#I had to draw Ember with /both/ her boys of course :3

[catsharky]

A little early something for Valentine's Day ❤

Rolan got one too

[humanoidalien27]

Chapter list: One. Two. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight.

....

Chapter 3

Meeting the family

The fireplace felt warmer than you remembered. The embers stirring the remaining bits of emotion that hadn't been toyed with today.

You were relieved it was passed curfew and most of your fellow Slytherins had already gone to bed, but you could have done without the attention of both boys, who had been patiently waiting for you to say something.

Shifting after what felt like centuries, Sebastian broke the silence. "Are you okay?"

He shifted to the edge of his seet to see your face better, not that it seemed to appease him.

"What happened?" He looked to Ominis who sighed softly for the hundredth time. "Everything was strained this morning, but nowhere near this level. Then you come back from Professor Black's office- you're not getting expelled, right?"

"I wish," you mumbled, before pressing your fingers into your temples.

Sebastian nearly fell off the sofa and looked to Ominis for clarification.

"My parents were here," he started slowly, the words had more venomous than before. "They wanted to let me know they were happy I was becoming friends with the newest Slytherin pureblood whose already made a name for herself."

You grimaced as a shiver ran through you. The underlying end game was all too clear for your taste.

"They called you both to meet your parents?"

I sneered his way, getting him to scootch away.

"If meeting the family that tortured Ominis and I wasn't enough," you clarified sharply, earning an apologetic look from both boys. "My parents were there too. To inform me that I was once again part of the family and then both of sides began to get increasingly interested in our friendship and wondered just how close we were getting."

Sebastian's face screwed up into half sympathy and a scowl. "They do remember who you are, right?"

You scoffed, but pressed your fingers to your mouth to stop more from slipping out. At the moment, your filter was broken.

Noticing, Ominis spoke. "They didn't recognize her."

Of course they wouldn't recognize me, they tortured plenty of people in their time, one face wouldn't stand out.

"Your lives are getting pretty twisted," Sebastian mumbled.

You sent him a look as your hand dropped onto the armrest, making Ominis jump slightly.

"Don't get mad at me because you two are in this mess. I didn't drag you into it...this time."

Sighing, you stood and started pacing behind the couch, ignoring Sebastian as he continued to press Ominis.

You wouldn't be in this situation if it wasn't for that dragon attacking the carriage. If it wasn't for some rare magic you couldn't run away from. If you had kept a low profile, maybe your wizard parents wouldn't have found out about you being accepted into Hogwarts. Maybe you could still escape, get away before their claws dig further into your skin.

No, you couldn't do that to Fig, the answers he needed were ones only you could give him.

"You're going to wear a hole in the stone," Sebastian's voice said, drawing your gaze, seeing both of them following your movements. "Come on, they were just checking in right?"

You narrowed your eyes, getting a smirk before you realized he was just trying to lighten the mood.

"I don't know about their parents, but mine don't randomly check in unless they want something."

Exhaling softly, you rested your weight on the couch. "I haven't spoken to mine since they dropped me in the middle of nowhere. But, I know them, they wouldn't have come here unless they were after something."

Ominis nodded as he tapped his leg uncomfortably. "I think they're going to try to pair us."

You noticed the glance Sebastian sent you both as you ran a hand through your hair, your stomach twisting. "The last thing I want is being related to those people."

"Which? His parents, yours or Ominis?" Sebastian teased.

"Our so called parents."

Sliding closer, Sebastian smirked. "You're defending Ominis now?"

You spared him a glance before your eyes met Sebastian's. "You can't fake what I saw tonight."

Ominis knew what you meant, but seemed grateful for your avoidance.

"What does that mean?"

"It means we have to find a way out of this mess before it escalates," you answered as you began to pace again.

You knew you and Ominis couldn't avoid each other now, not when both sets of parents knew the two of you were friends, even if you were still unsure you could call it that.

"There's nothing we can do to change their minds," Ominis mentioned louder than he needed, as if knowing your mind would take over. "We'll just have to hope they let this go."

"To be honest, they could be against the idea of you two hanging around together too. Right now, there are just assumptions. We have to wait for more to go on."

You grumbled, but you knew he was right. Anything you do now could just make things worse for the both of you and better for them.

You tried to continue classes like normal, but you felt eyes on you everywhere and given how jumpy Ominis was being, he felt it too.

It got so bad that everyone began to avoid the both of you, save Sebastian who mostly seemed uncomfortable.

It reached the breaking point just after dinner.

"We can't go to the undercroft, they know about it."

Ominis just stared forward, you didn't know if he was just getting used to it or slipping into his head to escape.

"I might know a place actually, follow me."

You knew it was meant to help your homework with no distractions, but this whole situation turned into a hellscape.

The boys followed you up to the seventh floor, confused as to why you were leading them to the astronomy tower, but instead you stopped in the hallway as a door slowly started to materialize on the wall.

"Quickly," you hissed, practically shoving Sebastian in first, though you were a careful with Ominis so you wouldn't shove him into the wall.

"Ah, you're back," Deek said moving around the corner, seeing the two boys with you. "And you brought company."

You'd forgotten Deek was here, you'd only focused on wanting a place no one else seemed to know about.

"Uh, yeah, we have to study and it's nearly curfew and our common room is noisy for the next couple hours."

Nodding Deek smiled at the boys. "Let Deek know if you need anything."

Sighing, you lead the boys further into the room, moving through a hall and into the area you turned into a living room, with plants on one side and potions on the other.

"What is this place?" Sebastian mumbled as he plucked a book off one of the nearest bookcases.

"The room of requirement," you admitted as you sat down on the couch. "Professor Weasley showed it to me so I could get caught up on school work."

Ominis took a seat as the prickly sensation of being watched faded.

"I guess it's safe to say neither knows about this place?" Sebastian asked, after watching your expressions relax.

"All day," Ominis whispered. "They've been watching all day."

Sebastian placed the book on the shelf before moving to sit. "You two look like you're about to pass out."

Almost immediately, three beds appeared in the middle of the floor, making the boys jump, before their attention turned to you.

"The room can change to accommodate the needs of those inside it."

"Then apparently, even the room agrees," he replied.

....

[thekitchensnk]

and the spider lilies bloomed in the fall (chapter 23)

Rating: T Warnings: Violence - sadism, murder Pairing: Gin/Ran Part 1: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10, Chapter 11, Chapter 12 Part 2: Chapter 13, Chapter 14, Chapter 15, Chapter 16, Chapter 17, Chapter 18, Chapter 19, Chapter 20, Chapter 21 Part 3: Chapter 22, Chapter 23

“They say that lovers doomed never to see each other again still see the higanbana growing along their path, even to this day.”

A girl collapses on a dusty road one day. A boy takes her home.

The girl lives.

—

(The boy doesn’t.)

What kind of beast are you, Ichimaru Gin?

What are you becoming?

--

--

--

(What could drive a man to kill a god?)

--

Aizen played white. Gin played black. 

He held territory on both corners of the board, but it wasn't enough. He could see the tide beginning to turn against him, white beginning to eat away slowly at his lines. Aizen was closing in. There could be no escape.

The board and the pieces were finer than any he had ever played on. The stones were not, in fact, stones at all, but rather perfectly carved pieces of bleached and blackened lacquered wood. They felt smooth in his hands, hands that had once been rough and calloused from the filthy work of keeping himself alive.

It was quite the step up in the world, he thought idly, to be playing on an actual wooden board, and not some scrap of cloth on which he'd had to draw clumsy lines - and quite something to be actually playing someone who as proving a challenge to beat.

He was going to lose, he realised distantly, and on his first time playing on an actual board as well. He hadn't been playing his best, but it still rankled him to be beaten. He frowned in concentration at the board, and seeing no path to victory, chanced a quick glance up at his opponent.

That was a mistake - Aizen caught his eye and held his look, and there was a glint of casual, entertained cruelty there.

He knows, Gin realised, brows furrowing only slightly. He knows he's got me beat. An’ worse, he knows I know he knows. What does he want? Where do I go from here?

There were four games going on; the game of go, with all its exciting swapping of pieces and setting of traps; the game of minds which had always existed above the game of go, the manipulation above the game at which Gin had always excelled, and then -

Aizen's game. Gin's game.

He’s won the first game, and probably the second. But they don’t matter, he thought with a hard stare. This one does. This matters. I’m beat, but - 

“I forfeit.”

Something dark lit up in Aizen’s eyes, like an ember suddenly come to life in a breeze.

“You’re very good,” he said appreciatively.

Gin shrugged carelessly. “An idiot could have seen it comin’.”

Aizen gaze was dark and his tone mild. “Could they, though?” he murmured. “You’d be surprised at how much an idiot does or does not see. You played well, for what it’s worth. Up to the point where you didn’t.”

The man paused, and he leaned forward.

His eyes were brown, Gin couldn’t help but notice; a warm brown, like honey, like rich wood. There had been a Rukongai girl with eyes like those, once upon a time, and Aizen had killed her. Her essence had faded into the air like tea in hot water.

“Why did you kill the third seat?” Aizen asked, the look in his eyes searching.

A lie came to him easily. It came easily because had it been any other person he had murdered, it might not have been far from the truth.

“Jus’ felt like it,” Gin said simply.

That seemed to entertain Aizen. “Oh?”

“Ain’t no ‘oh’ about it. That’s it. I killed him because I felt like it. Because I was strong. Because he was weak. Because I was bored.” Gin waved a hand abstractly in the air and stretched out.

“And that’s all?”

“Yep. Sounds about right.”

Aizen considered it a while, and then he smiled patiently.

“Are you a beast then, Ichimaru Gin? Is that all you are? A creature that blindly follows its impulses? Nothing but a creature of nature? An animal that eats when its stomach growls, kills when the impulse befalls it, and defecates when its bowls tell it to?”

Is that so far from the truth? Gin wondered.

He let himself fall backwards towards the tatami mat with a delighted laugh. There was still blood on his eyelashes and under his nails.

“I think that’s exactly what I am, Vice-Captain Aizen.” Gin informed the man, grinning. “I see that the armband of yours ain’t just for show.” He rolled over onto his stomach, and let his chin fall into his hands. “Yes. I’m a beast. Let me be a snake,” he said playfully, and the words rang with truth. “Cold of flesh and devoid of heart. My tongue flicks back and forth, always in search of new prey, and if I like what I find…” He caught Aizen’s eye and grinned for him this time. “…I swallow ‘em whole.”

He sighed theatrically. “Poor old Mr Third Seat.” The words rang with menace, and the grin was like a sickle. “Poor, poor third seat. I did like him. Best be careful, Vice-Captain. I might end up take a likin’ to ya’ too.”

Aizen looked down on him, and smiled strangely.

“A snake...” he considered, weighing up the notion. “A snake. Yes. Slithering through the mud on its belly, rising to strike; vicious, poisonous even...” His voice trailed off. “But a small snake yet. Sit back up.”

There was a command as strong as iron in that voice and so Gin dragged himself from where he had been lying. Aizen took a slow, thoughtful sip of his tea.

“You were messy. I can’t help but wonder at that. You were not so far removed from the fifth division barracks that no one would stumble upon you at work. Like a beast indeed, to kill so openly and without thought. Strong, to have bested a third seat. Skilled, to have graduated in only a year. And clever...” He looked down at the go board. “Without a doubt, clever.”

He looked Gin straight in the eye.

“It will be a shame when I tell Hirako what you’ve done.”

Gin’s eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly, and he bared his teeth.

“Ah,” Aizen said, a dark gleam in his eye. “Were you labouring under the impression that I wouldn’t turn you in? That we’d play a while and I’d let you go on your merry way? I’m afraid not. They’ll send you to the Maggot’s Nest for this.” He paused. “It will be an absurd waste of talent, don’t you think? Verging on criminal itself. But they must have their justice. And it costs me nothing to give it to them.”

The irony was not lost on Gin as he gritted his teeth. It had been a long shot, he knew, playing to Aizen’s hunger for knowledge, his sense of intrigue, in the hope that he would take him on.

But it was not over yet. Black still had pieces on the board.

“Must they? Why? Why bother?” he asked lazily.

“‘Why bother?’” Aizen said in imitation, a small, victorious smile playing about his lips. “Why am I going to turn you in, you mean?” he said casually. “Because you’ve lying to me, and it would offend me to let you think I hadn’t noticed it from the instant we began this conversation. Trying to lie and failing, for what that’s worth, though you surely must realise that now. I’ll ask once more, and only once: why did you kill the third seat? Lie again and I’ll know.”

Gin was silent for a long moment.

“Well?” Aizen said, triumph in his eyes.

“I-“

Let him see something of the truth. Let him see what kind of beast you really are.

All of a sudden, he felt his muscles relax. He let himself fall forward again onto his forearms, slouching comfortably again on the floor.

“I wasn’t lyin’,” he objected. His voice sounded half a whine, but at least it didn’t tremble. “Got caught up in a passin’ fancy when I saw Mr Third Seat out and about walkin’ so late. But ya’ right, Mr Vice-Captain - very forgetful of me, would forget my own head if it wasn’t stuck on my neck. Missed a bit out of my story, didn’t I?” He paused dramatically, grin back on his face.

“I wanted ya’ to see me, Vice-Captain. Wanted ya’ to see me with your own eyes so that ya’d know what kind of beast ya’ve got on ya’ hands, so that when the moment came and I asked, ya’d know.”

He leant in conspiratorially.

Aizen’s brow darkened. “I’d know what?” He asked dangerously, patience running thin.

“Aah. What a helpful boy I can be.”

Aizen paused a moment, his eyes searching Gin’s face intently.

“You know?” he said, realisation immediate, words fraught.

“Bingo,” Gin said, delighted.

Aizen gaze was soft with menace. “Oh,” he murmured. “But of course you know.”

“Sorry, sorry,” Gin confirmed with a grin.

“And I take it you’ll take no pains to divulge to me how you learned of such things?”

“Ya’ a smart man, Vice-Captain.”

“A smart man would not let you live long, Ichimaru-kun,” Aizen said, and the threat was delivered levelly.

“Maybe, maybe. But there’s more than one way to gut a pig if ya’ a creative sort, and I think ya’ know that.”

Aizen leant back and considered him in silence. His chestnut hair hung about his face and his glasses gleamed in the lamp light. He made no move to speak further. It was a dangerous silence flung at him.

Gin shifted impatiently where he sat.

“I want in,” he said bluntly. “Don’t throw away a tool ya’ can use, Vice-Captain. Mr Third Seat wasn’t even third rate. He was trash. His guts were on the floor before he even thought ta’ suspect me. He was shit on someone’s boot. You want me quiet, then keep me quiet – but I think ya’ve got more about ya’ than to resort to somethin’ as borin’ as killin’ me, not when ya’ could try me out.”

Aizen’s silence was heavy and threatening.

Nothing from him. Nothing at all.

Let him see something of the truth. Let him see what kind of beast you are.

“They’re weak,” Gin said suddenly. “All of them. Worse than weak. They prate and they shuffle about to do your biddin’ and they bleat “Aizen-sama, Aizen-sama” like sheep. When they kill, they don’t kill for you. They don’t even kill for themselves. They do it because they’re nothin’ and they want to be somethin’ so badly and they’re so – so small that they can’t even grasp the kind of something they want to be, how pathetic what they desire is, how little they know how to become it. They’re so pathetic that they’re not even worth hatin’. They’re just… Nothin’. I don’t understand that. I’ll never be nothin’.”

It took Aizen long moments to speak. An expression began to pull at his lips. His smile was slow and predatory - and yet something of an alien humour danced in his eyes.

There was nothing gentle about the look. Gin had never seen its like before, and had he no knowledge of the man, he might have called it a kind of respect.

Riding high for a moment, he did not anticipate the question that came next.

“Nothing? Really? If they’re all so small, then why do you kill them, Gin? If they’re nothing at all, then why bother? Why even notice them? If they’re so small... Why do you do what you do?” Aizen asked softly.

He’d said too much and realised it a second too late. Panic began to creep up his gorge and sweat pricked at his skin.

Because that was the heart of it, wasn’t it? The suffering he inflicted – what it revealed – it was interesting. It was fun. They... were fun.

But no one else could know that. They would kill him if they knew.

The question pried at places that were too secret, too intimate to see the light of day– warm, dark places into which light had never shone, places so murky that they would swallow up the light. He had never before let himself be uncovered as blatantly as this, allowed himself to be so exposed - not to someone he then hadn’t gone on to kill.

There had been one time – a time long ago – when he had killed four men in town and had trudged back to Rangiku doused in their blood and smelling of their burnt flesh. It had ruined his yukata and the blood had settled into his shoes, never to be washed out. He had trembled to think of what she might say to him, certain that she would leave. She hadn’t.

But she hadn’t acknowledged the truth either.

Here and now, the question could not be avoided. Not if he wanted to see her again. Not if he wanted to make her whole again.

The price of tangling with the devil had always been to stake your soul. He knew, down in his gut, that he could never have expected to escape unscathed. But for a moment, he let resentment boil up in him.

For a moment, it was aimed at her too.

“What I-“ he stopped, and he drew in a deep measured breath. He found that despite his immense self-control, he could not keep looking Aizen in the eye. When he found the breath to speak again, his voice was low. “When I kill I – I see somethin’ true. In their eye. Ya’ see them dance. Ya’ see the truth they’re always hidin’.”

Aizen’s expression was warm. It was appreciative. The hair on Gin’s arms raised in a shiver of disgust. “That was the most honest thing you’ve told me all evening, Gin,” he murmured. “I appreciate your honesty. Truly.”

He rose slowly from where he sat and moved to look at the moon still hanging overhead in the sky, bloated and corpulent like fruit gone foul.

“Mutual bondage in co-conspiracy, you and I,” Aizen said slowly. His voice was low and rich. “No detail that you could divulge for fear that it would stick to you too. For every finger I drag through the dirt, a corresponding trace on your fingers; a stain for every stain of my own. An elegant, symmetrical solution. You know that your age will stand as no defence were you to betray me, and you know that I know where the bodies are buried.”

Aizen turned to him, and Gin knew suddenly that the wage had been deemed paid.

(Everything that happens now happens because you made it that way.)

Black was still on the board.

“The position is yours. We start again tomorrow.” Aizen smiled. “I look forward to working with you, Gin.”

---

And just like so, he became a shinigami and apprentice to Aizen Sosuke.

And for a time – the first time, in fact – Matsumoto Rangiku began to fall slowly from his mind.

---

[frasermints]

We Don’t Have Each Other

Chapter 3: Beast of Burden

this chapter’s a bit all over the place but the puzzle pieces’ll make sense in later chapters. this is all necessary exposition so i’m sorry if it’s slow or doesn’t track well

pairing: bucky barnes / tony stark   words: 1200 

ao3   prologue   chapter one   chapter two 

content: nightmares about kidnapping, sam and riley smoke and drink, they’re scared about their next mission, author is Intentionally Cryptic™

1969 - Sam

It’s a rare sort of night. Someone a few tents over got an 8 track and batteries in his last package. One of the locals was kind enough to share some grass, and one of the boys was smart enough to keep it fucking hidden this time. There haven’t been clouds in the sky for days. It feels like a whole new country, a whole new world. 

It feels like it’s been a lifetime since Sam’s been able to relax like this. 

His brothers are laughing around him, all at various levels of intoxication. Some are showing off their mail, others digging through the last of dessert. Sam’s almost jealous - Riley took off for food almost twenty minutes ago and the fucker still isn’t back yet. 

The last little bit of western sun beats down on Sam’s face, and he tries his best to soak it all in. He isn’t sure when he’ll next have a night like this, all freedom and sunshine, so he might as well enjoy it. 

Riley comes scrambling into view, then, joints in one hand and two bowls balanced in the other. Sam smiles, sight of his clumsy best friend pulling at his heart strings a bit. 

He isn’t looking forward to tomorrow. 

“Take a picture, Samantha, it’ll last longer.” Riley sticks his hip to the side, right shoulder thrown forward in a mock sexy pose. Sam snorts, snapping his handkerchief at Riley’s ass before grabbing the food. “Maybe if that girl of yours would send us a camera, I’d be able to!” 

Riley rolls his eyes and finds his seat next to Sam. The silence is weighted between them - comfortable, but only just. He pulls out a match, flicking the flame just high enough to light the end of a joint. He touches the two together, lighting the other in the already burning embers. Sam takes the first, drawing in a heavy breath. 

“Are you scared for the op tomorrow?” Riley’s voice is small; Sam would have missed it, had he not been looking at his lips as he asked. He exhales, careful not to choke on his honesty. 

“Of course I am, I always worry when you go in.” 

Riley sighs. “It’s not me I’m worried about.” 

They dig up soft smiles for each other, and smoke the rest of their night away. 

The air’s a lot sweeter than she remembers. The grass is so soft, barely brushing her ankles as she runs through the fields. Someone’s yelling behind her, probably her momma, but all she wants to do is catch up to Sarah. 

“You’re going too fast! You-” She heaves. “You gotta slow down!” She calls out to her, but it’s no use. Sarah’s legs are longer, she’s so much older… 

And she can barely run in this stupid dress. 

“It’s not my fault you’re so slow! Hurry up, Evie, we’re gonna be late!” 

She physically recoils at the name. It makes her sick, but she runs toward her sister anyway. It’s not Sarah’s fault, not like she knows her sister is different. The other girls at church make fun of her for it, for wanting to wear pants and play in the mud and help outside with the boys. It makes her weird. It makes her a ‘tomboy’. 

Evelyn doesn’t see what’s so bad about bein’ a tomboy. Or a boy at all, really. Maybe if they weren’t so mean… 

Her chest is burning, legs lead by the time she makes it up the hill. Sarah’s got her palms to her knees, sucking in big labored breaths. They both take a minute, faces lighting up as their friends come into view. 

The sun is high in the sky as they make their mud pies and flower garnishes, unrestrained giggles piercing through the dreamy haze. They’re surrounded by filth and bugs and fallen petals, but it’s the most fun Evie’s had in forever. 

Suddenly, Evie drops the flattened cake she’s holding. Her friends play on, unaffected. 

Her mind fills with terror as she slowly loses control of her body. She’s sitting up, perfectly still, but inside she’s screaming. Sarah turns to her, concern staining her big sister’s features.

“Why don’t you wanna play anymore, Evie?” She can’t answer. She can’t get her lips to move, get her lungs to force air through her throat. She’s stuck, and there’s nothing she can do about it. 

Sarah and their friends play together for hours, seeming to forget about Evie entirely. The sun disappears and gets swallowed by looming storm clouds, and their mothers call for them all to come in. 

Sarah doesn’t even think to collect Evie, to bring her with. Not even her own mother calls for her. 

Tears stream down her face as she’s locked in place, dirty and scared and alone. 

A man comes into view, then, crisp white suit a stark contrast against the near black sky. He scoops Evie up, brings her to eye level. Something twists in her gut, something telling her to run, to hide, to fear this man. 

“Don’t you worry, sweet girl. Nobody will ever leave you alone again.”

Sam doesn’t remember waking up. He doesn’t even remember going to bed. All he knows is Riley’s hand on his shoulder, commanding him to breathe, damn it. 

He sucks in a massive breath, suddenly aware of himself. He’s safe. They’re gone. He’s safe.

Riley’s words are muddled, he’s looking Sam dead in the eye and he knows, he knows it wasn’t one of the normal nightmares all the men have. He knows it was something different. 

Sam doesn’t have the heart to lie to him. 

They settle back down, and try to get a few more minutes of rest in. 

They’re up before the sun, and prepare for the beginning of the end. 

It’s a simple enough order - get in, grab the necessary cargo, and get the fuck out of dodge. It’s something Sam and Riley have done a million times over. They know the area just about as well as the locals, know exactly where to go and where to avoid. 

Sam takes in a deep, unsure breath. They know what they’re doing. They’ll be fine.

Riley doesn’t look much better when Sam meets him by the truck. They’re supposed to drive out just the two of them, twenty five miles from base. It doesn’t hit them until that very moment - this is just them, all alone, for days.  

Deep breath. They can do this.

They throw their bags in the back and strap in. It’s a long enough drive Sam can sleep off the rest of his hangover, and hopefully not spill his guts out the side. How he got stuck with the worst driver on the fucking planet he’ll never know. At least it’s Riley, he reminds himself.

Thank god for Riley. 

lmk if you want on or off the taglist: @sarcastich @kaleidoscopeluli @capnstarkey​  

[ecto-american]

If Found Please Return to Danny Phantom

Phic Phight Oneshot for @imperfection-at-itsfinest: When Jack manages to get his hands on Danny Phantom's ghost hunting logbook, an investigation reveals some information about ghosts and the infamous specter himself that a scientific study would never cover.

Read on FFN and AO3

123456789

It would be wrong of him to read it. 

Jack kept staring at the book in his hands. It resembled a diary, the front design being colorless but a pressed design. The moon with stars, with no words, and the diary itself felt unusually thin. There was no lock, as if it was almost inviting him to just read it. Jack had, in fact, already opened to the first page, and the first words greeted him. In a standard font read: If Found, Please Return to: and the name scrawled, in surprisingly tidy handwriting, was the name Danny Phantom.

What an absolute find. It was pure dumb luck. He had seen Phantom drop it, but Jack had went looking for it in hopes that the ghost teen had dropped one of the stolen Fenton gadgets. Only to recover...this book that he had taken home and into the privacy of his lab for study.

The idea of Phantom keeping a diary was kinda funny. He never struck Jack as the type to write down his deepest darkest secrets or teenage embarrassments in a book. That would imply that the ghost had some kind of emotions. They didn’t. They were blobs of ectoplasmic energy.

So it should be okay for him to read, right? Why was he so hesitant? Well...it was an invasion of privacy. But it was fine. Phantom dropped it in the park. Phantom was a menace to society. There was likely evidence in this journal that could explain all of the ghost boy’s terrible deeds, that could prove that he truly was evil. This diary could change everything.

...Jack had children though, and he knew both were avidly creative. Scrapbooking, drawing, painting, writing. They were stress outlets for his girls, and he wouldn’t ever dare dream of invading their privacy like that. So he couldn’t. He shouldn’t. Phantom deserved privacy, right?

“Jack? Are you coming to dinner?” Maddie’s voice snapped him from his thought process. She hadn’t made a noise as she came down the stairs. But Maddie was a much better stealth hunter than him.

“Yes, yes! Sorry, I was distracted,” Jack apologized. He set the book down on the table. Maddie rose an eyebrow at him.

“Did you get a new ectobiology book?” she asked. His eyes glanced to the book, and he shook his head no. Maddie came over to him, studying the book cover. Of course, it didn’t resemble any of the scientific texts that they owned. 

“I don’t know how to explain it…” Jack said slowly. He held it out to her. Maddie accepted it.

“This looks like it belongs to the kids,” she stated. She opened the first page, and Jack saw her eyes widen. Her breath hitched, and she looked up to him “Jack...where did you...get this?”

“He dropped it during a fight,” he replied. “I thought it was Fenton tech, but…”

Her eyes sparkled, and she shut the book. A wide grin had appeared, and she threw her arms around her husband.

“Oh Jack! This could teach us so much! If this really is a journal or some kind of diary, then he may have recorded motivations! Thoughts! We can really get into how Phantom thinks and a raw, honest, firsthand account from Phantom himself! This changes everything!”

She was right. She was absolutely right, and he hugged her back. They were scientists first and foremost, and this journal could fill in so many missing blanks about ghosts. It was a starting off point. Jack’s mind raced with all the things they could possibly learn. Just from a simple peek of the book. That was worth more than the invasion of privacy of a ghost that caused so much havoc, destruction and pain. 

“We should look at it right now!” he exclaimed. Maddie pulled away with a small frown.

“After dinner,” she reminded him. “I finally got everybody corralled upstairs for a family dinner. It’s nearly impossible to get either of the girls at the same time.”

“Oh, right!” Jack nearly slapped his forehead. Yes, they were scientists first and foremost, but before even that, they were Mom and Dad. “First thing after dinner.”

“First thing after dinner,” she agreed with a smile. 

Upstairs, he saw that Jazz was already serving herself. Chicken, mashed potatoes and peas. His youngest was pouring iced tea into glasses for everybody. 

“Hey Ghost-kateers!” Jack greeted cheerfully with a grin. Both kids groaned in embarrassment. Perfect. 

“Daaad!” his youngest complained, a whine hitching as she put the pitcher of ice tea back. “I told you, if I’m going to be some kind of ye olde soldier type, I wanna be a knight, like at the renaissance fair.” 

“Ah, but if you’re a ghost-kateer, you can get an anti-ghost musket!” Jack teased. As he walked past her to get his own food, he playfully ruffled her pixie-cut hair. She waved his hand away. 

“But as a ghost knight, I can get a cool sword!” she protested. Jack shook his head in fake disappointment. 

“Never bring to a ghost sword to a ghost musket fight, baby boo,” her dad replied.

“Can’t shoot what you can’t see!” she shot back with a grin. Jack had to hand it to her, and he just chuckled. 

“Can we please have a ghost free dinner?” Jazz scowled. 

“Yes, yes, let’s save ghosts for after dinner,” Maddie agreed. Jazz shot her a grateful look, and Jack focused on getting his serving of dinner from the stove. His youngest pushed her sleeves up, exhaling. Jack stole a look at her and frowned. She had some sweat collected on her forehead.

“Honey if you're hot, you can just take your sweatshirt off,” he told her. She shook her head no.

“No, I'm fine,” she insisted. Jack was skeptical.

“You sure?” he asked. 

“Mhm!” 

Jack shrugged a bit. She was always insisting on wearing a hoodie, no matter the weather. If she got hot enough, she’d take it off. No need to force it. He got his food and took his seat.

“How's school going?” Maddie questioned. Jazz lit up a bit, and her sister flinched. She raised a suspicious eyebrow at her youngest.

“I managed to get a B on my chemistry test,” the youngest spoke up with a forced smile.

“That’s excellent!” Maddie’s demeanor shifted as she smiled warmly. “Keep it up!” 

“Yeah!” The youngest seemed to visibly relax. “Sam’s been helping me study.”

“That’s good, I always studied better when V-man or your mom helped me,” Jack nodded at her as he cut up his chicken. 

“Oh it’s true, I used to help your father study for all of our shared classes,” Maddie confirmed. “Otherwise he’d get so distracted.”

“Yeah, Sam just explains it super well,” their daughter agreed. “Tucker’s been going over math with me a bit, which helps some.”

“Well if you need a tutor, just let us know, and we’ll help you arrange one,” Maddie smiled. “What about you, Jazz?”

“Pretty good,” she replied. “Mr. Lancer asked if I wanted to be his TA this summer, which I really do. It’ll look good on a college application, and I might even get paid!”

“Have you been narrowing down where you might wanna go?” Jack asked. Jazz eagerly nodded.

“Yeah! Oxford is my number one choice, but I also would love to go to Yale or Stanford. I’ve been talking with the college counselor about what else might look good on an application for them that I can do over the summer. I wrote them down in my planner notebook earlier-”

“Hey, that kinda reminds me,” her sister interrupted. “Have you guys seen one of my notebooks? I think I lost it,” she asked them. Jack stared at her. The reminder of the notebook he actually had found. Maddie seemed unbothered by the question. This wasn’t unusual, for the parents to have to play “where’s my stuff?” with the kids. 

“What notebook?” Jazz asked hesitantly. 

“My important one,” came the reply. Jazz frowned lightly. 

“Sorry, princess, haven’t seen any notebooks laying around,” Jack replied. He saw the briefest of a cringe cross his youngest’s features. “Did you leave it at school?” Her shoulders slumped.

“I don’t think so?” she said hesitantly. “I’ll have to check tomorrow. I was so sure I had it earlier…” Her voice trailed off before she forced a smile. “If you see it, let me know!” She picked up a forkful of chicken, only to freeze. The clattering made Jack glance up curiously as she was turning her attention to Maddie. “Can I be excused? I have some homework to get done.” 

Maddie let out a soft sigh. So much for family dinner.

“Of course, just make sure you come back down before you go to bed to get your chores done,” Maddie nodded at her. The young Fenton snapped to her feet with a thanks, fully abandoning her dinner as she went to the stairs. Jazz stared after her sister, craning her neck to track her movements before hurriedly shoveling more mashed potatoes in her mouth.

“Uh, I’m not that hungry, and I totally forgot to do this online assignment,” Jazz spoke, standing up, taking hers and her sister’s plate. She was already walking away before either parent could truly give permission. “I’ll put our plates up and clean up in a bit!”

“A-alright?” Jack hesitated, watching his other child put the plates on the counter before rushing up as well. Another child down. They seemed to grow up so fast. 

“Least they’re doing homework,” Maddie sighed lightly, shaking her head before taking a drink of her tea. “Oh well. Might as well take their lead and eat in the lab?” 

“Please,” Jack agreed. He stood up, taking his plate. “I’m dying to see what Phantom has to say.”

January 10

Skulker: 1; captured

Ectopuss: 1; captured

Box Ghost: 8; captured

Ember: Fought; got away

Fenton Thermos: half-full

Fenton Fisher: untangled

January 11

Vultures: 1; got away

Cujo: 1; played fetch and he went back to the GZ

Fenton Thermos: Full

Ghost Bazooka: overheated and doesn’t shoot anymore, take apart and fix it

January 12

Skulker: 2; got away

Box Ghost: 3; captured

Sidney: 2; got away

Fenton Fisher: tangled, untangle asap

January 13

Skulker: 1; captured

Box Ghost: 4; got away

Fenton Thermos: damaged, won’t suck up ghosts

I met a new ghost today named Desiree. She got away, but it allowed me to discover a new ghost power. Ghost ray.

Maddie furrowed her brow as she studied the words. She stood at the table, her dinner half-forgotten as she thought on the words.

“It sounds like a record,” Jack mused, and he ate another spoonful of peas. Maddie nodded in agreement.

“I think we found Phantom’s logbook,” she agreed. “I’m assuming these are the ghosts he’s fought. And he seems to be recording his powers too. This is huge, we can match up what we know about his powers and what he’s claiming.”

“And he’s recording the status of our equipment.” Jack frowned. “Why would he care?”

“Yeah, he made note that he was going to fix the Fenton Bazooka too,” Maddie pointed out. The scientist flipped through the pages, only to stop at a page, staring curiously. Maddie laid the journal on the table, pressing the spine so that the pages stayed open. She read the page aloud to Jack.

December 19

I hate my life. I hate this existence. I look in the mirror and wonder why it has to be this way. Why am I the one cursed to be this freak? Why is everything about me and my body wrong? For once, I wish something about me was normal, that somebody about me could be right. If Desiree wasn’t such an unreliable asshole with wishes, I’d give everything I have to wish that life could, for once, allow me to be a normal teenage boy. 

Jack listened to her in a stumped silence. This couldn’t have been a pre-death thought process of a moody teenager. It was written too recently, and the words hit a sorrowful chord to him. He didn’t intend to, but he quickly began to feel sorry for Phantom. He was very young. It couldn’t have been easy to lose everything at that age. His daughter was his age. Jack cleared his throat.

“It’s not just a log then?” Jack questioned. Maddie shook her head, flipping the pages back.

“No, I think it’s a mix. There’s still records of ghosts and FentonWorks equipment,” she replied. Using a leg, she pulled a wheeled chair to her to sit in. She leaned back, and she pulled the journal to her. After a moment of flipping through and scanning pages, she settled on a page about a third of the way through. “It seems like this is when he began to record things other than just ghosts.”

“What’s it say?” Jack wondered. Maddie read aloud the next few entries as Jack silently continued to eat. 

April 4

I only fought this shitty panther today, and he still got away. I’m such a fucking idiot. I can’t believe he got away. I was too slow. All I do is fuck up. There’s ghostly activity happening around the school, and I just can’t figure it out. I feel like I can’t stop them anymore. I don’t know what’s going on, why I suddenly suck so much. I honestly probably just always sucked, and now it’s starting to hit me. [scribbles] and [scribbles] were trying to make me feel better, but I fucked up. It was only one ghost today, and I couldn’t catch them. It destroyed an entire store, and it’s my fault.

April 8

No ghosts today, surprisingly. But [scribbles] has been acting weird lately. The other day she poked and prodded me at dinner. No clue what that’s about. She also tried to give me this speech that I can talk to her about anything, and that she’d love me no matter what. That makes me think she found my binder. I’m honestly kinda freaking out. I knew I shouldn’t have left it out like that. She’s such a nosy know it all.

“Phantom must keep more records than just this,” Maddie lightly mused. “He has an entire binder full of information that somebody discovered.”

“Maybe on other ghosts?” Jack theorized. “He’s recording his fights, he must be also recording information about them.” Maddie’s eyes lit up.

“That makes so much sense,” she agreed. “He probably keeps so many kinds of things written down and logged. I wonder where he’s keeping it? Obviously paper, which is a bit odd. I figured a teenager would move to the digital age…” Maddie paused.

“Maybe he’s older than we think he is?” Jack suggested. “He could have died fifty years ago, and just be more comfortable with writing things down.”

“Oh, that’s true,” Maddie mused. She put down the notebook to take a long sip of her drink. Jack picked it up to observe the page she read.

“Phantom has neat handwriting,” he noted. “He’s not fighting ghosts when he writes these.” Jack’s eyes scanned the words. “...I wonder who he’s scribbled out.”

“Allies?” Maddie shrugged. “He probably went back and blacked out some of the names. Privacy. Especially if this isn’t the first time he’s lost this.”

It made the most logical sense. Jack skipped the purely log entries to one that had more written, and he read it aloud to his wife.

April 10

She was feeding on us. Spectra, the Casper High “psychologist” was feeding on emotions, like some kind of emotional vampire but she’s a ghost. It’s so scary. I saw her do it. She asked [scribbles] and [scribbles] about their lives. What made them unhappy, and why. And when they left, I saw her absorb? I guess how I’d describe it? She absorbed the energy into her skin and it just seemed to instantly revive her, and it made her happy. When she did it to me, I could just look in her eyes and know that she enjoyed every minute of my misery. I managed to stop her, with [scribbles] helping me. It was weird. She didn’t seem afraid of me. I don’t know why. 

Spectra: 2; captured

“Ghosts can feed off of energy!” Maddie exclaimed. “Human energy! We always suspected it, but this is confirming something!” Jack glanced up at her excitedly. It was the first real, true ghostly discovery that Phantom was revealing to them. 

April 13

All I do is fuck up lately. Because of me, this ghost dog just absolutely has been causing havoc on this girl’s life. She blames me. And I don’t blame her. I ruined her entire life. She lost her house because of me. I didn’t mean to. I tried to stop the dog, but he just won’t respond to anything I say. I can’t capture him. I’ve been trying. I’ve been just calling the dog Cujo. After the Stephen King book, because damn is this dog giving me one fucking nightmare of a time.

Cujo: 3, got away

April 16

[scribbles] kissed me. It was to force me to change back, and it worked, but she kissed me. It was great. She smelled like lavender. I don’t think my heart’s ever beaten so fast. Afterwards she clarified to me that it was just a fake-out make-out. It didn’t feel like it. I don’t want it to be. But she’s my best friend, and I can’t lose her. So I agreed, and when I came home I cried. My dad caught me, and I pretended it was just girl problems, even though that excuse made me feel even worse. He got me some ice cream, and we watched Star Trek together. It didn’t really help that much, if I’m being honest. 

Anyway, apparently Cujo’s trained. He knows his commands. [scribbles] thinks it’s because he was a guard dog when he was alive for Axion Labs. For a guard dog, he’s such a playful puppy though, he loves his squeaky toy. And [scribbles] became a hunter specifically to kick my ass. It’s my lucky month. But I deserve it. Will there ever be a day where I actually can do more good than bad?

Skulker: 1; captured

[Scribbles]: 1 Red Huntress

Cujo: 1, got away

“Phantom has a family?” Maddie wondered. She chewed on her food as she thought. Jack shrugged, an odd, unsettled feeling hitting him as he put the book down for a moment. He used his spoon to push around his peas.

“I mean, we all do,” Jack reminded her. “Just...I didn’t think Phantom still talked to his family. After his death. Or did such...non-ghost things with them.” Watching Star Trek with his dad? Jack did that with his own kids all the time. It was his and his youngest daughter’s favorite show to watch together. Jazz typically preferred documentary series, and Maddie was too bothered by scientific inaccuracies to really enjoy science fiction. So it was always “their thing” and knowing that Phantom did it too was...too human. 

“Yeah, I didn’t...really expect him to still be haunting them,” Maddie said. Jack could tell that this was disturbing her a little. 

“But ghosts can retain their memories from life it seems,” Jack spoke up. Maddie stared at him. “The dog remembers commands from his life as a guard dog. What extent, I’m not sure.” Maddie hummed curiously.

Jack picked the book up again, skipping through more boring logs to other words. 

April 29

Ember: 2; captured

Fenton Thermos: full, empty

The past few weeks have been terrible. I have definitely come to the conclusion that I really am developing a crush on [scribbles]. Or maybe I always had one, I dunno. Is this really just an effect from Ember’s supposed spell? Does ghostly mind control really last? I think I always knew that I liked her though. I mean, ever since I told her that [scribbles], she’s been so supportive. She even cut my hair for me, which really pissed my parents off, but they ended up admitting that I looked better with my hair short anyway. Almost like it’s meant to be, huh? Ha. [scribbles] is also one of the only two people who know my deeper secret. She’s been so supportive through that too. She calls me Danny, and every time she refers to me as that, it makes my heart go crazy.

But would she even like me? Would she even wanna be with somebody like me? I don’t think I’d be her type. Some other friends I met at this local support group have complained about the struggles of dating. The stories are depressing, and it makes me worried that while [scribbles] will always love and accept me as a friend, that she’d never be able to love me as a boyfriend. I hate my life.

“Aw, Phantom has a little girlfriend,” Jack half-joked, only for goosebumps to raise and an odd chill run down his spine. He looked to Maddie for her opinion, and her face was scrunched up.

“That’s a bit creepy,” she commented. “He’s pretending to be human.”

“I dunno, Mads,” Jack shrugged. He re-read the ghostly teen’s internal conflicts. “Why would he pretend to be human in a journal that nobody’s meant to read?”

“He has to be sharing it with his allies,” she argued. “Those people he’s been scribbling out. Phantom has to be pretending for them. To keep them around. He even mentioned ghostly mind control.” 

She pushed her mostly-finished plate from herself, motioning for Jack to hand over the journal. He complied, and Maddie flipped through it. She stopped, and she set the journal down on the table once more. Leaning over, she studied the spine. A finger ran along the inner spine, and she frowned.

“Pages are missing,” she noticed. Jack pushed his plate out of the way to lean over as well.

Indeed, the top of the diary revealed that it was meant to be a normal, full diary. Now that Maddie pointed it out, it looked like well over a fourth of the diary had missing pages. Jack squinted, pulling his hood over his eyes. He used his googles to better examine.

“They weren’t ripped out, like in a ghost fight,” Jack told her. He pointed to what remained of a page, a barely noticeable strip. “It was carefully cut out.” Maddie narrowed her eyes to get a better look.

“You’re right,” she mused. “Phantom did this purposefully. Probably to hide stuff from his allies.”

“But why hide some stuff and not others?” Jack wondered aloud. “Clearly this girlfriend figure is an ally, but he can’t be...sharing this with her, right?” Maddie pulled back from the notebook to lean in her chair with a heavy sigh.

“...I don’t know,” she admitted. “I don’t think he would. But he’s also a ghost, they do weird things.” Jack didn’t know how to reply, and so he continued to read.

May 16

The past few days have been so full of drama. Walker ruined my life. He absolutely ruined it. He set out to make me the most hated person in Amity Park out of pure spite, and he succeeded. I’m public enemy number one. I can never win. For a while now, I had debated telling my parents, because I so desperately want their support, but they were part of the news coverage calling me a disgusting, evil ghost. I ended up crying yesterday. I don’t think they’ll ever truly love me if they knew. I also failed Wulf. Another failure on my plate. I’m just waiting for it to all crash down on me.

Walker: 1; sent to the GZ

Wulf: 1; sent to the GZ

Walker’s goons: at least 14, all captured

Fenton Thermos: overflowingly full

“Oh this is just becoming nonsense,” Maddie complained. “He’s lying. We were there, Jack! We saw him attack us.”

“I know, I know, he did, yeah, he did,” Jack tried to gather his thoughts. “But why would he lie in this? I don’t think anybody was meant to read this?” Jack flipped through the pages. The further he flipped through in, the more he could tell that some sections had more carefully cut out papers than others. Why was Phantom cutting out? What was he hiding? Why was he hiding it?

“He meant for somebody to read this,” Maddie lightly argued. 

“Yeah, it seems like it, but…,” Jack trailed off. He shook his head a bit, flipping back to where they had left off. “I dunno.”

“Hold on a second,” Maddie urged him, standing up. “Let me get something to write with, we should take some notes.”

“We can just use the scanner to make a copy of the journal afterwards, and we can further analyze it afterwards,” Jack suggested. Maddie thought on this, and she nodded, but she still reached for some scrap paper and a pen.

“Good idea, we should probably read through it fully first anyway,” she agreed. “But I still want to jot down some thoughts.”

“Of course, of course,” Jack replied. He knew that’s how she thought and processed information best, and it was always from her notes that he could visualize his own theories properly. He took a drink of tea before he continued reading the next true entry.

May 24

My entire relationship with my other crush (not [scribbles]) was a lie. She was being overshadowed by Kitty the entire time. This was my first real girlfriend, and it was all fake. I had assumed I was so lucky. I found a girl who knew and was okay with both of my biggest secrets. When I got home I ended up just going straight to my room. [scribbles] brought me dinner, but I didn’t feel like eating. Is this what life is going to be for me? I don’t want it to be like this. The only good thing is that [scribbles] doesn’t know either secret alongside our brief relationship.

Least Kitty and Johnny seem happy again. For now at least. I swear, they’re always breaking up and getting back together. 

Kitty: 1; sent back to the GZ

Johnny 13: 1; sent back to the GZ

Shadow: 1; sent back to the GZ

Jack could lightly hear Maddie taking notes on her scrap paper, the pen scratching at the surface. He didn’t comment on it, silently flipping to the next page, and he continued to read. 

August 19

I was forced to really face the reality of how much I fucked up [scribbles] life. I hate it. I’d do anything to take it back. It makes me wonder if I should just retire. Am I even really doing anything to help? Am I just a nuisance? Everybody thinks that. 

Rationally I know I can’t. I’m the only one who can properly deal with the ghosts, who has the power and abilities to fight back without getting killed. I have to do what I can, but I just wish I could do it without making so many mistakes. [scribbles] said that it’ll be okay, and that it gets better, but it sure doesn’t fucking feel like it.

Skulker: 3; finished

Red Huntress: 2; temporary truce?

“He’s so full of...emotion for a ghost,” Maddie finally spoke up. 

Jack glanced at the paper she had in front of her. There was some notes of what they had been learning so far, and there were emotions written in all caps with a line under, and a list of various emotions. Emotions Phantom seemed to be displaying. Guilty, despair, loneliness, self-hatred, self-doubt. Despite the few entries, it was already quite a list.

“It’s not just him either,” Maddie continued. Jack rose an eyebrow at her. She didn’t immediately reply, fingers on her lips as she stared down at the journal. “He’s giving emotions to other ghosts too.”

Jack stared down blankly at the journal in his hands. 

“Where?”

Maddie began to write, and as she wrote, it clicked. Spectra’s joy in hurting others. Kitty and Johnny’s relationship. Walker’s spite. Cujo being a playful puppy. According to Phantom, and against what they knew as scientists, ghosts were experiencing a wide variety of emotions and for different reasons. It was weird. 

Jack continued to read.

October 17

I don’t know what happened the past few days. It’s this weird blur. According to [scribbles] and [scribbles] I did a lot of bad things under Freakshow’s control. [scribbles] hugged me and told me that it was nothing that we couldn’t fix, but I doubt that. Why does this keep happening to me? I don’t want to hurt people. I want to be a good person, and I want to help Amity Park, but I don’t know what keeps happening. Everything’s a fog, and I’m exhausted. 

Freakshow: 1; arrested by APPD

Circus ghosts: freed from Freakshow’s control, went back to the GZ

Replace Fenton Anti-Creep Stick, print out another sticker to put on it

“Freakshow...that was the weird circus guy,” Jack interrupted himself. Maddie nodded.

“Yeah, and if Phantom’s right...he could control the ghosts,” she mused. “So there’s a way for humans to take control of ghosts...That’s something to look into. If we can control the ghosts into staying away, it’d be such a massive scientific breakthrough.”

“We should look into Freakshow more, and see if we can talk to him!” Jack agreed. “Maybe he’ll share something with us.” Maddie smiled softly.

“I doubt that,” she replied gently. “But there’s no harm in trying. What else does it say?”

November 8

I have to fight Pariah Dark. I’m terrified. I don’t think I’ll live through it. How can I live through fighting the actual ghost king? I may never see my family again, and I can’t even tell them what happened to me if I die. I’ve been debating telling [scribbles] that I like her, but I don’t think I could bring myself to do it. 

What happens if I die? I have no clue. I’m scared to find out. I can’t die now. I have to make it back. I’ll go missing, and I won’t even be declared dead as my parents’ son. Nobody will know who to really look for. I have to come back. Maybe if I succeed, and people like me again after this, I can tell my family everything.

November 10

I couldn’t tell them. My parents still despise part of me, despite what I’ve done. I know they love me, cause my mom’s already been fussing over me like crazy because of my injuries. [scribbles] said she cried when they couldn’t find me, and that my dad had gone out looking for me all over the city, even in the dangerous parts. They of course love me, but do they really love me unconditionally?

Jack felt his voice trailing off as he hit the end. He coughed lightly, and he took a long drink. Maddie stared off into nothing. The only thing he could think of was his own search for his baby girl. He wasn’t alone, bumping into several other parents desperately looking for their missing children, and several children who got separated from their parents. The entire day was somber and frightening, and Maddie had spent the entire day glued to the phone. In case she called them. 

It was all...too real, and Jack flipped past more logs. He couldn’t help but begin to take note of how every single day had a log of ghost fighting activities, even if Phantom didn’t write down his feelings every day. This was so much more than the ghost hunting duo ever expected, more attacks than they were recording.

His eyes rested only for a moment on December 19, and he decided to just skip it. They had already read it earlier. No need to refresh those memories. More logs, and more missing pages, and he came upon another one. 

March 26

I ripped out a lot of pages, more than I intended. I can’t risk anybody finding out what happened, but also other pages revealed too much, so I kept them tucked away where nobody could ever find them. I’d burn them, but I don’t want to lose the ghost hunting data. It’s okay now. I fixed the problem and assured that everything’s going to be fine. Possibly better. I made the right choice this time, and now I know that one day, I will grow a sick beard. 

I know somebody knows my secrets now. All of them. She had known for months but wanted me to tell her. She asked me if I had a name, and ever since I told her that it was Danny, she’s been calling me that whenever she can. It made me cry the first time. It’s so great to have her know everything now. She loves me no matter what. I couldn’t ask for a better person. Even though she found out because I’m an idiot. This entire thing also made me realize how important it is to keep those secrets, and how poorly I’ve been keeping them. 

I didn’t ever mean for this to turn into a diary. I wanted to keep track of ghost fights. But it honestly helps with both the dysphoria and the stresses of being a ghost. I just went back and scribbled out names. Just in case. In the future I need to be more vague. 

But this is also the end for one secret. If things go wrong then well. I don’t know. I’ll make it up as I go along. But I know that this is who I am, and that I’m hitting a point where I need help to just be me. 

Him: 1; captured for good

Skulker: 2; captured

Desiree: 1; captured

Ectopusses: 1; captured

Cujo: 1, sent back to the GZ

Fenton Thermos: full

Fenton Anti-Creep Stick: destroyed, get new bat and sticker to put on it

Also learned a new ghost power: Ghostly wail. A scream that can just absolutely fuck somebody’s day up. I have to use it sparingly though.

Jack closed the journal, and he set it flat on the table. His mind was blank, and he couldn’t read Maddie. She continued to stare at the closed book, hand in pen but almost unsure as to what to even jot down as a note. He leaned in his seat, finishing his drink. Maddie exhaled deeply, dropping her pen in favor of stretching.

Neither said a word. Jack knew that this journal was not any kind of trick. It was too raw and emotional to be anything more than the thoughts of a teenage ghost. He regretted reading it. It held some interesting information, and he was sure if he dug deeper, that he would find more. But as it stood, his own intense guilt was settling as he knew that he just took too personal a look into the private emotional afterlife of Phantom.

“This is a lot to take in,” Maddie finally spoke. Jack only nodded.

The basement door opened, and they heard dual pairs of footsteps hop downstairs. Jack instantly brightened, and he turned in his chair to smile as his kids soon came into view.

“Hey, is this a bad time?” Jazz asked. She glanced between them, and Jack immediately shook his head no. 

“No, no,” Maddie replied quickly. Jack saw her push the journal and her notes, along with her pen and a few spare lab tools, carelessly into a drawer to help assure the Fenton kids that they weren’t interrupting anything. “What’s up, sweetie?” 

“Well, I have something that I wanna talk about,” their youngest spoke slowly. Jack noticed that she had finally taken off her hoodie, and that while she wore her normal tomboy attire, that something was a bit off about her. He couldn’t place it. Jazz stood close to her, an arm full of books clutched to her chest, though he couldn’t make out any titles. “It’s something important, and I don’t really want to put it off any longer.”

“Is something wrong? Are you in trouble?” Jack asked. His daughter shook her head no. 

“Oh, no!” she said. “It’s just…” 

She took a deep breath, and soon, their son began to explain.

[bubble-tae]

Cult: Part 2

Genre: Thriller, Yandere Themes, Cult AU

Pairing: Jungkook x OC, BTS x OC (sorta?)

Warning: angst, cult themes, kidnapping, probably other sacrilegious stuff, Stockholm Syndrome 

WordCount: 3.6k

preview | 1 | 2 | 3 | tbc...

Authors Note: thank you so much to @mikroparadise​ for beta-ing this part for me! you really helped me out so much! (literally helping me all the way up until posting!)

reposted from old account

It had been two weeks since he had last seen her in the basement, two weeks since he gave her the single lily from Taehyung’s garden. The flower had probably rotten by now and been swept away with the rest of the garbage. Jungkook had no idea that he would have to be away from her this long, each day an onslaught of housework while his one and only was under the same roof, locked away like a prisoner. He didn’t think of her that way. How could her, he had saved her. His hands felt the area next to him on the bed he lay on, wondering how many more nights would it be until she was ready to join him. Impure thoughts tingled in his mind, things only Hoseok as her nurse had seen. Jealousy burned in his throat before he swallowed it and let out a deep breath. They all had their jobs here, and besides, it was wrong to think of her that way. He hadn’t touched himself in days, afraid that impure thoughts of her would slip into his head. The idea of using her without permission made him feel dirty, but most importantly, he felt that if he did think of her like that, she would know.

Jungkook got up from his bed and made his way towards his window. He could see the backyard from up here in that attic bedroom; a small garden followed by fields of grass, a line of trees from the forest barely visible in the distance. When he was younger he would play in the fields almost everyday, venturing closer and closer to the woods, but never once setting foot in them. The woods itself didn’t scare him, it was the thought of getting lost in them forever that did. Namjoon told him they went on for miles, the town on the other side would take days to reach by foot. Not to mention the poisonous snakes that called those trees home. Jungkook thought of what it would feel like to have his blood turn to sludge and shuddered the thought away.

His hands methodically reached over into his night stand where he pulled out an old leather bound book. On the front printed in an old english style font were faded gold words that read “The Good Book”. Jungkook traced his finger over the cover and felt the grooves in between the letters before flipping through the pages. Though the book was old the pages were in great condition, the printed text only a little faded and the pencil markings of Jungkook’s father still legible. He flipped the pages until he came to the page marked with “Sola” at the top. A drawing of a woman with golden rays around her head like a crown was in the middle, her naked body wrapped in a thin sheet that barely clung to her body. Jungkook admired her beauty before dropping to his knees, looking out the window at the sun. His eyes burned but he did not look away as he repeated the same mantra he had said since he first saw Naomi. Jungkook felt the sun open up to him, light spreading over his kneeling figure, her electricity making the hair on his arms stand up.

“Mother Sola, I give my soul to her. She shall hold my life in both hands and do as she will with it, all I ask is that I am forever hers. Let her teach me the ways. Let her be the one. I have faith in her, Mother. I have faith.” He sat there for some time, letting the sunlight embrace the curves of his face until he felt that she was gone. He closed the book and returned it to its original place before making his way over to his wardrobe that was filled with plain clothes that more or less all looked the same. Jungkook didn’t go many places, and at home he tried to disappear into the background. He avoided trouble this way, and was ultimately seen as a good boy that did as he was told. He joked, only to himself, of course, that his job was to be invisible.

Once dressed Jungkook made his way to the door and grabbed the handle, surprised to find it locked upon turning it. He wringed it about to see if it was only stuck, but it didn’t budge. Namjoon always unlocked the bedroom doors at 7 am, and he never once had forgotten. Jungkook pressed his ear up to the door. There was a distant chatter coming from the kitchen that he couldn’t quite make out. Maybe all that time playing invisible had got him forgotten. When there was a lull in the conversation Jungkook knocked three times on the door, hard. The house had fallen silent and Jungkook knew he had been heard. He contemplated knocking again, harder this time, but was afraid to get punished further, if his locked door was Namjoon’s form of punishment for something. He plopped himself back down on his bed. There was nothing to do now but wait.

His room wasn’t particularly interesting, it was designed to be that way with nothing but the necessities. The only thing that made it identifiable were the carvings above his bed he had done one night after being punished for not sharing his dessert with Yoongi. He had felt sick with the chocolate cake in his belly, so he stood on his bed to carve a picture in hopes that it would distract him. The carving was of the solar system, planets surrounded by stars and swirls that not even Jungkook knew what they were supposed to be. When Namjoon saw it he was furious for a moment, but not even he could deny the beauty and wonder one has looking up at the sky, so he offered to buy him paint to bring color to his creation. Jungkook had joked that he could do it next time he got in trouble, but Namjoon didn’t laugh. He never did get him the paint like he said he would. Just as Jungkook’s eyes were beginning to drift closed, he heard footsteps coming up towards his room.

The pair of heavy boots made it to the upper landing of the attic and Jungkook could hear keys being rattled around, a gentle click as the deadbolt sprung back, then a smaller one as a second key was slipped into the door handle. Jungkook sat upright, finally fully conscious from his almost sleep, just as Namjoon pulled the door open. His face looked older than someone of 24, as if he hadn’t slept that night. It was the face of a troubled man, Jungkook knew that, but he also knew better than to ask. Yoongi stood behind him with an empty duffle bag, waiting for Namjoon to move out of the way, but his eyes were glazed over, as if he were still processing whatever was going on inside his head. Yoongi cleared his throat and Namjoon snapped back to himself, a more stern face taking place over his features.

“There’s been a hiccup in our plans,” Namjoon said as he made room for Yoongi to step through the doorway, throwing the bag on Jungkook’s bed as he did so. Jungkook looked at the bag, worried thoughts of Naomi running through his head, wondering if his prayers had not been enough. Namjoon stood silently, pretending not to notice the confusion and hurt on Jungkook’s face of being left in the dark once again.

“Cops. Pack for a week, be down in 5 minutes,” Namjoon offered before turning to leave, taking Yoongi by the shoulder and hurrying out the door, leaving the air silent save from a heavy sigh from Jungkook.

* * *

It was 4:27 earlier that same morning when Naomi found herself sitting somewhere with her eyes closed. She didn’t know where she was, but she felt no fear, just the undeniable stillness that surrounded her. Her age was undefinable, feelings of past selves and selves yet to come filling her up, which was how she at least knew she was herself. There were memories that she hadn’t made yet stuck in her mind that made her head hot when she tried to focus on them. Upon opening her eyes she found herself cross legged in a field of bright white lilies, so open and full as if they just bloomed. It was easy to breath here, so much so that she questioned if she had ever really breathed before in her life. Naomi got up and danced to the sound of nothing but the wind, letting the sun explore her body with hot fingers as she hummed a tune she didn’t recognize. That’s when she heard it: the sound of a gun going off.

Her eyes snapped open to see she was no longer surrounded by lilies, but by the charred branches of a burnt forest, embers still floating around while the heat from the dead trees continued to pulse. She looked down at her own hands, both gripped to a gun pointing out in front of her, still vibrating from the shot she must have took. She was scared, not of the burning mess around her, not of the smoke clawing into her mouth and lungs, but of the unknown thing she shot at. The only thing she saw, a curious thing at that, was a leftover lily from her previous surroundings. There was a compelling force that drove her to this lily, so much so that she didn’t feel the hot ground burn through her jeans as she knelt in front of this flower, this flower that somehow, despite the odds, was still alive. Naomi dropped the gun, reached one hand out to the flower, inches away from touching it before the shots rang out again, this time not from her.

Time slowed down so much so that Naomi could count each shot as they went off. She counted six, but only felt three. The last one, the lucky bullet to the hunter, tore into the back side of her neck. There was no time to question how she was still alive or who had shot her, in fact the only thing Naomi could focus on was the damned white flower, now covered in spatters of her own blood. A loud scream erupted from somewhere, and it was only after she was shaken awake she became aware that the scream was from her own throat, still in tact as she felt around for a bullet hole.

“Naomi” Hoseok finally shouted out, hands on either side of her body, his eyes full of terror. Her screams subsided as the real world began to swim around her: the dimness of the basement, her tattered pair of men’s pajamas, her ankle cuffed to the cot she had called her bed for the last few weeks. Her eyes focused back on Hoseok’s, still full of concern,

“Out of the frying pan and into the fire,” she muttered out, mostly to herself.

Yoongi cocked his head to the side before physically shaking it out of his mind. “Forget your dream,” he began, “we gotta go.” He pulled rope and a black rag out from his hip sack and made his way closer to the cot, Naomi recoiled in defense. She had been mostly free to roam the basement this last week, with someone on guard of course, and had gotten used to her hands not being tied around her back, and had not been blindfolded since her first night (only gagged once on one of her restless nights). The thought of going back, even though it was only for a scrap of freedom, could have made her cry if not for Hoseok’s hand on hers.

“It will only be for a little bit, I promise.” Hoseok tried to comfort her. She gripped his hand back, and though it was a silly thing to think of someone who was literally keeping you chained up in their basement, she trusted him. Hoseok was, in fact, the one she had gotten the closest with. Though she told herself it was just for means of survival and she’d slit his throat given the opportunity to escape, she couldn’t help but wonder if they would have been some sort of friends given any other circumstance. Was it weird to be thankful for having a captor that at least made being down there more bearable? Sure he recited strange scriptures and prayed to gods Naomi was unfamiliar with, but he also brought her cosmic brownies after dark and picked up random books for her at thrift stores. I mean, if she was going to be kidnapped at least she got some Hostess and Orwell out of it, not to mention someone she could get the daily news from.

Naomi let out a shaky breath before turning her back to both of the men. She didn’t really have any reason to trust them completely, they could be taking her to her grave for all she knew, but she was beginning to learn that some things were worse than death.

Hoseok tied the ropes around her wrists tightly, so much so that she knew she would lose circulation soon. She surveyed the room she had grown familiar with before Yoongi covered her eyes with the black cloth. Without word, Naomi was listed to her feet, both boys holding onto either side of her as they guided her towards the stairs, warning her before she tripped. The climb was slow as Noami fumbled her way up the steps, she would have fallen if not for either of the boys.

“Stand here” Yoongi said when they eventually made it to the top of the stairs, a part of the house Naomi wasn’t familiar with. Namjoon was there, angirly whispering to someone before he realized she was there. He informed her that they would be relocating her, but she was hardly paying attention. There was a smell of meat and vegetables, a home-like feeling, and when she slowly grazed her feet on the floor and felt the grooves in between the tiles, she realized that she was standing in their kitchen. Someone pushed her down onto a stool by her shoulders, causing her to almost falling over onto the floor.

“All the doors and windows are locked. Stay put, it’s for the better.” Hoseok whispered in her ear, the procession of feet leaving the room, their footsteps fading into a quiet cold. There was dripping from a faucet nearby, her breath and heart following it in its natural rhythm as she began to think. It wasn’t even moments after the men had left that Naomi started to feel around behind her, her fingertips grazing over the edges of a cabinet drawer. She twisted her fingers up in an unnatural way, desperate to get the drawer open. She didn’t  know what she would find, but any weapon was better than none. She managed to open the drawer a few inches and sneak her fingers inside before a loud bump from the other room caused her to lean back and slam her fingers in the lip of the drawer. Naomi stifled her scream into a whimper, a cry threatening to break from her throat. When the house quieted again her fingers worked the drawer back open, feeling the top of its contents for something, anything. There were papers and pamphlets, cold bits of metal she presumed were screws, but nothing lethal, nothing that could injure any one of them. When footsteps began to draw closer she grasped at the first thing she could before shutting the drawer.

“Time to go.” This time it was Namjoon, his words cutting swiftly through the air.

Naomi’s heart leapt up in her chest, her skin prickling with anticipation. Maybe it was because of the way he spoke, maybe it was the fear of the unknown, or maybe it was because in her bruised fingers she held a small box. A small box full of matches.

* * *

Yoongi’s hands tapped the steering wheel in time with the music. The radio in the van was stuck on the oldies station, but he didn’t mind as much as the other boys did, it let him slip into a world of simple pleasures, one where he wasn’t driving around tied up girls in the backs of vans. Yoongi did his best to follow all the rules though he disagreed with almost all of them, like the one about stealing girls and making them some sort of weird prison wives. If he were to be honest, which he surely should always be according to The Good Book, Yoongi thought most of this was “a bunch of bullshit”. Of course there were no gods, no woman on the moon or sun that could possibly tell him what to do, but there was food, and a place to sleep, and he guess at one point it started feeling like family too. What was he to do? Leave his family when they started some sort of pagan ritual?

His eyes drifted to the rear view mirror where he could see a black outline slumped up on the side of the van. Naomi bound, gagged, and blinded, not to mention given a fun little blue pill that made her drool on the rag over her mouth as she dazed in and out of consciousness. Though it definitely was far from the worst thing Yoongi had done, taking girls always made him feel queasy. There was the chance of getting caught, sure, but every time he got away with it, he realized how much easier and easier it got. That’s what maybe scared him the most, the thought of doing this forever. Was this the price to get into heaven? Surely some of those amongst him thought that way. With every day that passed, Yoongi felt closer and closer to hell, unaware that hell, in fact, might be in the same van he was driving.

It was in fact that same tapping Yoongi had always done that rose Naomi into consciousness, before regaining some of her more important senses. It was no use trying to do anything this groggily so she waited, waiting still in the backseat for over an hour before opening the pack of matches behind her back. She took a match from the box and struck it against the box, lighting it quite easily. She held the flame up to part of the rope, but it wasn’t strong enough to light the ropes. Naomi’s heart began to beat faster, her plan crumbling in front of her. Yoongi turned a corner fast, causing Naomi and the van’s other contents to skid around. She skated against the rough metal bottom of the van, biting her gag to stop herself from yelling out in pain. Her fingers felt around for the box, but only felt a few loose matches that had been thrown around the cabin. She grabbed four of them and struck them against the side of the van, hoping to at least light one of them. One of them must have lit, because she felt the heat on one of her fingertips, causing her to drop the matches. She cursed herself in her head, feeling defeat wash over. Naomi was barely able to fight back the medicine anymore, sleep desperate to pull her back under. When she was sure she would pass out, she felt heat next to her. She stuck her hand out to see what it was, only to stick her hands directly into a fire that started in the back of the van. She pulled her hands back in a snap. There was no time for rational thinking anymore, Naomi shoved her hands back into the fire and bit back a scream. She held her hands inside the flame as Yoongi continued to drive.

Tears spilled from her eyes as she felt the flame against her fingers and wrist, a pain so hot it was cold, but still she held it. It took all she had left in her to pull her arms apart to break the burning ropes, her flesh flush up against it. They broke in a snap, causing Yoongi to turn around and witness Naomi’s hands free by her sides. He saw it now, the news reports if he got caught. He was alone. They’d call him a creep, that he liked to take girls. It couldn’t end for him like this, not if he could help it.

He slammed on the brakes, causing Naomi to slide forward as she started to untie the rest of herself. She saw now a stack of magazines in a small fire in the back of the van, and hurried to work on the ropes on her legs. Yoongi ran out of the driver’s seat and to the back of the van, flinging the doors open, but Naomi was already there. She kicked him in the face and he fell to the ground as she fell out of the van. Yoongi grabbed her leg as she scrambled over him and he pulled her down before throwing himself on top of her. They wrestled around on the side of the road for a few moments before Yoongi yelled out a barking “Wait!”

She hit her arms against his chest before he pinned them down.

“I said wait!” he yelled again.

“Why would I fucking wait?!” she said back, arms still straining against his.

“Let’s make a deal,” he offered.

“This isn’t a fucking game.”

“No, but I know a way you can make good from all this.”

Naomi stopped pushing against him and looked up at his twisted grin and pleading eyes.

“You just have to wait a little longer,” he continued.

“You want me to go back to being kidnapped?”

Yoongi let go of her arms and sat over her. “Yes,” he said unblinkingly.

Naomi squinted her eyes up at him before asking, “What’s in it for me?”.

[thewhiterabbit42]

ohhh heck they’re all very lovely prompts but uh 1092 orrr 1098?

Here you go Anon and also for @gabereil  Hope you enjoy, and thanks for much for sending a prompt <3

Pairing:  Loki x reader; Gabriel x reader

Prompt:  “My, oh my, you are such a beautiful creature.”

Word Count: 642

A/N: I’d like to think that Loki is enough of a bastard to plan to sell Gabriel to Asmodeus, but he never does.  Mostly because I see him as taking his father’s death as a personal betrayal, and he’d want to see the look on Gabriel’s face once he realizes his fate.  A personal confrontation ensues, maybe with some sort of charm or weapon that at least weakens Gabriel and makes the fight more fair (because you cannot tell me a fully powered archangel could not easily take a pagan god).  Gabriel, however, is still able to beat/talk some sense into Loki while getting his ass kicked enough for the god to feel enough justice had been served.  They part on civil terms, albeit with their friendship fractured.  

TL;DR: Cannon can go sit on a cactus because both my boys are alive and well. 

 “My, oh my, you are such a beautiful creature.”

It’s Gabriel, but not.  The sultry undercurrent sings false, the familiar timbre undercut by something that prickles with the opposite of what should be there.  There’s no hidden embers ensnared within cynicism.  No glints of mirth or light.  Just a detachedness etched deeply within what should be familiar features.

A tingle of dread forms at the top of your head, trickling straight down your spine as everything about the figure in front of you screams wrong.  

“You’re not him,” you manage, despite the crescendo of fear that courses through your veins, ratcheting up your pulse.  You want to step back, the instinct to run overridden only by a very unusual, very keen lance of fear that fills your legs with led before starting in on your lungs, and by the time he’s closed the gap between you, you find you can’t even breathe.  

“I can see why he’s so fond of you.”  His hand is suddenly at your face, touch feather-light as the pad of his thumb traces down the center of your lip.  It’s like flipping the switch to a live wire, every nerve in your body standing at attention, and air slams back into your lungs with an audible gasp. 

Fingertips slide beneath your chin, a confounding confection of charisma and chaos forming a nexus within his gaze, one that draws you into darkened depths.  His eyes blaze bright, gold offset by the center of his eyes that seem to stretch on before you like an endless night.  It beckons to you, your previous apprehension giving way to something that tugs, like needle treading through your very being.  

The slightest pull beneath his touch has you almost leaning closer, and the only thing that saves your head from going completely under is a perfect (or terrible depending on the perspective) timed entrance of an ally.

“Leave her alone, Loki.”  Gabriel’s true voice breaks the spell, and you blink.

The world around you reappears in a startling rush of clarity. You look past the suit clad mimic in front of you to find brown leather and a hunteresque sense of fashion and hand tousled strands of gold swept back away from features that practically scream how alive they are with emotion.  

Your breath stalls, power seeping raw from every molecule of grace.  In that moment, he is that which Heaven deems him; infinite, and you nearly drown in the sudden vastness of his presence.

“Always with the theatrics,” Loki’s eyes give their own dramatic roll, but he does release you from his grasp.  His physical one anyway.  There’s a thrum of something still snaking around your senses, one that feels different than the heady rush you’re used to getting around Gabriel. 

“Back.  Off.  Now,” the archangel warns, a flash of light sending a fierce and feathered silhouette dancing along the wall behind him.  

“Now you’re just showing off,” Loki teases, a dark but somehow good-natured sentiment winding beneath his words.   “Or perhaps just preening for our guest of honor?” 

Another round of whiplash hits you, causing the concrete in your frame to crumble and your legs to sway.  

There’s a heavy moment where you watch the intensity of Gabriel’s face shift to something else, something just beyond the edge of your understanding.  There’s no mistaking the way angry heat drains from the pallor of his face.

“Not her.”  The barking command in his tone falters, and your previous dread seeps through the cracks in his confidence.  

“Am I in danger?” You ask.  Dumbly.  There’s so much energy flowing around you, you have to be at risk for spontaneous molecular combustion.  

“Depends,” Loki rumbles, a wolfish smirk tugging at his lips.  “Do you want to be?”

Also: Special thanks to @archangelgabriellives @meadow-melody and @themistressmaster (oh ffs tumblr, you still haven’t fixed broken tagging??) and a special unnamed amazing and talented lady (who knows who she is) for inspiring and feeding my Loki muse  <3 <3

[bowieandqueen11]

Who Are You Again? / 2019! Richie Tozier Imagine

Request: could you maybe do an IT 2019!Richie imagine set during the reunion like your others where the reader and Richie were together as teens and reader stayed in Derry like Mike so when the losers come back reader is really happy to see Richie and tries talking to him a bunch ect and Richie’s being nice because he DOES know reader but doesn’t remember everything until it all comes back to him, or something?? idk, i’m bad at asks😂 

and: @barnesbabes hey lovey! how have you been? could I request something 2019!richie tozier fluff with a male reader? I have a more specific request but I think I’ll leave that for another day :) 

This is such a dream, thank you lovelies! <3

Starting to step into the restaurant, your heart beats painfully hard in your chest, glad to be stepping out from the inky darkness of the town’s chill night and into some kind of warmth. As you enter the Jade of the Orient, stalling slightly as you swear you feel eyes burning into the side of your face, you look behind you quickly, searching into the deserted street for some kind of movement but the only thing you feel is a flash of pain in your palm, a reminder of the promise you made many summers ago. You had wished, prayed for years that you could forget that promise, forget all the memories of him, Richie Trashmouth Tozier, the boy with the buck teeth and glasses too big for his face, the boy who had left you all those years ago, but that was your curse. Your burden to bear. You still loved him with all your heart, but Derry needed you, and something in your brain would never let your mind falter from the task at hand.

Perhaps there is hope yet, you think. Perhaps Derry’s, and your abandonment was a temporary thing, that the universe would bring joy and life back this place. You just needed to bring the magic eight back together.

‘Hey, Eds, what the hell happened to your fanny pack?’

As Eddie turns away from the fish tank, a little more hyped than he should be both in total terror and the slight relief his heart still feels at having escaped Myra, of having been taken back to the one place he always knew where he belonged, where he was always destined to be, his mouth twitches into a smile as he sees you standing gingerly next to the giant gong, letting out a breath you didn’t know you’d been holding in.

Looking around at the three boys you had spent nearly every day of your childhood with, the boys who look back at you with equally devoted and terrified eyes, a smile twitches at your lips and you run over to them, engulfing them all into the biggest, tightest bear hug you’ve had since the day they left Derry.

‘Why the hell did you guys never visit Mike? Or, hell, even me?’

‘To be honest y/n,-’

‘w-we didn’t r-e-ember.’

‘I don’t even remember forgetting this place’, Eddie chimes in, biting his bottom lip as he looks at you with nothing short of unbridled terror.

‘Yeah, it’s like coming back to a place you never left, right?’ Swinging round, you smile as you see Bev standing in the entrance way, a smile not having made its way onto her lips yet as her hands gingerly play with the strap of her backpack, slight tears welling in the corners of her eyes.

As the ripples of the gong fill the otherwise silent private room with a dull thudding beat, it’s final shrill crescendo making you wince back a little into Eddie’s maroon jacketed arm, you’re surprised to look round and find the boy who had owned your heart all those years ago looking back at you, as if you were looking into a mirror. The two of you just freeze, standing on the slightly stained and sticky carpet as if in the middle of a Western movie, both of you afraid to draw first and speak in case of ruining this moment. Hell, you don’t even realise for the first few seconds Ben was standing next to you at all, and as Richie fumbles his hands back into his pockets you feel like he doesn’t either.

‘Y/n? Oh Jesus, hey Y/n. It’s been way, way too long, nearly thirty years huh, and yet here you still are. Like a dream. Like you never left. Like I’m fifteen again, oh god, I’m going to be sick.’

‘Oh god, beep beep Richie’ the rest of the guys groan out, laughing timidly amongst themselves as they move to sit down, but thankful for the little sliver of familiarity the moment had allowed them to revel in before the more serious business began, before playtime was over and they had to face up not all of them came here for a pleasant little reunion dinner. Richie bangs his fist against his chest, fighting back the nausea that licked against his tender throat like someone had shoved embers in his mouth.

Shoving past Ben, Richie comes sliding over to you, his sleek black shoes nearly tripping him up on the carpet with the grace and skill of a new born giraffe, his desperation to be near you again evident in every movement as his hands fumble onto your shoulders to upright himself, reminding you of the scared brash little boy you used to know. The boy who, at the age of fifteen, would never leave your side on the bright days you used to cycle down to the quarry. The boy who would lie next to you on the stony gravel that cut into your skin, a thin blade of glass clenched between his teeth as the radio blares next to his ear, slight chuckles erupting from his mouth as he listens to his favourite comedy radio show like a rusty tuba being played for the first time in years every time Richie guffaws, not a care in the world. The boy who in reality lay there, afraid to move in case you would run away from him, scared that he meant nothing to you as he threw heated little side glances your way whenever he thought you were looking down at the emerald water, the shy little smile on your face making his heart starts performing back flips and raising his mouth in a dopey grin. The boy who would sit up, a soft look lining his blank face as he raises a finger  to push his glasses back up the brow of his nose before saying, ‘hey, y/n, um, can I talk to you for a second?’, only to push himself forward onto the palms of his hand and press a short and tender kiss against your lips, pulling away after a few seconds to fiddle with his hands as a rising blush covered his cheeks. The boy you had spent the last thirty years crying over whilst he slowly forgot you.

Yet here he was, a man standing in front of you looking exactly as you had remembered, just a little more exhausted looking and with a lot more stubble. He glanced back, wringing his hands in a familiar and subconscious frightened action he hadn’t done since that day at the quarry, glancing down at you over the tip of his black rimmed spectacles, his eyes searching yours, little flickers of gold swirling in their dark mix that you had forgotten about.

‘I’m sorry-I’m sorry I never wrote, or called very often like I promised to. I did write some jokes about you, if that makes you feel any better?’

He scratches against his neck as neck as you stare up at him, wondering whether to take him seriously or not.

‘Richie- did you, did you forget me?’

He starts to blubber, leaning his head back and sliding his glasses back up his nose but you interrupt him before he starts blabbering, ‘it’s alright if you did, that’s just what happens when you move away from Derry. But I didn’t. I didn’t.’

He glances shyly at you, wringing his hands before letting out a shaking breathe and taking the seat next to your legs, shrugging off his jacket. He leans over to his left to pull out your seat, hitting the cushions with a small pat as you lower yourself down suspiciously.

As the night progresses, and Richie downs more shots, dropping the glasses to the floor with a light clink, laughter fills the room as the food slowly decreases and decreases. But Richie’s heart eyes grow only more and more, his mind beginning to fill in blanks he didn’t realise had been missing as he looked over at you from the rims of his glasses, watching the dips of your cheek, the way your eyes still sparkled as brightly as when you were stupid children playing street fighter.

‘Hey. y/n, is the arcade still here?’

‘You remember!’

‘Of course I do, how could I forget where we had our first date.... And our second, and our third.’

‘God, you were soo romantic.’

‘Hey, I took you to that new ice cream parlour for out fiftieth date!’

‘Yeah, because Eddie had given you a coupon!’

You giggled, a bright, starry sound that seemed to knock Richie’s mind back into his sixteen year old self. It was a reminder of all the summer days by the quarry he had spent telling stupid jokes to try and get you to laugh and notice him. It felt like being back there again, but this time, he actually was being noticed. He shoved you lightly in the shoulder with a thankful smile, leaning down quickly to kiss your forehead before you shove him with a kuagh. Looking back over to your side with hot glances, as Bill and Bev start wrestling each other, he notices your eyes had a softness to them, there was something so welcoming in the rich doe colour that swirled like comet tails, deep set in your face and wiser than when he was young, than he remembers, but still as beautiful. Richie felt just a little more lost, a little more at home, each time they met.

Richie feels the heat rise to his cheeks as you looked in his direction. He could feel they were still on him, burning into his cheeks with a silent confusion but light hope.

‘I remember it all, you know Y/n. How could I ever forget you? My first love... and my only one.’

Richie glances over at you as his words falter off, his breathing becomes softer, the pensive look melting into a smile as his body squirms just a little as his muscles relax. There is something about that gaze of his, as if in that moment their souls have made a bridge that can never be broken again.

‘Yeah, I still love you too, Richie.’

His heart thumped so hard that he swore it was audible, his knees knobbling underneath the table as the others start to natter warmly again, filling the room with a familiar warmth that ripples over Richie’s skin, not even realising the long coming declaration of eternal love that had left his mouth, not realising two soulmates had finally reconnected, had finally realised it had been each other all along. That their hearts, no matter how far apart, had always belonged to the other.

[erinaceina]

ScotsSwap 2020

Bombycine

Recipient: Jo (@notasapleasure​). I hope I’ve done Jerott justice. It’s been absolute torture not talking to you about writing this <3

Prompt: Philippa and anyone as a BroTP, ‘Take the words 'sharp' 'alone' 'close[near]' 'missed' and give me some Pain :’)’ - it’s mainly alone and pain really, although Jerott has had some close encounters with sharp objects in the recent past. I hope it’s still delicious angst, even if it has wandered a bit off topic.

Setting: St. Mary’s, early autumn 1560.

Characters: Jerott Blyth, Philippa Crawford, Francis Crawford.

Relationships: Philippa + Jerott, Francis + Jerott, Philippa/Francis.

Rating: I’m not sure? References to things that happen to Khaireddin, but nothing explicit.

Summary: Sleep is not kind to Jerott Blyth.

Word Count: 2986.

Note: This is broadly compliant with this and this, mainly so I could squeeze Astraea the cat in there.

Spoilers: Non-specific spoilers for stuff that happens in Checkmate.

*******************************************************

The pain rose up to meet Jerott Blyth, mingled with the waters of the Middle Sea, and he drowned in the scent of spikenard and jasmine, in roiling fumes and obscene kisses and all the stench and horror of battle. Even as he fell, half-blind from the blow to his temple that had swept him overboard and the haze of gunpowder that hung, cloying, over the churning blue-green waters of the Mediterranean, he heard behind him the low, animal noises of the foundering ship.

The pain at shoulder and temple and thigh howled in awful harmony with the tortured screaming of overstressed timber and the crack of snapping lines. Flashes of light filled his failing vision, amber and gold and cornsilk-fair, yet, through them all, he could see glimpses of palm and pomegranate beneath a blistering African sun; the smell of storax and benzoin clung to the aching tissues of his throat and curdled in the saltwater filling his burning nostrils.

Although Mehedia lay more than a hundred and fifty miles distant, set on its strangling neck of land in the shining sea, passing vistas reached him through the sheet of blue water and yellow fire. He thought he could see flashes of gnarled grey-green olive groves and fields touched with the blush of new barley and smell the sun-warmed earth and the fetor of bombyx mori. Even as the roiling waters of the Middle Sea saturated his padded gambeson, drawing him down and down into the currents that eddied and swirled around him, down into the vortex of the foundering ship, he thought he could feel the splintering wood of a burning hut beneath the tips of his blistered fingers. Even as his useless arm hung wavering and limp as storm-wracked kelp and a ribbon of blood like scarlet silk wound through the water around him, he touched the soft, pliant curve of a child’s back and the damp weight of of amber hair tacky with cooling blood.

İpec böceǧi, called the dry, whispery voice of the old woman, and Jerott Blyth flinched. For this wast thou born? What lack is there in Scotland that her sons grow so feeble?

The saltwater again burned in Jerott Blyth’s nostrils and, with the sudden clarity of the sleeper and the man nearing death, he knew that the sea battle and the olive groves alike were the mere conjurings of a mind caught in a drugged stupor. Slitting open stinging eyes against the fetid, poisonous fumes of burning silk cocoons, tasting bitter almonds like charnel flesh on the back of his tongue, he saw with little surprise that he lay beside the discarded body of a fair-haired child on the rough floor of the warehouse belonging to the silk-farmer’s sister in Mehedia. The marks left by the mutes were livid on a face touched also by the griefs of a short life twisted and warped against itself. 

The great impulse to live that dwelt within Jerott Blyth’s sturdy flesh took fresh flame, and, even against the will that cringed against it, he drew a dragging, acrid breath and smelt the cloying, indecent reek of the perfume that clung to the boy-child’s cooling flesh.

The cornflower-blue eyes were open and far-seeing beneath their heavy, slack lids as they had not been beneath the merciful bindings of Amiens or in the wreckage of a shattered face on a Northumbrian hillside. The soft, kitten’s mouth, still bearing the last, revolting brush of paint, formed words without breath, as parched as the desert air. İpec böceǧi, for this wast thou born? Is there no failure thou hast not encompassed?

*******************************************************

The gasping breath that woke Jerott Blyth was his own, rasping like poison in his chest, and his outflung arm howled with pain. For a moment, he thought he could feel the raw burns of Mehedia licking its length and he was back in Djerba - the Djerba of some seven years past - with Onophrion Zitwitz’s jellies melting on his tongue and the golden warmth of the North African sun spilling through the latticed windows of his convalescent room. For a moment, he burned again with fever on the boat fleeing the carnage of Djerba with Giovanni Andrea Doria fretting and fuming at the prow and Danny’s hand clasping his own and the utter failure of the Knights of St. John sour in a mouth that cracked and bled. With a blink against the enveloping darkness that admitted neither sunlight nor the deadly fire of an overturned brazier, he recognised the shadow of the bed curtains and the dim glow from the last embers of the fire dying in the hearth. A dint on the pillow by his head suggested the recent warmth of a cat, but he was utterly alone, neither prisoner nor knight.

With a hollow, awful noise, half sob, half laugh, Jerott buried his head in his shaking hands, feeling the trembling weakness in the injured arm and the aching memory of the old burns. It seemed to him that, like the silk moth which has no organs by which it can nourish itself, he lacked in that moment any means to sustain himself, and could merely exist in the labouring of his lungs and the eddying horror of the dream. Khaireddin, who he had failed to save; Marthe, whose death he had caused, however unwitting; Francis, who might have died by that same act of mercy; the boy Diccon, weeping before a father who turned an implacable face to him, the warm light of the afternoon gilding both their pale heads.

Although he had regretted his hasty words as soon as they were spoken - Damn it, Francis, he’s not one of your men to browbeat. Can you not show him half the pity you gave the other? -  he felt the previous day’s anger kindle again at the memory of the cool displeasure in Francis’s eyes and the flat, uncompromising line of his mouth, even as his infant son tugged at his silken hose and begged to be held.

Mo cridh is a good little boy now, said the voice of that other child with the pitiless clarity of memory.

With no more conscious thought than the doomed silk moth, Jerott swung his legs over the edge of the bed, groping with chilled toes for the slippers that had been set out for him. Although the day had been warm for Scotland on the cusp of autumn, a decided chill hung in the night air and he shrugged into the borrowed robe, feeling it pull across the shoulders where it was cut for a slighter man.

In the near total darkness, he let his feet and memory guide him through the corridors of St. Mary’s, grateful at least that although the house no longer maintained its martial aspect, Francis’s taste did not yet run to endless trinkets and furbelows to trip the unwary. At the head of the stairs, something sleek and pale regarded him curiously from a ribbon of pale moonlight where a shutter stood ajar, but, before he could do more than peer blearily back, it disappeared into the recesses of a court cupboard made monstrous by the shadows.

Once, on a night such as this, Jerott Blyth might have sought the wine cellar and all its bottled comforts; once, Lymond might have locked it against just such an eventuality. Tonight, however, Jerott wandered through the silent house with no goal in his mind save to put as much space as the night permitted between himself and the fading echoes of his dream. His slippered feet padded softly across the expensive carpets and he recalled with a shudder the carpet painted with red and white in the in the selamlìk like a terrible exchequer counting out life and death - say goodnight to the dark.

Despite his meandering path, Jerott was not overly surprised when he lifted his eyes and found himself in the passageway leading to the great, vaulted kitchen. There would be fresh water there to wash the taste of bitter almonds and smoke from his mouth, thanks to some mechanical contrivance of Lancelot Plummer’s, and the cool of the Scots night under cloud-veiled stars through the door beyond.

He had already stepped through the door when he realised that long room was not empty; the faint glow from the banked hearth was matched by a candle flame and in its light a slim figure moved briskly from table to cupboard. Jerott froze, for a startled moment half-fearing some apparition from his dream, or, worse yet, an encounter with Lymond for which he was ill-prepared, but as the figure turned to greet him, he saw the fall of dark, unbound hair swing out around slender shoulders and recognised his hostess in a robe de chambre belonging, like Jerott’s own borrowed garment, no doubt, to her husband.

‘Jerott!’ Philippa came more fully into the light, her smile warming with more pleasure in the encounter than Jerott thought strictly reasonable for some time after two in the morning. ‘Couldn’t you sleep either?’

‘No,’ Jerott said shortly, and wondered what else he could say, but Philippa seemed unperturbed.

‘She gaue him milke, the slepe fell in his hede,’ she pronounced cheerfully. ‘I was making myself a posset, guaranteed by Kate to knock out half the county - of course, that’s in England. Would you like some?’

About to demur, Jerott was shepherded without delay to a seat at the well-scrubbed board and had an equally well-scrubbed lemon deposited in his nerveless hands. Half-hysterically, he found himself thinking that Djerba might have gone better with Philippa Crawford and not Giovanni Andrea Doria commanding the massed forces of Christendom. Taking the knife presented to him, he set to paring dutiful curls of zest and listened to the surprisingly comforting sounds as Philippa clattered around the kitchen, collecting the milk and cream from the cool slate and the sugar and nutmeg from the spice chest. As she worked, she hummed to herself, a fragment of Salve intemerata virgo, a snatch of a filthy ditty that he had heard on the docks at Leith. In short order, he found himself in possession of a steaming goblet of spiced posset aromatic with lemon and nutmeg and the Crawfords’ good French eau de vie, and being appraised frankly by the appallingly candid brown eyes of Francis’s child-bride.

A child no longer, he conceded with a shade of reluctance, although he could see the ghost of the scrubby and dishevelled adolescent alongside the the elegant courtier in the lines of her face as he squinted against the flickering warmth of the candlelight. A single lock of brown hair fell in disarray across her high brow, but, even in the dim light, it was glossy and well-trimmed, and the thin-fingered hands cupping the second goblet no longer showed the effects of diligent adolescent gnawing.

‘So,’ Philippa said conversationally, pushing a plate of sweetmeats towards him. ‘You saw Diccon’s argument with Francis.’

The posset soured in Jerott’s mouth. ‘Argument? He’s a child. He was crying. God, Philippa!’ Francis’s retort had, as ever, raised an angry and impotent resentment within him only made worse by the recognition that he was over-matched.

‘He’s Francis’s child,’ Philippa corrected gently. ‘He could pick a fight with a fencepost and is as highly strung as a papingo at a fair.’

Jerott subsided sulkily into his chair and eyed a sticky square of something dripping with honey and jewelled with candied nuts.

‘Baklava has many curative properties, but the banishment of nightmares is not one of them.’

As so often with Lymond, the softly spoken words left Jerott feeling as if he had been flensed and scoured raw, but there was a kindness in Philippa’s face that Lymond rarely permitted himself to display, and Jerott consciously relaxed the fingers clenched bitingly tight around the goblet until the ache of the healing wound in his shoulder subsided.

‘What, then? What possible reason could Francis have to treat his own son like that after… after…’

‘After losing Khaireddin? But if Diccon’s offence was no grave matter, neither was Francis’s.’ And in quick, amused words, Philippa sketched the outlines of a scene quite different to that which Jerott had seen - or thought he had seen: the tired, overexcited child; the hand tangled in the cat’s inviting fur until she awarded the barest scratch to her tormentor for this impertinent ambuscade; Francis’s insistence that Diccon should render his apologies to his feline friend before any consoling cuddle; child and cat alike falling asleep in Lymond’s lap even as he himself drowsed in the late sunlight. The light in the cornflower-blue eyes that had been not cold anger but a carefully corralled excess of emotion.

Philippa licked a crumb of honey-soaked semolina from her fingers and continued in a quieter voice, recalling the outspoken, stalwart child that Jerott remembered from the long-ago voyage, the terror and exhilaration alike of playing for Roxelana Sultàn, the dawning fear she had felt in the sultana’s gilded and grilled listening post above the Divan as she saw Jubrael Pasha for the first time. Kuzúm’s whipping and the despair of her wedding night in the French ambassador’s residence and the long journey home. 

As if it were drawn out of him like a skein of silk unravelling, Jerott found himself responding in kind, telling the story of his ill-fated foray to Mehedia, the horror that he had found there and the coming horror that he had been unable to prevent. Just a quarter-hour’s difference, just a little more wit to see the danger surrounding him, just a little more strength in his arm… Remembering the obscene travesty of the kiss pressed into the crook of his neck, Jerott looked away, into the shadows that crowded the corners of the kitchen, but Philippa’s fingertips pressed lightly against his own, a benediction of a kind, as cleansing as any priestly absolution. In a flash, he remembered the calm of Francis’s face set against the crispness of his pillow in Amiens, the blind, blank eyes and bloodless visage and quick, expressive features shorn of all emotion.

İpec böceǧi, for this wast thou born?

And - no; they had stood as well as they might against a malicious and terrible will and had found beyond its bounds some place of refuge, though it had driven them over distant lands and wide seas. It had made of them something which none of them had been able to contemplate, both for good and for ill, and, as storm-wrack, they lay upon its farthest shore. If there was grief here in plenty and a lifetime of Graham Reid Malett’s ill works to be unravelled in Scotland, there was no shame in that. 

Perhaps he was not formed as the horned worm of India, unable to sustain life even in others. 

With a start, Jerott realised that the goblet was empty and cool beneath his fingers, the plate reduced to a scattering of crumbs and the first faint glow of dawn spilling through the high, narrow windows. The cat perched on one end of the long table, glowering at them through narrow green eyes and batting at a scrap of honeyed pastry with a desultory paw. Blinking against the sting of tears, as caustic as any poison, Jerott saw that Philippa’s lids were drooping, her chin propped on one hand and the other laid lightly on the curve of her belly suddenly revealed beneath the fine lawn of her shift where the embroidered silk of her gown had dropped away. ‘You must forgive Francis, you see,’ she said in a voice warm and soft with sleep. ‘It is difficult for him at the moment.’

‘I - yes - there is nothing to forgive,’ Jerott said, and found that he meant it. Perhaps, like the pelican, Francis would sustain these children with the last of his own heart’s blood, as he might have sustained his firstborn, were it not for Gabriel’s schemes, but the stubborn light in Philippa’s drowsy dark eyes suggested that she had decided opinions on the matter. And, with abrupt solicitude, ‘You should go to bed.’

‘A moment longer. Goo to Morpheus; thou knowist hym well.’

Rising to his feet against the protesting ache of his own muscles, he was surprised to find himself swept into a hug comprised half of peacock-embroidered silk and half of flying dark hair that filled his nose with the scent of chypre. Cautiously, he let his own arms close around Philippa and felt a great flood tide of weariness sweep over him, as if all barriers to sleep had been swept away and that welcoming sea rushed in, bearing all before it.

Disentangling himself with only a little difficult involving Philippa’s hair and the carved horn buttons fastening the sleeves of his robe, Jerott padded sleepily from the kitchen, the cat weaving lazy patterns around his bare calves.

*******************************************************

‘Well, yunitsa?’ asked the figure lounging in the entrance to the larder, a sleepy, sardonic smile crooking one corner of his long mouth and pale linen sleeves falling back from his sinewy arms as he brought his hands up to frame her face.

‘Well,’ Philippa confirmed, and pressed a kiss to the scarred wrist. ‘He’ll sleep tonight, at least. And you?’

‘I see Astraea has absented herself, so I suppose we will find ourselves the next targets of the infant’s hair-pulling fervour in far too short a time, but for now my sleep, like justice, requires a witness.’

‘Then let me be witness by sight and by sign.’ Philippa smiled up into his face, smoothing the fingers of one hand through the disordered silk of his yellow hair. ‘Come to bed, Francis. There is nothing more to put right in the world tonight.’

*******************************************************

Notes

The first three paragraphs draw heavily on the description of Jerott’s approach to Mehedia in Pawn in Frankincense, pp. 111-112.

İpec böceǧi  - ‘silkworm’ in Turkish (I hope).

‘Like the silk moth which has no organs by which it can nourish itself’ - some version of this is repeated at various places in Pawn in Frankincense and also in Checkmate.

‘Mo cridh is a good little boy now’ - Pawn in Frankincense, p. 445, aka the most distressing line in the entirety of canon (and, let’s face it, there’s plenty of competition).

‘She gaue him milke, the slepe fell in his hede’ - John Lydgate, The Fall of Princes.

‘Goo to Morpheus; thou knowist hym well’ - Geoffrey Chaucer, Book of the Duchess.

[knking]

Memory 16 : The King’s Secret

Part 2/6

Written by TK, Illustrated by me

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

It seemed now that every area of the Underground had revealed itself to be areas of prime relaxation, such is the case when not all those who surround you want to kill or imprison you. But despite all the invitations he’d receive to “gently provide patronage” to pretentious and well-esteemed places in and around the castle, his prime spot of bliss still was the waterfall. Long walks around the veilleuse-laden rocky walls always ended at the foot of a flowing cascade of teal water, and today was no exception. However, he had taken along for his walk someone who, normally, is not all that keen on serene walks. And once more, today was no exception.

“And here’s that bush… Again.” Ömen grumbled.

“I really like that one! Do you see how these three blooms stand out like that? Almost in a heart shape?” Asgore knelt over the timid outcropping.

“Yeah, sure. Okay.” the bear scoffed

“Oh my! Look over here!” he’d suddenly dash to another set of plants, Ömen stomping along disinterestedly. “These orchidée timides only bloom once in six months brother! Six months! We are really lucky!”

“Yeah. Woohoo.” he’d agree, simply out of politeness for his “small” ram/goat brother - though small is hardly a qualifier for Asgore, but everything is “small” for a beast like Ömen.

This would go on for quite a while, too long for the bear’s taste, but he’d indulge his new King for as long as he could, he’d earned it. But this was just too much. It was at least the 23rd time this week he’d seen the same bushes, the same lilies, the same goddamn things over and over and over… “He’s too soft” he thought. As much as he, admittedly, loved his new life in the court of royalty, especially considering the lovely Koala maiden he’d courted, he felt that craving for something more riské. Something a little more feisty. Flowers are cool, right, ok. Having a warm bed and clean clothes is… Yeah, it’s pretty cool, but you know what’s cooler? Butting heads. Sword Fighting.

“Have you brought Sofia here yet, brother?” Asgore interrupted Ömen’s thoughts.

“What? Oh no. I don’t think she’s as into this stuff as you are.”

“Well, you ought to bring her over here at least once! You see that pond over there? The one with the Jonquille emmêlée? That pond is peculiar, because it has...” and he continued on his usual ramble on the shapes, colors, stem sizes, etc etc…

“He’s too soft…” Ömen thought once more.

“We gotta fight.”

He remembered what they used to do. It’d been months now, but they’d done it so many times it was impossible to forget. A devious smirk formed on his snout and his emerald eyes flared a faint glow. Tucking his right hand behind his waist, he felt the cold metal hilt of his personally-built dueling rapier. Asgore was too busy with his Jonquilles emmêlées to notice. Not that it mattered, as soon as he’d heard Ömen’s words he’d be sure to follow up their usual routine. The grizzly recalled the first time they’d done it, a long, long time ago. They were still on the surface.

“Hey you fuzzy brat!” he yelled, stancing for his draw.

Asgore still peered over the edge onto the water, motionless. No reply. The bear raised his furry eyebrow in surprise. Maybe it wasn’t loud enough. Yeah, that’s it.

“HEY YOU FUZZY BRAT!!!” he bellowed, specks of dust fluttering down to his ears from the ceiling. Yeah that was good. It’d been a while.  

Slowly, Asgore turned his head around to meet his eyes with that of his brother’s. But it wasn’t that cheeky look Ömen was accustomed to. He looked startled. He stood up with weak knees. Unbeknownst to the grizzly monster, thoughts paced at break-neck speed inside the nogging of his brother. A terrible realization shot through the white-furred King at that time. “This is it.”

“W-What?” he stuttered, in response to the insult.

“En garde!” the bear taunted

Ömen’s clothes were not fit for his weapon and certainly not for a warrior-gladiator bear, really. Upon unsheathing his blade, part of his orange-upon-brown tunic ripped through the air, victimed to the atomically-sharp green spectre of the blade. The air stood still now, Ömen puffed his chest, fur erect on the back of his neck. “This is more like it. Now, Asgore will go for the headbutt and I’ll miss my swing. We can improvise the rest.”

“Ömen, I-I’m sorry but I-.”

“AAARGHHH!” The unstoppable force rocketed towards Asgore in a bestial frenzy. He remembered what he’d done before, but his muscles froze. The very thought of it paralyzed him. All the while, a 500 kilogram mass of flesh and muscle hurtled toward him. Invisible hands seemed to grasp his wrists and neck, though flesh and fur betrayed not a touch. He’d become his own worst enemy. What a foolish idea it’d all been.

Ömen was too caught up in his charge to notice any sign of malady from his brother. He rose the blade high above his head, the emerald tint whisking through the dark cave menacingly. His grip was strong around the hilt. “I’ll swing down left this time, throw him a little something different.” was all he could muster in terms of actual thought in the midst of his simulated fit of primal rage. And so, distracted to Asgore’s condition he began his swing, that eerie whistling of steel ripping through the still air as his deadly slice came crashing down.

A fraction of a millisecond before the deadly blow, time seemed to decelerate for the King, and racing through the possibilities of what could avert his demise at the hands of his familiar a thought blinked in his ember and azure eyes. “I can dodge.” He had no time to even visualize how such a thing was possible before he clumsily threw his whole weight off to his left side, the green flash of the rapier slicing the hard stone beneath where he stood with ease.

The impaled weapon left crystallized molten rock in its wake, the heavy brown-furred monster huffed a heavy breath. Both his emerald eyes and weapon glowed with purpose. This wasn’t how it went at all… It’d been headbutts after headbutts for years! He could take being beat by the boss monster, he could take being outplayed with more elaborate and well-strategized moves… But tricked? Never before. Asgore was taunting him. After all those years… Their brotherhood… All of it, all it took was a little title and a crown for him to snob his “old pal”. The intense physical labor had produced a scowl on his brow, but now it intensified. He craned his head, and met Asgore’s petrified gaze… Why you little…

“...Brat! If that’s how it’s gonna be, then let’s dance!” He yanked his metal companion free, and readied once more.

“Brother I can’t! I cannot fight! Please Ömen I-”

“Oh?! Now that you’re royalty fighting is too much for you?! If that’s how it’s gonna be, show me what you got, big boy! AARRGHHH!”

“ÖMEN, PLEASE!” it was no use, once more the bear hurdled toward him like a careening boulder of fur. Like before, Asgore barely escaped his assailant, ungraciously tumbling on the cold hard floor as his tunic tore at the friction of pebbles and cobalt-blue dust stuck to his fur.

Their improvised simulation of close quarters brawling had quickly turned into a fight proper. With every passing swing and thrust of the blade, Ömen grew more vicious and uncontrolled. Sweat flung around the cavern like the dust they kicked up, and Asgore’s rope shortened. Evasion had never been his strong suit, even if he'd spent so much of his life on the run, but he'd have to make due now. Upper slashes, downward slashes, jabs and swipes. Green, green, green. It was all he saw. Truthfully, Ömen had been on a fast track to lowering his LV ever since the coronation, and good progress he had made. Enough progress, in fact, to feign a feral fit. If Asgore was toying with him, he’d toy the goat back! In the scared irises of the King he could see his bluff was working flawlessly.

“Yaaah! Allez! YAAH!” he growled. Slish, slash, woosh went the sword

Unknown to both of them, as they tumbled and jousted, a flower bloomed on their battlegrounds, and it blossomed its white petals unnoticed and uncaring, a meek milky glow barely noticeable, even in the low-light conditions of the cavernous cascade. But he who does not use eyes, needs not see to know.

They’d been battling for quite a while now, exhaustion apparent on both of their physiques. But the bear had always been physically stronger than any of his siblings, and it showed. By now, his rapier’s blade had been dulled and crooked by the constant bashing against rock, and Asgore’s tunic was in equally bad shape, though nothing extreme. A small wet spot formed under his armpit.

“Brother… I beg you, I can explain! Please, no more! Arretêz!” Asgore expirated, laying on his back against the rock.   

“Hah… Hah… Let’s see you dodge this!” and nearly stumbling now, Ömen charged for his last attack - an overhead blow to the stubborn goat’s head. It would certainly not be fatal at this point, he knew this for certain, but it’d at least teach his brother a lesson in humility he hoped. But, unfortunately for the hulking, exhausted monster, that lesson came out the back end, as for when he stood not 3 feet from his target, a force seemed to clobber him right on his nose, like a 500 kilogram punch directly to his long snoot. Suffice to say, he was soon together with Asgore on the floor, stars blinking in his eyes.

A few seconds went by, before he laughed hysterically.

“Ahahahah! You little ram brat bastard! I knew you had it in you! Ack… Putain... That was one hell of a headbutt right there...”

“Can you two explain to me, exactly what in the hell you’re both doing?” An unmistakable, serene voice cut off Ömen’s praise. Shaa stood beside his brother with characteristic runic holograms around his hands. Forcefield… Of course.

“What?” Ömen groggily replied.

The polar bear presented in his free hand that which had summoned him - a white flower. It’s white petals curled outwards and shone with a delicate light. None could mistake it.

“Fleur saignante?” Ömen looked at Asgore, who now had regained some strength and sat upright against the wall. The small wet spot under his right armpit stained his tunic into a dark orange, the fur on his bicep was barely pink.

“Don’t you think we’ve all had enough of fighting, you thick-skulled buffoon?” Shaa queried his brother.  

“It’s not my fault! He provoked me! All this walking through the waterfalls was driving me nuts!”

“So you attacked him.”

“Okay, fine. I got out of control, it was a stupid accident alright? But he refused to fight! It’d all have gone down much smoother if he wasn’t running away the whole time!”

“I CAN’T FIGHT!” Asgore yelled, startling both the bears. He stumbled afoot. It’d been, perhaps, years since he’d risen his tone so ferociously at them. But the voice had a different tone to it, not like a pure reprimand. Something else hid below, something afraid. “I can’t fight. I cannot even think about hurting… I… I broke it! I broke the… the…”

“Broke what?” Ömen asked.

“The button!”

To a layman, this would have been the ramblings of a mad goatman, and at first Ömen was unsure whether the regal life of royalty had finally scrambled Asgore’s brain, but one quick glance at Shaa’s tattoos and the memory came to him. A speech he’d long given to Asgore regarding their meaning, something he himself had forgotten. The King meant it. Somehow, he’d risen above any and all monster or human before him and pierced the very fabric of reality, he’d weaved his new destiny through sheer willpower, forcibly removing a card from his hand of fate.

Ömen simply sat there in awe.

Shaa smirked, and serenely as always said:

“So it is possible…”

PARTS : [1] - [2] - [3] - [4] - [5] - [6]

[INDEX]

[bellatrixobsessed1]

Ten Sides (Part 3)

They take her and strap her down before she are gentle with her this time, but only so not to wake her before they finish binding her. This is how they always do it. Sedating her and then taking her is counterproductive, or so Sangyul says. "We're going for authenticity, so we can't have her all muddled by sedatives and drugs."

Aang thinks that this is an odd choice of words. There is nothing authentic about her treatment.

He watches her blink awake as they fix a final metal plate over her mouth. They do it just on time to keep her from breathing fire, but not before she can muster a cry of distress and anger. "Alright, Avatar Aang. She's all yours."

He takes an anxious step closer to her and tries not to look her in the eye. Her stare is always so cutting and furious before he tampers with the spirit energy behind them. Sangyul adjusts the bands of spirit vine that he has placed over her head. Aang inhales through his nose and touches his fingers to her forehead. He draws another deep breath and his eyes meet hers. It is only for a flicker but in that flicker he sees both resignation and a conflicting dash of defiance. Or maybe he has mistaken hatred for defiance.

He closes his own eyes and lets himself sink into the serenity that is the half state. Were he to open his eyes he would be able to see halos of color all over the spectrum. The nurses tend to have passive and stoic greys. Sangyul boasts the black-purple of ill-will and arrogance. Today, he has a small procrastinative peek, it is tinged with a fervent red.

He doesn't like to look at Azula's aura, seeing it is almost worse than seeing the look on her face. It's vivid brilliance has gone dull and muted. Once a tantalizing blend of passionate and powerful red, confident orange, and a delicate touch of soothing and intelligent blue it is now a dreary grey. The blue remains but it alludes to fear and a depressive apathy.

He can't see his own aura but he speculates that it might just look similar. He lets his spirit energy flow into her aura and into her mind. He braces himself for whiplash and the headache that comes with having to crumble her mental walls. Though it is more of an extinguishing; the wall that wraps around to protect her spirit is a fire as hotly blue as her physical bending. He doesn't know why he still expects it to be there, he has watched it dwindle from a roaring blaze to a bonfire , to a campfire, to a candle glow, and then to nothing but embers.

Even the embres have cooled to nothing.

His spirit energy infringes upon hers with a stomach churning ease.

A soft shimmer runs down the threads of her aura like a dew drop down grass. Starting from the front row and moving to the back, they flash and glint. It isn't always like this, the patterns of the blinking and glimmering are like a fingerprint of sorts. When he had taken Ozai's bending, his pattern was overwhelming; each thread with glint in an eye-searing uniformity before the glow fades for a moment. He thinks that it has to do with personality though he has hardly begun to theorize exactly why the blinks and flashes happen. He thinks that maybe it is more like a pulse; a sign that the person's spirit energy is still tethered to them. But then, wouldn't they beat in synchrony with the heart…

He cringes. He isn't paying attention. Luckily has has only tainted one thread, it is a rather rich pink. The pink of affection and love. White, pure and innocent white is the intention. Physically he grits his teeth. Spiritually he retracts his fingers for a moment. He resolves to keep Azula's aura as white as possible and keep the pink to a minimum.

.oOo.

"Unbind me, Avatar." She requests softly. "I'm not going to do anything."

"I know." Aang says.

"Can you loosen the straps a bit?"

He shakes his head. "I don't think that Sangyul will like that."

"I suppose."

The man steps back into the room. "Alright, Azula, how are you feeling?"

"How you want me to, I suppose."

His lip twitches. "We've discussed your sarcasm and witty quips. I suggest that you try to remember our conversation."

Azula nods.

"Let's try this again; how do you feel, Azula?"

She shrugs. "I'm not sure." She also isn't sure what he is playing at in asking for her opinion, she knows well that he doesn't care in the slightest. "I'm going to free you from these restraints and you are going to follow me." He turns to Aang. "I should like you to accompany us as well."

The straps fall away and she flexes her hands and fingers. She stretches her arms and legs and gets to her feet. They lead her down the hallway. "First we're going to pick out something to wear." He opens a door and gestures to the outfits spread out on the floor. "Pick one."

She furrows her brows. "I get to pick?"

"Of course."

There is an itch in her mind, it tells her not to trust them. It tells her not to get her hopes up. It nags her as she looks over the outfits. They range from elegant and formal to casual and plain. There are some articles from the Earth Kingdom and Water Tribe in the mix. But her eyes are drawn away from the Water Tribe furs, the fine Earth Kingdoms silks, and the extravagant Fire Nation kimonos to the expensive sets of armor. She misses wearing armor; misses the bulky feeling of protection, misses the powerful aesthetic it brings to her look, and-mostly-misses the confidence it instills within her.

There are several suits that stand out to her, one that is plain and sleek, not dissimilar to the one she used to wear. There is a second that has studs on the shoulder guards and jagged pieces that look like tongues of lightning for accents. There is another that bears the insignia of her nation. But the one she adores the most is the phoenix themed one. It does look rather heavy, but she isn't actually going into battle so she can choose aesthetic over agility. She manages a soft smile and points at it, "that one."

"Are you sure, Azula?" Sangyul asks.

She nods.

"But it is awfully heavy, don't you think? You aren't exactly in shape…"

She swallows. "I want that one." She insists despite a flicker of doubt. It would be rather humiliating if she put it on just to complain that it is too heavy for her more feeble condition. "I suppose that, that one is nice too." She points to the one accented with lightning filigree.

Sangyul scratches his chin. "Yes, that one would probably be a better choice. But I think that you should try one of these." He gestures to the Earth Kingdom silks and Fire Nation fineries.

They aren't awful, she doesn't exactly mind getting herself nice and pretty every now and again, but she is in the mood for something bolder. She casts a glance at the armor. "I suppose that it is a bit impractical to wear armor outside of battle."

"Yes!" Sangyul declares. "Exactly! Now which would you like, Earth Kingdom or Fire Nation?"

She brushes her hand over a Fire Nation festival kimono.

"Nurse Hanaki will show you to the changing room."

She finds that by changing room, he had meant taking her behind a four-panel folding screen.

It isn't comfortable having the nurse stand there and watch her but it is better than having Sangyul, his team, and the Avatar gawking at her. "Can you turn around?" She requests.

Hanaki gives an awkward shuffle. "I can't risk turning my back on you."

Azula turns away from her and with as much haste as she can manage swaps her current outfit for the new one. The nurse helps her tighten her obi and leads her back out.

"Wonderful." Sangyul replies. "I think that you made the right decision with that outfit. I think that we should apply some makeup to match."

She almost smiles, she does miss having a touch of makeup, but she doesn't even begin to smile before realizing that there is probably a catch. She knows that a touch of makeup is going to turn into more makeup than she has ever worn or has had a desire to wear. And by the time they are done with her face, it is accented in away that she almost can't recognize. It is a dangerous thing, she thinks. She doesn't feel like herself and now she doesn't look like herself.

Her stomach flutters as her mind starts to make the separation.

"Now, let's discuss your hair."

She jolts. She is grateful for the jolt, it brings her, to some degree, back to herself. She reflexively pulls a good portion of her locks and holds them against her chest. He leads her to a mirror and hands her a pair of scissors.

She looks at her reflection and then scissors in her hand. She likes how her reflection looks now, how her hair falls in thick and elegant waves. How her bangs so nicely frame her face, giving her delicate features a sharper edge. She isn't sure that she'd like how she'd look with shorter hair.

"Go on, Azula." Sangyul coaxes. "Cut your hair. Just under the chin will do."

She peers at the boy next to her and whispers, "I don't think that this is what I really want, Aang."

She can see Aang's heart sinking in his eyes. "I don't think that it is either."

"Azula." Only her father has ever spoken to her like that. So low, so cautionary.

She raises the scissors and cuts the smallest fragment of hair away and repeats on the next side. She watches the strands fall to the floor and her mind shifts again. It shifts to a night in her bedroom. A night when a disheveled reflection stared back at her. She puts the scissors down and allows the pricks of anger in her aura to unfurl. "I like it long."

"Azula." Sangyul warns again. He is in her face now.

"I like it long." She repeats flatly.

She feels the sting of his slap. "Cut. It." The man growls. "Or so help me."

Shock, it must be shock.

Whatever it is, those pinpricks of anger retract and she feels somewhat dizzy.

She feels the scissors being pressed into her hand again. "Cut. Your. Hair."

She swallows. "Yes, father."

[a-shakespearean-in-paris]

Quarantine Q&A

thanks for the tag @galadrieljones! You’re right, it is nice to take inventory of my life right now! 

Are you staying home from work or school?

Both. I work as a middle school tutor and go to graduate Englishes classes twice a week to get my masters (my plan as of right now is to teach honors/AP Englishes classes, but I may pursue a PHD later in life. Lol, my friend really wants me to get my PHD ASAP.) Not being able to go to work sucks, because I was falling into a routine I really enjoyed, and of course a lot of my kids are tons of fun. And going to class helps me stay focused on work--moving online has been difficult for me. I’ve never taken an online class. We’re supposed to have a Zoom lecture today. but my professor has been radio silent, so we’ll see if that works out or what. i hope not

If you’re staying home, who’s with you?

I live with my family and dog. I used to live alone, and while I can do it for a few months, I honestly can’t do it long term. So with the family I stay for now, until a handsome vampire invites me to his castle. 

Are you a homebody?

Yes, but I also like to go out and look pretty at least once a week.

An event that you were looking forward to that got cancelled.

Last year in April I was asked to be the maid of honor for my cousin’s wedding. I was depressed at the time, and when she asked me, it kickstarted the road to recovery. I’ve been helping her plan since then. We went on a bachlorette cruise run by the matron of honor in January, and a few weeks ago I hosted her bridal shower. Well, the wedding was scheduled for this Saturday at her mother’s ex-boyrfriend’s farm property (yes, I know.) anyway, it was obviously postponned. I was expecting it, but it was still kind of sad. At least I have more time to learn my speech (which I wrote a month, thanks for being my proofreader @muse-of-nightmares :D) and more time to have a glow up. I mean I am looking damn fantastic right now, but you know. 

They also already got married in November for tax purposes which did make me admittedly a little less excited, and we in my house have been taking bets on if the wedding has been cancelled. I’m betting no, because she paid for a nice and expensive photographer and wants her wedding pictures. 

What movies have you watched recently? What shows are you watching?

I watch This is Us weekly, (though that ended for the season) and also Little Fires Everywhere. Started Castlevania on Netflix, and binged Tiger King in a day. Watched the Toy Story movies and will probably watch more Disney. I’ve also been working through 90 Day Fiance.

What music are you listening to?

Same old playlists, and my music tastes are pretty varied. Fun fact, I’m in the top one percent of Beach Boys listeners in the world according to Spotify  

What are you doing for self care?

A lot of crochet--like 3 projects going on right now and starting new books. Read A Court of Thorns and Roses and onto the second. I have a list of more books I plan to read. Also I have been taking a lot of walks, and hopefully I’ll get to swim soon. I really can’t decide what nail polish color I want to stick to, lol. Been looking at pretty art on tumblr and blasting insipid thoughts to the interwebz. Baking and cooking. Tried five new recipes and all but one were amazing and in the “favorites” cookbook. Cleaned up my room and made my space more cozy and floral as per my style and nixed unnecessary clutter. Had a strange desire to paint or try to learn to draw, lol. And also, I headed back to one of my WIPS! Update soon! :D

tagging @starsandskies @lechatrouge673 @out-of-the-embers @cclkestis @muse-of-nightmares @muses-circle @solverne-02 and anyone else! :D

[the-newsies-justice-for-zas-blog]

Hero Nonetheless

A/N So, this is the short story that I told y'all about earlier. This is a story I entered for a writing competition and I hope y'all like it!

Genre: Historical Fiction

Era: (I guess it has ties to) Medieval

TW: Fighting, Swords, Blood, Mentions of Kidnapping, Death, Fire

Word Count: 1503

~

Out of the ashes rose a hero. Of course, not quickly. The ragged inhale of breath only lead to coughing. Dirt and soot streaked across his face and clothes, the air thick with ash. Eyes fluttering, he slowly came to awareness, watching the fire dance around the walls, making puppets of the shadows. Out of the ashes rose a hero, slowly, but a hero nonetheless.

Dazed and bewildered, he looked around to see his friends and comrades, their bodies scattered haphazardly over the floor. The stone slick with blood that seeped into the cracks between the masonry, soaking into the earth beneath.

The dying embers from the fires flew in the air like fireflies on a dark night, still glowing bright and strong as the fires began to fade. The smoke filtered in through the cracks in the oak doors at either end of the room. It hung in the air and our hero knew that even after the fires had been long extinguished, the strong, somewhat sharp smell would stay in the curtains, the fabric on the throne and the rug on the cold stone floor. It would always be there to greet any poor soul who had the fortune - or misfortune - to enter. Freezing cold air and ash charged in through the smashed, stained glass windows; just like the army that had ravaged the castle mere moments ago.

They’d mounted an attack on the kingdom and were set to reclaim the throne, but something got in their way. Well, more like someone…

He’d punched and kicked his way out of the besieged and war-beaten castle. Once he reached the bridge between the castle and the lands ahead, he had no idea why he thought this was going to be a good idea...but he had to try. For her. For Eva.

Steeling himself and drawing a deep breath in, he stepped onto the muddy grounds. Looking around for the tyrant that he sought, he saw a flash of royal armour and just knew. He had to reach him as fast as he could, so he ran. Well, he tried to run, but there was no clear path through the crowd. 

He ducked, dodged and weaved his way through hordes of soldiers on the anarchic and perilously lawless battlefield until he reached the leader, the commander. 

The King.

A tall, broad man with a dangerous air about him, he held himself with the bravado only a man certain of his victory could carry.

He was feared, far, wide and within his very own kingdom; which is why when our hero raised his head to meet the King's commanding gaze, the king was amazed.

Amazed that a simple errand boy would dare challenge him.

“Is this who your bastard king sends to defeat me?”

“No. This is personal.” The king raised an expectant eyebrow and cocked his head to the side slightly, only entertaining our hero for his personal enjoyment. 

“Do you remember my sister, Eva? One of your mercenaries kidnapped her. Two years ago today.”

The king waited, taunting him. He was relishing in their interaction.

“Oh, yes. I recall that particular maiden. She made an excellent servant. Before I carved out her heart and fed it to the hunting dogs that is.”

Flooded with overwhelming rage, our hero ripped a short sword out from a dying enemy soldier and whirled around to face the king once again. 

His face flushed, he saw red and he gripped the hilt so tightly that his hand started to hurt. He found that he did not care about the pain though, he only cared about avenging the death of his beloved sister, whose death left him alone in the world.

“Then you shall die as she did,” he growled out through grinding teeth and a clenched jaw. His already-racing heartbeat rose again as the king lifted his longsword, accepting our hero’s challenge.

“What part of your deluded mind makes you think that you could possibly defeat me?” The king sneered.

Our hero stayed silent, not wanting to lose control and make it too easy for his adversary.

To test the waters, and our hero’s skill, the king jabbed his longsword in his direction. The blow was blocked effortlessly.

“Pretty good. How about this?” Our hero half-expected the king to go easy on him. Oh, how wrong he was.

The king threw slash after slash, blow after blow, with such ferocity that our hero believed he would be dead within the half-hour. The king’s longsword forcing our hero backwards, he crashed into the armour of soldiers and stumbled over the uneven ground, whether it was over clumps of grass and shrubbery, or dead bodies.

He jumped over a couple of small fires lit by the canons from both armies and stooped under flaming beams and stones falling from the collapsing turrets above.

Eventually, they fought their way to the castle and into the throne room, where many of our hero's friends and allies stood, weaponless, as enemy soldiers advanced.

In a few short minutes, they had all been slaughtered by the king's men, screaming as Death claimed them as his own.

Our hero heard but did not fully acknowledge the cries, as he was too preoccupied with his own fate.

The king had cruelly been keeping him alive, tormenting him, maiming him just enough to cause great pain, yet never enough to kill him.

A fatal mistake on his part.

Our hero had read his adversary’s fighting style and when the opportunity arose, he plunged his short sword deep into the King's unarmoured leg, forcing him to kneel before him.

He knocked the king’s longsword away from his bloody hand, which proved to be much easier than expected as the king was weakened by the pain. He picked it up and examined it. It was simpler than he’d imagined, with only subtle gold inlay on the hilt.

Holding the longsword a hair's breadth away from the king's throat, our hero ensured that fact that his fiercely triumphant eyes would be the last thing the tyrannical ruler would ever see.

Arching his back and pulling his arm behind him, he swung with all his might. He screamed with the force of years of built-up anger and grief as the king’s sharpened longsword sliced through his throat, scarlet blood splattering on our hero’s soot streaked face.

Our hero finally got his revenge.

He did not taste the delicious essence that came with settling an old score or putting a generations-old dispute to rest…

Revenge tasted bitter.

Bitter and cold.

His raw desire for revenge had been like a rat, relentlessly gnawing away at his soul. 

Constant.

Draining.

Poisoning.

The rat stopped gnawing at and draining him when it was too exhausted to go on.

The poison ceased only when the king was dead. He realised it would never bring his sister back.

It only ceased when he truly felt how empty he was inside...  

No...Revenge did not taste sweet...it was bitter and cold.

He knew that if he was to move on and grow, he needed to finally accept his sister’s death and let go of all the feelings that had been gradually consuming him over the past few years. 

He needed to let go of the anger, sadness and bitterness that was holding him back. His soul was too worn down and exhausted to continue carrying the weight of it all. 

Finally being able to see that and carrying out the necessary deed to let go - killing the king - he knew that today would mark the start of something new.

A new chance to do the right thing.

A new beginning.

A new life.

The king's head fell to the floor as his body slumped, finally hitting the stone with a thump.

Blood not only splattered across our hero’s face, but also poured out of the king’s severed neck and stained the stone floor.

Our hero, at the sight of the king's head separated from his body, fell to one knee. He felt his insides churn sickeningly.

It was a fitting end for such a ruthless creature. Coming to his end at the point of his own longsword.

There he knelt, tuning out the sounds of the fires, the sounds of the fighting, the sounds of grief.

The battle was over.

They'd won.

But he was not overjoyed.

He was tired.

Tired of fighting. Tired of avenging his sister. Tired of having to be the hero, time and time again.

He could not find the strength to wipe the blood off his face, be that as it may, he rose.

Out of the ashes rose a hero. Of course, not quickly. The ragged inhale of breath only lead to coughing. Dirt and soot streaked across his face and clothes, the air thick with ash. Eyes fluttering, he slowly came to awareness, watching the fire dance around the walls, making puppets of the shadows. Out of the ashes rose a hero, slowly, but a hero nonetheless.

~

A/N @jd-sammy thanks for replying! <3 I hope you enjoyed it! I think I got the original prompt/idea from @write-it-motherfuckers , if not, oh well you're tagged anyways

[justkending]

Used to Be Overlooked. Chapter 24.

Series Summary: Steve Rogers was walking down the streets of Brooklyn after finishing a mission. The goal was just to take some time to clear his mind along the city streets, but when he runs into a gorgeous young lady that looks extremely familiar… How can he go about moving on? Who is she? What does he know her from? Was that memory even from this decade?

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader (Rosalyn Ember/ Y/N ?)

Word Count: 4300+

Series Masterlist

A/N: A little longer cause I’ll be at camp for a week. Then I’m moving out! Whooo hooo!

Chapter 24:

After Banner came in with another doctor to run a few test just to see how you were functioning awake now, everyone else started trickling in to pay a visit. Steve staying close to your side with every new visitor. Of course, everyone apologizing for letting this happen to you, and every time you telling them that it was none of their faults. 

First Wanda and Vis who brought you flowers and candy. 

Then Nat who just talked with you for a while about other things which was comforting. 

Then Sam who said something along the lines of knowing you were a badass who would pull through no matter what. 

Then Thor came for only a little to tell you he was sorry he wasn’t here, and by the time he got the call he was too late in coming. He brought you a beautiful gem from some other galaxy as an apology, and said that he would send ‘this Garrison Bates man’, as he put it, in a jail multiple galaxies away if you wanted him to. You laughed him off and told him not to worry about it. You would handle it yourself. Which made a large grin form on his face. 

Then Tony and Pepper stopped by bringing you new clothes to replace the hospital gown. Mainly leggings, sweatpants, and sweatshirts since the room was always cold. They also bought an extremely, over the top, bouquet of flowers that you knew cost a fortune. Tony went on about how the compound should have been safe, it was on him, and yada yada yada. Of course you had to basically tell him to shut up and stop blaming himself like everyone else. He laughed you off and finally gave into you being right, but deep down you could see guilt still there. You would talk about that later.

Lastly, Bucky came in while Banner was drawing blood for another test.

“Hey champ. Good to see you’re back to your sassy self,” he smiled walking in with his hands in his hoodie pocket. 

“Good to see you too James. How are you?” you said adjusting in the bed as your arm hung over the side and Banner inserted the needle. 

“You’re getting your blood drawn after you were just kidnapped from a crazy scientist who just injected you with God knows what, and you’re asking me how I’m doing?” Bucky said quirking an eyebrow and standing at the end of the bed.

Steve laughing from the chair he was relaxed in and shook his head at his friend.

“Gee thanks for reminding me of that Barnes,” you sassed rolling your eyes.

“Sorry I didn’t mean-”

“I’m joking Bucky,” you laughed. “I’m a lot tougher than you think.”

“Well, I think your pretty tough so that’s saying a lot,” he winked.

You smiled before feeling another prick of a needle and winced looking down at the pain.

“Sorry, needles a little bigger on this one,” Banner explained.

“It’s ok. I’ve had worse,” you smiled at him before taking a deep breath. “So, Bucky, back to my original question.” You turned back to the long haired man. “How are you?”

“I still don’t know why your asking me that question,” he said acting dumb.

You gave him a bitch face and his dumb act disappeared immediately. Turning to a ‘oh no I’ve been caught’ look.

“Buck, she can read everyone like a book. No use in lying,” Steve said crossing his arms and laying back in the chair as if he were going to take another uncomfortable nap.

“Same goes for you Steve,” you said turning your head to him. “When’s the last time you got actual decent sleep?” you raised an eyebrow. 

He peeked over at you and shrugged.

“I get 3-4 hours every night,” he said as if that was normal.

“People are supposed to get 7-8 hours every night. In a bed. At their house. Not in a hospital room in chair that is 10 times smaller than them.” 

“I-” he started, but the bitch face that you had now turned on him, shut him up. “I’m fine Y/N. I just want to make sure you’re ok,” he said going back to his slumped position.

You rolled your eyes knowing there was no fighting him on it. 

“You know how to make him listen?” you said turning to Bucky.

He let out a loud laugh, and shook his head. 

“If I did we wouldn’t be where we are in life, now would we?” Bucky said tilting his head toward you.

“Touche.”

“Ok Y/N. I have everything I need. I’m going to go run these through the machines and I’ll get back to you on the results,” Bruce said standing and grabbing the vials with your blood as well as a clipboard. 

“I’m assuming a couple of days?” you asked.

“Maybe less with Stark’s technology,” he winked. “You should be discharged in about an hour or so though. If that’s the case, I’ll bring the results to the compound when they’re done. You are staying there with us until everything gets settled right?”

“If that’s ok with everyone else-”

“Yes!” All three men answered at once. Steve sitting up from his chair and moving closer to you. 

“Wow. Ok, yes I’m staying with you then,” you chuckled at the reaction. 

“Sorry, it’s just we want you to be safe, and,” Bucky started.

“I know. I know. I’m ok with that,” you reassured. “Who else get’s to say that the Avengers are their body guards,” you winked.

“Very true,” Banner laughed, reaching the door. “I’ll keep you updated. Keep getting better Y/N.” 

“Will do Doc,” you saluted. 

He chuckled and left the room leaving you with the two super soldier best friends. 

“So what exactly is the diagnostic. Are you getting better or...” Bucky asked timidly.

“I’m healing, but extremely slow. Almost like a normal human would,” you sighed leaning back sitting criss cross in your bed. “I got to say, it’s been a while since I’ve felt so normal. It’s nice actually.”

“You were beaten up pretty bad Y/N/N. Are you sure you aren’t in pain?” Bucky asked stepping closer.

“I’m in some pain yes, but I’ve got medication for that. I’ll be fine,” you shrugged off. “Are you ok?”

“You’re not going to stop asking are you?” Bucky huffed.

“Nope cause every single one of you hero’s is beating yourself up more than I am bruised,” you said crossing your arms. “Talk.”

“Nothing to talk about.”

“Skip the whole, ‘I’m ok. I wasn’t the one tortured, poked, and prodded’ talk. You were hurt in all this too,” you said.

“Y/N-”

“Fine if you won’t admit it, I will for you.” you sighed sitting up and straightening your posture. “You, just like everyone else, feels like me being hurt, is on you.”

“We could’ve-”

“Is your name Garrison Bates?”

“No.”

“Did you kidnap me and knock me unconscious in the woods at the compound?”

“No, I didn’t, but-”

“Did you inject me, torture me, and experiment on me for your own amusement and knowledge?”

“Of course not, but it wasn’t that that-”

“Then you have no reason to blame yourself. Case and point.”

There was a pause as Bucky stared at you trying to wrap his head around it all, and then he turned to Steve who was looking down at his hands. Clearly he had heard you reassure everyone else already, but you could tell even Steve wasn’t accepting it himself. No matter how clear of an argument you were making. 

“I don’t want anyone else taking on the burden that is me anymore. You all don’t need to wallow in something that is out of your control. This is the last I’ll speak of it, ok? You all saved me. You didn’t hurt me. Get that through your thick, world saving, avenging skulls, ok?” you sassed looking between both boys. They looked up and slowly shook their heads. “Good. Now, anyway we can get a doctor in here to discharge me? If I have to sit in this bed for another second I think I might keel over.”

The boys let out a soft chuckle at your annoyance, and Bucky went to go find someone. 

___

Luckily, the doctor said that you could do the rest of your healing and resting at home. He said you would need supervision and to remember to take some pain meds and antibiotics on a schedule to. Lots of sleeping to heal your body would be ideal as well, and with how the medication was affecting you, you weren’t angry about that order. 

“Ok, you’ll stay in the room that you stayed in the other night after the gala,” Steve started as he directed you into the compound’s living room. His arm was wrapped around your waist, and the other holding you hand since you were still kinda weak. Not that you really needed the extra support, but the touch was nice.

Wanda, Nat, Sam, and Bucky were all there too making sure you were comfortable and right at home.

“Actually, can I stay in the living room for a while? The couch seems better than being holed up in a room.” you asked looking up at his big blue crystal like eyes. 

He smiled looking down at you, and nodded.

“Of course. Wherever you feel more comfortable.” 

“Thanks,” you hummed.

He helped you get situated on the couch bringing you big fluffy blanket and some pillows for cushion. Sam brought over the TV remotes showing you all the buttons and things to push to get to Netflix, Hulu, and all those fun things. Of course at the end Nat just said you could ask FRIDAY and she would set it up. 

You laughed and got comfortable as the crew, besides Steve, went into the kitchen to start on dinner for everyone. 

“So, are we going to talk about it?” You asked Steve once everyone was out of the room, and it was just you two. 

He was sitting beside you on the giant sectional and had an arm thrown behind where you were laying as he searched through the movies on Netflix.

“Talk about what?” he said never breaking concentration from the TV.

“Don’t play coy,” you sighed. 

“I mean there’s a lot that’s happened in the past few days. There are a number of things that we could talk about,” he said scrolling.

“The most recent thing.”

“Hmmm?” 

“Garrison, Steve. I want to talk about Garrison.”

Steve stopped his search and froze dropping his hand from where he was clicking the remote.

“Which part?” he said looking straight ahead.

“The part where he said he would only talk to me. Where I’m the only one who can get the answers out of him,” you answered softly.

“Right. That part,” Steve breathed out finally turning to you. “How do you want to do it?”

“Exactly how it needs to be done,” you answered looking up at him. You looked down and grabbed his hand and interlaced your fingers through his. He looked down at the motion and you both got lost in it as you started running circles over his knuckles with your other hand. “I go in, and interrogate him until we get the results we want.”

“Interrogate?”

“He’s not going to make it easy. He’s going to want more than just me talking to him.”

“How so?”

“I don’t know yet, but I do know that he is anything but an easy man,” you sighed. 

“I can tell,” Steve mumbled. 

You looked up and leaned your head into his shoulder. 

“I’m going to wait ‘till I can at least walk without cringing at the feeling in my ribs. Those straps he had on me were tight, and those bruises that they made are going to take a little to heal.”

“I know,” he sighed in defeat.

“Hey,” you said moving his chin to you. “I’ll be ok. I just need some time to get back up.”

He smiled sadly down at you, and wrapped his free hand around yours. 

“I know, but that doesn’t make it any better,” Steve muttered.

“No, but remember? Things could be worse. Be happy about the little things.” You smiled making his lips slowly turn up.

“Always so positive.”

“It’s all you can do,” you shrugged snuggling into him more. “Those pills are kicking in. I’m probably going to be out in a few minutes. Wake me up for dinner when it’s done.”

“Sure thing doll. Get some rest,” he said leaning down and kissing the top of your head.

Within just a few minutes, you were out like a light. The pain medication knocking you out hard.

___

You woke up to the TV playing some show. It sounded like Friends.

You stirred a little and realized that two strong arms had enveloped you fully. You were burrowed into Steve’s chest, and couldn’t be more comfortable given the pain that your body was in. 

You heard some shifting next to you and moved just enough to see who was there. Sam.

Glancing at the clock on the wall you saw it was 3 am. You must have fell asleep there, and Steve never woke you up for dinner. You weren’t really hungry so it wasn’t a big deal, but you had been knocked out for a solid 6-7 hours. 

Sam was laid out on the other side of the couch, and laughing softly here and there at the jokes Chandler was making on the screen.

You moved in your position slightly to readjust, and Steve grunted holding you closer. You chuckled under your breath at the giant of a man cuddling with you. He was so cute asleep. Lord knows he needed the rest so you didn’t move too much, but just enough to get Sam’s attention.

“Can’t sleep?” you whispered.

Sam turned over to you and smiled.

“No. Happens sometimes. Bed’s too soft,” he whispered back.

“Hmm,” you hummed. “Want some of my pills? They’ll knock you out,” you joked.

“I may take you up on it if you’re not careful,” he joked back. You chuckled making Steve shift again, and hold you closer. You sighed in content, and readjusted with him. “I think this is the first time in years that I’ve seen him sleep this well.” 

“Really?”

“Yeah. Man is up early morning all the time training, and in bed late at night trying to map out the next mission. I don’t know how he functions with the little amount of sleep he gets.”

“Why do you think that is?” you asked.

“Stress? Feel’s like he isn’t where he needs to be? I think he feels like he doesn’t fit in where he should. Time wise and all,” Sam guessed.

“I can relate to that,” you mumbled to yourself.

“Only time he feels normal is when he trains or is fighting bad guys,” Sam continued. You looked up seeing Steve completely calm and content with you in his arms. “I think you make him feel more at home. More at ease.”

“Why?” you said confused looking at him. 

“You can relate to things we can’t. Sure he has Barnes, but that’s a whole other relationship.” he shrugged. “He lost a lot of things he never thought he would have the chance at again. Then you came along. I’ve never seen the man light up as much as he does when he’s around you.”

You smiled up at the man who was holding you so close to him. Almost like you were a lifesaver and he would drown if he let go.

“Well, I got to say, he saved me when I needed someone like him the most too,” you said never breaking your gaze from him.

“A match made in heaven,” Sam mumbled to himself.

“What?”

“Nothing. Just thinking out loud.” he turned over to you with a wide grin. “Go back to sleep. Doctor said you need the rest.”

You yawned proving him right.

“Can do. You get some rest too Sam. Watching Friends at 3am shouldn’t be a habit.”

“I don’t see what’s wrong with it. A little mid-morning comic relief never hurt anyone.” he shrugged chuckling.

“Sure,” you smirked as you snuggled more into Steve’s chest. “Night Sammy.”

“Night Y/N.”

With that, you knocked out thinking how lucky you were, even with everything happening. I mean you had Captain America to keep you warm at night. It was win no matter what else was going on in your life.

__

The next 3 days you spent building up your energy. Your healing began speeding up little by little, and the soreness from your bumps and bruises was finally starting to lessen.

Steve, as well as the rest of the crew, were helping you rest and lending a hand where they could. It could become a lot at points with how much they wanted to help, but you knew they needed it. For their own mental health.

So when Nat offered to make a coffee run, you ordered something small. When Sam asked if you wanted him to rent you a movie and have a night in, you picked a movie. When Tony and Pepper asked if you needed anything at all, you actually denied, but they insisted. Basically buying you a whole new wardrobe for your stay at the compound. When Wanda offered to check on your house and bring anything back, you gave her a short list of things you needed.

Of course, you didn’t want to take advantage of their kindness so every time they asked you told them you were fine every time. But that just caused them to ask over and over again until you relented.

Now it had been 3 days of being cooped up at the compound, and you were starting to get a little irritated. One, because you had little to no alone time, and another because every passing minute you were here, you weren’t questioning Garrison for more answers. 

“Hey Y/N, it’s about time for your pain meds,” Steve said coming into the kitchen where you were making breakfast for yourself. “Whoa, what are you doing up cooking? You should be resting!” he said running to your side as if you were going to fall over right then and there. 

“I’m fine Steve. I know how to walk,” you grumbled pulling away and going to the toaster to pull out your now burnt toast that you forgot. “Damn it,” you groaned throwing the pieces away angrily. 

Steve stood back giving you space that you clearly were needing in the moment. He knew you had started to become frustrated with all the attention everyone was giving you, but this was the first time you were showing it so clearly. 

After you placed two new pieces of toast in the toaster. You grabbed your hurt ribs and let out a deep breath before walking to the eggs you had going. Giving you a second to breath Steve finally spoke up.

“Want to talk about it?” he asked leaning on the counter and crossing his arms. 

“Nothing to talk about,” you mumbled stirring the eggs not looking at him. 

“Yeah, I definitely believe that,” he smirked. You looked up staring daggers at him before turning back to the food. “See that look alone is enough for me to believe you. You’re really selling it,” he said sarcastically.

“Hmmm,” you groaned. 

There was a pause as you finished the eggs put them on a plate, and then moved around getting the rest of your breakfast. 

“You’re tired of being in one spot. I can tell,” Steve spoke up. “Plus, there’s someone who you’re dying to rip a new one on and you can’t because you aren’t better yet.”

You froze looking down at your plate. All of a sudden your appetite gone. The thought of Garrison made your anger boil more, and you knew you needed to step out before you exploded on Steve or the next person to walk in. 

“Y/N-”

“I’m going to go for a walk,” you said untying the sweatshirt from your waist and throwing it on. 

“You can’t go by yourself Y/N. Here, let me-”

“Nope. I need to be alone,” you mumbled adjusting it and starting to walk out.

“You know what happened last time!” he shouted toward you making you stop in your place. “I-I, just let me grab a jacket and I’ll come-”

“Watch me from a distance Steve I don’t care. But I just need some space.” 

You quickly started to make your way out hoping to out run him calling after you. In the quick escape, you ran into Bucky who was coming in just as you were leaving.

“Whoa there doll, what’s got you running off in such a hurry?”

“Excuse me,” you mumbled pushing past him. 

Steve was rushing to you, but Bucky held up his hands stopping him. “What did you do?”

“I didn’t do anything! She- I-” Steve let out a loud groan before throwing a hand down his face. “Just let me by, she can’t go off by herself anymore.”

“Maybe that’s the problem,” Bucky said still blocking his way. 

“What-”

“I hate to tell you this Steve, but you can be kinda smothering at times,” Bucky crossed his arms making Steve raise his eyebrows. 

“What are you talking about?”

“Nothing, just,” Bucky let out a sigh seeing where you ran off to. “Let me talk to her. I’ll keep an eye on her.”

“Buck, I can-”

“I know you can, but you don’t need to. Take a minute for yourself just like she is. You both need some time without the other.”

Steve hesitated, but gave in after a few seconds. “Fine, but hurry. She can’t be on her own out there too long. She still isn’t healed fully and I don’t want what happened to happen again.”

Bucky nodded and turned jogging where you left to catch up with you. 

You hadn’t gotten far, and were standing just a few yards outside of the door. Your arms were crossed in front of you and you were looking up into the clouded sky. It looked like it was going to rain soon, and you were kinda happy about it. Rain calmed and grounded you. You wouldn’t mind some of that right now. 

“Hey,” a deep voice said behind you.

“I just want to be alone. I promise I won’t go far,” you sighed staring up.

“Yeah, sorry sweetheart. Can’t do that,” Bucky said coming up next to you and looking down at you as he put his hands in his sweatshirt.

“Sure you can. You just turn around and walk until you aren’t by me anymore,” you said, giving him a fake smile before frowning and looking back up at the sky.

“You feel smothered. I get that.”

“Do you?”

“You’re forgetting I was messed up too for a while after Steve found me. Hell, I still am,” he explained. You turned and looked at him seeing he was looking out into the yard. “I however didn’t last three days like you have. It took me less than 24 hours before I wanted to run away from the constant attention.”

“He just wants to help, but-”

“But it can be overbearing sometimes,” he finished for you. “Yeah, I know.” He looked down and sent you a small smile. You took a deep breath before a tear made its way down your face. You were tired of being helpless. It was taking a toll on your mental health. “Hey, hey. Come here.” 

Without hesitation Bucky wrapped you in his arms and you gave in just wanting to not be seen while you cried. Burying your face in his chest you let the tears you hadn’t known you were holding back go.

“Shhhhh,” he hushed. “It’s ok. Let it out.” He rubbed up and down your back as you caught your breath. 

After a few minutes of crying you pulled back wiping the tears off your face.

“Sorry, I don’t usually,” you let out a forced laughed. “I- Thank you. I needed that.”

“I know,” he smiled. “Let’s take a quick walk before the rain starts up. Venting helps,” he said throwing an arm over your shoulder and guiding you around the compound where you were still in view of others, but at a distance.

You vented for a while to Bucky. He was a great listener and let you get it all out. You told him how you felt helpless and you hadn’t felt that way in a LONG time. You had been hurt in the past, but you always had to push through it by yourself. Now having the whole Avengers crew cater to your every need was a whole different world. It was nice, and you knew it was helping them more than it was helping you, but it was becoming way too much now. You didn’t want to be rude and tell them to back off, but you also didn’t want to let them keep helping you every second of the day. You were too independent for that. Always had been. 

Bucky explained to you how when Steve found him after Hydra, and he had to help build him back to his old self it became suffocating. Steve just wanted to help by being by his side 24/7, but sometimes being alone was for the better. Steve eventually caught on, but it took time and a deep talk to bring him to understand. The man just had so much love and want to help, that it became too much for both you and Bucky at times. 

Pausing in your step you turned to Bucky.

“Thank you. I really needed this,” you smiled softly. 

“I know. It’s kinda why I’ve kept my distance all week. I had a feeling you were going through the same things I was back then. At least a little,” he said turning to you. 

“I guess so. I appreciate it though.” you shrugged. A raindrop fell hitting your cheek and you looked up seeing that the rain was about to come down hard. “We should probably head back in before we get drenched.”

“Probably. One last thing though.” You tilted your head at him. “The thing with Garrison.” You nodded taking a deep breath. “Don’t push yourself. You are healing, so hopefully that means whatever he did to you isn’t harming you. Wait until you’re better before you see him.” You shook your head reluctantly knowing Bucky was right. “When the time comes and you do talk to him though, give him hell,” he smirked.

“It’s what I’ve been dreaming of,” you chuckled. 

Instantly, the rain began to downpour. You were pretty far away from the entrance so you turned to Bucky and both yelled in sync. 

“Run!”

Used to be Overlooked Tag:

@xa-dia  @losersunitetonight  @fashionlive15 @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan@steverogersxreader@laneygthememequeen @lauravic @shreddedparchment @iheartsebastianstan @almostelegantfire@manymaria111 @squirrelgirl67 @stevieboyharrington@deaniebeanieandsammywammy @demon-doggo @badassbeckettswan @blueenemy24@patzammit @schwankyblock @itsanallygator

Other Tags:

@shamelesslydean @sleepless-sin  @sandlee44 @gripmetight-raisemefromperdition @spnwoman@ravengirl94 @carryonmywaywardcaptain @ezilyamuzed @thosekidswhohuntmonsters@purpleskiesandcherrypies-deacti @anise-d-castle6 @tailsoflightning @spookycowz @eve05glee@snffbeebee @deans-baby-momma @natura1phenomenon @tftumblin@gh0stgurl@screechingartisancashbailiff @kersumgen @herscrunchiehairtie@dreaminemz@monkeymcpoopoo @a-girl-who-loves-disney @andthatsmyworld @greenarrowhead@savio-the-depressed-moose @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce @greyeyedsmile14@adoptdontshop-blog @casper57 @rainflowermoonlibrary @traceyaudette @luciathewinchestergirl@almostelegantfire @thefaithfulwriter @deansgirl-1968 @a–1–1–3

If I tagged you and you aren’t normally on my tag list, I thought you would enjoy the story. Fair warning, it is a slow burn so we will get to the bottom of the issue later, but the burn is what makes it soooooo sweet. I’m really excited for this series, and would love your feedback:) Thank you!

If you want removed let me know.

[theotter99]

Uncovering Fables

Prologue: Part 3

    When Alzena Pass released “A Tale to Tell and Other Stories” to the public, it went surprisingly well for a 17 year old author who was just starting out. The simple story about a father confronting his past at a campfire was intriguing to a lot of people, and the book got a small following. It wasn’t groundbreaking or newsworthy, but to a young, wide-eyed girl a handful of people enjoying her stories was everything. 

    Alzena was a simple girl who loved writing. She stayed up late often, to fix every detail of her stories. The other times she stayed up late… It was because, Alzena was panicking over the first day she self published “A Tale to Tell.” The poor girl spent most of the night, staring at the computer screen, seeing if anyone bought her book.

    That was until Drew Ember called. Drew was almost a father to Alzena. This was mostly because at the time, he was dating her father. While Alzena’s dad seemed to always be at work, Drew was the one to check up on Alzena and make sure the kid was taking care of herself. 

    Alzena yawned and answered her phone. Her head kept bobbing forward, as she tried to stay awake. “...Heeello?”

    “Hey, kiddo?” Drew’s voice was gentle and caring. “How are you doing?”     “What?.... Oh, um, I’m fine. I’m fine.”

    “Isn’t it three in the morning? You have school in the morning, Azzy.”

    Alzena blinks, slowly processing this. She was already half asleep, so she could only hear half of what Drew was saying. She glanced over at her cloak and was shocked to see that, “Oh, wow… It’s three. Where did the time go?.... Wait, Draw why are you still awake?” Alzena asked this tiredly as she laid her chin on the table.

    “I’m going to work. Don’t you have a math test tomorrow?” 

    “Wha… Screw math. I don’t need it....” Alzena’s words was slowly starting to slur. 

    Drew chuckles softly. “Good night, Azzy.”

    “...Night, Drew….’ And then, Alzena passed out on her desk.

    SNAP

    There wasn’t much to the way, Alzena looked. Azena had long blond hair with bangs that wear combed to the side because they always got into her face. Even at 17 she still had braces and it made her look a lot younger than she actually was. Her shortness didn’t help this either. Her brown eyes seemed to sparkle wherever she looked and she liked wearing a lot of coats and hats. 

    So, when a couple asked to take a photo with Alzena, the girl almost squealed out loud. They noticed Alzena as a small author and these people were fans of hers. Somehow, Alzena was able to hold her excitement in. She was in the middle of a bookstore when this happened so she didn’t want to scream and disturb people reading in the nooks.

    Alzena coughed and straightened  her posture as the couple smiled and quickly took selfies with her. The author then got wrapped up into a conversation with them for about 15 minutes and Alzena loved every moment of it. 

    Wow. People actually liked her. People liked her book. This was so exciting. When the fans finally left, Alzena quickly hid behind a bookshelf and squealed loudly. She started shaking in excitement, as she looked around to make sure no one was watching her.

    And then she took a step back and accidently walked into someone. Alzena yelped and quickly turns around to see Drew smiling softly at Alzena. Drew Ember was an African American with a dark tone and always seemed to wear nicer clothes, even if he was just going to buy milk. He was a taller man with nicely combed brown hair and glasses. He had gentle green eyes and a soft smile that never seemed to leave his face. In his hands were books, he thought Alzena would like.

Alzena nervously laughed and quickly stepped away from Drew. “Oh, hey. Sorry for suddenly disappearing but guess what.” 

Drew tilted his head. “What?”

Alzena smiled widely, her eyes sparkling. “Okay, so there was this couple. And they somehow noticed that I was the author of that book. They got excited and everything. And they were so nice. They wanted my photo and…” Alzena continues to ramble on like this for a few minutes. “...they are like the best people ever!” The girl had to stop to catch a breath.

As Alzena relaxed, Drew couldn’t help but chuckle a little. “So, I take it you had fun?”

“Yes! It was the best-” Alzena would have continued talking but she yelps and dove behind Drew to hide. She then peeked over Drew’s arm and saw someone in the distance, looking through the books.  

“It’s him.” Alzena started blushing. 

Drew smiled even more as he looks over at the boy. “Oh, that’s Dylan Flores!” He says this in a knowing manner.

“Shesh!” Alzena tried her best to quiet Drew. 

On the other side of the room, was a boy the same grade as Alzena but he was a lot taller than her. He simply wore a blue hoodie and grey sweatpants, yet he still looked very confident in these clothes. He had short black hair, striking brown eyes and a chipped tooth. His clean skin was a tanner skin tone and he was probably the most handsome man that Alzena ever meet. He was also the coolest and smartest in the English class they both shared. 

Alzena wasn’t close friends with him but she wished they were.

Drew smiles and nudges Alzena towards Dylan. “Talk to him.”     “What?” Alzena panics a little at the thought. 

“Come on, Azzy. It’s obvious you like the dude. Just talk to him… And if it helps if you  two get too close, I’ll be the overprotective father figure.”

“You sure this is a good idea?”

“I’m sure. Now go.” Drew pushes Alzena towards Dylan. 

Alzena yelps and looks over at Drew, who only gave a thumbs up. The author swallowed down her fear and slowly walked over to Dylan. She felt her body shaking but thankfully this wasn’t noticeable when she stepped up to Dylan. 

She gave a nervous wave. “H-Hey, Dylan. It’s nice to see you here… Um, you get the homework done?”

Dylan turned to Alzena and seems to smile widely. “Alzena! Hey, dude… Oh? You were asking about the homework?”

“Yeah…”

“Oh. I already got my essay done. It was a drag though.” Dylan chuckled a little, thinking. “A lot of our other classmates keep asking me to edit their essays. Eh, that’s a little more entraining at least.” Dylan then raised an eyebrow at Alzena. “Our famous little author isn’t asking me for help either, right?” 

“W-What? No. I just wanted to see how you were going and-”

“I’m just teasing, Alzena. You don’t have be be defensive. I already know that you’re the best writer in our school.”

Alzena blushed as red as a firetruck at this. “O-Oh, thanks. Um, so my Dad’s boyfriend and I are just out getting some books to read. What are you doing?”

“Oh, I’m just getting a book to learn Spanish. My parents, who grew up in a Spanish speaking household, didn’t think about teaching me Spanish as a kid as well.” Dylan sighs. “It’s a shame. It’s apparently a very important skill to know two languages and I missed out on it when I was a kid.”

“Oh, that kind of sucks…”

Dylan shrugged. “At least I’m learning now. But, enough about me. How are you doing?”

Alzena tried to think of an answer. Of course she couldn’t just say that fans of her book just said hi to her. That would make Alzena sound like she had a big ego. She wanted to be friends with Dylan, not push him away. “Nothing much. I’ve just been writing.” 

Dylan smiles sweetly. “Of course the little author’s been writing a lot. Silly of me for asking.” Dylan then took out his phone and cursed under his breath when he saw the text. “Crap, sorry Alzena. I got to go.  I’ll see you in class tomorrow.”

Dylan started to walk off and Alzena, panicking, called after him. “Okay, see ya… And, maybe sometime you can borrow my book if you want to read it.”

Dylan called back. “What? Why would I? I already bought a copy of the book.” And he disappeared behind a bookshelf. 

Alzena stood there for a moment before her heart started pounding in her chest and she squeals. She couldn’t believe it. Her crush had bought her book. 

First

Pervious 

Next

[dregstrash]

Earning the Present(s) [4/4]

Thank you, thank you, thank you x100000 for sticking with this story and for suffering for my very late holiday vibes. I really just wanted to explore The Dregs as young adults, giving each other presents and being happy for a bit. I love this fandom a lot and the feedback I’ve gotten on this has been astronomical. keep being funky you crows

Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3

Summary: Five years after the events of the Ice Court, the six outcasts were in the prime of their lives. They had everything they had fought and bled for: money, power, promise, home. But this holiday season, a surprisingly altruistic event has them all under the same roof, and they all may have been a little older and a little wiser, but they were still those teenagers who had done the impossible and had almost died countless of times. And when the idea of a holiday gift exchange comes up the true test of their friendship and their growth is thrown into the rink.

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

KAZ

Kaz remembered the cold winters that came over the farm. He remembered the cold snap as he stomped his too big shoes against the creaking porch, trying to regain some feeling back in his toes. He would always look up at the expanse of the gray sky and wonder why it was taking the sun so long to make an appearance. He hated the cold and he hated that he had to be packed in a million layers just to play outside.

But then he’d step into his family’s farm house and he supposed that winter wasn’t so bad. Because if it was a good season, the fire would be warming the hearth. His mother would be knitting in her chair by the window, and his brother would be greedily reading a book by fireplace. His father would be at the dining table looking at the numbers that Kaz couldn’t quite understand. And when Kaz walked in, his mother would smile at him, his brother would put his book down to play a game with him, and his father would reach over to ruffle his hair. Kaz always thought that that type of warmth had nothing to do with the fire. It had everything to do with the hugs, the teasing, and his family. It was a warmth that came from the inside. And the cold was bearable if it gave him the ability to treasure that little ember of heat with him forever.

But then the storms of his life crashed down all around him. One after the other until he looked up one day and found that he was always cold. The ember that he had carried with him had been smothered and all that was left was an unforgiving tundra that refused to be tampered down by something so trivial as warmth. Of course, there were days when he lay awake listening to the countless of sleeping bodies strewn across the floor of the Slat, and he almost longed for a modicum of what he once had-- a mother, a father, a brother, a home.

Then the tundra in him would rear its head and start to drown him with images of bodies floating lifelessly, the bloated flesh of a brother who promised to never leave him, and a constant reminder that he wasn’t what he was-- he was a boy determined to never feel the heat of a fire ever again.

Yet, despite his resolution, he met a Suli girl made from her own shadows, he took on an impossible job with the outcasts and outlaws, he had been tricked, he had been fooled, and still he won. And by the end the ice that he was firmly clinging onto was melting slightly in his own hand as he followed that same Suli girl to the dock to reunite her with her parents. 

In the years following the Ice Court job, he made sure to cling onto the reputation. He was still The Bastard of the Barrel after all, and his infamy had only grown as he was the first person to revive activity in the Staves after the plague he had orchestrated. He opened a new gambling hall in the richer districts of Ketterdam. He had a hand in most of the harbor. His Dregs were the most feared and most sought after crew that Kerch has ever seen. Pekka Rollins had been driven out of the small island for good (though he knew that was more Inej’s doing than his). He had money. He had made a name for himself. He had everything, and sitting on the roof of the Slat with his new cane resting by him and staring up at the sky, he couldn’t help but notice that a small spark of what he thought was long gone was starting back in his chest. 

“So I suppose you’re going to leave that cane behind when you have parlays with the other barrel bosses. Since it’s an actual pistol now.” 

He wasn’t surprised when Inej’s voice materialized out of thin air. He was even less surprised when he felt her drape a blanket around him and take a seat. What did surprise him was the slight smell of alcohol rolling off her tongue. She wasn’t drunk, she wouldn’t have risked the climb if she was, but based on past experience she always made it a point to be nothing but sober when she was with him. She had said some Suli proverb about keeping one’s wits about themselves when in the presence of animals with sharp teeth-- he wasn’t sure, he was far too busy watching her mouth to make any sense of the words.

Kaz snorted, “Like I’ve said before, Wraith, no one is going to deny a poor cripple his cane.”

Inej laughed lightly and he fought off the temptation to close his eyes at the sound, “Out of all the things I would choose to describe you, Kaz, ‘poor’ would not be one of them.”

Inej’s thigh was pressing closely against his and the warmth of it was making him dizzy. 

Ever since that day at the harbor, when he had so boldly took her hand in his, ungloved, it became a renewed effort to pull his mind from those drowning waters when he touched her. It had been so slow. There were some days when he almost wanted to let his lips linger longer and he thought himself strong enough to want to hold her without the barrier of clothes between them, but then the slightest brush of her fingers against his brow or her lips placed at the skin behind his ear and the riot of nausea and desire would render him paralyzed.

He hated it. He hated himself. He almost hated her. But then she’d understandably take a step back. She’d hold out her hands and give him that smile that would without fail melt him completely. Inej would listen to him breathe and get back his bearings and when he was steady once more she would take her perch by the window and they would spend the rest of the day in companionable silence.

Then there were moments when she needed that space. When she needed to draw back because he held on too tight. Or when she would hug herself when he tried to take her hand. Or when she woke up gasping and confused and...scared. He was there. Kaz would always be there. To help her fight whatever she needed to fight. 

It was a pendulum of good days and bad days between them, but eventually Kaz finally drew some comfort in Inej’s constancy. That in the midst of the good and the bad days, there she was, offering her hand to keep him steady--ungloved or gloved.

So sitting with her under the stars, Kaz didn’t hesitate in taking her hand in his. He turned his head and caught Inej’s smile as she laced her fingers with his.

“It was nice of Nina to do this.” She brought up, and Kaz turned his gaze back to the sky. “I haven’t celebrated Sankta Nichols Day in a very long time.”

“So the Suli give secret presents to one another and have to suffer through one of Jesper’s drunken rants?” Kaz mused.

“No,” Inej sighed. He could practically feel her roll her eyes, “We don’t really give presents like the rest of Ravka. Since we’re always moving, we would just throw a giant feast with dancing and songs.”

“There weren’t any presents? Even small ones?”

Inej shrugged, “If a family was rich enough or if people were in love, but it wasn’t common. What use is a present if you’re going to have to carry it with you.”

“Hmmm....”

“What about your family?” 

Kaz stiffened at that, “What do you mean?”

“Did they give each other presents at all? I know you Kerch value trade, but were there not any other occasions to give gifts?”

Kaz was silent for a while after that, weighing the words on his tongue. Inej knew most of his past by now, he thought she deserved that much truth at least. But it was still something that felt like a hot spike of cold that stabbed his chest. 

“No,” He rasped out, “We weren’t wealthy enough to give each other gifts. There were a few times that my father gave my brother a pocket watch that belonged to my grandfather. But presents like we had tonight were never within reach.”

Inej nodded in understanding and put her head against his shoulder. 

She was so warm. Everything about her was warm. Her body, her hair, her smile. She was everything that he had tried so hard to forget and he supposed it was that reason that he shifted his body away from her and turned to face her.

There was an obvious confusion in her eyes, but that slowly gave way to shock when Kaz pressed a small box into her hands.

“Kaz, what--” She gave a small gasp as she opened it and looked at the ring nestled inside.

A flutter of nervousness like he’s never known shocks through him, but he tries to talk through it.

“This doesn’t have to be a proposal,” He rushed to say, as Inej’s eyes were still fixed in the simple band with the three diamonds adorning it. “I-I just wanted you to know that if you’re ready or whenever you’re ready, that I’ll be here. That I’ll always be here, as long as you let me be.”

“It’s a promise ring then?” Inej’s smile could have rivaled the diamonds and for a moment Kaz lost his ability to speak.

“Of sorts.” He stuttered.

She held out the box towards him, and before he could even feel his heart begin to droop she said, “Put it on me?”

He nodded and took the delicate jewelry from the velvet box, “So is that a yes?”

The ring fit snugly on her fourth finger of her left hand and sparkled as it caught the light of the moon.

“Yes to the promise or yes to the proposal?” She said admiring it.

Kaz reached up and cupped her cheek with his hand, “Either or both, whichever you prefer.”

Inej’s lips quirked up and she inched forward. Kaz’s breath was caught in his throat as her breath fanned over his mouth, “Yes.”

“Are you ever going to tell me to which you’re agreeing to?” He teased.

She laughed and closed the distance between them in a quick and soft kiss before she settled her body more snugly against him. Her head hit his chest and she was sitting comfortably between his legs.

“Maybe next Sankta Nichols Day.” She chuckled as his hands immediately wrapped around her middle and he buried his face in her hair. The smell of it more intoxicating than all the alcohol in the world. 

Kaz shook his head disbelievingly, but found himself smiling regardless. He was a boy that the ice had tried to claim, but with the girl who had saved him countless times wearing a ring that held more visions of the future, he felt a new type of comforting warmth that had seemed so out of reach.

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

TAGS:

@krugerevengeinej @orangesnakesanddogs @i-hate-usernames45 @qrow-ismyspiritanimal @fangirl-ladybug @wraithpirate  @the-jennster @lagabygaby @rynli @noirmagic1 @shiyash @readmeaway @razz-dazzle-taz @queenofthebarrel @irepostthingsilike @irepostthingsilike @i-just-want-to-have-a-fun-time @smittenthing @highladyofthefoodcourt @emilily101 @sourbishop @nerd-in-a-galaxy-far-away @alexbeatthebass @writtenwordheart @icefire0722 @ladyofvroses @bbenwyatt @zxyjxy @burnin-through-the-sky @thewoofster @daniellepal @goodie-giving-gecko-gets-gatos @bree-the-sloth @universallyghostjudgecalzone @thecrownedcupcake17 @kayleed77 @kanejandkruge