#--and then he turns to her with a 'Gimme that.' And proceeds to examine it himself because HOLY SHIT

[itmighthavebeenintentional]

We've Got Tonight - Ch 5

Summary: “It’s not your job to do this, Andy. You make people happy. I was in the diner all of ten minutes, and you knew exactly how to get me to smile. You do normal, real things like garden and sing karaoke. Saving the world is my job, Sam’s job. Sometimes it’s even Cas’s job, but it’s not yours.”

Inspired by Bob Seger’s “We’ve Got Tonight”

Warnings: Major Character Death, More Major Character Deaths (sort of?), higher than show level violence, blood, light smutting, language, demons, apocalypse, inferred suicide, cult activity.

18+ ONLY, MINORS DO NOT PROCEED

Author’s Note: This story is set hazily around season 8. Just squint a little, and it’ll settle in somewhere. I wrote this story after certain big revelations in the show, but before other big ones; you’ll most likely be able to tell which. I play with time a bit in the story itself, so if things seem out of order, they are. Hopefully, by the end, all the pieces will fit together.

What the hell, let’s give it a shot.

Image and major edits by the incomparable @there-must-be-a-lock . Heavy editing and cheering by @thoughtslikeaminefield . Thank you both so much.

This chapter in particular is dedicated to @foxyjwls007 . If I'm going to torture you with something, it's not going to be a cliffhanger. I'm going out of town for two weeks, so you get an update early since I won't be able to post while I'm away. Thank you for the encouragement.

In case you missed it: Chapter 4 ItMightHaveBeenIntentional’s Masterlist

...

We’ve Got Tonight

Chapter 5

“Miss? Miss? Hey, are you okay?”

A hand grips Andy’s arm, firm but polite, and she jerks to, almost losing her footing. It’s been a long day already, and she still has two hours before she can go home, shower, and put her feet up for a little while before karaoke at the Brass Monkey starts up.

Maybe I can even fit in a nap, she thinks excitedly. But first, gotta wake up and make it through the rest of my shift.

Of course, if she hadn’t been tossing and turning all night from a crazy dream, she wouldn’t be as tired as she is now, but that’s neither here nor there. And it doesn’t help that she can’t even remember the stupid dream. It was really long, though, and there was blood and books and…someone...

“Can I get a refill over here?”

One hour, forty-seven minutes, and twenty-two seconds to go. She can do this.

The minutes crawl, though, and it’s all she can do to stay on her feet and focus. The lunch crowd has long since thinned, and she’s about to ask if she can maybe take off a little early when the door chimes, and she catches the tail end of the entering customers’ conversation.

“Could you at least consider putting something green on your plate? Like, ever? Broccoli won’t kill you.”

“I’ve already told you, I’m getting breakfast since you didn’t wake me up early enough to eat a decent one this morning. Pancakes, bacon, and coffee, which, I might add, grows on a tree, so it counts as a plant. That’s balanced enough for me. You like broccoli; knock yourself out, Jolly Green.”

“Sam isn’t green, Dean. Is your vision faulty? Perhaps we should get your eyes examined. Or you could try carrots along with the broccoli. Carrots are supposed to improve vision.”

No. No, no, no, she thinks, her mind whirling frantically. It was a dream, they can’t be here. This is...this is how it started, and...

She turns, and there they are, Sam and Dean dolled up in their clean, pressed feds suits and Cas looking just as rumpled and bewildered as she suddenly remembers. They seat themselves at an empty table in her section, but any thoughts of leaving early evaporated the second she heard their voices.

Every moment of the dream, every minute of those four weeks comes screaming back, cramming each terror-laden, tension-ridden second into her mind so fast she actually does stumble and has to grab the back of a nearby booth to keep from hitting the worn-out linoleum.

“It...hasn’t happened yet.”

“I’m sorry, did you say something? Hey, hey, hold on there. Are you okay?”

Then Sam’s hand is supporting her elbow, helping her straighten up, and she looks up into his concerned eyes, unable to express how glad she is just to see him breathing. Behind him, Dean and Cas are arguing about something trivial, wonderfully animated and alive and completely unaware of her.

“I’m sorry, hun, it’s just been a long shift. Gimme a minute to grab some waters and menus, and I’ll be right over.” Sam accepts her flimsy excuse at face value, and why wouldn’t he? He hasn’t lived with her for the better part of a month, hasn’t saved her life once, hasn’t tried to save the world with her. He doesn’t know her at all.

Why should he question a strange waitress in a strange diner who says she’s had a long day? He’s met hundreds of women just like her, maybe thousands, and he’s got no reason to question a completely legitimate statement.

She rushes into the back to find the coldest water possible to splash on her face. Her reflection gapes back at her from the staff bathroom mirror as the enormity of her situation begins to dawn on her.

Why? Why is this happening? Either she actually lived through those weeks and is somehow getting a do-over, or she dreamed the whole thing and is getting a shot to fix things from this end. But why? And how?

How in the hell?

Think, Andrea, think. It was real. It will be real. It hasn’t happened yet. You haven’t screwed everything up yet. You have to fix this. But how? How can I fix it when I screwed everything up so very badly last time?

Just...think. Think. Start small. Try to stop it before it happens. But...the cult. Crowley said they were real. They found me before, they’ll find me again. I could talk to Sam and Dean and Cas about what's going to happen. They’ve been through enough insanity in their lives that I actually have a pretty good shot at convincing them.

She stares into the mirror, racking her brain for every helpful detail she learned during her time with the Winchesters.

They're already investigating all the break-ins hereabouts; those were the cultists looking for me in the first place. Then they find me, take me, bleed me, and start the apocalypse. The boys could stop the ritual before it even happens.

Her reflection in the mirror frowns, unconvinced the solution could possibly be that easy.

But the literature, the books, it’s all still out there. Someone else could find it, could come after me. My blood is the problem. I’m the key. As long as I’m around, someone could still use me to end everything. Crowley can still use me to get to them. Think. You’ve got to actually stop everything and save them this time.

Her eyes widen as realization dawns. The world can’t make it without the Winchesters. There’s only one way out of this.

Fifteen minutes later, she sets a fresh green salad in front of Sam before dropping a towering stack of steaming pancakes in front of Dean.

“Fresh pot of coffee coming off in two, be right back with your refills. Need any more butter or syrup, hun? How ‘bout a couple of extra pieces of bacon on the house?”

“Don’t encourage him, please,” Sam groans. Dean slaps his brother on the back of the head, sending Sam’s coiffed hair into a tizzy of disarray. Sam swipes back at his brother, who waves off Sam’s attempts at retaliation like he’s swatting a fly.

“You shut your pie hole. She said free bacon. That makes her a queen.” He turns his most charming smile on her, glancing down at her name tag then back up to meet her gaze squarely. The crinkles around his eyes deepen with his grin. “Andrea, is it?”

“Andy,” she corrects automatically, and she can’t help her answering smile. He throws her a wink that clearly says he knows he’s cheesy but it's all part of his irresistible charm.

She doesn’t disagree.

“You are a goddess, Andy. I love you, and you need to know that.”

“You don’t,” she says, only just managing to keep her voice and smile level, “but you could.” His answering laugh sends a twinge through her chest, and if she clenches her jaw a little around her smile, she figures she’s entitled.

When the men finally finish eating, she offers a slip of paper to Dean, while Sam pretends he isn’t rolling his eyes.

“There’s a karaoke competition at the Brass Monkey tonight. Winner gets tab on the house for a week. Interested in maybe meeting up there around ten or so? We could have a drink, sing a song, and see where the rest of the night takes us.”

He grins and takes the slip from her with sure fingers. She’s certain he has her number memorized before the paper even retains his prints, but he makes a special show of tucking it safely into his pocket.

“Dean, do you think it wise to allow yourself to be so distracted when we’re in the middle of an investigation?”

And without even realizing it, Cas gives her the perfect opening.

“Oh, you boys investigating all the break-ins hereabouts? Were they too much for our local boys to handle? Listen, hun, my friend was one of the ladies whose house got broken into. If you want to stick around for a few minutes, I can fill you in on what I know and send you her way. Would that help?”

Castiel’s eyebrows lift in surprise, and he is clearly pleased with his first-rate investigating skills. “That would help immensely, Miss Andrea. Thank you.”

She can’t believe her luck at such a perfect lead-in, and she runs with it.

“Now that I think about it, the shop next door mentioned something about their alarm getting tripped a few nights in a row. Maybe I could talk to your friend while you two check it out? And I’ll see you tonight, Dean? Ten o’clock?”

Dean’s grin softens, and she can see the faintest tinge of red along his cheeks. She didn’t notice it the first time around, and now she wishes she’d paid more attention. Then the brothers leave, and she’s alone with the angel. ...

Chapter 6

[boleyn-falcon]

The Queens of the Castle

The queens go on a trip to Walt Disney world for the first time for a fun family vacation!

Chapter one

   “Anne! Hurry up and get down here!”, the spanish queen yelled, “we need to get to the airport 4 hours ahead not 4 minutes!”, “c’mon Lina! Just gimme one minute!”. Anne scrambled around her room to get her carry-on bag packed, she prolly should have done it last night like Jane said. After stuffing her phone charger in the green swingpack, she runs down the stairs to meet the rest of the queens in the living room. When she gets down there she sees an oddly anxious looking Cathy and an extremely excited Jane. “This is going to be such an amazing family trip for us all! We all deserve a bit of a break.”, Jane says happily to the queens. After a few minutes of gathering bags and snacks for the trip, they were off to Gatwick Airport.

    When they arrived at the airport they were all slightly overwhelmed, there was a good bit of noise and many things to get done. First before anything they all went to the starbucks because it was a crazy journey to the airport. Kitty almost forgot her white stuffed dog in the cab to Victoria station, and Anne almosted missed the Gatwick express because she had to use the bathroom. So they are walking around the terminal trying to find something to burn 2 ½ hours.

    The first thing Kitty notices is the Harrods store and decides to walk in with Anna while the others keep looking around. While Anna is busy looking at all the alcoholic chocolates, Kathrine turns around to see a whole display by the register of different stuffed animals. As expected, she looks and pets every one till she finds it, the perfect new little friend. That's when she sees it, a light brown stuffed bear, dressed in a little royal guard outfit. She reaches her hand out to touch the bear and his fur is one of the softest things she has ever felt. “ Anna you have to come see this!”, Kat says while running to the german, who was quietly picking out chocolates to buy. “Huh well he looks like a cutie doesn't he?”Anna says as she examines the bear, “ well then, hand em over, i've got to pay for all this so we can go find the others' '. Kathrine gives Anna a confused look as Anna takes the bear and her chocolates to the man at the register and proceeds to pay for it all. Kathrine then realizes Anna is paying for this bear for her, “ wait Anna!”,the young queen exclaims, “ you really don't have to do that, i have my money with me see?”, Kathrine says as she pulls out a few pounds out of her small purse. “ oh don't worry love, think of it as a late birthday present.”, Kitty gives a puzzled look to the queen, “ but Anna”, she starts, “ no one knows when my birthday is?”, Anna turns around to Kat, having already paid, “ well that just means we can get you gifts year round.” They both turn, leaving the small Harrods, both with a large smile with their new items, Anna’s alcoholic sweets and Kathrine’s new friend.

      While that was all happening, Anne and Cathy also split off into the WHSmith for more snacks and some books. They were both hungry nerds who wanted something to do frankly.Cathy anxiously shuffles a bit while Anne starts to look around for some crisps. “Ay Cath?”Anne says cautiously, “ why ya lookin so scared? You've looked a bit spooked all day.”, Cathy looks up questionably from the magazine she was reading, “ I have no idea what you're talking about Bo, I’m perfectly fine. “ she says cooly. Anne is still suspicious but carries on looking for food. Anne bends down to grab a oddly large bag of Cool Original Doritos for the plane and looks over to see that Cathy has disappeared into the store. Cathy had wandered off into the book section to try and find something to read during the plane ride, she needed something to distract her. She never really fancied the idea of planes once she heard of them, she thought that nothing that big and that heavy should be flying in the air like a bird. The idea of the plane made her anxious and scared but she didn't want to tell the others because she thought they would all poke fun at her for it, especially Anne. While browsing she notices a book off to the side of the display, “ The Six Wives of Henry VIII” by Alison Weir. She picks us the book inquisitively, she notices that the novel was written by a woman, by the fact alone that it was about the queens and written by a woman makes her eager to read it.

        ‘Hm i wonder what's up with ‘er?’Anne thought to herself curiously, grabbing 3 Lion Bars and 2 Crunch Bars off the shelf.  After grabbing her desired snacks, Anne skipped over to find Cathy glancing over a book she had picked up. “Hey Cath!”, Cathy jumped a little in response to Anne's oddly loud tone and turned to see the Boleyn girl with a huge back of cool original crisps and an arm full of candy bars. “Oh um”, Cathy paused for a moment, “ I'm guessing you're done getting your snacks? Cathrine is going to murder you when she sees all of that.”, She finished with a small chuckle. Anne looked at the fellow queen with a cartoony offended expression, “ I have no idea what you're talking about! I think this is the perfect amount of plane snacks!” Cathy snorted as she walked away from the book display and towards the register to pay for her new book.

         “What’cha got there Cath? A new book for you to have your nose in 24/7?”Anne asked jokingly as she followed Cathy to the register with her food. Cathy turned to give her an unamused stare then continued to pay for her book then stepped to the side so Anne could pay for all of her food. When Anne Finished her transaction she motioned towards the exit so they could go find their friends.       “So what's the book ‘bout?”, the green clad queen inquired as they walked to the restaurants to track down Catherine and Jane. Cathy was still entranced by the first few pages of the book and Anne had to wave her hand in front of the nerdy queen’s face to get her attention. “Oh! Sorry Anne,”, she started, “ It's about us actually!”, Anne paused for a moment, “ why would you want a book about us if you could just ask us? Hell why would you wanna read about things you saw and experienced?”. Cathy took a seat in a chair at a nearby table as she began to explain herself to her friend, “Well i'm not reading it for information about of necessarily, i wanna see how other people thought it happened and their speculations, maybe even things that were misconstrued.” Before Anne could respond, Jane and Cathrine finally showed up with two small boxes of food in their arms.

     “Hello girls!”, the cheery blonde queen began as she sat down to start eating, “It looks like you two have found what you all needed!” Jane Opened her box and began eating what looked like a burrito bowl with beans, cheese, and guacamole. The girls nodded and began to ask what they were eating before they were interrupted by the happy laughter of a familiar young queen.

   “Guys look what Anna got me at the Harrods! I wanna name him Bucky!” Kat bounced over to the table to show them her new friend and travel companion, the queens looked to see a fluffy stuffed bear with a royal guard outfit. “Yep anything for Katze.” the german said with a smile as she sat down with Kathrine and the rest of the queens. “ Well girls now it's just a waiting game so get comfortable because we still have two hours till we start boarding the plane.” Cathrine said coolly as she began eating her chicken burrito, presumably from the place Jane got her bowl.

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

so im a big dumby and accidently deleted the original post while trying to add a tag so yea the repost by Prisky0731 is the OG lol

[papa-rhys]

So would you be willing to write something with Javier (of course) including knives and blood then? I was thinking the reader (fem or nb) helping him clean his fingers up after Five Finger Fillet and they lick the blood off and suck his fingers and he's just over the moon and things proceed in their tent. Or they are out somewhere and some guys insult Javi/reader and a fight ensues and after when they are covered in a bit of blood and their adrenaline is going they get it on. Pretty please! :)

I loved the fight idea too, so I’ll make a note of that and tackle it once I’ve got through these requests!

Nurse (Javier X f!Reader)

Warning: mention of blood

You sit alone by the fire, enjoying your nightly bottle of beer when the peace is disturbed by the sound of Javier effing and blinding and the small group surrounding him erupting in jeers and laughter. The group are on the other side of the camp but that doesn’t stop their conversation being carried to you on the late night breeze.

“You win,” Javier relents, standing up and stepping away from the table. The group do their best to get him to sit back down, but he shakes his head.

“You gonna have your little friend play nurse?” Bill asks, nodding his head towards you. “Say, I reckon she’d look mighty fine in a nurses outfit. Wouldn’t mind bein’ stitched up by her, huh?”

“Oh, leave him alone, Bill,” Karen giggles, smacking Bill on the shoulder with the back of her hand. “He’s all loved up, that’s all.”

“And you would be too if you had a girl like that givin’ you attention. Especially since she ain’t bein’ paid for it.”

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever you say, Bill,” Javier says, leaving the group and heading directly for you.

You finish off your beer as Javier makes his way over to you; his injured hand held in the other with fresh beads of blood dripping between his fingers and landing on the dirt below. He reaches the fire and sits next to you on the overturned log that you’ve been sat on for the last hour and a half – an apologetic smile on his face. “Can you –“

“Again? Seems all I do these days is patch you up.”

He chuckles and nods his head in agreement; looking down at his hand and the pool of blood that accumulates in his palm as he holds it. You take hold of his wrist and pull his hand closer to take a look. The blood is gathering pretty fast and whilst you’re no medical professional, you know from experience that when someone is bleeding that profusely, it isn’t usually a good sign. “Come,” you order him, getting to your feet and beckoning him to follow you to your tent. He follows you closely, dripping blood across the ground with every step that he takes until he reaches your tent, where he waits patiently outside for you to find your medical kit.

“Y’know, at some point you’re gonna have to get better at that game of yours,” you tell him, taking a seat on a box as he sits on one next to you. “Otherwise, you’ll end up having no fingers left to play it with.”

“And we both know my fingers are the most talented part of me, right, chica?”

“Excuse me?” you ask, raising your eyebrows and biting the inside of your cheek as you look at him.

“I was talking about playing guitar, of course,” he grins.

“Like hell you were, you pervert,” you smile. “Gimme your hand.”

Javier reluctantly frees his injured hand from the grip of the other and gingerly offers it to you, placing it in your lap. The blood wastes no time soaking into your jeans and he whispers a gentle “sorry” as it continues to dribble from one of the gashes on his middle finger. You carefully take hold of his hand – moving it around slowly so as to get a look at what you’re dealing with – and Javier watches you intently; his eyes fixed on your face.

“You know, it’s mighty difficult to concentrate when you’re staring at me like that,” you tell him without bothering to look up from what you’re doing.

His gaze doesn’t falter. “You’re so beautiful, you know that?” he asks, seemingly suffering from a case of verbal diarrhoea as well as a mangled hand.

“I ain’t as pretty as you seem to think I am, amigo.”

“Irresistible is the right word, I think.”

“That’s the blood loss talking.”

Javier nods his head and laughs. “Yeah, probably,” he admits, pinching the bridge of his nose with his uninjured hand.

“Good news: you don’t need stitches. But we need to clean this finger before I can wrap it up. You got anything I can wipe the blood on? Other than my jeans, I mean.”

He looks around; first checking his person and then checking his surroundings for any kind of rag that will mop up some of the blood. “I got nothing,” he shrugs.

You take a moments pause to think before shrugging and raising his hand to your lips. You gently place his middle finger in your mouth and suck it clean – being extra careful not to cause him any pain as you keep eye contact with him. His jaw drops slightly as he watches you suck his finger rather suggestively and the corners of your mouth curl up into a smile as you slowly remove his finger from your mouth.

“That’ll do,” you smile sweetly, letting him place his hand in your lap once more. With the smallest trace of a smile still on your face, you grab a bandage from your medical kit and begin to wrap it around his finger. Javier keeps his eyes on you – his lips still parted and his pupils blown twice their normal size – as you tie the bandage off and tuck the ends into the top of the wrap before turning to your medical kit to clear your things up.

“Dios Mio, estoy enamorado,” he mutters in a small, soft voice – almost breathlessly.

“What’re you mumblin’?” you ask, shooting him a suspicious look from the corner of your eye as you pack your things away into the small metal box beside you. With his reputation for insulting and teasing people in Spanish, you’ve learned to be distrusting of him when he speaks in his native tongue.

“Nothing, chica,” he smiles to himself, examining his freshly bandaged finger.

You grin at him and shake your head, turning to face him once more. In a move fuelled by either wooziness from the blood loss or sheer bravery, he takes advantage of the moment of silence – using it to lean in and kiss you softly; his lips barely touching yours. He pulls away slightly. You keep your eyes closed and you assume he does the same as the two of you sit in silence in the wake of the kiss; your faces meer centimetres apart. Javier releases the breath that he’s been holding, puffing it out in the form of a short chuckle, and you find yourself flattered by the thought of him being so nervous. “I uh –“ he starts, but you cut him off with another kiss; this time, raising your hands to his jaw, cupping his face as you kiss him.

The two of you move with each other; him moving forward and you moving backwards, pulling him with you as he cranes his neck to avoid breaking the kiss. He stands up and you follow suit, the kiss getting all the more heated now the two of you are on your feet. Throwing your arms around his neck, you allow him to pull you in as close as he can with his hands on the small of your back, no doubt smearing the rest of the blood across the back of your nice clean shirt.

“We should… go somewhere… more private…” he suggests between kisses, struggling to speak through the breathlessness. He holds your chin between his thumb and forefinger and peppers your lips with a series of small pecks before taking a moment to get his breath back. He swallows. “Unless you want the others to see us,” he smiles.

“I was never much of a fan of crowds,” you giggle, sliding your hands down his arms until you reach his hands; the warmth of his bare forearms sparking a sharp flutter beneath your ribs. “Besides, I wouldn’t want to embarrass you in front of the boys.”

“Oh? And why would you embarrass me?”

“Because you won’t be able to keep up with me,” you tease, biting your lip and taking his hand.

“That sounds an awful lot like a challenge to me,” he says, following you into your tent as you lead him by the hand.

[mlpdestinyverse]

“Summer Magic��

After an especially rough day of flight training with his mother Lightning Dust, Skychaser is thankful to have a little sister who knows just how to put a smile on his face.

Feat: Skychaser , Summer Rush 

Story and Description Under The Cut!

-Within a makeshift flight obstacle course fenced into a large backyard, Lightning Dust watches with sharp, analytical eyes as her young colt, Skychaser, streaks through the track. She stalks around the perimeter, not taking her eyes off the colt for a second-

Lightning Dust: UGH- -lifts the whistle hanging from her neck up and blows into it, creating a shrill sound- GO GO gO, SKYCHASER! YOU CALL THAT FLYING?! GET A MOVE ON!  

Skychaser: -despite the burning sensation in his wings, he does as he’s told and flaps them harder. Not too long later, to his complete and utter relief, he completes his last lap and skids to a stop at the starting line. His wings practically fall and drag on the ground as he bends over, wheezing for breath-

Lightning: -clicks her stopwatch, squinting at the time displayed on the screen. She frowns disapprovingly- Four seconds off. You’re slacking, boy.

Skychaser: -coughs, trying to even out his breathing- I-I-

Lightning: Do you think you’ll win at ANYTHING with a time like that? -pauses- Well, do you?!

Skychaser: N-no…

Lightning: -huffs and clears the stop watch- Then fly it again! The race is in three days, and if you expect to win gold again, you hafta make your time or do better!

Skychaser: -eyes widen- C-can I take a break? My wings hurt-

Lightning: Psh, you’ll be fine. It’s best to fly when your blood is pumping anyway. -Before Sky can argue, Lightning blows the piercing whistle, causing him to wince- GO, BOY!

-Though he struggles, Skychaser grunts and outstretches his aching wings with effort, forcing himself to take off. By now he’s memorized the track by heart, doing the appropriate spins around trees and zooming through cloud-hoops. Though he can feel the ache turning into a painful, almost numbing tightness in his back, he forces himself to focus on the obstacles ahead. That is, until he makes a particularly sharp turn. In that moment, the pain in his wing causes him to falter and lose balance. He tries to properly fix himself, especially as he spots the oncoming pole straight ahead. But just as he thinks he’s going to avoid it, the side of his foreleg manage to take a blow, forcing a pained cry out of him. With no way to regain control, Sky soon finds himself crashing into the ground with a roll-

Lightning Dust: (?!) SKY! -gallops over and quickly tries to make him sit up-

Skychaser: -grits his teeth. Not only is his foreleg now throbbing with immense pain, but the side of his body he had crashed upon aches too. He finds himself fighting back tears of pain. He especially yelps when Lightning grabs the foreleg he had hit, examining it- A-ah! -looking at his mother’s face, Sky realizes with an anxious pang in his chest that she seems more angry than concerned-

Lightning Dust: Damn it, Sky, THIS is what happens when you don’t watch what the hell you’re doing!

Skychaser: -bites his lip and pulls his foreleg away, holding it gingerly with his other hoof- I-I-Is it b-broken?

Lightning Dust: -scoffs- No. It’ll leave a bruise, and it'll hurt, but that's it. You’re not gonna die. -sighs heavily and stands up, nudging Sky towards the house- Go inside...we’ll do one last fly later.

Skychaser: (?!) B-but-

Lightning Dust: -shoots her son a hard stare- Sky.

Skychaser: …-miserably begins his trek to the back door. He dreads returning to training. At the same time, he finds himself actually thankful that this incident, with unfortunate irony, has finally allowed him his break. On his way to the stairs he passes the living room, where he finds his father lounging with a sports newspaper. A part of Sky almost hopes he won’t notice him-

Dumbbell: -glances up for a moment, and just as quickly furrows his eyebrows and puts his paper down- What happened to you? You look like you just crashed into a tree.

Skychaser: -ducks his head in embarrassment- Y-yeah...I kinda lost balance and hit a pole- -hisses quietly when he accidentally, subconsciously touched the bruising spot on his foreleg. He’s reminded more than ever how badly he wants to rest and get away from training for once in his life. At the very least, just for the rest of the day. Surely that was a reasonable thing to ask for- -stares at his dad hopefully. Desperately, even- D-dad? It really hurts. My leg and my wings. Can you...m-maybe talk to mom? She wants me to train more later, and I don’t- I don’t think I can...

Dumbbell: -to Sky’s dismay, his father lets out a short disbelieving laugh, raising an eyebrow- What? Stop talking like a little filly, Sky, you’ll walk it off. It’s not like you need the side of your leg to fly. -picks his paper back up, folding one half back- Your mom knows what she’s doing, just do what she says.

Skychaser: …-with silent hurt and anger mixing within his chest, he continues to limp the rest of the way to the stairs. One step at a time, Sky’s heavy, struggling hoofsteps can be heard, yet (not to his surprise) his father proceeds to go about his own business.-

‘Why did I think he’d get it...he never gets it. He doesn’t care what mom does.’

-Sky pushes into his room and doesn’t bother to climb into bed. He grabs his portable CD player, throws on his headphones, and collapses onto his carpet. He hits “play” and simply lays there, but as he does, the words of his parents play on repeat within his head, blocking out the music. “Slacking”. “Filly”. “Walk it off”. Try as he might, any weakness, any failure to meet expectations, deemed him deserving of their careless words. Of being put down. A new yet familiar ache hits him. This time, within his chest.-

‘They won’t listen… No one will listen…’

Skychaser: (!!) -nearly leaps up when he feels something warm nestle up beside him. Swiftly turning his head, he finds an equally as startled filly staring at him with large, wide blue eyes. He throws his headphones off- S-Summer? -shakes his head baffled- Wait, when did you get in here??

Summer Rush: -the younger filly stumbles to her hooves, embarrassed- Sorry! I thought you were sleepin’! I heard you go by my room and you weren’t saying anything, so…-paws at the floor with her hoof-

Skychaser: -relaxes, his gaze softening- It’s fine. I guess you wanted a nap buddy again?

Summer: -nods her head shyly, lifting her gaze. But when she does, her eyes fly open upon seeing Sky weakly push himself up with one leg, keeping weight off of the other one- Hey, what’s wrong with your leg?

Skychaser: (!) Ah…-tries to conceal the forming bruise with his wing- Your big bro messed up while flying. That’s all. -forces a smile- I’ll be okay.

Summer: -suddenly appears frantic- What?! Oh no! -moves to nudge his wing out of the way, determined to see the injury for herself-

Skychaser: -hesitates, but draws his wing back, revealing the spot that’s beginning to appear shades of purple and blue. The sight only causes his younger sister to appear more distressed, tears outright pricking at the corners of her eyes. This sends a guilty pang through his chest, so he quickly adds- Summer, really, it’s fine! It’s well…-glances away- ...not going to kill me. So don’t-

Summer: But it hurts, right?? It looks like it hurts really, really bad! That’s why you’re layin’ down and movin’ all weird!

Skychaser: Maybe, but-

Summer: -nose crinkles- Shush you! Stop trying to be cooler! -she pouts and motions for Sky to hold his leg out- Come on, gimme, this calls for some Summer magic!

Skychaser: -tilts his head, perplexed. But he does as he’s told. He watches as Summer squints her eyes and makes peculiar hoof-motions around his leg-

Summer: -singing quietly- Pain paaain, go away, come again another daaay… Skychaser wants to play, pain pain go awaaay… -sits back up straight, appearing satisfied with herself- There. See? I knew I could use that weird song one day!

Skychaser: ….-snrks, his wing quickly covering his mouth- S-Summer... sis, t-those aren’t the words...

Summer: ...waitwha.

Skychaser: -can’t stop himself, letting himself snicker- It’s ‘rain rain, go away’, silly. It’s a song to stop rain.

Summer: -stares blankly- Nuh-uh. -seeing Sky give an apologetic expression, as if he’s sorry for her learning the truth, her feathers ruffle from shock and embarrassment- WHAT?!

Skychaser: -laughs as Summer holds her own cheeks, near horrified- How in the world did you-

Summer: I DUNNO, T-THAT’S WHAT MY TEACHER SANG ONCE. I THINK. -holds head, as if her world had been turned upside-down- That explains...so much. Oh no…

Skychaser: -grins- I know what song I’m singing from now on-

Summer: HEY!

Skychaser: -laughs more at her grumpy pout. Perhaps he’s laughing harder than need be, but something about it feels good. Like it’s alleviating a pressure in his chest. He playfully taps the tip of Summer’s nose with a wing feather- I’m just teasin’, sis...but don’t expect me to let this go.

Summer: -looks like she wants to be mad, but can’t. She ends up cracking a smile, appearing shy again- Well, as long as you don’t think I’m lame...

Skychaser: -scoffs loudly, almost disbelievingly- How in Equestria could you think I’d EVER think that?

Summer: Well you’re...cool. -lays back down, pressed up against Sky’s side- You fly all AMAZING, and you win races and medals and mommy teaches you lots of cool stuff. -her eyes shine brightly- You’re so lucky...mommy says you’re gonna be a Wonderbolt when you’re all grown, and that’s too cool! And when I’m bigger, maybe mommy will teach me too, and we can be Wonderbolts together! That’d be so awesome...

-While Summer is blissfully lost in her own fantasy, Sky suppresses the desire to cringe. Lightning is so focused on him. Obsessed, even, into pouring all her effort into him...so there was little chance his mother would try to train Summer as well. He knows for his sister, that would be depressing news. After all, he never missed that starry eyed look in her eyes whenever she got to watch him fly. For a short moment, Sky almost wants to feel jealous; their parents go so much easier on her. Unlike him, she’s just their little filly. And oh how he wished for that himself. And yet, when he thought about it, he’d rather be the one on the receiving end of his mother’s sharp tongue. He couldn’t even bear to imagine his kid sister having to go through this pain-

Summer: -notices his silence- (?) Sky…? -frowns, and whispers- Does it hurt again...?

Skychaser: (!) -shakes head- No, I’m okay. I...think your pain-pain song really IS working its magic.

Summer: SKY , you meanie!!

Skychaser: -snickers, picking his headphones back up- Anyway...really, I’m fine. I’m just gonna...chill until mom calls me or something. You can take your nap if you want. I’ll keep it down.

Summer: (!) -her wide blue eyes shift to the headphones- Wait, can I listen too??

Skychaser: (??) I thought you were looking for a nap earlier?

Summer: But I never get to hear your CDs! Please?? -innocently blinks her large blue eyes at him-

Skychaser: -chuckles and playfully rolls his- Alright...but fair warning, you might not want a nap after hearing these beats.

-He unplugs his headphones and makes sure to lower the volume before clicking “play” again. Instantly an upbeat pop rock song drifts into the room. In immediate response, Summer cutely bops her head to the beat, staring straight ahead with wide glittering eyes that told him the tune is certainly resonating with her. Something about it fills him with warmth. Then again, his sister always has that effect. She often ended up unintentionally helping him push his worries aside, even for a short while.

With that, Sky exhales contentedly and lays his head down onto the carpet. If his leg wasn’t hurting, and if he didn’t have an audience, he would’ve loved moving about to this rhythm now that his mood has improved. He can feel it in his bones already, like the music is flowing through him and beckoning. But instead he opts to watch his little sister from the corner of his eye as she lightly moves her body and head side-to-side to the beat while laying beside him, her small wings opening and closing to match. He smiles. Just another reminder of how grateful he is, that a silly filly like her could simply enjoy his company, and his interests, and care for him all the same.-

Summer Rush and Skychaser had a sibling bond similar to Twilight and her big bro when they were young; they cared for one another, and never did they ever seriously fight. Summer admired her big brother immensely as a child, while Skychaser, the focus of his parent's expectations and judgement, found comfort in his little silly filly's warm presence and caring demeanor. The two were close, and Skychaser adored his sister more than anything when he was young. Too bad a single manipulative mom could one day tear that apart.

[rivertellsstories]

The demon’s den situation #2

Ships: Javid (not in this part yet), Spromeo, Blush, Newsbians (not in this part either) this list may get updated as the fic proceeds

Summary: Modern AU with very soft horror elements. The newsies seek a new meeting place, because miss Medda kicked them out after they destroyed her glass closet during their last movie night. One of the options is the allegedly haunted demon’s den.

Editing: HA. If someone wants to beta-read, shoot me a message. Please tell me if I forgot words again or if there are mistakes.

Words: 1572

Chapter 1: Nonbelievers shall experience the mighty cross of JoJo. Or their holy water gun.

Chapter 2: Mike takes a scary shower and Romeo comes out of the closet.

After a while, Jack lets go of Tommy Boy’s hand. “I think I’m good now.” Tommy Boy folds his arms across his chest and scoffs. “That’s because we’re done here and standing at the bottom of the stairs, genius.” Jack shrugs the comment off and bows. “After you, your majesty.” Tommy sets one foot upon the stairs and looks back at Jack. “Are you sure that you don’t want to go first?” Although merely the thought of leaving the basement last makes him nervous, he shakes his head. “It’s okay, nothing’s gonna happen now.”

As per usual, the world likes to prove Jack Kelly wrong. Just as he takes the last step, something yanks him down harshly. He lands violently, sprawled over the stairs and both his right knee and his head hit the edge of a step full force. Through a pained daze, he feels Tommy Boy pull him up and he thinks that his friend is saying something to him, but he can’t make out any words.

-

“Look!” Romeo whispers excitedly and drags Specs into what seems to be a girl’s bedroom. Unashamedly, he digs through a wardrobe and pulls out a dress. “A red vintage flat collar dress! I would look totally awesome in this.” Specs examines the dress. The top is white with flowers and the bottom is red, just like the ribbon and the collar. Romeo is right, he would rock that thing, but there are some minor issues. “What if it belonged to a murdered girl?” Romeo shrugs. “Then she had a damned good sense of fashion. Gimme a moment.” He climbs into the wardrobe, closes the door behind him and changes into the dress. Specs watches the door and isn’t sure whether he’s amused or annoyed. The smile that plays around his lips, tells him that it’s the former.

Inside the closet, Romeo finishes dressing up and attempts to open the closet door again. Frowning, he shakes the doorknob. “Specs?” he calls out. “I can’t get out. The door’s stuck.” He hears Specs come closer and feels the wardrobe shake as he struggles to open the door. Trying not to panic, he leans against the back of the closet. As he breathes deeply in and out, he feels something tug on his dress. Desperately he tries to locate the source of the tugging, but the darkness in the closet prevents it. It jerks the dress harder, comes closer and Romeo can feel air hitting his neck. He’d call it breathing, if it doesn’t feel so inhuman. The ‘breathing’ is so off, but he can’t pinpoint what exactly is wrong with it. The rhythmic puffs of air get closer and as Romeo feels something clamp his arm, the door swings open.

He doesn’t fully register that he can get out of the small space, until Specs reaches out and he slaps him so hard that his glasses go flying. As Specs perplexedly stares at him, he realizes what he’s done. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry”, he stammers and attempts to exit the wardrobe, but fails and his legs give out beneath him. “Oh, would you look at that”, he says and dissolves into sobs.

Albert and Race carry him out of the closet as Specs retrieves his glasses. “Jesus Christ. Romeo, are you alright?” He manages to nod, but Race doesn’t believe him for even one second and wraps his arms around him. “It’s okay, I’m here”, he says in a soothing manner.

 “I’m going to check on the twins”, Albert announces and gives Romeo a pat on the head before he leaves the room. “Did something happen to them?” Specs asks. “We saw Mike fall in the lake, that’s why we came downstairs”, Race explains. “What’s gotten you so worked up, Romeo? Also, why are you wearing a dress? Looks cute, by the way.”

“Found it in the closet and got stuck in there. It was like…”,he trails of, not knowing how to continue without sounding like he just lost his mind. “Like there was someone else in there with me. Someone tugged on my clothing and I felt their breathing on my neck.”

The looks Specs and Race exchange tell him that neither of them believes him and he huffs. “Fine, don’t believe me then.” Specs opens the wardrobe again, peers inside and rummages through the coat hangers with dresses on them. “I don’t see anyone in here, but there is a oddly placed hook in here. It’s kind of low and maybe you got stuck there? You’ve also been on edge this whole trip long and maybe it got the best of you.”

When it’s put like that, Romeo has to admit that it sounds a lot more logical than someone disappearing into thin air. “Can we go back to the group?” he asks and Specs and Race agree. Before he exits the room, Romeo glances back at the wardrobe. One of its doors gently swings open and Romeo flees the room.

 -

JoJo, Finch and Henry watch in disbelief as Tommy enters with a semi-conscious Jack Kelly draped over his shoulders. The guy has a nasty gash on his head and his right leg drags behind him. “Move”, Tommy Boy hisses between his teeth and the three of them promptly leave the couch, making space for Jack. “Dumbass fell on the stairs”, he explains and sits down beside the couch. “Do you think we should call an ambulance?”

Before anybody can answer, Albert runs into the room. He frowns at Jack’s bleeding head and mutters something along the lines of: “I’ll deal with that later” and runs off again. They watch him go in silence.

“That was…weird”, Henry states and Tommy Boy shrugs. “We’ve all seen him do weirder shit.” “That’s true”, Jack slurs out and sits up. “You ok there, boss?” Finch asks and Jack manages to nod. “Yeah. My head hurts though. My knee too.” He places one hand against his forehead and when he pulls his hand back, he notices the blood on it. “Can one of you grab a rag or something? I’m bleeding.”

-

After a few seconds of shock, Mike’s instincts kick in and he swims back to the shore. Or at least tries to swim back, but he can’t reach the surface. Something is dragging him down by his ankle, but he can’t shake it off, no matter how hard he tries. Right now, the lack of oxygen is making his head spin and darkness peaks at the edges of his vision. It’s cold, he feels heavy and he can’t get out of the water. Mike gives up.

Nervously, Ike peers at the lake, hoping to catch sight of his brother. It’s strange that he can’t see him, because Mike fell right beside him. When Mike doesn’t show up, he elects to take drastic measures and jumps after him.

Luckily, he notices Mike almost immediately. It’s hard not to see him when he’s struggling so wildly, but suddenly he goes completely slack. Without hesitating Ike swims over to his brother and hooks his arms under Mike’s armpits and swims back to the shore. Once there, he lugs Mike unto the shore and checks if he’s breathing. When he finds no breathing, he swears loudly. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” Through his panic, he tries to remember how to do cpr and finds his mind to be disturbingly blank.

He barely registers Albert steering him away from Mike. Albert checks his pulse and when he finds none, he places the heel of one hand on Mike’s chest and starts pressing down. After about 15 compressions, Mike sputters out some water and coughs. “Easy there”, Albert remarks and Mike takes a few deep, shuddering breaths. “Fuck”, is the first thing that comes out of his mouth and Ike knocks him over and hugs his brother close. “I agree with that statement.” Albert stands up and pulls the both of them up too. “We should go inside and search for something to dry you both off. You’re gonna get a cold otherwise.”

-

Albert and the twins enter the living room at the same time as Race, Romeo and Specs, who raises his brow at the sight of the soaked twins. “They’ll tell us when we’re reunited with the others”, Albert says and spots the rest of their exploration team. “I’m gonna do a headcount”, Jack declares. “Ralbert?” “Present”, Race answers for the both of them. “Spromeo?” “Here and queer.” Both of them giggle and Jack suppresses a snort. “The threesome?”  “Refer to us like that one more time and I’ll kill you”, JoJo mutters under their breath and Jack finger guns. “Noted. Tommy Boy was with me and the twins?” The pair waves awkwardly, as water drips unto the floor. “Why are you guys wet?”

“Now, that’s a bit of a personal question”, Mike says with a grin on his face and Ike elbows him in the ribs. “Mike almost drowned because he forgot how to swim.” Mike turns toward his brother with an indignant expression on his face. “I did not! I got stuck, jackass.”

Before it can escalate into a full-blown sibling fight, Albert intervenes and at his request, Race goes back to the attic bedroom to fetch some clothes for the twins. “Wait for me!” JoJo shouts as Race ventures into the hallway. “I’ll bring protection!”

-

The journey to the attic goes without a hitch and while Race raids the wardrobe, JoJo looks around the bedroom. They spot a shit ton of books (whoever lived here, must’ve loved reading), a pair of glasses in the bedside table and one drawer filled with fluffy socks. They steal two pairs of those for the twins and one for themselves. “These are a fire hazard waiting to happen”, they state and hold up a few candles they found on the wooden desk.

Race snorts in return. “I think we’re pretty safe, considering that there’s no one here to light those candles. Here hold these.” He hands JoJo pants and white button-downs. Grinning, he also plucks two vests and ties out of the wardrobe. As JoJo regards the ties with a disbelieving look on their face, Race grabs a third one and puts it on himself. “Don’t I look dashing?” “Absolutely not. Let’s go.”

-

Between snickers, Finch manages to say: “You look charming, fellas.” He gets murderous glares in return. Besides the fact that neither Mike nor Ike would ever voluntarily wear button-downs and ties, every piece of clothing is just the slightest bit too big for them.

“So, what’s the final verdict?” Specs questions. “Do we use this house or not?”

“I think there’s nothing wrong with using it”, Tommy Boy declares and Romeo pulls a face. “Everything that went wrong today, looks like the effect of nervousness. Romeo got stuck, Jack fell and Mike probably slipped in the mud.”

“That sounds logical, but I’m not willing to accept that this house is 100% ghost free”, Romeo states. “Well, whenever we’ll be using this place, we’ll be with around 20 people. I think the ghosts are gonna be more scared of us than we of them”, Henry says and they all agree with that. It’s hard to be afraid when you’re watching Tangled for the trillionth time.

“So this is the new official Newsies gathering place?” Jack inquires and gets varying responses, some more enthusiastic than others. The gist is the same however. It’s a yes.

[mindfulwrath]

HTCIC Excerpt: The Ghost Room, Part 2

This is kind of old but I’m trying to motivate myself to start writing this again so here’s a thing I’m proud of.

Within half an hour, four spacemen arrived at Lucky, all of them looking skittish and wet behind the ears. They introduced themselves all by last name—Jiang, Harrold, Setia, and Kumagai—and were all overly formal with him. Adrien spent five minutes explaining their jobs to them and then fifteen minutes reassuring them that they weren't, in fact, going to die. Sam didn't help much, staying off to one side and observing him. He had everybody in the room turn their communicators to an open, local frequency, such that they could all stay in contact even when they were scattered amongst disparate ventilation shafts. Everyone was to work in pairs—one in the vent, looking for signs of entry or egress, and one outside, in case something went horribly wrong. They would work each of the magnet banks as a unit, so everyone was immediately available to everybody else.

As Adrien set the spacemen to their tasks, Sam drifted up next to him.

"Well, you're the stutteriest, most awkward Lieutenant I've ever seen," she muttered to him. "But you also just convinced four teenage goobers to crawl up pitch-black ventilation shafts in the Ghost Room, so I think you're doing pretty good."

"Don't remind me that they're teenagers," Adrien said, a lead ball in the pit of his stomach.

"They might not all be teenagers. Some people join late. Or just totally fail to get promoted. Like Leighton!"

"Leighton hasn't failed to get promoted, Leighton doesn't want to get promoted," Adrien retorted, bristling. "Leighton wouldn't be in the military at all, if they had a choice about it."

"Okay, okay, settle down," said Sam. "We should be helping out. It looks bad if we just float around and talk while they do all the dirty work."

"Right," said Adrien. He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Right."

They began at the A-1 bank, starting with the vents above and then moving to the ones below. Up and down were generally relative concepts, but every magnet was labeled with a clear THIS END UP sign, because the field they produced was directional and had to be properly lined up with all the other magnets' fields, both in Lucky and in the seven other field generators. The vents were all essentially identical, varying only in the kind of debris that had gathered on the grates. Adrien had the spacemen clear the debris while they were in there, because it couldn't hurt.

They moved on to the B column, which was more nerve-wracking for everyone, because they were so closely confronted with the damaged patch of hull. Even Sam got quiet, the stream of her banter dried up. After that was the C column, by the end of which they were all thoroughly coated in gray dust, sweaty and coughing. The spacemen got to switch out, taking turns going up the vents and spotting each other, but Adrien got no such reprieve, since Sam couldn't fit in the vents.

Halfway through the D column, he had to get onto the spacemen for chatting too much.

"You're at work, guys," he reminded them. "Let's save the anime discussions for when you're off-duty."

"Sorry, Sir," Harrold—he thought it was probably Harrold—mumbled into her communicator. Adrien could hear reverberations of it through the vents, further strengthening his theory that they all joined up somewhere.

"Hey, I found somebody's sock," Kumagai announced.

"What's a sock doing in here?" Sam asked.

"I don't know, Ma'am," said Kumagai. "Maybe somebody got hot feet."

"Well, go ahead and pick it up," Adrien said. He'd just made it to his own grating, making a cursory examination of the bolts holding it in place. "It's clogging—"

There was a loud, hollow thoong sound, shivering the vent all around him. Adrien pressed his hands to the dusty walls, his heart leaping into his throat.

"What was that?" he demanded. His voice echoed down the vent, flat and metallic.

That . . . that . . . that. . . .

"I don't know," Sam called up. "I—I don't see anything out here, maybe somebody kicked it?"

"I didn't," said Adrien.

"Me neither," said Kumagai.

"Wasn't . . . me," said Harrold, a creeping apprehension in her voice.

"Me and Setia are still out here," said Jiang.

Thoong.

Adrien jumped, pressing himself back against the vent. There was a creaking and a clinking, the low moans of the hull as the ship passed across the terminator again.

"S-Sir, um, that . . . I'm feeling it over here, too," Kumagai said through his communicator, voice cracking and shivering.

The vent stretched out long and dark ahead of Adrien. The air that flowed in past his face was hot like breath. Dust clung to his sweating hands. Motes of it swam in the light of his LED, swirling back, back into the blackness.

Thoong.

"If somebody is playing a joke," Adrien warned, a tremor in his voice, "they're going to be in a hell of a lot of trouble."

His communicator spat static three times, two hisses and one short chirp. Adrien shrieked, and the sound of it carried like a klaxon through the echoing darkness of the vents. There was another short chirp, and then a pause, and then a long hiss. He could hear the spacemen in the other vents, clanging against the sides and babbling in panic.

Three long bursts of static through the communicators, echoed by another thoong, thoong, thoong reverberating through the metal belly of the station.

"Siiiiir!" Harrold squeaked.

"Everybody out of the vents," Adrien ordered. "Now, now!"

He himself scrambled backwards. Sam yanked him the last few feet. Then it was a mad, dusty dash to the access hatch, herding terrified spacemen in front of him. He got everyone out of the room and shut the hatch behind them.

All the communicators were still spitting static, in perfect unison, transmitting their signal. Jiang had actually taken hers off and was holding it at arm's length, like it was going to bite her.

"It's Morse," Sam said, breathless. "It—gimme a sec, I can tell you what it is."

Sweaty, dirty, and breathless, the six of them waited. Sam had her eyes closed and was whispering letters in the spaces between hisses and chirps. Adrien watched as her complexion went green.

"Sam?" he said.

Hiss, hiss, chirp. Chirp. Hiss. Hiss, hiss, hiss. Chirp, Chirp, hiss. Hiss. . . . Hiss, hiss, chirp. Chirp.

Sam looked at him, pale as he'd ever seen her.

"Get out," she said.

"Oh hell no!" Jiang cried, flinging her communicator down the corridor. It clanged off the walls, bouncing wildly.

"Stop that right now!" Sam barked. "Nobody, under any circumstances, is to freak out! Do you understand me?"

"Yes, Ma'am!" the spacemen chorused in panicked unison. Adrien nearly joined them. Sam turned to the one who had thrown her communicator.

"Spaceman Jiang, you will retrieve that communicator this instant," she ordered. Jiang sputtered out a terrified yes, Ma'am and then scrambled her way down the corridor after her communicator. "The rest of you. What happened in there?"

"A-apart from the—the Morse code and the—the weird banging noises, Ma'am?" Setia asked.

"What do you think, Spaceman Setia?" Sam said.

The three spacemen looked at each other sheepishly. Jiang returned with her communicator, still holding it like it was going to bite her.

"Come on!" Sam said. "This started up for a reason, what did you see? What did you hear? What was out of the ordinary?"

"N-nothing, Ma'am!" Harrold said. "It was just like every other vent, Ma'am! We were just talking about the debris, and then—"

"Communicators off," Adrien blurted. "Turn your communicators off!"

He turned his off completely, even as he spoke. The quivering spacemen followed suit, and then Sam. The silence, after the prolonged and grating white noise, was thick. Adrien's ears started ringing, listening for the thud of the other shoe dropping.

"Acting Lieutenant Nadhim, may I ask what that was about?" Sam said, raising an eyebrow at him. Her hands were shaking.

"They're two-way," Adrien said.

In the quiet that followed, he could hear the ship groaning, the whirr and clang of machinery, the hum of the electromagnets in the room behind him. The access hatch was too close, and he could feel its presence against his back like static electricity.

"S-Sir?" Setia said. "What . . . does that mean?"

Adrien looked around at their wide eyes and worried faces. He looked at Sam, whose confidence was faltering, the mask slipping out of place. He took a deep breath.

"It means we're done for now, spacemen," he said. "Go back to your stations and proceed as usual. Ensign Goldschmidt and I will make a full report to our COs, and they will figure out what it means. Dismissed."

All of them glanced at Sam before so much as starting to move away. She made a small gesture at them, and they all drifted off. Adrien moved away from the hatch, turning so he could keep an eye on it. Once the spacemen were well and truly gone, Sam curled up in a little ball and started giggling madly.

"Ohhhhh shit," she said. "Ohhhhhh fuck. Oh, fuckity fuck on a shitty fuck sandwich! Adrien? I hate the fucking Ghost Room. Can we jettison the fucking Ghost Room?"

"No," Adrien said slowly. "But I think . . . I think we'd better make those reports now."

[witch-of-the-west-country]

Lucas Fluff An excerpt from Chapter 15

For @emilys-arty-farty-stuff to apologise for the heartache in Chapter 14. This is a flashback Zoe has.

"Clyde’s gonna be here in half an hour!” wailed Zoe, sitting in a crumpled heap of purple satin on her bedroom floor.

“Hush now, cher, it'll be alright,” said Marguerite in an attempt to soothe her, but her words had the opposite of the desired effect.

“No it won't! It's all gone to shit, Momma! I can't go to prom! When Clyde gets here, tell ‘ im to go away. I'm stayin’ home……”

Even as she wallowed in self-pity, there was part of her that stood back and cussed her out for her orneriness. God knows how her Daddy had managed to scrape together the money for her prom shoes, and Marguerite had worked tirelessly to convert the old ballgown she'd found in the attic to make a beautiful dress for her to wear, but the Zoe on the floor was sunk in misery.

Everything had gone wrong. Everything.

Jack had attempted to intervene earlier on, but the the tidal wave of feminine displeasure that Zoe had greeted him with had soon sent him reeling from the room in abject confusion and he hadn't so much as poked his head round the door since.

Marguerite floundered, wringing her hands, not sure how to proceed and bring her daughter round.

“Cher, maybe we could - “

“It's hopeless!” sobbed Zoe.

“Calm the fuck down, Zoe,” came Lucas’s voice from the doorway. “It's just the prom. An’ Clyde Burrows is a limp-dicked fuckwit. He wouldn't say shit if he had a mouthful o’ it.”

Zoe began to inflate her lungs, fully intending to blast him into the stratosphere with her anger, but before she could say a word he was by her side, his hand surprisingly gentle on her shoulder.

“You could turn up wearin’ an old feed sack with a used condom on yer head an’ you'd still look better than those stuck-up hoes at your school Zoe. So chill. We'll sort this out.”

His voice was quiet, and the calm that ran through it seemed to infuse her soul.

“You get on outta here, Momma. I'll deal with Zoe’s problems.”

Once Marguerite had gone, Lucas lifted her to her feet. He hadn't gone to his own prom, instead spending the night playing video games with Zoe in the attic, but he still seemed to understand how important this was to Zoe.

“Now. Gimme a list o’ what's fucked up, an’ I'll deal with it.”

Zoe wiped tears from her cheeks.

“My zip done broke, my heel’s comin’ loose, Grandma Baker's pendant is too long, my nail polish is smudged, and my hair looks stoopid.”

Even to herself, she sounded like a spoiled, petulant child, but Lucas only nodded solemnly.

“Ok. Well. First things first. Let's get that zip fixed.”

Within the space of 10 minutes he'd mended her zip, glued her heel back on and shortened the chain on the antique silver pendant Grandma Baker had dug out of her jewellery chest.

Next, he examined her fingers, pinpointing the offending nail and wiping off the smudged polish, reaaplying the colour quickly and efficiently with a few precise strokes, and blowing on it to dry it faster.

“Now, don't you touch nothin’ with that,” he cautioned, entrusting the upkeep of her nail polish to her amateurish care as he hunted out her curling iron.

“Are you sure you know what you're doin’ with that?” asked Zoe nervously as he plugged it in.

Lucas’s snorted contemptuously.

“Fuckin’ trust me, Zoe. I'm an inventor.”

He descended on her scalp confidently, Zoe cringing as she awaited the smell of burnt hair, but he moved around her without incident, catching up tendrils and primping locks as if he knew what he was doing. When he stepped away 5 minutes later, he eyed her critically, finally nodding in satisfaction before moving to one side and letting her see the mirror.

Zoe regarded herself, turning her head from side to side, her mouth gawping wider with each second.

“Lucas…..”

“Uh-huh?”

“That looks great…..”

“Of course it does. I ain't a fuckin’ idiot. Now, how long ‘fore old limp-dick turns up?”

Zoe looked at the clock.

“Ten minutes.”

“Great. Plenty o’ time.”

“For what?”

“All that cryin’ done fucked up yer makeup. Look like a goddam panda. Hold still, now.”

He picked up her eyeliner.

Ten minutes later Clyde Burrows knocked on the front door and Zoe descended the staircase with the dignity of a queen, her hair and makeup perfect, her grandmother's pendant dangling tantalisingly against her cleavage, her heels steady as a rock.

Marguerite went misty-eyed, Jack went running for his old camera, and Clyde “Limp-Dick” Burrows gawped at her as though she was Venus ascending from the sea on her half-shell.

Whilst the obligatory photos were taken - Zoe and Clyde; Zoe and Marguerite; Zoe and Jack; Jack and Clyde, with Jack looming over Clyde menacingly, crushing her date’s hand in a near-paralysing handshake -  Lucas loitered in the background, watching over all with a cynical eye.

“We ready to go now?” asked Clyde eventually, eyeing Jack nervously.

“Wait!” urged Zoe. “I wanna photo with Lucas!”

All eyes turned to her brother, who recoiled in horror, but Zoe wouldn't take no for an answer, dragging him into the hall by his arm and forcing him to pose.

The photo Marguerite took showed Zoe, glowing and happy, clinging to her brother’s arm, while her brother looked awkward and uncomfortable in his old shirt and torn jeans. It was still in the house somewhere, in her prom scrapbook.

Zoe gathered up her skirt to leave, kissing her parents goodbye, and Lucas made to wander off, but before he could leave Zoe dashed up to him on her newly fixed heels and planted a kiss on his cheek.

“I love you, Lucas!” she called over her shoulder as she left, and saw her mother's eyes widen in surprise, groping for the camera hurriedly.

The photo Marguerite snatched at that moment had been framed and put on the table in the hallway.

[les-bi-katamari]

B-SIDE: SESSION 2

Farah and Silenne, under advisement, make their way to look at Damien’s Cabinet of Curiosities.

It’s a somewhat larger tent, midnight-blue, covered in arcane symbols and sigils. Entering the tent, there is a strange smell – or rather, smells. Incense, preservatives, varnish, mingling with the smells of circus food and crowds.

One of the large centerpieces is what appears to be a great cat, its fur a deep bluish-black – with six legs, and two leathery tentacles, propped up with stakes, coiling out of its back. There are many other impressive things – beholder eyes, what is supposedly the hand of a hag, soul jars, and countless other trinkets.

In the back is a gentlemen in a very fine, somewhat flamboyant suit – a gaunt man, with pale skin, short grey hair, and a Van Dyke moustache and beard. He greets them in a surprisingly resonant voice. “Hello and welcome to my Cabinet of Curiosities. Please, peruse at your leisure – if you have questions, I may have answers, but mystery is half the fun.”

Silenne is cringing a bit at the pickled body parts, this is a bit much for her, but she follows along as Fara beams, examining everything. “Do you have any… cursed artifacts?”

As he leads them to see some ‘riskier’ artifacts, another thing catches her eye – a deer skull, painted black, with unfamiliar gold coins in its eye sockets. She recognizes this – it’s religious iconography, but two religions – the gold coins are symbols of Tymora, a goddess of good fortune, but the blackened antlers are a symbol of Beshaba, a goddess of bad fortune. They’re rivals, sometimes believed to be split from one original deities, and this icon is very heretical.

As she mulls over this, Damian leads them to the hag’s hand – “Watch!” – and taps on the glass. The hand clenches, and claws at the glass. [“I drag Silenne closer to the jar!”] Silenne is terrified and disgusted. “Don’t be afraid, my dear, it’s perfectly safe – as long as it’s sealed in the jar.”

The next cursed item he shows them is a rondel dagger, in a familiar northern Almauran style. It has a familiar story – it is one a minor noble used to murder his entire family. It is said to be imbued with malice and a lust for revenge. It is mounted and sheathed. When Damien turns aside, Fara locks eyes with Silenne and reaches out to touch it, dodging Silenne as she tries to swat her away.

As she touches it, a whisper sounds in her head, and she starts to wrap her fingers around the hilt- and she’s snapped out of it as Silenne pulls her away. Fara decides not to touch anything else. Damian has a small smirk when he leads them to the next thing.

Fara proceeds to roll VERY BADLY on insight, and ends up VERY intimidated by Damian, especially once she comments on the skull and he tells her he made it herself.

Fara is rather pale. “Please don’t let me touch anything. Ever again.” Silenne is in quite a huff. “As if I could stop you!” “That one was real.”

With long flowing violet hair, in the most incredible dress that Fara has seen that she did not create herself – ephemeral, as if it’s layers of nebulous shadow coalesced around her – is a woman ahead of them, kneeling to greet some children. She holds out her hand and produces from nothing a small dragon, which grows larger and leaps from her hands, flying into the air to the children’s wonder. She catches it back in her hands, shrinking it down to nothing as they close, and then she opens them again to reveal a flower, a minute pixie dancing atop it. Again, she closes her hands, then reveals a handful of glitter, which she blows all over the children, as she sends them off to their dour-looking parents. She rises to her full, towering height. Her dress is in clearer view now, looking like sunset over the ocean, awe-inspiring.

Fara and Silenne are making a beeline over toward her.

“That – dress – is incredible.”

The woman presses a hand to her chest, nodding graciously. She makes a series of gestures, unspeaking. Silenne leans over to say “She says she made it herself. She thanks you for the high compliment, and says you are beautifully attired yourself.”

Fara is barely restraining herself from reaching out to grab at the woman’s dress, asking more. She takes out a small scroll, and flicks it, showing her the page as script appears upon it. I wove it from magic. It’s illusory thread, woven over again and again, until it becomes real enough, tangible, to function as a kind of cloth. It took over a month to create it. She holds out a layer for Fara to feel – it’s somewhat like touching a cobweb, as though her fingers are passing through it, but the semicorporeal fabric is undamaged. There is a texture to it, satiny.

“This is remarkable. I suppose it’s not something just anyone could make, only a master illusionist.” She smiles broadly. “I don’t suppose I could possibly beg you to make something like this for me?” She stops, considers, taps. It would take quite some time. Perhaps a week. But I could create something small for you, to attire you during your time here.

She gestures carefully, drawing shadow between her hands, weaving it carefully. It slowly begins to take on color, bleeding in, shifting to a slate-blue ribbon that she draws out, shimmering and shifting, faintly iridescent as it catches the light. She ties it back onto itself, forming a sort of barette, which she offers to tie into Fara’s hair, gently, fingers lightly brushing against her cheek as she works, until it is set perfectly. She beams, watching with her bright gold eyes. She refuses Fara’s considerable offer of coin, places her hand over heart, and taps again. For the wonderful compliment. This will not last, unfortunately. “It’s incredible.” Where can I find you for a more lasting work? Fara gives the name of their inn.

Silenne finally butts in – “Excuse me. I am Silenne, this is-“ “-Fara Undertree!” “-and I just realized we’ve been terribly rude, I’m so sorry.”

Medea signs out her name to them – Fara extends a hand, clasping her other over as well once Medea takes it. “My pleasure.” I hope to see you again very soon.

Before she can continue, she looks past them, slightly concerned. Fara turns to see four men in various dress, looking angry and intent on Medea. “Where is he?” “Where’s my boy!?” They bear down on her. Fara and Nisha pop their heads out nearby, coming over to interevene as they slap the paper out of Medea’s hand and Fara pipes up in fury.

After Nisha manages to send the men away, Liriel signs a question to Medea – You don’t think, that thing I saw last night? – Maybe. Talk later, she signs back, looking nervously at Silenne. Fara and Silenne start asking more probing questions about the disappearances, and Medea excuses herself to find Oz. There have been about a kid a day [“or night, as it were”] going missing – at least, of children that people notice going missing. Liriel tries to deflect, and Fara sees right fucking through her – she’s innocent, but she’s not letting on to things.

After they excuse themselves, Fara and Silenne go to see Suraan. There’s a table set out, with quite a line, for the massive dragonborn woman. She is immense, dressed in a fine but simple outfit, colors of the circus dark against her rust-red scales. There is a serpentine motif to her clothes. Her face is scarred with massive claw marks.

Currently, she is locked in arm-wrestling with a beleaguered, doughy-looking baker, struggling dramatically. She shows no sign of strain as she presses the baker’s arm to the ground. She makes a ‘gimme’ motion, he flips her a coin, and she gestures for the next person in line.

Fara gestures. “Want to take a try?” Silenne boggles slightly. “She would destroy me.” “But you would look beautiful being destroyed by- oh! You meant arm wrestling!” Silenne is bright pink, and mutters “I think you should try.” “Alright! Why not!” She drags Silenne over to the queue. “Not what I usually do, but if it would entertain you!”

The queue moves fairly quick, though Suraan “likes to play with her food,” baiting people, sometimes letting them think they’ve come close.

Suraan appraises Fara with her striking aqua eye as her turn comes. She’s hard to read – [“roll insight to see if she wants to fuck”] – it’s Fara’s first time seeing a dragonborn in person, and they don’t emote quite like humanoids. But she seems amused, and slightly curious.

Fara makes a show of cracking her knuckles – Suraan gives a low chuckle, and says something in Draconic as she leans in to offer her hand. Silenne responds in Draconic, and Suraan gives what might be a snarl, or a smile. Fara is busily rolling up her sleeves so as to protect her dress. “Excuse me? I would prefer you speak to me, not about me!” “Fine. You know my name. And yours?” “Fara Undertree, of Vassarein. Pleasure to meet you!”

They get to it – her grip is not painful, but very firm, inescapable. Fara is nearly overwhelmed quickly, but rallies, regaining some. “Your friend is right – you are surprising.” She continues, straining with all her might, and making some progress, pushing Suraan back, and more – and suddenly she pushes HARDER, flipping their hands back the other way. Rows of gleaming fangs are bared as she prepares for victory – but doesn’t budge. This continues, back and forth.

“And here I thought you were ready to lay down.” “Oh, I need a bit more encouragement for that!”

She’s going harder, going in for the kill, and Fara, flushed and straining, manages to push her back. Suraan is clearly straining as well now, a small gasp of mist coming from her mouth as she pants slightly. “Encouragement, you say? I’d be happy to give you that! […] What kind of encouragement do you respond to?” “G-gentler encouragement, usually!” “When I get off work – I can show you gentle!”

[there are SO MANY ROLLS back and forth. “this is a really gay stalemate!”] Suraan’s eye doesn’t leave her, seething rage coming to the surface.

Finally, finally, Suraan manages to force Fara’s hand to the table. The scales of her hand are surprisingly smooth, like snakeskin, not rough at all.

Suraan reaches out to clasp her hand, shaking it. “You may not have bested me – but quite a surprise.” “Is that the best you can show me?” “There’s a lot I could show you!” “Not in public, darling.”

[We segue into talking about the carnie characters being thots, aside from Ozvaldo. He and Medea are not completely exclusive, though, #confirmed! That said, she does not date coworkers. Me: “but I’ve got a character who isn’t a coworker! although, she isn’t a thot. I didn’t think this through.” “and she has a girlfriend! You didn’t think this through at all.” “that said, even if she weren’t in the circus, I don’t think Liriel would. I think she sees Medea sort of as a mother figure.”]

Silenne beams at Fara as they walk away. “You did REALLY well! I was joking, but you really had her on the ropes there!”

After whiling away more of the afternoon at the carnival, Silenne excuses herself, saying she has a personal matter to attend to, and refuses to comment further. Fara can’t really read her. After MUCH cajoling, Silenne admits she’s going to the library.

[“Fara immediately goes to the curiosity cabinet!”]

A couple hours later, Silenne rejoins Fara at the circus, bringing her a delicious little tart as a gift. The crowds are starting to gather as dusk approaches, and they enter the big tent, and the show begins.

Silenne’s piece is a massive, dramatic performance, acrobatics and dancing and so very much fire as Nisha builds in a crescendo. It ends with a dramatic bow, and Liriel’s hardest task

“And now, for our grand finale. We will tell a tale of love that transcends death, of terrible betrayal. We present to you the Tragedy of Kairon and Orianna.”

Fara recognizes this – it’s a play by Dionisia Melani, Kazalian playwright. The play is fairly new, but the myth it’s based on is far older.

Silenne also recognizes this, and looks quite concerned. The lights whiff out as Osvaldo leaves the stage, leaving a very soft light. Medea is left on stage, and she conjures images of a tiefling like herself, a man, and a human woman. There is no dialogue, the play delivered through gesture and expression of the characters.

It is the story of a tiefling paladin, who falls in love with a human noblewoman, who he discovers is bound to a lord of hell. She is doomed, and dies, soul snatched away, but the paladin does not give up. He gathers allies, great heroes, and they follow, descending into the hells. There are many battles, and as he descends through the layers of hell, he loses something at each level. A friend. A principle. He becomes colder, harder, as he descends, grim in his determination.

As he enters Malebolge, the prison of hell, he encounters no resistance. He sees his love, Orianna, standing before him – and shed her form, becoming the archfiend, Glasya. Orianna never existed. She reaches out to take his hand, and he walks with her, to stay in hell forevermore.

As Medea dissipates her illusions, some wisps of shadow remain, coalescing back into figures as she looks around in concern. Four tieflings, somewhat resembling Medea – a man, woman, and two children. These figures are in sharper detail than her previous illusions. They look pained, sad, wanting as they approach her, and she shrinks back, waving her hands as though to dispel the illusion, but they keep coming, closing.

Liriel and Nisha rush onto the stage at this point, trying to protect her. As Liriel interposes herself between Medea and the figures, and they clutch at themselves, screaming, bursting into flames, consuming their bodies. Medea collapses, hands clasped in front of her mouth – Liriel tries to pick her up and bring her away. and Damien bursts onto stage, shouts “ENOUGH!” and brandishes a pendant, dispelling the figures. Nisha rushes to him “What was that?” “I don’t know! But someone is playing games with us!”

He performs the outro, somewhat more coarsely than Ozvaldo, trying to get the crowd to leave.

Ozvaldo has also rushed to Medea’s side. “No, don’t move her – find who did this.” Liriel and Nisha start to scan the crowds, looking for what’s going on.

Fara hears an elderly human woman saying ‘Cecile? Cecile, where are you?’

Liriel sees a small girl leaving the tent, unaccompanied, engrossed by the spectacle. She rushes to follow and check on her, and Nisha follows as she rushes off.

Outside the tent, she finds a small piece of black ribbon, and footprints leading off. She breaks out into a run, following the trail, and hears a scream, “HELP!”

Back behind, the older woman is shouting “That’s Cecile! Help her!” as she struggles to hurry along.

Liriel sees the creature from the previous night, which has the little girl bound, maw open, color draining out of the girl, energy flowing into it. Behind it, the ground is warped, like a burrow leading deep into the earth. It gives way to stone stairs descending. The creature is leading the little girl down into the burrow – Liriel grabs for her, tries to punch the monster, and finally manages to catch hold of the girl. The creature lets out an abominable snarl, and releases the girl, lashing out at Liriel and grabbing onto her instead.

Fara rushes in next, and smashes the thing in the head with her purse. It looks like an antiquated elven jester, curls of doll hair from its head, busted porcelain-doll face with its mouth opened, revealing a long purple tongue. Its head goes level with its shoulders with a sickening crack, then cracks again back into place. It says in a different voice, “Hey! You don’t belong here!”

As Nisha enters, it snarls and hisses at her light. Liriel bursts through the tendrils and makes a break for it with the girl, very narrowly missing a lash from the tendrils thanks to Nisha’s cutting words. She shoots her a wink as she passes, “My savior!” as she gets the girl out of the burrow. Her mother shouts “Cecile!” as Liriel emerges with her.

The monster snarls up at her, but then turns to attack Fara. It swipes at her and grabs her, then tries to drain her emotions. Fara fights it off, but feels a sort of rush, as happy memories bubble to the surface.

Silenne shouts, “Get off her, monster!” and rushes in, stabbing into the side of its neck. There is some resistance as she tries to dig into the porcelain-like ‘skin’ of the creature, but it still recoils from her.

Fara struggles with the creature, but fails to escape. Memories of dressing Castia come to the forefront of her mind as it curses her.

Nisha creates a blast of thunder, knocking the creature off of Fara but also blasting back Silenne. Liriel urges the girl back towards her mother, saying “Take her! Run!”, then turns back to the monster, saying “You don’t like light, hmm? Well, how do you feel about FIRE?!” Flaming dragons manifest around her fist and arc out from her punches towards it, burning it. The fire lights up the space inside the doll-face somewhat, illuminating the emptiness inside – but only somewhat, the darkness within stifling it.

The creature hisses and retreats, scuttling far down into the pit and out of sight.

(It’s noted for everyone in the pit that there is an extreme feel to it – an intense chill, and a feeling of dread and emptiness. The world does not feel the same within the burrow – but the feeling is gone completely when out of it.)

As the creature vanishes, the burrow and stairs begin to crumble apart, filling up. We rush out as it seals up, leaving no trace, as though it had never been there at all.

We head to the mother and child, examining her. She appears completely drained of color, her eyes dark and glassy. Her gray complexion, similar to that of the creature, is in stark contrast to her mother next to her. She has rope-burn-like bruise marks on her arms where the tendrils were wrapped around her.

Nisha heals the girl and tries to dispel whatever’s affecting her, and Liriel tries to inspect her, passing a finger in front of her eyes, checking for responsiveness – there is none. She suggests trying to get her back to the circus, to see if Damien or Medea could help more. With nothing else that comes to mind, the despairing mother agrees, and they start making their way back to the circus.

They burst in on Damien shooing off the last of the audience – his attention is drawn quickly when he sees Fara holding a child. Liriel: “We found out what’s going on, and it’s terrible!”

[Nisha thinks back through her lore, and realizes what the thing is:

Hollow Fools - fey courtiers banished to the shadowfell. lost so much of itself it hungers for the emotions of others, since it can't make these emotions itself. usually feed on the helpless. and children, since they feel more freely and have brighter emotions. mimic last words of their victims. they leave behind empty shells of their victims who take no action on their own, but are stuck in the fools' lair to serve as a mock court, imitating the fools' former lives.

silenne gave us a rhyme she learned about this thing: 'face of an elf, mind of a beast, dwells in the dark, on hearts it will feast.' ]

End of session.