#That it is an empty ghost town. Or that it’s busy and full of life.

[mcyt-headcannons]

Sheriff Jimmy’s Tumble Town is inhabited by ghosts

It’s a literal ghost town

[cumikering]

Keegan Russ x reader

3.5k | fluff, second chance, childhood friends

You matched with Keegan on Tinder

@glitterypirateduck’s holiday challenge, inspired by I Don’t Do Drugs by Doja Cat

“No way.” You shook your head. “Not Keegan goddamn Russ.” You chuckled as you stared at his profile.

It had been over 15 years since you saw him last. His teeth might have been straight, bowl cut replaced by a far more fitting fade cut, but his sharp blue eyes and easy smile remained. They were unmistakable.

This dude hadn’t crossed your mind in years, but you were pleasantly surprised to see he’d grown to be a tall and athletic Marine. You hated to admit that he got hot, even that not having a stupid haircut wasn’t a very high bar to begin with.

You zeroed in on his smile again. He was attractive and he knew it. He couldn’t have been there for anything serious.

You laughed to yourself. “What the hell,” you said and swiped right on him.

At the other end of town, Keegan laid in bed, swiping mindlessly on his phone.  Left… Left… Oh!? … Yeah, another left… Until his hand froze when he saw your card.

“Goddamn,” he muttered as he rolled to his side, clutching his phone. Where the hell were you all this time?

He took his time ogling your photos. The first one was a full body picture, your figure on display in your tight jeans. The second was a selfie, your eyes bright, donning a brilliant smile and glossy lips. The last two were group photos. He loved your style – comfortable yet tasteful. Your genuine laughter and the twinkle in your eye as you sat among your friends mesmerised him.

Okay, so you were the life of the party.

Keegan often worried about not having enough to say and preferred chattier dates who’d lead the conversation. Evidently, he didn’t have to worry about that with you…  Because you probably wouldn’t even look at him twice. With looks like that, you could have anyone.

He lied on his back and gawked at your selfie again, biting his lip.

“What the hell,” he said to himself and swiped right.

He nearly dropped his phone on his face when it chimed right away. It’s a match! He gasped.

He stared at the empty chat window, fingers drumming on his thigh as he contemplated what to say. He wished he had more game.

After a minute, he settled with a simple Hi, hope you’re doing alright :) are you from the area?

You seemed a little quiet the first day of texting, but he’d expected that, a usual occurrence in his endeavour. Keegan didn’t relent, coming up with discussions, although some he had to admit were rather lame. Soon, you asked him specific questions about himself, allowing the conversation to pour throughout the days. He stopped thinking too hard when replying.

As it turned out, you were from the same hometown. You went to different high schools, but had a few mutual friends, although none he knew anymore. He barely kept in contact with anyone back home safe for the handful of his close high school friends.

Now that he reached for his phone far more often on base, grinning at that, it took no time for people to notice the newfound habit.

“We need to tell command someone’s hardly working.” Ajax nudged Kick, nodding at Keegan at the far end of the rec room. “He keeps looking at that one selfie.”

He chuckled. “If it’s too good to be true, it probably is. Don’t get catfished, bro.”

“Or ghosted.” Ajax roared in laughter. He had no business sounding so proud of his pun.

Keegan’s eyes narrowed at them before looking back down at his phone. He wasn’t going to let his buddies stop him from sending you the What kind of bread are you? quiz.

At night, it’d also become a routine to text. He didn’t want to get ahead of himself, but it grew to be the highlight of his day. He could unwind and laugh with you without having to wait long to have you text back. His bed felt less empty, a little less cold.

“I’d really like to meet you. You’re wonderful,” he said longingly at his phone.

He knew he wanted to after the third day, but didn’t initiate a date in fear of moving too fast and appalling you. But after over a week, with his next deployment inching closer, he’d grown impatient and a bit mad at himself for overthinking the matter. He didn’t remember asking anyone on a date being that unnerving.

Unprompted, your name flashed across his screen, sending his heart racing. Keegan sat up and cleared his throat before answering.

“Hey,” he said with as much smoothness as he could muster.

“Hi, Keegan.”

He could hear the smile in your voice, and he prayed he had even a fraction of the effect you had on him, on you.

“I was wondering if you’re into soccer?”

His brows furrowed. Hell no, he wasn’t at all.

“You want to watch the World Cup screening with me Saturday night?”

But for you? Well for you, he was the biggest fan in town.

“Sure,” he answered immediately. He couldn’t believe his ears. Was it Christmas already?

“For dinner, there’s a taco truck I like near the sports bar, if you’d like to try.”

He tried not to smile too much, but he was failing miserably. He was two seconds away from puking out the butterflies in his stomach.

“Sounds great,” he breathed. “I’m looking forward to meeting you.”

“Me too.” Your easy voice calmed him.

Kick’s comment crossed his mind. He stilled for a moment and decided he didn’t care what you looked like. The little of you he got to know the past week was enough to get him hooked.

“Well, I only wanted to ask that. I’m going to bed.”

“So soon?”

You let out a small laugh. Oh, he wanted to stay on the phone all night.

“Talk to you again tomorrow, okay? Send me more quizzes.”

After you hung up, he bit down a silly grin as he pulled up your photos again.

The following night, struck with a sudden burst of confidence, Keegan called when you were both in bed. He’d expected the pauses on his end (which was why he always preferred texting), but you didn’t seem to mind. At least he knew you weren’t opposed to talking to him. You stayed on the line for half an hour, your laughter lulled his reeling mind.

Saturday couldn’t have come sooner. He’d shaved that morning and put on some cologne before taking way too long to pick an outfit. He hoped it didn’t look like he was trying too hard.

You declined his offer to pick you up. He didn’t take it personally - he was a patient man after all. But when he’d arrived a little too early, he started to lose his cool the longer he leaned on the streetlamp.

He had to do a double take when he caught sight of you walking towards him. Oh, look at the way you lit up, your smile the same brilliant one like in your photos. You were in those delightful jeans again, your hair bouncing to your steps. He straightened up and met you halfway.

“Hi,” you said when you got to him.

“Hey.” His smile didn’t waver. “You look great.”

You took the words out of his lips, the words that he already had so few of. This was the opposite of catfish because you were far prettier in real life. He needed you to hold his hand because he wasn’t going to look where he was going.

He couldn’t wait to brag to Kick and Ajax.

You looked up at him, eyes bright. “Thank you. You look nice yourself.”

He followed you to join the short queue. He stole a glance as you ordered.

“I’ll have what she’s having,” he said to the cook, giving your hand a gentle nudge when you tried to pay.

First skin contact. Innocent enough.

But why did it get so warm all of a sudden? He hoped he wasn’t sweating. Fuck, he didn’t know what to do with his hands. Should he shove them in his pockets? How close was the acceptable distance to stand next to you?

Well, he certainly stood close enough for you to catch a faint waft of his cologne.

You meant it when you said he looked good. He wore a light jacket over a black shirt, light washed jeans and sneakers. His jet black hair was styled, a little longer than in his photos. The way he stood with his hands in his pockets accentuated his build, his watch a nice touch.

Sure, curiosity got you at first. It quickly came to light that he didn’t recognise you – granted you used a nickname – but you found it amusing nonetheless. You didn’t even mean it to get that far but after talking to him, you couldn’t help but want more.

Dating was always daunting; putting your heart on the line like that rendered you vulnerable. It wasn’t that he didn’t reciprocate – his company was delightful, but whatever you had between you felt stagnant. You thought your initial assumption was right: he wasn’t looking for anything more. Was this a mistake after all?

You sat on the bench nearby, the drinks between you. You took two bites before you stalled.

Your face twisted. “Why’s this hot?”

“Is it? Mine isn’t at all.”

“It is ridiculously hot.” You blinked the tears away.

“Can’t be. Let me try.”

You handed him the taco, instead he grabbed your wrist and leaned in for a bite.

He gave you an amused smile. “It’s not hot at all. Here, I’ll have yours.”

By now, a few drops of sweat had broken out of your forehead. You didn’t question it when he swapped the paper plates on your thighs and took a huge bite.

It wasn’t supposed to be hot! This was so uncool, at your first meeting at that. Your gaze trained on the ground as you took a small bite of his which actually tasted normal. When you looked up, it was his turn to frown.

“Wait. It is.” He put the taco down. ”It is hot.”

“I told you!”

“Oh God. Oh shit,” he hissed, scrambling for his drink. “Why is it so hot?”

You stifled a giggle. “They must have put the wrong sauce in mine, because yours tastes fine.”

“My tongue had never known such pain. What the hell is in this thing?” He continued gulping down his drink. “Oh no, it’s getting worse.” He sniffled before shoving the last half into his mouth.

“You know you don’t have to eat it, right?” You busted into laughter as he chew with all his might. “Why would you do that to yourself?”

His brows knitted, the agony in his watery eyes as clear as day. You handed him a serviette.

“That’s inhumane, but I’m a man of my word,” he said between hisses, wiping at his forehead. “My mouth is on fire. I need to inhale fire extinguisher.”

You could only offer him your drink which he gladly chugged. Still giggling, you finished your meal before making your way to the bar.

“I’m sorry, that was really embarrassing.” He grimaced through his drying tears, forehead still damp. “But at least you’re laughing. I like it when you laugh.”

You wanted to kiss him right then.

Keegan was the first man to make you willingly lose sleep in a long time, but his inaction didn’t sit right with you. Self-doubt inevitably crept up - maybe you simply weren’t his type, but you were too hooked to not at least shoot your shot despite your mounting fear of rejection. Your heart lodged in your throat when you called him that night.

Oh but his voice was so calm and soothing, and what for? He got you hanging onto every word - some straight up sounded like he was purring. Like now, he had to lean in closer and closer to talk over the noise as the bar continued to fill up. The deep rumble of his laughter so close in your ear got you biting your lip.

You didn’t want to like him so much, but here you were smiling non-stop the past hour. He’d taken his jacket off, his sturdy arms on display as he lied back. Now that was the highlight of his outfit. It didn’t help that he kept looking at you like that either; blue eyes piercing, brows striking with a cool smile.

It was unfair how effortlessly charming he was, like it was simply an unfortunate by product of being Keegan Russ, like he didn’t even mean it.

Well, evidently, Keegan was literally sweating about the humiliating incident. He sincerely hoped you wouldn’t excuse yourself to the bathroom to stand him up, but the smile hadn’t left your pretty face ever since. That was a good sign right?

Halfway into the first half, he extended his arm along the back of your seat, eyes still on the screen pretending to not notice the way your lips curled in amusement. You dragged your chair against his, thighs touching now. His fist clenched when you placed your hand on his knee.

He was secretly glad this was your first date – if he could even call it that. At least there was no pressure to keep making conversation and he could focus on your company, which he thoroughly enjoyed thus far. Was wrapping his arm around your waist an appropriate next move? He itched to be closer.

“How long have you been on Tinder?” You turned to him during halftime.

“A few months now.”

“Any luck?”

He looked away, shaking his head. “I don’t get a lot of matches, and when I do - even after many weeks of talking… Well as it turned out, people just aren’t very interested in dating long distance.”

When his eyes flicked up and met your sympathetic look, he wondered if he shouldn’t have been so honest.

“You? Any luck so far?” he asked quickly.

“I went on a few dates with someone who looked an awful lot like my first crush.” You let out a small laugh. “But that’s all. It didn’t work out.”

A speck of jealousy flickered in his chest. “Tell me about him. Your first crush.”

“Well, I was a late bloomer. It was in high school, he was a sophomore when I was a freshman.”

“Handsome dude?”

“Yes, but I actually never spoke to him.” You tilted your head and smiled. “Well, I did once, kind of. I don’t know what possessed me, but one day I walked up to him and gave him a bar of chocolate. He said thanks, and that was it.”

You looked over him. The crowd had started to move towards the bar

“I’ll get us more drinks before the wait gets too long.” You stood up.

Keegan perked up; he wasn’t going to miss his chance. When you came back, he’d mustered all his courage to tug on your wrist in the direction of his parted thighs. There was a glint in your eye as you indulged and he snaked his arm behind you, hand on his knee. You had a playful smile on your lips when you moved it to your waist and wrapped your arm around his neck.

He leaned onto your shoulder, his chest pressing against your side. He watched the way your eyes transfixed on the screen, how your glass would freeze against your lower lip at times. He couldn’t help smiling when you tensed up whenever someone got close to scoring a goal. His other arm wrapped around your waist.

He hadn’t taken his eyes off you when the bar erupted in cheers. You turned to him with a proud grin. Oh, your lips were just right there. He wasn’t going to survive the night.

Your favourite team won and you left the bar beaming. You were glad he offered to walk you home because you still wanted his presence. Your fingers curled around his forearm.

“I didn’t get to ask about your first crush.”

He chuckled to himself. “We were in fifth grade.”

“You ever told her?”

He shook his head. “She hated me. My friends used to tease her about her weight. I didn’t join in but I hung around anyway. I guess when you’re young you do dumb things to fall in.”

You remembered the raucous boys he hung out with.

“Over the summer, I convinced myself to finally say something, but she’d moved away.”

Had he not looked at where you were going, he’d have seen the shock on your face. Your heart skipped a beat. Is he talking about me?

“What was she like?”

“My memory’s fuzzy now, but she had two other girlfriends they teased too but she always stood up for them. Oh, was sassy too.” He smiled. “I used to stand around to overhear her jokes. If I laughed along, she’d stare me down until I left.”

You laughed, too hard for someone who supposedly wasn’t involved in the story. You remembered that too, the way prepubescent Keegan Russ and his dumb bowl cut scrambled away when you gave him bombastic side eye.

You couldn’t believe it. He had a crush on you?

“I think had I spoken up, we’d have been good friends.” He glanced at you with a smile. “You know, when I heard she’d moved away, I came home crying and my mum smacked me upside the head. Told me not to hang around with the shithead boys anymore.”

You stopped in your tracks and took your hand off his arm. “You really don’t recognise me?”

He turned to you, brows furrowed. “What?”

“You used to paste Superman stickers on my Barbie backpack.”

Keegan’s eyes widened. He turned away, a hand over his face, laughing out of pain. No fucking way. He wanted to disappear.

You chuckled. “A new one whenever I managed to peel the previous one off. Said they were boyfriend and girlfriend.”

“Shit, I’m so sorry. I don’t recognise you at all.” He lowered his hand. “But you don’t even have the same name?”

“It’s the internet. You’re the weird one for using your real name.”

His brows rose. “You knew it was me all along?”

“Right away.”

“And you didn’t say anything?” He shook his head. “That’s just mean.”

“Was wondering if you remembered, but we were kids. I’m not surprised you didn’t recognise me or forgot.”

The corner of his lips pulled. “Well, I didn’t forget.” And probably won’t. You haven’t left my mind the past week.

And that voice was back, of course. He definitely knew what he was doing, and still you couldn’t get enough.

“Wait, no. Is this it?” He frowned. “Did you talk to me the entire time- meet me just for this?”

“No! No. I wanted to see you.” The edge in his voice stung more than you expected. “I… I didn’t think you’d even want to, because you didn’t make a move.”

His cold eyes searched yours, making your heart ache. If only he knew how much he made you smile, how many times a day you wished he’d replied when you checked your phone. You never wanted to see that pain in his face again.

“Please don’t lead me on,” he finally said, his gaze softening. “Not when you know you don’t want this.”

You wanted to hold him. “I promise I won’t. I know it’s early to say, but I want to try.”

He took a small step towards you. “Are you sure you like me?”

Suddenly he was once again the young Keegan who couldn’t meet your eyes, asking if you wanted to share the last of his favourite chocolate with him.

“Are you?”

“Positive.” His icy blues were back on you. You saw the wary hopefulness in them.

You closed the gap, arms wrapping around his waist. You let out a small sigh as your head rested on his shoulder.

“May I see you again?” He pulled you closer, his voice lighter now. “I want to go on a date. A real one, with my first crush with the death stare.”

You laughed against his neck.

Keegan hated getting ahead of himself, not knowing how many more times his hopes could be shattered before the shards got to small to meet again. But as he held you, he let his mind drift, just a little further, just this time.

With his eyes closed, he thought that maybe in the future - perhaps soon enough, someone would be waiting at the base to welcome him back with a smile and an embrace just like this.

More Keegan: fake dating, werewolf AU

A/N: I think the song represents the uncertainty in the initial stages of falling, when you keep trying to swallow the hopefulness, cautious of each other’s intentions as to not get hurt. It takes bravery handing your heart over to a stranger, unsure if they’ll just stomp on your feelings or be the best thing ever.

@sofasoap @b1rds3ye @macravishedbymactavish @shadofireshinobi @two-gh0sts

[wynnyfryd]

Trailer park Steve AU part 54 (12.1)

part 1 | part 53 | ao3

cw: angst

Chapter 12

Steve drives to Chicago.

He wakes up to an empty bed and a sticky note by the kitchen phone, words scribbled over so the only legible thing left is the word sorry underlined in jagged black, and his breath sticks in his chest and he can't be here anymore. Epiphany ringing like a gong, sending ripples through his marrow, because the walls are closing in and Eddie decorated those walls — splattered himself over every inch of this place, and now he's just the newest haunt in a line of ghosts that Steve can't shake. He thought he’d gotten rid of them, but now he hears them louder than ever. In the hiss of the faucet, in the buzz of the fridge; they’re moaning in his bad ear and rattling his bones, and he can't be here alone with them he can't be here he can't—

So he drives.

Gets in his car with nothing but a spare jacket and a crumpled pack of cigs. If ever there was a time to pick the habit up in earnest. Eddie’s van is gone, and Steve’s heart is bruised; it's bleeding out inside him, pumping fresh hurt with every beat, so he lights a cigarette with shaking hands and heads north. Takes the back roads to the on-ramp of I-65, drives for hours; drives for years, speeding down empty stretches of highway with nothing but roadkill for company.

At some point he rolls the windows down until the icy wind makes his cheeks burn, but he can't really feel them. Can't feel his face, or his fingers, or his heart.

All the world is snow and asphalt, and Steve Harrington is alone.

He tries to drown it out with music. The radio mocks him with swooning quartets love songs — 'put your head on my shoulder' and 'life could be a dream' — and all the tapes he can reach belong to Eddie, so he pulls over on the narrow shoulder of an overpass bridge and screams and screams and screams while he chucks the cassettes over the edge.

Fuck Eddie.

Fuck him.

"FUCK YOU!!" he shouts to the foggy nothingness.

The words dig in sharp; pocket knife twisting in the space below his kidneys.

The fog doesn't respond.

Back in the car, his thoughts turn to his mom. Because he's driving to her, he knows — knew it in his splintering bones and haunted blood the moment he left town. He's driving back to his first ghost, as if confronting the original will somehow exorcise the rest.

Miles pass in silence, and Steve paints over the canvas of what-ifs again and again, oily streaks in the underpainting as he tries to set the scenes just right: quiet, tearful confrontations in his aunt's formal living room, graceless screaming matches out on the front lawn. In one version he never makes it past the guard at the front gate, and in another he just eggs the stupid lion statues leading up to the house while his mom silently weeps from the top of the stairs.

He doesn't know if his mom would laugh at that.

He doesn't know her much at all.

And that fucking hurts; that sits like acid in his lungs, because his mom was his first friend. When he was little — before the housekeepers and nannies, before his mom started tailing his dad on business trips like a trained dog on a leash — they spent so much time together. Trips to the playground, to the library, to the pool. He'd perch himself on her vanity when she got ready in the mornings, use her hairbrush as a microphone to sing along to 50s doo-wop, and she'd giggle and call him her little superstar, so he'd come up with stupid dance moves just to make her smile more.

He misses that. The script, the routine. How he'd spin around in his socks on the slippery bathroom tile and look up at her with her big hair full of rollers and her big eyes full of stars, and he'd say, "Hey! How come your eyes are all twinkly?"

And she'd grin and pinch his cheek and give the same answer every time: "Because you're the light of my life."

"I wish I knew what you'd say now," he whispers to the empty car.

For a moment he envisions that she's sitting there with him, that she's filling the blank space where the boy who broke his heart should be, but he can't remember her cadence well enough to mimic it; can't put words in her mouth when he no longer knows her lines, and with something a bit like horror and a lot like despair it occurs to him that he can't remember what she looks like. There's an apparition in his blind spot, but it's formless and unstable. The shade of its hair keeps changing; the texture, the length.

When he tries to make it speak, it shrugs and dissipates.

—

part 55

tag list in separate reblogs under '#trailer park steve au taglist' if you'd like to filter that content. if you want to be added please comment and let me know (must be over 21; please either verify in the comment or have your age visible on your blog)

[undreaming-fanfiction]

There isn't much left of Hawkins now. The town is nearly empty, only a few residents here and there, but other than that? Basically a ghost town. It's slowly fading away and those few windows that shine in the night rarely interact.

One of them is the Harrington mansion.

The Harrington mansion was nearly destroyed in the Red earthquake of 1986, and whoever rebuilt it must have had a weird sense of humor, a questionable taste in movies or both. It is a gothic-inspired monstrosity, tall windows, statues, gargoyles, crooked trees and all. People say it is haunted and honestly, it looks the part.

But it's supposed to be full of stuff worth stealing so of course the group decides to go in. Anything to scratch the itch. The guy in the local pawnshop, a vulture who built his business on the misery of others, on their abandoned homes and dreams,  doesn't ask any questions and pays well.

They don't know much about the house, but someone told them it's the perfect target. The Harrington guy who lives there is around fifty and has a known distaste for guns, so they feel confident. Maybe he'll be asleep. Maybe they won't even have to hurt him.

Maybe some of them hope he'll fight. Maybe they need to find an outlet for all that anger. Their families failed them and so has the society, there's nothing for them here, not anywhere else. They just have each other, another damaged group of teenagers and fresh adults, and if roughing that guy up and getting a bunch of valuables in the process gets them some food and maybe a bottle of whiskey to forget it all? It's worth it.

There is light shining through the living room windows and they feel the warmth and luxury they feel they were denied. It's decided, no waiting for the guy to fall asleep.

They kick in the ornate door and prepare to enter the house.

And then it happens: the gargoyle above the main door comes to life.

It descends on them and knocks the first two to the ground immediately. They don't see much of it before darkness takes them, but it has wings, long hair and talons like a hawk. It tosses their strongest friend away as if he was a rag doll. When it squeezes one of the girls by the throat, she can see faded ink on its forearm, a swarm of flying creatures. 

The thought of it being originally human is even worse.

"It's a fucking monster!" one of them sobs as he shuffles back on his elbows, screaming into the dark that will never answer.

That's when Harrington finally joins the hissing monster on the steps, but he isn't afraid. He doesn't even flinch. His hand reaches out and tucks a strand of that long curly hair behind the creature's pointed ear. "A monster?" he smiles at the intruder. "That's no way to call my boyfriend."

Can be read as a standalone, or, if you like more wholesome endings, read it HERE.

[stylesispunk]

"I couldn't want you anymore" part 5

Artist! Joel Miller x Florist! Reader

series masterlist | previous chapter | next

summary: when Sarah's mom comes back into Joel's life to fight for their past relationship, Joel needs to convince her he is in a happy relationship with the florist next to his gallery in order to make her go away. The problem is, that he and the florist can't stand each other's guts or that it's what he thinks.

warning: age gap (Joel is 36 and reader is 28). Remember that "Bee" is reader's nickname, fluff, some feelings are being confessed (again), angst (poor reader) mentions of an accident, and conflicted emotions.

a/n: This one is more than 6k. I don't love this one as the last one, but I wanted to deliver this one to you. Sorry for the drama during this chapter, I was PMSing haha. Reblogs and comments are always appreciated, please share your thoughts with me, I love reading your comments and send ne any ask if you want ❤️ Sorry for any grammar mistake.💌 p.s the first line is a reference to all too well 😭

masterlist

After 3 long months in the grave. The flowers died of thirst. The place that once seemed full of life, now it was an empty street of broken pieces left behind by your ghost, and for Joel, passing by your shop every day seemed to be the hardest task of his life.

As time passed by, the cobblestones outside your shop remained empty, echoing the silence of what once was the first page of you and him. Joel couldn’t help but wonder how he had let something as precious as that slipped through his fingers, a regret that would haunt him for a long time to come. 

Meanwhile, you found yourself far away from the streets of that life. Still in town, but trying to leave behind any trace of him and the painful memories of the night Joel broke your heart.

Your place now was next to Connell. After your castle crumbled, he was there, and before life separated the both of you, he fit in your life. He built the fire to kept you warm after the storm that left you stranded, and both of you had made the decision to give your love story a second chance. This time, taking tiny steps to build a steady castle. After all, he acted like a prince, taking you out on dates, and expressing his affection through gestures that left you feeling unworthy of his kindness. 

 You had become someone you weren’t. The one with the knife, a liar.

And these few weeks leading up to your new life in London were fulfilled by different emotions. You were busy taking care of some things, closing down your flower shop, and making arrangements for your upcoming journey. It was a bittersweet time filled with farewells to old friends, packing up your life, and starting to write the pages of your new book.  

But you still thought of Joel, the memories of him were hard to erase. He remained a lingering presence in your thoughts. You could still see you both lost in those memories, but it was never real. You shared something that didn’t work beyond words and fake actions for the world to see. And you just hated your persistent temptation to ask what would be different if you had never let those three words escaped from your lips. You may still have moments together, he may still have been part of you, but at what cost?

During the course of these three months, Lily and Tommy got together. The news left you speechless at the beginning. You were happy for them even when it was unexpected. You never saw the signs or you were just mesmerized by the other Miller to even notice Tommy was making his way through your best friend’s heart. Now, they were building their own love story, creating a heartwarming contrast to your journey. Their relationship served as a reminder that love could be found in different places. 

But for you, moving on wasn’t easy. The pain of a broken heart, mixed with the sweet memories you were leaving behind alongside the life you once knew, weighed heavily on your mind. And the biggest fear heightening over your shoulders was the intense fear of hurting Connell. 

Connell, the one thing you did right in your life. The man you knew you wanted to marry once you met him, who had always treated you right. The thought of causing him to regret you because of pain was almost unbearable.

You knew he deserved nothing but happiness, and you wondered if your relationship with Joel had permanently damaged your capacity to truly commit to and reciprocate his love.

Of course, you loved him, but you just weren’t in love with him.

And you found yourself almost every night deeply sighing in the middle of the night, wondering if Joel was still up thinking about you the same way you still thought about him. And you bet he thought you still hated him, even when you had spent the last three months thinking about the minimal chance of him coming back to you, asking for your forgiveness, and stopping you from going to another country to start a new life. 

But after three months, he had gone radio silent, and you were dreaming about him touching your face, asking if you wanted to try it for real this time.

And you despise yourself for it.

You had Connell giving you all his love, and you were becoming a knife ripping his heart.

Connell had been the one in charge of helping you to sell your shop, as you didn’t want to spend the time in that place and accidentally running into Joel.

Saying goodbye to the place you made so many memories was hitting hard on you, and you could see the love and concern in Connell’s eyes as he told he had managed the sale. Nevertheless, he spared you from details of the buyer’s identity and only walked straight to your room without uttering more words. He carried the weight of this decision on your behalf.

the next day, when he was supposed to go to the shop and give the new owner the keys of your now ex-flower shop. An emergency call prevented him from going, so he told you to go instead. 

And you couldn’t lie, even when you had decided to distance yourself from your shop and everything associated with your past, the thought of saying a final goodbye in person didn’t seem like a bad idea. You wonder about the new owner's identity, the person who would now hold the keys to a place that had been a special of your life. 

As you stood outside the shop, you took a deep breath to steady your trembling hands, so you stepped inside. The familiar scent of what was left of the flowers that once adorned the place, and the soft glow of sunlight streaming through the windows, made your heart break at the thought of leaving. 

But in the end, your eyes fell upon the last person you expected to see, Joel. He seemed just as taken aback as you were. 

“Bee,” he said, softly,  making himself believe you were in front of him.

Your name seemed foreign slipping through his lips, the same ones brushing over your skin not long. 

You even feared speaking and risking another goodbye.

For a moment, time stopped, as if the world outside these walls didn’t exist. Your heart pounded in your chest.

Your heart raced as your eyes locked onto his, and a mix of emotions surged within you.

"Joel," you finally managed to say, your voice carrying surprise. His presence stirred memories, both beautiful and painful, and it was hard for you to face them. "What are you doing here?"

Joel hesitated, his eyes searching yours for a sign of understanding. "I… Connell sold your shop to Tommy” he said. 

Your heart constricted at the mention of Connell selling the shop to Tommy. You knew there was more behind that statement. You had gotten to know Joel to know he was lying through his teeth right now, but you had rather ignore that feeling settling in your heart. 

He cleared his throat. “I didn’t know you’d be here.” 

"Tommy bought the shop?" you asked, trying to wrap your head around the situation.

Joel nodded, his gaze never leaving yours. "Yes, he did. He thought it would be nice since you love this place so much.”

That stirred a mix of emotions within you, but you pushed them aside for the moment. “And why are you here instead?

“He couldn’t make it and I thought Connell was coming” Joel answered, "But it’s nice to see you.”

The tension in the room was palpable, and the weight of unspoken words hung heavily in the air between you and Joel. The past few weeks, becoming in three months , had left their mark, and you weren't sure how to navigate life with those permanent wounds. 

Joel's presence, felt so strange to you now. The familiarity of his face, his voice, and the way he looked at you brought back a flood of memories of the stolen kisses you found yourself missing so much. 

“When are you leaving?” He asked, knowing that this would be the last time he was going to be able to have you in front of him. 

“In a week” you answered shortly. 

Joel's heart sank at the confirmation. He had everything in his hands to prevent the end of your story, but he didn’t want to stop you from finding peace and happiness in the arms of a man who truly deserved you in every way. You had chosen to start a new chapter in London with Connell, and he was the character from a chapter you were leaving behind.

He looked at you, searching for something in your eyes, a glimpse of the love you told him you felt for him. But it was hard to read your emotions. You felt a foreigner before his eyes. 

"I see," he replied, trying to hide the pain in his voice.

The room felt heavy with unsaid words and unfinished written pages. You both had left things unsaid, Joel especially, and the future was uncertain. You couldn't help but feel the pull of what once was, even as you tried to move forward with your life.  

Joel realized he had to make his peace with your decision. He had been given a chance to say those three words, three months ago, and he had to accept that he had ruined his opportunity with you. Your upcoming goodbye was a reminder that time was running out for him to say what needed to be said.

"Bee, I won't hold you back," he said, his voice gentle. "But before you go, there's something I need to tell you."

Your gaze met his, and you could see the sincerity in his eyes. There was a vulnerability in him that you had rarely seen. Joel's next words would be crucial and may be a turning point for both of you.

As Joel was on the edge of saying something, the door chimed softly as it opened.

It was Connell. His entrance created an unexpected interruption, and the atmosphere grew tense.

You shared a brief glance with Joel, and the weight of the unspoken words lingered heavily.

Joel addressed Connell first; his voice laced with an attempt to save you from any problem. "We were just saying goodbye.”

Connell acknowledged this with a nod but couldn't shake the feeling that he had walked into something else.  

“I thought you were busy,” you said to Connell, walking to his side.

“I finished earlier” he gave you a small smiled as he touched one of your arms “You can wait for me outside” he told you, trying to give you reassurance.

You nodded, glancing one last time at Joel, the tension remained inside the room, and the words Joel had been on the verge of sharing with you were left hanging in the air.

And you finally exited the room, saying your last goodbye to Joel without uttering a word. 

Once you left the shop, Connell spoke first, his voice carrying a serious tone "Joel, I know you want her to forgive you, but I want you to know that she's important to me and I love her."

Joel nodded, understanding the weight of Connell's words. "I know, Connell. And you've been good to her. I've seen that."

Connell hesitated, searching Joel's eyes for sincerity. "She deserves to be happy.” 

Joel's gaze was unwavering as he replied, "I know she does. And if that means she's happier with you, then I won't stand in the way."

Connell kept silence for a moment. “You didn’t tell her, did you?”

Joel shook his head.

“Thank you. She would have killed me if she knew I sold the shop to you”, Connell said, with a tint of humor in his tone. 

Joel managed a small smile at Connell's comment. It was an attempt to lighten the atmosphere even though the underlying tension remained. "I wouldn't have wanted to give her another reason to be mad at me."

Connell nodded in understanding. "I appreciate that, Joel. I just want her to have a fresh start, free from all this mess”

Joel's gaze turned thoughtful. "I want that too, Connell. She deserves to move on and be happy."

Connell looked at Joel for a moment. “You made her happy too. Don’t blame yourself too hard, Joel” 

Joel met Connell's gaze, gratitude and sadness intertwined in his eyes. "Thank you, Connell. It means a lot to hear that from you."

The two men shared a silent moment, the weight of feeling they both share for you intertwined lives somehow.

Joel took a deep breath, finally breaking the silence. "I should get going. You both have a new life to start."

Connell extended his hand, and Joel shook it firmly. "Take care of her, Connell."

Connell nodded; his grip steady. "I will, Joel. And you take care of yourself too."

With that, Joel turned and walked away, leaving behind the memories he shared with you inside this place, the first stolen glances, the fighting, the laughter, and the cups of coffee you left for him every morning. All that being left behind, buried.  

As Joel stepped out of the shop, he turned and locked eyes with you for what felt like the last time. The weight on both of your hearts hung in the air. In that fleeting moment, your gazes held longing and hurt. You were the tear hanging inside his heart. 

And Joel's eyes searched yours for a final glimpse of love. He had wanted to say so much, but the timing had never been right, and now it was too late, but he hoped that you’d find your way back in the end. 

You met his gaze with sadness and understanding. There was something about him that made your heart clench. He had been the man who touched your soul before your skin, and how would it be possible for you to forget about that?

You offered a small nod, and he returned it in kind, sharing that secret language you both learned, as a silent goodbye. 

Was that “I love you” the worst thing he had ever heard?

And then, as quickly as it had begun, Joel turned and walked away, disappearing into the distance. The chapter you had shared was closing, and as he faded from view, you knew it was time to look ahead, to embrace the new beginning that awaited next to Connell miles away. 

Connell watched that unspoken interaction and sensed the weight on your shoulders. He walked over to you, and gently pressed a kiss on your forehead, as a tender gesture, a silent promise of a future without wounds to take care of.  With his kiss, he silently looked for reassurance that you weren’t having second thoughts. 

.....

The warmth of the evening had set the perfect backdrop for a dinner in the backyard. You and Connell had prepared a delightful spread of chicken, grilled vegetables, and a bottle of wine that Connell had selected for sharing with your friends. Lily and Tommy sat around the wooden patio table, the soft glow of string lights overhead casting a warm glow.

As Tommy and Connell got engrossed in a conversation about their favorite sports teams, you and Lily found yourselves drawn to the quieter solace of the backyard. There, under the starry sky, you could speak without being overheard.

You looked at them, attentive, with a serious expression, your eyes reflected the soft, flickering light.  

Lily glanced at you; concern etched across her face. "A penny for your thoughts, Bee bee?” 

You took a deep breath, “I think I’m a little bit nervous about next week.” 

Lily's eyes filled with understanding as she listened intently. “Nervous about London? Or leaving Joel behind?”

Your gaze shifted, and you looked at Lily with surprise. It was as if she had read your thoughts, as always. You nodded slowly. "Both, actually.” 

Lily leaned in closer, her voice a soft, comforting murmur. "Bee, it's okay to have mixed feelings. Leaving behind a place and someone who meant so much to you is never easy. But it's also the beginning of this new adventure with Connell."

You sighed, feeling grateful for Lily's understanding. She made you feel at ease with your racing thoughts. “I just wish it were simpler, you know? I don't want to hurt anyone. I couldn’t forgive myself if I hurt Connell” 

At that moment, your and Connell's gazes met from the distance. He gave you a big smile which you mirrored, but it didn’t reach your eyes. 

You felt Lily’s hand on yours as a gesture of reassurance. “You have a big heart, Bee. Connell loves you for who you are. Trust in that."

Lily's words were a soothing balm to your worried mind. Her support and the warm of her friendship alongside the starry evening created a special moment in her last days in this place. You knew that leaving the past behind was never a straightforward journey, but it was reassuring to have a friend who understood your complexities.

As Connell's gaze met yours and you exchanged smiles, once again, you realized that your anxieties didn't mean you loved him any less. The weight of the past could coexist with the past, and maybe you could learn how to fall in love with him again. 

Joel managed a fragile smile, and he held your hand as if it were the lifeline he needed at that moment.

Sarah and Tommy lingered in the doorway, watching the two of you with tiny smiles on their faces. 

Joel spoke softly, "I'm sorry for worrying you, Bee."

You shook your head, your voice filled with genuine concern. "Don’t say anything” you said as you laid your head on his chest, as if hearing the beating of his heart would reassure you, he was going to be okay.

As you leaned your head against Joel's chest, seeking comfort in the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, you didn't notice Connell watching the two of you from the hospital lobby. His expression was unreadable. There was concern, understanding, and a tinge of jealousy. 

Connell had supported you through everything since you both were eighteen years old, and he loved you deeply. But seeing you in this moment with Joel stirred emotions within him that he couldn't fully process, leaving a siren in his mind.

Sarah and Tommy decided to leave the room, giving the two of you some privacy. Joel's hand gently rested on your back, his fingers tracing comforting patterns down your spine as if his fingers were brushes tracing lines on your back.

Joel spoke again "Bee, I know I've made a mess of things, but I want you to know that you mean a lot to me. More than I can put into words."

You didn't respond with words. Instead, you tightened your grip on him, holding him close, and Connell remained in the background, his thoughts and feelings his own, as you and Joel found peace in each other's presence. 

Once you were back home, you were awfully quiet for Connell’s like. He had seen the way your face sparkled when you were with Joel in his room, how you held him tight, and how you seemed terrified at the thought of losing him.

It was the moment in which Connell realized he wasn’t the one anymore, but he didn’t want to admit it. He wanted to hold onto the memories. 

“Hey, are you okay?” He asked you, trying to make you talk.

Connell's voice pulled you out of the storm inside your mind since your arrival from the hospital. You turned to face him, offering a faint smile that didn't quite reach your eyes.

"I'm okay, Connell," you replied, though your tone carried a hint of sadness. "Just a lot to process."

He nodded; concern showed across his features. "I understand. It's a lot to take in. But you know I'm here for you, right?"

You appreciated Connell's support more than you could express. He had been a rock in your life. It was just the reappearance of Joel after these three months and the accident had stirred up a multitude of feelings you thought didn’t exist. 

"I do,” you said, reaching out to take his hand. "You've been amazing, and I love you for that."

Connell's smile brightened at your words, and he squeezed your hand gently. "I love you too” he declared as he kissed your temple, as a way to find reassurance. 

You hugged Connell tightly as if to reassure yourself that you were still grounded in the present, even as the past loomed large in your heart and mind.

But for Connell, the pages were clearly written and he knew your heart didn’t belong to him anymore. 

One week later, and the night before your departure for London, everything seemed bittersweet around you. You were finished packing what was the last of your belongings, and the weight of leaving your life behind was the heavier suitcase you were carrying.

During the last week, you didn’t see Joel. All the updates about his recovery were through Lily, and the only thing you knew was that he had been dispatched from the hospital today.

You really wanted things between Connell and you to work out, so you made your promise to not see Joel again in order to do that. That night in the hospital was the goodbye you needed, and that was it. He was okay, so you were okay. You had bled, but your wounds would heal sooner than later. 

Nevertheless, Connell had been watching your movements for the last few days, and now, as you were carefully folding your clothes and going through the last-minute preparations. He found the strength to speak up. 

"There's something I've been thinking about," Connell began, his eyes reflecting the depths of his feelings.

You paused in your packing, looking into Connell's eyes, eager to hear what he had to say. "What is it?”

Connell took a deep breath, struggling to find the right words. " I don't want to be the reason for your regrets."

Your heart pounded in your chest as Connell spoke, tears welled up in your eyes. 

“You love him,” he said in a breathy voice. 

He wasn’t thinking about himself anymore, or where you would go after this, he was thinking about you. 

“Connell, we’re leaving tomorrow. I’m with you and I love you” you whispered, trying to convince him, and mostly yourself at the same time. 

Connell nodded, his own eyes brimming with tears. "You love me, I know, but you’re not in love with me.” 

You wiped away a tear, your voice trembling. "Connell"

“You’re in love with Joel and he is in love with you”, he declared.

As much as he was devasted by the thought of letting you go, he wanted you to be happy. He would give you everything, even when he would be a little in between for a while.

You shook your head. “He isn’t.”

“Then why did he buy your shop?”

“What?” Your eyes widened. You felt shocked and confused. “Why?”

Connell reached out and took your hand, his touch warm and reassuring. "I think he did it because he thought you would come back and because he is in love with you.” 

Connell gazed at you with a mixture of sadness and love. "And I love you enough to let you go” " He said “You need more time to figure things out, and I don’t want you to go with me if you can’t do that.”

His words pierced your heart. 

“I don’t want you to hate me,” you said, whispering. 

Connell chuckled softly, Connell squeezed your hand gently, and then he cupped your face with his hand to look at you in the eyes. “Nothing you say or you do would make me hate you” You leaned in his touch and hugged him tightly, crying on his shoulder.

“I love you more than I could express.” You mumbled.

Connell held you tightly, his embrace filled with love, even though he knew it was time to let you go. His heart was heavy.

And the next morning, with one last, lingering kiss, you and Connell let each other go. You watched him boarding the plane, and as it took off, your eyes watered, you let your tears fall down your cheeks.

That plane carried Connell away from your life again, and you held onto the final image of Connell, offering a gentle wave and a bittersweet smile, muttering an “I love you” at you before disappearing from your sight. 

Once you got in your car, you felt the weight of your emotions pressing down on you like a heavy blanket suffocating you. All the love, guilt, sadness, and anger crunched your heart, leaving you alone with your thoughts. 

In the spare of seconds, Joel came to your mind and you felt anger surging through your veins like fire. You couldn’t help but blame him for ruining the opportunity you had to move on. You questioned yourself why you still wanted to go back to him and why he was coming back to you in your dreams as if he wanted to taunt you, and your frustration grew.

With a burning feeling settled in your chest, you made your way to Joel's house. You couldn't understand why he had bought your shop, why he had disrupted your life once again, so once you arrived, you stormed out of the car, determined to confront him. 

 You stood at his doorstep, your knuckles brushing against the wood, your heart pounding in your chest. When the door opened, there he stood, still bandaged from the accident. He looked surprised at seeing you here. 

"Joel," you began, your voice laced with anger. "Why?”

His brows furrowed, and he stammered "Bee, I thought you'd be on a plane to London with Connell by now."

You met his surprised gaze with anger. "I was supposed to be, but Connell stopped me from it.” 

Joel seemed surprised, but something in his gaze showed relief at knowing you would still be here. He stepped aside, allowing you to enter his house, and you both moved to the living room. The familiar surroundings seemed to echo with memories of your last time together. The three words you confessed to him, the way he broke your heart, and then you walked out of his life. 

“Why did you lie to me?” you demanded “Why did you tell Tommy bought my shop, when it was really you?”

You were met with silence.

“Why did you buy it, Joel?” you shouted. 

“Because I knew you would come back to me,” he said, as a matter of fact. Simply as if he owned you.

Your anger flared at his audacity. "You can't just manipulate my life like that, Joel! You can't decide things for me without even asking” Your voice suddenly deepened. “And for what do you even want me?” you asked “For playing with my fee-“

Joel's lips crashed onto yours, and for a moment, you were stunned into silence. The kiss was intense and filled with all the longing and regret Joel felt. 

As he pulled away, his eyes bore into yours with an intensity that took your breath away. "I bought the shop because I couldn't bear to see you go without a chance for us to make things right."

You were caught between anger and desire, your heart racing from the sudden kiss. "Joel, you can't just kiss me and expect everything to be fixed."

He reached out to cup your face, even with one of his hands broken, his thumb gently tracing your cheek. "I'm not expecting that, Bee. I just needed you to know that I love you”

 Torn between your anger and the lingering love you felt, you took a step back, away from his touch.

“What?”

“I love you,” he said, not taking his eyes off you. “I’m in love with you.” 

Your eyes and mouth were wide open, but you still managed to shoot him a glare. You could pretend you didn’t hear him and leave. You didn’t trust yourself right now, but his big brown eyes prevented her from walking away.

He told you he was in love with you.

Your voice wavered as you replied, "Joel, you can't just say that now. Not after everything that happened."

He took a step closer, his eyes searching yours. "I know I should have said it earlier, and I'm sorry for all the pain I've caused. But it's the truth, Bee. I love you, and I'm willing to do whatever it takes me to make things right."

You struggled to maintain your composure, you were shocked,

“Are you going to say something?” he whispered. 

 "Joel, it's not that simple” you spoke

He nodded, his expression earnest. "I understand that. I know we have a lot to work through, and I'm willing to take the time and the effort.” 

Your heart ached at his words, and the internal battle you had been fighting raged on. "Joel, I need time to think and process all of this. I can't make any promises right now."

Joel reached out to gently touch your arm, a silent plea in his eyes. "I'll give you the time you need, Bee. Just promise me you won't leave” he said, cupping your face.

You found yourself relaxing with his presence and touch, by nodding your head as a silence promise. 

 "Okay,” you whispered.

Your head was a thunderstorm of infinite questions running through your head. You had so many, but you didn’t know where to start. 

He smiled at you, and that made you lose your mind and you don’t know what to do, what to express, or how to act. 

“I’m glad you’re okay” you whispered.

Joel's smile held a genuine warmth, and his thumb traced soothing patterns on your cheek. "I'm glad I'm okay too, and I'm grateful you're still here."

The two of you stood there in a moment of fragility as your eyes locked onto Joel’s.

You had to go before you lost your mind, and you needed space to clear your head. You took a step back, your gaze not quite meeting his. 

"I need to go now, Joel. I need time to think."

Joel's expression showed understanding, and he nodded. "I get it, Bee. Take all the time you need."

You turned and headed for the door; your steps were slow as if a string was pulling into him. The weight of what started as a simple game between you two, the confusion of the present and the uncertainty of the future were heavy on your shoulders. You needed time to heal your scars, to figure out what your heart truly wanted.

Before leaving, you glanced back at Joel, and for a brief moment, your eyes met again, unspoken words flowing in the air. Then, you stepped out, leaving behind the man who had both broken and mended your heart, and who now waited for your decision.

It was his time to wait now.

a/n: Okay, so now he bought the shop because he knew she was going to come back to him somehow and he wanted to have it for her because the flower shop was important to her and after all, he has the keys to her heart (yes, as cheesy as it sounds). Now, he has to fix everything and suffer a little because the reader (bee) has to be loved. btw I'm already thinking about the next fic

tags: @joeldjarin @borhapparker @fatima-marisa @kirsteng42 @paleidiot @harriedandharassed @runningmom94 @pedr0swh0r3 @ssacharcoalgrey

[snaileer]

How A Ghost Town Dies

They say that if you drive down Interstate X, take the exit off of Elmerton, there’s an abandoned town.

Amity Park, they called it. ‘A nice place to live’ said the lopsided sign at the edge of the road.

‘ I’m still here’ says the graffiti on the back of the rusted metal, visible only in your rear view mirror.

They say that the town was once a city. That the long empty houses were once full, the stores once busy and the roads once clean. But by now the woods have grown back into the property lines anyways, blurring them with sidewalks cracked by roots and gates opened by creeping vines and crawling rust. Trees have sprouted thick in the middle of roads and a canopy of leaves like the cover of streetlights.

There’s no way this could have ever been a city; ‘But it once was’ they say.

When people walked the streets and children played in the yards, there was life.

There were flowers and laughter and voices on the wind.

They say that something happened.

That something changed.

It was not quick. As death rarely is.

But still.. there was an instant, where things changed. Though it wasn’t just one moment that anyone could tell you, only that it did.

They say that monsters attacked, that creatures no one could explain suddenly appeared.

They say there were protectors who fought the monsters. People who fought back, if they were people at all.

They say that’s what killed the town. The fighting.

Streets mangled by craters and walls burned by battlefire.

They say it’s still alive.

Oh there is no life, no people or children playing in the streets, though you may hear their voices on the wind.

There is no life, but it is still alive.

It must be.

Because they say that if you drive through town theres a building. Half-collapsed and charred, old metal still screwed into the side of the awning.

They say that as you enter, you’ll hear the sound of pounding footsteps down the stairs or hallway, like a child running in.

They say that if you stand too still, you’ll see your breath puff in front of you even on the hottest summer day.

They say that you’ll see the flicker of green eyes in your peripheral and the flash of black hair disappearing around a corner.

They say that if you enter the basement, there’s a hole in the wall, and from the moment you step down the stairs, a scream lingers in your ears.

Not everyone hears it, and those that do, rarely want to.

You’ll leave the house feeling chilled, tired, and afraid, though you couldn’t explain why.

And as you talk to your friends about one thing or another, you may feel a listening ear over your shoulder, eavesdropping for snippets of the world outside of the small town roads.

And they say that as you turn back on the roads, and make your way back to the highway, you’ll feel that listening ear fade away.

And they say that if you bother to look back, you might even see someone standing at the town line, watching you leave.

That’s the thing about a ghost town.

To be a ghost town, it must first die.

And when it does, when it truly becomes a ghost town, it becomes a part of a different world and it becomes unchanging to ours.

Where no one new ever truly stays.

And no one left behind ever truly leaves.

[crazylittlejester]

Mini fic prompt ig

“we had no idea” ft wars and the rest of the chain

Context: since wars defined the timeline Hylia had planned what happened was a thing called a “timeline collapse” when that hyrule experiences sort of a majoras mask moment where the sky turns red and rocks are crashing down and it won’t stop till every single person in that era is dead. Since Lana defied hylia too (CIA was killed almost immediately after the war), any person high in power associated with the war would be puplicly beheaded, (with the exception of the knights) but just before her beheading hours before the era of wars was to be collapsed, Lana informed link and Artemis of a pocket dimension she had made, because she knew the whole time that this would happen, so just as the world is abt to end Wars and Artemis escape through a portal Lana made using the last of her power. It was sort of a weird version of hyrule with only the castle, an empty castle town,and the battle maps on floating islands connected by littler islands. It’s only wars l, Artemis and the animals there. There is a sky but it’s more of a muted bluish purple, the knight is still the same though.

so for the longest time, the chain had never been to wars era, and when they finally do, this is what they see, strange isn’t it?

OUGH IM SO SORRY I TOOK SO LONG, YOU SENT THIS IN APRIL 29th 💀

This was a seriously cool idea, btw. There’s soooo much potential with a prompt like this, and it’d be so interesting to write something more for this. If I have some time to spare I might write like, a one shot or somethin about it on ao3 if that’s alright alskkdkdk

Here ya go!!

Twilight barely saw Warriors quickly snatch the back of Wind’s tunic to prevent the sailor from walking straight off the little island they’d wound up on, he was too busy staring at everything else.

What he saw… It all felt empty. Destroyed and decimated, vacant and abandoned. He’d seen plenty of ghost towns, especially in Wild’s era but this was like nothing he’d ever seen before. They were in the sky, that much was obvious, but unlike Skyloft which stood grand and magnificent, full of life and the love of their goddess, this place seemed dead and ready to plummet down to the ground below. The ground that Twilight couldn’t even see because of the thick clouds and dark, hazy air.

A castle stood on a larger island a short ways away from them, oddly pristine and beautiful surrounded by the nothingness that expanded to the sides of them. This wasn’t Skyloft, not even the potential ruins of it. Twilight wasn’t even sure it was really Hyrule, given the odd purple tone of the sky above.

“Wh- Where ARE we…?” Sky whispered, no doubt unable to stop himself from drawing the same comparisons to Skyloft that Twilight had.

Of all the things he’d been expecting, Warriors’s grimace followed by, “My era”, was not one of them.

Time whipped around with something similar to anger in his eyes.

“What do you mean by that?” The old man demanded.

“A lot…” The captain paused to sigh. “A lot’s changed since you’ve been here, Sprite.”

“Where is everyone??” Legend asked, wildly looking around.

“Gone,” Warriors said softly. “They’ve all been gone, since the war. It’s just been me and Zelda.”

“We had no idea…”

[thoughtsandbones]

A cranium full of tea and coffee

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Cafe Reader

Synopsis: Ghost takes a trip to a cafe out of town and meets a curious young lady and bond over books.

Warnings: Fluff basically, slightly OOC Ghost.

Song inspo: Baba O' Riley - The Who, Asleep - The Smith, With You - AP Dhillon, Wise Enough - Lamb and Excuses - AP Dhillon

A/N: (Discovered AP Dhillon a few weeks ago, because I have a bad habit of listening to songs/bands I already know...) SUPPORT YOUR LOCAL COFFEE SHOPS!!

(Reader is wearing glasses cos who doesn't love glasses...? Also I assume my reader is South Asian because there is a lack of South Asian representation for COD fanfics sorry not sorry)

MASTERLIST

It was quiet rainy Thursday afternoon in the the small town centre of Maidsfield. Ghost had the next seven days off and he was already bored out of his mind in his flat in London that he decided to take a train to a nearby town centre, Maidsfield, on the outskirts of London.

As he sat on the train he pulled out a book from his rucksack, flicking through the pages. His firm fingers ran over the bumps of the illustration on his new hardback copy of Stephen King's Salem's Lot.

Ghost hated the hustle and bustle of London cafes. All full of business folk, rushing in and out, talking too loudly on their mobiles, hosting noisy meetings next to him.

Office folk should stick to the office he remarked to himself the one and only time he went to a chain cafe in central London when a bunch suits sat next to him cackling over their espressos. When he looked up from his book he caught one the suits staring at him, giving him an odd look. Of course Ghost was wearing his signature skull balaclava, which often meant every day folks staring at him with odd looks.

Ghost returned the book in his backpack and sighed heavily, hitting his head back on the headrest of his seat. The carriage he sat in was virtually empty. He looked behind him as the train pulled to a stop and the other passenger got off. Ghost took this opportunity to go the toilet and switch from his regular skull balaclava to a black face mask the covered his nose and mouth, leaving the top of his head bare.

Before placing the mask on, Simon quickly brushed out his messy light brown hair so it was somewhat neat. He didn't wear any black paint today, partially because he forget his standard paint at base and also thought he'd give his skin a break today. Giving a final glance at himself in the small mirror he sighed again and raised his eyebrow at his reflection.

Simon left the toilet, and swung his backpack over his right shoulder, and stood by the doors as the train reached his stop. When the doors opened, he stepped out and pulled up his hoodie to combat the rain.

Walking out the station, Simon stood momentarily to the side. He realised he had to no idea where he was going in this new town. This was quite unusual for Simon, always a man prepared for anything and everything, especially on the battlefield. But this was not the battlefield. For the next seven days he had to acclimatise to civilian life.

Coffee shop sprung into his mind at last, and he walked down the road past various hurrying from shop to shop, trying to shield themselves from the onslaught of rain that came battering down.

Simon didn't mind the rain, he was strangely comforting to him, but as it became heavier he soon realised he had to find refuge in a warm cafe.

A chain coffee shop was just on his right, Simon glanced into the shop and saw that it was very busy, partially full of suits.

Fuck chain coffee shops he thought and walked on down further into the town. Simon was determined to find a small cafe that was not too busy.

Turning right down a small alleyway, Simon walked down the cobblestones pathway and noticed a coffee shop that drew him in instantly, Cerebrum Coffee Potions, which had a logo underneath of a white skull with a snake wrapped around the base.

Simon walked in and saw that it was virtually empty

"Afternoon!" Said the lady behind the counter who working behind the coffee machine

"Afternoo'" Simon said, shaking off the rain that drenched his jacket.

He noticed on the side a winding staircase that led upstairs. He took in the cafe, the various gothic art in black frames and antique tables and chairs adorned the bottom floor.

"Bit wet outside?" The lady said laughing slightly at Simon's drenched jacket and hood that covered his damp hair.

"Just a bit" Simon said, forcing a chuckle moving over to the till, gazing at the menu behind.

"What can I get you?" the lady said wiping her hands on her apron.

"Tea, Earl Grey please" He said and the lady typed away on the tablet. Simon gazed again at the winding staircase.

"There's space upstairs if you'd life" The lady said, noticing Simon's wondering eyes.

"Cheers" He said, returning to look at the total amount on the card machine.

"That's £2.30 please" She said, Simon pulled out his card and tapped it against the machine.

"Wonderful, I'll bring it up to" She said

"Thanks" Simon said, and made his way up the staircase, the walls were also decorated with more artwork of various skulls, both human and animal, woven with flowers or snakes.

As Simon reached the first floor, he noticed a younger woman, wearing a black hoodie, blue jeans with bright pink boots, sitting in the corner typing away on her laptop. Tortoise shell glasses framed your face that moved as your scrunched your nose. You looked up at Simon, who moved to the table in the opposite corner.

You smiled briefly as you locked eyes with him, Simon nodded back as he took a seat. Returning to typing, Simon pulled out his book and placed it on the table as he took his wet jacket off and placed it on the chair next time.

His eyes wondered at the antique coffee machine opposite him, serving as a condiment table. So far, he felt comfortable and relaxed compared to the chain coffee shops that had previously been in.

The barista came up the stairs holding a tray and placed it on the table where Simon sat.

"Anything else I can get you?" She asked him

"No, all good thanks" Simon said, moving the tray close to him and taking the black teapot, white teacup and saucer off and setting it to the side.

The barista smiled and walked over to the other lady in the corner.

"R/n, how's the report going?" She asked

You looked up with a disappointed look, pouting your full lips at the barista.

"Awful Jane" You sighed "Only so many times I can say experiment didn't work out well due to lack of time" You continued

"Awh, well I'm sure your supervisor will understand" Jane replied giving a smile.

"Hmm, hope so" You said smiling before returning to her laptop.

Simon watched as the barista walked back down the winding stairs, before pouring his tea in the cup, where he noticed there was also a skull embossed in black on the side.

I like this place so far Simon thought to himself as he poured the tea into his cup, placing one sugar cube, taking the vintage spoon stirring the hot dark amber liquid before adding a dash of milk.

He gazed at the lady in the corner again, who was making funny faces at her laptop as she typed with fervor, leaning closer and closer to her screen.

After he was sure that she wouldn't look, Simon took off his mask and took a sip of his tea. The taste of bergamont slid over his tongue, mixed with the sweetness of sugar. The warmth soothed his cold shoulders as he took another sip.

"Ahhh" Simon moaned aloud, he looked up briefly to see if you had noticed, yet you were still typing away, one eyebrow raised and only inches away from the screen of your laptop. Stopping momentarily, you rest your head on your left hand, with your pinky finger you slide your glasses up your nose bridge.

A part of him wanted to say 'Any closer and you'd be in your laptop' but he held his tongue. He opened his book and began re-reading the first chapter of his new hardback.

You sighed heavily and withdrew from your laptop, you leant so far back that your head hit the white brick wall behind you. Your skull bounced softly. Confusion struck you. You hit your head again on the white brick wall, and your skull bounced again.

Simon looked up curiously as you repeated the move, eyes bewildered as you knocked your head again.

Why is the wall so soft? You thought, whacking your head a bit harder this time, and then repeated the motion a few more times, staring blankly at the red walls in front of you. Withdrawing your hands from the keyboard of the laptop you touch the brick wall, as you pressed against it, felt it was soft slightly.

Of course it's a fake brick wall... You conclude, bouncing your skull again. You look over at the man in the corner, who was staring at you with his bright blue eyes in confusion. Your eyes widened as you realised you were not alone... The man in the corner had locked his eyes on you, you noticed his

"Ah sorry" You laugh nervously "It's a fake brick wall" you add smiling at him and touching and pointing to the wall behind you.

Simon was taken aback by that smile, that showed dimples in your cheeks.

"S'alrigh'" He said before returning to his book, smiling under his mask. Returning his focus back to the book, but his eyes flickered back to you.

Picking up the cup, Simon took another sip, taking pleasure in the sweet hot tea, he turned the pages of his book, fingers tracing the edges of the next page as he read on.

You got up from your table and went downstairs, grabbing another coffee from Jane. As you made you way up the stairs, you noticed that the man was reading a Stephen King book from the bold font on the spine.

"Stephen King fan huh?" You blurt as you caught eyes with the man again.

Simon cleared his throat "Yeah" he said closing the book, showing the cover.

"Salem's Lot!" You say grinning at him "I like Carrie, got a signed copy when he came into town last year at Page Stoner"

Simon leaned back in his chair, wonder captivated him.

Finally, someone who also likes Stephen King he thought, reminiscing the time he tried to get Johnny to read this book, but refused stating he hated anything to do with horror.

"Carrie is a good one" he said moving his hand from the table and resting it on the edge of the empty wooden chair next to him.

"Did you go to Page Stoner to see him?" You asked, taking a sip of coffee, still standing near his table.

Simon was confused, Page Stoner?

"Ergh no, I'm not from here" He said

"Ahhh" You sigh, "Where do you hail from then?"

"London" Simon said, not telling the whole truth "Wanna sit down?" He added motioning to the chair opposite him.

"Sure" You said smiling, setting down your coffee on his table "Let me just pack my things" You said, realising that you left your stuff unattended.

Simon watch you sit in the chair opposite, taking another sip of coffee.

"What's your name?" You ask

"Simon" He replied

"Nice, I'm R/n" you say, smiling again brightly

"Nice to meet you R/n" Simon said, admiring the dimples in your cheeks.

"So what do you do for a living?" You ask

Simon looked down at his half empty cup. He knew this was dangerous territory and didn't want to give too much away.

"Army" He said, blue eyes meeting yours.

"Ahh, Royal Marine?" You guess, judging by his muscular and tall build.

"Can't say" He murmured, taking his mask off, so he could take another sip of his tea.

"Oh sorry, I didn't mean to pry" You said, looking down at your cup of coffee, briefly looking at his face, you saw a glimpse of several scars over his lower jaw and over his nose.

"It's okay" Simon replied "How about you?" He asked placing his mask back on.

"Student, studying a masters in chemistry at UCL" you say "But I live here, commute to university"

"Nice" Simon said, looking down at his cup, observing you as you took another sip.

"How's your tea?" You ask

"Best Early grey I've had" Simon chuckled, tapping the edge of his cup with his right hand.

"This coffee shop is great. Better than those shitty chain stores"

"Indeed" Simon agreed with you.

"You like any other Stephen King books?" He asked, clearing his throat again.

"Yeah, I love IT and The Shining" You say, remembering you had a copy of The Shining in your bag, pulling it out to show Simon.

Simon took ahold of the book, flicking through the worn pages, clearly read many times.

"Didn't get this signed then?" He said, opening the first page of the book.

"Nah, was only allowed to get one copy signed..." You said remembering the look on Stephen King's face when you brought five of his books with you to the signing.

"Did you try and get more than one book signed?" Simon asked, grinning under his mask.

"Yeah..." You said, guilt flooded your face, cheeks turning slightly pink.

The rain outside pounded against the window where they sat, you look out, eyes trailing the raindrops running down the glass. Thunder bellowed outside. Perfect weather to be inside.

"Good thing you settled with Carrie" He said, setting his eyes again on you.

"Hmm" You smile in agreement

"I haven't read The Shining..." Simon started, staring back down at your copy, running his forefinger against the creases of the worn spine.

A grin appeared on your face as your eyes met. Simon saw your deep doe eyes glisten slightly.

Was this guy flirting..? You ponder,

"I haven't read Salem's Lot.." You replied, grinning mischievously.

"Want to do a swap?" Simon suggested

What are you doin'? A little voice spoke up in his head

"I'd love to" You say beaming at him.

Simon took in your big smile, that it made your dimples even deeper which caused a warmth to spread across his chest.

"Any chance you have a pen?" He said without thinking

Don't do it the little voice whispered again in his head

"Sure" You say, reaching for you rucksack, and taking out a pen from the outside pocket and handing it to Simon.

Simon grabbed a clean napkin from the tray and wrote his number down, his fingers went numb slightly as he hurriedly finished the last four digits.

"If you're in London the next few days, we should meet up" He said, handing the napkin over to you.

Taking the napkin, you fingers graze his for a moment, Simon ran his fingers against yours, a sharp zing simmered from his fingertips, up his arm to his chest, he quickly retracted his hand before temptation grew to hold your hand in its entirety.

The stairs creaked as Jane the barista came up, stopping just at the top.

"Sorry, guys, I'm about to close" She said

"Ah shit, it's 4:30 already?" You say bewildered checking your watch.

"Yep, times flies eh!" Jane said as she made her way back down.

Both you and Simon began to pack your belongings, Simon handed Salem's Lot over to you, and he placed your copy of The Shining in his bag and slung it over his shoulder.

"You heading home now?" You ask

"Yeah, train station actually." He replied

You nod at him and then peer out the window, it was still raining. You notice his jacket was slightly damp still. Your heart fluttered a bit, as you thought about offering to walk with him... He seemed so enticing and it was actually great to meet another avid reader of Stephen King.

Pulling out an umbrella from your backpack you hold out to Simon

"Think you might need this" laughing slightly as you motion to his damp jacket with the umbrella

Simon chuckled and moved closer to you, peering down at your slim frame and then looked out at the ever persistent rain outside.

"Think we both need it" He said raising his left eyebrow and then motioned with his head.

"Guess we'll have to share it then" You say smiling

"I'd like that" Simon said, gesturing you to go first down the stairs.

Once outside, you opened the umbrella, Simon took ahold of it, placing his hand briefly on your back as you both walked away from the coffee shop. You were quite surprised at how tall he actually was when you stood beside him. Together you walked down the wet cobblestones towards the train station.

Simon looked down at you and smiled under his mask. Today, he was grateful that he hated chain coffee shops, because it meant he met someone sweet like you.

[ghooostbaby]

on ghosts & desire, and why i think the reason he xuan became a ghost was not to have revenge on shi wudu...

hearing he xuan's actual backstory again surprised me, after i'd gotten used to how he's generally characterized in fandom. The way the misfortunes of his life transpire isn’t really this story of this person with mounting misfortunes that eventually broke him down into despair and resentment so intense he clung on after to death in pursuit of a revenge that would finally vindicate himself and his family…

what actually happens is he grew up very loved, and was respected for his great promise as a scholar, but those dreams are ruined by corrupt/jealous officials, and then ... he seems to just move on. and gets engaged to his childhood sweetheart. Then she and his sister are kidnapped and forced to be bed attendants, and when he tries to fight the kidnappers is framed for adultery and taken to jail. While in jail he is starved and given a permanent eating disorder that is still with him till his ghost king days (according to hua cheng), during this time his sister and fiancé die, as his mother does too, and by the time he gets out of jail his father was almost dead, and then - he … starts a successful business?! A business so successful his competitors conspire to sabotage him?? And THEN he goes on a killing spree to the delight and unwavering support of the entire town, and dies not of despair at all, but exhaustion. more than anything in life he seems to exude confidence and resolve to succeed, and live. He didn’t even seem to want to die by his final actions, more like he was trying to get this frustrating impediment out of his way so he could carry on in life to do the things he wants to do.

also i believe hua cheng tells xie lian that when he xuan dies, he didn’t know all the misfortunes of his life had been caused by shi wudu, or who shi wudu was. So he xuan couldn’t have become a ghost out of resentment of shi wudu or a desire for revenge against him. If intense feelings and longings at the time of someone's death attach their soul to the world and make them take the form of a ghost … for he xuan I think that feelings he is immersed in at the moment of death is an intense desire to kill, vent his rage, and make himself free…

Also it is very interesting that he xuan’s method of cultivation is eating and (maybe??) sleeping, acts that sustain life. It makes me think that the fundemental thing he xuan can't let go of that makes him a ghost is just life itself and the desire to live. In comparison, hua cheng’s "resentment" is his love and devotion to xie lian, and he seems to cultivate by acts of devotion and love to xie lian (all the statues in the cave on mount tong'lu during the time he most needed to raise his power to survive the kiln?).

The common fanon I see of he xuan is someone very very tired, who barely wants to be existing, as if he is just hanging on to get his revenge for the family he mourns, he finds no joy in anything, he is always externally miserable eating food and with the person he is commonly shipped with. (really i just think bb hates heavenly officials.) but his life story shows someone who is full of desire, who never stops trying to keep living, changing course each time his progress in one direction is denied, and always finds respect, love, prosperity in each area he pursues, and is only stopped by others purposefully sabotaging him.

He xuan is unlike the other victims of the Reverend of Empty Words, who would always be defeated “by the fear of loss in their own hearts” and die by suicide after breakdowns. although he xuan did die, he is described as becoming a steel plate in the Reverend's mouth that it broke its teeth on. The reverend never really got to feed on he xuan's negative emotions, which us the whole point of the curses. He never became overwhelmed by fear of loss, and he didn't want to die.

It’s especially interesting the different ways xie lian and he xuan deal with having a jinx monster attach to them. Xie lian wins against it by being impossible to feed on without really having any hopes for himself, and all the misfortunes the jinx monster comes up with are more like aspirations for xie lian compared to the expectations xie lian has for himself. In contrast, it’s like he xuan has such an abundance of hope and optimism he never stops trying to find a way to move past his suffering or fight back.

I've been thinking how much xie lian is told to suppress his desires and not do what he wants to do, from mu qing nagging him, to his guoshi cautioning against fighting the laws of fate ... and when he resists he is punished harshly. Until he meets hua cheng, who tells him to "just keep doing what you want to do." Part of their task as gods seems to be to suppress their desires, abide by customs and restrictions in order to not risk their position or even their lives. Mu Qing was often frustrated at Xie Lian ignoring all the social codes they have to follow and doing what he wants to do. If Mu Qing had done the same he wouldn’t have survived – and he ends up being proved right when Xie Lian almost doesn’t survive. Everything that Xie Lian feels genuinely called to do seems to end up condemning him and when Xie Lian resurfaces 800 years later he second guesses everything he wants to do, agonizes in his internal thoughts about all the things he says and does, and he seems to simultaneously be unable to stop himself from holding these unacceptable desires, but also completely at odds with his desires. I think that ghosts on the other hand are entirely about desire, and the ghost kings' superpower is desire. Once xie lian has hua cheng, its like hua cheng's power for desire is a shield that allows xie lian to do what he wants.

In this world resources are limited and you cannot create something out of nothing. When desires come into conflict with the laws of the universe, no matter what the characters try they can’t transgress it, but ghosts can. The rain that Xie Lian struggled so hard to conjure and sacrificed so much to maintain the balance for, Hua Cheng can make come down out of the sky as blood. He xuan feeds his hunger by devouring ghosts, while so often in the novel people cannot find food that isn't poisonous to nourish them. (And the meal at the end FINALLY where the beggars get their soup is COOKED BY GHOSTS OK!!!!!!!)

[gothdaddyissues]

The Devil Came to a Small Town

Catch up here: | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6

A Ghost AU Fanfic - Cardinal Copia/Female OC

The Satanic Church of Emeritus moves into an old Abbey on the outskirts of a bougie small town. Sister Imperator and the shy Cardinal Copia strike up a business relationship with Isabelle, the local witchy shop owner. This sets in motion a series of events that uncovers long-hidden secrets, solves mysteries, and unites the town and Church against a common enemy. And also: two lonely people fall in love...

TAGS: Glacially-slow slow burn. Lots of OCs. Romantic fluff. Mutual pining. Sex. Violence. Humor and melancholy in equal measure. Ghoul hijinx. All the Papas are alive and well, and very silly. Small-town weirdness. Drug and alcohol use. Bad language. Marginally accurate witchcraft. Very-likely-inaccurate religious imagery and practices. Magic, psychic abilities, and prophetic visions. Intolerance and discrimination. A happy ending will happen...

Chapter 7 is now up!

Read on Ao3 or below the cut... (~5100 words)

October 7

She ran, her feet pounding the frozen ground. The light dusting of snow on the forest floor was illuminated by the moon above, bathing everything in an iridescent blue glow. The trees soared high into the clear night sky, cradling the stars in their bare, spindly branches. It had been a night of celebration and reverence - a night of worship under the full moon - quickly transformed into a night of terror when they came looking for her.

So she ran, deep as she could into the woods, hoping they would not follow, hoping they would never find her. She could barely catch her breath, her heart slamming in her chest, but she dared not stop. She was running for her life.

The chill air bit at her cheeks, her ears, her fingers. She was so, so cold. She was further into the forest than she had ever been. Nothing familiar here, no bearings. And still, she ran. It was her only option.

"Bella...."

It was his voice. Whispered, drifting through the trees on the wind, meant only for her to hear.

"Bella!" More urgent this time.

He was close. She slowed herself as she came to a small clearing. Gasping, frigid air searing her lungs, she leaned against a tree trunk to hold herself up. She couldn't see him, but she sensed his presence, surrounding her like an embrace. Calm. Safe.

"How did you find me?" she asked, breathless.

"We are connected, you and I," he replied from the emptiness, "I'm with you always."

"Copia, help me."

He stepped out of the darkness — majestic in his long, black and gold military jacket, his skull paint crisp and pristine. Gloved hands reached for her, pulling her close. She melted into his strength, his warmth... his love. He wrapped her in his arms, resting his chin upon the top of her head, stroking his fingers through her tousled, wind-blown hair. The steady thrum of his heartbeat soothed her as she lay her cheek against his chest.

"Mia ragazza coraggiosa," he whispered, "Mia bella principessa. We cannot stay long. They are coming."

She could see the congregation far off through the trees. Their white robes shone in the moonlight, the orange flames from their torches shimmering pinpricks of light in the distance. They were chanting, their combined voices a dull, incomprehensible drone that grew louder and louder the closer they came. Like a poorly edited film, they were suddenly closer. Glitching again, closer still.

"Slut. Witch. Whore. Slut. Witch. Whore."

Copia took her hand tightly. "Come, my love. We must go. Rapidamente."

Together, they sprinted through the trees, but no matter how fast they ran, their pursuers were always right behind. Their voices were amplified by the wind, filling her with panic: "SLUT. WITCH. WHORE. BURN!"

She sensed another presence in the woods. Something animalistic. Demonic. A dozen shadowy figures paced in the darkness just beyond her vision, claws scraping against trees and frozen earth. Gurgling and growling. Angry. But they were not her enemies - they were guardians. They were at Copia's command, and he was leading their pursuers right to them.

Copia let go of her hand and pushed her ahead. "Go!" he ordered as he came to a stop. "Keep running. I will find you."

She turned back, reaching for him. The men in the white robes were almost on him, their faces covered with Venetian Bauta masks, their torches held high. "Copia, please!" she cried.

The demons emerged from the shadows around her, ready to protect their master and his lover. A pack of horned beasts with fangs and talons and long pointed tails. Their eyes and skin glowed incandescent in the pale light, various shades of purple, blue, orange, and green. They flew past her, tearing into the flesh of the white-robed men, snarling and vicious. There was blood. There were screams. She heard Copia again telling her to run, and this time, she obeyed.

She ran for what seemed like forever, but the screams still rang in her ears, the demon guardians chasing down every last villain who took after her. The forest grew dense as she sped blindly through the underbrush, branches scratching at her skin. Even without leaves, the trees blocked out most of the sky, with only thin slivers of moonlight cutting through here and there. She could barely see her hand in front of her face, lost in the darkness. She had to trust in Copia's promise that he would find her and return her to safety.

Finally, the screaming stopped. She slowed her pace somewhat, taking the opportunity to look back behind her. Nothing but pitch black night. 

A sudden thump sent her flying backward, hard onto the ground with the wind knocked out of her. She had run headlong into something solid concealed in the dark. Dazed, she pulled herself onto her hands and knees, and reached out her hand; it brushed against hard stone. She slid her hand up to feel more stones, bricked together and covered with fuzzy moss. A solid mass in front of her. A wall? She had no idea how high it rose or how wide it spanned. She’d reached a dead end. 

Her entire body ached and she was shivering in the cold. All around her was silence, save for her shuddering breaths. Terrified, disoriented, she wanted to cry out for Copia but thought better than to draw attention to herself. Instead, she wrapped her shaky arms around her torso in a feeble attempt to keep warm.

Then she heard the footsteps. The soft crunch of boots on the snow behind her. Copia? She scrambled to her feet and spun around. Her stomach dropped. A lone man, clad in a hooded white cassock, his face hidden behind a masquerade mask, had found her. "Slut. Witch. Whore." She tried to scream, but the man was on her, his hands around her throat. "Slut. Witch. Whore."

She clawed futilely at his wrists as she gasped for breath, and when that didn't work, went for his face with fists. She punched at him hard, dislodging the mask and sending it to the ground. The hood of his cassock obscured his eyes, but she could just make out his dark skin and white beard. "Slut! Witch! Whore!" he roared.

She was dizzy, losing consciousness, going limp under the man's grip. But his chokehold suddenly loosened, distracted by the sound of branches breaking, pounding footfalls, and beastly growling getting closer fast. The burliest demon yet, its skin pearly grey, burst through the brush and tackled the robed man, dragging him to the ground and tearing into him with its razor-sharp claws. Screams filled her ears again, and she was falling, faint, spatters of blood wetting her face from the carnage beside her.

Before she hit the ground, Copia caught her, lifting her into his arms. He cradled her against him, his hand on her cheek. "Bella? Wake up. Wake up!"

Isabelle's eyes shot open to see Poe sitting on her chest, licking and pawing at her face. The cell phone on her bedside table was ringing and vibrating, the 'old phone' ringtone blaring at full volume. The cat meowed angrily, annoyed by the shrill sound.

"Okay, okay," she grumbled, fumbling for the device in her half-awake state, the dream still clinging to her. She was bleary-eyed, couldn't make out the number on the call display, wasn't quite sure what time or even what day it was. But she managed to answer, her voice hoarse and barely working. "Hello?"

"Uh, Izzy?" There was a man's voice on the other end, "Hi, it's Alex, across the street. I woke you up, didn't I? I'm so sorry. I tried calling you a little while ago but there was no answer."

As he spoke, she nudged Poe off of her, struggling to sit up and look at the clock. The sun was up - it was morning. Her first thought was that maybe she overslept. But Ari would have called her if that was the case, not the man who owned the antique shop opposite her. She blinked a few times to clear her vision and saw it was just after 8 a.m. "Oh... uh, hi Alex. Yeah, it's okay, no worries. I'd be getting up soon anyways." She rubbed at her face, willing herself to wake up faster. "What's up?"

"I guess that means you haven't been outside yet?"

His words broke sleep's spell hard and fast, hitting her like a bucket of cold water. Something was wrong. 'Good news sleeps 'til noon,' her mom always said. "No. Oh no... what happened?" She shuffled out of bed and to the window. It faced Main Street and Alex's shop. All seemed normal outside from her vantage point; she could see Alex standing outside his door, his cell phone pressed to his ear as he looked across the street.

"You got hit with some vandalism overnight," he said, his voice soft and apologetic.

"Shit," Izzy muttered, "Again? Is it bad?" She raked her fingers through her hair to tame the bedhead and grabbed a zip-up hoodie off of the chair nearby. She needed to see the damage. At least her pajama pants were somewhat respectable.

"Well," Alex began, "You've had worse, but it's definitely not good."

In the living room now, she stuffed her feet into the closest pair of shoes and took her keys off the hook by the door. "I'm on my way down. I'll see you in a sec," she told him, ending the call.

It was a chilly morning, and thankfully the streets were mostly quiet. She hoped that not too many people had gone by and seen the aftermath; she'd already suffered enough public embarrassment at the coffee shop the week prior. By the time she got down the stairs and around the front of the building, Alex was on her side of the street, giving her a sympathetic look as she took it all in.

An entire carton of eggs had been thrown at the storefront. The metal gate did its job of protecting the windows - nothing broken that she could see. Eggshells and gooey debris splayed across the glass, in the crevices of the gate, and all over the sidewalk. But more distressing were the slurs spraypainted over the gate itself, in giant letters: slut, witch, whore.

Slut. Witch. Whore.

"Oh..." Izzy whispered, her voice trembling, "Oh my god..." Panic, confusion, and anger all welled up inside her, and she put a shaky hand over her mouth. A nasty mess. Plus the words from her dream plastered on her storefront, distressing her more than anything else. What the fuck…? But it wasn't like she could tell this to the nice man across the street without making herself sound completely unhinged.

She felt Alex’s hand on her shoulder. "This is awful Izzy, I know. I'm so sorry. I just got to the shop and saw it. Not a great way to start your day. But I thought it better to let you know as soon as possible. I hate having to be the one to tell you about it."

"No, hey, don't apologize. Thank you for letting me know, I do appreciate it. Really."

"I can help you clean up if you need a hand," he offered, "I know you don't open for a couple of hours yet."

She was grateful for his invitation but was reluctant to accept it. Alex was a kind soul, a bow-tie-wearing, nerdy, goody-two-shoes type, always ready with a dad joke or some historical trivia. The string of expletives she wanted to unleash over this situation would likely shock him to his very core. Probably best for their acquaintance if she saved him from witnessing it.

"Alex, you're so sweet," she began, "But I know you open soon and I don't want to keep you. Let me call Ari and get him over here... if we need any extra help, I'll let you know."

"You sure? I don't mind, really!"

"Yes, I'm sure. I really do appreciate the offer though. If I get stuck, I'll call you." She didn't want to sound rude... but fuck, she needed some time to scream into the void before she could even begin thinking about cleaning up. "And I should probably call and make a police report first too, in case there’s anything they can do." It would be a futile, useless endeavor - chances are they wouldn't even show up when they found out it was her shop - but it did buy her a little more time to calm down.

"Oh yeah, good idea," he agreed, before giving her a nudge with his elbow, "Good luck with that, eh?" He knew as well as she did how the entire police force was bought and paid for by a certain group of people in this town. "I'm right across the street if you need anything - anything at all - okay?"

"Okay. Thank you again." She managed a wave and a feeble smile as he returned to his shop. With a sigh, she turned back to the disaster on her doorstep. "Fuck," she muttered under her breath, "Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck." I bet it was those fucking punks that harassed the Sisters yesterday, thinking they were getting me back for giving them shit.

She scanned the area, looking for signs of anything she could use to prove who did this - footprints or something left behind. Nothing. She took out her phone and snapped a few pictures up close, then backed onto the street to capture the whole storefront at once. From there, she could see Poe sitting in the bedroom window upstairs, looking down at her with the disdain of a cat whose breakfast was late. It unsettled her to realize this happened right underneath her while she slept - with the windows open, even - and she didn't hear a damn thing...

Before she stepped back onto the sidewalk, she noticed the security camera on the nearby light post. The previous year, the town council had convinced residents that installing cameras all along Main Street was needed to discourage petty crimes and keep businesses safe. She’d been skeptical, considering the ineffectual Police were the ones doing the monitoring, and also because the company hired to do the installation was a subcontractor of Andrew Francis' land development company. And Andrew Francis was best buddies with the town's mayor - it was all blatant cronyism.

Regardless of her feelings on the matter, there was a camera every 15 feet or so on both sides of the street, and the one closest to her was aimed right at the corner of Main and Richmond, directly in front of her shop. That was the best chance to prove who had vandalized her property. But it was going to mean getting the police involved.

She made her way back upstairs and dialed the non-emergency number. An extremely disinterested woman answered the phone: "Police."

"Yes, hi," Izzy began, "I'm calling to report some vandalism that occurred at my shop overnight. There were slurs spray painted onto my storefront."

"Okay." Izzy heard her begin typing. "Address?"

"The corner of Main and Richmond. Shadow and Light Metaphysical Boutique."

The typing stopped. "I see," the woman replied. "Were any other businesses affected?"

"No, just mine."

"Hmm.... so you were targeted. Sounds like something personal," the dispatcher said, the hint of a sneer in her voice.

Izzy figured the call would go this way, but she persisted as calmly as possible. "Be that as it may, it was still an act of vandalism. Will you be sending someone out to investigate?"

"All of our officers are currently dealing with other matters. I can pass your information along when someone becomes available."

"Any idea when that might be?" Izzy asked through gritted teeth.

"It will be when someone becomes available," the dispatcher repeated.

Izzy squeezed her eyes shut and pinched the bridge of her nose, hoping to quell a rapidly blossoming headache. "What about the cameras?" she asked, "One of the town's security cameras is aimed right at the front of my shop. Would you be able to pull the footage off that and see if we can identify who did this?"

"That would be up to the officer who investigates the incident. Who is yet to be determined. I will pass the information along..."

"...when someone becomes available, yeah, I got that part." Izzy interrupted. "I've taken pictures of the damage. Can I start cleaning it up, or do I have to wait for Officer Yet-To-Be-Determined to come?" Oh, she was so close to losing it.

"Suit yourself," the woman replied, "And mind your tone, ma'am."

Mind MY tone?? "Oh, I do apologize," Izzy said sarcastically. "Thank you ever so much for your help. Your assistance has been invaluable, ma'am." She stabbed the phone with her finger to hang up the call and flung it down on the couch beside her with an exasperated growl. She instantly regretted being so snarky. But being nice wouldn't have mattered  - the dispatcher’s attitude was set the moment she heard the shop name. FUCK. 

The stress had her head throbbing. She reached for the joint she’d left in the coffee table ashtray the night before, a calming blend she enjoyed when she needed to settle her mind after a long day. She lit it, closed her eyes, and took a few small hits; not enough to get high, but just enough to take the edge off. Would it help? Maybe. Definitely wouldn’t hurt.

She heard the pitter-pat of paws, Poe jumping up on the coffee table and plopping himself down, blinking his big green eyes at her. Then a soft 'tap-tap' on her knee, the cat trying to get her attention. When she opened her eyes, she was met with an inquisitive "Mmrrrow?"

"Yes, yes baby, I know. Let's get your breakfast," she sighed, scratching his head. For now, she could focus on something else: getting the cat fed, brushing her teeth, putting her hair in a ponytail, and finding some clothes. An old pair of paint-stained jeans and a worse-for-wear Metallica t-shirt was her standard uniform for grunt work like this. And she needed to call Ari and start the cleanup before the whole town saw the debacle.

Izzy dialed his number and it rang at least five times before he finally answered. "Hrgrarlo?" he croaked sleepily.

She was pacing her living room, back and forth in front of her altar space. His awakening was about to be as rude as hers. "Ari?"

He groaned. "Iz? What time is it?"

"8:30-ish. I need..."

"Too early," he slurred, "Call later."

"Aristotle! Wake up!" she snapped. "The store got vandalized last night. I need your help to clean up."

"Wha...?" He cleared his throat, finally rousing now, "What happened? You ok?"

"Yeah, I'm okay. But it's a fucking mess. We got egged, and the gate got spray painted."

Slut. Witch. Whore. It echoed in her brain, filling her with dread.

"Shit, okay. I'll be there as soon as I can. Give me 20 minutes.”

"Okay, I'll meet you out front. Thanks."

She hung up the phone and continued to pace, images from the dream consuming her. The white-robed men chasing her down with torches, wanting to burn her. Demons protecting her, killing for her. And Copia in his skull paint, right in the middle of it all, infiltrating her dreams again.

Slut. Witch. Whore.

"Why is this happening?" she asked out loud. "I still don't understand." She looked at the statue of Lilith on her altar as she paced, rolling the anxious thoughts around and around in her head. Things were going so well. Things were calm, people were finally leaving us be. Then I met Sister Imperator and everything's been fucked up since then! The weird dreams. The coffee shop last week, the Sisters yesterday, now this… I'm trying to be kind. Friendly. The people from the Church seem like good people. I want to help them. And Copia. I want… Ugh! How much shit will I have to eat? Is it worth it? Why am I putting myself through this?

As she passed the altar again, Izzy saw movement out of the corner of her eye, something falling from the top of it to the floor. A piece of paper. She stopped, bending down to pick it up. 

It was the Cardinal's business card. 

She’d placed it under Lilith's statue the week before - completely underneath the statue, she was sure of it. His familiar energy danced around her as she held the card, the same frisson of pleasure she felt when in his presence. That feeling of calm and safety she’d felt in her dream when he embraced her…

Or maybe it was the weed kicking in.

"I'm with you always.”

 She wanted a reason why this was happening, and Lilith answered: Copia.

“Okay then,” she mumbled, sliding the card back underneath the statue’s base. If her goddess was conspiring to bring her and Copia together, she wasn’t about to argue. But she hoped it was worth it… “Message received,” she kissed the tips of her fingers and touched them to Lilith’s feet, “Thank you.”

With a resigned sigh, Isabelle put on her work boots and made her way downstairs to begin dealing with the mess. She unlocked the shop’s back door, turned off the alarm system, and went to the storage closet for cleaning supplies: gloves, rags, scrub brushes, garbage bags, and spray paint remover. She also needed a bucket full of hot, soapy water to wash away all the dried-up egg gunk. The buckets were under the sink in the tiny kitchenette, and as she crossed the length of the back of the shop, she glanced through the doorway that led to the shop floor. People were outside the front windows, on the other side of the gate. She did a double take, thinking it was a crowd of gawkers. 

But no. Six Ghouls in their shiny silver masks were there, scrubbing and scraping, hard at work cleaning on her behalf. The Church of Emeritus had come to her rescue.

Incredulous, Isabelle went out the back door and made her way around to the front of the shop. They turned to her when she came around the corner. “Uh, hi,” she said tentatively.

She recognized Aether right away. He put down the rag he was using and greeted her with a happy wave. The five others joined in. They’d brought their own cleaning supplies, including a heavy-duty paint remover far superior to the kind she used. 

“What the heck are you guys doing here? I mean… I appreciate you coming to help, but how did you even know this happened?” she asked.

Aether pulled his phone out of his pocket, typing quickly before turning the screen to her.

“One of us saw the mess this morning,” it said, “And so we came to help clean up. We’ve had to deal with this sort of thing before too, unfortunately.”

“Unfortunately,” Izzy sighed. They had already made great progress, doing a faster and more thorough job than she and Ari could have done on their own. After all the stress and anxiety of the morning, this simple act of kindness brought all her emotions to the surface. “You guys,” she said, her voice breaking, “You didn’t have to… this is so wonderful of you. I don’t know what to say.”

Aether typed again: “You don’t have to say anything, Miss Izzy. It’s our pleasure to help! You’ve already done SO MUCH for us, we’re just paying it back. Like you told the Cardinal, we take care of each other.”

She blinked back tears. “Yes, I did say that, didn’t I? And I meant it.” Aether gave her a gentle touch on the shoulder and she felt relief for the first time today. “Thank you so much, Aether, and all of you, for the help.”

“Let me introduce you to everyone,” Aether typed. He went down the line of Ghouls, giving her the names of each: “Rain, Mountain, Sunshine, Cirrus, and Dewdrop. But you can call him Dew.”

“Hello,” Izzy greeted. “I think I recognize you, Dew. And Cirrus too. I met you both in the coffee shop last week, didn’t I?”

The mention of the word “coffee” made Dew hang his head and cover his face with his hands. Aether gave him a playful nudge on the shoulder. “We don’t talk about coffee around Dew anymore,” he typed, “It doesn’t agree with him.” 

Izzy nodded, sympathetic. “Honestly, I understand… Since that day, coffee hasn’t agreed with me either. But I still want to thank you for your kindness.”

Dew placed his hands over his heart and bowed, the same gesture that Aether often used, acknowledging her thanks.

“I had no idea there were so many of you,” Izzy remarked. 

“There are 15 of us all together, for now at least,” Aether told her, “More wanted to come and help but Sister Imperator needed some of us to stay behind this morning.”

“I hope the Cardinal is managing alright without you,” she teased. She couldn’t help but smile at the thought of him, wondering if maybe he had encouraged Aether to go as a way of checking up on her…

The sound of hurried footsteps approached from around the side of the building, and Izzy saw each of the Ghouls perk up, on alert. Aether stepped in front of her, shielding her from whomever it was, while the others surrounded her protectively. She felt the tension radiating off them as they stood guard, and the faint rumble of… growling?

Ari burst around the corner, still disheveled from sleep, and skidded to a stop, face-to-face with Aether. “Jesus fucking…” he gasped, startled, “What the fuck?”

The Ghouls closed in around her. None of them, save for Aether, knew who Ari was or that he was her friend. She saw Aether touch Ari’s arm to steady him before he waved off the other Ghouls, showing them there was no threat. Aether pointed to Ari, made motions with his hands like he was drawing in the air, and then mimed pinning something up on a wall. He then pointed back and forth between Ari and Izzy and brought his hands together to make the shape of a heart. The others nodded, backing off as their wariness eased. 

“I ask again: what the fuck?” Ari looked at Izzy, confused.

“It’s okay, Ari, it’s okay. They came here to help clean up. They’re just being extra protective because of what happened and because they don’t know you. Aether told them you’re the artist that made the poster we gave him, and that you’re my friend. Right?” Aether nodded, happy that Izzy interpreted him correctly.

Ari was in disbelief. “You understood all that?” 

“Yes, of course,” Izzy said, unsure as to why he didn’t. “You just have to pay attention.” She grabbed Ari’s wrist and pulled him closer as she turned back to the Ghouls. “So this is Ari, he’s my best friend and he works here with me. He’s cool, okay? No need to worry. Ari, this is Rain, Mountain, Sunshine, Cirrus, and Dew. And you already know Aether.” She nudged him in the side and whispered, “Say hi.”

“Uh, hello,” Ari said with an awkward wave. “Nice to meet you.”

Aether typed quickly and showed his phone to Ari: “They like your art!”

“Oh… well, thank you!” he replied, “And thank you for coming to help, we appreciate it.”

“Listen,” Izzy began, “I’m going to go inside and get some soap and water to help clean all this off. We’ll be right back, alright?” 

Aether and the Ghouls all gave her an enthusiastic thumbs-up and returned to their work as she ushered Ari to the back of the building. Before she could say anything to him, he pulled her into a tight hug.

“Fuck fuck fuck,” he swore as he embraced her, “You’re okay, right? I can’t believe this happened *again* Iz.”

“Yeah, I’ll be okay,” she replied, hugging him back just as hard, “I’m pretty sure it was those rotten teenagers that messed with the Sisters yesterday, trying to get back at me. But I’ll never be able to prove it, though.”

“Did you call the cops?”

“Yeah…”

“And?”

Izzy pulled away then and gave him a telling look before opening the back door for him. “It went about as well as you’d think. They’re doing jack shit. Even though there’s a camera right outside the shop. I may as well not’ve bothered. But, at least we’ve got some help cleaning up…” She motioned to the front window where the Ghouls were working away. “If I had known they were coming, I would’ve let you keep sleeping. Sorry…”

Ari seemed as stunned as she had been. “So they just showed up on their own?”

“Yep, and they’re doing an awesome job.” She squirted some soap into the bottom of a bucket and turned on the hot water, watching them through the doorway while waiting for it to fill. 

“Getting by with a little help from our friends, huh?” Ari observed.

Isabelle nodded. She was so grateful for their kindness. But now she had to worry about what sort of repercussions this would bring. If word got around town that the Satanic Church was at her service, would her haters be less inclined to hassle her, or would they double down on their hostility? How was she going to play this?

A fleeting recognition, familiarity, prickled down her spine as she observed the Ghouls. The protectiveness they’d had over her? She recognized it, felt it before. Images from her dream - those demon things saving her from the torch-wielding mob - flashed through her mind, her brain attempting to connect the dots while ignoring the rapidly filling bucket. Ari reaching around her to shut off the kitchen faucet jolted her back into reality.

“I’ll take this outside,” he said, not noticing she had spaced out, “You bring the sponges and stuff, okay?”

Oh, uh… yeah, okay,” she stammered, “I’ll be right there.”

Isabelle took a moment to collect herself. It was almost nine o’clock. The town was coming to life. People would see her and Ari outside with the Ghouls. People would talk. Her association with the Church of Emeritus would be indisputable. This was the tipping point; she’d have to choose her allegiance…  

She recalled the feelings of safety and calm that enveloped her in Copia’s presence. The Ghouls had gone out of their way to come to her aid. Even her Goddess had given her a definitive sign. It all felt decided on her behalf.

I guess I’m on Team Dark Side. I wonder if they like cookies?

[snippychicke]

Cats & Ships Chapter Six

Title: Cats & Ships

Overall Rating: Teen for now, will go into mature at a future date

Trigger warnings: Nothing beyond what's in the live-action series. I mean, Kuro's still manipulative and paranoid. It gets better tho? Slowly?

Pairings: Captain Kuro (Klahadore)/Reader; hints of Kaya/Usopp

Summary: It started out as a means to get information as Khaladore. Who would be better to provide information regarding the high seas than Syrup Village’s Harbormaster? Except, for the first time in a very long time, Kuro found himself trusting, and even liking, the young woman he shared tea with every week. 

And then the Straw Hat Pirates arrived and ruined his plans. Except fate decided his story wasn’t done there. 

Nor was yours.

Masterlist here! | Read on Ao3!

You were fed up with the Jones Pirates. The town you had fallen in love with had changed for the worst over the last few weeks, becoming a virtual ghost town. The streets that had been full of life as merchants peddled their goods, children running up and down as they played games, chased by the group of dogs that wandered and served more or less as guardians for the town. 

Now the streets were lifeless, just like the tavern.

No one in Maple Town was really a fighter, and the Marines didn't often sail in this stretch of water. Sure, there had been pirate raids but many of the pirates that visited would cause a ruckus and then leave, or even do business to sell and trade their stolen treasure for Berry or other goods.

Not the Jones Crew. They decided to take the town and bleed it dry to the last berry, using it for their base of operations and charging the townsfolk for living under 'their protection.' 

There was a plan to escape, though it was slow moving. Shuttling people little by little to nearby towns, slowly emptying the town. You stayed, both stubborn but also knowing that as the barmaid of the tavern, the pirates would notice your absence. 

And then the Black Cat Pirates returned to town. 

There was a shout from the occupying pirates that woke the lazy town, and you watched from the tavern windows with morbid fascination as the Jones Pirates rallied their barricades. Once the black and red ship appeared on the horizon, the cat-faced Jolly Roger flying high and proud, you couldn't deny the burst of hope in your chest. Of relief. 

It was foolish, of course. Why would pirates fight other pirates over a worthless spot like Maple town? There were no special resources here. Nothing that was worth fighting over. 

“Turn back!” Captain Jone had shouted through the snail-amplifier as the ship drew closer. Close enough you could see the black cat-shaped bow.  “This is our territory! Touch land and you will meet your maker!” 

Apparently, Kuro did not like being told what to do. Despite the destruction the cannonball suddenly fired at the pier caused, your hope grew. Other townsfolk stuck their heads out of their windows as dinghies approached the shore, full of Black Cat pirates with their swords, guns, and whatever else raised in a violent war cry.. 

By the time the fighting spilled into town, your own instinct had taken hold. You had been a Harbormaster, after all. You did not pick fights, but you weren't one to sit back when a fight broke out either. 

If the Black Cats were going to fight the Jones crew for whatever reason, so were you.

The tavern had a pair of old swords from a former owner hanging above the fireplace that you grabbed before rushing out to the street. The Black Cat pirates thankfully had some kind of cat-themed bandanas distinguishing them easily from the other pirates. 

And once they saw you parrying blows with the Jones, they left you alone. Even they recognized 'an enemy of my enemy is my friend', after all. 

More of the braver townspeople took your lead and started joining in the brawl until it was a true free-for all in the streets. You had taken more than a few hits, but carried on, drunk off the battle-high and finally getting these damned pirates out of your home. 

And then suddenly your current opponent had ten blades sticking out of their chest. As they crumpled to the ground, you found yourself face-to-face with a man you had thought, (for the third time, to be fair) you would never see again. 

Kuro was glaring at you as he skillfully fixed his glasses, the blades of his cat claws dripping blood. “What are you doing here?”

“I live here, remember,” You snarled in response to his cold question, your adrenaline running high enough to frankly not care about the consequences. 

His eyes narrowed more as he mindlessly swept his blades towards an encroaching Jones Pirate, slashing five deep wounds into his chest. “I recall. But why are you out in this.” 

“Because I live here!”  You said, lunging forward and stabbing the man that had been aiming for Kuro’s back as the pirate captain dodged your (presumed) attack. “And I can fight!” 

"Poorly." He finished the man you had impaled with a swift and literal upper-cut. "You did better work with that mallet back in Syrup Village." 

"I'll fucking hit you with a mallet!" You spat as you turned back towards him. Why was he so insistent on pushing your buttons? And in the middle of a fight to boot! "And here I was happy to see your flag! The hell are you doing here?" 

He was silent as more Jones Pirates surrounded you, apparently seeking a chance to take down the infamous Captain Kuro. Or they had a death wish. 

Probably the latter, considering how easily they fell between the two of you. (Well, more Kuro than yourself, but you did manage a few.)

"I wanted to be sure my namesake was safe from these idiots," He finally answered after the first wave, making you pause. You watched him fight against the next wave. You had heard of the deadly Pirate Kuro. Fast. Vicious. Who seemed to take delight in his own deadly dance.

And most of it was true. You could barely follow the dark blur as he cut through men like they were twigs. But there was no delight in his expression when you were able to catch a glimpse. Just pure determination. 

"Your namesake, huh?" You shot back after a moment when he paused to push up his glasses, his hair falling down around his face. "I have to admit, even after all these months, he's extra whiny on Thursday afternoons. Like he's upset you haven't come to visit." 

There was a twitch of a smile on his face as his gaze met yours across the battlefield. “I highly doubt his caretaker would approve of such visits.” 

“I might be a little jealous," You admitted, hoping he would take it as a jest when it was anything but. You struck down another as he finished off at least three more. "But he does seem to miss you.” 

You swore you saw him stumble slightly, though he quickly caught his balance and darted to his next target. “Jealous?” 

Thank the seas your face was already flushed with exertion. But the same exertion made you speak without really thinking. “I can admit it. You wanting his friendship but not mine hurts a bit. But you already said you never actually trusted me, so I guess that’s nothing new.” 

You looked around, looking for another target as you last fell… and found none. It was just you and Kuro and a few other villagers or black cat pirates who were slumping with relief at the victory. 

“... I did not say that,” Kuro stated after a moment. “I said a pirate cannot trust anyone.”

“You’re a pirate, and I’m anyone.” You shot back, avoiding looking at him as you surveyed the damage to the town.  "How am I wrong?” 

His arm was suddenly wrapped around your waist, the blades of the cat-claw skillfully avoiding cutting you as he roughly pulled you back against his body. “You are hardly just anyone,” He whispered harshly in your ear. “All of this was because I heard you were in trouble. I didn’t even think before commanding my crew. No plan, no nothing. Merely the sole thought that I had to get to you.” 

Your pounding heart traveled to your throat, your mouth suddenly becoming dry. Was… was that true? “Y-you’ve been gone for over a month,” You tried to reason--more with yourself than him. “You’re Kuro of the Thousand plans. I’m noth--” 

“You’re always on my mind,” He cut you off once more, pulling you closer. Part of you was scared he’d accidentally cut you with his blades, the rest of you was too scared of the feelings, the thoughts in your head to care about being sliced by the bloodied blades. At this point, it might have actually proved to be a welcome distraction. “I’ve tried to do everything I could to forget you and I couldn’t.” 

“You’re always on my mind too,” Your mouth allowed your heart to confess before you could even think. You could feel him tense behind you, and it only compelled you to continue. “Especially since your bounty came out. Every day I worried that the news that you had been caught--or worse-- would come through. I kept telling myself I shouldn't care. But I did. I do." 

For a long moment, silence hung, broken only by his breath in your ear as he processed your words, and you tried to internalize his. 

Eventually, he broke the silence with three words. Three words that shouldn't mean as much as they did, but…

"I trust you." 

It meant everything. 

You raised your hand, placing it on the furred glove that held his claws. He shouldn't trust you, you shouldn't trust him. Not after everything. 

And yet… "I trust you too." 

[castleofthade]

wanna read my unfinished Eliv Thade fanfiction? here you go. ifhte readmore breaks i'm sorry im fixing it as fast as i can

Castle Thade is.. old, it is older than Eliv and his parents, but it was always of their family.

Neovia and The Haunted Woods were once known under a single name, which has become lost to time.

The establishment of the Grand Neovian Coal Mine caused an economic boom in Neovia; most of the population moved to the fledgling town to find work there, leaving little funding for any significant infrastructure upkeep in what is present day Haunted Woods.

With most businesses focused in the successful sister town, the main remaining economic draw of the old village was tourism. Along with the re-establishment of the fairground, the townsfolk who remained embraced the novelties of living in an environment full of ghosts and eerie magic, and over time the abandoned village’s identity became synonymous with The Haunted Woods.

Eliv Thade was born on the cusp of this economic shift. As a child, Castle Thade was the center of the community, and the family often lent space and resources to their numerous neighbors. His mother, Evolly Thade, was a genius scholar who frequently welcomed visitors from near and far come to the estate to pick her mind on new theories and matters of philosophy. Dafét Thade, his father and heir of the family’s company, was similarly popular- though with a more business-minded crowd who sought advice with inventions and investments.  

Eliv was a shy child, coddled by his eccentric parents and never sent to a proper school or encouraged to socialize. He spent a great deal of time doing private studies, or getting lost in the castle's labyrinthine hallways and secret chambers. Exploring his home was a puzzle itself with all of its trick locks and hidden mechanisms, which contributed to and encouraged his love of logic games and clever tricks.

In another life, he could’ve been some sort of sleight of hand magician, but there's a world of difference between "obscuring the answer" and "presenting a problem to be solved." 

The first tragedy of Eliv Thade was when he was three years old and, despite his parents' cautions about this exact scenario, was excitedly sprinting across the halls with a pair of scissors from his mother’s study. The resulting injury and infection from this caused his right eye to stop developing, leaving it tiny and nearsighted. His left eye remained large and beautiful, though would be mistaken for the injured eye post-mortem.  

The second Tragedy of Eliv Thade occurred when he was ten years old; His father died suddenly and violently. Foul play was considered, but a killer was never found. He was too young to fully understand the situation; No matter how much of a prodigy, a ten year old is still a child. Eliv surely felt his absence, but Dafét was rarely home to begin with.

His mother coped with the traumatic loss by forgoing the ambiguous, floweriness of philosophy she once enjoyed, and focusing her interests on things that could be answered in a solid way; If she couldn’t make sense of her husband's death, she would make sense of a riddle or a math problem.

Evolly began to test her son with logic puzzles rather than showing him art and poetry and… affection. Eliv would comfort in these sorts of things,  as they were the few interactions he had with his mother while she grieved, aside from seeing her at dinner. It was around this time that he started creating his own puzzles, both as a game and as a way to spend time with his only parent.  His studies shifted towards anything that could improve his craft.

Aside from this change in dynamic, his childhood continued in relative comfort. Evolly Thade took over her late husband's business and became less involved with the community and more involved in the comfort of numbers and engineering. The castle would empty, little by little, as neighbors and friends felt estranged by the absence of a warm welcome, and more enticed by the rush of money to the neighborhood of the coal mines.

By the time he was 15,  the village of the woods had only a quarter of the population he’d known as a child. The woods itself had begun to overgrow and take over the abandoned properties, and it was starting to feel like there had never been a sizable village at all. 

His mother was a ghost of the woman she once was, the grief took a toll on her body and she could no longer focus on the business. Eliv showed no interest in taking up the mantle, buried as he was in his own studies and creative endeavors. It was passed on to his uncle, a stern kau named Faltheu who loathed his late brother and had only visited once before (as a formality when Eliv was born.) 

 Faltheu cut all financial ties with the widow and her son and never looked back. Both of them were too distracted with their own miserable fixations to protest, and it wasn’t until much later that the family’s well of fortune would threaten to dry.

Evolly Thade vanished before they began to feel the financial strain. She announced, one day, that she was going into the darker woods to find an answer, she would do it alone, and that she would return in 3 days. Her son assumed it was some sort of riddle and didn’t stop this; He figured three days was his time limit to figure out what the game was and complete it. He did eventually realize that his mother was actually, finally speaking to him again, and that some tragedy had occurred in the dangerous forest that grew larger each day.

The reason this answerless tragedy didn’t destroy him was simple- It wasn’t a puzzle, not in the sense that he believed in. A puzzle contained all of the pieces needed to solve it. His mothers disappearance was missing too many pieces, it had random and meaningless elements- it was EMOTIONAL-  It wasn’t a riddle, it was a mystery, and Eliv Thade did not view himself as a detective. 

It did affect him, though. In small and quiet ways, his mothers (presumed) death hardened whatever wonder and joy he felt towards the world around him. The years ground by, each lonelier than the last. There were no more guests, and the small castle staff mostly kept to themselves.

Now an adult at 24,  Eliv Thade’s home was only a landmark in the ghost town of the haunted woods. Only the most stubborn or most suited for the area remained now; Namely the witches, the beasts, and the undead. 

Eliv tried to keep himself busy as he always did- writing and inventing puzzles- But he struggled with the futile nature of creating without an audience. He grew up surrounded by people eager to have their wits tested and to test his own mind, and he did lament that he had been only a child. Moreover he regretted hiding himself away as a child, not establishing himself with the friends and guests of his family, not KEEPING those friends. No one knew who Eliv Thade was. Not in the way people had known previous heirs of Castle Thade.

It didn’t help that the family business, in his uncle Faltheu’s hands, had been driven into the ground with bad financial decisions before he’d turned 18. Everything connected to the Thade family (save for the castle itself) had been destroyed and was fading,  and Eliv fell into a deep existential depression. He lamented aloud how the greater world would never know of his genius!! Neopia was deprived of the greatest mind of their time!! The castle’s staff thought it was very melodramatic, but Mr.Thade and his remaining old wealth kept a roof over their heads, so they kept quiet.

He spent his 20’s and a good part of his 30’s trying to publish books, making numerous miserable trips to Neovia and failing to network. He very much had what it took, he just didn’t know how to sell himself. 

He was offered a job as a puzzle writer for one of the Neovian weekly newspapers, which he humored briefly but eventually found too insulting to keep up with since his boss didn’t appreciate how difficult all his submissions were. Neovians were very easily insulted and didn’t enjoy puzzles that made them feel stupid.

It wasn’t until he met one Mr.Krawley that the course of his life changed. The salesman appeared out of nowhere (as he does) and proposed a business partnership. Krawley, a worldly traveler, would sell the idea of a genius puzzlemaster you could come and challenge to the wider public… In exchange, he would be allowed to sell his own wares and do other shadowy deals with these same guests. Eliv Thade, with not much to lose and while in the fugue of a midlife crisis, agreed without much thought.

At first there was a slow trickle of curious guests, mostly from Neovia, which quickly became a daily stream of strangers from as far as Tyrannia; All of them eager to test their wits and pick the mind of this mysterious man in his mysterious castle. It reminded him exactly of how his home was as a child, and for a time, all was good.

It was around this time that the old fairgrounds, long abandoned from “The Incident” had been re-established by a crew of carnies that popped up from nowhere. There’s a lot of “nowhere” in the haunted woods, so don’t worry about that! Eliv did not care for the carnies and found them anti-intellectual and annoying, and he was insulted to learn that his home and his GREAT MIND was considered an extension of the fair; Just another tourist trap.

As all things go with Mr.Krawley, so did his deal with Eliv Thade. The effects were slower, quieter than the fate that awaited Neovia down the line. You could argue that Krawley didn’t even do anything, and that it was all Thade’s own hubris.  His frustrations with his skills being sold as a novelty, as well as the ever decreasing amount of actually good challenges.. It wore on him. He became apathetic, consumed with ennui, and the bad attitude it nurtured was causing this poisoned well to finally dry. What was that thing his late Father always said? “Life is a game,” wasn’t it? But this game had bored him enough. 

Eliv Thade began to grow dangerous, to himself and to others.

[weather-cluddy]

My Mikoto playlist, for all your waiting for Double needs.

A Sleepwalker On This Mortal Shore/A Sleepwalker Gazing on Nirvana, by Hello Tanita-san/Tatsuya Kitani. (Self-cover)

Fun fact, the animation for this one was made by Mana Inoue, same person who did the PV for Weakness, How To Be in Love With You and Bring it On! You can definitely see the similarities with the first two, with the use of photographs 'glued' to 2D drawings. This one pushes the body horror a fair bit further, though. Be prepared for writhing brains made of realistic human fingers and such. (Also, the vocaloid version's CC subs has a mistake at 2:23)

OP by Hachiya Nanashi

Flight Instinct by Last Note

Run! by Polysics

Opening from Cells at Work Black, in which your average overworked salaryman's body is depicted as a 'black company' in miniature where their cells must struggle not so much to fix things as to just postpone the inevitable for another day, growing increasingly desperate and despondent all the while. IIRC, things got bad enough that the English version of the last few manga volumes shipped with suicide hotline numbers in the back.

Somehow still the cheeriest song in here.

Disordered Self-restraint Girl by otetsu (Note: flashing lights)

There's Supposed to be a Cheat Code for Happiness by UtataP

Ceremony Day and Manhole by Polyphonic Branch

Walk Tall and Die by TadanoCo/4o

You might know this one from the Eve cover, which has more views than the original. I really enjoyed the lyrics, both individual lines and as a whole. It's quite nice how they go from harsh and frustrated to softer as the song goes on.

There Was No Savior by YASUHIRO (Translation)

Disqualified Town by Yonaka

Fun fact: I picked this song before Mikoto's T2 cover got announced, so the fact that MV shows Miku wearing a gas mask is 100% a coincidence.

On An Empty Morning by kemu (Utaite ver.) (Translation)

I really like this song because the tone changes a lot depending on your interpretation. Does the calm tune represent the singer at long last achieving peace after terrible pain, leading a life that's mundane and sometimes difficult but ultimately worthwhile? Or have they just sunk into apathy, emotionlessly sacrificing other people just to continue their empty lifestyle, having so little concept of happiness that they actually think they're fulfilled by this?

Both options are pretty interesting. And well, in the context of Mikoto's crime, "I take someone’s fleeting future and use it as a stepping stone" takes on a new meaning.

I Hear the Sound of Someone Else's Business by Ame no MurakumoP (Translation)

I linked to a fan PV that honestly deserves more attention (less than 30 views, seriously!?). The PV uses a lot of white and dark blue, but I don't think it switches fast enough to require a flashing lights warning? The official upload uses a still image, if it helps.

Synesthesia Ghost by Nekobolo/sasanomaly

La Mersonnalité by Misato Kurematsu

Don’t Carry Our Memories Away by rinri (EMA ver.) (Translation)

The EMA cover isn't official or anything, but it's my favorite version so I'm gonna link it too. The original does have the advantage of having Mikoto Meika singing it, though.

It's kind of interesting how different the illustrations for the original and the cover feel: in the original we see the boy smiling desperately wide as he faces towards the shore, like he's reassuring somebody watching. Meanwhile in the cover he looks indifferent or perhaps annoyed, but for the last chorus he turns around fully and splashes around as if inviting you to follow him.

Childhood by MushiP

The Good Child and the Fox by Kikou

Silver Warp by YUUKI MIYAKE/Napoli-P (Utaite ver.) (Translation)

I was going to write about how Ore would be the brother that gets caught when escaping and is implied to stab his parents, while Boku is the one that gets away... and then I noticed the funerary portrait at the end. Just pretend it isn't there, I guess Or take it metaphorically.

The Full-Throttle Abscondence. by Pekoro

Delusion Girl by Touyu

This playlist is mostly based on Boku, but I see this song as being about both alters. The whole "crushing despair of normalcy" part being obviously Boku, and the desire to save somebody to justify your own existence being Ore. I think that if Fuuta were a bit older this song would fit him pretty well too.

Hide and Seek -reprise- by BuzzG (Translation)

Magician In Love by Koyori

Imposter Advisory by 150p (Utaite ver.) (Alternate translation) (Note: flashing lights)

Perfect Crime Love Letter by 150p (Utaite ver. + alternate translation) (Note: flashing lights)

Red is Scary by Iyowa (Translation)

Cyber Thunder Cider by EZFG

It Takes 3 Minutes to Listen to a 3 Minute Song by Owata-P

There's No One Who's Bad at Art by Suttaka

Love, Me Normally by Will Wood (Lyrics)

Dense Forest of Morals by OPA (Translation)

I'm Controversial by Ado (Note: flashing lights)

Fraulein=Biblioteca by nyanyannya

I'm imagining this one being sung by Es, or at least Mikoto's impression of Es (kind of like the shadow Es from Backdraft). I think in a way it fits all the guilty prisoners, but the lines about sleep talk and "I'll make you remember your sins" make it even better for Mikoto especifically.

No.4 THE EMPEROR by Owata-P (Translation)

I Can't (Mar)read the Situation by CosMo

This one is more of a "How Mikoto views the world" song than one strictly about Mikoto. Don't neglect your social skills in favor of your true self or you will be doomed to a life of envy, regret and isolation. Also the Earth will explode. Truly a sobering reminder.

A Lethargic Coup d'état by Last Note

The Taste of Cockroach by Maretu

Most people would probably think of this one as a Fuuta or Muu song, and I do agree (more Muu than Fuuta imo). But honestly, while Mikoto would never start a bullying campaign, I can totally see him as a bystander, the kind of person who insist that everyone should just talk it out and then everything will be fine. Of course, we still don't know what caused his murder, only that apparently being kidnapped was an improvement. So you could also view him as the victim, which gives new meaning to those weird lines in the middle of the song that really don't sound like they're from the same person as the rest...

But mostly, I added this song for the "shadows lurking under the light/denial" angle, which is theme for the last section of the playlist. I don't really know enough about music to sort it by genre/sound similarities, so I organized it by themes! Or at least I tried to put similar songs together so they'd "flow" into each other.

Everything is an Illusion by Pongini (Translation in the replies of the pinned comment)

I Look Up as I Deliver by POLYSICS (Alternate translation)

The ending for Cells at Work Black. Fun fact, this song's name is most likely based on I Look Up as I Walk AKA Sukiyaki.

[hayleythesugarbowl]

You Can’t Change the Past || a short story inspired by elena of avalor

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ masterlist ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ summary: Jacques, Chancellor of Emelda, plagued by regrets, is used to helping his cousin run her kingdom. But when he meets some ghosts of his past and a villain returns is he ready to face it all?

word count: 6k

warnings: the formatting is a little funky!!

a/n: ok so i know i usually post x reader fanfiction but this is a short story i wrote when i was 14 (see also this cover art i did when i was 14) and I recently came upon it so i figured i’d post it here for you guys to see inside of young-me’s mind (I haven’t completely read through it since then so keep that in mind). this a very loose ripoff of elena of avalor so please also keep that in mind. little me didn’t quite understand the word copyright so we’ll just call it a little elena of avalor fanfic with name changes!! if you aren’t familiar with eoa, even better. forget i said any of that stuff about copywriting and just enjoy this fic that I myself made up entirely and marvel at my creative abilities. either way, let’s laugh at me together!! all jokes aside, all credit to the writers of Elena of Avalor, this is by no means my own thing. also i do apologize this is so long, you have my full permission to skim. i implore you <3💌🍓🩰

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~°~❦~°~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Cold, empty, lifeless, Emelda was a small, mystical kingdom just outside of one of Spain’s main cities. It was spring, and normally Emelda was beautiful, lush, enchanting, and had crowded streets full of busy merchants and giddy tourists. But to anyone who had never seen this once flourishing city, it looked deserted as if no one had lived in it for many years. It was as if one busy day, everyone had fled suddenly, leaving everything forlorn. Hardly any people were in the marketplace other than the occasional runaway or stiff guard. Dark shadows filled the streets and not one sound could be heard. The only place that seemed to show any signs of life, was the elegant palace that sat on a hill overlooking the town. This palace was beautiful with marble walls and a sparkling, refreshing looking moat surrounding it. Tourists who walked into this castle were always dazzled by its display. It looked dignified, but cozy and inviting, or it used to. Now the palace was bare, dull, and even sinister. This is because the woman who now sat on the throne liked things bare, dull, and even sinister. This woman’s name was Francessi. Francessi’s appearance matched her evil disposition. Her pine green dress stuck tightly to her slender body. Her long black hair fell below her waist and crowded her pale pinched face. Francessi’s eyes were a dark, dark piercing green. A wand was clutched tightly in her hand. Francessi gazed at her castle in triumph. After she took care of the king and queen, she had all the guards take anything with any trace of cheer, or bright colors out of the palace. Francessi was ruthless. She was unforgiving. She had no mercy.

“Jacques!” Francessi yelled in her low raspy voice to her loyal and most trusted assistant. A man sheepishly entered the room. He stood by the cold-blooded queen’s throne ready to obey her every command. There was a hint of regret in his eyes.

“Yes, Ma’am.”

*****

“Jacques.” Jacques awoke with a start. He had barely slept that week. In fact, he had barely slept at all ever since he had taken up the job of Chancellor of Emelda, and this wouldn’t be the first time he had fallen asleep at the breakfast table.

“Jacques,” Christina said again, “I was going to take a walk around Emelda after breakfast, if you would like to come along.” Christina smiled at Jacques. She wore a flowing blue dress with white flowers painted on it. She had caramel skin and chocolate brown eyes. Christina’s silky cocoa hair was pulled into a high ponytail atop her head.

Jacques sighed, “I told you I don’t have time for useless recreational activities; there is work to be done.”

He picked a piece of lint off his jacket. Jacques wore a deep red coat buttoned up to his neck. A blue and yellow sash with the word “Chancellor” printed on it ran across his chest. His pitch-black hair hung loosely over his light brown face. Everything from Jacques’ tall black boots to his thin mustache reflected his uptight nature. Christina’s not cut out to be queen, Jacques thought. She didn’t take her work seriously, and in his opinion, nobody that innocent and naïve should be running a kingdom. At the young age of 16, Christina had recently been crowned queen and welcomed back into Emelda. After her parents were killed, and the previous queen was banished and sentenced to death, Christina was the only heir to the throne. As soon as the image of that witch entered Jacques mind, he felt a pang of guilt. He was reminded of the dream he had just awoken from. Jacques groaned. This dream had been haunting him for a year now. He had predicted that once that wretched queen was sent out of the kingdom never to return, he would shake the guilty feeling he always carried around, but still everything reminded him of that dark time.

“Well, do you maybe want to take this breakfast outside and enjoy the sunshine then?” Christina asked, bringing Jacques out of his thoughts. She looked at him with pleading eyes. Jacques had plenty of work he would rather be getting back to, but Christina looked so desperate to spend time with him that he couldn’t help but say yes. She was his little cousin after all. Jacques was also all the family Christina had left, and he understood she missed her parents. There came the guilt. Jacques knew it wasn’t his fault Christina’s parents had been killed. It was Francessi’s of course, but he still couldn’t help but feel responsible. He decided to drop the matter for now.

“I’ll help you carry the plates,” Jacques said to his cousin. Anything to take his mind off the past.

“The weather’s beautiful today!” Christina exclaimed as she and Jacques stepped out, carrying the plates, onto the front steps leading out of the palace.  Stretching out in front of them was the marble bridge that led from the castle high up on the hill, to the cozy town below. From here Christina and Jacques could see the whole kingdom laid out below them like items from a dollhouse. Jacques followed Christina’s gaze and saw that she was right; the weather was beautiful. The town was lively with people shopping and selling at the markets. Children were running through the streets carelessly, occasionally bumping into an annoyed merchant or cart full of fruit. Their laughter could be heard all the way up at the palace. The trees were just blossoming in the fresh air and a few small piles of snow that hadn’t melted were the only traces of winter. A slight wind blew through the trees and ruffled the feathers of the elegant birds.

“It is beautiful,” Jacques mumbled almost in a whisper. He sat down on the steps by Christina and continued to pick at his pancakes. For a while nobody spoke, and the two cousins just sat there and listened to the chatter of the townspeople and the chirping of the birds.

“My mother always said that if you looked down at the bustling village, and all the people beneath you, you would feel like the whole kingdom was yours,” Christina described finally.

Jacques chuckled, “I remember. Your father would always remind her that the whole kingdom was theirs.”

“And then my mother would say that the kingdom wasn’t theirs, they just watched over and protected it,” Christina narrated wistfully. She stared down at the town, “My parents always told me that one day I’d protect Emelda and keep it safe, and now I’m queen. I can’t believe it. I always imagined that I’d be as old as them before I became queen.”

And now she’s queen, Jacques thought. What he thought was that Christina wasn’t exactly protecting the kingdom, as he did most of the work.

“It seems like just yesterday you were crawling around the palace, hiding behind the curtains at bedtime,” Jacques said, instead of how much of the kingdom’s paperwork do “you” take care of?

“Old people always say things seem like just yesterday!” Christina snickered.

“Old?” Jacques challenged. At 47 with only a few gray hairs, Jacques didn’t consider himself necessarily old. Qualified to rule Emelda, yes. Old, no.

“Ok, I guess you’re not as old as,” Christina thought for a moment, “Agatha, the lady who always sells the spoiled milk and rotten fruit.”

“Or Martha the Maid!” Jacques announced playfully.

Christina giggled, “Or bitter Francessi!” Christina’s smile suddenly faded. Jacques grew quiet. The birds sang louder. “I miss them,” Christina said to her cousin. Jacques missed them too. He knew, of course, that he missed Christina’s parents more than Christina knew. “I just wish that I got to see them one last time, you know, before I was taken away for 10 years.”

“The guards took you away because they knew it wasn’t safe for you to stay in Emelda,” Jacques reiterated, more reserved now, “And they were right.”

“I know,” Christina answered, “I can only think of how different things would have gone if my parents left with me in that carriage. That reminds me, Jacques, when Francessi took over did you…”

“You can’t change the past,” Jacques interrupted bitterly, “Your parents stayed in Emelda to try and defeat Francessi and look where it got them. You said their job was to protect everyone. Well they failed, and it cost them their lives. Now you have been hastily left in charge, setting your parents’ kingdom, the kingdom they kept safe, up for failure once again.”

“You can’t change the past,” Jacques said again almost to himself, “no matter how much you wish it were so.” He walked up the stairs and shut the palace door behind him. With that he was gone.

Christina sat on the stairs in shock. You can’t change the past she repeated, as she tried to finish her pancakes.

Jacques walked through the castle doors. He hurried through the numerous rooms absently, while still obtaining good posture. Jacques scarcely looked around him. When he found himself in the throne room, he hesitated and stared at the regal looking throne sitting in the center of the room. He closed his eyes for a second, then continued walking, and didn’t stop until he reached his office.

Jacques collapsed into the chair at his desk. Work, he thought. Work always clears my head. Jacques started flipping through the pages on his desk but couldn’t stop thinking about Francessi. He looked for a pen but could only think of Christina, and as he tried to sign peace treaties with the neighboring kingdoms, thoughts of how he had blown up at his cousin filled his head. Jacques rolled his eyes. There was no way he was going to get any work done. Usually his royal duties were his favorite, and most time consuming, part of the day. Jacques wished he could just forget this whole day, but since he couldn’t, might as well try to collect his thoughts. He pondered Christina. He knew he would never do anything to harm her, at least not intentionally. Jacques remembered what he had declared to her, you can’t change the past. He was telling this just as much to himself as he was to Christina. He thought about Christina’s job as queen. Christina wasn’t going to fail Emelda, not with Jacques as Chancellor. He also knew that his cousin’s friends had all fled the kingdom or been killed, so the least he could do was help her. Jacques paused and remembered his old friend and associate, wondering where he was now.

He stared at the papers on his desk; this was going nowhere. The only thing he could think of doing was apologizing to Christina. Jacques didn’t have any better ideas, so he walked out of his office. It had been about half an hour since he had last seen his cousin, and he figured she was probably up in her room. The Chancellor had only walked a few steps when the doorbell rang. He decided his apology would have to wait. He couldn’t say whether he was disappointed or relieved.

Jacques walked rapidly down the grand stairs to the front door. As soon as he opened the door and looked at who was standing on the front steps, he wished he had ignored the doorbell completely. Standing at the door, smirking, was a man with a pine green blazer. A yellow scarf peeked out from under his shirt, like a mustard spill. His black-gray hair was slicked back, and it looked like he had put some of his leftover hair gel on his sharp goatee. Green eyes sparkling with pride, this was a man Jacques had hoped he would never see again.

“Hola,” the man said grinning, “old friend.”

“Why?” Jacques was having trouble finding his words, “Why are you here, Manuel?”

“Guess,” Manuel smirked. He stood there calmly, but his presence was sketchy, and it was unsettling.

Jacques composed himself, “Oh, I don’t know. To laugh at me? To borrow something of mine and then never return it? Steal from the queen?”

“Queen?” Manuel asked “Christina lived?”

“Yes, she lived but that’s not the point. I demand to know why you are back in Emelda.”

“Well, you know, I just thought since I’m no longer banished,” Manuel snarled. “I’d come back, visit the kingdom, take a vacation, and see my old and dear friend, El Segundo.”

Jacques adjusted his sash, “Nobody calls me El Segundo anymore; that was just my childhood nickname meaning ‘The Second’ because…”

“Because when we used to have races in the hallways of the castle, you’d always come in second,” Manuel cooed.

“Yes, well people call me Chancellor of Emelda now,” Jacques said, “because while you abandoned Emelda, and went running around breaking into people’s homes, I have been running a kingdom.”

“Abandoning Emelda and running around breaking into people’s homes?” Manuel repeated, “You know perfectly well that I didn’t abandon the kingdom, and I only stole to stay alive. If I’m not mistaken, you are the one who betrayed your kingdom, eh? If I recall correctly, you stayed in power while everybody else, including me and Christina, suffered.” Jacques stiffened. He knew there was no truth to this statement, right? “What do you have to say for yourself now, Chancellor?” Manuel mocked.

“I’ll ask you one more time, Manuel; why are you here?”

Manuel rolled his eyes, “I see you’re still as stubborn as ever. Same party-pooper attitude, now you just have a fancy-pants jacket and a custom-made sash to go with it. But if you must know why I’m here, look in the carriage.”

Manuel noticed for the first time that behind his old companion, sat a horse-drawn carriage. This carriage was stunning. It was a creamy white color with golden trim and sparkling gold wheels. The driver looked confused, as if he had just woken up and been put at the reigns. A window was carved into the side of the carriage, but a set of pine green curtains covered it so nothing could be seen inside.

Jacques looked at Manuel blankly, but Manuel nodded his head in the direction of the carriage. Jacques looked again. This time as he looked carefully, he could see something in the window. A hand pulling back the curtain ever so slightly. A pale slender hand with pine green nail polish. A familiar hand. Past the hand were a pair of dark, dark green eyes that Jacques felt were piercing him. The rest of this person couldn’t be seen, but Jacques could tell they were grinning from ear to pale ear. Jacques couldn’t see the rest of this person’s body, but he didn’t have to. He gasped. “It couldn’t be!” 

Manuel laughed triumphantly, “You’re not the only one who can partner with Francessi.”

“This isn’t possible; Francessi was banished and sentenced to death!” Jacques looked at Manuel, but he merely shrugged and leaned casually against the doorway.

“Francessi has her ways,” Manuel announced. “You know that wand isn’t just for show. You know how powerful it is, and how many lives were lost because of it.”

“Of course,” Jacques responded, “but that doesn’t explain why you’re working for Francessi.”

Manuel snorted, “Come on! You know more than anyone that Francessi has no mercy. You know that even if you try to fight her, she overpowers you. You know that no matter who you are, or what you believe in, at the end of the day you must stay alive. You know more than anyone that if you can’t beat them, join them.”

Jacques looked past Manuel at Francessi scheming in the carriage just feet away from them and shivered, “That’s still no excuse…” Jacques paused.

“No excuse to what?” Manuel continued, “Do you not remember when you used that same excuse to justify…”

Now it was Manuel’s turn to be interrupted. “Who’s there?” a voice called. The voice was Christina. She walked carefully down the stairs.

“Christina!” Manuel called, immediately changing his tone, “It’s been so long since I’ve seen you!”

Christina looked confused, “I’m sorry, have we met?”

Manuel smiled a fake smile, “I’m not surprised you don’t remember me. The last time I saw you, 10 long years ago, you were only a little girl. My name is Manuel Montoya, and I am your cousin’s oldest friend.”

“Manuel Montoya!” Christina remembered. “My parents used to invite you over for dinner almost every night.”

“The more the merrier, they would say,” Manuel added.

“Yes,” Jacques piped in, “you would always eat the food that Christina’s hard-working parents put on the table.” Christina frowned at Jacques.

“It seems like so long ago we were all sitting around the table laughing together, you know, before I was banished for 10 years,” Manuel reported, glaring at Jacques.

Christina sighed, “It seems like everyone in the kingdom was banished for a long time. Francessi caused us all much grief, but she’s gone now.” Jacques knew she was far from gone, and closer than they knew, but he didn’t feel like Christina would believe him. Not after he insulted her. Jacques thought about the whole truth and realized that there were parts of it he didn’t want his cousin to know. Besides, Manuel would probably have some scheme of his own to make sure nobody else knew that he had brought a villain back to Emelda. In fact, Jacques didn’t even know why Francessi or Manuel were here. All he knew was that Victor was shady, suspicious, and a con man. He had to figure out Manuel’s plan.

“It’s such a relief that witch is gone,” Manuel agreed, glancing over at the carriage that had brought him and his “companion” to Emelda.

Christina noticed Manuel’s glance, “That’s a beautiful carriage.”

Manuel looked around nervously, “Yes, well I’m very tired after my journey; maybe the Chancellor would like to invite his old pal in.” Jacques opened his mouth to speak, but Christina ushered Manuel in. Jacques knew Manuel just wanted to make sure Christina didn’t see the carriage, and its wicked occupant, but Christina was already showing Manuel to the dining room table. Jacques sighed, but followed them.

“…and this is where we all used to sit when my parents were done working for the day,” Christina was finishing.

“This all brings back so many wonderful memories!” Manuel said. “Which reminds me, Christina, on my way to the palace I saw a shop selling raspberries. Would you care to go and get some, and maybe bake one of your mother’s famous raspberry pies for us to enjoy later?”

Jacques figured Christina would refuse, saying that she could do that later and instead they should all spend some time together. Jacques was wrong.

“I’d love to! I’ll get going, and tonight we’ll have raspberry pie to celebrate the return of an old family friend.” Christina pranced out of the dining room towards the front door.

“I can’t wait; take your time!” Manuel called out. Jacques could tell he was impatient for Christina to leave. As soon as the two men heard the door close, Manuel folded his hands. “Alright Chancellor,” he began, “now that your ignorant cousin is gone, let’s talk business. It might surprise you to know that I’m not really in Emelda to visit an old acquaintance.” It didn’t surprise Jacques at all. He knew from the moment he opened the door that Manuel wasn’t simply here to vacation. “It may also surprise you to know that Francessi is weak now,” Manuel continued, ignoring Jacques’ silence.

Now this surprised Jacques. He frowned. Francessi, weak? He thought back to all his memories of the evil queen and couldn’t ever imagine calling her weak. Jacques might have reminded Manuel of this if Manuel had not, enjoying Jacques’ puzzled expression, kept rambling.

“Yes, Francessi is weak, which is why she needs me, and I need you.”

“Manuel, just tell me why you’re here.” Jacques was growing impatient himself.

“Ok, ok,” Manuel leaned back in his chair, “so desperate. Well I’m sure you know how it all began. Francessi took over the kingdom. Ten long years ago a powerful witch invaded Emelda and the nation suffered. She banished almost everyone. She killed the king and queen. She shut down Emelda. And when she did, I was sent out with no money, no home, and no hope.” Jacques rolled his eyes. Manuel always had a flare for the dramatic. Besides, Jacques already knew how the story Manuel was telling went and didn’t see the point in him telling it.

“Manuel, I was there when Francessi took over.”

“You certainly were,” Manuel said. “While I was trying to stay alive like everybody else, you were living in luxury. You were only thinking of yourself. You partnered with Francessi! You betrayed your family!”

Jacques gasped. He didn’t know what to say. “I didn’t partner with Francessi.”

Manuel continued, “No, you didn’t partner with her. You worked for her. You became her minion, which is exactly what I am doing now. Since you have a history with Francessi, I figured you would understand my dealing with her. After all, it was your idea.”

“It was not my idea. Do you think I don’t regret working for the woman who killed Christina’s parents?” Jacques asked. He could feel his ears burning.

Manuel ignored Jacques, “Why don’t you just calm down and let me finish my story. Anyway, after 10 brutal years enough people finally fought against Francessi and were able to overthrow her. When they did, she was sentenced to death. Banished, just like everyone else. She was weak. Well, I found Francessi and agreed to get her out of her punishment if she would let me assist her. I only wanted to stay alive, and so did she. Once I started to carry out Francessi’s orders, I found out the reason Francessi was weak. She didn’t possess her wand. The only reason why she couldn’t come right back and take over Emelda, was she didn’t have the wand that did all the work. If she had her weapon, you and your dim-witted cousin would be exiled, or worse. That is, unless you decide to support Francessi to get out of your mess again. The bottom line is, Francessi needs her wand. Which brings me to the plan. The part that involves you. Francessi has been looking all over the country for a material, a kind of jewel that can replace her old wand. So far, we haven’t had any luck. Until we came to Emelda. Francessi believes she has found the material that will work. The deep blue sapphire on Christina’s crown.”

Jacques paused for a moment to take all this in. Learning that the only thing stopping Francessi from stealing the kingdom was a crown that sat in the Royal Treasury, was more than unnerving. He thought back to that morning, and everything that had happened seemed petty now. What Jacques didn’t want to think about was how Manuel’s behavior seemed familiar. Desperate, revengeful, trying to stay alive, doing the bidding of an evil queen. Jacques could see parts of himself in Manuel’s plan, and he didn’t like it at all. What Jacques thought of instead wasn’t any less upsetting. Christina’s crown had belonged to her mother. He knew she wouldn’t hand it over to Francessi, and he told Manuel so.

“Oh, I don’t think you understand,” Manuel replied, “nobody’s handing over anything. Christina can’t know that Francessi is here. Why do you think I sent her to get those fake raspberries? No, Christina is not going to give Francessi her crown. I am. I will give the crown to Francessi, right after someone gives it to me. You. You are going to steal Christina’s crown.”

“I will do no such thing.”

“Oh, but I think you will,” Manuel countered, “because if you don’t steal that crown for me, old friend, I will tell Christina the truth. The truth about you. The truth about how you betrayed her. The truth about how you conspired with the enemy.”

Jacques froze. Steal from Emelda or tell Christina how he abandoned Emelda. Both seemed like betrayal. He would like to say Manuel wouldn’t dare, but he wasn’t sure.

“Speechless, El Segundo?” Manuel asked, “Well how about this, I’ll give you until tonight to make your decision. If you don’t give me the crown by tonight, I’ll expose you and all your secrets to your dear cousin. I’ll give you some time to think it over. Decide wisely.” With that, Manuel strutted out of the room. Jacques could hear the front door shut and the sound of the horse-drawn carriage rattling away. He figured Manuel probably had stolen a hut somewhere to wait with Francessi while Jacques thought things over. But he would be back. Back with Francessi in time for Jacques to deliver Christina’s crown. Or not; not if Jacques told the truth.

Jacques thought about Christina, looking in the market for raspberries she would never find. He sighed. He pictured the crown sitting in the Royal Treasury, and then he thought of the decision he had to make by tonight. Jacques imagined Christina’s reaction upon being told her only family member had abandoned her in order to gain power and security. He cringed. Stealing wouldn’t be so bad. Christina was out in the village, so she wouldn’t catch him. But then he remembered what would happen if he stole the crown. Francessi would use the sapphire on it to create a new wand, gain power once again, and take over the kingdom. What would become of him then? Jacques figured as a last resort he could, perhaps, work for Francessi again. He didn’t like to think that he could be persuaded to join a villain so easily, but he wouldn’t join her, right? What would happen to Christina? Emelda? He couldn’t imagine knowing he was the cause of Francessi’s redemption. Especially after what had happened last time. But then he thought of Christina. Innocent Christina not being able to trust him. Would he be fired from the position of Chancellor and not be able to do the kingdom’s work? He had no idea what to do.

Jacques stood up from the table. He decided to walk towards the Royal Treasury and think. Jacques opened the grand treasury doors that towered over him. When he stepped in, he was blinded by the sparkling jewelry and treasure laid out in cases, stands, and tables. The large windows let in all the shining sunlight. Amid all these valuables was Christina’s crown. It sat in the middle of the room on a grand podium made of solid gold. The crown sat majestically in the room, the light dancing off its deep blue sapphire. Jacques had been in this room before, but not often, and he was dazzled by its charm. He took a couple unsteady steps toward the crown. When Jacques was close enough to see his reflection in the crown’s jewel, he frowned. The man looking back at him looked troubled, like he had been 10 years ago. He wondered if Christina was right about him being old. Jacques took a deep breath. He took his hands out of his pockets and gently lifted Christina’s crown off the podium. Jacques held it carefully in his hands and felt its weight. He walked out of the treasury and headed toward his office to figure out what to do next. Jacques opened the door and standing there staring at him was Christina. He jumped, almost dropping the crown that had belonged to Christina’s mother. He anticipated that Christina wouldn’t be back for at least another hour. Jacques was caught.

“What are you doing with my crown?” Christina was as surprised as Jacques.

Jacques was stuck. “I was just…taking it out to clean it, as part of my job as Chancellor of Emelda.” He hoped this would work. Lucky for him Christina was trusting. Trusting for now.

“Oh, ok then. Well, I’ll let you get back to it. I just got back from town; I didn’t find the raspberries. Hey, where’s Manuel?”

“He, uh, went to the house he is staying at while in Emelda. He said he was exhausted.”

Christina nodded slowly. Jacques hurried past her, leaving her standing at the door to the treasury. Once Jacques was in his office, he locked the door and slumped into his chair for the second time that day. He set the crown down on his desk and examined it. He had stolen the queen’s crown. It didn’t feel right, even though he hadn’t actually left the palace with it. Manuel would be back tonight, waiting for Jacques to hand over the crown. He had time to think about what had just happened and what would happen, but he didn’t want to. He got up and flopped down on his bed. Francessi could take over Emelda again, he thought, and then he was out cold.

Jacques awoke to the sound of a low rumbling coming from outside. He thought it was thunder. It was Francessi. That was worse. The sun was just rising over the mountains. Night had passed. Jacques was late, but so was Manuel. Jacques watched the carriage pull up to the front of the palace. He sat up. The crown was still on his desk. Regret filled him. Grabbing it, Jacques walked down the stairs reluctantly. He hid the crown in one of his pockets right before opening the door. Manuel was there staring at him.

“We meet again.” Manuel rubbed his chin. “Have we made a decision?” Jacques had made a decision. He decided that he wanted Manuel out of Emelda. He decided that he didn’t want Christina to find out about his betrayal, and he decided that stealing the crown, and helping Francessi once more, was the wrong thing to do. Jacques had made many decisions, just not the one Manuel was looking for.

“Well,” Manuel waited, after Jacques didn’t answer him, “are you going to hand over the crown?” Jacques didn’t answer once more, he just straightened his back and grabbed onto the item in his pocket. He pulled the crown out of his coat and showed it to Manuel.

Manuel beamed, “Good decision, partner, good decision. I’ll be taking this,” he announced pulling the item from Jacques’ grip. Jacques looked at the floor. Helpless, he thought. The same feeling he had tried to avoid the last time he helped Francessi. “Well,” Manuel said, as he examined the crown, “I can’t keep Francessi’s waiting.” He walked over to the carriage and drew back the curtain for the first time. There was Francessi, pale, powerless, and staring daggers at Jacques. Francessi’s hair had turned from black to pure white. She was older than the last time Jacques had seen her, but so was he. Anything Jacques wanted to do; it was too late. Manuel handed Francessi the crown. She cackled and broke the sapphire off the crown and threw the rest to the ground shattering it. Francessi pulled out her old broken, dusty wand and stuck the sapphire on top. The wand illuminated the carriage. Francessi let out another sinister laugh and stepped out of the carriage. The wand worked fast. Francessi’s hair immediately turned a dark black, like ink being poured onto a blank page. Her wrinkles faded, and she drew up to her full height. It was transfixing, but terrifying to watch. Francessi walked up to Jacques, who took more than a few steps backwards.

“Thank you, Jacques.” She smirked. “I couldn’t have done this without you. As soon as the kingdom is mine once more, I will make sure to reappoint you as my royal assistant!” Jacques didn’t know what to feel. Terrible, relieved, guilty, petrified. Francessi started to say something else, probably about herself, but at that moment Christina walked into the doorway. Jacques felt history repeating itself in many ways. Christina screamed.

“Hello Christina, enjoying your job as queen?” Francessi said, “You won’t have it for long. What do you say you hand it over to me?” She pointed her wand at a frightened Christina. All Christina managed to get out was How? “How?” Francessi responded, “Why don’t you ask your cousin. We couldn’t have done it without him.” Christina soon realized that “we” meant Francessi and Manuel. She gasped at Manuel, but he just shrugged and leaned against the carriage.

“Jacques, what is she talking about?” Christina asked. Jacques looked at Christina. She looked back, but Jacques couldn’t answer her.

“I’ll tell you what she’s talking about,” Manuel piped in, “Jacques gave the kingdom to Francessi. He stole your crown and gave it to me. That is how her wand is back to its former glory. He was afraid the truth would come out if he didn’t steal from you, but the truth always has a way of coming out anyway. Christina, when Francessi took over this land 10 years ago, you and I, along with all the other Emeldians, suffered. But Jacques stayed in power. Your cousin answered Francessi’s every command in order to stay in Emelda and avoid being hurt. He betrayed you and everyone else in this kingdom. Some Chancellor.”

Christina looked at Jacques, “Is this true?” Jacques didn’t even care that Manuel had broken his end of the deal; he just needed to figure out what to tell Christina. Jacques opened his mouth to speak, but Manuel beat him to it.

“Of course, it’s true! And look, he’s let you down again, all because he was too afraid to face the truth and fess up to you. Well it’s over now, Francessi will take over Emelda once again, and this kingdom will fall!” Christina looked at Jacques and then turned away. She burst into tears. Jacques looked at Manuel in despair. Francessi stepped forward again.

“Yes, Manuel, thank you but I can handle my own tyranny now. But it’s true, Jacques is a traitor,” Francessi revealed, her hands on her hips. “Well, now that my wand is fixed, and Christina is in shock, the only thing left is to become Queen of Emelda. Now stand aside and let me finish this! Christina, unless you want to end up like your poor parents, I suggest you get out of my way,” Francessi aimed her wand at Christina. Jacques couldn’t take it. This was all his fault. All of it. There was no way he was going to get banished, but he wasn’t going to serve Francessi either.

He stepped forward and smacked the wand out of Francessi’s hand. She gave a cry of frustration. The wand landed on the ground halfway between Manuel and Jacques. Francessi started yelling at Manuel, telling him about the consequences of him not retrieving the wand. Manuel lunged for it, but Jacques beat him to it. He stepped on the wand, shattering the sapphire into thousands of tiny pieces. Francessi looked wildly at Jacques but as soon as the wand broke, she fell to the ground, crippling to the old woman she was without the wand to give her strength. Manuel hurried her into the carriage and got in, defeated.

“Until next time old friend,” Manuel said, and with that, he and his villainous boss were gone.

Jacques sighed with relief and frustration. Everything had happened so fast. Francessi was no longer a threat, but he still had the problem of his cousin.

“Christina, what Manuel said about me betraying Emelda, you should know that I only…” Christina hugged Jacques.

“It doesn’t matter,” Christina said gently, “you saved me from Francessi’s wand and stopped her from destroying the kingdom again. Whatever happened in the past, well, that’s in the past. Even if you can’t change it.” She smiled at Jacques.

Jacques looked at Christina and smiled back. Maybe she wasn’t the best queen or the best at running a nation, but she made a pretty good cousin. He watched the fading figure of Francessi and Manuel’s carriage until it disappeared. Jacques looked down at the kingdom of Emelda. He looked at the enormous palace behind them. He looked at Francessi’s wand, hopelessly smashed on the ground. You can’t change the past, Jacques thought, and maybe he didn’t have to.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~°~❦~°~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

ˋ°•*⁀➷ if you made it though all 6k of that, you deserve a medal. here: 🏅it’s not quite a recompense, but it’s close <3

[girlsfightingarena]

Colors Aesthetic

bold what applies to your muse. italicize what sometimes applies.                               ( repost, don’t reblog! )

                            𝐁𝐋𝐔𝐄

cloudless sky / ocean waves / winter dusk / deserted rest stops / dust filled book jackets / sea salt in your lungs / open space lofts / mountainside meditation / empty ski lodges / calm before storms / electric charged air / lighthouses / road trips with no destination / desert skies / summer breeze through a cottage window / cool air against water soaked skin / seaside towns during off season / wind-chimes / big bed with lots of blankets / coming home after a long time away / a wolf howling in the distance / fingers dancing along spine / a hug from an old friend / afternoon tea / wild flowers off abandoned highways

                            𝐑𝐄𝐃

wine soaked lips / internalized rage / blood on knuckles / four poster beds / barefoot on marble floor / velvet drapes / lipstick marks / murder mysteries / old barns with hay lofts / mouth full of weapons / possessive love / dark chocolate / apple orchard visits / handwritten letters / fresh strawberry fields / cherry flavored chapstick / soft candlelight / vintage pumps / tingles over your body / strong but gentle hand around your throat / scarf tied over your eyes / fog on a rainy night / intimate bar settings / complete destruction / kiss swollen lips / scratches against flesh / sitting by a fireplace / blood orange sunsets

                          𝐘𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐎𝐖

community gardens / sunflower seeds / open fields / blowing dandelion fluffs / bubbles in spring / warm champagne / drafty cottages opened after winter / soft buzzing near your ear / loose braids / flaxen sundresses / handmade straw hats / warm butter on fresh toast / daisy chains / drum circles / sun on your face / maypoles / outdoor festivals / street food / car shows / pop art drawings / fruity flavors / mist on produce / running through sprinklers / cucumber water / wrap around porches / worn pages of a book / honey in tea / yard sales / freckled skin / tarnished gold lockets / angel food cake / windmills / flashlight beams

                           𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐄𝐍

marshy swamps / cajun recipes / haunted graveyards / old road signs / the house people tell stories about / lights flickering / jazz music / twig snapping / campfires / ghost stories / urban exploration / vines creeping up brick / wooden flutes / quiet forests / labored breaths / hiking trails / rain on leaves / bonfires / fresh smoothies / water logged grottos / painful whispers from jealous lovers / successful business ventures / leaky cellars / park theater productions / mint scented lotions / ambitious promises / pine needle covered floors / oil lanterns / aloe on warmed skin / crushing floral foam / forgotten towns

                          𝐁𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐊

crinkle of leather jacket / midnight walks / bulbs burning out / black lacquered nails / the sound of bats screeching / distant marching band music / noises when you’re home alone / blood soaked knife / dark lipstick on pale skin / scent of sulfur / soot on boots / slasher movies / glint of cat eyes in the dark / oil slicks on dark asphalt / basement bedrooms / investigating a noise / grainy camera footage / black and white photos / dust filled attics / empty theaters / whistling in the middle of the night / scratches at your window / wrought iron gates / lace neck ruffles / long floor sweeping skirts / broken music boxes / needle scratching on vinyl / lost memories / disembodied voices / forgotten faces

                          𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐓𝐄

crisp scents / laundry on a line / fleece blankets / brightly lit hospital rooms / empty train stations / genuine laughter / feathers against skin / new life / cotton dresses / log cabins in winter / swan gliding through water / harp music floating through the air / plane rides for fun / mountain tops / ice sculptures / first snowflake of winter / linen freshly pressed / the scent of a running dryer / vanilla and cinnamon milk / a smile from a stranger / letters in the mail / a longing finally satiated / kiss of moonlight on skin / fresh canvas / snow glittering like diamonds / paint strokes / pretty lie told from a kind mouth / sparklers / coffee foam art

Tagged by @unshackled-instinct

Tagging whoever would like to do this! Feel free to steal!

[demonsfate]

 𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐀𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐂

bold what applies to your muse. italicize what sometimes applies.                               ( repost, don’t reblog! )

                            𝐁𝐋𝐔𝐄

cloudless sky / ocean waves / winter dusk / deserted rest stops / dust filled book jackets / sea salt in your lungs / open space lofts / mountainside meditation / empty ski lodges / calm before storms / electric charged air / lighthouses / road trips with no destination / desert skies / summer breeze through a cottage window / cool air against water soaked skin / seaside towns during off season / wind-chimes / big bed with lots of blankets / coming home after a long time away / a wolf howling in the distance / fingers dancing along spine / a hug from an old friend / afternoon tea / wild flowers off abandoned highways

                            𝐑𝐄𝐃

wine soaked lips / internalized rage / blood on knuckles / four poster beds / barefoot on marble floor / velvet drapes / lipstick marks / murder mysteries / old barns with hay lofts / mouth full of weapons / possessive love / dark chocolate / apple orchard visits / handwritten letters / fresh strawberry fields / cherry flavored chapstick / soft candlelight / vintage pumps / tingles over your body / strong but gentle hand around your throat / scarf tied over your eyes / fog on a rainy night / intimate bar settings / complete destruction / kiss swollen lips / scratches against flesh / sitting by a fireplace / blood orange sunsets

                          𝐘𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐎𝐖

community gardens / sunflower seeds / open fields / blowing dandelion fluffs / bubbles in spring / warm champagne / drafty cottages opened after winter / soft buzzing near your ear / loose braids / flaxen sundresses / handmade straw hats / warm butter on fresh toast / daisy chains / drum circles / sun on your face / maypoles / outdoor festivals / street food / car shows / pop art drawings / fruity flavors / mist on produce / running through sprinklers / cucumber water / wrap around porches / worn pages of a book / honey in tea / yard sales / freckled skin / tarnished gold lockets / angel food cake / windmills / flashlight beams

                           𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐄𝐍

marshy swamps / cajun recipes / haunted graveyards / old road signs / the house people tell stories about / lights flickering / jazz music / twig snapping / campfires / ghost stories / urban exploration / vines creeping up brick / wooden flutes / quiet forests / labored breaths / hiking trails / rain on leaves / bonfires / fresh smoothies / water logged grottos / painful whispers from jealous lovers / successful business ventures / leaky cellars / park theater productions / mint scented lotions / ambitious promises / pine needle covered floors / oil lanterns / aloe on warmed skin / crushing floral foam / forgotten towns

                          𝐁𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐊

crinkle of leather jacket / midnight walks / bulbs burning out / black lacquered nails / the sound of bats screeching / distant marching band music / noises when you’re home alone / blood soaked knife / dark lipstick on pale skin / scent of sulfur / soot on boots / slasher movies / glint of cat eyes in the dark / oil slicks on dark asphalt / basement bedrooms / investigating a noise / grainy camera footage / black and white photos / dust filled attics / empty theaters / whistling in the middle of the night / scratches at your window / wrought iron gates / lace neck ruffles / long floor sweeping skirts / broken music boxes / needle scratching on vinyl / lost memories / disembodied voices / forgotten faces

                          𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐓𝐄

crisp scents / laundry on a line / fleece blankets / brightly lit hospital rooms / empty train stations / genuine laughter / feathers against skin / new life / cotton dresses / log cabins in winter / swan gliding through water / harp music floating through the air / plane rides for fun / mountain tops / ice sculptures / first snowflake of winter / linen freshly pressed / the scent of a running dryer / vanilla and cinnamon milk / a smile from a stranger / letters in the mail / a longing finally satiated / kiss of moonlight on skin / fresh canvas / snow glittering like diamonds / paint strokes / pretty lie told from a kind mouth / sparklers / coffee foam art

                            𝐁𝐋𝐔𝐄

cloudless sky / ocean waves / winter dusk / deserted rest stops / dust filled book jackets / sea salt in your lungs / open space lofts / mountainside meditation / empty ski lodges / calm before storms / electric charged air / lighthouses / road trips with no destination / desert skies / summer breeze through a cottage window / cool air against water soaked skin / seaside towns during off season / wind-chimes / big bed with lots of blankets / coming home after a long time away / a wolf howling in the distance / fingers dancing along spine / a hug from an old friend / afternoon tea / wild flowers off abandoned highways

                            𝐑𝐄𝐃

wine soaked lips / internalized rage / blood on knuckles / four poster beds / barefoot on marble floor / velvet drapes / lipstick marks / murder mysteries / old barns with hay lofts / mouth full of weapons / possessive love / dark chocolate / apple orchard visits / handwritten letters / fresh strawberry fields / cherry flavored chapstick / soft candlelight / vintage pumps / tingles over your body / strong but gentle hand around your throat / scarf tied over your eyes / fog on a rainy night / intimate bar settings / complete destruction / kiss swollen lips / scratches against flesh / sitting by a fireplace / blood orange sunsets

                          𝐘𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐎𝐖

community gardens / sunflower seeds / open fields / blowing dandelion fluffs / bubbles in spring / warm champagne / drafty cottages opened after winter / soft buzzing near your ear / loose braids / flaxen sundresses / handmade straw hats / warm butter on fresh toast / daisy chains / drum circles / sun on your face / maypoles / outdoor festivals / street food / car shows / pop art drawings / fruity flavors / mist on produce / running through sprinklers / cucumber water / wrap around porches / worn pages of a book / honey in tea / yard sales / freckled skin / tarnished gold lockets / angel food cake / windmills / flashlight beams

                           𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐄𝐍

marshy swamps / cajun recipes / haunted graveyards / old road signs / the house people tell stories about / lights flickering / jazz music / twig snapping / campfires / ghost stories / urban exploration / vines creeping up brick / wooden flutes / quiet forests / labored breaths / hiking trails / rain on leaves / bonfires / fresh smoothies / water logged grottos / painful whispers from jealous lovers / successful business ventures / leaky cellars / park theater productions / mint scented lotions / ambitious promises / pine needle covered floors / oil lanterns / aloe on warmed skin / crushing floral foam / forgotten towns

                          𝐁𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐊

crinkle of leather jacket / midnight walks / bulbs burning out / black lacquered nails / the sound of bats screeching / distant marching band music / noises when you’re home alone / blood soaked knife / dark lipstick on pale skin / scent of sulfur / soot on boots / slasher movies / glint of cat eyes in the dark / oil slicks on dark asphalt / basement bedrooms / investigating a noise / grainy camera footage / black and white photos / dust filled attics / empty theaters / whistling in the middle of the night / scratches at your window / wrought iron gates / lace neck ruffles / long floor sweeping skirts / broken music boxes / needle scratching on vinyl / lost memories / disembodied voices / forgotten faces

                          𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐓𝐄

crisp scents / laundry on a line / fleece blankets / brightly lit hospital rooms / empty train stations / genuine laughter / feathers against skin / new life / cotton dresses / log cabins in winter / swan gliding through water / harp music floating through the air / plane rides for fun / mountain tops / ice sculptures / first snowflake of winter / linen freshly pressed / the scent of a running dryer / vanilla and cinnamon milk / a smile from a stranger / letters in the mail / a longing finally satiated / kiss of moonlight on skin / fresh canvas / snow glittering like diamonds / paint strokes / pretty lie told from a kind mouth / sparklers / coffee foam art

TAGGED BY . . . i stole this ! <3

TAGGING . . . feel free to take it too !