#I originally had far more bickering in here but ended up getting rid of it because it distracted from everything else

[kyluxtrashpit]

Drabble prompt: Hux is sick, so Kylo and Milly take care of him. Nice and fluffy please!

I will never be able to see Hux as anything but the worst sick person ever. It really is a good thing Kylo refuses to let him make himself worse (and Millie helps too). Anyways, thank you for the prompt and hopefully this hits the spot!

Words: 944, no warnings apply

Kylo returned to the bedroom, mug of soup in hand, to seethat Hux had, miraculously, put away his datapad after informing the crew hewould be off that day. It had all started with a sneeze, one that Hux hadignored but had been a warning to Kylo. Sure enough, two days later, Kylo hadwoken to Hux sitting on the edge of the bad, a wet, hacking cough shaking hisframe and a burning fever radiating off him.

It had then taken the better part of an hour to actuallyconvince Hux to stay in bed, but Kylo was determined. The last time Hux hadbeen sick, he’d ignored it to the point of passing out on the bridge due to ahigh fever and Kylo had decided then and there that he wouldn’t let it happenagain. Fortunately, Hux didn’t get sick too often, since he rarely left the shipand was thus mostly exposed to disease only when it made it onboard, but Kylo knew it would come eventually.Now that it had, Kylo was not going to let Hux do that to himself again. Just the thought ofnot enough rest turning Hux’s simple illness into something serious made hischest tighten with concern.

Kylo handed Hux the soup and then climbed into bed with him,careful not to disturb Millicent, who was curled up in Hux’s lap, purring away.He settled in as Hux took careful sips of the hot liquid. AsKylo watched him, it became even more obvious that he needed this; Hux was evenpaler than usual with deep, dark circles under his eyes. He looked sick.

“You’re awfully close to me for me being so contagious,” Huxpointed out, clearly still a bit bitter that the possibility of infecting thecrew was the one argument of Kylo’s he hadn’t been able to counter earlier.

Kylo just shrugged. “I never get sick.”

Hux hummed an acknowledgement but didn’t press. It was truethat Kylo rarely got sick, but he would deal with it if he did. It’d be worthit, he thought as he put the empty mug on the bedside table and then wrappedhis arms around Hux, pulling him in close without disturbing Millicent. Hux wasstill frowning, his body tense, but Kylo didn’t care how unhappy Hux was to benot working. He idly played with Hux’s hair, free and loose as it always was inthe mornings, hoping the warmth and rest would do Hux good.

It took longer than was really reasonable, but eventuallyHux relaxed, his resistance melting away under the warmth and soft touches, andhe was asleep moments later. Kylo smiled to himself, pleased with his success,and let himself doze as well. The heat of Hux’s fever, while a bit concerning,was certainly warm enough to make Kylo sleepy.

When Hux woke later, Kylo fetched him some tea as well assome medication and tissues, making a little pile of supplies on the bedsidetable. Hux had tried to protest, but quickly shut up once he had his tea, thebitter tarine he preferred. Kylo also fed Millicent who, despite her capriciousnature, only left Hux’s side to eat and then immediately returned to lying ontop of him. Kylo guessed she could sense his illness and was trying to helpin her own way.

When Hux reached for the datapad, though, Kylo used theForce to float it just out of reach, earning himself a scowl.

“I’m just checking,” he grumbled, voice still raw and raspy.

“You promised no work,” Kylo pointed out.

Hux’s scowl deepened. “If there’s an emergency, I will notremain in my bed while the Order burns down.”

Kylo very nearly rolled his eyes; and Hux said he was the dramatic one. “The Order willbe fine. Peavey knows what he’s doing and if there’s an emergency, I’ll handle it.”

Hux did roll his eyes. “Oh, how reassuring.”

Kylo ignored the sarcasm, instead grabbing the datapadhimself, carefully holding it out of reach of Hux’s grabbing hands, and put on aholo to play on the wall screen. He selected one from Hux’s documentary collection,one Hux liked but had seen a few times before, so he’d still be able to sleepif he wanted to. Once it was playing Kylo put the datapad back down, pushing it far away withthe Force.

He then pulled Hux into his chest again, even as Hux was hitwith another coughing fit. Hux went with only a slight struggle, eventuallysettling in when he realized there was no escape. They watched the holotogether for a time and, sure enough, it only took another half hour before Huxwas asleep again.

The rest of the day passed much the same, though Hux didcomplain progressively less as it went on. Kylo never left his side once andneither did Millicent, both seeming to work together to keep Hux in bed, warm,and comfortable. The time passed quickly, with on and off naps for them both,lots of soup and tea, and far more cuddling than Hux would ever admit to.

It had the desired effect, though. By the next morning, Hux’scough was significantly better and his fever all but gone. He returned to work,with Kylo’s grudging blessing, but eventually admitted that yes, the bedresthad helped and yes, the Order hadn’t completely burned down in a day. All inall, it had gone as planned, and Kylo now knew exactly how to handle Huxwhenever this came up in the future.

It was all perfect until two days later, Kylo sneezed.

[keysmashingfantasies]

An Old Fashioned Meet Cute

A/N: hi! this is my first fic here and i hope you like it. comments and constructive criticism is very much appreciated just please be nice and i tried not to describe nor reader nor the Hilda character too much apart from the fact that they are plus size so it can cater to more people (altough the Hilda character is a white woman originally, I left that out because I wanted everyone to be able to read it) :D. and a huge thank you to @divine-mistake for encouraging me to make this blog and post my fics. ily Tay <3, this one's for you.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!plus size Reader

Word count: 2.1k

Summary: Bucky didn’t remember much of his life before the war. Not as much as he would like, anyway. But he was content to at least have remembered something. The memories of his teenage shenanigans with Steve always made him laugh. But there was a memory that he didn’t even know it was on his mind until that day when he accompanied Steve to the thrift shop. And until an Avengers party, where he met you.

-

“Steve, come on… Shouldn’t you be showing me the wonders of the modern world?”, he mocked. He knew Steve was doing his best, he did. But he knew that this wasn’t just a friends’ afternoon. And Bucky didn’t need a babysitter.

“I will! I just thought it would be nice to see something less overwhelming first and Sam told me a thrift store would be a nice place to start. Most of this stuff is new to us anyway”, Steve said, picking up a CD of a shelf.

“Yeah, ok”, he mumbled. The things he did for Steve. He mindlessly wandered through the little cluttered store, browsing the shelves full of knick knacks. He saw vinyls, old books, a great variety of toys, some paintings and an old fashioned vanity, with an old mirror, a few vintage perfume bottles, and… Oh.

“Steve?”, he said, picking up the old calendar that was propped up against the stained mirror. Carefully, he lifted the calendar up, looking at his friend. He had seen it before, he knew he did. He flipped through it as he waited for Steve to make his way across the store, careful to not bump in any of the tables containing delicate porcelain tea pots. His eyes scanned through the cover, a delicately painted picture of a curvy woman and with the saying “HILDA, 1940’s calendar” in bold red letters above it.

“Oh wow”, Steve let out a belly laugh. “You remember when we stole some of these? Man, we even took these to war”, he said. He started to remember. Him and Steve running, each one with a calendar in hand, flipping through the pages, Steve whining that he would never find a girl like that. He didn’t even think twice before taking it to the counter, with Steve giggling like a school girl behind him.

“For the memories, punk”, he said in a stern voice and a frown, but with pink dusted cheeks.

“Of course”, Steve said in a mocking voice.

-

“So, Tony’s throwing a party next weekend”, Steve said as he entered the training room.

“I prefer the thrift store”, Bucky mumbled, without tearing his eyes from the punching bag.

“Come on, Buck. I think it will be good for you to go”, Steve said. “It will be something small, Tony will introduce the new team assistant, so no eyes will be on you”, that got Bucky’s attention.

“Small?”, he said, pushing his hair from his face.

“Very”, Steve assured, but he had that look that Bucky knew very well from his young years; the look he would get when he was about to pick a fight. He was up to no good. But he didn’t want another trip to a dusty thrift store.

“Yeah, sure”, he mumbled.

-

You were shaking in your boots. Yeah, you knew that you would work for them, which meant that you inevitably would have to attend this kind of things. But this wasn’t like your former office jobs, no. You work for the Avengers now.

“You can do this. You have to. Do it for the paycheck”, you said, trying to reassure yourself as you shakily applied mascara. As you browsed through your wardrobe, you let out a sigh. You remembered shyly asking for advice on what to wear from Natasha, but you took it with a grain of salt. She could wear a potato sack and still look gorgeous, and you were… Well, a potato. You knew this was another test. If you couldn’t handle all eyes on you and the eventual bickering that was about to happen, you were not fit for the job. But damn, you at least expected a few weeks of taking care of documents and serving coffee before a party. In a room. With the, quoting the tabloid you read that very morning “super team that saves the world and looks hot doing it!”. You were a pretty confident person. But this… Anyone would be nervous.

“You can do this”, you told yourself one more time before heading out.

-

When you got to the party, not everyone was there. You politely greeted everyone with a nod, and gave your name to the ones you didn’t have the pleasure to meet yet.

“You, pick your poison”, Tony Stark pointed at you while walking to the bar.

“No, thank you, Mr. Stark, I won’t be drinking tonight”, you managed to say, silently thanking all the gods above (even the one that was sitting not too far from you) that you managed to hold back the quiver in your voice.

“She doesn’t want to be vulnerable around us. Smart, I like her”, said Natasha. Sometimes you wonder if she was a telepath like Wanda.

“Is there anything wrong, Y/N? I sense that you are uneasy”, asked Vision, with those glassy unblinking eyes. You wondered if he was in your mind that very moment.

“Gee, I wonder why”, said Rhodes, before taking a sip of his drink.

“I’m okay, just… A bit nervous, that’s all”, you said.

“Well, then you definitely need a drink”, said Tony, handing you a glass of champagne that no doubt cost the same as your previous paycheck.

Soon enough, the awkwardness made way to pleasant conversation. You laughed as you listened to their banter. It wasn’t like any business party you ever attended. No, it was more like a family gathering than anything.

The sounds of the elevator doors opening caught you attention as three men wide as refrigerators walked in, followed closely by a pretty young woman. Of course you knew them. You read all about them. Especially The Winter Soldier, the little devil on your shoulder taunting you by remembering you of every single time you talked to your friend about your crush on him.

“Sorry we’re late guys, Steve went to pick me up before the party and we had dinner”, said the blonde, linking her arm with Steve Rogers himself.

“Nah, Sharon, don’t cover his ass. We were late because the three of us had to wrestle Barnes into changing out of that old ass Henley”, said Sam.

Instantly, Tony and Natasha cheered and raised their glasses, making you laugh.

“Yeah, yeah, very funny”, said a gruff voice coming from the bar, making you turn your head, seeing Bucky Barnes open a beer bottle with his vibranium hand. 'How did he sneak past everyone?', your thoughts were interrupted as you took him in. You wanted to personally thank Sam, Steve and Sharon for making him wear that tight fitting black shirt.

“Well, Y/N, here’s Capsicle, Mrs. Capsicle, New Captain, and Snowflake. Guys, this is Y/N, the new assistant. Oh, and there’s Spider Boy but he’s on curfew, Strange had to hop out of the dimension and Scott but he’s… He’s somewhere out there being small, I don’t know. Watch were you step, just to be safe”, said Tony

“Hi”, you gave a shy wave, being greeted right back.

-

If it wasn’t for the serum, Bucky is absolutely sure he would have a heart attack on the spot. You were wearing red heels, a form fitting black pencil skirt and a white button up blouse and he could see your curves, your strong arms, your thighs. You looked absolutely amazing. You look like one of the girls that Bucky would’ve rushed to ask for a dance back in the day. But what really made him stare is the fact that your body type looked eerily similar to the character of the calendar he spent an embarrassing amount of time staring.

As your eyes scanned the room as you were bombarded with questions, Bucky made sure to avoid your gaze, looking everywhere but your face: his shoes, the ceiling, the armrest on the couch, Steve’s shit eating grin. Oh. So THAT’S what it was about. Little shit.

Even avoiding your gaze, he made sure to keep his ears open. A man could be interested, right?

.

By the time the party ended, Thor and Bruce were sleeping, Tony was buzzed walking around singing Iron Maiden, Natasha and Sharon were talking, Steve and Sam were giggling like two school girls, Rhodes went home and Vision and Wanda were talking and looking out the window to the New York skyline.

Which left you – and Bucky – alone.

“Uhhh. I guess I’ll start cleaning, then”, you said. Your face was on fire. The only person that you were sure didn’t like you and you were awkwardly standing, not knowing where to look and what to say. It didn’t help that you were attracted to him but damn it, you were not going to lose this opportunity because of a school girl crush. So you decided to keep yourself occupied by taking some empty glasses and bottles from the table and taking them to the kitchen.

“Oh, come on, Y/N! Let the cleaning crew deal with this in the morning!”, said Natasha.

“No, no, I don’t mind. I like to keep myself busy”, you said with a smile. Technically, it wasn’t a lie. You only hoped she couldn’t see how awkward you were.

“I’ll help”, he said, picking up some glasses and following you.

“You can pick up more of these glasses and I can start washing them”, he said. “I- I noticed you got your nails done, so…”, he said, and you shyly looked away while thanking him and making your way out of the kitchen.

.

In no time, the room was getting emptier. Vision and Wanda went home and Thor took Banner back to New Asgard. And you were almost done with the dishes, having also gotten rid of most of the empty food containers. As you both cleaned, you and Bucky got a bit more comfortable with each other.

“I’m sorry for seeming a bit standoffish earlier”, he said suddenly. “I’m not used to parties and I don’t know how new people will react to me. Especially pretty women”, you smiled at the compliment, but felt your heart ache. You were so caught up in your insecurities that you didn’t even consider his side of things.

“You don’t have to be sorry. I don’t know how you feel but by what I’ve seen and heard, you have a family here. You’re out there fighting to save the world. Trying your best. This is redemption enough, don’t you think?”, you said as you put the glasses to dry, missing the awestruck look that Bucky sent you, a goofy smile making its way into his features. “Okay, you wait here and I’ll get what’s left”.

You were back in no time. “Okay, so just more two champagne flutes and one plate left”, you said but before you could give the dishes to Bucky, you slipped, and if it wasn’t for Bucky’s reflexes, you would’ve fallen hard. You yelped as the sound of breaking glass hit your ears and for a second you two just stared at each other, before Bucky pulled you closer and back to a standing position.

“Thanks”, you said as he helped you straighten up.

“Your ankle, does it hurt?”, he said.

“Uh, no, I don’t think so”, you said.

“Ah, I think it does. And I can’t let a dame go home alone on a hurt ankle”, he said, giving you a dashing smile.

“You know what, now that you’ve said it, it hurts really bad”, you said, catching on. “You know what’s amazing for a bad ankle?”, you asked, and the gentle smile in your lips and the mischievous glint in your eyes made his heart piston inside of his chest.

"What?", he said softly, stepping closer, like you were sharing secrets.

“Ice cream and a walk on the park. Very therapeutical”, you said, making Bucky laugh.

.

Before you knew it, Bucky had already scooped you up into his arms and rushedly announced that you had slipped and fell, whisking you away into the elevator.

“Dude, that took all night”, said Sam. “This is the smooth guy you told me about?”, he said, while Steve and Sharon laughed.

While everyone got ready to go home, Scott came out of the kitchen in his Ant-Man suit eating some leftovers.

“Someone owes me 20 bucks for making her trip”.

[tiramisiyu]

Sorry, the link I put in probably doesn’t work m. weibo. cn/detail/4608947896717694 you’ll have to get rid of the spaces in between because it won’t let me send a link

Oml this fic was great (link here for the original), thank you for sending it in! In this house we appreciate MC for handling the four guys when they're sniping at each other like elementary schoolers.

See below cut for translation!

Part 1

Given how they’ll spend two minutes having little arguments and three minutes having big arguments when holding meetings in the investigation team, you decided to do a little something to maintain the friendship between the team members, which wasn’t very deep to begin with.

“Cheng Cheng, if friends are fighting, where should they go to make their feelings go back to normal?” After all, Cheng Cheng had the most ideas. After work, rather than rushing home, you sat at Cheng Cheng’s seat, asking for her suggestions.

(Cheng Cheng is Kiki Bennet, for those who follow global server information.)

“It’s gotta be the amusement park for sure!” Cheng Cheng’s eyes shone. “There is nothing and no place more suited for nurturing relations than the amusement park!”

As if thinking, you lowered your head. You didn’t notice how the door of the office behind you opened, then closed.

Part 2

“Lawyer Zuo, do you have time this weekend?” After making up your mind, you knocked on Zuo Ran’s office door.

“I do. What’s the matter?” He stopped arranging his items, looking gently at you.

“I want to go to the amusement park, and was wondering if you’d be interested?”

Zuo Ran froze, then remembered the dialogue he’d just heard, then immediately thought that he didn’t seem to have had any conflicts with you recently, and being mean to you due to work was also unlikely… so where did he anger you?

“Lawyer Zuo?” Seeing him silent, you felt a little anxious. Sure enough, having Lawyer Zuo go to a place like an amusement park was too difficult.

“Ah, sure.” Regardless, might as well answer and then figure it out after – so Zuo Ran thought.

Part 3

“This weekend?” On the other end of the phone, Mo Yi was somewhat surprised that you would take the initiative to invite him, though his mouth curved up right after. “Of course I have time. I have time as long as it is your invitation.”

“Awesome, then I’ll see you at the amusement park entrance on the weekend!” Having achieved your target, you hung up in satisfaction.

Mo Yi has always been kind and rarely rejected your requests. Plus, to him, the amusement park was worthy of being called a location to nurture relations, and it might even let your relationship take a step forward.

Looking at the blooming roses on the windowsill with deep emotion, Mo Yi reached out and stroked the delicate petals – “You are always able to surprise me.”

Part 4

“What’s up, thinking of me?” As soon as the call was picked up, Lu Jinghe’s mischievous voice was transmitted into your ears.

“Yeah, I was wondering if you had time on the weekend, Young CEO Lu?” You rolled your eyes, then followed his words to bring up your request. “I want to go to the amusement park on the weekend. Young CEO Lu, want to come?”

“Don’t call me like a stranger, I like hearing jiejie call my name more.” He laughed quietly.

“Lu, Jing, He! Are you going or not?” Enunciating each syllable, you recited his name.

“Don’t be so ferocious.” Sounding pitiful, Lu Jinghe said, “I’m going, of course I’m going! It’s so rare for jiejie to ask me out yourself, so how could I miss out on this chance!”

Not wanting to bother with bickering with him, you huffed quietly. “See you on Sunday 10AM, Stellis Amusement Park entrance.”

Part 5

You felt a lot more confident when inviting Xia Yan – after all, you grew up together and had planned to go to the amusement park together after reminiscing on your childhoods. If he wasn’t working, he definitely wouldn’t refuse you.

“Go to the amusement park?” Xia Yan tilted his head, looking at the photo taken at the amusement park with you, 8 years ago. “Of course it’s fine, I haven’t been to the amusement park in so long anyways, and I’ve been pretty tired out from work recently… it would be nice to go and relax.”

I hope we can relax, you thought.

“So it’s a promise then, I’ll be waiting for you at the Stellis Amusement Park entrance on the weekend.” As you expected – when the amusement park was mentioned, Xia Yan would think of when you were little. Inviting him to the amusement park was a cinch.

You hung up, picked your clothes for the weekend and placed it on the clothes rack, cleaned yourself up, then fell into the world of dreams.

Part 6

“So, why are you here?” Lu Jinghe looked with a face full of hostility at Zuo Ran, who was sitting by the flowerbed, holding two cups of hot drinks.

“When Young CEO Lu comes with someone else to the amusement park, am I not allowed to come here with my partner on the weekend to relax?” Zuo Ran stared hard at him, then lowered his head to continue fiddling with his phone.

Seeing his smug look, Lu Jinghe laughed coldly. “Coincidentally, the one who asked me here today just happens to be your partner during work hours.”

“…” Zuo Ran’s hand on the phone stopped.

“I should have expected this. If she suddenly asked me out to the amusement park, it definitely couldn’t be a simple relaxation session.” Xia Yan walked over from the other side of the round flowerbed, looking coldly at the two.

“Looks like it’s not just us.” Lu Jinghe raised his eyebrows. “Looks like she set the time to 10 o’clock to wait for a certain someone to wake up.”

Dissatisfied with Lu Jinghe’s malicious speculation, Zuo Ran placed his phone into his pocket. “Based on what I know, the amusement park opens at 10.”

Lu Jinghe: “…”

“Morning.” Mo Yi, who was standing by, nodded at everyone in greeting. Zuo Ran turned around and raised the hot beverage: “Morning.”

Xia Yan turned his head, ignoring him: “Hmph.”

Lu Jinghe said disdainfully, “Yeah, you could consider it early if you’ve only woken for an hour.”

TL Note: “Morning” and “early” here use the same word in Chinese. 

As the atmosphere became stiffer and Mo Yi was seriously considering the possibility of lowering Lu Jinghe’s behavioral grading on his family education, you finally arrived at the amusement park entrance two minutes before 10.

“Sorry, sorry I came late. So everyone already got here.” Having overslept slightly, you jogged over, still panting.

“Slow down, drink some of this hot beverage.” Zuo Ran handed the hot beverage in front of you. “I didn’t know what you like to drink, so I ordered a cup of hot milk tea for you.”

“Thank you, Lawyer Zuo!” You smiled gratefully.

Mo Yi started to become different from usual again, speaking the most acidic words with the warmest expression: “One who acts so unaccountably solicitous...”

Xia Yan followed up immediately. “Must be hiding evil intentions! Watson, you’ve got to be careful of two-faced guys like that.”

Zuo Ran: “…”

You were about to speak when Lu Jinghe cut in, sounding slightly wronged, “Jiejie, I originally thought that this was going to be a sweet weekend with only us two. Why are the three of them also here?”

“What sweet weekend.” You shot him a look. “Today is our NXX investigation team’s team-building activity day, so of course the members of the team should be here.”

Zuo Ran, Mo Yi, Lu Jinghe, Xia Yan: “…”

Ignoring their strange expressions, you held up the tickets in your hands. “Let’s head into the amusement park!”

Part 7

You originally thought that after the slight displeasure of heading out, there would be happy memories. But who would’ve thought…

“No way, Zuo Ran, you’re too scared to get on the pendulum ride?” Lu Jinghe tried to hold in his laughter. “Hahaha, who would’ve thought that Zuo Ran, the great Lawyer Zuo, so ferocious in court, would be scared of the pendulum ride, hahahahaha…”

“Lu Jinghe!” You glared furiously at him.

“Sorry, sorry.” He blocked his mouth, but his trembling shoulders weren’t convincing at all. “I usually don’t laugh, unless if I really can’t hold it in.”

“Zuo Ran, that’s pretty sad.” Xia Yan spoke concisely, looking meaningfully at Zuo Ran.

“According to the country’s laws, defamation of others constitutes a crime and can result in a maximum of three years of imprisonment, detention, surveillance, or deprivation of political rights.” Unwilling to display weakness, Zuo Ran fired back.

“It’s very normal for people to fear things. No one can avoid this, Zuo Ran included.” Mo Yi pushed his glasses up.

“Dr. Mo gets it.” You released a breath – finally, there was a peacemaker.

Mo Yi followed up by speaking to you, “So, I hope you can strive to be with someone more ideal.”

You: “…”

“How about we check out the bumper cars? I remember that Lawyer Zuo’s driving skills are excellent!” Seeing that there were bumper cars not too far off, you made a suggestion.

“You all can head in. I will watch over your purse for you outside.” Mo Yi’s expression looked stiff for an instant, though it went back to normal quickly.

Xia Yan keenly noticed the abnormality in his complexion: “So it turns out that you’ve also got things you fear, Mo Yi.”

As if pointing something out, Lu Jinghe said, “After all, things like bumper cars really are hard to bear for older people.”

Looks like Lu Jinghe’s family education final assessment for this semester won’t be able to hit minimum standards.

Zuo Ran immediately emphasized his innocence. “My driving skills can be considered decent. If you want to go, I can go with you.”

As the situation became more and more off, you decided to simply head to the next amusement park attraction.

“How about the haunted house? I went with Xia Yan when we were little, and I went with Lawyer Zuo after for a team building activity for the law firm, and the murder story script I did with Mo Yi was pretty similar.” And Lu Jinghe…

A young, vigorous guy wouldn’t be scared of this, right?

“I’m not going.” Sure enough, Murphy’s Law strikes. If anything can go wrong, it will.

“What’s the matter, does the young CEO Lu fear ghosts?” Zuo Ran landed an attack first.

Mo Yi followed closely from behind. “Who would have thought that the 1.88 metre Lu Jinghe, the young CEO Lu, would also have things he fears?”

“You really can’t go on by simply growing taller without growing brains.” Xia Yan sniped in last.

Lu Jinghe shrugged. “Being scared of ghosts isn’t a big deal. Any normal person would be scared of them. Are you all really not scared of them?”

Silence. Dead silence.

Lu Jinghe: “… Pretend I said nothing.”

You smiled, relieving this strange atmosphere. “It’s fine, everyone has things they’re not good at. Let’s head to another attraction.”

“How about we head to the pirate ship?” Lu Jinghe pointed to the nearby pirate ship. “There’s also a pirate-themed restaurant beside it, and we can head over to eat in a bit.”

“How about… we change to another one?” You pursed your lips. Was it because you didn’t check the Chinese almanac before heading out today, or was it that these four just naturally run into issues?

“Jiejie, are you scared of this one?” Lu Jinghe smiled mischievously.

You said nothing, turning around to look at Xia Yan.

Xia Yan: “…”

Smiling, Mo Yi said, “So it turns out that the great Detective Xia isn’t great with the pirate ship.”

“Even special agents have things they’re not great with?” Zuo Ran flicked a casual glance to the pirate ship, from which screams kept coming from.

Stiffening his neck, Xia Yan shot back, “Special agents are people too, so of course there are things we’re not great at!”

“Alright alright, it’s getting late, so how about we go eat?” Playing the mediator, you said, “I know that there’s an elf-themed restaurant nearby; it’s a little like the ones on Skadi Island from before.”

“Alright, I’ll listen to you. Jiejie, I’ll cover the bill for your lunch. The rest of them can pay for themselves.” Lu Jinghe winked at you.

Zuo Ran said resolutely, “Lu Jinghe, as Pax is the largest investor in Stellis Amusement Park, I thought that you would be able to take on our four lunches as the acting CEO.”

Xia Yan nodded in agreement. “After all, between all of us, you’re the only one decked out in gold and silver – you pretty much look the most suitable for a kidnapping.”

Seeing the situation get more and more unfavourable, Lu Jinghe turned towards Mo Yi who was watching them argue with interest. “As the family teacher, shouldn’t you say something to preserve your student’s interests?”

Mo Yi smiled. “I also believe that this is an excellent opportunity for you to display your respect for your teacher.”

Young CEO Lu: “???”

“…” You helplessly held your forehead. Sure enough, when these guys are together, their ages when summed up do not exceed 12.

Ignoring the immature brats arguing behind you, you walked towards the elf restaurant, facing the sky helplessly as you sighed about the usefulness of Cheng Cheng’s suggestion. The NXX today was as harmonious as usual.

[positively-penguin]

Random fantasy-royalty AU I thought of with close to no plot and little bits and pieces I just came up with:

- Kageyama, rather unexpectedly, is a Prince

- Tsukishima is the second prince

- Hinata is training to be a knight but lives with his family in the town

- Kageyama sneaks out of the palace and meets Hinata in town, accidentally and they get off to a famously bad start

- At this point of time, Kageyama is a prideful, self-centred prince who honestly only sneaked out of the palace because he was sick and tired of Tsukki and no longer wanted to see him

- Anyway, they bicker and argue and it somehow leads to a sword fight between the two

- Kageyama wins

- Just like in the original, there’s the whole “what have you been doing for the past three years?” Scene, as well as this scene where Hinata is losing but does this super quick attack where he quickly escapes Kageyama’s hold and picks up his sword after Kageyama had disarmed him and managed to attack him, then there’s also the thing where Hinata vows to defeat Kageyama one day

- But Kageyama does something and as a punishment, is sent on temporary banishment, essentially where he’s sent out on a diplomatic mission to accompany Sugawara and Daichi, Suga who is a diplomat and Daichi who is Suga’s bodyguard and also the person sent to keep him in line. This is for him to learn stuff from the two of them

- Tsukishima is also sent there as well, largely against his will

- Hinata was also brought along at Daichi’s request and assigned to chaperone Kageyama at all times

- That introduction goes as well as you can imagine (“you’re leaving me with a babysitter?!” “He’s... a bodyguard” “he can’t even defeat me!” “Fine he’s a babysitter, but you need it”)

- I’m going to go straight to the point and say that they eventually grow to get used to each other and they frequently wander around town of that other nation, there’s a ball scene and Hinata eventually gets Kageyama to be an essentially better person, yeah that roughly sums it up

- Then there’s Tsukki who meets Yamaguchi, a magician apprentice trying to figure out what type of magic he should specialise in

- Yams’s an apprentice under the official court mage (Shimada)

- To explain more of the “figure out which type of magic to specialise in”, every mage has a speciality and they find it relatively young. Most mages do and in here, magic is innate

- Yams’s magic appeared pretty late as compared to most other mages. His magic also flickered between what it could do and rather quickly and unreliably too. Most other mages’ magic worked best with a certain type of magic, like they just naturally better and more at ease with that type of magic and that ended up being their speciality. Yams didn’t have that

- But he wanted to help people with his magic (he tried. It didn’t exactly work very well and most instances of him “helping” ended up in more chaos)

- Shimada was called in to deal with a particularly disastrous result of Yams trying to help someone else with his magic which resulted in a large portion of this small town being overrun with mushrooms. Yams repeatedly apologised for causing so much trouble and sorta explained what happened, more apologising and Shimada well, reverses the damage.

- Yams sees it and starts to look up to him, wanting to do what he does. After a while, he decides to try writing in to Shimada asking if he could possibly teach him a bit of magic (I was originally going to write that Shimada offered to take him up as an apprentice but decided against it)

- Shimada remembers him and remembered how earnest he was and asks him to the palace and it sorta becomes an apprentice thing though Yams sometimes feels bad for “taking up the apprentice slot” since he’s only allowed to have one apprentice at one time but it works as more fuel to work even harder and prove himself “worthy”. He’s gained a better control over his magic under Shimada’s guidance though as usual, he’s incredibly hard working

- And as for how Tsukki meets Yams, well, Yams accidentally crashes into Tsukki and dumps wax and oil all over him (from candles) Tsukki acts incredibly Tsukki like with that face and Yams apologises a lot and lowkey pulls a Yachi with his overthinking and worrying that he’s going to be executed for dumping wax and oil on the prince of a kingdom they were settling diplomatic matters with

- Tsukki looks him up and down and asks “you’re a mage, aren’t you? Can’t you get rid of (gestures to his whole body)” cue yams freaking out and trying to tell him that he’d rather not be charged with accidental murder of a prince. And a somewhat explanation saying how bad he is with controlling his magic and how it can get out of hand. “I can tell, there are sparks on your hands” “ugh, screw me, just, stay here, or don’t, I’ll find you either way, take off your shirt, I will be back with some fresh clothes... or something. Just, stay here please. I am so so sorry!” And he runs off

- Tsukki ends up staying there. Yams rushes back and ends up herding Tsukki back to his room where he’s set up a warm bath and some fresh clothes and there’s more apologising. Then Yams runs off again once Tsukki’s in his room. I’m going somewhere with this, trust me

- Yams returns after a while with a slice of strawberry shortcake (side note, I love strawberry shortcakes too, ...great, I just made myself hungry) as an apology and Yams says that Hinata told him that he likes strawberry shortcakes and they end up talking a bit and sort of end up forming a sort of friendship and they start talking a bit more almost daily after they bump into each other at the library

- Tsukki sees how hardworking and how dedicated Yams is and slowly starts falling. Yams gets to know more about Tsukki and also starts falling. It’s... a little complicated, mutual pining, denial, all that stuff

That’s honestly all I’ve got so far and this has been sitting in my drafts for a bit and I am now way too emotionally invested in this AU too and I’m pretty sure it wouldn’t be all that surprising if this pops up again too so yup

[dutchforstrangers]

Weightless - a Yamato songfic one-shot

A/N: Gosh, I should be focusing on completing the last one and a half days for Digiweek 2021, but instead I’m here getting this idea out of my head. (While writing for Digiweek I came up with 8!! more WIPs to write in the future… @digiweek really sparked and boosted my creativity)

Last night I’d sent @tangledupblue this ask/message about this amazing Icelandic artist called Ásgeir. Really, his music is incredible and both soothing as ‘hitting’. The song I attached to the message is his newest release and after I had sent it, I found out the song is based on an experience the singer had and it’s so sad… I’ve been thinking about it before I fell asleep, in my dreams and when I woke up. It gave me all the Yamato inspiration I needed.

I always find myself having a hard time understanding the complex blonde, but in all honesty I have some serious things in common with the guy and he does remind me of both my best friend and boyfriend (hence why I always headcanon him to be a Cancer Sun regarding Zodiac)… So I try to understand this musician a bit better through my writings. And it’s sad and heartbreaking, but also… you have to find out for yourself. Keep in mind: I want all the best for all the Chosen Children and thus for Yama too! But this just wrote itself… Don't worry, it ends on a good note, kind of.

Characters: Yamato Ishida (background Ishida family, including Takeru)

Genre: Angst, hurt (without the comfort), family

Rating: T(+)… or maybe even M, I’m not sure

Wordcount: 1.476

Song used: Sunday drive – Ásgeir

!Trigger Warnings!: Angst, arguing, car accident, near death experience, blood

I usually say 'happy readings', but it’s a little inappropriate. So I’d say calm readings this time. Please stay safe everyone <3

xxx

Weightless

Yamato looked to the audience from where he stood on stage. Tonight was the release of his new EP full of original songs. He had decided to take the softer singer-songwriter turn with this one, instead of the sulky rock songs he usually wrote. They had already played three songs and now the fourth would come. He glanced over to his friends, his unknowing friends, giving them a small and careful smile. Then his eyes met Takeru’s, blue eyes meeting blue eyes. Yamato swallowed, then mouthed a sorry before taking his place behind the mic. His guitar playing bandmate taking his seat on the elevated stool next to him and the first chords filled the room.

Inhale.

Sunday drive

Memories flooded back.

Like we always used to do

In an attempt to safe their marriage, his parents had agreed on taking a trip to Shimane.

Park the car in the panoramic view

Stopping for a little break they parked the car on a hill with a panoramic view.

I stayed inside, while you photographed the lake

Young Yamato didn’t feel much for going outside, so he stayed inside of the car with his dad while his mother and little brother went outside to look at the lake and take some pictures.

After a little while his father grew impatient and left the car to go for a smoke. That frustrated his mother, turning her attention to his father to argue.

“You can’t just leave the car to smoke! Don’t be irresponsible, go back in!”

“I’m irresponsible? Look at yourself, leaving Takeru there all by himself!”

Yamato knew it were just words, he had heard them a thousand times by now. Each and every night he heard them scream, yell, bicker, argue. Yamato slumped back into his seat in the car, his eyes trying to find Takeru to make sure he was safe. Standing there with the camera in hand, still taking pictures, shielding himself from the arguing. All the while Yamato still heard the words his parents were throwing at each other.

He squeezed his eyes close, his mind going both dark and blank at the same time. His hands balling into fists, sending the tension into and through his whole body. He needed a distraction too, just like Takeru had his camera. So he unbuckled his seatbelt and crawled to the front of the car and into the driver’s seat.

Pretend to drive, I pulled the parking brake

Taking a seat, he placed his hands on the stirring wheel, pretending to drive. He tried to think what his parents did when they drove and he remembered them pulling the handle on his left. The arguing from his parents faded to the background, fully focused on the speed the car would make when he would be actual driving. He pulled the handle.

As he pulled the handle, Yamato felt the car starting to roll, still thinking it was part of his imagination. Though in reality the tires started to go round, making the car move forward towards the railing that divided the spectators from the lake.

Tires turn and slowly crush the ground

I still hear a terrifying sound

Luckily Takeru stood a little further from where the car would crush the rail. But Yamato could hear him screaming anyway. He had never heard his name like that, in the most agonizing way filled with an incredible amount of fear. Fear of losing him…

With the car still rolling towards the edge Yamato tried to search for help. His body was stuck in both the car and his body itself, frozen in the moment, in the middle from what was happening. In the rear view mirror he could see his father chasing the car, failing to reach it. He could see his mother rushing towards Takeru, running along with the car. As soon as she had reached the little blonde boy, making sure he was safe, her eyes turned towards Yamato in the car.

I search for help and meet my mother’s eyes

She stares back completely paralyzed

Their eyes locked, but instead of acting or moving towards him to help next, she was completely frozen in her place. Holding onto Takeru with dear life while the car with Yamato in it broke the rail. And the car started slipping down the hill.

In that one moment everything rushed in front of Yamato’s eyes like a movie of his own short life. Moments he wanted to hold on to, moments he wanted to forget as soon as he got the chance. The sun blinded his eyes, a bright light reflected by the lake flashing in front of his eyes. Even though he could feel the car slipping, rolling, falling and floating, he felt like he himself was standing still. Unable to move. Not wanting to move.

Felt like time was standing still

Sun was pouring on the hill

And I weightless in the air

His body surrendered to the weightlessness that came with the car crashing down due to the gravity. His weightlessness defying the gravity, it was the first time since a while he felt so free and light. The first time he could leave behind the heaviness present in his life. All while falling.

Floating far away from here

He turned his head, seeing his parents looking over the railing to the flying car. His parents fading away, the distance between himself and them getting larger and larger. He couldn’t quite tell if that was what he wanted, but for now he felt at peace with it. If it was among the possibilities, in that moment Yamato would have chosen to float on a little longer, not wanting to part from the weightlessness.

Closing his eyes he embraced the flying and floating a little longer…

… A dream that unfortunately couldn’t go on forever. As he opened his eyes and was met with the bright light of the sun again, he sighed. Weight had flowed back into his body, feeling heavy and present. He felt dizzy, his eyes scanning the car for an opening to get out.

Suddenly the wreck is lying flat

Pull myself through the shattered window glass

He could feel the sharpness of the shatters in his hands as he pulled himself out. Giving him the confirmation he could still feel pain, he was still alive. He felt his heart race.

By the speed of light all his thoughts came rushing back to him, pushing him down with both legs on the ground. Filling his head with the heaviness he so desperately tried to get rid of. No weightlessness anymore, only heaviness. In his head, in his body and in his heart.

An avalanche is running through my head

Body bruised and my clothes are painted red

At the same with the arriving from his thoughts, blood seeped down from his head. Barely able to stand anymore, he let himself fall on his knees, back to surrendering to the gravity. The heaviness consuming him. His body aching, his hands and clothes covered in both liquid and dried red. However the odd feeling of being freed lingered on in his whole being.

Holding on to that free feeling Yamato once again looked up to where he last saw his family. He could see his parents bicker as if they only cared about each other and their arguing and a sadness overflowed him. Then his eyes shifted to Takeru, tears streaming down his face, but his blonde hair colored golden by the touch of the sun.

Feelings of guilt towards his little brother overtook him. And as he followed the rays of light touching Takeru’s hair, his eyes now meeting the sky lit up by the sun, Yamato couldn’t shake the longing to that free feeling of weightlessness.

“Thank you,” he softly says into the mic after the last chords die down. It leaves the audience silent for a second, before a careful applause sounds. But Yamato doesn’t care, his eyes immediately scanning the audience like he scanned the car for an opening to escape back then. He’s met with his friends who watch him in awe.

Felt like time was standing still

Sun was pouring on the hill

And I’m weightless in the air

Floating far away from here

Then his eyes are met with Takeru’s, blue eyes meeting blue eyes. His own hair now golden from the stage light, while Takeru’s hair seems dark. He sees a single tear escaping his brother. Yamato reassuringly nods a single nod which Takeru answers with a small and gentle smile shaping his lips. Soon he is flooded with reassuring nudges, hands on his shoulders, side hugs and other positive touches Yamato is unable to give, the distance keeping the brothers apart.

But Yamato feels the reassurances from their friends through Takeru, for a tiny moment feeling the same weightlessness he so deeply desired.

[sanders-sides-fic]

There is no nice deathworlders! (Right?) [Chapter 1]

AU-Masterpost: here

ZH-8 was a horrible planet. It had terrible weather that affected spaceships even far above the thick atmosphere. There were lots of poisonous plants here, too. One wrong move and your legs would be covered in ethanol. Really, no one wanted to be stranded on ZH-8.

Somehow they had managed to get just there, though. And, even worse, seperated from each other.

Patton, a sylemn with bright blue wings and cream colored feathers, had been stranded on what looked like a beach. He made sure not to touch the clear water-like substance, though. Logan had informed him multiple times that a lot of planets had salt mixed in to some of the water on the floor. It wasn’t safe to touch.

As much as Patton wanted to get away entirely from the beach and find his friends, though, he was stuck. He could barely even feel his right wing and his left leg was at least severely twisted. Enough to make standing up hurt too much to try and find anyone. But how long would he last like this? Surely there were some flesh-eating animals here and they probably didn’t get easier pray than him, all helpless and vulnerable right now. Patton shivered at the very thought.

On the planet his species originated from there were no such things as animals that ate other living things with faces and such. They had all been living off of plants and minerals. Surely that had to be one of the reasons his species was supposed to be so incredibly soft when it came to handling other species. He was usually pretty proud of this, but in his current situation he couldn’t help but wish for the aggressiveness of his proud creathen friends. Roman and Remus surely wouldn’t be devoured without a fight. No matter where they were.

One of said creathen was currently trying not to leave their body to his twin. Remus screamed at Roman, a demonic screech that chilled the older creath down to his bone. He still wouldn’t let Remus have control, though.

»You know, if you want to go destroy everything around here, great. But you’re gonna hurt yourself and than I’ll be hurt too. So stop whining and let me get a grip on the situation, will you?«, he tried to convince his feral counter part.

Remus’ laughter echoed through their skull. »Oh? Think you can do this on your own? I’m the only one around, RoRo~«, he sung.

Damn that green demon of a creath! He was right. Roman sighed. »Alright. I’ll probably regret this, but… Shared body? Because if you think I’ll grant you full control you are delirious!«

»Aw, Roman! I’m touched you wanna share the time, but whatever do you mean delirious? I’m perfectly capable of handling ourself!«

»Don’t even try. I am still very much aware of the last time I made that mistake. I’m not letting you do that so soon.« After this comment Remus was quiet for a little while, until a sigh filled the silence in their mind again. Remus made a sound of agreement at last and Roman sighed in relief of his brother agreeing to compromise. Perhaps he’d actually been sorry of the thing he did back then.

A soft glow grew around them for a few moments as the body adapted to the change inside. In their shared form Roman and Remus had obsidian black skin, with crimson scales growing diagonally across their chest. Their horns were golden and the claws were silver. And they did not have that hideous, green scar over their mouth, as Roman was relieved to know every single time. As much as Remus loved that scar, Roman hated it.

The body let out a heavy sigh. “Argh! Finally! Freedom!”, Remus screamed in full volume. He then shook his head. “You have no idea just how cramped it gets inside the mind after a few days! Urgh, no wonder I go crazy every time~”

Roman laughed inside their mind as he let Remus start to walk around, searching for the other two. “I know what you are playing at and I will not give you more time in control, brother. By now I am immune against your guilt-tripping.” And with that the bickering started.

Maybe they were too immersed in their conversation, but they didn’t notice the other person observing them. What the hell? That thing right there looked like it was an creathen, but he was talking with himself! An entire conversation. Virgil had seen many of them being slaughtered and had done so with a hand full himself if he couldn’t help it. But never before had he seen one of them talking with himself like that. Sure, he had seen the so called twin-souled alien change from the peaceful version into the feral one, had known that they lived with two people charing the body in a way that reminded him of what he’d heard about multiple personalities. But actually seeing one - or two? - engaging in a conversation outside of their head? For everyone to hear?

Then again, Virgil didn’t have much experience with non-threatened aliens, not even at this point. He had been here for months now, maybe even years. He’d lost his sense of time. All he knew was that he had lost Janus and he was supposed to be somewhere around here. Maybe Janus would know how long ago they’d meet and made a run for it? Did it even matter?

Anyways.

The point was that Virgil, as a human, hadn’t gotten to know any aliens. Only when they didn’t know who, or rather what he was, had they ever been somewhat calm around him. However, the hight that was usual for humans seemed to be uncanny for other aliens, so they always felt somewhat intimidated by him. And interactions had either been short in order to avoid being found out or with an alien that was certain he was going for the kill or something worse any minute now.

Vigil knew it was rude to stare. Still, he was kind of intrigued by the creathen trying to get along with themselves while searching for something. He should know what they were doing here, too. After all, what if they would appear to be a threat? What if they’d heard the rumors as well and wanted to hunt Janus down? What if- What if he was overthinking again? Virgil sighed quietly. He would still observe and make sure that the two-for-one-alien-deal over there was safe.

It was night wherever they were located on ZH-8 and Virgil knew that most aliens had terrible night vision. Like, absolutely horrendous night vision. They were almost blind once the sun set. Some barely had any adjustment capabilities, but most weren’t able to adjust to lightning at all. The pupils had one setting and that was day-light. It was unnerving, really, because they most likely would still end up having an iris anyways. And from a previous… “chat” with a creath had proved that they were no exception from this. So the alien over there probably couldn’t see him, even though the tree-like plant he was hiding behind was about was thick as three apples next to each other. It had a similar rounded-triangle shape as well. Virgil tried not to think about what the hell this plant was.

But it also meant, Virgil realized a little too late in utter horror, that the creathen didn’t notice the edge they were walking towards. Not until the slipped with a terrified scream, that lead to a sickening thud, which in turn lead to deafening silence.

There was no sound. None at all, not even leaves rustling in the wind. The air barely circulated here. Virgil waited and waited and waited in the silence of the absence of the alien. Nothing. Nothing at all. After what felt like an eternity, he gulped down his remaining shock and slowly walked towards the edge himself. Maybe this was a trick? Maybe the creathen had noticed him? Maybe they hadn’t been alone after all? Maybe… Maybe there was anything happening here but them having died because Virgil hadn’t warned them?

But nothing happened. And when Virgil took a look down, the creathen lay there, motionless. But the scales were still red and the horns and claws still not white. That was all that mattered, really, because it meant that the creathen was unconscious, but not dead. It wasn’t too late yet! He could safe them.

But… Should he? The creathen would probably freak once he woke up next to a human. And Virgil couldn’t afford being attacked and/or killed. He was kind of in the middle of finding and saving his best friend here. On the other hand, if he didn’t help with those wounds, the creathen would die. Only a fatal wound could make both halves of the alien pass out at the same time. Well, that and sleep, but the second option appeared to be kind of unlikely in this situation.

With a groan Virgil turned around and started to climb down carefully. It wasn’t high - only about six and a half feet - but enough to break a bone. And enough to be fatal for the presumably ten inches shorter creature with the less sturdy body. So he hurried. A big mistake when you were climbing down unknown mud-walls.

Suddenly, Virgil lost his grip and was sent falling down. He could feel the pain of a scrap on his hand and shortly after the sensation of the air being knocked out of him. Shit! Why didn’t his muscles work?! Why couldn’t he get any air in?! He was suffocating! He was definitely dying here and then janus would think that he had abandoned him and the creathen would think he had tried to kill them and the creathen’s friends would think so too when they would finde the inevitably dying creathen and-

Oh.

Just as suddenly as he had lost the air, it returned back into his lunges. As he coughed, Virgil decided not to question why that had happened for once and just be grateful it did. It took a lot of time for him to get rid of the black dots in his vision, but when he finally had…

There was a storm brewing. Unmistakably a storm, those clouds looked the same on every planet. And he was hurt and had to help this also hurt creathen here. It was just one thing after the other today, wasn’t it? He sighed, heaving the heavy creature in his arms as he started to walk in the direction of the hills a little further away, hoping to find shelter there and grumbled unhappily as he did so: “If you attack me when you wake up, I’ll give you hell, little creathen.”

What Virgil didn’t notice was the single, red scale that had come loose when the creathen had lost balance. He didn’t notice how it lay there, on top of the muddy edge, painfully obvious. And he surely didn’t notice how another alien found it long after he had carried the creathen away. That also meant he couldn’t see the desperately hopeful look in his eyes at the life sign of his creathen friends.

[ao3porcelainstorm]

poison ivy & stinging nettles 24

On Ao3

Pairing: Sherlock/OFC

Rated: M

Warnings: eventual violence, torture, swears, adult themes (no explicit smut)

Chapter 23 - Chapter 25

Chapter 24- Wildflower

~~~

pick me a wildflower in the morning and i'll hold it with me always where I'm going and when i feel sorrow or death is in my view i'll wear my wildflower perfume

-Wildflower Perfume (The Dead Tongues)

~~~

“Which English chemist and physicist is credited with the discovery of hydrogen?” Amelia challenged on the walk to the museum.

“Easy, Henry Cavendish,” Sherlock answered. “Which artist is credited with starting the impressionist movement?”

“Is that a joke? Claude Monet,” Amelia shot back. “What’s the rarest naturally occurring element in Earth's crust?”

“Astatine,” he furrowed his brow. “What Greek hero was the Statue of David originally one tended to be?”

“Hercules,” she smirked. “What year was Prozac authorized by the FDA for market distribution?”

“I’ll give you a month and year- December of 1987. Though the Belgians approved it a year prior.”

“Could you two cut it out? You both have very big brains, congratulations,” John cut in. “We’re here.”

“How many years ago was this museum established?” Amelia whispered, pointing to the British Museum” entrance sign.

“267,” Sherlock smirked. “Who was credited with its early founding and contributions?”

“Sir Hans Sloane,” she replied. “What was the name of the 17th Century mansion that originally housed the collection?”

“Montagu House, and will you two quit it?” John nodded up toward the museum director and a pair of administrators who were approaching the trio.

“Good morning,” he greeted, shaking everyone’s hands but Sherlock’s, who kept his arms crossed in front of him. “I do hope you have good news.”

“I’ve determined who stole the painting,” Sherlock stated.

“And pray tell, where is it?”

Sherlock eyed the female administrator next to the director.

“Why don’t you tell us, Mrs. Harvey?” he asked and the woman immediately flushed.

Stammering through a lie, she realized the jig was up and sprinted for the exit.

Fortunately, two guards stopped her before she could get very far.

“The police retrieved the painting in her flat this morning,” Sherlock explained curtly, following the director through the main atrium of the building. “I deduced it was her after she mentioned having to pawn a necklace the last time I was here.”

“It was an easy way to make a quick buck with a not so famous painting,” John agreed.

“She was the only one who had access to it, along with two other interns who weren’t scheduled to be here the night it went missing,” Sherlock continued.

“Ironically, they attended an art show at a gallery I knew the owner of,” Amelia added. “He was more than willing to let us confirm their alibis with the security footage.”

“She would have gotten away with it had she not left behind a scuff mark from her broken high heel,” Sherlock noted. “The measurements matched a woman of her height and weight precisely.”

“Incredible,” the director clapped his hands together. “I knew I made the right call in contacting you.”

He thanked the group again, inviting them to luncheon once the painting was returned to the museum, which John and Amelia both accepted enthusiastically.

“Why do I have to go?” Sherlock whined on the way home.

“Because you look good in a suit,” Amelia grinned.

“Because you saved the picture and deserve a little credit,” John added with an eye roll at Amelia’s comment. “Besides, a newspaper story will add a little more validity to the blog, which will bring in more clients.”

“I agree, I do look very nice in a well-cut suit,” Sherlock mused. “I’ll go. Briefly.”

Amelia smirked at John when he realized how easily she’d convinced Sherlock.

“Can you convince him to get rid of the kidneys in the freezer?” he asked quietly.

“I heard that,” Sherlock responded without a look back.

“They are really gross Sherlock,” Amelia cringed. “They’re long past necrotic. There can’t be anything worthwhile left.”

“I didn’t realize the two of you had such pressing business in the freezer,” he scoffed. “I’ll dispose of them tonight.”

“And not in the garbage disposal,” Amelia warned. “Last time you stunk up the apartment for a month because we couldn’t get the liver fully washed out. Walk it out to a bin or give them back to Molly.”

“You’re too high maintenance.”

“And you have gross hobbies, but healthy relationships are about sacrifice,” she threw a bright smile back at him.

“Amazing,” John awed under his breath. Amelia Brenner was a Sherlock-whisperer.

The pair bickered a little about the best way to get rid of human remains, with John citing various medical codes that Sherlock constantly ignored.

“What happens if someone reports a poorly disposed femur to the Yard?” John challenged when they walked through the front door. “There’s a dignity to these things.”

“I try not to empathize with remains,” Sherlock stated.

“That’s a little sad,” came Amelia’s response. “They were people, at one point.”

“And now they’re dead.”

“But they had loved ones,” she continued, smile faltering. “People who probably mourned their passing.”

“These were unclaimed corpses, no one bothered to come to find them,” Sherlock countered, pulling off his jacket and scarf.

“That’s even sadder,” Amelia’s expression fell some more. “What if they couldn’t claim them because they couldn’t afford a funeral? Or someone’s son was missing because of drug addiction or something and they didn’t even know he was dead- but his body was too mangled to be identified and now the family will never have closure?”

The men both stopped and looked at her, standing in the doorway, close to tears.

Turning to Sherlock, John pointed toward her and frowned.

“And that’s why the kidneys do not go down the garbage disposal, have a little respect, won’t you?”

~~~

The luncheon was enjoyable, even with Sherlock’s general attitude about the whole thing.

“Diamond cufflinks,” he commented when the director handed him a small package. “Mine are held with buttons…”

“He means 'thank you',” John cut in, glaring at Sherlock when he took the package.

Amelia was busy chatting with some of the museum docents, asking about some of the artifacts the massive museum held. She clapped enthusiastically, balancing a champagne flute between her fingers when Sherlock and John posed with the painting.

“How come we haven’t started a scrapbook?” Amelia teased once the boys were free from their press obligations. “I’m betting that was a great picture.”

“The blog is a scrapbook,” John noted and Amelia nodded.

“You’re right,” she hummed, sipping her drink. “We should upload newspaper clippings. The validity of the blog and such…”

“You’re unemployed, sounds like a fun project for you,” John laughed, clapping a hand on her shoulder.

“Collecting newspaper clippings of my, er,” she paused, looking to Sherlock listening to one of the donors gush about his success. “Sherlock.”

“Boyfriend?” John tried, plucking a champagne glass off a passing waiter’s tray.

“Is he?” she asked with a cringe. “Doesn’t act like any I’ve had before.”

“Haven’t you two talked about it?” he asked.

“Not explicitly,” she mumbled, holding the glass up and finishing the rest of her drink in a swallow. “Is that an explicit conversation we should have?”

“Are you exclusive?” he rephrased.

“That…” she frowned, her brows knitting together. “I’m assuming? We both end up in a bed together at the end of the day.”

“You should probably clarify that,” John hummed, grabbing another glass of champagne for his friend. She took it gratefully, downing it in a single sip.

“It sounds so dumb when you say it out loud though,” she grumbled, bringing a hand to her cheek and making a mocking face. “Oh, Sherlock will you be my boyfriend?”

“I thought I was the one who was supposed to ask,” Sherlock commented over her shoulder.

“Why do you always do that?” Amelia set her glass aside, turning to adjust the collar on his shirt. He tried to push her hands away, but after a glare, he let her continue fussing with the unwieldy clothing.

“He’s very sneaky, Mia,” John tipped his glass in her direction.

“It is my job to be discreet,” Sherlock countered, watching Amelia’s expression until she seemed satisfied with the fold in the shirt.

“So, what do you think?” she asked.

“I think I should have worn a tie,” he touched the collar.

“I agree, but I wasn’t talking about that,” she snorted. “Are we… going steady?”

“Going… steady…?” he asked, biting back a laugh, sharing an amused smirk with John. “I didn’t realize you wanted me to ask you to the big homecoming dance.”

“Fine, if we were dating, we’re now broken up,” Amelia smacked his chest, causing him and John to erupt into a fit of giggles.

Giggles.

The two grown-ass men were snickering like a couple of children at an art exhibition for a stolen painting they found.

“Amelia,” Sherlock caught her by the arm, pulling together the most sincere expression she’d seen on the detective. “Will you… go steady with me…?”

His voice broke at the end, another round of chuckles overcoming the pair.

“Nope, you two are being mean at my cultural inconsistencies and I no longer wish to be your friend, goodbye forever,” she turned on her heel and started for the exit.

“Oh thank god,” John muttered, following hurriedly after her. “Throw a bigger scene and get us out of here.”

“Something like this?” she grabbed a random drink off a nearby table and threw it at his chest. A hand over her head, she spun around and moved swiftly to the door. “Goodbye John Watson, you’ve broken my heart for the very last time.”

“I think I’m in love,” Sherlock stared after her, absently handing his friend a fabric napkin.

“She ruined my favorite shirt!” John sputtered, dabbing at the cloth.

“-Still caused a pretty good scene,” Sherlock gestured to the perplexed looks from partygoers around them. “Time to follow through, old chum.”

~~~

“I promise, I’ll get it cleaned,” Amelia repeated for the hundredth time once they’d returned to Baker Street.

“You have absolutely no impulse control,” John grumbled, though he had long forgiven the auburn-haired florist.

“It’s a personal flaw I’ve been trying to work on,” she countered through a sigh.

“You should start with trying not to challenge people to shoot you,” Sherlock mused from the top of the stairs. “Someone is actually going to shoot you one day.”

“Or me,” John muttered, distinctly recalling the exact scene the day her uncle shot him.

“That was not my fault,” she pointed toward him. “You jumped in the way. I was fully prepared to take that bullet.”

“It was aimed at your head, you idiot,” John sighed.

“It’s not my fault neither of you has sufficiently taught me the appropriate life skills required to be your friend,” she reasoned. “You’re a soldier, and you’re… you. I’m just a nerd who is really into plants. What can I do? Throw flower petals at the bad guys?”

“You did throw a potted peony at your uncle,” John reminded her. “That did knock him out.”

“Thanks, John,” she huffed.

Sherlock listened to the conversation, dropping into his chair and considering Amelia’s words, fingers steepled in front of him.

She wasn’t wrong. Compared to him or John, she was a positive pushover. If she got into a fight, she might have an upper and because of her height, but against a skilled fighter? She stood no chance.

Not to mention her tendency to throw insults and punches first, and ask questions later, she was bound to end up in some dire situation without him or John to help her.

And after Sherlock was gone-

“-I’ve shot a gun once,” Amelia was bickering with John.

“How is that possible? You’re American,” he gaped back at her.

“We don’t fire our 44’s at breakfast time,” she blinked back at him. “Did you think we all are given an assigned firearm at birth?”

“We’re going to teach you how to fight,” Sherlock stated, cutting into the conversation. “Properly.”

“But what other excuses will I have to bring you with me to the toilet?” she asked sarcastically.

“If you two shagged, that’d be a good excuse,” John murmured, earning a punch in the arm from his female friend. He scowled at her, holding his arm. “You didn’t even do that right. Don’t tuck the thumb, you’ll break it.”

“You’re too preoccupied with our sex life,” she snapped back.

“You two need to get it out of your system,” he said, pointing between Amelia and Sherlock. “It’s messing with the energy of the flat.”

“You’re a butt,” Amelia grumbled, going in for another (proper) punch and being blocked by the now smug doctor. “You can’t do that. I’m learning.”

“Ha, ha,” John rolled his eyes, pointing to the nearby bookshelves and television. “Not near anything of value, you aren’t.”

“We should go to the recreation center,” Sherlock voiced. “Amelia, change into something more practical.”

“The one you stole a pass to?” John asked when Amelia looked down at her dress sadly.

“I barely got to wear it for an hour,” she mumbled, retreating to her room when Sherlock just stared in response. “You’re impossible. Saturdays are for rest.”

“You started it,” John smirked after her. “Do you need my help?”

“I think I’m going to need as much help as possible,” Sherlock replied after the pair heard Amelia stumble down the final steps to the basement and call up that she was fine.

~~~

tomorrow'll be leaving before nightfall my captain has now heard sirens call and as the ships sail the ocean so blue ill bathe in wildflower perfume still picks two wild flowers every morning and waits in wake of love still returning and calls for post-run every afternoon to send me wildflower perfume

Chapter 25

[redthreadoffate]

daddy insecurities [arthur, ariadne, eames]

a repost, originally posted in my former writing blog

ship: arthur x ariadne, slight eames x valeria

warnings: swearing; edited thrice in a span of…a few minutes so mistakes may be present

notes: this is 1 of my 3 inception babies; i was still using a different voice then but nothing else has changed

summary: arthur is jealous. he’s very jealous. eames may not have gotten ariadne, but he sure is getting his children.

Things have been going great for Arthur and Ariadne. In their opinion, they weren’t taking their relationship too fast or too slow. After a year and a half of being engaged they got married. A year later they had Casey Luca Brandon, followed by Spencer Phyllira Brandon after another four years. They moved into a modern Victorian home not too far from the city once they started family planning, but keeping the apartment that they shared for the future—and desperate times.

When Ariadne was pregnant with Casey, she had to stop dream sharing. When Arthur first held Casey in his arms, he knew he wanted to be with his family every step of the way. So they agreed to stop dream sharing until the kids were old enough. As much as they wanted to quit permanently, they missed it too much. For now, they’re your regular but above average-looking family living in Paris.

So on this beautiful summer day, the whole family decided to go out of the house and bask in the ambiance of nature. They took a stroll around the city, had lunch near the Eiffel Tower and went shopping for some new clothes before settling down in a park. Arthur and Ariadne found a great spot under a tree and they laid on the grass as Spencer squealed while running—or waddling—to the playground with Casey holding her left hand and their dog, Coulson, on her other side.

“I don’t like the way he’s looking at her,” Arthur tells Ariadne. His jaw is clenched and his fingers are intertwined with his wife’s. “And I think he really wants to play with her.”

“They’re children, Arthur.” Ariadne rolls her eyes and looks at the man beside him. “Stop staring at him at least.” She turns back to the playground to watch her children building a sand castle. “Casey and Coulson are with her. They’ll be her knights in shining armor.”

And just as she says that he jerks forward a little. “Did you see that?”

Ariadne raises an eyebrow. “See what?’

"She looked at him.” His eyes dart to the boy on the other side of the playground. “Spencer saw that boy.”

“Arthur…”

“How’d she even know that he exists? He’s been behind her all this time!”

“Maybe she just happened to look that way. She’s two-years-old, Arthur. He looks just about her age or a little older. There’s nothing wrong with that. Calm down!”

Frowning, he rubs the bridge of his nose then sighs and leans down to rest his forehead on her shoulder. “Am I overreacting?”

“Yes. It’s very un-Arthur-like. Imagine if Eames was here.” She chuckles a little. “But I won’t be surprised if he suddenly does talk about it without even being here. He knows everything, it’s actually kind of scary. And really, who wouldn’t be weak when it comes to Spencer? Look at her!” She raises her free arm to gesture towards the little girl and boy a few feet away. “Look at them!”

Arthur looks over at his children. Both of them have more of Ariadne’s facial features. They both have brown locks and chocolate brown eyes. Spencer also acquired Ariadne’s natural waves while Casey’s hair is a little more straight. They even have some freckles on their nose. Arthur’s glad that they have Ariadne’s smile, it lights up his world when he sees all three. However, the way their eyes crinkle when they smile, their adorable dimples, thin lips and height come from Arthur. Unfortunately, they both have his ears, too. Ariadne and the kids love it but he doesn’t. Arthur’s very conscious about his ears.

Casey, who had just turned six, is starting the first grade in two months. He’s got both Ariadne’s creative brain and Arthur’s skills (or at least, starting to show signs of it). He loves building and sketching, and Ariadne’s excited to teach him a few tricks once he’s older. He also loves to dress up in Arthur’s suits. During his most recent birthday, Uncle Saito gave him his own suits, a custom made Armani, a three-piece Tom Ford, and the latest Gucci. And yes, they can imagine how Saito can get his hands on smaller sizes. There was a note attached to the gifts, ‘I see that he has Arthur’s taste. When he is older, I shall send the rest.’ And Saito always keeps his word.

Spencer, on the other hand, spends way too much time, in her two years of living, with Eames. He unexpectedly shows up in their house and brings the little girl out without their permission. The first few times he did that both the Point Man and the Architect panicked, fortunately, they’re rational thinkers (and Arthur has spent way too much time of his own life with the Forger). But the little girl loves Eames and is already starting to show signs of becoming a prankster.

“Add a little color to your life, darling,” he would say. And Eames adores the little girl. Always calling her princess and buying her unnecessary gifts. Whenever Arthur or Ariadne would scold him about spoiling the girl, he’d reply, “And you don’t? She’s got us all wrapped around her tiny finger.”

During dates with the Cobbs, Phillipa, now a high school graduate, and James, an incoming high school student, loves playing with them. Dom likes to think that it’s a second shot of being a parent. Saito constantly showers them with expensive gifts (and even promising on granting them a scholarship to whichever university they’d choose). Yusuf also shows his love for the kids by sending them trinkets from his trips around the world for conferences.

“You’re not going to lose her, Arthur,” Ariadne assures, “especially not at this age. And even if she does end up having a silly crush—”

“She’s too young for that,” he interrupts, which earns him a glare from the brunette beside him.

“She will never choose them over you.”

Arthur grumbles, “She chooses Eames over me all the time.”

“You know she loves you both equally,” she reminds him.

Arthur sighs and nods. When he looks up again, his eyes narrow. “What the fuck is he doing?”

“Arthur!”

“It’s Eames! He’s trying to take her away again!”

Ariadne looks at where the children are, and, sure enough, the English man is by the sandbox, holding the little girl by the waist, and talking to the six-year-old boy. Coulson is wagging his tail and sniffing the man with glee. “He’s not going to take her away in front of Casey, and this is one of her favorite spots, he knows that.”

Eames looks up and gives them a grin and a wave. Ariadne does the same while Arthur simply raises his hand in acknowledgement. He whispers to the little girl and then says something to the boy the Brandons can’t decipher. The brunettes nod happily before turning to their parents and giving them a wave with smiles on their faces. Ariadne giggles and, again, waves at them with a huge smile on her face. The scene of his children warms Arthur’s heart and immediately, he smiles, his eye crinkling and his dimples showing, and waves back at them.

“Maybe I won’t kill Eames today.”

“Your daughter would be heartbroken.”

Arthur nods. As he watches his children play with one of their godfathers the boy he had been fussing about earlier is walking towards the sandbox. “Ariadne?”

“Don’t stress, Arthur. He’s simply looking for a playmate, and besides, Eames is there. Doesn’t that relax you a little?”

“I suppose.”

“He’s pretty much their second father.”

“He’s just a suspicious boy.”

“Arthur, he’s probably only three.”

“Exactly, at that age, girls and boys don’t know that they can feel attraction!”

Ariadne rolls her eyes. “That boy probably thinks Spencer is a pretty little girl who seems to be having fun and who just might want to play. He just wants to be friends with Spencer! There’s nothing wrong with that. Stop being such a jealous father and let your daughter have some fun.”

“I’m not jealous,” Arthur snorts.

After a few minutes, the two see Eames kiss Spencer’s temple, stand and make his way towards them. “Darling,” he starts, “I can hear the two of you bicker over nonsense all the way over there.” He uses his thumb to point at the place he’d recently been in.

“Arthur’s just jealous,” Ariadne says.

“You should be, your children seem to like me more than you.”

Arthur glares. “Aren’t you due back to visit Valeria in Germany?”

“Val knows it’s hard for me to leave our godchildren. Do you want to get rid of me that easily?”

“Always.”

Eames chuckles. “What’s got your panties in a bunch?”

“They’re not.”

“Arthur’s just jealous that Spencer will start to replace him soon,” Ariadne supplies.

“He already has been replaced, ever since I showed up in the hospital when she was born. Even your own dog likes me better than him.”

Ariadne fails to suppress a soft laugh. “Not helping, Eames.”

“The only time I’ve seen this bloke get jealous was with you, love. It’s very amusing to see him all worked up over,” Eames looks behind him, “a three-year old boy,” he continues when he turns back. “You can probably take him down with a single move. He doesn’t seem to have much experience with hand-to-hand combat.”

“What’s his name?” Arthur asks.

“Are you going to check his records with your phone, darling?”

“No, his family’s. And not now, when we get back home. What’s his name, Eames?”

Ariadne rolls her eyes and Eames just shrugs. “Christopher.”

“Christopher what?”

“Robin.”

Arthur narrows his eyes. “Eames.”

After roaring with laughter, Eames says, “I’m surprised you know who that is.”

Ariadne laughs. “Having two children does that to him.”

A small smile escapes the dark haired man’s lips. “Give me his name, Eames.”

“All right, all right. It’s Christopher Mann, and that’s with a double 'n’. He’s a sweet child, really. I’d hate for you to find something in his record.”

“I just want to make sure that when this boy tells his family or anyone about playing with a little girl named Spencer and her brother named Casey with a dog named Coulson, I have nothing to worry about,” Arthur tells him. “It’s always better to be safe than sorry.”

Both Ariadne and Eames look at each other and sigh.

Arthur squeezes his wife’s hand. “I just want this family to be safe.”

Ariadne smiles. “I know.”

The three adults watch the three children play. Arthur hates to admit it but Spencer is enjoying the company of the new boy. “Where’s his family?” he wonders aloud.

“Over there,” Eames points at an older couple on the other side. They seem to be having a heated argument. “Christopher doesn’t like hearing them talk loudly. It makes him sad. Poor boy. His older brother is away in college so he’s very much alone at home.”

That breaks Arthur’s heart and he’s suddenly really happy that the children are getting along really well. He can’t imagine either Casey or Spencer being alone while he and Ariadne fight. Hell, he can’t even imagine him and Ariadne fighting when the children are within reach. Sure, they’ve had their share of arguments and cold shoulders when the kids are around, but they’d always make sure to keep their emotions in check until they’re alone.

The boy, Christopher, also seems to be having fun playing with Coulson. The dog sniffs the little boy before licking his face. “Even Coulson likes him,” Ariadne says with a little laugh. “It’s really just you, Arthur.”

About an hour later, Christopher’s mother calls him. “Chris! It’s time to go now, honey.” Arthur sees the boy frown. Christopher stands and pets Coulson one more time before waving at the two children he had recently befriended. Once he’s left, Spencer pouts and gives an exaggerated sigh. Casey pats her shoulder and tries to cheer her up, which seems to have worked.

“My princess is sad,” Eames observes, “it’s time to bring her to the ice cream parlour.”

“You’re really showing favoritism, aren’t you?” Ariadne says with a small smile.

“I do not, love. I also spoiled Casey when he was younger. But I suppose I have a softer heart for little girls.” He shrugs. “Hey, Arthur, would you rather teach Casey or Spencer?”

“Teach what?”

Eames groans. “Fighting, of course! We’re going to teach those children to defend themselves! They are definitely not going to be bullies—”

“Unless they hang out with you too much,” Arthur mutters.

“—so they will be bullied. We need to make sure that they’re feared!”

Ariadne rolls her eyes. “Eames…”

“Love, we cannot allow those two precious children be looked down upon.”

Arthur gives a little nod. “There’s no need for us to personally teach them unless we think that they need more. Ari and I have been talking about it; we’re planning on letting them take self-defense lessons. Casey would probably start soon and we’ll wait until Spencer is his age.”

Grinning, Eames says, “Perfect. I’ll be there in the waiting area.”

Ariadne smiles and Arthur can’t hide the smirk on his face.

When Arthur notes that the sun would be setting soon, Ariadne suggests that they head home. After getting some ice cream from the store they arrive in their grayish-white house and Eames mentions to them that he has nothing better to do and there’s nothing more he loves than spending time with the Brandon children. “You and Ariadne can have some grown-up time, yeah?”

“We don’t do grown-up time when the kids are at home,” Arthur mumbles. “Just don’t kidnap our children and you can stay for an hour.”

“You can stay for as long as you want, Eames,” Ariadne says as she helps Casey with a new shirt. “We’re having pasta for dinner.”

“Eames does love pasta,” the Forger tells them, licking his lips. He picks up Spencer just as she says, “Me!” Eames chuckles. “Everyone loves your mother’s pasta, princess. You should try Uncle Eames brownies.”

“Oh, dear God, no,” Arthur groans.

“Don’t you have some researching to do, darling?” Eames jokes.

“I just have to make sure that you’re not going to make a run for it.” Arthur shakes his head and heads for his study. “Come, Coulson.” And the dog happily follows him inside.

“Your daddy is a strange man, princess.”

Spencer grins. “Daddy!”

Less than an hour later, Arthur emerges from his study and walks back to the living room. On the way, he passes by his wife preparing the ingredients for dinner. He smiles and kisses her cheek before heading to his destination. He spots Casey on the floor with his building blocks and Spencer still on Eames’s lap. Coulson sits obediently beside Casey.

“You’re still here,” Arthur deadpans.

“Your wife said I can stay as long as I want. And I’ll be staying until dessert. Or at least until this little princess’s bedtime.”

“Tuck! Tuck!” Spencer claps.

“Tuck me in, too, Uncle Eames!” Casey joins.

Eames grins. “Of course, of course. I will gladly tuck you two in. Perhaps you’d even want a story of one of my adventures?”

Casey nods enthusiastically. “Yes! I love your stories, Uncle Eames!”

“Love Unca Ease!” Spencer squeals.

“Aww,” Eames tickles her stomach, “Uncle Eames loves you, too, princess.”

Arthur smiles at the scene. As much as he despises Eames—okay, he really doesn’t, at all, he loves the man as much as he loves his brother, Edward Brandon—he loves that Eames loves Casey and Spencer enough for them to be his own children. He hears Casey play with his toys and he’s a little jealous of the attention that Eames is getting from Spencer. “Casey,” he calls.

Casey looks up and grins. Arthur has his legs open and arms outstretched. The little boy walks to his father and Arthur carries him to his lap. He stretches towards the dog who was sitting beside him. “Come, Coulson,” he says.

Coulson wags his tail and trots over them. Casey pats his head and then turns to his father. “Daddy, I think Coulson is lonely.”

“He can’t be lonely, he has you.” Arthur smiles, already knowing where the conversation is heading.

“I think he needs a friend.” Casey smiles.

Arthur shrugs. “He has a brother and a sister.”

“Daddy, you’re being silly!” Casey giggles. “I think we should get another dog.”

“Another dog?” Arthur feigns surprise. “Now where did you get that idea?”

Casey shrugs exaggeratedly. “Can we, Daddy?

Arthur smiles. "Your mother and I would have to talk about it first, okay?” Although he’s very sure of what the answer will be. “But we may not get one exactly like Coulson, he’s one of a kind!” Coulson wags his tail and sniffs Arthur’s knee. “Yes you are, Coulson,” he murmurs, fondly remembering the time he first entered his and Ariadne’s lives.

“That’s okay,” Casey nods, “I just think he needs a friend.”

Arthur kisses his temple. “We’ll see, big guy. We’ll see.”

After dinner and dessert, the family, plus Eames, is sitting around the living room watching an old, classical film that stars Audrey Hepburn. While the adults are engrossed in the film, Casey and Spencer play with the dog on the floor.

“It su—it’s sad that she’s only known for her acting skills and beauty,” Ariadne sighs, “she’s an amazing person. So much more than what people say about her.”

“Well, that’s Hollywood,” Eames says with a shrug. “And as an actor I can definitely say that some people are only judged by our faces. Some people, as beautiful or as handsome as they are, cannot act to save their lives! And yet, people still praise them. It’s more of a popularity contest. While some people, more average looking ones, who can act wonderfully, cannot shine due to being overshadowed.”

“It’s hard to tell who you are in that argument,” Arthur sneers.

“Oh, darling, you wound me so deeply. I’m neither and you know that.”

Ariadne giggles softly before placing her head on Arthur’s shoulder. “Why don’t we go to bed early? Like, right after this movie ends.”

“If that’s your way of shooing me out, love, it’s not working,” Eames says with a wicked grin.

Arthur groans. “You’re not planning on spending the night, are you?”

“Well, now that you’ve revealed to me your master plan, someone’s got to keep the children together, right?”

Ariadne smiles. “Well, someone’s got to wash and tuck the children to sleep.”

Arthur shifts. “Really?” But the grin on his face cannot be stopped.

Eames laughs, causing the children to look at him with smiles on their faces. “What’s so funny, Uncle Eames?”

“Oh, just a grown-up joke, Little Man. We’ll tell you when you’re older.”

“Okay,” Casey nods. Casey’s memory is better than most, he’d remember this moment, and Eames knows it. “Are you tired, Spencer?”

Arthur and Ariadne smiles and squeeze in together. But just as they’re getting cozy, Spencer appears, waddling with a grin that showed off her few baby teeth. “Daddy!” Arthur smiles brightly and doesn’t think twice about carrying her and putting her in between him and Ariadne. “Mommy!” she squeals.

Ariadne plays with her daughter’s hair before kissing the top of her head. “Not tired yet, sweetie?”

“Na!” She grins. “Pay!”

“It’s almost your bedtime, you can’t play anymore. Once this movie’s done, Uncle Eames will be washing you and Casey and then tuck you to sleep.”

“No sip!” she protests.

“Yes sleep,” Arthur tells her. “If you sleep earlier, there’s more time for you to play tomorrow.”

Spencer pouts. “Unca Ease towo?”

“If you wake up early enough then I might still be here,” Eames tells her. The tone that Eames used makes Spencer squeal in delight. “Sleep?”

“Sip!”

Arthur peaks over to see Casey resting his head on Coulson’s curled body. “How are you doing, big guy?”

“Coulson’s tired and I’m tired.”

“I suppose that means you had a great day today?” Ariadne asks.

Casey looks at them. “I did! What about you, Spencer?” His little sister raises her arms and squeals. “I think she also had a great day,” he replies, making the three adults laugh.

Later that night, with Spencer and Casey soundly asleep in their respective rooms, Eames in the guest bedroom, and Coulson back in his doghouse, Arthur and Ariadne lay quietly on their bed. Ariadne’s resting her head on Arthur’s chest while he has his arms wrapped around her.

“You know, you really shouldn’t be jealous of a little boy, Arthur,” Ariadne says.

He chuckles. “I know.”

“And you shouldn’t be jealous of Eames, either.”

He sighs. “Eames is a challenge. He’s amazing with everyone, it’s hard not to like him.”

Ariadne smiles. No matter how many times Arthur has admitted to caring about Eames, she still catches herself thinking about the two being best friends. “You’re not just Spencer’s father, but her dad. Eames is…well, he’s Eames. We already knew that our children would love him.”

“Eames is a great dad without having to be a father.”

“He’s scared. Valeria told him about the pregnancy scare, he was so relieved. She was hurt but she understood. He isn’t ready yet. Maybe he loves the two because he also wants to start a family, he’s just not sure how.”

Arthur sighs and holds her tighter. “He’s weird.”

Ariadne laughs and snuggles closer. That’s when they hear a bark and a scream. Arthur quickly puts on a pair of boxer shorts and Ariadne scrambles to find her robe. The Point Man is out their room quicker than the Architect.

“Coulson!?”

Ariadne gently pushes Arthur to the side to see what’s happening. Coulson is running around with Casey right beside him. Eames is at the end of the hall with Spencer on his shoulders.

“Eames!”

The fun stops and they turn around to look at Arthur. “Darling, you’re in front of minors. And they’re your children.”

“My children shouldn’t be out here in the first place.”

“Casey couldn’t sleep. He knocked on my door about an hour or two after I tucked him into bed. He said he wanted to be in one of my adventures. We couldn’t have fun without Spencer and Coulson. So,” he shrugs. “Oh, love, you look…hm, I can’t really say it in front of the children.” Eames winks.

Ariadne wraps the robe she’s wearing tighter around her and hides behind Arthur, a faint blush appearing in her cheeks. “It’s way past the kids’ bedtime.”

“Pay!” Spencer squeals, clapping her hands.

“No, no,” Ariadne shakes her head, stepping away from Arthur and moving towards Eames, “Spencer, it’s time to sleep.”

“No sip!” Spencer argues, but her arms are outstretched. “Mommy pay!”

“It’s late now, honey,” Ariadne tells her. Eames brings the little girl down from his shoulders and gives her to Ariadne. “You have to go to sleep.” With Spencer at her hip, she looks over at Arthur who’s trying to get Casey to bed. “Arthur, I can take care of the kids and you’re in charge of Coulson and Eames.”

Arthur groans. Coulson stops wagging his tail and sits. “Oh, no, not you, Coulson.” Eames laughs out loud. “Eames, you’re banned from this house at night.”

“Stop being jealous of me, darling,” Eames teases.

tagging: @angel-cap

[northoftheroad]

The Wayne family

Sometimes, when I read Batman fanfiction, I wonder whether the writer has been reading the same comic books as I have. Because they paint a picture of a big, happy Wayne family where the kids are very close and sometimes the whole bunch even live together. 

Now, I do know the difference between canon and fanfic. And I get that wishful thinking and selective reading plays a big part. But still, I'm curious where these conceptions come from.

Just to be clear. I do think of Bruces adopted/foster children as a family because they have a common father(figure). But they have not grown up together. It depends on what DC continuity you're playing with, of course, but most of them are in their teens when Bruce Wayne comes into their lives and they can’t have lived more than a few years with him. Several of them have not lived together. So even if I let my imagination run amok, I can't see them living at the Manor together as a tight-knit family, and I don't think all of them know each other very well.

Batman and Robin vol 2 # 10. By Peter Tomasi, art Patrick Gleason and Mick Gray.

Dick Grayson had moved out (or been kicked out, depending on what version you go with) when Jason Todd came along (and Bruce suffered from empty nest syndrome). Jason was dead when Tim Drake came into the picture, and Tim lived with his parents or boarding school in the beginning. Even if Dick kept in pretty close contact with Tim, he had a permanent home elsewhere.

Batman: Gotham Knights # 45. By Scott Beatty, art Roger Robinson and John Floyd. 

I admit I haven't read a lot with Cassandra Cain. As far as I understand, after Flashpoint she has never lived in the Manor. Before Flashpoint, she was adopted, but I don’t believe she lived long in the Manor, and the only other Wayne adoptee she can have shared the home with is Tim. 

Edit: At least, Bruce probably did have time to adopt Cass, even though he promised to do it in Batman: Redemption Road (2008), just before the story arc Batman RIP where he, presumedly, died. They certainly did not live together as a family for long. 

Batgirl: Redemption Road # 6. By Adam Beechen, art Jim Calafiore and Jack Purcell.

I’m sure there are cute panels of Tim and Cass out there, but I’m picking some from comics I know of.

Batgirl # 50. By Dylan Horrocks, art Rick Leonardi and Jesse Delperdang.

Batman: Family # 7. By John Francis Moore, art Steve Lieber and Stefano Gaudiano.

Tim was an older teenager when Damian al Ghul/Wayne dropped into the house and immediately tried to get rid of Tim the hard way, and I don’t think they spent a long time under the same roof until Bruce "died", and soon after Tim left (at least partially). 

Batman # 657. By Grant Morrison, art Andy Kubert and Jesse Delperdang.

Dick moved in with Damian and raised him (for about a year). When Bruce first came back he travelled with Batman Inc, and Dick and Damian continued to live together. There were times when you could find Bruce, Dick, Tim, Damian and Alfred in the Manor at the same time, but not living permanently together. 

Batman & Robin vol 1 # 20. By Peter J. Tomasi, art Patrick Gleason and Mick Gray.

Now, Flashpoint, New 52 and Rebirth makes it even more impossible to puzzle together a credible timeline for everything Bruce Wayne is supposed to have done and everyone's relationship with each other. We’ll end up with Jason being Robin for about a month... But, anyway...

At the start of New 52, Dick has gone back to Nightwing and moved into his own flat in Gotham. He’ll continue to move around in different cities so he’s clearly not living with any other Wayne. By then, Cassandra is retconned out of the family and I haven’t seen any sign that Jason lives at the Manor with Bruce and Damian (and I don’t know about Tim either).

Fast forward into Rebirth, and Duke Thomas stayed and trained with Bruce for a while. If any of the other kids lived there at the same time is anybody's guess, but you can see the whole Bat-family (including, for instance, Stephanie Brown and Luke Fox) share a happy meal in the Manor, so at least they socialize from time to time. I’ve read somewhere that Duke since has moved in with relatives.

In canon right now, as far as I can make out, the only one who (at least sometimes and varying between the books) lives with Bruce and Alfred in the Manor is Damian. 

Another fanon exaggeration on the opposite part of the scale, in my opinion, is the penchant for portraying Dick and Jason's relationship as extremely bad from the start.

There are three different versions of how they met before Flashpoint. The first time, when Jason was a circus-boy Dick clone, Dick originally wanted to take him in, but Bruce stepped in instead (DC needed a new Robin for Batman, after all). The second time, Bruce had fired Dick from Robin because he was shot by the Joker and then promptly picked up Jason, after Dick had left. The third time (Nightwing Year One), Bruce fired Dick and kicked him out (I tend to ignore this version mostly, to be honest, because Bruce is ridiculously much of an ass here) and then, as you know, took in Jason.

And it's not that Dick loves Jason straight away, or the fact Bruce took in a new Robin by the blink of an eye, in the two later versions. But he still gives Jason his old Robin suit and his phone number in version two and in version three, they part on decent terms, and Dick tells Bruce (by recording) that he could have done worse.

After that, they hardly meet before Jason is killed because Dick is working with the Titans and doesn't live in Gotham. Pre-Crisis on Infinite Earths Jason helped the New Teen Titans a few issues (Dick was busy getting in the hands of Brother Blood and being brainwashed, at the time) in New Teen Titans vol 2 # 20–31. And there is a snapshot of Dick and Jason hanging out as civilians in Nightwing vol 2 issue 63. That's about it. 

Nightwing vol 2 # 63. By Chuck Dixon, art Trevor McCarthy and Karl Kesel. 

Then, of course, Jason came back from the dead slightly unhinged (2005). I don't know the whole picture of meetings or confrontations between the Bat-kids between Jason's comeback and Flashpoint (2011). I do know he dressed up as Nightwing and killed people in Nightwing vol 2 # 118–122. When Jason was abducted, Dick struggled a bit with the question "Is it ethical for me to save someone who's a danger to society?" before he went to save Jason. In the end, Jason sends a telegram where he says "Thanks for coming for me, brother. I know we don't agree on much. I just wanted to believe we could be family again." Tim and Dick also had a confrontation with Jason in Teen Titans (2003) # 47, and Dick and Jason had a not very amicable meeting in the Outsiders v 3 # 44.

Nightwing vol 2 # 118 –122. By Bruce Jones, art Joe Dodd, Paco Diaz, BIT and Nathan Massengill. 

And then we have Battle for the Cowl, where Jason shot Damian, left Tim for dead and tried to kill Dick after he had refused to become Robin to Jason's Batman. (I guess there are Jason fans out there who think that Dick was not justified to put Jason in jail after that. Obviously, I'm not one of them, but if anyone dislikes these years in canon and decides to ignore it to the best if their ability, who am I to judge?)

So, the Wayne boys definitely had a partly antagonistic, partly close, partly distant relationship. After Flashpoint, I think it has in been portrayed as better. At least, I haven't seen them try to kill each other...  Tim calls Damian "gremlin", Jason is Damian's secret mentor (or so I've seen somewhere), they sometimes meet on the rooftops and work together. On the other hand, the previously close relationship between Dick and Tim seems pretty much forgotten. (Let's hope they start remembering that soon again.)

Detective Comics # 975. By James Tynion IV, art Raul Fernandez and Alvaro Martinez.

Somewhere in Batman and Robin Eternal, Jason says that Tim is the only of the other Robins that he likes. (I honestly don't know where that came from, I never noticed them seeing eye to eye before. Still, it's not like I've read every Bat comic ever printed. But then, I rather believe the same goes for a number of DC writers... Edit: I’ve been informed that it’s probably from a flashback in an issue of Red Hood and the Outlaws.) In RH and the outlaws annual 1 (I think that’s the only issue of that series I’ve read, to be honest), Jason narrates that there was a time when he would have killed Dick on sight. "Not my proudest moment. We've made up since then." They have a complicated relationship, but they are still somehow clearly brothers, and Jason thinks back to when he saw the Flying Graysons perform and how Dick was a hero to him then (another retcon after Flashpoint).  As far as I know, it's the only post-Flashpoint retelling of how Jason and Dick met, and the story is that Alfred puts Jason in Dick's room so he wouldn't have to clean a new one. Dick is not happy to find someone in his bed when he comes home to visit. They fight. Honestly, I can't imagine Alfred doing that, so that's one version of the canon I’m happy to overlook...

On the other hand, we have Jason and Dick hanging out on the rooftops in Blüdhaven in Nightwing vol 4 # 15, and Dick, Jason and Damian certainly bicker like siblings (together with Duke) in Batman vol 3 # 16 and # 33.

Nightwing vol 4 # 15. By Tim Seeley, art Minkyu Jung. 

Batman vol 3 # 16. By Tom King, art David Finch. 

On the whole, I think the only thing you can be sure of about the relationships between the Wayne family members these days is that it varies quite a bit between titles and writers and has had its ups and downs over the years. But that they have never lived together as one big, happy family.

Of course, all this is based on the comic books I’ve read, and there might very well be stories out there that paint a different picture. But on the whole, I’m pretty confident that this panel is about as close to a happy family gathering we’ve seen. And then it’s not only the Waynes but the Bat family.

Batman and the Signal. By Scott Snyder and Tony Patrick, art Cully Hamner.

[starryse]

Undead and the Living

Seventeen Zombie Apocalypse! AU

Words: 2,233

Genre: Supernatural, Zombies, Purely Fictional

Seventeen X reader, but the male lead is undecided until later chapters.

Chapter One

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The clock was slowly ticking by, as if time had just abruptly stopped. Pencils clicking against the wooden desks could be heard throughout the classroom as your teacher collected the tests. Most students had their heads down, ready for the bell to ring for break. You, however, had your eyes trained on the window to your right, continuously looking around the schools yard, as if something would magically appear and take away the boredom etched in your eyes.

As time went on, the ever lasting quiet continued, and the peers around you began to slowly drift off, drool evident as it seeped onto the geometry books in front of them. And you couldn’t blame them, with the mix of the silent room and the fact you had woken up merely two hours ago, drowsiness had fought its way to you as well. Your hand rested against your head, as you leaned onto the front of your desk, head slowly slipping down your arm. Everything was calm as you found yourself being in between your dreams and being awake.

What felt as hours had only been a few minutes when a sudden burst of yelling was heard through your closed classroom door. Your eyes snapped open as you slowly brought your head up. The confused eyes of your classmates travelled around the room, everyone looking around at each other as if they knew what was happening outside. Murmurs of what was going on were drowned out by the resounding noises that grew louder and more apparent. The bearded man who was once grading everyone’s tests rose from the spot behind his desk, stepping out to the door.

You sat in the corner, slumped by the window, curiously watching the teacher to see his reaction of the chaos outside. “Everyone stay here, and please keep calm and stay quiet. I’ll be back, I want to see what this uproar is about. Stay in your seats!” The teacher dismissed the class, opening the door and disappearing into the havoc taking place. As quickly as the man had walked out the door, it was slammed shut behind him.

Almost immediately after the adult had left the room, the air grew loud with conversations surrounding the events that could be happening just outside your classroom walls. All though you remained in your seat, not mixing in with all the rising talk, you couldn’t help but wonder yourself what exactly was going on. Was someone in your school? Did a famous singer suddenly show up at your schools front door? Was a fight going on? All these options had you slightly worried, no matter how big or small they may possibly be.

As you aimlessly looked at the classroom door, praying what was going out there stayed out, the boy with the rounded face that had been sitting next to you since the beginning of the school year, turned over to look at you.

“What do you think thinks going on out there? Soonyoung said he thinks it’s the freshman’s rallying against the no sugar ban.” As if you were brought back out of a trance, you turned to face the owner of the questions.

Honestly, you didn’t know what was going on out there. You didn’t even have a good guess as to what was happening. All the ideas that were temporarily filling up your thoughts were just irrationally based off of the curiosity and fear of what it could be. Sighing, you leaned back into your chair, sliding away a fly away from your face.

“Honestly, Seungkwan, I wish I knew. I don’t have a solid guess. I mean, for all we know maybe Soonyoung’s right. It just seems weird that all the screaming, and what seems like bombs going off, would be from a simple ban of sweets and sugary shit.” You glanced over at Seungkwan, then turned your head to look back at your original gaze of looking out the window.

Seungkwan hummed in agreement, his hand moving to ruffle his hair back. “That’s true, for all we know a horde of zombies could be roaming our halls.” Seungkwan booed like a ghost as he wiggled his fingers in your direction.

Laughing at the boys sad attempt to lighten the mood up, you swatted his hands away from getting closer to your sides as they inches closer. You grinned before reaching over to shove his shoulder, “you’re going crazy, Seungkwan.”

“Quite possib-“

Before Seungkwan could finish his retaliation, a loud thud banged against the shut classroom door. As everyone got up to examine what was now stuck against the door, you leaned over the desk trying to get a peak for yourself. Unfortunately for you, your desk was sat in the far back corner, not in a viewing distance of the silver door the students were gathered around.

A loud series of screams and curses were heard, the crowd jumping away from the door and scrambling to stand as far back from the entrance as possible.

“THERES A FUCKING HAND ON THE GLASS” the tall grey haired boy pointed to the door, ducking behind the now deceased teachers desk.

Not believing what the giant had,

ear-piercingly screeched, you stood up from the comfort behind your desk, walking your way over to the once crowded door.

You rolled your eyes at the immature words that were said, “Seriously you guys, were not 5. How about we don’t play sick jokes like tha- WHY IS THERE A BLOODY HAND ON THE DOOR, AND WHY IS IT MISSING FINGERS”.

Your hand grasped across your mouth, your

e/c eyes beginning to widen like the bug you spotted on the way to school. You looked around the room, making sure you and the now terrified Mingyu, whom was still hiding behind the desk, weren’t just going crazy.

In the midst of the freaking out and panicking everyone was doing INSIDE the classroom, you all had seemed to forget just what was happening outside. The bickering happening between you and the class was soon cut off.

“WAIT”

The class immediately shut their mouths at the sudden outburst from the class rep, Seungcheol. All heads turned toward the boy who was etching his way closer towards the door.

Soonyoung furrowed his eyebrows together, stepping away from Seungkwan, who was just ranting about the bloody hand, whose blood was still tragically smeared over the glass.

“What is it Coups?” Seungcheol looked out the door, scanning over the scene outside the safe haven classroom, his face mimicking the one the younger boy was showing. He turned his body back to his peers, them all messily scattered across the room.

“Do you guys hear that??”

You looked over at the boy by the door, walking over to where he was standing.

“Um, I don’t.. hear anything” you tilted your head, glancing over to Seungcheol. You pondered for a moment, maybe Coups is going crazy? His face frowned upon that, but his eyes told a different story. If he kept rolling them they’d end up falling out of his head, pft.

“EXACTLY- you don’t hear anything! Do you not recall the screaming and bangs that were JUST happening?”

As if on cue, your eyes widened once again. Your mouth widened, as a long oh fell out. You turned back around to the door, looking out the reddened glass.

Parts of bodies were left along the hallway floor. Massacred bodies were pressed against the long lockers, and splotches of dark red painted the once white walls. The lights that had previously lit up the narrow corridor were now glitching and hanging from wires off the ceiling. It truly looked like a scene from a horror movie.

Your hand covered your once hung open mouth, tears threatening to leak passed the surface of your eyes. “Oh my God, I- is.. is this what we were hearing?” You turned away from the horrifying scene. Your classmates. Your teachers. People you’ve known since you were 5, they were gone.

Mingyu got up from behind the desk, walking over to your huddled figure. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you away from the door. “Hey, hey, you’re alright y/n-ah. It’s out there, your fine. We’ll get through this, yeah? Cmon, lets sit down, hm?”

Mingyu was the closest thing you’ve had to a brother, a sibling in general. You grew up together, he was literally the boy next door. The first time you met the goofy giant wasn’t the best first impression a person could have. One minute you were playing soccer with your cousin, next minute you had a baseball flying at your face. One bag of frozen peas and a black eye later, you became friends with the frantic brown eyed boy who came rushing over apologizing endlessly. Truly the rest was history, the frantic energy never left him and he was there whenever he was called.

Mingyu sat you down on the widow ledge by the desks, leaning you against the wall. Everyone either came over to comfort you, or filed over to the door to see what had you worked up. Gasps were heard from the group huddled around the door.

It must have been near lunch time now, yet no one had the strength to make a move out the door. The images from the other end of the door were still glued in everyone’s brains. You were now sat in the teachers desk, rummaging through the drawers to find anything to get in communication with someone. Of course, the one time your school decides to get rid of any tech use.

Quiet conversations could be heard throughout the small room, and things seemed to be awfully silent outside as well. Out of the corner of your eye, a movement outside the door caught your attention. You tilted your head over to the door, narrowing your eyes towards the figure. “Pst! Cheol! Come over here!” You waved your hands over to the dark haired boy.

Seungcheol got up from the desk across from you, slowly walking his was over to your shrinked down figure. You both crouched down behind the door, popping your heads up just enough to peer over the glass. The figure you noticed earlier was now getting closer to the door, it’s pace steadily increasing when it sensed yours and Cheol’s presence.

“Fucking Hell I think it sees us! We need to move back, go, GO!” Seungcheol ushered you away from the door, the two of you fast crawling across the dirty floor. Your bodies immediately hid behind the desk, once again only showing enough to see what was coming at a quicker pace towards the classroom.

The figure was now directly in front of the door, it’s disheveled face practically stuck to the blood smeared glass.

“Is- is that Mr. Jeong?!” The blonde haired girl, whom you didn’t even know the name of, walked over to the door.

“JINAH NO, Get back!” Oh. So that’s her name. Her friend, you had presumed, pulled her back from being in the sight of the horrifying figure outside. Too little too late.

Your now rotting teacher had already seen her. The corpse began pounding on the door, it’s body jamming into it repeatedly. Not risking what could happen if it kept that up, you began to push desks in front of the door that was slowly beginning to creak open.

Taking your lead, a group of boys began to mimic your actions, quickly placing things in front of the door. They began stacking the desks, building up a wall in front of the thing on the other side. The door began to break from the constant beating, it’s hinges coming off of its sides and the wooden frame cracking into pieces. Everyone jumped back, praying the stuff in front of it would keep the decayed teacher out. The door began to crumble down, bringing the corpse with it.

Soonyoung walked in front of the group, getting as close as possible to the hallway as he could. A small ew could be heard from the red haired guy, his shoulders visibly cringing back. Soonyoung turned back a round, a slight smile on his face.

“Good news, the zombie thing is dead! Bad news, we’re trapped in our school during a zombie apocalypse.”

“Thank you captain obvious, please, any more info we should know?” The boy to your right spoke up, a displeased look taking over his features.

“Actually, Minghao, yes. That was the first undead thing we’ve encountered the past few hours we’ve been here. And luck just happened to be on our side when the stupid thing killed itself on accident” Soonyoung walked over to your now dead teachers desk, spinning the chair around with his foot

“...Butttt not every zombie is going to do that, and I have an itching feeling that’s not the only dead thing with us here. So. We need a plan, my friends.” He finished his little speech with a grin, sitting himself on top of the wooden desk.

Everyone’s mind went blank as the realization set in. You were in a zombie apocalypse. Flesh eating zombies are now roaming everywhere, and you just happened to be in a school.

You sighed, running a hand through your h/c hair. “Alright. Let’s come up with a plan then, and one that doesn’t end up with us all becoming a zombies lunch.”

[heartfeltheart]

Alchemy: Tiny Steps

Chapters: 5/45 Fandom: Fullmetal Alchemist/Harry Potter Rating: T Relationships: Edward/Winry, Lan Fan/Ling, and May/Alphonse. Primary Characters: Edward Elric, Severus Snape Additional Tags: Crossover, Teacher!Edward, BrOtp Edward/Severus. Sassy beyond measure. Pro!Snape Series: Part 2 of 9. Summary: Part two of the Alchemy Series.  Politics. Either you love it, hate it or you live it. For Alchemy Teacher Edward Elric, he lives it, hates it and loves it when he gets the upper hand. Here is to another year of hell… D/C: I do not own Harry Potter or Fullmetal Alchemist. Discord: La Red(Mesh Mash of… stuff.): https://discord.gg/KYjmVAb Alchemy Series: https://discord.gg/DejEYNJ

"Those curtains just to do match the décor!"

"Gasp! How dare you! I’ll have you know they are the latest in style!"

"Hah! I've seen better."

"How about you! Look at that outfit! So outdated!"

"Sniffle... that's a low blow...dear Mother-in-law."

"What are they doing?" Cornelius Fudge whispered to Alphonse.

"They are playing Mother-in-law vs. Daughter-in-law." Alphonse facepalmed at the scene before him. Of course, out of all the times, those two will play their mind games are during times, they should not play the games. It didn't help how him, Edward, Mei, and Mustang Unit had just arrived at the Palace and half of their expected guest from Great Britain arrived too. Very early. All he wanted to do is take a long luxuries bath... and get rid of all the sand inside his clothing. All the sand has started to shave him badly. "Welcome to Xing... ignore the bickering. It will become background noise once you get used to it."

"Alphonse-sama... we have to get ready for dinner." Mei tugged on Alphonse's sleeve to get his attention. She ignored the stares from Fudge's guests, those stares grew voracious from the younger ones when it is noted that she is a princess. Those stares are not any different from her former power hungry suitors.

"Of course." Alphonse nodded in agreement. He glanced over at the Mustang Unit to see them not see discreetly trying to get rid of the sand from their uniforms. "Take Ms. Hawkeye and I'll take the others."

Mei nodded in agreement, she pulled Alphonse's arm hard enough to catch him off guard. Once Alphonse at Mei's eye level, Mei kissed him on the cheek before she ran off leaving him hanging. Alphonse thanked his training for being able to quickly recover to prevent himself from falling, not so much on becoming a sputtering mess and his face turning bright red. He glared at Roy and Jean when they whistled at him. They stopped when Ms. Hawkeye grabbed them by their ears and yanked them down harshly.

"GASP! You didn't bring your famed leather boot soup! How could you!"

"Bah! I do not wear leather boots anymore."

-.-

"When will Madam Bones arrive?" Edward whispered to Ling once they headed to one of the many guests waiting rooms in the Palace. He is still shaking the sand out of his hair and would occasionally flick some to Ling's way.

"About that..."

They along with Fudge and his following came to a stop to an open doorway that leads to the main garden. They're sitting in the garden is Madam Amelia Bones sitting on a stone bench with two Aurors standing at either side of her drinking tea. "Hello, Madam Amelia!"

Amelia glanced over to see Ling, Edward, and Fudge, along with his ever-dwindling entourage at a short distance. She gave a curt wave before returning her attention back to the water fountain, her niece is playing around in the water laughingly.

"She's here!" Fudge sputtered out, his eyes wide in befuddlement. He had thought he was the only one, important, that was invited to this inclusive dinner. The invitation he was given did not even mention that...woman... as going to be here.

"Of course, I invited her." Ling replied naturally. He waved for his guest to follow him down a different location of the palace. "Madam Bones is here with a few guests of her own. An admirable woman, great mind."

"Are you in talking terms with, Madam Bones?" A sickeningly sweet voice asked out from within Fudge's entourage. That voice made Edward shiver up his spine, of course, that woman will be here. Glancing over, he saw Ling's expression turned to his typical comical façade. The same façade he always uses to hide his true intentions behind his emotions.

What Ling said made Edward trip over his own feet and had to bite harshly on his tongue to prevent himself from laughing out loud. Leave it to Ling to insult someone without making it obvious he is insulting them. The cherry on top is the fact none of the idiots even know they were being severely made them look like complete buffoons.

From what Edward had heard from Alphonse, Ling attempted to do the same thing to Madam Bones, but the Emperor of Xing was schooled in his own game. To the point that it made Ling put the woman on a pedestal. Truth, Madam Bones reminds him so much of Captain Hawkeye and Major General Armstrong. Every time he thinks about it, it causes Edward to shiver in horror. The woman will make an amazing Minister, once their plans go through.

-.-

10-year-old Susan Bones used the wooden sticks, from what she heard are called chopsticks, and stabbed her food. She wasn't given a fork or spoon, but this is far more fun than using them. Her aunt hasn't mentioned anything about it and even better. The food is amazing, the garden is completely astonishing and everything else exceeds everything she could ever imagine of a Palace. Emperor Ling, Mr. Edward, Mr. Alphonse, and General Roy are going on about their past adventures. The only one that remained primarily quiet is Lady Lan Fan, the beautiful fiancé of the Emperor himself! She is wearing sky blue, purple and yellow dress and her jewelry!

"Then... Then... we had somehow ended up stuck in a cave... just me and Emperor Idiot over here." Edward couldn't contain his laughter of the story is he about to tell. "We not no provisions vat so ever."

"Oooooh, I remember that one! This was when you had horrid taste in wearing nothing but leather."

"Oi! I'll have you know... I looked amazing!"

"Right... your elevated boots were such a fashion no-no."

"Shut-it Colonel Bastard!"

"It's General!"

"Eh, tomatoes, tomatoes. Whatever!"

"Hem-Hem."

Susan munched on a dumpling as she watched Ms. Umbridge coughed into a cloth napkin. Everytime the old woman coughed, the volume of the banter grew and grew. It was as if they are doing everything they could do to ignore the Ministry Official, no matter how many attempts to interrupt the proceeding conversation. That is until Mr. Umbridge used her chopstick to repeatedly tap them against her glass. It was only then she had everyone's attention.

"How exactly did all of you know each other... to this degree?"

"Stupidity." Captain Riza muttered into her cup of tea, and that brought out a whole round of laughter and denial.

"Oi!"

"Not fair!"

"Hawkeye..."

"...She kind of has a point..."

"I want leather boot soup now."

"Oh truth, Ling..."

"No cursing in front of the children, Daughter-in-law~" Ling chided his 'Daughter-in-law'.

"Bite me!" Edward huffed out, glaring at his 'Mother-in-law' challengingly.

"Is that a challenge?"

"My Lord..." Lan Fan whispered warningly to Ling.

Ling paused before he proceeded to act out his next semi-planned action. He already on Lan Fan's shortlist after forcing into a royal gown (which fits her perfectly, the original measurements he wrote down are the right ones) and having her sit next to him. A spot that is usually reserved for someone of a very high standing. It doesn't help that the aura she is spewing out is anything but tranquil and the normal level of hostility. She now has an aura that could only be described to the calm before the storm. A very... deadly calm before the storm.

"Yes, Lan Fan?"

"Eat your dinner."

"Of course, of course..."

"What kind of desserts do you have here?"

"Susan..." Amelia whispered her niece to be quiet.

"Desert?" Alphonse entire expression sprang up at the mention of said course of the dinner.

"Not yet, Alphonse-sama."

-.-

Cornelius, for the life of him, does not know what to add to the conversation without making himself look like an idiot. He couldn't stop giving out a gobsmack expression that seemed to now be permanently stuck on his face. The topic of the conversation? Military, Law Enforcement, Public Safety, and other related topics. Every time he attempted to add in something, his words were met with criticism, disgust, and so on. Even some of his following appeared to be siding with them and are sharing their thoughts on his own thoughts. He could see they are turning against him.

"Hem-Hem."

Ah, perhaps Dolores could level the playing field.

"Do you need a cough drop or something?"

"Or honey?"

"We do have honeyed tea..."

Or not...

Dolorous smile grew at the fact she finally had the spotlight. "It is noted that, Lord Li-" "Emperor Ling!" "Emperor Ling... You are planning on creating a Magical School here in Xing? We could help you create the school a-"

"Eh, don't worry about it." Ling waved excessively at the woman, his own smile rivaled the woman. "I am planning on hiring magical users to help us guide with the magical portion of the school. The school will be implementing a Magical, Alchemic, and Standard education."

"Standard?" Cornelius questioned.

"For those that are not studying magic or alchemy. People who are not capable of doing magic or have no intentions of learning Alchemy or Alkahestry."

"Muggles in a magical school...?" Cornelius attempted to hide his disgust but it was too late.

"I find it admirable for creating such school." Amelia inserted back into the conversation, as much she attempted to avoid having all tension sorted of her rival but it appears the damage is done. From the time, she had spent in Amestris and Xing, the term 'Muggle', depending on the context it is used, is a bigotry word. "If you need any sort of assistance, do not hesitate to ask."

This dinner did not go as planned... for Cornelius. For everyone else, it is going amazingly well.

-.-

"Well... this turned out better than anticipated."

"Fudge is completely out of his league."

"Do you think this will cause him to truly see he is incapable?"

"Maybe, why don't we turned it up just a notch."

"...Considering that this is going to be coming from you, Al... its' going to scare me."

"All I wanted to say is having another Battle Royal?"

"...After dinner entertainment?"

"I'm just going to hide now..."

-.-

By Merlin's Beard... they are not even human.

[diego-hargreeve2]

light in the dark

Part Two

Fandom: The Umbrella Academy (Netflix)

Ship: Diego Hargreeves x Original Character

Warnings: Language, abuse (emotional and physical), mental illness, violence and, in later chapters, smut.

If asked – although that was a rare occurrence – Diego made it clear he was out working the city at night to get rid of scum and save lives - in that order. He wasn’t here to take care of people, he wasn’t looking for responsibility, he was just cleaning up the streets.

And if he had been looking to save somebody, logic surely suggested he start with his family - although he was pretty sure they didn’t need it. Luther was a big boy who could take care of himself, Allison had spread enough of her rumours to craft a perfect life, Klaus frankly didn’t seem to want any help or intervention and Vanya had cut ties with her nasty little novel. He should be glad for all this, not having the burden of his siblings and their bickering, and he certainly was sure he hadn't been looking for a replacement sibling to take on as a responsibility.

So he wasn't sure why he found himself returning to the shelter the next night to check on Eve. Sat in the car, staring at the building, one hand flipping a knife back and forth by the handle - the motion so easy to him that it was clear how often he did this, how regular a habit it was - as he considered.

It was one thing to have met her randomly and helped her out. Another to go inside and ask for her. Even knowing this he got out the car and walked up to the door, sheathing the dagger as he rapped at the wood with gloved knuckles.

Eve was surprised to be asked for, one of the volunteers sticking their head around her door but when she found out her visitor she wasn't sorry, and offered a smile - far more of a greeting than Diego managed, as he merely inclined his head slightly.

"Figured I'd come check on you. Make sure you're ok" he said, affecting a lack of concern.

Eve wasn't great at people skills and subtle cues, but even she could guess that if he was as tough and uncaring as his exterior had tried to project yesterday he wouldn't have returned. He hadn't been looking for the Others, he wasn't excited to meet her - but he didn't, after one meeting, hate her. That felt like some step forward in this city, something that could even be built into a friendship. She could hardly answer his question in a negative though.

"Sure. They've been kind, it's nice here" Eve told him. That wasn't a lie - the place was clean and didn't try to shove religion down the throats of those who sought refuge under its roof.  There had been worse places she had stayed. Good manners and convention meant she could hardly say otherwise in earshot of those who worked here though. In truth, not even just manners. Eve had been thrown out of places before for the crime of offering even constructive criticism.

Realising the reason for her reticence, Diego nodded toward the door. "Coffee?"

"Sure," she said, breaking into a sunny smile that revealed her overbite. Turning he grabbed the door, partly because his Mom didn't raise him to be rude and partly because he did not need his image being ruined by it becoming apparent that he, like just about anyone else, would look pleased at such a positive reaction.

Leading the way to his car (Eudora told him it could hardly be counted as a car, more rust on wheels, but the old girl worked just fine in his opinion) he threw open the passenger door before heading around and jumping in the driver's side.

The silence after the doors closed was awkward, and Eve slid her hands under her thighs to stop herself fidgeting, sat on her fingers so they couldn't betray her. This city wasn't her home, but wandering its streets meant she had a fairly good idea of its layout, and she watched out the window for the journey so she could be certain of her way back...just in case.

"Here. They make good pancakes" Diego offered when he pulled over and Eve glanced at him curiously before climbing out. He hadn't seemed like a pancakes kind of person to her.

"So, the place is ok?" he double checked as they slid into a booth opposite each other.

"Yeah, y'know, it's fine. As these places go" Eve added, shrugging. Shelters are a godsend in many ways, but at the same time experience taught her they were often poor, struggling to make ends meet, and plagued by people who were less than grateful. Anyone expecting five-star luxury would be horrified by the bunk beds, sparse furnishing, peeling lino and worn cushions but Eve knew it could be worse.

"As they go - you've spent a lot of time in homeless shelters?" he asked with a frown.

"I've stayed a few. So long as they don't shove their faith down my throat I count it as a win".

He chuckled at her words. The waitress halted the conversation for a moment to take their order, but as she walked away he glanced at Eve - once again sat on her hands and now staring at the formica tabletop - and asked, "Not a fan of religion?"

"...No". Not anymore.

"Just no?"

Eve sighed. Religion was always a touchy subject that could get people heated, but for her, it was more than that. It was complicated.

"That's a big question to ask somebody you just met," she said, shifting the topic and lifting her chin enough to meet his gaze. Diego didn't deny it, but he wasn't abashed by her feeble attempt at confronting him.

"You said you read my sister's book. That means you know plenty about me. I'd say questions like that just level the playing field".

"I don't know you though", Eve protested. "The book...I know what Vanya thinks of your upbringing and who you used to be. You left home at like, what, seventeen? So even if that was accurate, it's ten years old. People change. And as well...you can grow up in the same place, the same family, as somebody else and it's still completely different for you. The book - even the parts about you - are her opinion - right?"

Something in that statement worked. Eve wasn't sure exactly what she got right, but she could see the way he sat back in the booth, his shoulders relaxing a little and his face softening that it got through somehow. That for once she wasn't just a rambling idiot but had made sense and a connection.

"Right" he admitted, almost unwillingly despite the way his stance had shifted. "You still know more about me than I know about you though. If you came here to find people who 'get it'" - hands still resting on the tabletop but fingers lifting to offer loose, lazy quotation marks - "You're gonna have to tell me something kid".

"We're the same age". Literally the exact same age, she could have added but he just chuckled. Shaking her head slightly, enough that her hair fell forward from behind her ears and screened her face, she sighed and asked: "What do you want to know?"

"Where you from?"

"Idaho" Eve admitted. "A backwoods little town you'll never have heard of". Not a lie after all.

"But you'd never heard of us?" Diego seemed slightly incredulous at that, that the fame of the Umbrella Academy hadn't spread so far as to reach on her childhood.

"My family didn't allow television. Or magazines. Or radio for anyone but the...Father" she winced even as the sentence left her, the syntax all wrong and far too revealing. In her attempt to hide it - impossible, his eyes were already on her and brightened with interest - she attempted a joke. "Sorry to break it to you that your fame hasn't made you a household name all over". Not a good joke and neither of them laughed.

Pulling out a small knife from his sleeve, intrigued and yet even as brash as he was knowing the conversation had touched something she didn't want to talk about, he tapped it against the tabletop to focus himself. Fiddling, rolling the handle along with his palm, he skirted the subject very slightly. "But they knew about the other births right - that was like. International".

"Where I grew up is very isolated", the words spoken with so carefully they might have been glass. "They don't approve of contact with the Outside World so...no. They didn't know that I wasn't the only weird birth. There's lots they don't know"

"Sounds like a fucking cult".

"Pretty much". That made it sound as dull as she could imagine, and yet it still seemed to intrigue him very slightly. Looking away from her, watching the diner overhead lights in the dull steel of his knife as he toyed with it, Diego decided to give her...well, something.

"I can get that. Our Dad named us numbers after all". Eve's tone as she referred to her past was low, quiet, almost monotone and carefully calm. Diego, on the other hand, hid none of the scorn and underlying anger as he mentioned the man who adopted him.

Watching him, her expression soft and sad with understanding, meant that as he glanced over their eyes met - and there was something there. A connection of sorts, recognition enough, and Eve smiled without intending to. It was barely a beginning but a beginning it was. It was interrupted however by the arrival of black coffee and a plate piled high with bacon and pancakes.

“You’re gonna eat all that?” Eve asked, the words stunned and slipping out before she thought them through. If she had offended him, he hid it well, tucking the knife away and reaching for a fork.

“It’s hard work doing what I do” he told her.

“What is it you do?” Eve asked, genuinely curious as she slid her fingers around the coffee mug – an action most people did to keep warm, although it made no difference for her.

“You saw last night. I beat up shitbags. And box” he added almost as an afterthought before he began shovelling food into his mouth. She considered this answer for a moment, staring into her cup as though explanations floated on the dark surface.

“Why?” she asked, when her coffee proffered no understanding.

“Why not? The city’s going to hell. It’s full of bastards. I do some good. Actual good, not getting wrapped up in red tape and bullshit”.

Again, she studied her coffee before speaking. “It must be nice. To make a difference”. The look he threw her way revealed that for a moment he thought she was joking, mocking him like just about everyone did about his vigilante activities. There was nothing teasing in her expression, no biting edge to her tone, just honesty – and that warmed him a little, the corner of his mouth lifting in a smile.

“Yeah. Yeah, it is”.

I changed the title but I kept writing. I hope that people enjoy. 

@lovinglydiego

[edenofmonsters]

nyctophobia | one.

nyc·to·pho·bi·a | [nik-toh-foh-bee-uh]

definition: 

extreme or irrational fear of the night or of darkness.

subject: 

wraith | gasouel

notes: 

originally documented january 22nd, 2018

6,550 words | 01 part | s. f. w.

a seemingly harmless blackout proves to be an experience you have never considered existing beyond horror films. a monster lurks within the darkness, and it ensues a morbid game of tormenting you while vulnerable.

*✧🌙✧*

Nichole has taken the liberty of your phone pass-code to snap an atrocious selfie and appoint it as her own contact portrait. Truth be told, you don’t have the heart nor incentive to change it. It had taken time to ignore the scrutiny thrown your way, many times which consisted of ducking out of vicinity and of the like. At least her ringtone compensates for the source of embarrassment and entertainment. The wistful chorus of Patrick Swayze’s “She’s Like the Wind” echoes through the wood of your nightstand, a patterned vibration joining the melody. It’s tempting to ignore her call, especially since it’s already 11 p.m. on the night before a breakfast date with Mom.

Before deciding to answer her, you rid your mouthful of minty froth and smear on an even coat of face clay, allowing the chorus to play twice more, both times you sing along to. Either someone is dying on her end or she’s drunk, neither reason serving as good intention to call you. Once finished, you amble into your room and flounce on your bed with all the flourish of a tired individual.

“Babe, the bridal shower is next week, and I still haven’t got a dress!” she says the instant the call connects.

The volume of her voice makes you grimace, her dilemma even more so. Familiar with her procrastination tendencies, you aren’t as surprised as the next person would be. In no way does it lessen the degree of the problem, sadly. You determine how you’ll fare in the morning if the call hypothetically escalates past an hour.

Picking dirt from your nails, you ask, “Please tell me you have potential selections?”

The white, digital numbers of your alarm clock continue ticking closer to midnight as she sends you pictures of dresses she modeled in earlier that afternoon and lists off the pros and cons she’s found with each. You would make this task easier on the both of you with physical moral support, and by that you mean you would have forced her to buy one before the trip, but Nichole is out of state for her sister’s special event, and you happened to deplete your slot of vacation days for the year. After some back and forth bickering, you finally convince Nichole to narrow it down to a few dresses. With a vow to get back to you when she decides on the winning dress, the two of you exchange an “I love you” and “goodnight”.

Sliding out of bed, you make way to the bathroom and rinse off the crusted paste of your now creased face mask with lukewarm water. Once cleansed, you clear excess droplets from your eyes with a single wipe and freeze when pitch blackness greets you. Your heart thrashes for a second. After experimental flicks of the light switch, it's obvious the power is out. This aspect isn’t entirely surprising; it’s been raining all day, the menacing storm threatening to down the roof with the harsh pelting. You’ll just have to make do without charging your phone tonight or an alarm.

Blinded helpless, you use your outstretched hands to inch through the dark, hoping to not stub your toe on anything. By a miracle, you find your way to your door, fingers touching the worn wood.

Did I…close the door? You pause, filing through recent memories. I know I left it open. Not willing to ponder the oddness of it all right now, you settle for blaming the blackout for disorienting you.

That night, you have a peculiar dream about a spectral figure hovering at a fair distance. You may be standing in the abyss of your thoughts, but you feel oppressed just by looking at the figure. It looks to be a lean, masculine silhouette draped in a hooded robe that sways to a nonexistent breeze and falls in misty tendrils. You dare a look inside the hood to see a clean slate face void of details. Chills prickle through your nerves. He doesn’t have any distinctive features, but you feel eyes gouging you, and it leaves you rigid in trepidation. You wake up to your table lamp casting a disc on your ceiling.

Breakfast with Mom is pleasant, Nichole falls in love with the perfect dress, your phone can charge throughout the night, and there’s no dream of the apparition.

Tuesday evening, your lights flicker dead while you’re cooking dinner. It lasts but a few seconds, and in those handful of seconds you swear the air ices over, but it’s gone just as quick as the waning of the electricity. By Friday, you begin to contemplate calling maintenance to inspect for any issues with your apartment. You bring it up with the other tenants and are alarmed when they report no trouble with their power. When you do decide to call maintenance, they report nothing out of the ordinary. The electrician reassures you he will return if you begin experiencing actual problems. You can see he doesn’t appreciate his time being wasted, but he’s polite enough to not say what’s on his mind. His visit leaves you bitter for more than one reason.

You find yourself washing off face clay over your sink for another night. When your eyes open, the light is on; however—you glance into the mirror, see that black character from your dream and vault yourself to the side in a panic. You tumble from your haste, clashing down to the glossed tiles with your heart pounding in your ears. Of course, no one’s there. People imagine ‘things’ from the edge of their eyes all the time from paranoia, but this disturbs you on spiking levels. It shouldn’t unnerve you this much, you tell yourself, and yet you race into the safety of your bedroom and slam the door shut. The image is burned into your eyelids, whether they’re closed or not.

A week passes, each night projecting that damned phantom who does nothing but watch at you. Last night was different, though. You dream, and he isn’t there. He hasn’t proven to be a threat in past dreams, but you can’t brush off the layering fear after the mirror episode. Every which way you look, movements slowed to that of limbs swinging under the density of water. A certain trace of desperation urges you to locate the shadow cutout. You aren’t sure how the notion birthed, the idea that you’ve become the sheep in a hunt, but it’s there.

Here.

You pivot around just as the blackness lunges at you, and you jolt awake screaming. Shaken by the nightmare, you remain fastened to your bed until well into the noon.

It storms again, this time more rageful than the last. You tense, holding your phone in a cartilage-white grip when an especially powerful thunder splits the silent sky far too close. The apartment tremors, your glassware tinkling to the movement. A week has slipped by since that horrendous nightmare. Thankfully, you haven’t been plagued by anymore aside that one. To distract yourself from the storm, you peruse the channels for anything eye-catching. Unsurprisingly, the TV cuts off and dark swallows you whole.

A brief note of panic assaults your chest, a cowardly reaction you will away with a struggle. You can’t help falling victim to fear, no matter how severe you berate yourself for being ridiculous. What is a little darkness going to do to you?

Steeling your nerves, you snatch up your phone, turn the flashlight on, and go hunt down for a candle you remember seeing in one of the kitchen drawers. You locate it with quick success, gathering the untouched stick into one hand. You could have sworn there was a lighter in there somewhere, too. It’s apparent you can’t search for said item with both your hands occupied. You set the candle on the kitchen counter and rummage through the drawer a second time. Just as your fingers wrap around the lighter, the waxen rod rolls right off and onto the floor with a startling clatter.

You determine you can be as young as five or as old as fifty, and you’ll still be uncomfortable with the dark. Long ago, you established there was nothing to fear but the invented creatures you yourself conjured, but you also learned how dangerous imagination could be. It’s what led you to cower under the false safety of your blanket as a child and to avoid the ominous alleys tainted by horrific stories as an adult. At this moment, however, you have every right to be afraid. The past days have pushed you further toward the edge, and you’re waiting when you might fall into the chasm of whatever it is that has been haunting you.

It takes a moment to ease your throbbing heart. As you crouch to retrieve the dropped candle, you detect the weight of another presence in the room with you. There’s a subtle shift in the air that seems to be making room for the second being. You notice the beam of artificial light quivering and realize it’s because you’re shaking. You want to cast the light around the kitchen to see if you can catch a glimpse of anything at all, but you’re stricken frozen by fear. The moment passes, and you scoff for believing you’re in any possible danger. Just as a safety measure, you pan the kitchen with your meager light source. Of course, there’s nothing to jump out at you.

You gather your senses, the materials and make leave for your room. Once alight by the candle, you settle into bed and dive into the fictional world of a novel in your hands. You aren’t aware of how much time has passed, fully immersed with the story playing out in your mind, but a faint sound harshly extracts you from the book. You’re overcome with stillness, ears honing onto the distinctive thud.

These walls are known for giving tenants the privacy they need; thus, you shouldn't be able to hear your neighbors unless they directly pound on the separating plaster. The neighbors on the left are currently out of town for the week and the neighbor on the right has a night shift, so he shouldn’t be home at this time.

Fear and curiosity can go hand in hand; however, the two are warring for the chance to influence your choices of either exploring or hiding. You don't understand how the silence has suddenly become eerie, but it's enough confirmation to allow fear to win. You discard exploring and eagerly hole into the haven of your bed. The candle won't last the night, maybe until you fall asleep if you aren't overwhelmed by apprehension. Remaining in bed seems the less evil of the two choices, but you’re rolling around in the festering thoughts of the worst-case scenario. You should have grabbed a knife when you had the chance.

Oh, come on. What's to be afraid of? Ghosts? You laugh, a forced laugh at that. A minute goes by. Fine. I'll just look around to prove there's nothing that can hurt me. Resolve cemented, you peel away from your blanket and grab the lit candle for your journey, notably ignoring your jittering nerves that make you tremble.

As soon as you peek into the short hallway, whispers of cool air wash over you, setting off a shudder or two. The flame restricts your view to a mere foot radius, giving you the impression of being stuck in a claustrophobic sphere. You leave your door cracked and take a confident step forth. Immediately, that same chill swipes at your spine. You can’t decide if it’s terror painting the horrific thought of a lone finger tracing up your back or not. Regardless, you jump so hard you’re surprised your bones aren’t broken at the joints.

What the fuck was that? you think, flattening to a wall as if it might decrease your vulnerability by a smidgen. Stupid Victor and his stupid horror movie nights. Yet as you throw the blame on your friend, you know better: you just need something tangible to fault, something you know that can be a rational factor to your delusions. But your instincts won't allow you to deny that you aren’t living a fantasy moment, you’re not suffering the side effects of a jump-scare film.

The dark is crawling all over you, seeping into your skin, and dragging you deeper into a thick pool of dread. The steady heat fails as a source of comfort; rather, it seems to be laughing at you. Just then, the mini fire sputters, dancing a chaotic pattern, like someone has walked by.

There’s something inside with you.

Ice skims along your cheek and the candle tumbles from your hands. The dark devours you up, leaving you cold and on the brink of going mad with fear. Quickly, you fall to your knees to search for the candle. You know you aren’t alone but can’t pinpoint how or why, you only know. The figure from your dream comes to mind, and a broken whimper escapes your lips. And then the hairs of your arm stand. You used to think of it as ants navigating underneath your clothes, but it isn’t ants this time, it's a hand running along your limb.

Right here.

You bolt. The slam of your door is so loud, you expect the entire complex to shake. You clamber for your blanket, hurry to light the candle, and wedge yourself into a corner. There you remain, eyes refusing to close. Seconds, minutes, hours, and the thud resounds again. It begins distance, stops at your door, and disappears altogether. The longer you sit there, the more the fear augments to a staggering degree, yet nothing has plowed through the door and attacked you. You refuse to break free from your stiff position, though, staying perched where you are.

You don’t know when you fall back asleep or how you gave in to the need, but the moment of peace is broken by a third pound. The most recharge you gained was by hovering just beneath the first layer of unconsciousness. Instantly, you notice that the candle has gone out. Reaching for your phone, you turn the flashlight on again. Initially, the first thing you notice is the low battery percentage, and then the time (1 a.m.), but once you look to your nightstand, you almost drop your phone.

The candlestick is burned only half way through. It's impossible for it to drown and extinguish in its own pool of wax, because it's a lone stick supported by a holder. Your windows aren’t opened to invite a draft, and you know your sleeping habits as well as Mom does, so you had no play in blowing the flame out. Someone did, something thing.

You hear a soft touch, pulling your attention back to the door. You imagine a palm pressing into the wood. Not a second later, the handle twists ever so slowly. For some inexplicable reason, you can't move, helplessly watching as the handle turns all the way to unlatch. Any moment now, you wait for the door to slam open. It doesn’t. It remains twisted. And then, as if the hand holding it in its place has let go, it abruptly turns back without warning. You fling to the wall you’re already embedded to. As afraid as you are, frustration sidles up to your mind, and possible anger.

“What do you want?” you ask, voice tight.

The handle turns slow, the door opens, and it closes the door just as softly. A cry croaks from your throat from witnessing an invisible force committing the action. Gentle steps travel across the floorboards to you. The bed sinks, and you cry harder.

“What do you want?!”

That same figure from your dreams manifests right before your eyes, ripping a gasp from you.

“You.”

Cold, hands latch onto your ankles to yank you forward and you shriek—

“Babe!” Nichole is shaking you awake, her face creased in concern.

You’re gulping for air, desperately clawing at your bedding. After you calm down some, you grab onto Nichole to reassure yourself she’s real. You think about those hands on your ankles. They felt just as real as the woman before you. A single sob falls from your mouth, leading to uncontrollable weeping, prompting your friend to support you to her chest. She holds you without a word.

You tell her you’ve been having nightmares but don’t specify them, afraid Nichole will suffer the same fate if she knows. You treat it as a curse. It takes some effort on your side to convince your friend you’ll be fine. She leaves, albeit reluctantly, only because you’ve promised to call her if anything happens. You almost kick her out, so she won’t be late for work. She only came by to retrieve her charger she left when she spent time with you yesterday.

You can’t decide if you’re glad or not that she doesn’t live with you. The two of you roomed together after graduating college, but as soon as Nichole nabbed a boyfriend, you wanted out. You wouldn’t mind sharing a living space with them if it came down to it; Victor was good and played the older brother you never had. You just don’t want to invade their relationship. Nichole took it hard. According to her, you came first before Victor, but you know how much she loves him.

Your random thoughts skid to a halt when you return to your bedroom and zero your attention onto the candle still on your nightstand. Burned only halfway through. In a bout of boiling rage and terror, you swipe it away. It hits the wall and cracks in two. Nothing makes sense. Are you going insane? Are you being haunted? You’ve never had any reason to believe in the supernatural in the past, but that idea is becoming more likely. This is out of your league. Tears shed again. For a moment, you think a salted globule has been wiped away by a finger.

That evening, you force yourself into a tub of scalding, sudsy water, attempting anything to ease your mind, because you still believe it’s all part of your imagination. You shut away the world, focusing on the rhythmic strokes of the bath loofah dragging along your limbs. Some time during the process, ghostly hands join in. You stop, and it stops.

It’s fake, it’s just fake, you chant, scrubbing harder until your skin becomes red.

When you dream this night, the apparition is there. This time, he disappears. Alarmed, you seek for him, afraid he might harm you. Just as sudden, he reemerges behind you. You buck, but he holds you steady.

“Please, don’t hurt me!” you cry.

“Hurt you?” he whispers, a wispy sort of sound with an echoing quality. He constricts his embrace harder, eliciting a grunt. “You’ve already done that to yourself,” he continues, attesting the statement by soothing touches down your scrubbed raw arms.

If you weren’t so afraid, you might have thought he was genuinely worried for you. The sweet wickedness in his words is nothing short of mockery.

“No, I have far more different intents for you.”

One moment, you’re in his arms, another moment, you’re being thrown to the floor. You can’t feel pain, just the pressure. Regardless, you become dazed by the impact. The figure looms over you with an unseen smile. You don’t have the chance to scramble away, losing that opportunity by hesitating. He pounces on you, and you fight.

“Shh, I won’t hurt you.” He testifies by caressing you with the touch of a lover.

You wake up in a sweat, gasping, and unable to forget the gentleness of his gestures.

The dreams persist, becoming more and more vivid until you can no longer tell reality and dream apart. Not before long, they intensify to actual phantom touches out of dreamland but strictly after the sky is dark (he never makes an appearance until then). The second time he touches you while you’re awake and aware of your surroundings, you’re doing laundry. His hands cup your waist, pressing his fingers just so you can see invisible prints of his touch crinkling your shirt. He leaves, but not before kissing your shoulder.

You call an exorcist; he fails to find the smallest traces of any paranormal activities, although he blesses you with a prayer before taking leave. The words spill in one ear and out the other. The second exorcist concludes with the same results as the first.

“Don’t make me leave,” he whispers after you bid the exorcist goodbye.

You whirl on him, and any nasty words you want to spit dissolves at discovering his invading proximity. Your breath hits against his flat face, echoing the warmth back to you.

“Oh, don’t be afraid. Haven’t we met before, once upon a dream?”

You grow stiff hearing the quote from Sleeping Beauty you watched yesterday. “Why are you doing this to me?” you ask in a brittle voice, brimming with mental exhaustion and anguish, because you’ve given up.

He falters from the question, sensing the loss of fight within you. “I’m alone, so alone. I have nothing and no one,” he drifts around you in a melancholic circle, like a drapery shifting in murky waters, “I don’t remember who I am, but I know I’ve done evil, which makes me what I am. I suppose not all of it has withered away. I won’t deny that I find it thrilling to torment you. Your fear is exhilarating and so delicious.”

You can’t see the twisted smile he grants you, but you feel it there, and it makes you weep.

“However,” he swoops down to gather you into his phantom arms, somehow carrying you into the air, the shadow cloak wrapping around and pulling you further into the being, “your tears also make me sad,” he says, streaking the wetness away with his own cheek. “Why is that? Why does your pain please me and hurt me all at once? Tell me.”

You struggle uselessly in his strangely comforting arms. “I don’t know,” you say, feet kicking above the floor. “Please, put me down.” You strain your face away when he tries to wipe your tears again.

His chest heaves, as if he’s huffed with resignation. “Fine.”

In a whirlwind of blurred colors, the phantom whisks the both of you to the living room in a mere blink. It takes you a second to regain your bearings, a spell of dizziness disarming you. You come eye-to-eye with the hooded face and come to realize you’re on your feet but still trapped in his arms. You try wrestling free from his impossible grip.

“Don’t push me away. You’ve been enjoying your dreams so far, and this isn’t any different,” he says against your temple. You will never understand how he can speak without a mouth.

Shame burns your face. “You’ve been forcing them on me! I can’t help what my body reacts to. If you hit me, I can’t pretend it doesn’t hurt,” you grit out, wincing from the tightness of his constricting embrace.

“I know, I know it all. Stop closing yourself from me—”

Both of you freeze at the startling sound of the front door opening. You’re about to scream for Nichole, but the apparition vanishes into nothing. Said friend stumbles through the front door and pauses.

“Are you okay?” she asks, walking to you.

“Yeah, just, I thought I saw a mouse,” you lie.

Her face scrunches up. “You better call for extermination just in case. Anyway, I know I should have sent you a text beforehand, but wanna grab a drink?”

You agree. On your way out the door, his hand briefly clutches for yours, tracing a sardonic plea into your knuckles.

Don’t leave.

You rip your hand loose, shut the door, and walk away. You crash over at Nichole and Victor’s and remember what it means to laugh and have fun. You spend the following day with them and return home much later that night, although reluctantly. Your heart stops when you notice the door is ajar.

He wouldn’t be able to escape, would he? Regardless, you ease your way into your apartment. Nothing seems out of the ordinary, except some things have been moved. You tiptoe to your bedroom and flick the light on. You gasp when the phantom comes into view right in the middle of your room. He turns around from his rummaging through your draws, and he’s not the ghost. The stranger is dressed in black, hauling a backpack, and wielding a knife that glints at your eye.

You jolt to action when he growls and sprints for you. He’s quick, snatching at your hair and jerking you around to a stop. A shrill cry burns your throat, forcing the man to flinch.

“Shut up—”

His poised knife never makes it into your flesh; no, instead, a ghostly hand spears through the man’s chest. There is no blood, for there isn’t a wound in sight, but his life is gone regardless. You watch the hand wrench away from the body, ripping away a black mass with identical qualities as the phantom with it. That’s when you glance toward your unlikely savior who has been taunting you. You are wrong to believe he was terrifying before: he is the epitome of hatred and fury. He’s blacker than black, heaving like a beast, and, to your shock, there are red eyes as the only visible feature within the swirling darkness of the hood. The slits heighten the staggering aura wafting from him, and you curl within yourself.

“Begone.” The single word is pure venom.

He squeezes the blackness in his hand until it falls apart in smoky ribbons, hits the floor and dissipates to nothing. You watch in horror as the body materializes away in the same manner, leaving the clothes and items behind as the only evidence of the man ever existing. The dark figure suddenly roars his anger out, a simultaneous ear-splitting slice and rumbling bellow that sparks your electricity dead, leaving you in the dark, which is beginning to become a familiar setting.

You wait, anxious and wondering if he will finally kill you. You’re wild when his arms vine around you, cradling you into his ghostly form and lifting you from the floor. He’s now frighteningly serene, acting like he wasn’t furious just seconds ago. In the dimness, the phantom is more solid than ever before, neither constricting his arms nor releasing you. He hums a tuneless lullaby, shushing into your ear until you still.

“Hush now, you’re safe.”

The adrenaline leaks away, replaced with tears, in which your savior kisses away. You can’t decide what kind of relief it is that you cry from—is it relief that he’s saved you, relief that you’re alive, relief that he isn’t as evil as you assumed? Whatever reason it may be, this moment of cathartic release lightens your heart.

The clothes and knife are gone the following morning, and your belongings are stored to their rightful places. You aren’t as averse to the ghostly touches as your previously were, although it took you time to welcome them. He gives you peace throughout the day and even during your dreams. Sometimes he embraces you as you go about your nightly chores, adhering your body like your own cloak.

One night he brazenly slips into bed with you, intimately pressing against your back. You fidget in his hold. You’ve built a strange trust with this supernatural being and you don’t want to go back to cowering from it.

“Stop,” you whisper, pulling at his hands that have found way around you and are tracing circles into your arms.

“Why?” You have no answer, so he resumes his loving strokes. “Haven’t I been patient enough? Kind enough?”

“Why are you even doing this, why me?” That makes him pause.

“Even I surprise myself. My kind are as old as the earth, meant to exist as creatures of evil. Yet the longer I persisted my game with you, the faster my resolve crumbled away. Do you have any sense as to how wrathful I was seeing that foul human attempt to hurt you? I thought to let him be, let him destroy himself from his own deeds, and then you waltzed in.” He turns you to face him. “I suddenly couldn’t bear to see you turn into a lost spirit. Perhaps I was jealous, perhaps I wanted to turn you myself, but then I can never feel your warmth again.”

You recoil, thinking yourself an idiot for believing he might harbor the tiniest sliver of good in him. He keeps you still when you begin to escape, planting his forehead to yours, his hood tickling your hairline.

“I tired of haunting and torturing the evil humans, so I thought to play with someone whose soul wasn’t as black. I settled for you by chance. Before I could stop myself, a drop of your goodness tainted me, leaving me impure. I am no longer wholly evil. Now I understand why my kind despised and cowered from the light, not only because it could destroy us to nothing, but because it would save us, and we evil wraiths are not meant to be anything but. What have you done to me?”

You can say nothing, only breathe and stare into red eyes. They make rare appearances, but when they do, you can’t help but imagine them as garnets. You can only think of one question.

“What’s your name?”

He doesn’t speak for a moment, whether from hesitation or contemplation. “Gasouel, call me Gasouel.”

*✧🌙✧*

“Have you always liked your apartment this cold?” Nichole asks, shivering as she does so.

You hardly notice the temperature now. You only shrug in response, cleverly placing a drink in front of your friend to distract her.

“Any colder and you might turn this place into a freezer,” Victor laughs good-naturedly, while patting your shoulder and giving you a playful shake.

You open your mouth to quip a remark but freeze when Gasouel appears behind Victor and phases through the unsuspecting man. A violent shudder rakes through his body.

“Fuck, that was a bad one,” he mumbles, shoving his hands into his pockets before making his way to cuddle next to his girlfriend currently swathed in one of your spare blankets.

You toss a glare to the wraith who is quite unapologetic.

Later that night when the clock hits midnight, you lecture the idle wraith.

“I told you to leave them alone,” you hiss.

He grabs your face and rubs his forehead on yours. “I would never hurt them; I know how much you care for them.”

It’s a bit odd to see him jealous. You suppose it will just be another facet to accommodate to, along with his affectionate inclinations. A couple months have passed by since the day he saved you. You still have trouble overcoming the disappearance of the burglar. While you never even touched the man, you know you’ve played an indirect part in his death. After all, Gasouel had killed him for your sake. If not for you, he’d still be alive. Although, recently, you find it hard to pity the man. In fact, while your ghostly companion did destroy his soul, it saved him from suffering the fate of becoming a wraith and saved the world from the existence of another dark creature.

That aside, you’re convinced Gasouel will leave one of these days, either from boredom or in fear of losing his entire purpose as a being of evil. If he stays long enough, you wonder what will happen to him when you’re gone.

“What are you thinking?” His question brings you back to the present.

“It’s…nothing,” you say, extracting yourself from him.

Displeased, he flies to stop you from walking away. “You can tell me,” and he pairs this with a kiss to the corner of your mouth.

You still shy away from any affections, not having such devout attention since your last relationship, which was well over two years ago. Gasouel knows this, too, spurring his efforts.

“Come now, don’t be shy,” he whispers, hugging you close.

You relent. “Will you ever leave me?” Immediately, you regret your choice of words—you sound desperate for him to stay.

“Do you want me to?” he asks, more amused than troubled.

“I don’t know—”

He chuckles. “That’s enough for reconsideration.”

And you blush. If you want him to leave, you wouldn’t be unsure. Even the smallest amount of hesitation is proof that you do want him to stay, regardless how insignificant that wish is now.

“I was afraid of you for a long time, and then you saved me. You’ve proved to be good, even if that only pertains to me. I won’t lie, I’ve come to enjoy you being with me, whatever this is. But how long are you going to stay? I know for a fact you wouldn’t want to stay forever.”

“And if I want to stay forever?”

You laugh a humorless huff. “I won’t live that long.”

“You think I would be sad if I stayed and watched you grow until your death?”

“I—I’m not implying that—”

“You are,” but you can hear the smile in his words, an impish one at that.

Growing frustrated, you cut to the point, not wanting to suffer a bout of taunting from him. “What I mean to say is, you’re wasting your time with me. There’s no point in staying with someone who will just ruin what you’re supposed to be.”

“You want me to continue my villainous deeds?”

“Damn it, Gasouel, no! I just…I don’t really know what I’m trying to say anymore.” You turn to leave but are swept into his arms before even taking a step.

“I have wasted centuries wandering and tormenting. I would stay with you whether it meant the end of my existence or not; I would rather stay and lose you than not having stayed at all. Don’t you have any hope that I have a chance of dying with you?”

You laugh. “Who would have known you could be such a romantic?”

“Is it so bad?”

“No.”

“Is it so bad that I stay, regardless what may happen?”

He makes you look into his eyes. It never occurs to you that he may be tired, and he’s only just realized because of you. “No,” you say.

“Then I’ll stay right where I am.”

*✧🌙✧*

When Nichole asks if you’ll ever date again, you merely shrug, glancing at Gasouel who lazily circles you as you slice some vegetables. You’ve grown used to his invasion. Victor makes some teasing remark you can’t even remember because you must hold onto the wraith’s cloak to prevent him from maiming the poor man’s soul. Gasouel still hasn’t warmed up to Victor.

You don’t think dating will prove to be wise, not with your embarrassing attraction for your ghostly companion that grows by the day and not with Gasouel’s possessive streak charging out when a man sends any form of flirtation your way (yes, you discover he can roam outside your apartment during the nights). You think it’s impossible to pursue a relationship with him, so you might have to convince him to back down when you go soul searching. He doesn’t ever give you the chance to consider another human partner, he doesn’t even give you a chance to approach him about the subject for that matter.

You don’t recall how it happens, but one moment you’re debating taking on a coffee date with one of the new tenants a few doors down (he’s rather cute) and the next, as soon as you step inside your apartment, you’re being cornered.

“Have you become my tormentor now?” Gasouel hisses, hovering close in all his furious glory of red eyes and billowing cloak, yet he doesn’t touch you.

You shrink away, not from fear but from the intensity of his emotions. “W-what?”

“You think I haven’t noticed, did you? You couldn’t be more obvious with your blatant staring and the longing on your pretty face. I suppose I am at fault for depriving you any human partners, but why settle for that when you have me?”

Your face burns. He’s known all along.

Despite the mischievous tone, you can tell he’s been playing the patient predator. For how long, you don’t know. Before you can get a word in, he yanks you into his arms. You watch with fascination as he molds himself a mouth. He doesn’t waste time to finally, finally kiss you. It’s everything fervent and heartfelt, and it leaves you unable to stand. Gasouel’s touch isn’t anything new, but unlike before, they can’t even compare to the strength and desperation of his hands now. That night, you release yourself from any inhibitions and give in to him.

Come morning, he’s still there. One taste and he can’t seem to have enough. At one point, the reality and insanity of it all makes you laugh while he makes you see stars. He doesn’t find it as funny as you do, all too consumed with absorbing your warmth and listening to your blood pound underneath his ears. When you realize you love him, it’s the exact moment when he stops for a second to look far into your eyes. He must realize it, too, because his intent slows to a tender passion. He moves with deliberation, wanting to memorize this moment and every part of it. The two of you are closer than ever, not an inch of space existing between your bodies as he lays atop you. Of all the nights you have spent with him, this particular night brings you to overjoyed tears.

Nichole notices a difference about you. You smile because he kisses your cheek, unseen by the woman. Mom initially worries about your lack of boyfriend, translating to the lack of a husband, but if you’re content then she is (although, she would really want to see some grandchildren running around and to spoil rotten). When Nichole marries Victor, not once are you envious. You catch the bouquet and laugh. Gasouel makes love to you the same night, absently tracing your ring finger in the afterglow. The passionate nights eventually stop, but you hardly mind. Being with him is more than enough. He still holds you every night while you sleep, even as you lay in the crisp whiteness of a hospital bed at the age of eighty. He tells you he loves you while the sun is high. His existence doesn’t even waver in the light. You return the words and close your eyes just for a moment. A warm hand touches your cheek, and when you open your eyes, you see a man.

“I always knew you were handsome,” you say.

He laughs, and his smile is exactly as you imagined.

*✧🌙✧*

fin.

*✧🌙✧*

thoughts: 

i came up with the brilliant idea to format my posts as if i were writing a field guide to mythical creatures i encounter! that aside, the last half of this piece is fairly censored, thus some ideas have been changed accordingly. i hope you all enjoyed it nonetheless.

resources:

monster masterlist by thespelia

encyclopedia of monsters by thespelia

[hey-hamlet-bmc]

Be More Chill August 1st Previews Things

• The cardigan! It’s here! It looks the same as the original! Jeremy’s shirt is also red blue and yellow, but we saw it in some bts videos. Also: WILL DOESN’T WEAR HIS GLASSES THE WHOLE TIME which is an odd sight to see.

• Madeline didn’t tell Jake about pool. Chloe is complaining at the beginning of More Than Survive about Madeline not being French, essentially what she originally said about it during Be More Chill Pt. 1.

• Because of that, Jake’s line is different too. He says “She’s definitely French” while gesturing to his uh...area.

• When Jeremy holds the backpacks together, Michael gets this giddy look on his face and says “My mothers would be thrilled.” He also has not one but TWO rainbow patches. The rectangle one on his arm and a more rainbow shaped one on his shoulderblade.

• Brooke occasionally hums the tune to Do You Wanna Ride/Hang and is always playing with a straw.

• Mr. Reyes doesn’t work at Hobby Lobby anymore. He’s a teacher as well as a cafeteria worker now.

• Jeremy watching Christine sing I Love Play Rehearsal is the purest part of the musical.

• I’ve not heard anyone else mention this, and my friend said it didnt happen in the performance he saw, but when Jake is telling Christine about all the pressure he’s under to be the best, he just paused and dabs before continuing.

• Rich draws a dick on the urinal before using it.

• Mr. Reyes is in the bathroom when Rich enters and thinks he’s talking to him when he calls Jeremy tall-ass.

• There’s a new rappy part of the SQUIP Song where Rich tells Jeremy the ‘shit’ like thinking about washing his hands after peeing doesn’t matter when you have a SQUIP.

• Two-Player Game takes place on Jeremy’s bed, not bean bags. Which makes sense to me because the bean bags were at Jeremy’s house, not Michael’s, where everyone writes/draws them. This gets rid of the issue altogether.

• Two-Player Game just kinda seems a little less chummy now? They don’t mess around as much, I don’t think.

• The end of the song has a really cool graphic in place of the odd running-dance in the original. The journey to the mall is depicted by pixelated zombies as Jeremy and Michael fight past them á la Apocalypse of the Damned.

• I haven’t mentioned how Jason Williams’s costumes are so different so now’s the time. As Mr. Heere, he’s himself, but Mr. Reyes has glasses and a wig, and the Scary Stockboy has really exaggerated sideburns so the Wolverine comment is even more ridiculous.

• After Jeremy takes the SQUIP, Michael goes to Spencer’s like normal, but not for Crystal Pepsi. It’s Ghostbusters Ecto Cooler (which he says tastes like ghosts) and it’s apparently making a comeback right now IRL.

• Jake carries a huge jug of water around the mall AND his feelings about his parents come out a lot more.

• The SQUIP wears all whites instead of all darks.

• The SQUIP’s modes are different. Keanu Reeves, Lara Croft, and sexy anime female with cat ears and tail. So take that how you will.

• In the clothing store (I think it’s Forever 21?) Gerard and George’s mall characters bicker in the background over shirts.

• Chloe breaks a hanger in half when Jeremy says Madeline is French.

• Stephanie’s mall character is onstage the shortest amount of time but it’s okay because she steals the show with her incredibly slow electric scooter.

• Michael is in More Than Survive (Reprise) for a moment. He waves to an ignorant Jeremy in a classroom and eventually gives up trying to get his attention.

• I feel like I’m forgetting something from A Guy I’d Kinda Be Into but it’s more or less the same.

• Upgrade is very different! The end specifically, to split it into the new song. Upgrade no longer ends act one, but instead comes right before the new addition I’m sure most everyone has heard already, Loser Geek Whatever. The part Jeremy originally sang at the end after Michael shows up is what’s changed—the SQUIP and the ensemble now sing it, and Michael shows up afterward.

• Loser Geek Whatever is really good. It gives Jeremy more of a reason for what he’s doing and makes it harder to demonize him. It’s basically him convincing himself that he deserves the upgrade, despite being worried he may fail Michael.

• Jeremy’s hairstyle changes in act 2. It’s more flat Will Roland than messy bed head. He goes from Wirt from Over the Garden Wall to Jared Kleinman.

• Halloween is great! Some of the idle dialogue is different though.

• Also, Chloe doesn’t tell Jeremy Brooke is waiting upstairs. They just leave in the background during the song.

• Do You Wanna Hang is so...Chloe. She twerks in front of Jeremy.

• The SQUIP faceplants on the bed after Jeremy drinks from Chloe’s (baby bottle) flask.

• Michael in the Bathroom is like, exactly the same. Incredibly powerful, of course, but I think changing it would have made a lot of people angry. The way Jeremy calls Michael a loser right before the song reminds me of how Will portrayed Jared during Dear Evan Hansen’s Good For You. He’s not as angry as Will Connolly, but sounds almost heartbroken, as if Jeremy really is upset he ‘has’ to do this to Michael.

• Will Roland’s laugh is really taken for granted when Jeremy and Christine chat.

• You see Rich argue with his (female sounding) SQUIP, and see him grab a can of gasoline.

• The SMARTPHONE HOUR!! Jenna’s got a lot of vocalized parts added the day I saw the show that were just AMAZING (Tiffany Mann is phenomenal and I’m lucky to have heard her voice in person)

• Chloe has a retainer that she just THROWS off stage.

• Brooke throws a fake banana twice as hard and twice as far. She just yeets it.

• The stage lights up in flames when they sing about the fire.

• The ensemble does that weird flossing dance in sync and it looks ridiculous.

• Gerard cartwheels and George does a really high jump split.

• THE SCREEN IN THE BACK SHOWS A SELFIE OF JENNA WITH THE HOUSE FIRE.

• The Pitiful Children starts about Christine, not how Jeremy was always a loser. The whole conversation about “that is to say you’ve had experience with the opposite sex” doesn’t happen. Instead of Jenna, Jeremy sees Christine troubled in the hallway. He talks to her and she tells him she knows about SQUIPs. A kid from her theatre camp got one and is now in a mental hospital, like the guy Michael found out about. That’s what leads to her walking away from him angrily saying she doesn’t need a pill to help her figure herself out.

• Then Jenna shows up and it’s basically the same from there.

• Jeremy’s clothes are all dark and emo chic when he argues with his dad.

• “Do you love him?” “........Wut?”

• Michael wasn’t burning his possessions.

• The fact that Christine knew about SQUIPs and turned Jeremy down just makes the part when you find out she drank from the beaker during the play so much more heartbreaking tbh.

• Jenna’s “I know what everyone’s doing” little spiel is to the tune of The Smartphone Hour instead of just kinda spoken, which is nice!

• Jake really does just pour the Mountain Dew Red out and Michael and Jeremy just sit there watching, individually.

• Rich is still bi! He asks if Michael is single after Jeremy says they aren’t dating.

• Michael RUNS to Jeremy’s hospital bed.

• Rich’s lisp is so good...so pure.

• During Voices in My Head, Michael is by Rich’s bed and hurts him twice while dancing.

• Christine’s SQUIP is Ruth Bader Ginsberg, the real old lady on the Supreme Court.

• Jeremy and Christine still end up going on their lunch date. This makes less sense than it did originally. Before, she says no to him on Halloween and ends up saying yes at the hospital anyway, but now, along with her rejection on Halloween, she is angry at Jeremy for using a SQUIP to talk to her, which to me makes it less acceptable for her to agree to go out with him. It would have been fine I think if they left it vague enough so it could be interpreted as platonically or romantically going out for lunch, but the two of them make out pretty hard during the instrumental.

• Overall: 100/10, would recommend.

[ghostbustermelanieking]

praescitum chapter eighteen

chapter one, chapter two, chapter three, chapter four, chapter five, chapter six, chapter seven, chapter eight, chapter nine, chapter ten, chapter eleven pt 1, chapter eleven pt 2, chapter twelve, chapter thirteen, chapter fourteen, chapter fifteen,  chapter sixteen, chapter seventeen

casefile, season 10, season 11, 11x08 familiar. part of my series that i write as i rewatch the x files

Summary: As Mulder and Scully adjust to their reassignment to the X-Files and working together in the wake of their separation, they find themselves investigating a small town and a ghost that apparently warns people of bad things to come.

note: warning for discussion of the plot of familiar, and warning for discussion of a missing child.

---

eighteen.

march, 2018

In Eastwood, Connecticut, there are witches and hellhounds and small-town fury. And dead children. That is the hardest part. Mulder and Scully are something of an audience to the crumbling of this town, and specifically of two families, two police officers and their wives and children. A little girl named Emily that they couldn't save. They can't get out of town fast enough.

The pleasant bickering—gallows humor, the back and forth they've been good at for years—from the crime scene fades away the longer they drive in the dark. They end up at a hotel near the airport, simply because neither of them wants to fly back tonight. There are two beds in their room; they use one, climbing in together after showering. Mulder wraps an arm around Scully's shoulders, and she lets her cheek fall to his chest. “You okay?” he murmurs to her scalp.

She chuckles humorlessly and shakes her head. “Not really.” She can't admit that she's been seeing or hallucinating (or whatever) the Willoughby Specter, but she'll admit this, that she's not okay. It's a step, she thinks. “That was a… difficult case,” she adds softly.

“I know.” He kisses her hair. “Cases like that are always hard.”

“Those little kids…” she croaks, curling a hand around the hem of his t-shirt. She can still hear that woman screaming her daughter's name. Emily. She shuts her eyes as if it could protect her from the image. It's still so hard sometimes, remembering everyone she has lost. Her daughter. Her son, lying on a morgue table just like Andrew Eggers; that tiny shape under a sheet.

“I know, honey,” Mulder says, and his voice breaks. “I'm sorry. I should've told Skinner we couldn't take it.”

She sniffles, rubbing her chin against his shoulder. “We knew what we were getting into when we took the case. I just wish we could've done something to stop it,” she says, lifting a hand to stroke his hair. “Besides, what would our excuse have been? I'm not sure we could've justified staying in Willoughby, no matter how upset Ryan was.”

“Hmm.” He thumbs her cheekbone, underneath her eye. “This case kind of reminded me of Willoughby, you know,” he says. “Albeit a more extreme version, of course… Small town. Prejudiced, superstitious townfolk. The gates of hell.”

“Where are the gates of hell involved in Willoughby?”

He nudges her. “Remember Joy's story about the potential origin of the Specter? The man who supposedly worshipped the devil and was found frozen on a mountain?”

“Fire and ice,” Scully says dryly, leaning her forehead into his neck. “The difference is that no one has died in conjunction to this case since 2002.”

“That we know of,” he points out.

“That's not helpful,” she chides, and he squeezes her close. “Do you think that everything is okay in Willoughby, Mulder?” she adds after a few minutes. “Ryan sounded pretty upset on the phone.” She's remembering the call that Mulder had gotten a few days ago, after they'd landed in Connecticut.

“I don't know,” says Mulder thoughtfully. “Ryan didn't seem very willing to offer up information, but I told him to call me if anything came up, or if it got dangerous. And I haven't heard from him, so…” He tucks the blankets around them, strokes a gentle finger down her jaw. “We'll need to meet with Skinner back in DC tomorrow, of course, but we could head back to Willoughby after we're finished with this case,” he adds. “What do you think?”

“We could do that,” Scully says hesitatingly, although she's not sure. She's been a bit apprehensive about the whole thing for months now, and their last visit only made things worse, what with the laptop in the hotel room and whatever it was she saw in the rearview mirror. The things that Joy Seers said to her, about faith and God; it's silly that it should bother her, but it does. Especially if they really were at the gates of hell tonight. It feels like a pattern now, like some sort of dark force is following her, and it somehow feels different from every case that she and Mulder took back in the day. It shouldn't, but it does.

Mulder is still talking. “It seems like a good idea to me,” he says, running his fingernails over Scully's scalp until she shivers. “I think whatever happened in that hotel room, coupled with Ryan's fear, is a good sign that something bad is happening in Willoughby. And I don't want to let it go too far. I don't want it to end up like—” He breaks off mid-sentence, and she knows that he's thinking of the case they just closed, of their son, out there on the run somewhere. It's hard not to; she sees their son in almost every case with a child, the same way she sees Emily. Mulder told her the other night that he'd told Anna Strong that he had a son the other day; I haven't told anyone I have a son in sixteen years, he'd said, his voice thick, and she'd wrapped her arms around him. William—Jackson—has weighed heavily on their minds ever since they found him, and therefore, so do cases like the one in Eastwood (the same way they always have, but a little harder now), and so does the case in Willoughby.

“I know,” she says. She lifts her head to kiss his cheek; his eyes are half-shut, like it hurts. She finds his hand, his callused palm, with hers and holds tightly. He hums low, brief thanks in his throat. “Oh, Mulder,” she murmurs, squeezing his fingers, “how the hell do you want to stop whatever's happening in Willoughby? I don't know if there's anything we can do.”

“Assuming it is, in fact, a ghost…” he says in a teasing tone that she knows is reference to the fact that she doesn't believe in it (or that he thinks she doesn't believe in it). He lets out a dry chuckle; gallows humor again. “Maybe the Grimoire of the Eastwood Witch could help us.”

She nudges him hard in the side, shaking her head. She keeps seeing Anna Strong go up in flames. She's thinking about what Mulder said at the crime scene: There is no getting out of this town, Scully. Not these days. She's thinking about Jared's story at the prison a couple of months ago, that he and his brother and sister-in-law were trying to exorcise the ghost when they were murdered.

She doesn't want to go back to Willoughby. She doesn't know if she believes in the ghost, and she's too afraid to find out. Anna Strong was trying to finish what she started, Holly Smith and Ben Seers were trying to prove that the alleged ghost was not malevolent, Marion and Jared Caruthers were trying to get rid of it for vengeance and protection. And look what happened to them. She doesn't know what she believes, she's afraid to believe (just like she told Mulder all those years ago), and she's afraid to find out what will happen to her and Mulder if they keep trying to get rid of it. He says he's seen it, too. She wants, desperately, to be selfish.

But if she is selfish, if they don't go back, she doesn't know what will happen to Ryan Caruthers. And she doesn't know how they can help, or if they can help, but she won't leave that kid behind to whatever it is that is tormenting him because she is selfish. She won't.

She has to tell Mulder, she decides. It's only fair. She doesn't know what she's even telling him, she's still halfway trying to rationalize the whole thing (what if Ryan Caruthers is making this whole thing up to protect his uncle, what if he's given Mulder and Scully something to make them hallucinate, drugged them somehow, didn't she see the ghost for the first time after they first met Ryan?), but she still has to tell him. She has to be honest, no matter how much it scares her; she needs to make sure he knows. She barely been knows how to begin, how to explain why she hasn't told him already—will he be angry that she hasn't told him already and accuse her of working against him, the way he had a long time ago? No, she doesn't think he would do that now, but it's hard to tell; she doesn't know why she hasn't told him already, she should've told him two years ago.

She starts gingerly, tugging gently at the tail of his shirt. “Mulder,” she whispers, “do you really believe in this? In… in the Willoughby Specter?”

It sounds so silly, coming out of her mouth, but she is ready for a quick confirmation, because of course he believes, he's said so more than once. And then they can move on, and she can tell him what she thinks she's seen. But there is no immediate answer. Only silence in response, followed by a grumbly snore.

Scully lifts her head and sees that Mulder, once an incorrigible insomniac, has fallen asleep.

---

Annie Caruthers has not seen her older brothers in sixteen years.

It's stupid, but sometimes she feels like she lost Jared when she lost Ian. Like she's an only child now. She hasn't seen Jared in person since the trial, and she could barely even look at him then. (She once thought he was innocent. She once thought they'd prove him innocent, and she'd have at least one brother. But he barely even tried to defend himself. The evidence was all there, and he practically admitted to it, and that was it. And she hasn't wanted to see him since.) She hasn't seen her brothers since 2002, and in reference to Jared, she would be completely fine with never seeing him again. But here she is, waiting for her big brother who murdered her other big brother to come home. The one thing she swore she'd never do, and something she can't not do, or she risks alienating her nephew further. God, her family is fucked up.

Annie and Ryan are waiting in the living room. Just waiting—the lack of activity is strange, and the tension in the air is palpable. Ryan is pacing—around the rug, in front of the stairs, in front of the door, where the salt line sits untouched. (He's been watching her closely ever since they got back from the hospital in December, and he flipped out the first time she tried to clean it up, so she hasn't touched it since. Easier to just let him sprinkle salt in front of the doors; maybe it'll work, will bring them some good luck.) Annie sits on the couch, fidgeting, her knee bouncing nervously. It's a habit she's carried since childhood; it used to drive her mother insane. (Stop fidgeting, she'd say. Relax.) They're both watching the door, their eyes flitting back and forth; Ryan keeps craning his neck to see the driveway. He's as anxious as she is.

Annie chews her lower lip, picking at a thread on a throw pillow. “Did he say when he'd be here?” she asks quietly, resisting the urge to tell him to call Jared and order him not to come.

Ryan scratches at the back of his neck. “No. I think he said an old friend had picked him up, and he was headed back to Winchester with him. Prison's not too far away.”

“I know,” Annie says quietly. She's driven Ryan that way many times. (Ryan used to try to get her to go talk to Jared with him. He really wants to talk to you, he said. He misses you.)

Ryan turns to face her, bouncing up and down on his feet. “Aunt Annie,” he starts in a faltering voice, “I'm really sorry that… I mean, I didn't want things to…”

The doorbell rings before he can finish.

Ryan heads for the door, casting a nervous, apologetic look over his shoulder. A silent plea for her just to go with this. Annie sighs and gets to her feet reluctantly. She hates awkward situations like this.

Ryan opens the door and motions him in. The man who comes into the room makes Annie's breath catch involuntarily in her throat. Her big brother. The last time she saw him, he was unshaved and messy in a courtroom, tangled hair and bloodshot eyes. Now, he's surprisingly neat, dressed in plain clothes, more muscle than she remembers. He's grown a beard, and he seems taller, which is impossible, but that's just how it seems. Annie looks at the ground, a lump in her throat.

“Hey, Ryan,” Jared says, shaking Ryan's hand awkwardly. Ryan greets him, shifting just as awkwardly. Annie isn't listening. She's still looking down at the rug, picking out the patterns with her eyes. She wants to be about anywhere else right now.

And then she hears him speak to her, in a strained, nervous voice. “Hi, Annie.”

Annie swallows and looks up. Tries to mute the combination of anger and affection that swirls up when she looks at him. He killed our brother, she thinks involuntarily, and gulps. “Hi, Jared,” she mumbles.

Jared gulps, too; she can see his Adam's apple bobbing. “I-I hope it's not overstepping to say that… I've really missed you,” he says. He offers Annie a wobbly smile.

Ryan looks between them hopefully, his eyes wide like a child of divorce who has watched The Parent Trap one too many times.

Annie forces a smile. It feels too fake and plastic, too wide. She wants to say, It is overstepping, but she doesn't.

---

The day after the Eastwood case, Mulder and Scully spend most of the day clearing up what happened, after their arrival back in DC. The agents who picked up the case before handing it off to them aren't too happy with the lack of a clear perpetrator in the deaths, but a phone call from Officer Wentworth (who essentially served as Mulder and Scully's ally in the whole situation) confirms that there is no other clear explanation, and people seem to just want to lay the whole thing to rest. The report that Mulder wrote on the flight home is met with some disapproval, but that's more or less what they're used to.

By the time they finally get out of their meeting, Mulder has several missed calls from an unfamiliar number, but he recognizes the area code. “These calls are from Willoughby,” he says, showing Scully the screen of his phone as she unlocks the office. “And it doesn't look like they're from Ryan.”

Her eyebrows raise. “Do you think something happened?” she asks.

“I don't know,” Mulder says as they enter. He presses the return call button and tucks the phone under his cheek as he sits across from Scully as the desk.

It rings only a few times before a frantic man answers on the other end. “This is Deputy Jacobs from the Willoughby Police Department. Agent Mulder, is that you?” he says in a rush.

Mulder blinks in surprise. “Yes, this is Agent Mulder,” he says. “I was returning your phone calls.”

“Are you in Willoughby? Mike thought he saw you and Agent Scully at the Chinese place last weekend.”

“Um, we were in Willoughby, by request of Ryan Caruthers—he was spooked about the Willoughby Specter, you know… but we got called out of town on a case a few days ago. Is something wrong, Deputy?” Across the desk, Scully raises her eyebrows questioningly, and he shrugs.

On the other end, Jacobs takes a tremulous breath, lets out a sigh. “You remember the sheriff's son, Robbie?” he asks. “He's missing. He's been missing for a couple hours.”

Mulder freezes, his stomach thunking at the deputy's words. “R-Robbie's missing?” he repeats, putting the phone on speaker and setting it down between them. Scully's eyes widen in panic. “What happened?”

“He was supposed to walk back home from a friend's house—it’s only about a block, but Bonnie O'Connell says he never showed up, and the friend's mother says he definitely left. Joe's out looking for him, but we're not entirely sure…” Deputy Jacobs's voice breaks. Scully has gone sheet-white, leaning closer to the phone and listening intently. “I-it's probably nothing,” he says thickly. “But Robbie told his parents that he'd been seeing the ghost lately, and I thought that might…” He breaks off, taking a few shaky breaths.

Scully clears her throat and says, “Deputy Jacobs, we can be in Willoughby in ninety minutes if we leave right now.” Her voice is determined, steely and fearful at the same time.

Jacobs clears his throat. “Actually, I was hoping to ask you another favor,” he says. “We have most of the force out looking for Robbie, the general consensus is that he probably wondered off… but there was something that Bonnie—Robbie’s mom—was worried about. Today is the day that Jared Caruthers got out on parole.”

Mulder swallows dryly; his throat is stunningly tight. This feels like Eastwood all over again; except this time, they may be able to do something. “And you think that he could be involved?” he asks. It's hard to reconcile that with the man they met in the prison a few months ago, but it's certainly possible.

“I don't know. But that seemed to be a theory of Joe's. And considering Jared Caruthers's connection to… to t-the Specter, and to Ryan… I just thought…” Deputy Jacobs trails off. He sounds like he is in tears.

“You want us to find Jared Caruthers and see if he's responsible,” Scully supplies.

“Yes,” Kenny says gratefully. “Just to check. Joe got in contact with the prison to see if Jared was coming back here, and they said he was living in the next town over, in Winchester. I have an address.” He rattles it off, and Scully scribbles it down on a Post-It note. Her eyes are bright and unwavering, and she looks like she's somewhere between crying and ready to hurt someone. And afraid, Mulder realizes. It's small, and it's muted, but she is afraid—and not the I'm-scared-I-won't-be-able-to-save-this-child afraid. A different kind of fear, somehow. He covers her hand with his on the desk.

“We'll go and check in on Jared Caruthers,” he says into the phone. “And we'll come to Willoughby and help out after we're done. Give me or Scully a call if there are any changes, okay?”

“Sure, sure,” says Deputy Jacobs, sounding a little distracted. “We… we're hoping it's not too serious, of course… That kid…” He breaks off mid-sentence, clears his throat. “I-I can't thank you enough for your help.”

“Of course,” Mulder says, but he's inadvertently thinking about what he told the police in Eastwood when they asked what the FBI were doing there: The FBI has jurisdiction over the killing of the immediate family of a law enforcement officer. He's hoping—he’s praying—that this won't be the case here. He doesn't think he could stand being unable to save someone else. He never should've left Willoughby in the first place, never should've seen this case as easily dismissable; if he'd stayed, maybe he could've figured out some way to help Ryan and exorcise this ghost, and this never would've happened. Or maybe—he hopes—that the kid has just wandered off, and he's perfectly fine, and there's no connection. But he has a feeling that it's not.

As if sensing that he's distressed, Scully squeezes his fingers. He rubs one finger over her knuckles and says into the phone, “Deputy Jacobs, did you say that Robbie had been seeing the ghost?”

“Yeah, he has been.”

“Has he said anything to you about it?” Mulder asks. “Anything noteworthy?”

Scully meets his eyes across the desk. He'd expected her to have some sort of disapproval, some sort of chiding, but instead, she just looks spooked.

“Uh, yeah,” says Jacobs. “He said that… he said that it felt different this time. That before, he'd felt safe, but he didn't anymore. He felt scared when he saw it this time.”

It's too much like what Ryan said to them earlier in the week. Mulder sighs, rubs a hand over his face, pressing his fingers into his forehead. “We'll be there as soon as possible,” he says into the phone.

---

Annie Caruthers is a good cook. It's been more or less a learning process—Ryan remembers, as a little kid, back when they were still living with his grandparents, a lot of cooking lessons on behalf of his grandma, and eating a lot of chicken nuggets and mac-and-cheese (both because it was easy and because that's what he enjoyed at the time)—but she's improved considerably since the beginning. But it's clear that she hasn't put a lot of effort into this dinner. She makes two frozen pizzas—a dinner that Ryan wouldn't usually complain about, but he kind of expected something a little fancier for this dinner. But Jared doesn't protest. “I've been living on prison food for sixteen years,” he jokes, grinning awkwardly at them. Only Ryan smiles back.

The dinner mostly goes like that. Jared stops trying to make conversation after a couple minutes and focuses on picking at his pizza. Annie stays silent, absorbed in her plate and glass of Coke. So it's mostly left to Ryan to make conversation. Which isn't something that he's very good of (at holidays, most of the time his family has no trouble finding subjects to discuss endlessly, and he can just fade into the background), but he makes a good effort. He tells Jared funny family stories in an attempt to lighten the mood, but it seems like it just brings back bad memories. (Jared tries to smile and mostly fails, and Annie avoids everyone's eyes and wipes her own a few times.) Ryan offers up a few stories about school—the ones that don't involve near suspension or juvenile delinquency—and those seem to go over a bit better, but not by much. He asks Jared a couple questions about how he's been doing, but those just seem to piss Annie off more. He realized that he's never really had a conversation with Uncle Jared outside of discussing the ghost or his parents.

Ryan tries one last desperate bid to change the subject. “So, Uncle Jared, have you talked to Grandma and Grandpa today?” he asks. His grandparents live in Oregon, and he knows they went years without talking to Jared, but they started to tentatively rebuild their relationship with him shortly before Ryan did; they were part of the reason that he got up the courage to ask to go and see Jared.

“I talked to them a couple days ago, actually. I think Mom wanted to try and have dinner… try and reconnect… the next time they come into town,” says Jared, his mouth twisted in an expression somewhere between a smile and a grimace.

At that, Annie scoffs, before either of them can say anything else. “Unbelievable,” she mutters under her breath.

Ryan turns to her incredulously; she is rolling her eyes. Jared says, uncertainly, “Annie, I'm sorry…”

“Sorry for what?” she snaps. “Sorry you killed our brother?”

“Aunt Annie!” Ryan snaps. Jared leans his forehead hard into his palm, his eyes screwed shut.

“Ryan, I'm sorry, but I can't do this, okay? I can't do this!” Annie stands, waving an angry hand in Jared's direction. “I can't just sit here with him and pretend that everything is okay! H-he killed my brother,” she says, and her voice cracks, her face white.

Jared rubs at his forehead hard, standing himself. “I knew that this was a bad idea,” he mutters, wiping his eyes, shaking his head. “I-I should go.”

“I think you should,” Annie says coldly.

Ice water seems to shoot through Ryan's veins, and he stumbles to his feet. “You can't go,” he insists, grabbing at Jared's sleeve. “You can't! It's too dangerous.”

“Ryan, I can't stay here,” Jared says in a soft voice. “It's going to be okay, though. Nothing bad is going to happen tonight…”

“No,” Ryan says in a low, furious voice. “No, you're wrong. This fucking ghost… it hurt my parents, and it hurt me, and it's tried to hurt Aunt Annie… it's not going to stop until it's finished the job, and it's going to try tonight.” His voice rises in a while; to his disgust, he can feel tears welling up, his eyes and nose stinging. He feels like a child throwing a tantrum.

Jared seems to be searching for words, a combination of guilt and distress visible on his face. Annie, however, is staring at them both in disbelief. “Jesus Christ, Jared,” she breathes. “What the hell have you been telling him? H-have you been telling him that you aren't responsible for what happened to Ian and Marion? That a ghost is? What the fuck? No wonder he's been having nightmares!”

“Annie,” Jared says with a sigh, “it's not what you think.”

“How the hell is it not what I think?” she snaps, nearly shouting. “He gets into trouble, he burns down a building, h-he breaks his ankle doing some banishment spell for a ghost he's been seeing all his life, and you think that doesn't have something to do with you? You can pin it all on some fucking ghost? The fucking Willoughby Specter?”

Ryan is speechless, hurt beyond words. Jared is pale and horrified, his eyes wide. He says softly, “You're right, Annie. It has everything to do with me. Just not in the way that you think.”

He turns towards Ryan, reaching out to clap him on the shoulder. “I'm going to leave, okay? I'm going to call my friend to come and get me. It's going to be fine.”

There are furious, hurt things that Ryan wants to say, but somehow, he can't get the words out. He nods, numb. Jared claps his shoulder again before turning and offering an apology to Annie. She says nothing in return.

When he's gone, the door slamming behind him, there's something of a tense silence in his wake. Ryan covers his face with his hands. He thought that they'd be safe if they just stayed here, but he should've fucking known it wouldn't work. He should've expected something like this.

“Ry, I'm sorry, but…” Annie starts.

He lowers his palms and shoots her an indignant, searing look. “Is that really what you think of me? That I'm fucked up because of Uncle Jared? Have you ever believed me about the Specter?”

Annie's mouth opens, closes. She starts uneasily: “Ryan, it's not that I don't believe you…”

“Yeah, got it,” Ryan snaps.

He moves, automatically, to the coat hook by the door, and grabs his coat. Then he yanks the door open. “Ryan, where are you going?” Annie calls, her voice tight and nervous, and maybe a little angry.

“Out!” Ryan shouts in response, letting the door slam behind him.

He runs down the driveway and past Jared, who is standing at the curb, assumedly waiting for his ride. He shouts a similar question of Ryan's whereabouts as Ryan passes.

“I need to check on someone!” Ryan shouts in response. He might as well give the truth to Jared—they’re more or less in this together, or so he thought. He's honestly not sure anymore.

Ryan keeps running, taking the familiar turns, going up familiar streets. He's going to check on the one person who has mentioned the ghost recently who isn't possessed. That seems to be the only responsible thing left to do.

The O'Connells's house is only a few blocks away, so Ryan makes it there in a pretty decent amount of time. He's breathing too hard, cold sweat running down his back; he sags forward, his hands pressing into the bark of the big tree in the front yard. He remembers this tree from babysitting—Robbie used to love to try and climb it. He shuts his eyes, his face wet, and takes a deep breath. He stands and stretches, walks up the front walkway and rings the doorbell.

Almost instantly, the door is being pulled open. Mrs. O'Connell is on the other side, and her expression is almost eager until she sees who it is; it immediately falls. “Ryan,” she mutters, in about the coldest tone he's ever heard from her; she's always been a lot nicer to him compared to her husband. “What are you doing here?”

“Hi, Mrs. O'Connell,” Ryan says, trying his best to sound polite, and not panicked. “I wanted to, uh, drop in and say hi to Robbie. Is he here?”

Mrs. O'Connell laughs harshly, her mouth around in a grim frown. “Unbelievable,” she says vaguely, as if talking to no one. “No, he's not here. He's been missing since sometime this afternoon.”

Ryan's stomach drops out from under him, his knees going weak. “He's missing?” he stammers. “W-what happened?”

“We don't know. My husband is out looking for him.” Mrs. O'Connell crosses her arms, nearly glaring at Ryan. “You know, this whole thing seems to coincide pretty conveniently with Robbie's claims of seeing the Willoughby Specter. A story I seem to remember you getting him interested in.”

Ryan's stomach twists again; he sways a little in place. “Y-you're blaming me for this?” he stammers. It's not an entirely off-base assumption—the Specter probably wouldn't be targeting Robbie and his family if it weren't for him—but the accusation still floors him.

Mrs. O'Connell sighs, rubbing her temples. “Look, Ryan, I don't know what's happening here, but—” Her voice breaks. “Y-you let our dog out, you almost killed my husband, and now my son goes missing after getting scared of a ghost you told him about? It's not a coincidence. It can't be.”

Ryan feels faint. He clutches the door harder. “I-I didn't let out your dog,” he whispers.

It's true. It's the one thing he didn't do in this whole giant mess: he didn't go anywhere near the damn dog. His suspicion is that the Specter possessed Robbie to let the dog out, just based on what he heard Robbie and Sheriff O'Connell had said about that night. But it wasn't him. Everything else was his fault, but not that.

Mrs. O'Connell's face falls further. Crumples. She looks like she's on the verge of tears. She says softly, “I'm sorry, Ryan. But I think you should go.”

She starts to close the door, but Ryan holds onto it, holds it open. “I-I really want you to find Robbie okay,” he stammers. “I-I-I'll go look for him. I'll go help look…”

Mrs. O'Connell looks at him and looks at him. She's sad; the look she's giving him is almost sympathetic. “Do whatever you want, Ryan,” she says. Slightly pitying and slightly disgusted. “I'm sorry.”

She tries to close the door again, and this time, he lets her. The door slams hard.

The tears rush up, and Ryan doesn't even try to stop them. He covers his face with his palms and sobs like a baby.

After a few minutes of crying, his ribs heaving, his cheeks wet, he decides it's silly to just keep standing on the porch of a woman who basically just told him to go away. He swipes wildly at his eyes and walks down the stairs and over to the sidewalk. He's walked several houses past the O'Connell house, sniffling and considering what the hell he's going to do now, when his phone starts to ring in his pocket, buzzing insistently. Expecting it to be Annie, a call he'll probably ignore, Ryan pulls out the phone and looks at the screen. But it's not Annie. It's an unfamiliar number.

Ryan sniffles a few more times, wiping his eyes and nose again, as he answers the phone. “Hello?” he says, praying his voice is steady.

There is only silence on the other end. Staticky, rustling sounds. And then, just as he's about to hang up: “I assume that you are feeling a considerable amount of distress, Ryan Caruthers.”

The voice sounds like Mrs. Seers, but Ryan knows it's not. It's the way she's sounded ever since she's woken up. It's harsher, more threatening. It's the type of voice that Ryan imagined as a child, huddled in a corner with his hands over his ears, his eyes shut, pretending that there wasn't a ghost in the room. It's the type of voice that might've haunted his nightmares.

Ryan intakes a sharp breath, his ribs tightening, and whirls away from the houses, as if the residents are listening to him. He cups his hand around the phone speaker and his mouth and whispers furiously, “You have Robbie, don't you?”

“Perhaps.”

He grits his teeth furiously, his hands clenched into fists. He's so furious, he can barely breathe. “Where the hell did you take him?” he hisses, clutching the phone hard. “What did you do?”

“That remains to be seen.” The voice is almost unfamiliar, like any inflections of Mrs. Seers have been scrubbed away. He wonders how long the ghost has been there, if there's even anything left of his old teacher. “I could do a lot of things. I have been watching the child for a long time.”

Ryan balls his hand in the top of his hair. He doesn't know if the Specter wants to do this to implicate him, or to lure him there and hurt him instead of Robbie, but he doesn't care. He doesn't care. He's not going to let anyone else die. “You want me?” he growls. “You'll get me. Where is he?”

“I am surprised you cannot figure it out.” A pause on the other end. Usually, when people pause on the phone, you can hear people breathing, but Ryan can't hear a thing. It's all quiet. “It is the place where you have felt me closest.”

There's a sharp click on the other end, and then nothing.

---

The drive to Winchester is mostly quiet. Mulder drives, mostly to focus his anxious energy on a task. Scully sits in the passenger seat, fidgeting, flipping through the Willoughby files Mulder had grabbed from the filing cabinet before they'd left. The tension in the car is unmistakable. They both are nervous, stuck in the place of Eastwood and children they couldn't save.

At one point, Scully reaches across the center console to squeeze Mulder's arm. “You know it wasn't your fault, right?” she says in a soft voice. “We had to leave. There's probably nothing we could've done.”

Mulder chews at his lower lip, squinting at the road. “You're right that we had to leave,” he says, “but I don't know that there was nothing we could've done.” He's thinking about Ryan's phone call on the day they left, how there seemed to be a reason for Ryan's call that he couldn't disclose. He doesn't know if that has anything to do with this, but he's got a feeling that it does. “I think the most we can hope for is that we'll be able to bring about a good outcome here,” he adds.

Scully sighs, squeezing his arm briefly before letting go. “What do you think is going on here, Mulder?” she asks in a subdued voice that catches him off guard. “Why do you think this is happening?”

He blinks a few rapid times, thrown off. He doesn't know if she's trying to start some sort of debate or not, and he's definitely not in the mood for a debate. “I think it's all connected,” he says. “Ryan, Jared, Robbie, the ghost.” He casts a brief, sideways look at her, expecting her to refute the ghost claim, but she doesn't say anything. “I would suggest some other explanation, but after what happened in our hotel room, I don't really have one,” he continues. “I think that whatever's happening is connected to the Willoughby Specter. I think that's kind of undeniable by now.”

He expects Scully to have a retort to that, some kind of alternate explanation, but she says nothing once again. He sneaks another glance and finds her sitting quietly in her seat, looking down at where she's got Google Maps open and directions to Jared Caruthers's new address pulled up. She seems almost disinterested… or scared. The way she seemed back at the office when they got the call from Deputy Jacobs.

Some things are suddenly starting to make sense to Mulder, to fall into place. He remembers the way Scully seemed spooked in the aftermath of the laptop flying across the room, the way she seemed apprehensive about coming back to Willoughby in the first place. And there are older memories as well: her reactions when he told her about seeing the ghost—the dreams he had before the Perlieu incident and before they went to Norfolk, and the time that he physically saw it, in the school—and, further back, the way she reacted when Joy Seers showed them the videos of the haunting in her classroom. He remembers being thrown by her behavior there, the way she seemed to be spooked by all of this. He remembers thinking that it was unlike her, that this is unlike her. And he wonders—probably too late—if something is wrong.

He sneaks another look at her as they turn up a street. She's still quiet, cradling her phone in her lap. He speaks gingerly, trying to let her know that he is not judging her or expecting anything of her, as he looks out at the road: “Scully? Do… do you believe in the ghost?”

More silence, a longer silence than he expected. Mulder looks at Scully briefly again, and sees that her neck and cheeks are red as if she has a fever. (Or as if she's embarrassed.) She clears her throat as if preparing to confide, but what she says is not that. She says, “The turn's up here, Mulder… here, this next left.”

If he knows Scully, than he knows that this is efficiently a shutdown of the subject. He takes the left, into the parking lot of a sprawling apartment building. “Deputy Jacobs gave us the apartment number, right?” he asks.

“Second apartment, fourth floor.” Scully clutches the phone hard, turning it off with the flat of her thumb. “Mulder…” she starts, uncertainly. Almost apologetically.

“It's okay.” He reaches for her hand on an impulse, pulling it away from the phone and squeezing briefly. “It's okay,” he repeats, looking her right in the eyes. Her cheeks redden further; she looks away. He squeezes her hand again before turning and opening his door. “We should probably get going.”

He hears her door open. “Yeah,” she agrees, “we probably should.”

They ride the elevator to the fourth floor in silence. The second apartment is directly adjacent to it, and Scully raps on the door, her stance hardening and her face flattening out into a serious expression. They both pull their badges as a man on the other side of the door shouts, “Coming!” They hear a series of footsteps before the door creaks open, a man who is definitely not Jared Caruthers standing on the other side. His face falls a bit at the sight of their badges, his face growing stonier as if he's putting up his defenses.

“FBI,” Scully says calmly. “Is Jared Caruthers here?”

The man's eyes dart back and forth between them as he shifts in the doorway. “Why do you want to know?” he asks, raising his eyebrows.

“We'd just like to ask him some questions,” Mulder says. “Is he here?”

“Dan, it's okay. I've got this.” Jared appears next to the man in the door, his expression somewhere between nervous and polite. He scans their badges quickly before meeting their eyes. “Agents Mulder and Scully? Did my nephew call you?”

“Actually, we're here in conjunction with the disappearance of Robbie O'Connell,” says Scully.

Jared's face falls, his mouth dropping open in surprise. The man next to Jared—Dan—crosses his arms and snaps, “He's been with me most of the day, you know. I picked him up from the prison in Pennsylvania, I brought him here to get settled, I dropped him off at his sister's for about an hour, and I picked him up about twenty minutes ago. I don't know who this Robbie O'Connell is, but—”

“Dan, it's fine, it's fine,” Jared says, holding up a hand as if to quieten him. He addresses Mulder and Scully: “I don't know Robbie O'Connell. I-I think Ryan might've mentioned him to me before, but… I've never met him. And I didn't take him, or hurt him. If you want to take a look around…” He sweeps his arm broadly across the doorway.

They don't have a warrant for Jared's apartment—and on top of that, Mulder thinks he’s probably not responsible. He'd had his doubts before, and this exchange has all but confirmed it. He could be wrong, but it seems like Jared is not involved. “Can your sister confirm that you were there the entire time you were outside of this man's presence?” Scully asks, her voice stern, and Mulder follows her line of thinking: Annie Caruthers has no reason to cover for her brother. He doesn't think he's ever gotten Annie's direct opinion on Jared, but he remembers Jared saying that his sister hated him.

Jared nods grimly. “I don't think she'll like it, but… yeah. Yeah, give her a call.” He motions them inside and rattles off the number for Scully, who steps aside to make the call. Her eyes slide over the room as the phone rings, looking for signs of anything amiss. Jared's friend, Dan, shoots them another suspicious look as he slips into the back of the apartment.

Jared is speaking to Mulder in a frantic voice. “I know you have no good reason to believe me,” he's saying nervously, “but I swear, I never came into contact with that kid. I wouldn't even be able to pick him out of a lineup. And I swear to God, I would never hurt him… I don't want to hurt anyone…”

Mulder chews at his lower lip, doing his own quick scan of the apartment. He offers, “Jared, this is probably an odd question… but do you think that this disappearance could have something to do with the Specter? We… We'd heard that Robbie had been seeing the ghost recently, and with his connection to Ryan…”

Jared's jaw works back and forth, as if contemplating. “It certainly sounds like it,” he says softly.

“Ryan called us in last week because he was scared of the ghost,” Mulder admits. From the look Scully is giving him, he assumes she thinks he's oversharing, but it doesn't seem to matter. Right now, it seems like Jared may be the best person to have a conversation with about this ghost. “He wanted us to… try and get rid of the ghost,” he adds sheepishly, the shame of their lackluster effort rushing back.

Jared grimaces a little, rubbing at his mouth. “That makes sense,” he mutters.

“Why's that?”

“Because he first contacted me in an attempt to get rid of the ghost,” Jared explains. “He wanted my help. He figured out what Ian and Marion and I were doing when they died, somehow, and he thought he could do it successfully. His attempts were… less than successful. He-he set a fire two years ago in an attempt to make the flurry of sightings stop, and he tried to exorcise the ghost himself just in December… and it ended in him spraining his ankle, and—according to him—Annie being possessed and nearly hurting herself. And when he called me to tell me what happened, I… I reacted badly.” He winces again. “I was so scared that he was going to get hurt. Or killed. And I think… I think he was kind of defeated after that. More scared. I… I guess that's why he called you two in.”

“He seemed to think that it was getting more dangerous,” says Mulder. “He gave us a video he took of a seancé—as proof that things were dangerous—and in the middle of watching it, the feed froze, and the laptop went flying across the room out of nowhere.”

Jared has a regretful, knowing look on his face. “Have either of you seen the ghost?” he asks. “Just… out of curiosity.”

“I have. A couple of dreams last fall, and once back in 2016. I don't think that Scully has.”

“I've been seeing it, too,” Jared admits. His voice is tight and afraid; it's small, like a child after a nightmare. “More than usual. Today, Ryan insisted that I come straight to the house because the house was protected, and I'd hoped he was just being paranoid. But now… now I don't think that's the case.”

An uneasy silence falls over them. Mulder's gaze shifts to the floor, unsure of what to say. He doesn't know how to stop this. He wishes desperately that he did.

“Okay,” says Scully across the room. “Thank you.” She hangs up, slipping the phone into her pocket, and crosses the room. “Well,” she says to Jared, “your sister confirmed your alibi. She says that she saw you standing at the end of the driveway after you walked out, and that she saw you getting picked up when she was leaving.”

“Okay,” Jared says awkwardly, one hand in his pocket. “Okay. And, uh, did she say where Ryan went? She was going to get him, right?”

“No, she didn't know where Ryan was,” Scully says. “Actually, she said she was out looking for him when she picked up.”

“Shit.” Jared rubs at his mouth stressedly. “Shit. I thought he might’ve been home by now. Shit, he… he said he was going to check on someone. I bet he knows about Robbie… I bet he's out there looking for him.” His eyes are shut tight in frustration, his voice wavering with fright. “Fuck. That kid is going to get himself… hurt.” He stops awkwardly, as if wanting to avoid the possibility of something worse than hurt.

“Do you think there's a possibility that he's found Robbie?” Mulder asks, his mind working. Scully raises her eyebrows at him questioningly. “Do you think that they could be in the same place somehow?” he continues. “If all of this is happening for the same reason?”

“Mulder, are you thinking that we may be able to find both of them somehow?” Scully asks.

“The line of thinking is that the Specter is connected to their disappearances, right?” he offers. “So by that logic…”

“You could probably find them both if you looked for one of them,” Jared says, his voice infused by sudden hope. “Y-you have to go look for them, please. I think I have an idea of where they might be.”

Mulder meets Scully's eyes again. She looks uncertain, saying, “Mulder, I don't know… I'm not sure that it's the best lead to follow.”

“Deputy Jacobs said most of the force was out looking for Robbie, right? What's it going to hurt if we follow this lead?” Mulder prods. “What if it's the right lead?” Scully doesn't look sure, and so he prods further. “Besides, Ryan Caruthers is missing, too. By pursuing this lead, we're pursuing them both.”

Jared is looking between them apprehensively. Scully sighs and nods. “I should call Deputy Jacobs, though, and let him know what we're doing,” she says. Mulder nods back and passes her his phone, where he has the number saved.

“I need to come with you,” Jared says insistently to Mulder. “I think I know how to find them.”

Mulder is tempted to argue—he knows that Scully would—but it doesn't feel worth it. There are two kids out there who need help, and he needs to make sure he doesn't fail them this time. “Where do you think they might be?” he asks.

“This is going to sound crazy, but… I've always had a feeling that the Specter was stronger in a certain area,” says Jared. “I think it's on the block of the old church, the one that's been around since before the town was founded. I think it has some sort of… power center there. I know that sounds crazy.”

“You think Robbie and Ryan are there?” asks Mulder.

“Somewhere on that block… It makes sense, right? Aside from the possibility that it's a power center, it's also the place where Ryan's parents died.” Jared gulps, his face white and rigid with fear. “It makes sense that they'd be lured there, right? If it started there… it makes sense that it would end there.”

It does make sense that it would be there. It almost makes too much sense; it's too perfect. Mulder can't help but wonder if this is all by design, if Jared is supposed to be drawn back to the scene of his crime the night that he gets out of prison; he can't help but wonder if they should leave him at home.

Scully hangs up the phone. “Deputy Jacobs seemed fine with us pursuing this lead,” she says, handing it back to Mulder. “Maybe even a little confident in it.”

“So they haven't found Robbie yet?”

“No, and he said there was no new leads,” says Scully. “He said he hasn't even heard from Sheriff O'Connell since he called to inform the department that Robbie was missing.”

---

The house being built on the property where Ryan's old apartment used to be is finally finished. It has a full structure, bricks and mortar and a roof. The wind whistles over the shingles as Ryan approaches it from the sidewalk, and he thinks involuntarily of the night of the seancé. Of the Ouija board bursting into flames.

He's too scared to go in. He knows he has to go in, but he's too scared to go in. Even with the knife. He'd stopped back by the house to get the knife—Annie was gone, presumably out looking for him—in a small attempt at self-defense, but he's worried that it's going to condemn him rather than save him. His uncle stabbed his parents, after all, right here. Right on this property.

His throat hurts, thick with fear, and his hands are shaking. He considers, briefly, just running away and calling the cops.

But no, he can't do that. That might get Mrs. Seers arrested, and he knows that this is not her fault. If she survives the night, she doesn't deserve to go to prison. And besides, there are no guarantees that the ghost won't just kill Robbie if the cops come. And he doesn't know that the cops can even stop the Specter.

It has to be him. He's the one it wants.

The door to the new house begins to move, creaking open excruciatingly slow, the hinges squeaking like they're fifty years old instead of just a couple months. There is no one behind it.

Ryan takes a deep breath and begins walking up the dirt-lawn to the house. He wonders when the property will be ready to sell, wonders if they'll tell the people who buy it what happened here. Everyone loves a good ghost story, he thinks bitterly. Everyone certainly loves this one, but nobody knows the details. The true story, here, is one that gets people killed.

He steps over the threshold and into the dark house. The door slams shut behind him, making him jump. He looks frantically in front of him, to either side, over both shoulders; he doesn't want to be caught off guard. But there is no one there.

Ryan takes a deep breath. “Hello?” he calls out, his voice trembling, and is instantly disgusted with himself. He doesn't need to resort to horror movie clichés, no matter how on edge he is. Where the hell are they? he thinks, gritting his teeth. He steps further into the front hall, walking towards the next room. It's furnished, albeit sparsely—by the real estate company, he assumes—and it looks cheesy as hell, but he's strangely grateful for the furniture, the corny decorations. It keeps this empty house from becoming his parents’ empty apartment, the empty rooms and the graffiti on the wall and the overturned crib in the nursery. A shiver runs sharply up his spine, and he shudders. He walks through another, sprawling room and finds nothing.

It's in the next room that he sees it: the two shapes lying on the ground, one large and one heart-stoppingly small. Ryan seizes his phone in quivering fingers and turns on his flashlight, shining it on the shapes. The faces snap into place: it's Robbie and the sheriff, the kid tucked securely under his father's arm. Neither one of them are moving, are alert.

Ryan's breath catches in his throat, and he rushes over to crouch beside them, letting it drop to the floor. “Robbie?” he whispers frantically, his voice rasping. “Robbie, can you hear me?” No answer.

Praying, frantically praying that he isn't too late, Ryan reaches down and presses two fingers to Robbie's pulse point in his neck. There it is, beating reassuringly strongly. Ryan breathes a sigh of relief, and checks the sheriff's pulse. Equally strong. They're both alive, but they're both unconscious, and Ryan has a feeling it's not a natural sleep.

He grips Robbie by his bony shoulders and begins to lightly shake him. “C'mon, Rob, wake up,” he whispers insistently. “You've gotta wake up.” But there's no response from Robbie; he's limp, his limbs flopping like a rag doll. “C'mon, kid,” he whispers, but Robbie's face stays still.

Ryan moves on to the sheriff, poking him hard in the arm; the guy's too bulky to shake. “Sheriff O'Connell?” he hisses. “Can you hear me? We gotta wake up, we gotta get out of here.”

A floorboard creaks behind him. Footsteps echo across the unfinished wood.

Ryan's breath catches in his throat. He fumbles instinctively for the knife tucked into the waistband of his pants, as bad as an idea as that may be. His fingers close around the handle just as it speaks.

It's the voice, the one that almost sounds like Mrs. Seers, but not quite. It's too far removed. It sounds like something else, something darker, something Ryan can't quite put his finger on. Something inhuman.

“Ryan,” it says. “I'm so glad that you're finally here.”

[cerealmonster15]

How about Leo for that character thing?

ffffuck yes i have to put this one in a readmore bc i got carried away listing like 800 leo quotes 

How I feel about this characterhes one of my favorite royal sibs!!!!! probs tied with elise and takumi? or possibly my most fave?????? i was sad the whole time birthright bc i missed him and elise the whole time,,,, now that im playing conquest im sad bc i miss takumi lol. i love my tomato brother ;w; but he (and xander) is like the funniest fuckin character, oh my god. i love him so much. he makes me cry with laughter half the time he opens his mouth. hes this snarky little snob and he can’t dress himself for shit bc his clothes are always inside out or backwards (me too actually. every time i realize my shirt’s on wrong im instantly like Wow Leo Vibes). i love how in birthiright near the end theres this important emotional scene and hes gotten rid of iago and corrins like “hhhhey leo,,,? ur shirts inside out” and he just goes “DAMN IT.” his shop voice lines sound like a really sarcastic customer service voice. “Welcome. Goodbye~!”. so do xander’s??? i fucking die every time one of them is manning a shop oh my god i love themhis alts in feh make me s c r e a m hes so damn funny and dramatic.summer leo:“[grumbly voice] TANLINES… what, torture.”“If you are disappointed by these results then give me clothes”“Hot… beaches?hHHRRNNNNNN[aHEM], hate them.”“Tropical islands? Forget it! And this swimsuit? [snobby laughing tone] DONT even get me STARTED!”“Hey, if you like tropical islands, that’s fine. Maybe it’s not as bad as[randomly starts laughing???] I say.” like is he trying to be chill about it but just cant hold it together because the very idea of  a tropical idea is so absurd to him ?? hes so fuckign weird i love himGOD my ultimate favorite leo quote ever of all time tho is: “I actually like walking a beach at night. But… swim? In the ocean? [laughter, maybe nervous laughter i cant fucking tell] With my body?!?!???” WITH MY BODY?? i love him what the helland then he does that thing in the lvl40 five star convo where hes like “id be as red as a tomato if i got a sunburn???? fuck, how could i hate the sun if thats the case??? maybe ill go right now-” god hes so weird. i love that line regular leo does thats like “you’d never guess what vegetable really catches MY fancy! ………tomatoes…….”and then picnic leo omg. i probably screamed when i saw he was a free unit this spring i was SO HAPPY [as much as i love summer leo i dont actually have him and i cry that his banner hasnt returned this summer yet ;c]he grumbles when u poke him. he goes MMMMMM when you pick him up to take his turn. he complains about the sun, AGAIN.“i’m not used to this much sunlight! it’s…. nnggggg,,, blINDing..”“[offended voice] why are you being so SNEAKY? THIS is a PICNIC!” HhhhhhHHHHHH god lmao“[very proud voice] How does it taste? It must delicious, given I made it mySELF!” “What about this? I had my retainers prepare it for us.“ ik a lot of people say this contradicts his first line and one of them is a fucking lie, but i like to think this just means he made lunch with odin and niles and they did different parts and it’s soooooooooooooooooo cute to think about him cooking with his boys ;w; also he sounds so proud here too. hes so proud of his retainers and hes like “heh, mine are the best, they made this great food arent they wonderful i love them so much”“You want…to try some of my cooking? [gasp sigh huffy noise??] If you insist…” hes so excited someone wants to eat his cooking but he cant let anyone Know he has emotions lollies down… maybe leo really is my top fave LOL i just love his lines so much. i want to high five his voice actor for the delivery on these lines. that’s not even going into some of his supports in warriors that ive watcheed on youtube [plz everyone needs to see the one with frederick and leo. it always has me in tears. theyre SO FUNNY together ldjsfgbgf]chapter leo of birthright is probs one of my favorite chapters in fates. it was HARD AND ANNOYING but the dialogue made me weepy 

All the people I ship romantically with this characterodin and niles are fave….. they make a cute ot3!! i love how much he appreciates and cares for them and theyre all so good for each other… mr uptight leo and his chaos incarnate retainers to bring out his very secret dorky side… my BOYS!!!  i could go on and on about them for many paragraphs but this is already way too long lmfao oopsi also like leo and takumi of course lol. i havent played revelations yet but ive seen bits of their supports and also i just love the bickering enemies to lovers trope lol. this is my favorite panel from the 4koma comics

My non-romantic OTP for this characteri love the familial bonds between all the nohrian siblings but so far leo and elise is my fave sibling duo,,, but im biased bc so far ive only gotten theirs and camilla/xander’s lol. but even in hoshido i like the younger sibs plus older sibs duos. the idea of closeness in age forming a special bond is cute to me. i also like corrin and leo as having a close sib bond since they seem close in age! i know theres [remembers graveyard chapter of birthright again and starts sobbing] some underlying angst of him envying all the doting on corrin his siblings do and he feels ALONE AND I CRY, but he also was very fond of corrin, and i remember the end of birthright where camilla totally calls him out saying how he was saying how nice it was to get to see corrin again ;w; i’d like to think they were close!and of course i like leo and camilla’s relationship…. thinks about end of birthright and sobs… at least they have each other ;o;i need to get more leo supports actually… i want to see every support convo but theres only so much time CRIES 

My unpopular opinion about this characterIDK if this counts bc i feel like it’s half and half but i am not a fan of shipping corrin specifically with him or any of the other nohrian/hoshidan royals. like i totes get wanting to marry him as a character, buuuuuuut like i personally was not about to do that when our protagonist was his adopted sibling??????????? no thank you?!?!?!?!????? my friends and i read through the s-support convos for all of them on the wiki once and just…died the whole time bc theyre SO AWKWARD AND WEIRD “i was hiding my FORBIDDEN FEELINGS for you, PERSON I THOUGHT WAS MY SIBLING, my WHOLE LIFE, but now that ur NOT MY BLOOD RELATED FAMILY we can GET MARRIED, even tho weve still been calling you sister/brother casually this whole game” i CRYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY IT’S WEIRDDDDDDDand like i dont think thats really an unpopular opinion but i see enough corrin/royals art to think it’s unpopular enough i guesstho i imagine there are some people that chose to marry the royal sibs and also think it’s weird but they just love the character and sat there like “ew stop dont talk about  that” loltho some people are like “it’s not technically inc/est-” like,,,, it kinda still is tho HHHH GROSSANYWAY

One thing I wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon.I mean with all video games i wish bein gay was more legal. i want to s-support all the royals to their counterparts. let leo hold takumi’s hand, which would probs turn into a competition of who can squeeze the hardest until they break each other’s bones bc theyre stupid, but plz. i want this. let hoshido and nohr form ultimate peace bc all their royal fams married.also i dont know the full situation with forrest bc i havent unlocked him but from what ive heard i wish leo was nicer about CERTAIN THINGS in their…. i guess recruitment chapter ? supports? i hear in some of japan’s dlc or a drama cd or something he comes around and is more accepting but still, if that’s not the case in US game i wish it WAS!!!ALSO i wish the sibs could have support convos with each others kids. like even if it was just the main royals kids getting to talk to their aunts and uncles i think that’d be CUTE !!!!!WAIT ALSO on the wiki, leo, niles, and odin all have unused quotes from the endgame. it seems like theyre in the part of the game where you got knocked the fuck out and hung out in the afterlife for a bit with ur dead friends and family and then everyone in the real world is shouting at u to get up off ur ass and come finish the fight. im wondering if that means leo and his retainers were originally supposed to join you in your final battle, even tho you were siding with hoshido? i wouldve loved that and cried twice as hard..... 

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