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popularity is a given.

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Rowan Fox has always been able to see fairies. It's gotten her involved in both good and bad things in her life. 

Sure, one of the bad things was getting involved with the changleing trade, but some good came out of it! 

She had met a boy named Sparrow. He wasn't the cleanest, nor was he the prettiest, but he was perfect to her. With his chipped tooth, greasy blond hair, dirt clumped underneath his nails, unshowered body; he has never stuck out to her. 

That is, until Eldritch had come for her. Subconsciously, she had begun to reach out for him, finding herself longing for his presence. Sparrow had always been a friend to her; someone she could trust, no matter what. 

But when Eldritch had told her that he killed him, left him in the tunnels to rot, Rowan had felt terrified. She had been thankful that he was lying, but the alternative was no better! Leaving him for Suki to take care of was something that scared to her very core. 

"Rowan?" A raspy voice sounded, familiar arms moving to encircle her waist. "What are you thinking about?" 

Blissfully, Rowan sighed, leaning into his embrace. "You, and how I almost lost you to Eldritch. I don't think I'll ever be able to forget that." 

"It's been four years, like." He reminded, pressing a chaste kiss to her neck. "I'm here to stay with you." 

During that time span of four years, Warwick and Rose had gotten married; Fabian and Tanya finally got over themselves and got together; Florence passed away, and left the home to Tanya, like she said she would; Rowan graduated high-school, went to college, and moved in with Sparrow. 

After her guardian, Raven, passed away, Florence never really recovered. She would put on a front whenever the kids and Nell were around, but, Rowan could see the true damage that lay underneath. 

Tanya, of course, was devastated that her grandmother passed. Ever since she found out that Florence had the second sight, the two had become close. But, reliable Fabian had been there to catch her and keep her from getting too depressed. Not too long after, they had announced their relationship to Rowan over the phone. 

Warwick and Rose had had a spring wedding, that was absolutely beautiful. Rowan wasn't too fond of them being together, at first, but over time she's grown to accept it. They made each other quite happy, and she didn't mind being a step-sibling to Fabian. It just made it easier to tease him and get away with it! 

Both he and Rose decided to stay at the manor, and continue on the animal sanctuary.

After graduating high school, Rowan had chosen a local college, and left the manor to move in with Sparrow. He was doing well on his own, but he did appreciate her company. One thing had led to another, and one day, Rowan had found herself wrapped up in his arms, adoring every inch of him.

Occasionally, she and Sparrow would go to visit Tanya, Fabian, Warwick and Rose, always staying for a weekend or so before taking off. It felt odd to be there without Florence, and Rowan didn't really like it. 

"You've never told me your real name," Rowan said abruptly, craning her head to look back at him. 

Sparrow's eyebrows were furrowed, but his expression was calm. "I know you want to know it," he started, flashing a small grin and showing that chipped tooth that she adored, "but, Rowan, I can't tell you it. I can promise that, when I make you mine for the rest of our lives, I'll tell you." 

"But that's going to take forever!" She quipped. "We all know you're not one for commitment." 

"For you, I'd do anything." Unwinding himself from her, Sparrow eased himself down onto his knee, pulling a rectangular box from his back pocket. His dark hues were shining as he popped it open, looking up at her from underneath dark lashes. 

"Rowan Fox," Sparrow started, moving to take her left hand with his free one, "will you marry me?" 

All that the girl could manage was a shocked silence, lips parted and eyes wide, before she finally managed to speak. 


Chapter Text

"I can't see him." 

The words fell off the mediums tongue, tone sounding broken. "I can't see him." She repeated, tears pooling against her water lines. "He's supposed to come to me; I should be able to see him!" 

A hand touched her arm, and she jumped, not expecting the sudden contact. "He'll come when he's ready," Deliah tried to soothe, though her words were empty. 

She still remained doubtful about her friends gift. Despite what had happened with Charlie, she couldn't help it! Nothing was going to change her mind, she was just too set in the idea that nothing paranormal existed. 

Melinda was trembling, despite the blanket wrapped around her shoulders and the near-empty mug of tea in her grasp. "He's supposed to come to me; I need him to come to me." She whispered, her gaze offset and glazed. 

Gently rubbing soft circles into her friends shoulder, Deliah closed her eyes tightly. She had no words of reassurance for Melinda; she didn't know how to handle the situation without making the grief-stricken medium upset with her. When Charlie died, it had all been so different. 

"Can you feel him?" Ned piped up, his tone curious. 

"Ned—-" Deliah went to reprimand him, but was cut off by Melinda. 

"No, I can't feel him. I don't feel his presence anywhere." Her voice wavered, tears streaming down her flushed cheeks. "I just don't know what to do; I want to believe that he went into the Light, and that he's happy and gone, but, I just can't.. I can't.." 

Tossing a glare over at Ned, who shrugged innocently, Deliah wrapped her arms around Melinda, attempting to quell her broken sobs. "You have to believe that he'll come to you when he's ready, sweetie. He'll come." 

Little did they all know, Jim was there. He was off to the side, his hand hesitating as it just barely brushed against Melinda's damp cheek. He would have liked to believe that she leaned into his touch, but he knew that she was just leaning her head back into Deliah's shoulder. 

How she couldn't see him, nor feel him, he didn't know. But it killed him to see her in such a state, and that he couldn't give her reassurance. 

It broke his still heart. 

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Hands beat upon the exterior of the car, howling the same words up to the cold, gray sky. "Come on! Come on! COME ON!" David cried, his nails scraping against the rough paint. 

His gaze couldn't stop being drawn away from his sons limp body. The memory of pulling the trigger still rang within his mind; the way his fingers had trembled as they closed around the cold trigger. The way Billy's eyes flew open, irises shrinking in shock. The way blood splattered against the window as soon as David stopped squeezing the trigger. And then he had killed Amanda. And Dan. And Irene. And as soon as they were dead, he had stuck the barrel of the gun into his mouth; screeching his agony and continuously pulling the trigger. 

I want to die I want to die I want to dieIwanttodieIwanttodieIwanttodieIwanttodieIwanttodie. His thoughts had blurred together, only holding the one subject; death. He wanted to die. He wanted to be killed. He wanted to feel the sweet release of death. He had nothing to live for, now; the world was shit, his wife was long dead, and he had killed his son. Why should he get to live? After all of this, why should he get to be the one who got to suffer?

Yet, his hopes were shot down again. 

His horror and agony called no monster to him. His hour and his agony did nothing. He had no bullets; no rope; no fucking nothing. He was fucking screwed! He had no monster ready to rip him apart, no nothing

His ears, albeit, began to pick up rough sounds. Automatically assuming that it was monsters, David took a hasty step forward, a mingled sense of fear and excitement striking him. He strained to see through the thick mist; he strained to see what would give him his death.

It was not a monster; it was a fucking vehicle. 

It was a fucking vehicle. 

That was not a monster. That was not a monster. That was not a monster, that was a military vehicle. Those were tanks; those were refugees; those were soldiers!

He killed them. He killed them for nothing. He killed his son and the other three for nothing.

And, for the first time in his life, David broke. 

Chapter Text

When John had sent him into the future, this wasn't what Kyle expected. He hadn't expected to be shocked by green grass, by smiling people and children, and not to mention crying over a flower.

This was all so unfamiliar to him.

One of the more shocking things was Sarah. Her intoxicating scent, bottomless cerulean hues, tousled blonde strands.. He saw so much of John when he looked into her eyes. The familiar hardness that gripped John's sharp features gripped Sarah's. There was no denying that Sarah Connor was the one love of Kyle Reese's short life, and there was no denying that she was John Connor's mother.

But most shocking of all was the fact that he was John's father. Kyle Reese, a soldier that went back in time to rescue a legends life, was the father of a man that he idolized. John Connor, the man who everyone wanted to be, John Connor, the man whom everyone loved with no bounds.

"John, will I ever be able to return?" Kyle had whispered, his indigo optics seeking out John's cerulean ones. The other males lips had parted, expression looking tired underneath all of the dirt and grime caked on his face.

"Kyle.. no. This is a one-way trip. When you go, you go." A steely hardness gripped his voice, gaze briefly trained upon the floor before flickering up to Kyle's features. "You stay there because there will be no way for you to return. I'm sorry."

Hesitantly, Kyle had clapped his hand onto the others shoulder and swallowed hardly. "I'm still going. We're wasting time, John. I'll save Sarah and kill it, one way or another."

"You've always been a good friend, Kyle." John had whispered hoarsely, moving in for a brief embrace. "Go, complete your mission and know that you've always had my full support; no matter what. I'm placing my hope and trust in you, Kyle Reese. Don't let me down."

Hearing that he had John's trust was one of the best things that ever happened to Kyle. John didn't let anyone into his inner circles, but Kyle broke down every barrier. He had never understood why the older boy had given him a picture of Sarah, nor why John so easily let him in.

It all made sense now.

Kyle Reese, the sergeant, had never expected to go home. He didn't want to go home. Never again did he wish to see that destroyed place, where no life was evident. No green grass, no beautiful flowers, no Sarah. But every time he dozed off for even a second, he saw that home and jerked awake with familiar fear pulsing through him; desperate gasps ripping from his lips.

The thing was, he couldn't pull off being a mundane man. He couldn't pull off being normal. He grew up around war, around cyborgs that wanted to rip him apart. Kyle had grown up with a gun in his hand and strategies running through his mind. From a young age he knew how to reload a clip and create a bomb, knew where the vital points in a mans body was and the vital points in a HK's body was. He grew up listening to the legends of Sarah Connor, listening to the way John Connor passionately spoke about his mother and their cause, listening to the way dogs howled their heads off when an unnatural creature was around..

There was no rest for him. Not in that universe.

When their truck had crashed, all of the life that burned so steadily inside of Kyle disappeared. His body, suddenly plagued with fatigue and agony, went limp. Distantly, he could hear Sarah screaming at him to move, tugging at his broken body and trying to get him to move again. But the voice in the back of his mind whispered at him to stay, to continue laying there and just die.

It took Sarah barking out an order to get Kyle's brain working again. Even though his broken bones protested, even though his head was swimming, even though he was sure that his lung was pierced and there was internal bleeding, he took charge again.

In a daze he had shoved that lit bomb into the exhaust tank and dove into the dumpster, crying out upon impact. With each wheezing breath, each weak beat of his heart, Kyle knew it wasn't over. It would never be over.

So he pulled himself out and got to Sarah, leaning on her for support as they ran again. Into the factory they had fled, desperately searching for a way out—a way to escape.

"What're you doing?!" Sarah had cried out, pulling at his arm to get him away from the control panel.

He had been hunched over, turning all the machines on, ignoring the blood clogging his throat. "Cover!" Kyle yelled back, finally allowing her to tug him away; towards "safety".

Oh, there was no safety. The Terminator still came, following Sarah. Weakly, Kyle had done the last thing he could do; fight.

Hitting it did nothing, but stuffing a bomb into its stomach had done the trick. He hadn't known that this would be his downfall, that this would be the moment that his body gave out. After all these years of enduring pain, enduring different experiences and staying strong—-

His body finally quit.

Down the stairs Kyle had tumbled, hitting his head on every step. More bones shattered, black spots swam in his vision and his heart was pounding faster than ever—-

Then there was nothing.

Face-down he had come to a stop, chest rising and falling rapidly. There was not just one spot of agony—everything hurt. But the pain soon faded as Kyle's strong heart stopped. His indigo irises became blank, all blood flow stopped, and his body soon became cool before Sarah scrambled over to him.

His last conscious though had been of Sarah Connor, the legend that he had fallen for as a child—and eventually got to meet. The legend that restored hope to so many survivors—and the legend that gave birth to a second legend.

Kyle Reese's story began in a hellhole, and ended in a world he could only dream of.

Chapter Text

A sullen gaze is drawn down to focus upon the rippling swirls of the brown coffee. Cyan hues are darkened with grief, following the sensual ripples of the liquid. It was almost reassuring, enough to the point of where he found himself distracted by the things that had gone on not even an hour prior. People came and went in this shop, and they strictly ignored him; he had long since learned how to block out the mutterings and their harsh words. They spoke of him as if he weren't listening, ever since he had chosen to come back to this awful town. 

Why did he come back? He would never know. 

Hands brushed through his hair, and he closed his eyes tightly, a shuddering breath escaping his lips. He had worked so hard to fix things for himself, to make himself have a life here, and it had only resulted in scrutiny and hatred. They looked at him with rage, and none of them treated him with kindness. No. Not until she came along; not until he had the fortune of coming across Elissa on her way home, about to be soaked in the oncoming rain, and ten miles away from her house. It had been an unusual attraction, feeling drawn to her like that; never before had he felt compelled to stop for anyone. Yet, his car had rolled to a stop once spotting her stalking form, window thus immediately moving to be rolled down to extend the offer to her.

Their relationship seemed to swell from there, and now? He found himself partially regretting having met her. She was a cause to the reason as to how he lost his sister, and he didn't want to think about that anymore. He didn't want to think about her her fragile neck had snapped in his grasp as he had fought so hard to protect her, to keep her from hurting anyone else. He had to do it. Even if it was an accident, she was too far gone. Past the point of any sort of return. 

You need Carrie-Ann, a gleeful voice inside of his head cheered, the sound of it echoing within every corner. You need her. You've never been able to function without her. You have to get her back, no matter what it takes.

His hands tightened around the lukewarm coffee cup as the voice continued.

Get her back. Do it, no matter what it takes. It must be done, Ryan. It has to be done now, before it gets worse. This voice can be identified as his mothers. His hands long to snake over his face and press against his ears, blocking out the sound of her voice. Carrie-Ann needs to come back! You killed her, Ryan! Bring her back! Do you want to be her again?

Grunting, Ryan lowered his head more, choosing to finally take a sip of his untouched coffee. It didn't have enough cream, so it was bitter when he took that first sip; reminding him of the fact that he had allowed it to sit for too long. Albeit, he still swallowed, his tongue lapping against the back of this teeth to dispel the taste. 

Ryan's thoughts drifted back to Elissa as he sat there, mulling over the disgusting coffee. She was many of his firsts: the first to touch him willingly; the first to kiss him first; the first to allow him to touch her without flinching away; the first to look at him without any sign of malice nor hatred in her eyes. She was so interested in him, so eager to see him, despite her mothers ruling. No part of him wanted to forget the feeling of her hips gently pressing against his own, her hands cupping his scrubbed cheeks, and their lips molded together as one. 

"You've to this whole sullen-rebel thing down pat," his waitress mused. "Need another drink?"

Ryan neglected to answer her, instead choosing to sink his teeth into the tip of his tongue. He didn't want to talk to her. She seemed too bubbly; too interested in someone whom could end up hurting her, regardless of whom he was. 

"Hey, how about this; I can give you this piece of cake on the house." She whisked away, soon returning with a cake on a plate and setting it down beside his barely touched coffee. 

She was fucking persistent, and he just wanted her to stop. Yet, no words of hatred breached his lips; instead, he chose to answer simply. "I'm not hungry."

The waitress, Peggy, looked disappointed. But she didn't stop; she tried again. "How about a glass of milk to go with it, yeah? Still on the house." Her voice was bright, and it made his head begin to ache. 

"I'm fine," he said, unable to help the annoyance leaking through his tone. She reminded him of his mother, with how persistent she was. He never wanted to think about her again.

If you don't want to be Carrie-Ann again, then you're going to have to do something. Her voice hummed inside of the confines of his skull. She looks like what Carrie-Ann would have looked like, if she had made it to this age. Was he imagining the sinister edge that crept into her tone? Do something, Ryan. Do something. Do something. Don't let her die all over again! You know what will happen. 

Unstoppable flashbacks of what he had done to his mother and his father came flooding back. The hammer had felt so natural in his grasp as he brought it through the air, whamming it down upon their fragile skulls and torsos. Their skin seemed to part under the force of the pressure, and their bones cracked; soon, their screams began to cease, and he knew that he was free

No, her voice mused. You won't ever be truly free. 

"You know what?" Ryan leaned forward, grasping his utensils. He was suddenly unable to deny how hungry he was, and the sweetness of the cake combatted the bitterness of the coffee. Within a few moments, the famished young adult managed to put the cake away, stifling the urge to throw it back up. He hated having sweet shit like this, especially when his stomach was in shambles already. He couldn't stop the churning, but he swallowed it back, able to control the bile that wanted to rise.

"My name's Ryan. You're Peggy, right?"

Her face lit up. "Yes! I'm Peggy." 

"You've been really kind; when is your break?"

"Ten minutes," she hummed. Her cheeks were flushed at the prospect of being alone with him, and Ryan couldn't help but feel a twinge of guilt. "How about I get you another coffee, a fresh one, to hold you over until then ..?"

Ryan managed what he hoped to be a genuine smile. "That would be great."

Chapter Text

She’s softness. She’s everything you don’t want her to be; a perfect specimen of a human being, constantly taunting you with the fact that you can’t ever have her. Always, she dances just out of reach; her supple, agonizingly beautiful body two steps ahead. To make matters worse; she’s got the perfect mind to go with it! She’s manipulative; brash; confident; intelligent; truly, she holds the title of beauty. 

Yet, he can’t have her. 

Frustratingly enough, she’s out of reach. Kathryn is always one step ahead, always quick to draw her fingers across his cheek or his lips, silencing any protests she might have anticipated. She’s crude, and she openly flirts, but she’s a tease. He’s rallied and rearing to go; what fair is it for her to unwind her body from his and stalk away, casting flirtatious expressions and little winks over her shoulders? 

“Sebastian,” she’d purr, her voice invoking chills. “You might want to remember our bet. If you win, you get to have me.” She’d tease, and he would do nothing but glower. “But if you lose . . . “ Her fingers rooted around in his pocket, until they touched his car keys. Her dark hues glinted. “Remember what you have to lose,” she breathed, the warmth of her hand withdrawing too quickly. Rage swelled inside of him, but he swallowed it back; there was no use in getting angry at her. That would get him nowhere. 

“If I win,” he reached forward, his fingers snaking around her hips and pulling her down onto his lap. Kathryn looked surprised; the brunette hadn’t been expecting it, but the surprise was quickly wiped away. Her dark gaze revealed nothing as she stared at him, patiently waiting for him to go on. “I get this,” his gaze dropped down to between her legs, and a smug expression appeared on her face. 

“You will get that and more,” Kathryn applied light pressure to his groin, and Sebastian bit back a groan. She was so damn infuriating! “You are . . . so tantalizingly close . . .” She whispered, leaning forward to bush her lips against his earlobe. “But not close enough, Sebastian.”

He hated the way she said his name. 

“It will only take another few days before I get her into bed,” his voice is hoarse, hardly able to hold back a whimper once she peeled her waist away. “And then I won’t tolerate you doing that anymore.”

Her gaze gleamed, yet she said nothing. She doesn’t make a sound as his fingers creep over her torso, up along her her chest and up her shoulders. She simply blinked at him, carefully gauging his expression to see what Sebastian planned. He gave nothing away, like she did; they were locked in a battle of mind, not of wit any longer. He longed to reach and grab her jaw, connect their lips in a desperate kiss, yet Sebastian showed extreme restraint. 

This was not the time for them to get together in that sense. 

“Why are you so silent?” He pressed, allowing his hands to fall. 

“Silence makes you uneasy?” Kathryn asked, amused. “You prefer I babbled on like that blonde virgin you’re so interested in?”

“You’re the one who made the bet and got me interested,” Sebastian countered.

“Oh, no; you made the bet.” Kathryn twirled off of him, swaying her hips over his groin once more before reaching out of arms length. He missed her warmth already. “And that means you’re going to uphold it, no matter what happens.”