavoured lip gloss? She thinks, though never complains. It was like sleeping in a bed you haven’t been in for weeks - all too familiar, and cozy, but strangely surreal. Her tongue slips past Courtney’s lips, and she lets loose a low moan, pulling the girl into her more as if there was any space left between them. Courtney’s body melted against Bianca’s, and she was lost for power in the situation, completely surrendering to the will of Bianca’s lust.

She pulled away, for just a minute. Courtney whimpers, resting her forehead against Bianca’s, panting. The world around them has been put on mute, and the picture is but dark static. They are the only colour in the room. They exudes the importance of second chances, as their hearts beat in sync, racing to make up for lost time.

“You agree then? We have a lot of catching up to do.” Bianca said, kissing Courtney on the tip of her nose. Courtney blushed, biting her lip and letting a content sigh escape.

“Is this weird? It feels so normal but, it’s weird, isn’t it?”

“Maybe a little, but who fucking cares. I’m fine with weird if you are.”

“Oh definitely, without a doubt! I’ve always been fine with weird, from the very second you threw that dodgeball at my face…to the time you coincidentally drove through my neighbourhood and picked me up in the pouring rain.”

Bianca snickered. “I certainly know how to charm ‘em, don’t I?” She pulled one of her hands around from Courtney’s back and tickled under her chin, guiding her back to her lips. Hungry with the desire to never end, a kiss that left them breathless with such simplicity. They both smiled against the others lips.

“I don’t even know why you’re back in New York, and here we are kissing in your living room.” Courtney purred, resting her full weight on Bianca so she was forced to sit on the edge of the sofa.

“I finished college. It was a compressed course, remember. I could have stayed on but me and Sasha were done, too much to deal with.” Bianca flicked the earring dangling from Courtney’s ear, making her flinch and jerk her shoulder to hide her ear. “How about you, big spender? Where are all the expensive brands coming from?”

Courtney clicked her tongue. She was thrilled to be in Bianca’s arms- even if an hour ago this was the furthest thing from her list of known desires, but she knew not to reveal everything to fast. Once a secret is out there, it’s no longer a secret. She had to keep some parts of her life a mystery.

For now.

“Maybe I’m just so good at my job, they over pay me!”

“At an internship?”

“I’m not interning anymore, I’m the real deal! I mix records, I sit in on the production for radio stations…I, Bianca Del Rio, am a real working woman. I’m even working on an EP.”

“You are?”

“Sure am. I already have a single, so an EP is the next step. I don’t know, I just got lucky with money I suppose.” Courtney put her arms around Bianca’s neck, playing with the strands of hair that fell at her back. “That’s not important right now.” She bit her lip, eyes fallen dark and the black blown wide with lust. “We should really talk about whatever this is we’re starting.”

Bianca takes a deep breath through her nose, and lightly pushes Courtney off her. It all feels surreal, even kind of overwhelming now that she’s not swimming in Courtney’s perfume, distracted. “We did sort of jump the gun there, didn’t we?”

Courtney’s smile fades. She feels her nerves stiffen, watching the strangely despondent expression on her face, and she tries to recoil the sudden thrill of a moments ambitions, rather than let her imagination run wild like when she was a teenager. She puts her arms down by her side, and scrunches her hand in a ball, pinching her palms. “That’s not a bad thing.”

“No. No I guess not. We never exactly did things conventionally anyway, did we? I mean, remember our senior leavers do, and you wore the pin stripe suit, when all our friends thought I’d wear one-”

“Oh my God yes! And you wore the bubble gum pink dress! You were so cute.”

“And very out of my comfort zone, but I would have done anything to make you happy.” Bianca smirks, taking Courtney’s hand. “So…you and me against the world, part two?”

Courtney could count on one hand all the moments in her life she felt this ecstatic. The release party for her single, when her parents renewed their vows, and the first time her and Bianca said I love you to each other. Truly happy moments, where she was left a little breathless and dizzy, but drugged up on the thrill of that moment. She couldn’t let this slip away, no matter how unexpected.

She squeezes Bianca’s hand, cheeks practically burning at the pain of her stretched smile. “And to think I had a date tonight.”

Bianca raises her brow. “Well, that’s an interesting way to say yes, but I’ll take it.”

#bitney #zeezee #lesbian au #bianca del rio #courtney act #rpdr fanfiction

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rainteaanddragons · 7 years

Text

Smoke & Mirrors: Eighteen - Natsu

Prologue | Ch 1 | Ch 2 | Ch3 | Ch4 | Ch 5 | Ch 6 | Ch 7 | Ch 8 | Ch 9 | Ch10 | Ch 11 | Ch 12 | Ch 13 | Ch 14 | Ch 15 | Ch 16 | Ch 17 | Ch 18 |

Read on ff.net and ao3

Wendy knelt in front of where Gray and Natsu still sat, while behind her Rufus had begun to pace. Luckily for him, once cast, the spell only drained the physical and emotional energy of Natsu and Gray. Otherwise he'd be exhausted by now. It had been almost half an hour and there had been no movement until now.

Wendy frowned at the small shift in both Gray and Natsu’s expressions. “I think something’s wrong.” She said, worry lacing her voice, “Natsu looks like he’s in pain.” She was certainly right. Natsu’s brows were creased firmly, and his jaw had tensed, while his grip on Gray’s hands seemed to have tightened.

To the relief of most of the group, Rufus stopped his pacing. “He may well be.” Though he sounded blatantly relaxed it was easy to tell his lack of concern was for the right reasons.

“Can’t we do something?” Lucy demanded.

“From here, sadly not,” Rufus answered steadily.

“Hmpf.” Lucy crossed her arms. She was about to continue but a loud knock on the front door of the guild hall drew everyone’s attention.

“Hey,” A familiar voice said, “It’s Matt. I’m just coming to check up on Gray. I have some family who live in the area and I was coming to visit so I thought I’d drop in and see how he’s doing.”

Matt? It took Lyon a moment before it all clicked, “Oh, Matt, of course!” He watched as the nurse approached. Sensing something wasn’t quite right, he placed himself between Matt and the pair seated in the centre of the room.

“Lovely to see you again.” Erza grinned, “will you be here long?”

“Just until some family business has been sorted, but I’m only here to check on Gray, I don’t have much time.” He glanced around, “Where is Gray anyway?”

“He’s here.” Lyon stepped reluctantly to the side again. “We’re trying to work out exactly how Natsu was taken from Gray’s mind. We hope it will shed some light on how to get Gray’s memory back.” If that is possible at all.

“Anything yet?”

“Not quite,” Loke mused, “but time will tell.”

“Oh. Well, I hope you work something out soon.”

“You’re not the only one.” Cana spoke up, “it’s damn quite around here without those two causing a scuffle.”

Matt grinned. “Okay, I better head off. If you find out something you can give me a call at the Magnolia Inn.”

Erza’s head snapped up, a frown creasing her eyebrows. “The Inn? I thought you were here visiting family.”

“Huh?” Matt’s breath caught in his throat, as the silence settled between him and Erza. “Ohh. Not enough room at my cousins’ apartment. Plus, you know, family gatherings…” He let out a sharp chuckle, “they get loud.”

“You can say that again.”

Matt nodded his head, grinned, then turned and left with a wave.

“Who was that?” Sting had stayed uncharacteristically silent throughout the whole conversation.

“Oh, him?” Loke replied. “That was Matt, Gray’s nurse from the hospital in Gladiolus.”

“Nurse?” Rogue repeated, “I didn’t know nurses made house calls like that.”

Lyon nodded in agreement. He was about to speak but a sharp intake of breath then a sob from behind him brought his attention back to Natsu and Gray. As Gray let out another sob, tears began to leak out from beneath his closed eyelids.

“Gray?” Juvia whispered, staring wide eyed at her friend.

At this point Natsu was dry eyed, but it wasn’t long before he had tears rolling down his cheeks too. Then suddenly the pair began to shake. The scarf shifting over their clasped hands as they gripped each other’s hands tighter still.

“Shit!” Loke cried out, “What the hell is going on in there?”

“There is no way of knowing, not until they ask to be broken out of the spell. If I release them now and they are in the middle of a memory it will be very painful for them to come back to reality.”

“But–”

“–There is no telling when Natsu is in memory limbo, and that is the safest time for him to be forcibly removed from Gray’s mind.”

“What!” Juvia snapped, a fearful look in her eyes.

“If Natsu says the code word in the middle of a memory it breaks the spell on his end and I can safely release the sp–”

“–Smoke and mirrors” Natsu spoke in a broken whisper. Turning every head in the room.

Natsu let out a cry of pain as the magically charged whip came down upon his, well, Gray’s bare chest again. How did he endure this? Why didn’t he just tell them?

“I hope you're ready to talk now," the beefy man, whom Natsu now knew as Giganto, snapped, “you've been here three months, most would have cracked by now. So why haven't you?"

"I'm surprised you're still trying.” Natsu shot the man a glare. “I won't tell you a thing." As the words left his lips Natsu’s stomach sunk. He knew that resolve very well.

"You will tell us!" Giganto spat the words out, "Who is E.N.D.?"

"NO!"

As he took another hit from the whip, Natsu felt the skin over Gray’s guild mark tear and beads of blood leaked onto his pale chest. Shit. Natsu grit his teeth in pain but as the burn flared on his skin again he couldn’t help but yell in pain. Panting now, he glared up at the beefy man in front of him. “You bastard! I won't tell you anything!" Gray no!

"No, we know you will!" Giganto smirked, "no one can hold out like this forever."

"Well you're about to be proved wrong." Natsu couldn’t help the small smirk, that’s the Gray I know, it didn’t last long as another lash from the whip pulled a strangled yell of pain from his lips.

"Who and where is E.N.D.?" Giganto yelled.

"I. Won't. Tell. You. Wha- whatever you do to me I will not say a word." How much more of this did he have to deal with?

A momentary silence settled before Giganto broke it with a dark chuckle. "You don't just know who E.N.D. is, you know E.N.D. personally. More than that, you care." He sneered, "Anyone who doesn't know this demon personally would have cracked by now. No one can endure this much for someone they don't even know."

"I can."

Though Natsu had known the truth deep down, he could feel Gray’s despair as it settled in his stomach. All of it, everything Gray had endured over that year had been because of how much he cared. Feeling that fear of somehow telling them the information they needed, Natsu was sure of just how little they believed him. Gray had felt it too. If anything, the look on Giganto’s face said it all as he turned and slammed the door behind him.

Natsu didn’t have much time to collect his thoughts as moments later he felt his skin begin to tingle, then sting, then a dull ache flooded his whole body. It wasn’t exactly painful, but it annoyed him, more and more as the feeling refused to subside. Then as the ache began to radiate throughout his body, it worsened until it felt like he was burning inside and out. A feeling quite alien to Natsu. Then as a bolt of magically fuelled fire flooded his already weakened body Natsu yelled out in pain. Blacking out entirely. At this point he was in so much pain he wasn’t sure if it was that or the memory spell pulling him into the darkness.

Natsu was still shaking as a dull light filled his vision and he found himself back inside Gray’s cell. He watched as Gray curled in on himself. I’m so sorry my friend, I put you through this. I wish I could have got you out of here earlier. I really am so sorry. “This is all my fault.”

Natsu spun round as the cell door opened behind him and two men barged in. They grabbed Gray under the arms and half marched, half dragged him from the room. Natsu followed with a sinking feeling in his stomach. He knew what was about to happen, he could feel the finality of the whole situation. As they walked towards the brightly lit room, the corridor felt much longer than it probably was.

As the door slammed shut behind him, Natsu watched helplessly as Gray was chained to the chair in the centre of the room.

Natsu said the only thing he could think of. Though he knew it was no use. “You sure about this?”

Natsu felt his heart clench as Gray looked up straight into his eyes, “I’m sure.” There was something in his expression, sadness, or maybe even guilt. Either way, Natsu never wanted to see that look on his friend’s face again.

“I’m going to give you one last chance Fullbuster. Tell me who E.N.D. is and we won’t have to do this.” Giganto growled.

Please Gray, just tell them the truth. I can deal with them, trust me.

“Fuck you.”

Natsu didn’t want to watch but he couldn’t seem to draw his eyes away. It was as if his vision was locked directly on Gray, he could only listen as a disembodied but strangely familiar voice started to work the Kakusareta Omoide spell. Then as the light surrounding Gray began to grow, the mage began to mutter under his breath. It wasn’t long before the light began to fade. At the same time, Natsu felt as if he was being pulled backwards from the room.

No. Please, no.

“What's he doing?” Giganto’s voice sounded panicked.

“He’s hijacking the spell!” The caster replied, his voice laced with confusion.

“How is that even possible?”

“It shouldn’t be, not for him, not with how weak he is right now.”

“But he is, so do something!” Giganto spat the words out.

The nameless man continued to speak, but it was now in a completely different tone. This spell sounded more aggressive, forceful. When he stopped speaking, Natsu could hear he was panting from the exertion.

“Did you stop him?” Giganto asked him. The man looked familiar to Natsu, but in his distress he couldn’t quite pick as to why.

“No, but I did manage to do something.”

As Natsu listened to the young wizard as he explained what he’d done to Gray, he felt his stomach sink. There was nothing he could do now, not without putting Gray in more of a difficult position than he already was.

Silence settled over the room as if no one quite knew what to do.

Natsu could feel an emptiness spreading throughout his chest, starting from where Gray’s guild mark would have sat. He knew then, that though he was no longer ‘Gray’ those feelings were Gray’s. Fear mixed horribly with sadness, it settled in his stomach. Natsu still couldn’t seem to shake a feeling of deep rooted guilt. You’re still thinking about everyone else, Gray. Even now, even when you’re the one in trouble.

Gray – and now Natsu – knew that this would be the last time he would know who Natsu was. There was only one thing Gray could think of which would maybe stay beyond the spell. “Smile for me, Natsu, please...”

Gray’s shaking voice brought Natsu from his thoughts. I didn’t know you could see me here. His stomach clenched. How can I smile now? But as he looked as his friend, and felt his fear, his sadness, Natsu knew he had to. So through his tears Natsu pulled his face into a wide grin.

Gray smiled. A sad, broken smile. “Thank you, my friend. Goodbye…Natsu.”

Fighting the urge to be sick Natsu forced himself to keep watching as his friend’s eyes glazed over and seemed to stare right through him. Natsu knew Gray couldn’t recognise him now.

There was nothing else they needed to know. Nothing at all. With a deep breath, Natsu tried to steady his voice, and this time, he knew these were his own words.

“Sm– smoke and mirrors.”

A massive flair of white light filled the room as Rufus countered the spell. As the light cleared it was easy to see the boys were definitely not alright. Natsu’s breaths came in ragged pants as he stared at the ground while tears dripped off his nose, soaking into the thick scarf wrapped around his shaking hands. Violent sobs wracked Gray’s frame, his face turning a sickly, ashen colour.

The scarf slowly unravelled and fell to the floor between them.

In that moment, Gray stood. His shaking legs only just carrying his weight. His chair hit the wooden floorboards with a crack making Natsu jump. It wasn’t until Gray was out of the Guild Hall that he doubled over. Bile rising in his throat he crashed to his knees in the gravel driveway. Shaking, tears still damp on his cheeks, Gray didn’t even move when Lyon put a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“I saw it all too. Everything that Natsu saw, I watched it all through the eyes of my own consciousness.”

“What do you mean?” Lyon whispered, not quite sure what to do.

“I– I remember now. What happened to me in that place they took me to. I understand why they took me, any one of us could have known the identity of the demon E.N.D..”

“…but that doesn’t explain–”

“Their end game was always to kill E.N.D., and they knew they couldn't kill it themselves, but they knew I could. That’s why they took me.”

“Ohh.” Lyon had no words. Just more questions. First, how did they know about Gray’s Demon Slaying Magic?

“It wasn’t long before they realised I was protecting someone I knew. So when they saw I was hijacking the Kakusareta Omoide spell they put in a fail-safe.” Gray swallowed, “He guessed that either I would, or someone else would want to bring back my memories, and he used it against me.”

Lyon knelt down in front of Gray. “Gray, what did they do?” Panic was rising in his throat. When he’d run after Gray, Natsu hadn’t yet spoken a word and was just staring blankly at the floor of the guild hall. So whatever he was about to hear it couldn’t be good.

“If we bring back my memories…” Gray brought his eyes up to meet Lyon’s. “If we bring them back I won’t just find out who Natsu is to me. They put part two of their plan into action without knowing who E.N.D. actually is because they guessed I knew E.N.D. personally.”

“Spit it out Gray!”

“If I get my memories back I will try and kill the demon E.N.D., and I won’t be able to stop trying until I have done so.”

#Fairy Tail #gratsu #fic: Smoke and Mirrors #Gray Fullbuster #Natsu Dragneel #ahhhhhhhhhhh

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