#also I just realized his like. mane looks like a ponytail

[the-pobble-terrarium]

GRAAHHHHHHHH CREEK DESIGN REF !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[corroded-hellfire]

I love the AYW universe, whenever I get bored I come and choose a random part to read again anyways the newest update was really good, especially the NKOTB mention cause I'm a big fan of them too ❤️

Anyways a thought I had is what if reader shows Eliza NKOTB music at some point just like my mom did with me. I feel like Eddie would pick on reader for being a new kids fan but once Eliza is on the dark side he knows he'll have to put up with it

This reminded me of the home movie of my big sister doing this dance and now I want to find it lol. Also a big thank you to the lovely @lokis-army-77 for helping me when my brain forgot what words were 💕

Words: 1.7k

[As You Wish masterlist]

The end of May means that Eliza’s dance classes have paused for the summer, but her brothers are still in school, leaving her bored. Dance also helped burn off the three-year-old’s extra energy, which is now dropped in your lap.

After a week of no dance classes, an idea strikes you when Eliza stumbles upon a box from your childhood while playing hide and seek. 

“Hmm…” you hum as you walk into your room. “Where, oh, where is my little girl?”

The sound of a box shifting in your closet catches your attention. You smile to yourself and tip toe towards the closet. The shuffling continues as you reach for the doorknob.

Quickly, you yank the door open.

“Gotcha!”

Eliza is sitting in a cardboard box, various CDs and cassettes tumbling out and a couple clutched in her tiny hand. Your daughter grins up at you, her dimples heightening her already high level of cuteness. 

“What’s these, Mama?” she asks.

“Let’s see what you’ve got,” you say, sitting down on the floor in front of the box. “Oh, okay. This is music I listened to when I was a kid.”

“Like me?” Eliza asks.

“Mm, more around Luke’s age.”

“Can I hear?”

“Sure, baby,” you say. 

You pick up a small stack and start to go through them before one in particular catches your attention. 

“Hey, Liza. Want me to teach you a dance?”

Her large brown eyes widen, and she nods so quickly that it looks like her head is about to fly off.

“Yes!”

“Ugh, thank God I’m home,” Eddie sighs as he steps through the front door. 

He kicks off his boots and stretches out the muscles in his lower back. 

“Hey, you.” You smile at your husband as you stroll in the room to greet him. He smiles in return when you slip your arms around his neck and press a kiss to his lips. “How was work?”

“Not bad,” Eddie says. “Not as good as this.”

“Dinner is almost ready,” you tell him. “But we have a special performance first.”

“Oh?” Eddie cocks an eyebrow. “Luke want to read some Shakespeare for us?”

You laugh and drop your head to Eddie’s jumpsuit-clad shoulder.

“No, he’s doing his homework. Assured me he didn’t want to be here for this performance.”

“That scares me,” Eddie admits. “What about Ry?”

“He’s out with friends,” you say. “This is just for you. So, go get changed and meet me on the couch.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Eddie yawns as he steps into the living room, scratching his stubbled jaw. He plops down on the couch in one of his old Hellfire shirts from high school and a pair of black sweats that are looking more faded and grayer these days. His mane of hair has been pulled into a ponytail at the base of his neck and all traces of oil or dirt from the day in the garage are gone. 

“Thought I was supposed to be entertained,” Eddie says loudly, smiling to himself.

“In a minute!” Eliza shouts back from her bedroom down the hall.

Eddie laughs and stretches his arms out, resting them on the back of the couch. 

A few moments later, you come down the hallway and swipe up the remote that controls the stereo. The spot on the couch next to Eddie looks like it’s been waiting for you, so you grab it and cuddle up to his side. Your husband wraps his arm around your shoulders and presses a kiss to the side of your head.

“You smell good,” you murmur to him. 

“Used some of your soap,” he replies.

You take another sniff and realize it’s your body wash from Bath and Body Works. A store where Eddie refuses to buy anything, yet always uses what you get. 

“Thief,” you tease before sticking your tongue out at him.

“A-hem-hem!”

Eliza is peeking around the corner from the hall and you’re quick to remember your role and nod at her.

“So,” you say, looking back at Eddie. “Have you heard that Eliza will be starting preschool in the fall?”

Eddie’s brow furrows and raises at the same time. It’s a look that says of course I have and where in the hell are you going with this?

“Yes…”

“Well, you know what that will make her?” You aim the remote towards the stereo and press the play button. “A New Kid on the Block.”

Bum-bum bum-bum buh

Bum-bum-bum buh

“Oh God,” Eddie whispers. 

A grin splits your face from ear to ear as you snuggle into your husband’s side and watch your daughter emerge into the spotlight of the living room. 

You wanted her to look as authentic as possible for the late 80s, but with Eliza’s wardrobe, that mostly meant finding the right hues of pink to put together. It works for her, but even if it didn’t, Eliza would make it work. 

First time was a great time

Second time was a blast

Third time I fell in love

Now I hope it lasts

“What did you do to our girl?” Eddie grits out quietly through his teeth as Eliza starts to dance. 

“She wanted to listen to some of her mommy’s music,” you say sweetly, laying your head down on your husband’s shoulder. “And she misses her dance class.”

Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh

Oh, oh, oh, oh

Eliza puts her hands on the waistband of her neon pink leggings and begins to shuffle her legs from side to side while hopping like the iconic moves from the music video. 

Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh

The right stuff

Now, Eliza steps with her left foot and pumps her left hand up towards her right shoulder twice. Then, she switches and goes to the left with her right hand and foot.

Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh

Oh, oh, oh, oh

Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh

The right stuff

Out of the corner of your eye you see Eddie grin. It makes you pick your head up so you can get a full view of his smile as Eliza bounces along to the beat. 

“She gives Joey McIntyre a run for his money,” you whisper.

“I’m going to assume that’s one of the members,” he murmurs back. 

You roll your eyes and silently vow to give this whole family a boy band education. 

The last chorus is about to start, and Eliza runs up and grabs your hand.

“Come on, Mama!”

With a chuckle, you stand up and join her at the front of the living room. Both of you position your hands at the top of your pants and begin to hop on one foot, bring them back together, then hop on the other. 

Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh

Oh, oh, oh, oh

Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh

The right stuff

Eliza giggles wildly as the two of you do this together. She looks up at you as you dance, her curls bouncing and cheeks pink from the small exertion of energy. 

A sort of lightness fills your body, your mind transported back to when you were hardly a preteen and learning this dance for the first time all alone in your room. The fact that you’re now doing it with your daughter in front of your husband makes you nothing short of giddy. 

Now, the two of you go on to the next move. Step with foot, pump hand, step, pump, switch. Step, pump, step, pump.

Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh

Oh, oh, oh, oh

Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh

The right stuff

The song finishes and Eliza bows. Eddie cheers and you clap your hands until Eliza straightens and tries to tug you down in a bow with her. Instead, you give a deep curtsy and bow your head in Eddie’s direction.

“That’s my girls!” Eddie whoops as he claps. 

Eliza giggles and runs over to her father, launching herself in his lap. He catches her and lets out an oof.

You take back your previous position at Eddie’s side and Eliza flops down to lay across both of your laps. 

“I like that song!” Eliza states. 

“Me too.” You poke her belly, and she lets out an airy laugh. 

“You like it, Daddy?” Eliza asks.

You raise an eyebrow and smirk at your husband. Eddie can practically read your mind: Go ahead, babe. You’ve made fun of me a thousand times for liking New Kids on the Block, now tell that to your daughter. 

Eddie looks down at Eliza before responding.

“I loved your and Mommy’s dance. You’re both very good.”

The dodged question doesn’t even register to the little girl; she’s just happy that her dad enjoyed the dance she learned today. 

“Maybe next time we teach Daddy a dance too, huh?” you say.

Eddie whips his head in your direction and narrows his eyes, making you giggle.

“Yes!” Eliza cheers, sitting up. “We’ll find a Daddy dance!”

“We’ll find a really good one,” you add. 

“Mama, don’t let me forget tomorrow!”

“Oh, don’t worry,” you assure her. “I won’t.”

Eddie lets out a low growl and leans in to nip at the juncture of your neck and shoulder. You squeal and pull away from him.

“Daddy, no biting!” Eliza chastises. 

“What if Mommy likes it?” Eddie responds. 

“Don’t be silly, Daddy.” Eliza shakes her head. “Biting is bad.”

“But what if I’ve got…” Eddie pauses and leans so far over you that you’re forced to lay back on the couch cushion with a chuckle. “The right stuff?”

He waggles his eyebrows at you, and you can’t help but roll your eyes, despite being tickled by the dad joke. 

Eliza sighs and lays down on top of you, her head resting just above your heart.

“Isn’t Daddy so silly?” she asks you.

You grin up at Eddie as he winks at you.

“The silliest!”

[charlenasaxen]

A Stranger to Command - Favorite Quotes

“lace edges at cuffs and neck. You heard about people wearing lace, but this was the first time he’d actually seen it.”

Vidanric stumbled to a halt. “What now? Did I do something wrong?”

Vidanric was alone.

“To someone raised to cherish wood this room seemed crude”

“Don’t sit in the road like a horse apple.”

“reluctant to explain that to this boy with the toff clothes and manner”

“that Shevraeth’s mother had overseen the making of, with loving care”

“the others looking on critically—Shevraeth had to strip to his underclothes then dress fast”

“Vidanric Renselaeus, fifteen-year-old Marquis of Shevraeth, was really here, in the kingdom with the most military influence of any”

“no one pretended he was anything but what he was: foreign.”

“The animals brought out were stunningly beautiful, small of head, gold and tan, paling to cream-colored coats”

“well-formed feet and long beautiful legs, glossy manes and tails.”

“horses far more obedient than his. Shevraeth’s face burned with humiliation.”

“hands behind him (gripped tightly, but no one saw that)”

“Janold saw in his stiff posture the stolid blankness of someone who thoroughly hated himself”

“he realized with dismay that even these swords were heavier than the dueling rapiers”

The boy said, “That is the best example of Sartoran dueling style I’ve ever seen.” Shevraeth realized he’d seen the Marloven king.

“I hate this place. Shevraeth closed his eyes and tried to pretend he was home. But comfortable memories did not come”

“why couldn’t Russav Savona come, his cousin? They had been like brothers”

“nothing else to do except think about home, and you did make me promise to write”

“couldn’t defend myself against a blind snake. An aged blind snake.”

“but when they cross from the lower school to the upper, they add arrogance to their worthlessness”

“yes you said it would be useful some day. So go ahead and gloat.”

“this is very important, worth crossing the continent for—I do know how to make a bed under the count of twenty”

“he was to go with the next level above his own barracks for knife work. That netted some exchanged looks.”

“flexed his inner thigh, squeezing his knee”

“Shevraeth decided to adapt that same circle to his knife throwing. He rarely missed dead center.”

“Whop! Pain—someone yanked his hair.”

His heart thumped. “What’s it to you?” “Your presence,” came the retort, “is an insult.”

“married into the Calahanras family. Her daughter thus married the Renselaeus heir.”

“Shevraeth also left the last hunk of cheese for someone else, when he would have liked it”

“he meant them as kindnesses, and he hoped no one saw him at it”

“But he would not cut it at the orders of a bully”

even and polite, he said, “You just go ahead and embrace that thought if it pleases you.”

His melodious accent was quite strong. “I am not going to cut my hair.”

“Right then and there, and see if he tells anyone he fell off a horse”

“Someone flung him against a wall. Stars flared across his vision, leaving him gasping.”

“Kneel. I’m going to cut your hair.”

“Shevraeth’s lips were too numb and he couldn’t speak”

“floating black spots. He staggered to his feet, though the world reeled so violently”

“But he made it to his feet. Smash! He didn’t even feel himself landing.”

“Still he fought, though his movements were little more than wriggles”

“One vicious hand yanked his head back by his ponytail, and the other sawed hard. The tail of hair gave and his chin struck the stones.”

“He felt hands on him again, but not cruel. He was sick, dizzy”

“trickling cold water between his bruised lips”

“most compelling of all, I want to go home”

He said, “Fell. Off. Horse.”

“those movements of his were impossible to interpret, but they were kind of pretty”

“Kept trying to break him, but he kept that face right to—”

“a few of its boys had tried a little too hard to get people to name them for one of the great predator cats.)”

“it was the sense of reward, and the sharing of it with fellows”

“He and Savona had scoffed. Who could be afraid of a ribbon?”

“that people would know who you were and look at you was a part of life, as unquestionable as having two eyes”

“what she’d gleaned from Shevraeth’s unguarded mind, the beloved older figure”

“crushing hug, laughter, riding across the plains that smelled of summer sage, safe in warm, strong arms”

“Shevraeth thought the whisper was in his dream. He said to Russav Savona”

“King’s coming!” they removed themselves in reverse order.

“They tied Zheirban up after he refused to join and locked him in our storage”

the king said, “We both know he’s worthless and you, I want you one day to command my army.”

“instantly recognizable as his father’s. Shevraeth flushed with surprise and delight.”

“some of his more observant peers had witnessed his silent acts of kindness”

“written in Russav Savona’s impatient, slashing hand with its brazen flourishes. Shevraeth grinned”

“if we cannot embrace you ourselves”

“Russav Savona pled most passionately to be sent to join you, but the king forbade him to leave”

“your mother and I both send with this letter our abiding love”

“Shevraeth felt his throat tighten. He turned his attention to Savona’s letter: Danric.”

“How was it possible to feel at once that home was so very far away, and yet its problems surrounded him”

Shevraeth had to swallow before he could speak again. “My father says I cannot return home.”

“The impulse to have those papers as keepsakes was strong”

“good things—rides, laughter, Russav’s sarcasm when he was teased”

“Think of home, what is Russav doing now”

“saw the shocking brightness of blood down that white shirt”

“My love to you and Mother, you are always in my heart—Vidanric”

“His heart constricted at the sight of his son’s dear, familiar hand”

“surged through Savona as he pitched Danric’s half-read letter into the heart of the fire”

He resolved that he would use “My hair!” as a cry at least once that week”

“Want a wager? By the time you come home, no fashionable young lord will be seen without his fans.”

“before his departure, as he kissed my fingers most properly”

“before his partner ripped his blade down, twisted, and Shevraeth lost his balance and tumbled”

“horse looked at him reproachfully, ears flat”

“Shevraeth remembered hearing his howls of rage turn into tears”

“stroke his head, and finally he climbed into her lap”

“the snowball fights, the ice sleighs, running through the gardens, running, running . . .”

“Silence.

He clapped the lights out.

Silence.”

“the three rads closed themselves in Shevraeth’s room”

Marec said quickly, “They don’t, where he comes from.” His tone was defensive.

“I am convinced, in fact, that it will be beneficial to your moral development”

“I think is actually a horse in human guise”

“What he didn’t sense was their interest in him”

“warm raindrops began to splotch their tunics as they ran across a street, dashing round a cart laden with cabbages”

From behind came a whisper, “Fenis, make him talk. I love the way he talks.”

“a dark little cake iced with hardened chocolate, his mother’s favorite”

“listening to his every word. She could see they found him attractive.”

“Fenis. Shevraeth smiled reflectively all the way”

“He was so nice and smiling, like a traveling player”

“Got any interest in him, Fen?”

“He reminds me of the king,”

“It took him four days to discover that her name was for a wild herb of the plains”

“He’d got it. He was understanding the entire battle.”

“Shevraeth’s light eyes widened, then narrowed”

“when I was recovering from Sindan’s loving attentions”

“but riding about on a grassy plain whacking and stabbing”

“No, lances were lances. Danric was lifting those things as a matter of course. Danric, his oldest and best friend, little Danric.”

“light-built little boy who’d needed his friend’s protection when they were small”

“for weren’t they like brothers? But now, it seemed, his little brother was training.”

“mentally composed letters to his parents and to Savona”

“Shevraeth thought, I am very glad I am not a king.”

“There he was between Marec and Stad, looking down, his expression remote”

“how beautifully proportioned he was getting to be. His posture was so straight, with a perfect line to his shoulders, his features were refined”

“If you’re wrong you won’t be taken out and shot.” A muffled laugh.

“he looks exactly like one of us now, moves like us, except when he’s doing his wood fence imitation”

“that weird fluttering thing with his hands, like a cymbal dancer—”

“Talk to him. And if you like talking, go ahead and kiss him.”

“he finished under his breath, flushing to the ears”

“His brows went up, his lips parted. She tried not to stare at his mouth, which was so entrancing a curve—”

“She glanced up into his face, thinking He’s so tall—are all his people like that?”

“She felt an inward shiver at the sound of her name on his lips, in his voice”

“Senelac wrenched her gaze away from his lips”

“tossing a piece of chalk on her palm, her black eyes wide and unseeing in the light of a single candle”

“same way we’ve heard the crazy Count of Tlanth ridded himself of his own library”

“The free play of emotions upon the stage apparently was so beguiling”

“He drawled, “I am amazed. You, presumably a thinking being.”

“drove his arm up and around so that the wood whistled”

“Hit with so loud a crack everyone in sight jumped”

“least there was the mercy of the Waste Spell, so he did not puke all over himself”

“the inane taunt of moral defeat, of personal weakness: I hit him. I hit him. I hit him.”

“Most were hoping you’d go berserk and lambaste him. Everyone except Pereth—only because he’d have to stop it”

“he’d declared (when he could trust himself to speak) that if That Rabbit Shevraeth could deal out welters for nothing, who knew what might happen if they were caught doing something?”

“he felt his ears redden, but his hair had grown so shaggy he hoped no one noticed”

“the widening of his gray eyes, signalled a hit. She felt a stab of remorse as he said soberly”

“the exact shade of his eyes—was it really gray, or a pale, pale blue? Was his hair as soft as it looked?”

“Mother, he thought, I betrayed my own honor in forgetting my vow.

The resulting pain made his knees buckle.”

“as the pain gradually began to fade away each day, he knew he would always remember”

“Tevac gave up trying to jolly the rads, who were totally incapable of understanding what was funny”

“Shevraeth asked, hopping over a startled cat”

“since he’s the only ready-to-hand foreigner we’ve got”

“they almost never use disguise. There’s too much, oh, historical terror attached to the sight of those gray uniforms.”

“Shevraeth whooshed out his breath. “A Norsundrian, am I?”

“managed to postpone carrying out a wholesale slaughter by a lot of unnecessary riding around”

“Shevraeth had accustomed himself to his job as Evil Invader”

“nearly stumbled, and then glared at Jarend as she sat down on the step”

“The castle was quiet—until the three kicked Senrid’s door open and charged”

“not knowing if he ought to tackle the king”

“Keth feinted. Senrid vaulted over his desk, sending his own papers up. Jarend launched over a chair and tackled him.”

“Let’s go report,” Jarend said. “Before Forthan kills off half the city.”

“before he could react, she grabbed his head, pulled it down”

“until there were a few of them left in the cold stone city under washing rain”

“In wonder he picked up the long, very fine-woven woolen cloak”

“It’s difficult to say how that fight would have resolved. Savona had not been all that angry when he began”

“he attacked again. Savona blocked, glancing past the blades at the king.”

“But your majesty, that’s no win! The fellow can’t even fight,”

“He looked up sharply. His stricken face caused her tight control to break.

He held out his arms.”

just the warmth of human comfort.

“My fault, my fault,” she cried into his shoulder.

“Mine.”

“He—he liked horses, he said, and—”

“There stood Tamara, her deep blue eyes wide, golden hair disheveled.

Tamara sat down on her other side.”

“Two is Comfort. Tamara gave him a curt little nod, and he passed quietly along the garden path.”

“Danric, it is that, and only that, which keeps me from throwing myself into the river”

“He wanted to be home with Savona—he didn’t want to be home”

“Shevraeth turned away. He missed Renselaeus—more each winter—but he did not miss court.”

“the corresponding strengthening of his body required that he get new clothes”

“And who were they readying for Thanar Valdlav, the foot leader?”

“not a single glance. His insides flashed to snow cold.”

“fitted uniform along the line of his shoulders—Arrrrrgh.”

“He was like the king, if the king ever grew up. They were muscled like mountain cats.”

“with difficulty, as he was on top of the writhing pile”

“you share some of hers, and she likes that, but she doesn’t share any of yours”

“the deliberate rudeness was more shocking than any epithet”

“when the tightness in his throat and chest broke on a sob, he whirled about and raced. He tried to force himself through with the intention of running himself to death.”

“You didn’t bump princes, and princes ought not to let people thump them”

“Let’s go to the park.” She gripped the front of his tunic and gave him a smacking kiss.

“Danric, much as I embrace you as my brother”

“talking to Shevraeth, who, Mad was quite aware, had grown amazingly tall. His head bent courteously.”

Shem had squared off with Fath, both girls trying to outtalk the other.

Mad chuckled. “Why is it that everyone wants his attention? I mean, he’s easy on the eyes.”

“And every girl here considers it adorable. You did, too.”

“his light gray eyes, the pale drift of fine, silky hair across his brow”

“He hadn’t made any comment at all about home, or any of the things she got prickly over. So . . . what?”

“what you are going to need to consider when you become king of Remalna.”

“he’d have to get through Renselaeus first, wouldn’t he? So . . . what can you do to prevent that?”

“Exactly. Test all your ideas there. Not many rulers ever get that chance.”

“thoughts had gone straight to their neck-bending, back-breaking weight”

“Shevraeth never cared about how much the adults liked Savona’s looks. If anything, he felt brotherly pride.”

“The animal gazed over the fence after the others, who had been freed to run”

“If any family was, it was the Calahanras”

“Senelac gone from view.

She never looked back for me.”

“peering through the slats of the breeze-way to watch him run”

“they understood how difficult it was to find a hiding place when you cannot see”

“he and Savona had made a game of seeing how far they could travel through trees”

“body remembering quite well where he had so dangerously parked it”

“Today, in fact. The reason we weren’t is because you were ashamed of me.”

“. . . I didn’t think I’d done anything to be ashamed of.”

“to make your own life more convenient you want me to pick a fight and be the villain,”

“she was rejecting all that he was except for the most trivial of ephemera, his looks”

“Consider it done.”

And walk away.

“beyond those, the wind soughing through the grasses all the way to the sea.

He leaned his hot forehead against the cool stones of the wall, and wept.”

“Marlovair and another boy even did handstands”

“If you are dead, find a way to let me know.”

“You’ll note my generosity here in writing to a dead man. Never let it be said I forget my friends.”

“your father is now home from Sartor, darling boy”

“at that painting of you here in my room over the fireplace, and wonder how you have changed”

“If the game bell rings an unscheduled game, you will know that it is the real threat. You will then drop everything.”

“he stepped to the mark to demonstrate.He underestimated the effect of his skill.”

“the border between Savona and Shevraeth will not be watched”

“know waking and sleeping that I love you, as does your mother, and Russav sends his affection and wishes for your welfare”

“thinking that his trees (though rejected by absolutely everyone) could well provide a fallback, simply because they were so rejected”

“because some king or other said he’s too short to get on a horse without a ladder.”

“He ought to ask for his father to include some rain drops next time”

“They’re here,” he said, not even aware of speaking. His nerves tingled with cold.

“He lunged at the rack, slapping a knife into each boot and one into his sash”

furiously whispering (“He’s gone mad!”)

“Just once they heard rapid steps—small boys—but not a voice, and the steps vanished.”

“His trunk. All the books he’d so laboriously copied out. His letter case!

But he could not stop, and so, bitterly regretting everything he left behind, he cut to the stream and ran.”

“Let’s go,” Shevraeth said.

They were off again. Stop, run, check. Stop, run, check.

“blew them away in a day . . . and then began an ominous silence”

“Shut up! Find him! He’s the only one who knows what’s happening!”

“They whirled around and ran back, then stopped in a semi-circle, all semblance of order gone”

“The sight of him sauntering along branches two storeys off the ground heartened”

“Marlovair brushed two fingers against his shirt in a kind of salute”

“Shevraeth, you have to get out now. I’ll send your things when I can. Well done.”

“You are relieved.”

“You have the post.”

“last thing he saw before the world was wrenched away was Marlovair’s astonished face”

“I’m home,” Shevraeth whispered.

“sun was overhead—midday. I am in candle time again, not bell time.”

“his mind struggled to accept the fact that Senrid, Marlovair, the first-year seniors, and Marloven Hess were now four months’ sea journey away.”

“Home. Despite all the dire letters, happiness made him smile. He’d see his parents again. Savona. His old ponies, his room above the waterfall.”

“unaware of how people took one look at him and stayed out of his way”

“penned deliberately, Vidanric Renselaeus. But it felt like he was writing about someone else.”

“To his eye they were hard-mouthed, uncouth.”

“But the questions kept coming, more and more specific about history and training.”

“he thoroughly checked the horse over, liking its long legs, its intelligent response”

“striding off with a martial swing that caused heads to turn in his wake”

“The rider was Russav, Duke of Savona, who spotted Vidanric at roughly the same time”

that face—That familiar face—“Danric?”

“Russav!” Laughing, exclaiming—neither hearing the other—they flung themselves.

“they hugged, one massive squeeze”

Savona kept hold of Danric’s shoulders, staring into his face. “Life! How you have changed, Danric.”

“You’d better claim yours before he vanishes over the hills.”

Indeed the post horse was walking downhill.

“Vidanric whistled. His gray pranced up, head lifting. He vaulted into the saddle and trotted after.”

“Savona strode in, looking as out of place as, well, a duke in a countryside inn”

piping, “Papa! The warrior is back, and he’s got a lord with him!”

“dozen outriders in livery, their hair tied in big ribbons”

“Vidanric’s features: his gray eyes, his hair sunbleached to a paler shade. He was as lean as a knife, muscles straining against his sleeves when he lifted his arm.”

“Savona looked, well, not soft, exactly—there was no fat whatsoever to that flat stomach”

Danric looked up, and grinned. “Yes.”

“What? Life! Danric, you have gotten into some very bad habits.”

“Savona shouted—the men shouted—”

“Six. Two with knives in their chests, one with the knife in his throat, three of them sword-hacked.”

“dropped down to the ground with his head between his knees”

Vidanric looked up, his eyes dark with shock. His voice husky. “They had orders to kill us both.”

“Vidanric’s voice was flat, his body shivering”

“He wiped his hair off his brow with trembling fingers”

“You take out the leader first. Oh, Russav, I really think I’m going to faint.”

“He raised his face, and Savona saw the tear streaks”

“Oh, Norsunder take it, where is that horse?” He spun in a circle, and nearly tripped over the forgotten blade.

“Vidanric stood in the center of the road, sword held across his body”

“face pale but determined.

I do not know you, Savona thought bleakly. Do I want to?”

“The second day the snows melted somewhere inside him, and he did not stop talking”

“Danric wondered if any of the men he’d killed had liked starlight”

“They took orders to kill two fellows not even of age, Danric.”

“With the sharing of Savona’s clothes came the sharing of minds, and then hearts”

“they had recovered all their old understanding and then surpassed it. There was nothing, from strength to weakness, that either sought to hide”

“Wordlessly Vidanric extended his hands and pulled his father’s thin, frail body in”

“Vidanric began in Marloven, stuttering to a halt as he blushed crimson”

“Whoever wants to learn.” Vidanric thought of Senelac’s goals.

The prince’s smile was sardonic. “I will cherish her, for nothing is more useful than a known spy.”

“Can we fight a duel?” Savona asked. “Please, let me challenge him to a duel.”

“He used to be so twiggish.”

“Probably branchish now,”

“two serious young ladies, small, plain, brown-haired Nee”

“that watch is over. You now have the post. SM-A”

“shrug off a driving cloak (which was caught from behind before it could fall to the ground”

“they saw a criminally expensive hundred-facet diamond drop winking with glorious light in one ear”

“He wore a signet of cobalt blue on a forefinger, and another, even more enormous diamond on the other”

“he could indeed outride most of them—he was most dashing on horseback”

“stunning gown made all of lace, with cloth-of-gold beneath it, making a contrasting crown of her pearl-and-diamond braided hair”

“maybe this conversation ought to happen more rightly in five or ten years.”

“You’ll fall helpless at her booted feet and we will not be able to pry you away.”

“Because we cannot know what will happen, Savona thought. But at least you are here.”

“To the disgust of Vidanric Renselaeus, Marquis of Shevraeth, Savona laughed all the way back home”

[the-cookies-of-darkness]

OCs who have Refs... refs lol

And those who don't have refs I'll add a description of at least. Bad thing is that Tumble has an image limit :b

Nightshade Cookie

No ref. I don't have any real idea on what to make him look like other than he has black hair and dough color is on the darker side

Edit: Thanks to @blitztheatomicbomb for drawing Nightshade!

Salak Cookie

Void Cookie

No ref. Image a HUGE cookie that's completely black with purple accents, purple eyes that could even glow, and crystals sticking out his back

Coconut Pecan Cookie

No ref. In Cookie form, her dough is two different colors mixed. You can get a rough idea by looking up "Chimera Person." In Chimera form, each of her heads are made out of different things. The lion head is Coconut, with the husk looking similar to a mane because IDK if female chimeras would still have a mane :b, the goat head being pecan shelled, the dragon head being mainly just sugar cookie, and a jelly snake as a tail (The snakes that eat the jelly frogs in Grapefruit's trial)

Bugtrap “Pitcher Plant” Cookie/Dragon

Cookie form ref:

Dragon description: He looks like a Monstrous Nightmare from HTTYD, but more green and the spikes are red and his tail is a giant sundew

Soap Cookie and his pet Defensive Ducky

Frostbite Dragon

She's an ice dragon with spear-like scales. If I had to put a ref to it, the image used in this Fantasy Realm video. However their artist credit link goes to some website called wallpaperup? But searching the image I can somewhat-safely say it was drawn by somebody on Deviantart? I guess? IDK I don't have a DA account so *shrug* this is just a whole can of worms that I don't wanna get into.

Christmas Cactus Cookie

Atemoya Cookie

Before you judge it being freaking AI art, it was from Dall-e mini during that craze, and I really don't wanna get too deep into the controversy. If it's stealing the design from somebody, just tell me and I'll draw him properly.

The red splotch is a butterfly and he has one of the farming backpack... basket... thingies...

He also has Skelecake Roomates, two Jam Skelecake Warriors named Jammy and Dodger, a Choco Skelecake Warrior named Cupcake, and a Skelecake Cook named Burns. Jammy has thicker white lines on his horns.

Thimbleberry Cookie

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

I literally had so much trouble thinking of design ideas for her that she almost never even made it. She's from House Raspberry, she has pink hair which is in a ponytail, she's a vampire via bitten so she has that little bite mark, and I really wanted to play up a joke about thimbles. Just.... ugh

G

You're just gonna have to ignore the crappy art style on G here he was one of my first cookie run OCs before I realized there's ways to draw that look better than MS Paint

Soive the Tree Sword

Credit to Jax for drawing Soive for me. Before we even settled on a name, no less. (I'm just assuming you don't want me to ping your main blog, Jax)

Muenster and Monster Cookie

The DANKS

Enchantberus

(also drawn by Jax but also his sister) (Edit, added a version with accessories :D)

Jade

(also drawn by Jax and his sister)

Pawpaw Cookie the Werefox

Faceless Fish Cookie the underwater "terror"(not really, but that's how others treat him)

Blue Raspberry

[smutteedreams]

ABYSMAL HEART (part 1)

Itachi x Reader

WARNINGS: sfw, angst, anxiety

a/n: i havent been very consistent with uploading fics, ik ik, and im sorry. im going through a terrible writer's block, among other shitty stuff and haven't been in the best frame of mind lately so whatever i am putting out isn't quite upto the mark but please bear with me

ALSO, requests are open but for a short time only since my finals are coming up soon

"It's getting quite late. Shouldn't you be heading home?"

Ino asks you as you flip through pages and pages of reports and proofread the drafts on your computer.

"Yeah I will, I just have a few proposals to write and then I'll be done."

"You have been working overtime a lot these past couple of months. Are you taking care of yourself?"

Working overtime is better than having to go back to an empty home.

"Yeah yeah, I'm fine. Don't worry about me. I think your cab's here."

Ino gives you a light hug before heading off, her long blonde mane swishing at her waist. You keep on typing robotically for a few more hours, chug two or so more cups of mediocre coffee before you feel your neck and back begging for a break and realize that the inevitable is upon you as you pack up your stuff and make your way to the parking lot.

Lately, you've noticed that sometimes the drive back home triggers your anxiety- your furious tapping and scratching has left marks on the steering wheel.

"I wonder if he's asleep-no, I hope he's asleep", you muse. The traffic signals changed and only the raging horns and incoherent curses of fellow drivers break you out of your daze and you drive off.

Your home isn't empty per se. Its more so...lonely. As soon as you step inside, you can tell he's awake and groan internally. You kick off your shoes and walk to the fridge to grab a drink.

"Hey..", you try to get some sort of conversation going but only receive a nod acknowledging your presence in return.

You open the fridge and stand there, initially trying to decide what you want to quench your thirst but slowly getting lost in your thoughts.

"You shouldn't keep the fridge open for so long, the electricity bill is no joke."

"Yeah, I know..."

but this marriage is.

You plop down on the couch, Itachi's back facing you while you sip on the beer. He's typing away, forehead crinkling and stress lines getting deeper, working on god knows what.

"Boy all those graphs and numbers, it all looks so complicated."

"Yes but with patience and some research, its easy enough."

You look at the few feet distance between you and him that feel like a dimensionless void, one you cannot cross. Your body tingles and chills as the dim light bounces off of the shining metal band on your ring finger and you reminisce how your life is in dire contrast to all the emotions and notions it symbolizes. You want to reach him, stretch your hand and caress his hair, maybe pull it out of the loose ponytail. Maybe that's what you need to do. Maybe if you just show him a little more affection, he will stop being so distant, maybe-

"I'm leaving for a business trip tomorrow. Its important."

His cold voice stops your hand short of touching him.

"O-ok. How long will you be gone?"

"A month." The finality in his voice unnerves you more than you can comprehend.

"Did this just come up?" You ask, hoping he'll say yes.

"No. I've known about it for a few weeks."

That one last sentence is all it took to break your facade as you feel your heart shatter into a million pieces. You get up and walk away, sobbing and praying he doesn't see your tears. You turn the hallway leading to your room as you hear him call from the couch-

"Don't bother packing anything for me, I have already packed my-"

You slam the door shut before he can finish and bolt the lock. Your eyes land on a picture frame atop your desk- its a photograph of you and Itachi on your wedding day. You were smiling and blushing as he kissed your cheek. You remember the photographer calling you both soulmates.

You pick up the frame and the last crumbs of resilience in you dust away and your knees buck as your body falls limp on the floor. You wail your woes to the abysmal cracks in your heart, begging, pleading that he'll come for you.

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

(likes, comments and reblogs are appreciated)

REQUESTS AND ASKS ARE OPEN

tag- @shestillbelievess

[barbarianprncess]

“Forget it, you’re a fucking asshole.” and “Nobody’s seen you in days.” that would be inchresting 👀👀

for mari my beloved, 

(aka @chironshorseass ) 

as you know this sort of got away from me. one second i was writing a drabble of angst, the next I'm on the 16th page with no end in sight. so this maybe isn’t what you were expecting but have 5k of post-botl/pre-tlo pining idiot besties who are in love :). 

(also this hasn’t been beta’d and i'm welcome to volunteers i just finished and got so excited i had to post.)

(dear one anon who asked for 'forget it you're a fucking asshole' too, if you're reading this, don't worry yours is coming too i promise)

(final s/o to @posallys for letting me scream about them)

24 hours

read on ao3

enjoy <3

                                                      ...

Percy is fucking exhasted.

He was supposed to be back at camp four days ago. The deal was he’d spend weekdays at camp to plan and train and weekends at home to relax. But, he kept putting it off, opting to keep the weight on his chest that’d been pushing him down since last summer bearable, and not crushing the way it always was at camp. So, when he gets through the barrier, aside from nodding hello to Beckendorph and Silena, he makes a beeline to his cabin. He manages to keep his eyes down until he’s standing at his porch steps- and that when he sees her.

Annabeth is pacing on his balcony. She’s wearing jean shorts and her camp shirt, but instead of her typical ponytail her hair is in two intricate braids that reach her breastbone. She’s muttering to herself and wringing her hands together and for a moment Percy forgets. He forgets the past year and all the arguing and the bitterness and he sees Annabeth is worried about something and he reaches out as if to hold her. To wrap his arms around her and tell her that everything is going to be alright.  

But then he remembers.

He retracts his hands.

He clears his throat and Annabeth startles. Her grey eyes are as intense as ever and he can almost see her defences come up. He hates that it's because of him. Annabeth is the first to break the silence.

“Hey.” Her voice is small but clear. Not yet vulnerable, but gives Percy the sense that it could be soon.

“What’re you doing here?” He isn’t sure he said it out loud until she ducks her head and flushes.

“Nobody’s seen you in days.” It’s not the accusation he expects. It's also not an answer to his question. Just an observation.

“I’m here now.” He says it like it’s an invitation. He then becomes incredibly aware that he's still looking up at her from the bottom of the steps, so he grabs his duffel, bounds up the stairs, and opens his cabin door. He hesitates and meets her eye with another silent question. She answers by stepping inside.

He drops his bag by his bed and turns on the light. The air is charged with unasked questions and unfinished conversations. He can’t stand it. He’s about to attempt small talk when she says something that nearly knocks down where he stands.

“I miss you.” She’s wringing her hands again and she won’t look him in the eye, but takes his silence as confusion.

“That’s what I came here to say, that I miss you.”

Percy isn’t sure what to say. Percy isn’t sure this conversation is really happening, she’s broken so many of the fragile rules they’d been following all year. He’s 98% sure this is a really vivid daydream to cope with…. well everything.

He decides that on the off chance this is real he should play it safe so, he states the obvious.

“I’m here. We’re here, together. We’re together and-” She cuts him off and begins to ramble.

“Strained and awkward and it's like there’s this chasm between us of all these things from last summer. From our kiss, to you dying, and then you not dying, and Rachel, and Luke, and Luke being Not-Luke, and it’s like we can’t have a conversation anymore and that sucks ‘cause..”

She pauses for the first time to look up at him and her eyes are shining.

“You’re kinda my best friend. And I miss you. Everything sucks and I'm tired of fighting. And I really miss you.”

Percy’s too shocked to say anything. It occurs to him that he should respond but he can’t find the words. All the unspoken rules they had in place and Annabeth had just steamrolled right through them. Percy realizes his mistake in staying silent as Annabeth flushes and turns to leave.

“Forget it, you’re a fucking asshole.” And oh no Annabeth had just swallowed her pride (which he knows better than anyone is no easy feat) to say everything he’d wanted to hear and he can’t let her walk away.

“I miss you too.” The words tumble out of him, clunky and a little awkward but earnest. Annabeth stops and faces him, eyes suspicious in the way that breaks his heart a little bit.

“Really?”

“Yeah. Really.”

Annabeth exhales and shoots him a tremulous smile he hasn’t seen in forever, and oh he’d forgotten what it did to his chest when she did. Before he does something stupid like tell her he thinks her smile is the best this he’s ever seen, he clears his throat.

“So…. this chasm you said, what do you propose we do about it?”

“24 hours. For 24 hours everything that I listed before is a non-issue. After that we can go back to…..whatever it is we’re doing now. One day, where we’re just two friends spending a day at camp together..”

“Best friends.” He corrects without thinking. She rolls her eyes, and he almost giggles because he’d missed her eyerolls too.

She holds out her hand to shake, all business-like and gods he missed her.

“Best friends. 24 hours.”

He takes her hand. Her shake is firm, her palms are warm, her eyes are bright, and she is beautiful.

“Where do we start?”

...

Apparently it starts with homework.

After he asked where they’d begin, Annabeth had flashed him a wicked grin, damn-near dragged him off the porch, and made a beeline to the Big House. Before last summer, Annabeth had been “tutoring” him. Once a week they’d head down to the Big House and spend hours combing through myths and legends, practicing Ancient Greek, and all things Demigod 101. It probably wasn’t ever that useful considering Percy barely remembered any of it, but Annabeth had always insisted. After last summer they’d non-verbally decided to take a break from it (eachother), and they’d never started back up.

Usually he’d halfheartedly complain that it was pointless and say some form of ‘I know enough to not die and that's good enough for me’ every five minutes, but today he nods dutifully along as Annabeth talks animatedly about Orpheus, and Theseus, and all the other -eus’s. He’ll ask a dumb question that they both know he knows the answer to, but she answers him anyway. He watches the wisps of hair that refused to be tied down, and counts the tiny sunspots across her nose and the way she wrinkles her eyebrow when she forgets a name.

It’s not terrible. It’s kinda the opposite. He’d forgotten that she made studying not terrible.

He’s so screwed.

...

The stables are almost empty when they get there.

After 2 hours of studying, (one hour of studying, one hour of laughing and talking and calling it studying) Annabeth declared it was his turn to pick the activity. Tired of sitting still Percy lands on tending to the pegasi. It was one of his favorite things about camp plus he got to teach Annabeth something for once. Annabeth was comfortable enough around them but she never spent anytime with them that she didn’t have to.

When they entered the barn, Blackjack gave him a look and he blushed remembering all the times he’d come to the stables with Beckendorph to vent about how much he missed Annabeth, (He didn’t even know horses could give looks but here we are) and silently told him it was a long story and to be cool. Annabeth had stopped next to one of the cleaning stations and was looking at him expectantly. He cleared his throat and they got to work. He showed her how to brush them and how to get tangles out of their manes, where to scritch them and where not to scratch them. He showed her how to check their feathers and make sure their wings were healthy and how to get them to be still enough to check.

Annabeth was excellent with them, gentle hands and kind eyes. Whenever she approached one she would look them in the eye and talk to them like the intelligent creatures they were. Each time she got started taking care of a new steed she’d gently reach for the muzzle and say in a soothing voice:

“Hi, my name is Annabeth and I'm going to groom you today. Don’t worry, I'm friends with Percy, and he taught me exactly how to take care of you. If I’m doing something wrong, let him know and he’ll tell me how to fix it. I promise I’ll do my best to make sure you feel like a brand new pegasus.”

Frankly, it was fucking adorable.

Pork-pie had taken a special liking to Annabeth, telepathically asking Percy if she could groom him more often. When he told this to Annabeth she’d beamed and enthusiastically agreed to come down whenever she could. Percy had off-handedly suggested that they take them out for a bit and Annabeth immediately started to release Pork-Pie from his stall.

They flew over camp for what could’ve been minutes or hours. He was lucky that Blackjack could fly himself because Percy couldn’t take his eyes off his flying partner. Her braids held firm, but a few rebellious curls were now whipping with the wind. The atmosphere combined with the speed they were flying, made her cheeks red and splotchy. Her smile is brighter than the sun, and eyes- gods her eyes were going to be the death of him. The sun and her mood (he had this theory that her eyes changed color based on her emotions) had made them almost blue, they are full of laughter, and Percy adores her. And when she directs her sunshine-smile at him, Percy can’t help but smile back.

(He doesn’t stop smiling until they land.)

...

As they're putting their pegusi back in their stalls, Blackjack decides to give him some advice.

“I know I don’t understand all of your fragile human emotions, but I know enough. There’s a lot of bad in this world of ours, and from what you’ve told me about this war business it's only gonna get worse. You gotta make the most of the good.”  He tilts his head over to Annabeth who is cooing at a preening Pork-Pie.

“You and ladyboss, you’re good together. And really nothing else matters.”

He doesn’t have time to even think about a response when Annabeth is walking over from Pork-Pie’s stall, and telling him it's time for a picnic.

...

(“What did Blackjack say to you? You looked kinda flustered when I got you.” Percy almost drops the plate he’s piling with food from the buffet. He’s gotten three pointedly confused looks at the sight of him and Annabeth together and not strangling each other and a thumbs-up from Grover. He and Annabeth are getting their food and then they’ll go sit by the beach.

“Oh,” He clears his throat and goes with the first thing he thinks of. “Blackjack calls you ladyboss.” Good that's good, not technically a lie either.

“Huh. Weird.” Annabeth, seemingly satisfied with this, returns her attention to the grapes she is adding to her plate.)

...

“Where do you go?” Annabeth asks. She’s sitting next to him in the sand brushing crumbs off her fingers. They had been eating and watching the ocean in comfortable silence and Percy furrows his eyebrows in confusion. “Lots of days when you’re at camp for lunch and sometimes dinner you just disappear for hours. And I know you aren’t going home because your stuff is still in your cabin. Where do you go?”

It’s not an accusation, just a question. Percy gets the feeling she doesn’t want to know so she can disturb, she just worries. Percy knows her. He knows she’s always planning for the worst and she needs to be able to get to him if there's an emergency.

(It strikes him that she notices when he disappears and he feels guilty but also just a little hopeful. Because she misses him as much as he misses her.)

He stacks their plates and rests them on the blanket they’d been sharing. Percy stands up and holds out his hand, gesturing for Annabeth to do the same.

“C’mon, I’ll show you.”

...

He tells her to close her eyes. She gives him a skeptical look but obliges and holds out her hands, a silent request for him to guide her. It’s almost easier to take her hands in his without those trademark eyes on him. But it’s not any less intense. As soon as their fingers interlock sparks of electricity lick up his arm. Now that her eyes are closed he can look at her face up close without fear. Her curls had gotten more unruly as the day went on, and the ringlets that framed her face blew lightly in the ocean breeze. He leads her slowly towards the ocean, using his powers to dry any spot she walks on. He sees her brows furrow when she notices how far they’ve walked towards the ocean without their feet getting wet, but she doesn’t say anything. He parts the water for her to walk through, and when the water rises above their heads, he forms an air bubble that moves with them, keeping them dry. When they get to a good spot, squeezes her hand signaling for her to stop with him, but tells her to keep her eyes closed. Then he closes his eyes with her and calls out to the ocean's creatures, making himself a beacon.

Here I am, he thinks. The son of Poseidon.

Come to me.

Minutes pass.

“You can open your eyes now.” He whispers.

She does, and lets out a soft gasp, “Oh, Percy.”

He smiles and looks out at the scene before them. He’d come down here after a particularly bad day and just wanted to sit in silence. It was an accident, calling the creatures to him. Subconsciously, he must have sent a message along that he was feeling alone. And all sorts of sea creatures - from greek monsters and to great white sharks to your average cod had flocked to him. And he didn’t feel so alone. So now, whenever he couldn’t take the human world, he’d come down here and talk to the fish.

This time he’d actually concentrated on getting a message out and they did not disappoint. He couldn’t count all the animals that had heeded his call but it was a sight to behold. He had willed some glowing coral from the deeper ocean to stay in that spot, which created a multicolored tint to everything around them.

Normally they come right up close to him, but this time they were hesitant. And as he listened to the creatures and heard more than a few whispers of Athena and stranger, he’s suddenly reminded that she’s the only person he’s ever done this with. It’s his favorite place, and she is the only other person ever to see it.

“It's okay guys, she’s a friend.” He reassures them. When he looked back at Annabeth, her mouth was still hung open and she was staring out at the scene in front of them in wonder. He smiles at her dazed silence and uses the hand he’s still holding to tug her up to the barrier of the bubble. The first creature willing to accept Annabeth is a baby spotted dolphin. He swims towards the clumsily with eager fins and pokes at the barrier with it’s snout. Annabeth's eyes widen in fear and look up at him and it takes a second to realize she isn’t afraid of the animal, but of their bubble popping.

“Don’t worry, the bubble won’t break unless I break it myself, and it’ll last however long I want it to.” He reassures her. He senses her hesitation so he guides her hand up to meet the snout of the baby dolphin who seems fascinated with Annabeth herself. He reaches his snout and head bumps directly into the spot on the bubble where her palm is placed.

Annabeth lets out a laugh, the kind of laugh that sort of bubbles out of you without warning and it’s the best thing Percy’s ever heard. He watches as the shock fades for her features and she pets the infant creature through the sheen of bubble keeping them dry. The animals begin to warm up to Annabeth as well, and as soon as they figure out she’s not some evil Athena agent sent to destroy the ocean, they join in on the fun. Hundreds of ocean creatures of all sizes begin doing tricks, nuzzling up to the flexible barrier, all vying for Annabeth’s attention. Annabeth herself is happy to oblige. Ever consistent, she introduces herself to each creature she meets. She smiles and laughs and reaches out to all the animals she can. Percy is happy simply to watch her and keep the bubble up but then she turns to him, eyebrow drawn together in concern, pointing to a particularly awnry seahorse, and asks what it's saying.

“He says his name is Frank and that he’s ‘too pregnant for this shit.’”

Annabeth stares blankly.

“His words not mine.” Percy offers hands up in surrender.

Then she snorts and then they’re laughing, they’re laughing harder than they have in years, and it's that kind of hysterical laugh where everything around them makes it more funny, and soon Percy’s clutching his stomach and Annabeth is beet red.  As soon as it subsides enough to get words out Annabeth is shaking his arm saying “Do that one! What's he saying? Oh my gods what even is that? Does that one like me? That ones majestic, what's his name? Oh Percy, look!! Look at that one!”

So he translates and they laugh and he teaches her different species and Annabeth nods along like it’s very important stuff. She pets the baby dolphin through the bubble and listens intently to all the animals telling her stories, even though she can’t understand a word until Percy tells her what they said. And when it’s time to go he sees the tears in her eyes and tells Percy to promise the baby that she’ll visit all the time, even though they both know she can’t.

(Apparently the baby dolphins name is Arnold, and according to his mother, he was so enthralled by Annabeth because when he first saw her he thought she was an angel.)

(Percy thinks he’s not too far off.)

...

(“That was incredible Percy. Thank you so much for sharing that with me.” They had been walking in silence as they made their way back to camp using the bubble, enjoying the afterglow of their adventure.

“Yeah, of course.” She smiles at him and looks ahead.

He’s not sure why he does it but without looking at her he reaches out and ever so carefully, and brushes her fingertips with his.

Her breath hitches, but she doesn’t say anything.

Then suddenly, miraculously, her hand tilts and their fingers are interlocked.

And there's no pretense of guiding her somewhere, they’re just….holding hands.

And it's perfect.)

...

Percy thinks if he’s not in love with her, he’s pretty damn close.

Because this feeling, the one he gets in his chest when he looks at her, is what love feels like.  

...

When they resurface, they’re met with twinkling lights and the last three stragglers singing softly at the campfire. It’s almost time for lights out.

Oh.

Oh no.

Annabeth seems to be coming to the same realization, as she clears her throat and lets go of his hand. He misses her fingers immediately.

“So, I guess we should start heading to bed.” She looks at him, hopeful but he’s stuck. Stuck in the feeling of dread at the idea of waking up tomorrow and not having his best friend. Suddenly the idea of leaving her side is so unbearable he can’t speak.

“Goodnight, Percy.” She’s turning around and backing away when the words lodged in his throat come unstuck.

“8 in the morning.” She turns giving him a ‘what are you on about’ look.

“That when you came and got me at 8 in the morning. We agreed on 24 hours. It's only been 12.”

She smiles slow and wide, “You know you're right, that math checks out.”

“We had very clear terms. We even shook on it.”

“Yes we did.”, she nods gravely. “It’s a binding agreement, we can’t just ignore it.”

“So what do we do?”

She flashes a wicked grin. “You aren’t the only one with a secret spot.”

...

Percy arrives in the Big House 20 minutes after curfew was called, exactly as Annabeth had instructed. He felt her presence before she re-materialized in front of him and in a low conspiratorial whisper tells him to follow her.

They sneak down to the basement and Percy is confused when she keeps walking towards the corner. She lifts up a floorboard and starts climbing down a ladder. She beckons him to join her and when he makes it down the ladder, he can’t help the smile that breaks out. It’s a sort of underground attic, complete with a worn dusty couch, blankets and an old TV.

“I found it my first year at camp by accident. I was down doing chores and one of the broom strings got caught under it. I didn’t have many friends except for….” She lets him fill in the blank rather than say the name out loud. “And when he wanted to be with kids his own age, I’d come here. There's only five movies down here and I memorized them.” She looks down at her shoes. “I know it’s not the sea floor but..”

“Are you kidding? It’s awesome. What are the movies?”

They dig around and end up finding two more that apparently seven-year-old Annabeth did not think worth the time. They watch Die Hard first, (“Oh my Gods I can't believe you haven’t watched Die Hard. This is a travesty. It’s a classic Annabeth.”) then Pulp Fiction, ("I can’t believe it, all the shit you gave me for not seeing Die Hard, and you haven’t Pulp Fiction?? You absolute heathen!") and Clueless. ("What? It has to be full of violence and toxic masculinity to be good? It’s a good movie Percy, shut-up.") Before he knows it, it’s 3:54 am shaking with hysterical silent laugher at Annabeth's impression of Dionysus.

“Oh my gods oh-OH! Do you know what we’ve got to do?”

“Uh-oh, what?”

She grins impishly and a little deliriously. “We’ve gotta go to our spot.”

“Ah, of course. Yes, our spot, totally.” He says in a voice he hopes is neutral, in an effort to gage if she’s serious.  

“Oh my gods.” She gasps, offended.

“What.”  

“I can’t believe this.”

“You can’t believe what?”

“You forgot our spot.”

“I’m sorry Annabeth, until four seconds ago I wasn’t aware we had a spot.”

“Oh my gods. I can not believe this-” He can tell she’s messing with him, and not actually mad.

“Annabeth, just tell me where it is.”

“I simply can not believe this, you absolute heathen-”

“Stop calling me a heathen, and tell me where it is.”

She smiles, “I can show you.”

...

“Oh, of course! This is our spot!”

Annabeth chuckles, “I told you.” They’re standing at the edge of the forest at the tallest of the rock clusters to the far left. It's the one they used to go to after their first quest, the place where Annabeth taught him the constellations. The place where he made his first real friend. Not people he hung out with to avoid getting picked on. Not a searcher who happened to like the demigod he found.  His first real best-friend.

They climbed up easily and lay down looking straight up at the sky. Annabeth points up at the floating memorials, and Percy dutifully recites the legends of how they earned their place in the sky. They're shoulder to shoulder and their fingers graze each other for longer than necessary. And slowly they lull into comfortable silence, arms overlapping, at some point Annabeth's head lands on his shoulder. Percy freezes for a while, staying absolutely still as if she’s a wild creature who could bolt at any moment. But then he relaxes, and she relaxes and he’s pretty sure she’s asleep until she takes in a shaky breath and whispers, “Hey, Percy?”

“Yeah?”

“We’re gonna be okay right?” He can tell she's trying to mask the vulnerability in her voice. And he can’t see all of her face from the angle they’re laying, but her nose is on his collarbone, and her hair is tickling his chin.

He closes his eyes, and he thinks. He thinks about Luke and Rachel and how nothings been the same since Percy blew up that mountain.

He thinks about seeing her for the first time, grey eyes wide hair falling off her shoulders and how even after everything he just went through, he felt safe. He thinks about ‘you drool when you sleep’, and the way she looked at him when he was claimed- awestruck and pitiful at the same time. He thinks about rolled eyes, stamped feet, and frustration always just under the surface. He thinks about silent truces, and letting guards down, and shared oreos in the back of a mobile zoo. He thinks about sweaty palms gripping each other in the Underworld, and shaky hands giving him a good luck camp necklace. He thinks about camp fires, stupid jokes, learning about the stars, and how the just fit.

He thinks about postcards and iris-messages, and how she punched Matt Sloane square on the nose. He thinks about how despite the arguing and the confusion about Tyson, she was always there when she needed him. How she didn’t hesitate to sneak out of camp with one of the first species he ever learned to truly fear, because he asked her to. He thinks about her in a dress and how tongue-tied him in guinea pig form. He thinks about her broken sobs and how she clutched at him in their underwater bubble. He thinks about winning a chariot race, the softest of cheek kisses and how in this world of gods and monsters, she’s the only thing he was really sure about.

He thinks about how she was the first girl he ever danced with, and how light everything felt when she was around. He thinks about how it felt strangely familiar when she fell off that cliff, and how only days later realized that it was the same desperation he had when Hades took his mother. He thinks about how gutted it was when he found out she was thinking about joining the Hunters. He thinks about his visit from Aphrodite and how even though she changed form, her hair smelled like lemons the entire time. He thinks about when he saw her on that cliff it was like the sun came out. How he saw her face and it was smudged with dirt and cuts but she was alive and he could breathe again. He thinks about how his throat closed up when he thought Artemis was going to pick her for the Hunt. He remembers how when they danced on Olympus, for a song she was prettier than Aphrodite.

He thinks about planning a movie date, and how he discovered Annabeth doesn’t get any less pretty when she’s mad at him. How she sat right next to him at dinner and how when she fixed his armour, his neck burned wherever she touched him. He thinks about falling in a whole and holding her hand and how they’d done it before but it felt different that time. He thinks about ping pong table meetings and how he became aware of the fact that he’d follow her anywhere. He thinks about the determination in her when she faced the Sphinx, and how the same fire was in them right before she kissed him. He thinks about how she tasted like smoke and salt, and how for the 3.2 seconds that his lips were hers, the first thing he thought was ‘we fit like this too’. He thought he was going to die but it was okay. It was okay that he was going to die, because he had gotten to kiss her. He thinks about Calypso’s Island, and how he dreamt about her every night. How when he crashed his funeral, she held like she couldn’t bear to let go and how that was fine with him. He thinks about the blur that was the labyrinth, full of unshed tears, words that cut, and how despite all the scream fights and the terror, and the barely contained rage, none of it lessened the fierce protectiveness he feels for her. How despite it all, she's still the best thing that's ever fucking happened to him. He thinks about the last line of her prophecy, and how she thought it was about him.

He loves her.

He’s not sure if he’s in love with her because he’s 15 and he hasn’t exactly had time to date around but he knows that for a fact. Knowing Annabeth, loving Annabeth has made him who he is. She is burned into his DNA. Somehow the 12 year old with princess curls and eyes that cut, crawled under his skin. He knows he’s done the same to her, even though they’re both too stubborn to say it out loud. They could never really leave each other, even if they tried.

So Percy shifts so he can see her face in the pale moonlight, brushes a curl out of her face and says,

“Yeah. It’s us Annabeth. We’re gonna be alright.”

She smiles soft and real because she knows him, so she knows he means it. He’s not sure who reaches out this time, but they're holding hands and staring at the sky in a silence that speaks volumes.

They stay like that until it’s sunrise and they have to sneak into their respective cabins. Looking at stars, fighting sleep, and forgetting about the rest of the world.

______________

(They hold hands all the way back to her cabin.)

(He doesn’t stop smiling the whole way back to his own.)

______________

if your still here hi! thank you for reading. send in prompts from this list, or any sentence starter you want to read. ask box is open for those and if you just wanna say hi :)

[darks-ink]

Ephemeral

Prompt: Tucker Ghouly thought this was going to be a good, peaceful day. That thought is crushed when not one, not two, but three portals open, depositing the halfa versions of his two best friends (and his best friend’s sister?) into this world. Why are they here? And how are they going to return to their home worlds? Prompt by: @bibliophilea Word count: 4,175

[AO3] [FFN] [more Phic Phight fics]

---

“This patrol has been very calm,” Tucker muttered, raising himself higher in the air like that would reveal some sort of hidden ambush. “Suspiciously calm.”

“Don’t jinx us,” Danny grumbled, rolling his eyes. One of his hands wandered to the ecto-gun hidden under his black jacket.

Something in Tucker’s chest seized—his core, he knew instantly—and he jerked to a halt. So did both of his friends, coming to a stand-still a step behind him. A green spark flickered in front of them.

“Too late,” Sam grunted, pulling her own small ecto-gun out of its holster. “This one is on you, Tuck.”

“When isn’t it?” he bit back, but lit up his fists with roiling violet ectoplasm anyway. Whatever this was, whether it would be hostile or not, he was ready.

The spark spluttered, and for a moment it seemed to extinguish entirely. Then, with a terrible ripping sound—a sound which seemed to echo in Tucker’s very core—the green extended, like a tear through reality.

A portal into the Ghost Zone.

The surface of the portal wavered, then parted way as a single humanoid ghost stumbled through. Literally stumbled through, feet on the ground, almost tripping on the edge of the portal as it immediately closed behind the ghost.

And then the noise came again, and then a third time, as two more portals opened up, just to the side of where the first had been. And, again, the portals both released a single humanoid ghost before immediately closing again.

“What the hell,” Danny muttered behind him, and Tucker could only heartily agree. At least he didn’t seem to be the only one confused by the going-ons, as the first ghost to stumble through was also watching the newcomers.

Or he had been, because the ghost’s gaze had snapped towards Tucker—and more importantly, Danny—when his friend had spoken.

Bright green eyes blinked at the two of them, and Tucker was struck with a sense of familiarity. It took him an embarrassingly long moment to see through the glowing eyes, the innate difference in appearance caused by the mild glow of a ghost, before he could place the face.

The ghost was an exact copy of Danny. Or, more accurately, of a hypothetical ghost version of Danny, since his hair was as white as Tucker’s was in his ghost form, and his usual blue eyes replaced with green.

He ripped his eyes away from Danny’s ghostly doppelganger to look at the other two ghosts, and felt his stomach flip. One of them was undeniably Sam’s copy, with white hair and vivid cyan eyes. The other took him a moment longer to place, before he realized she looked like a younger version of Danny’s sister Jazz.

“Huh,” Sam mumbled, stepping up to Tucker’s other shoulder. All three ghosts’ eyes followed the movement. “This is… odd.”

“That’s one way of putting it,” the ghostly version of Danny said. Despite the echo, his voice was undeniably Danny’s. “So, uh. I guess none of you were responsible for the creation of that portal?” He paused, looking over his shoulder at the other two ghosts. “Or, those portals, since there were multiple?”

“Definitely not,” Tucker confirmed, and let the ectoplasm gathering in his fists sizzle out. None of the ghosts seemed hostile, and he didn’t really feel much for fighting his friends’ duplicates.

“I didn’t do it either,” the young Jazz said, her golden eyes narrowed and her purple hair flickering violently in a manner that reminded Tucker uncomfortably of Ember.

“Me neither,” Sam’s doppelganger piped up, crossing her arms. “So, Danny, you up to something?”

Ghostly Danny flinched and pulled a face that Tucker immediately placed as guilty. “Uhhh…”

“Why is my ghost version a disaster?” Danny loudly complained, leaning against Tucker’s shoulder now that he had—without noticing it himself—come low enough to the ground for Danny to reach.

“Just be glad that he’s wearing black,” Sam put in, leaning around Tucker’s other side to watch her own ghostly copy. “Since apparently everyone else has been forced into brightly colored jumpsuits.”

“Stop dodging the point,” the younger Jazz snapped, before whirling around to her ghostly brother. “What did you do, big brother?”

“Big brother?” both Danny’s echoed, eyeing her. When she growled, the ghostly Danny raised his hands placatingly and added on, “I didn’t— Okay, I might’ve, but I didn’t mean to!”

“Illuminating,” Sam’s ghostly double muttered, shaking her head. “Please stop dodging around the point, Danny.”

Luminescent green eyes rolled as Danny’s copy lowered his hands again. “Okay, so I might have been trying to open a portal to the Ghost Zone. I was just trying to reach a friend!”

“And you somehow missed catastrophically,” Sam concluded, now also leaning on Tucker. He was starting to feel slightly used. “You know what? That checks out.”

“Wow,” Danny muttered, pressing a hand against his chest. “I’m hurt, Sam. Right in my poor black heart.”

“Okay, that’s enough out of you three!” Jazz snarled, her glow flickering brighter for a moment before it settled again. “That explains how Danny got here, but what about us?” She gestured at herself and Sam’s ghostly version. “Why are Sam and I here?”

“The connection between Danny’s world and this one must’ve destabilized something.” Sam’s ghost frowned, brows drawing together in thought. “Or maybe something about how he reached for a friend drew us in too?”

All five of them looked at the ghostly Danny, whose shoulders slowly but steadily climbed up to his ears.

“Sorry?” he said, sounding uncertain. “Uh. Whoops?”

Danny snorted, then shook his head. “Maybe we should move somewhere a little more private while we figure this out, since it doesn’t seem like you folks are intent on causing trouble.”

“We can go to my place, since we actually have a shot at privacy there,” Sam offered, stepping away from Tucker. “The three of us will need to go through the front door. Can I assume you three can find the way to the greenhouse yourselves?”

Sam’s ghostly double raised an eyebrow, then grinned. “Yeah, I think I can manage that. We’ll be right there.”

“Just know that if you don’t show up, we will hunt you down,” Danny threatened, holding a single finger in their direction. “You’re not safe just because you look like us.”

“Yeah, yeah, we hear you loud and clear,” Danny’s double replied, waving him off almost casually. “Get going.”

They went.

---

By the time Tucker, Sam, and Danny made it to Sam’s greenhouse, the three ghosts had already arrived. True to expectations, Sam’s double was checking out the plants. The other two, ghostly Danny and Jazz, seemed to be frowning at each other.

Tucker cleared his throat the moment he stepped inside, ignoring the way his core pulled in his chest. He had very little experience dealing with ghosts while human, and felt distinctly disarmed. If they attacked, he would need precious moments to transform.

But that was if they attacked, which he highly doubted.

“Oh,” ghost Danny said, with a tone of heavy understanding. “We’re all half-ghosts, then. That makes sense.”

“Does it?” Tucker muttered, only halfheartedly venomous. “No, I guess it does. Can we start with introductions?”

Jazz nodded, a thoughtful expression on her face. “There is too much overlap in the names, I think. Should all half-ghosts go by our ghost names, then? Since I assume we all have one?”

The half-ghost version (apparently?) of Sam turned away from the plant she’d been looking at. “I’m Manes, then. And can I just say that this is a damn impressive greenhouse.”

“Thanks,” the actual Sam answered with a snort and a pleased smile. “It’s a good place to hide away from my parents.”

Half-ghost Danny shook his head, the expression on his face somewhere between hurt and cheered. His Sam must be the same about plants, then. “I’m Phantom.”

“Specter,” half-ghost Jazz chipped in, a thoughtful expression on her face.

Tucker kind of got it. Somehow, they all went with a similar theme on names, yet lacked overlap entirely. “I went with Ghouley, but considering that I’m the only Tucker around, you can just call me Tucker.”

“Where is your sense of camaraderie, Tuck?” Phantom asked, grinning impishly. “We’re all in this together, aren’t we?”

“So it seems,” he allowed with a grumble, rolling his eyes. “Am I supposed to shift to my ghost form as well, or are you all gonna shift back to human, or…?”

The other three exchanged brief glances before Manes shrugged, a ring of white light forming around her waist. The light swept away cyan eyes and a green suit, leaving her in a rather generic shirt and skirt combo, the same green and purple he knew from his own Sam, and her usual purple eyes blinking back at him.

Phantom huffed but followed her, letting his own transformation wash away the black jumpsuit and green eyes, replacing them with a white and red shirt and ordinary jeans, sky blue eyes like the Danny right behind Tucker.

With the other two transformed, Specter rolled her eyes but also shifted, her golden eyes turning teal and her purple ponytail coming down to cascade red hair over her shoulders—just like the Jazz Tucker knew, if a little younger.

“So they are all half-ghosts,” Danny jibed, gesturing at the three… the three alternate versions of his friends. And Jazz. “That’s good to know.”

“This was a test?” Phantom asked, raising his own eyebrow and looking eerily like Danny. Tucker was kind of starting to wish he had just shifted back to his ghost form for this. “I guess that that’s fair. I don’t think I would’ve trusted it either, if I was in your shoes.”

“Okay, not this isn’t nice and all,” Specter interrupted, sounded not at all sorry for doing so, “but can we please focus on the whole”—she gestured around them—“this thing?”

“She has a point,” Sam allowed, stepping further into the greenhouse. “We’re still working on the assumption that Phantom somehow did this?”

The boy in question made a face but didn’t deny it. “I was just trying to open a portal. I don’t know how it went this wrong!”

“Was this your first time opening a portal?” Manes asked, leaning forward with an expression of curiosity on her face. “If so, what made you so certain you could do it?”

“I’ve seen a future version of myself do it,” Phantom explained with a dismissively casual shrug. “I managed at least one of the other powers I saw him do, so I figured portal making wasn’t out of the question either.”

Tucker felt himself frown at that. He’d seen a future version of himself? Sure, the three of them had run into all sorts of weird ghost stuff, but that? That wasn’t something he was familiar with.

It seemed he wasn’t the only one, because Manes also frowned. Specter, it seemed, did recognize the events, if vaguely, because she nodded understandingly.

“I’ve seen something similar,” she allowed. “But I never successfully opened a portal, either, despite what I’ve seen her do.”

“Weird.” Phantom shook his head, like he was clearing his thoughts. “I don’t know why Specter and I saw a future and you two didn’t, and I don’t know what went wrong with my attempt, either. I figured that if I messed it up it just wouldn’t work, not”—he gestured vaguely, much like Specter had before—“not this.”

“Must’ve been some weird Fenton thing,” Manes commented, her frown wiped away in favor of a grin. “Come on, there’s gotta be something that sets you apart from Specter, if she just couldn’t do it and you tore open the fabric of reality to tap into alternate dimensions.”

Phantom flapped his hands aggravatedly, and despite the oddness of the situation, Tucker was secretly kind of glad of how easy it was to read him and Manes. Specter was more troublesome—he didn’t spend a lot of time around Jazz—but his friends? Piece of cake.

“I don’t know, okay?” Phantom snapped, his eyes briefly flickering green. Really aggravated, then. Good to know. “I don’t know how I screwed up this badly! I didn’t even know it was possible for ghosts to open portals to different realities!”

“And you can’t think of anything that might work?” Specter pressed, crossing her arms and frowning at him. “No ghost artifacts or anything?”

That ground Phantom to a halt. “Uh. Hm…” His brow creased as he thought, muttering to himself under his breath, until… “The Reality Gauntlet could’ve done it, maybe?”

“The what?” Tucker blurted out automatically. That sounded like some kind of superhero comic device, not an actual ghost artifact.

“The Reality Gauntlet?” Phantom repeated, like that alone could explain everything. “Big metal glove, fits four gems? Can alter the fabric of reality?”

Tucker shook his head in negative, and was oddly relieved to see not only Manes but also Specter answer in negative.

“No one else has dealt with it?” Phantom asked, incredulous.

“That must’ve been it, then,” Danny concluded, humming to himself. “The Gauntlet must’ve done it.”

“But that’s impossible,” Phantom countered, crossing his arms defensively across his chest. “I destroyed it months ago.”

“And, assuming the timelines are roughly equal, your core would’ve been young enough to absorb the energy released from a broken ghost artifact,” Sam bit back. “What were you thinking, Phantom?”

“That it was too dangerous to leave hanging around!” Phantom’s eyes glowed green once more, but it was quickly repressed, and he continued in a quieter, more morose tone. “Freakshow already used it against my friends and family once. I couldn’t leave it hanging around for him—or someone else—to try again.”

That… checked out. Tucker might’ve done the same, if he had been in Phantom’s shoes. Danny definitely would’ve. “Okay, so now what?”

“We ask Clockwork?” Phantom suggested with a loose shrug. “He’s usually helpful for this sort of thing.”

Clockwork? That was a ghost name if Tucker had ever heard one, but not one he was familiar with. From Manes’ expression, neither was she.

He wasn’t sure whether it was comforting or not, that his universe and Manes’ were so similar when the Fentons’ universes were so different. It was like they were somehow significantly different from the Fentons. Was it because Sam and he weren’t the kids of ghost hunters? Somehow?

“Clockwork is the ghost of time, though.” Specter huffed, rolling her eyes at Phantom. “Besides, we’re in a different universe entirely, and it looks like Ghouley doesn’t know him. Clockwork probably won’t know any of us, never mind care enough to help.”

“Why can’t we just go and grab the Reality Gauntlet?” Manes asked. “If that’s the thing powerful enough to break through the fabric of reality, surely we can just use the one in this universe to make portals back?”

Phantom made a face at that. “I’m not sure where it is. I think Freakshow might’ve stolen in from the Guys in White, but I’m not 100% sure on that.”

Eugh. Yeah, that explained the face. “So that’s out too,” Tucker concluded, trying not to feel too down about it. At least he wasn’t stuck in a different reality altogether. But if there was no way to return the three other half-ghosts home… That was bound to become messy.

“Why can’t Phantom just try again?” Sam asked, a tone of genuine curiosity in her voice. “If we’re all pretty sure he’s the one responsible for the portals in the first place, maybe he can open up portals back, too.”

“Using a power he can’t control?” Manes returned, but she cocked her head in thought. “But I guess that it’s worth a shot.”

“We could try doing it together?” Specter suggested, placing a hand on Phantom’s shoulder. “We’re all half-ghosts, and we’re all here for some reason, right? If Phantom’s power brought us here, maybe we can combine all our powers to make the portals back?”

Danny huffed out a laugh. “I don’t think that that’s how ghost powers work, is it?”

The look he got from Specter could only be described as imperial. “Friendship—love—is all we have on our side, it seems. It brought us here, it can damn well bring us back, too.”

“That’s fair,” Danny allowed with a snort.

“I guess we’d better wait until it’s dark.” Tucker pulled out his phone, grimacing at the time. “Why don’t we all call our parents that we’re staying here and order in some food?”

Phantom shrugged, then sat down on a stool hanging out in the greenhouse. “Sounds good to me.”

“Same,” Specter said, following his example. Manes shrugged and nodded her approval as well.

“We could talk a little about the differences between our realities.” Danny stepped forward to nudge Phantom. “I, for one, would really like to know why you’re wearing white.”

“What am I, a goth?” Phantom laughed, shaking his head. “I’ve got Sam for that.”

Oh yeah, they would get through the time well enough, Tucker thought.

---

“I think it’s late enough,” Specter muttered, and Tucker jerked out of the drowse he’d fallen into. Rubbing his eyes with one hand, he followed her gaze to outside the greenhouse.

“Looks like it,” he agreed with a yawn. “Let’s all sneak off to the park, then.”

The other half-ghosts—and Danny and Sam—pushed themselves out of their seats as well, getting to their feet slowly. Looked like he wasn’t the only one who’d gotten tired while waiting.

Actually, it made perfect sense that all his fellow half-ghosts got as little sleep as he did. Ghost hunting was bad for your sleep rhythm, he knew.

Tucker waved Danny over closer, then pushed a camera into his hand. “Can you film the thing for me?”

Danny snorted but nodded. “Of course, Tuck. Just don’t get yourself sucked into an alternate reality, please?”

“I’ll try,” he promised wryly, then nodded at the other half-ghosts, who had gathered into a sorta-kinda circle around the two of them. “I think the best plan is for all of us to fly there together. Two of us can carry Sam and Danny to sneak them in with us.”

Manes shrugged and stepped forward. “I can carry my counterpart, and Phantom can take Danny.”

“You’re volunteering my services?” Phantom squawked, then shook his head and stepped forward as well. “Sure, whatever. Yeah, I’ll carry this universe’s version of myself, no problem.”

Getting a nod of approval from Danny and Sam, Tucker figured it was all satisfied and shrugged. “If everyone’s fine with that. Let’s get going, then.”

He shifted into his ghost form before he finished the sentence, the other three half-ghosts following his example.

But, man, Tucker really hoped this would work. Having the other three stick around might be helpful in the whole ghost hunting business, but it was weird to see what his friends would look like as ghosts. Or, as half-ghosts at least, since he knew they all looked rather human compared to most other ghosts.

Phantom easily scooped up Danny, despite his earlier protests, and Manes was quick to follow suit and pick up Sam.

Tucker, not quite sure why he was their lead—because this was his universe, maybe?—pushed himself off of the ground, flickering intangible for a moment to exit the greenhouse. He didn’t even have to look over his shoulder to make sure the others followed, because he could feel them, faintly, trailing just a little behind him.

Good thing that it was too dark for people to tell who they were carrying, because that would be awkward. If people questioned Ghouley about the other ghosts he could at least sorta-kinda tell the truth and say they were his friends, but if they had seen Sam or Danny with them? That was asking for trouble, for sure.

Before he knew it they had arrived at the park, all of them touching down silently. They must’ve looked like a fright, their glowing eyes piercing through the dark, but it looked abandoned enough.

Which was exactly what they had counted on, since the park was closed at night, but you never knew.

Sam and Danny were released by Manes and Phantom, trailing away to the edge of the square where they had landed. Making sure they stayed out of the way of whatever was going to happen here.

Good. That made Tucker feel better. If this somehow went catastrophically wrong… at least they would be safe.

Specter reached forward, suddenly, grabbing Phantom’s hand and linking their fingers together. Then, with her free hand, she gestured Manes over.

Clearly the other half-ghost caught on quicker than Tucker or Phantom, because she grabbed Specter’s free hand and then reached for Tucker. Following their example, he linked his hand with Manes’ offered hand, and then grabbed Phantom’s, completing the circle.

“This is stupid,” the half-ghost in question muttered, glaring venomously at the ground between them. “I’m pretty sure I used my hands to open the first portal.”

“Well, what else do you want us to do to offer our strength? Put our hands on your back?” Specter snorted, the smile in her voice undeniable. “Just try it, ghost-boy.”

Phantom rolled his eyes, then closed them. Took a deep breath. For a moment, it looked like nothing happened, but then…

Then, Tucker could feel the swell of power in the air. Could feel it waver through Phantom, down their connected hand. Could feel the energy running through his own core, through his hand to Manes.

Could feel the pulses of— of whatever it was going through all of them at once.

And, as a terrible but familiar shredding sort of noise sounded, the energy fled from them all at once. Phantom pulled himself free from Tucker’s hold—not that Tucker tried to stop him—and stepped closer to one of the three portals that had opened up.

“I can’t believe that worked,” Tucker muttered to himself, and he heard Manes snort next to him. Quickly he let go of her hand as well, and watched her step closer to one of the portals as well. A different one than Phantom’s.

“I think it did,” Specter said thoughtfully, moving towards the third portal. “It… calls to me, almost?”

Manes hummed in agreement. Rather than reply, Phantom just stuck his head through the portal he’d been looking at. Tucker flinched automatically, but Phantom pulled himself back out before he could move closer.

“It looks right,” Phantom agreed, cautiously. “It feels right, too. But it’s hard to say. From what I’ve seen, this Amity Park looks just like mine, and I assume so do yours.”

“Yeah.” Manes shrugged, then. “We’ll just have to hope for the best, then. If this didn’t work we didn’t have any alternative plans anyway, so…”

Specter snorted. “That’s true, unfortunately.” She took her eyes off of the portal to look at Tucker—and at Sam and Danny, who had crept in closer. “Thanks for the hospitality, and,” she turned to shoot looks at Phantom and Manes, “thank all of you for the experience.”

“Yes, what she said,” Manes agreed, a smile creeping onto her face. “Thank you all for the help as well.”

Phantom nodded. “Yeah, uh. Sorry for causing this, probably? And thanks to uh, all of you.” He nodded again, this time to Tucker and his friends, then stepped towards his portal. And paused.

“Uh, maybe you two should leave first? I don’t want to risk yours closing if I’m gone.”

Manes clapped him on the shoulder, then, still smiling, stepped through her portal. The moment she was gone from their sight, the swirling green mass pulled together and disappeared like it had never been there at all.

“Good luck,” Specter wished Phantom, and then floated through her portal. Once more, it immediately closed behind her.

Phantom nodded at them. “Seriously. Sorry for the mess, and thanks.”

“Just go, dude.” Tucker waved, and with a grin, Phantom stepped through the last portal.

He waited for a few moments after the portal had closed. When no new portals popped up, he sighed, letting the exhaustion of the day wash over him. “Man, I really hope that worked out fine.”

“They’ll be fine,” Sam said, then nudged him. “They’ll have the help of their friends.”

Tucker hummed, then turned to Danny. “You got that, right?”

“Of course I got it,” Danny scoffed, shaking his head. “I’d be crazy not to. Yeah, I got it.”

Tucker nodded, then turned to look at the empty space again. The place where the other half-ghosts had just been.

“I really hope that nothing else crazy like this happens, because I really don’t think I can handle that.” He sighed. “And… I hope that they’re all okay.”

“I’m sure they will be.” Danny bumped his other shoulder, taking the opposite side of Sam. “Now come on, let’s get some sleep. You need it.”

“Wow,” Tucker mumbled back, already turning around again. “Hurtful.”

[herpronuonsarefemslash]

Satisfaction Brought it Back - TEASER

The one where Lena ghosted Kara rather than going villain, Kara went into reporting on human rights abuses in warzones and Lena started a project to take medical information for aliens and their anatomy to help human hospitals.

And then volunteer Subject 99 walks in for a full exam and Lena wonders if she can pretend she's doing anything other than "playing doctor" while learning about Kara's unique body. But her traitor heart just wants to play house. SEE THE REST HERE: https://www.patreon.com/posts/56078508 ===== Alana helps the gray-scaled Jorviunan gentleperson down from the exam table. Five genders on a three-pole gradient, the species file says. Subject 98 uses he/him according to the survey. But it's not right. She's gotten enough peripheral glances of herself in a ballroom's mirror, gritting her teeth and using the identity of least resistance when one of Lillian's friends slid a hand around her back. Lena's been in both the human medicine and xenobiology games long enough to know when a word tastes bad in someone's mouth. Or fangs. Or pincers. Or feelers. Or bioelectrically charged water-filtering membranes. Subject 73 was a Vyllnat who rolled in the other day who looked like she belonged on a Wikipedia article about the Dykes on Bikes movement with the zinger being that her partner was checking in for the session in the next bay during the same time slot. Mating for them involves snuggling close and sharing body heat until their physiologies sync up enough to allow genetic material to simply seep through softened skin. What Lena thought was a rather plain leather riding jacket was, in fact, skin that just looked like supple black leather. Membranous flaps that adults use to seal each other's bodies in an airtight embrace during one of these sessions. A mutually embarrassing moment involving Lena stumbling and nearly wiping out with a tray of sharps and some accidentally-spit acid revealed the tight jeans were really fifteen feet of muscular tail as thick as Lena's waist trailing behind 73 in a holographic concealment field. Lena even weaseled her into letting her take 3D scans of all five sets of interlocking fangs and slicing teeth and a venom sample.

Late that night, Lena might have put a few minutes of Clash of the Titans on loop while she got herself off. Sue her. The idea of reproduction by snuggling is even gayer than a race of medusa-ish beings who come in three flavors of what could only really be called female in a human framework.

"Next subject?" Lena asks, looking up at Alana who is tapping some commands to the repurposed attack drone of Lex's they use to burn any biohazards off the equipment.

"iPad," Alana replies, her eyes sparkling a bit too much as she directs three streams of particle-dissolving energy. Lena sometimes gets a distinct whiff of Kate McKinnon's character in Ghostbusters, except that not only is Alana weird and unapologetic and intense, she's also a first-generation immigrant. She tears through American pop culture like Kara tears through potstickers, so Lena's never 100% sure if Alana's showing up in an outfit that looks like business-safe cosplay on purpose or not. Some city in Nigeria is missing their resident mad genius, to National City's benefit. ===== "Uh, hi."

Rude, is all Lena can think at first. She had heard through the 'DEO to Alex to Kelly to the group texts of doctors who deal with aliens' pipeline that Supergirl had gone from on-patrol to emergency use only around the time that blogs gushed about one of CatCo's human passing journalists coming out as alien and then leaving the company. She was trying very hard not to stalk Kara's Instagram at the time so she didn't follow up. Something something independent reporter in the field somewhere somewhere bringing attention to the plight of someone someone.

Lena only avoided full-on alcoholism over the last year by screening out all reminders of Kara's existence, which let her pretend. Which didn't make it hurt any less when Jess came into her office a few months ago and said that Kara Danvers had come by to ask if Lena had gotten a new cell phone. Kara's first thought wasn't Lena being a cruel, overdramatic mess of gay thirst and Luthor trauma. She trusted Lena's good nature, so her first thought was clerical error.

Kara seems to have taken being ghosted in stride because she spent the last six months getting somehow even hotter than she already was, which probably violates some United Nations Convention on placing dangerous pressure on the human body or something.

Her hair is the same length, but it's tied in a hasty ponytail that's tied off with a scrunchy made of honest-to-god paracord the same crimson as her cape. She's let the curl come back in--how did she straighten it, anyway?--so it doesn't look like Supergirl's sheets of gold more suited for a damsel in diaphanous silk than the halo of an avenging angel. What it evokes is a stallion's mane, glossy in the harsh light and waving as the beast moves.

The dresses that never suited her are gone, and the button ups are back but now they're a thick flannel or something worn half-unbuttoned over a burgundy tee shirt that clings tight and reveals the corners of the suit's breastplate underneath. She could trace the glyph through it, which means if Lena could only get her out of the damn suit, it would revea--FOCUS, she reminds herself--and rather than CatCo-required chinos Kara is in black denim that hangs loose at rest but molds to her muscles when she walks over to put her coat across the 'patient clothing' rack. Each flex and tense tells Lena way too much about how powerful her thighs are and also not nearly enough about what it would feel to have the--FOCUS, Lena--and Jesus take the wheel Kara's even wearing combat boots covered in a fresh coat of pale dust that could just as easily be from a hiking trail north of town or a warzone in Somalia.

"It's funny. On the plane, back from Kasnia? I almost told you."

When she couldn't stop fidgeting with her glasses. Her hair was a mess when she escaped from the Eve clones. She had her glasses off and her hair down and she was going to show me... Lena realizes.

She makes a sound she doesn't even recognize and suddenly she's in Kara's arms, her knees sting from hitting the floor before Kara knelt with her. She's slapping ineffectively against the protective firmness around her and watching her own tears fall like it's happening to someone else.

Kara shushes her and rocks her back and forth and doesn't ask before kissing her forehead. Lena doubts she thought about it consciously. Maybe when she is released, she can complain about lack of consent or maybe she'll demand another kiss to make it all better.

=====

"Lena, I really can't do this. Not like this, not with you."

Reality slams down around Lena like the doors in a haunted house closing.

"Of course. I can schedule you with Alana or per-"

Kara molds her hands to Lena's hipbones and pulls her into her arms. She takes her with force, cupping Lena's head and holding her fast. She nips at Lena's lip and uses the moan as a chance to lick into Lena's mouth. Hot and wet and impatient, her tongue seasoned with ginger and orange and grease, cut with the waiting room mints. She kisses like she eats, greedily and curiously and bottomless. Kara hums and holds and presses and licks and nips and sucks. She brings one hand up to Lena's neck and curls around her pulse, rubbing her thumb along Lena's windpipe. She doesn't seem to notice or care that Lena can't do this forever because Kara wants to do this forever and fuck human failings like a need for oxygen. Lena has to bite her tongue to get her to retreat. It would've drawn blood on a human but Kara just moans and pulls back.

"Christ, Kara."

Kara licks her lips lazily. The chilly blue that reminds Lena of ice caps and winter skies is darkened and her pupils are swollen and fucking hell Lena can even see little white crackles in the depths of them, rising towards the surface like caged lightning.

[toastedclownery]

Hey so uh, I finally finished the bit I wanted to write based on this scene by @mintyfrosty!! I changed some things according to my version of them but it’s basically the same Gonna put in under a Read More. TW for anxiety attack and passing out of exhaustion ovo”

He looked at the board in front of him. Hours of work put into it, papers full of notes and reminders, calculations, timetables and floor plans.  And yet, he couldn't remember one thing he had written on it. He couldn't read, couldn't think clearly.

He had to get this heist right. Had to plan out every single detail, every possibility. That's what he was for. Think ahead, be prepared for anything that could go wrong, and create a way to avoid it. He was particularly good at that, it was easy for him to consider different scenarios where things could meet with disaster. However, it came at a cost.

Still staring at the bunch of papers pinned on his wall, he blinked slowly, unable to focus on anything. His mind was tired, and so was body, even if he himself didn't feel it. He took another sip of the cup of coffee he was holding, deciding to push his sleepiness away for one more night.

This one has to be perfect, they couldn't have any more mishaps. Terrence' last raid was the last straw. They had lost too many people to it. There had to be a stop to that de iure leader's wreckless nature. Reg thought if he proposed a calculated enough and totally safe plan, maybe the elites would listen to him. Maybe he could get a seat at their table. Maybe…

His head almost drooped and he quickly had to readjust himself, his eyes now wide open, heavy bags under them. His body was fighting against him. Why? He didn't feel tired. In fact, he wasn't feeling anything at all. He felt fine.

Rising his hand in order to reach for the cup again, he noticed the trembling waves inside the container. His hand was shaking. He frowned, shut his eyes in frustration and downed all the remaining coffee in one go. Two or three seconds later, he realized that might not have been the best idea.

No, it was okay. He didn't need to worry, he was fine. He looked at different points of the board rapidly, trying to take anything in. Nothing went through. His breathing became unsteady, and the corners of his vision were beginning to become blurry and dotted. 

It has to be perfect, he thought.

Realizing he was getting dizzy, he had to remind himself to breathe. He felt like he was choking. Why wasn't he getting any air?

We've lost too many people already, were the repeating thoughts drumming in his mind.

He was too out of it to notice his hand had given out, dropping the ceramic cup and letting it shatter. Startled by the loud noise, he tried taking a step back, only to notice his legs had turned wobbly, barely keeping him on his feet.

With one last glance at the board, all the papers were now a mess of smears and black spots. The room started tilting… and tilting… He was out before he even hit the floor.

Night patrol. It had to be night patrol. He would have preferred to have some rest tonight, but he had to be chosen for taking a walk around the base at ungodly hours of the night. He would have complained, but knew he couldn't speak against the Chief. He went along with it, knowing nobody else would do it anyway. Right thought Terrence usually cut the other elites too short, himself included. He felt like he could do more than just night patrol, but on second thought, he was the one that fit best for the job.

He was passing through the corridors, reaching a series of doors that led to the Toppat members' rooms. Unlike his fellow elite's bedrooms, these were smaller and had thinner walls. He remembered the time he had to sleep in one of those rooms. It was nearly impossible, any noise was able to get through those walls made of cardboard.

Just thinking about it made him tired. He was about to let out a yawn, but was stopped by a loud noise coming from one of the dorms ahead. It sounded like a glass-shattering noise, followed by a light thud. 

He saw a stream of light under one of the doors. Who in their right mind was still awake at this late hour of the night? He looked at the name on the door. "R. Copperbottom" It read. That name was familiar. He gave the door a couple of knocks.

"Oi, is everything alright in there?"

He waited about ten seconds, no response.

"Can I get in?" 

Again, silence. 

Right opened the door and stepped into the room. He didn't know what he was expecting to see, but it definitely wasn't a collapsed man in the middle of the floor. He cursed under his breath and went to check if he was okay. 

He gently turned him to face upward. He drew a few hairs back and was able to see his face. And then he recognized him. The smooth mane of hair that was usually collected in a ponytail was now a frizzy mess of ties and knots. There was also his familiar curled mustache, which seemed to get the same treatment, and a pair of dark circles around his eyes. 

He knew this one. He hadn’t spent that much time in the Clan, yet he had jumped up the ranks in no time. He ascended to his current position much faster than he had seen anyone do it in his time as an elite. There was a reason for that. The guy was a working machine. 

Ever since the day he was recruited, he would show interest in what the Clan’s next big heist was going to be. Even if he wasn’t part of it. Right had started to see his face more often around the higher positions. He shone with curiosity and initiative when robbery plans were finally handed to him for the first time, adding thousands of tweaks and details that would stun the field operatives. He would go on his way to arrange every minute of a heist, and then proceed to explain each new bit to his superiors. 

Needless to say they were surprised with this new guy appearing out of nowhere and before they knew it he was suddenly giving them lectures like a teacher rants to a bunch of toddlers. If he was met with any kind of criticism, he would come back the very next day with a new refined version of the plan. The team of elites were intrigued, they shared their recognition of his potential, whereas the Chief… Would usually butt heads with him. 

"I think you worry too much, pipsqueak" 

Right hated to agree on that, currently looking at said pipsqueak laying on the floor, most likely passed out from exhaustion. He doubted he got enough sleep when making all those schemes, and the scene before him proved his theory to be correct. 

He examined the room. Next to the unconscious prodigy were broken pieces of a ceramic mug. He must have dropped it before falling along with it. His hat was still on his head but tipped to the side. In front of them was a wide corkboard, filled with papers and post-its hung on it left, right and center. Right blinked twice before regaining his focus on the other man. 

"Hey, Reginald? Can you hear me?"

He shook him by the shoulders a little bit. Maybe he would be able to wake up momentarily so he could go to bed on his own. Seeing how that wasn't the case, he sighed, and decided to do it himself. 

He drew the bed sheets back, scooped him up carefully and held him in some kind of bridal style, his head resting on his shoulder. He was light as a feather, so he was pretty easy to carry around. The smallest yelp came out of Reg’s mouth at the feeling of being picked up, but he relaxed again when leaning on Right's chest. Right slowly put him down on the bed and tucked him in. 

It was weird, seeing him like this. The only times he would see him were quickly running through the corridors or giving his presentations on schemes. Always full of energy and enthusiasm. Right noticed a certain spark in his eyes when he talked. He noticed the way he would smile while telling his favorite parts of a plan. How he would sometimes motion rapidly while nervously rambling things under his breath. Now, he was laying limp on the bed, looking a mess, a strong fatigue visible on his features. Right chuckled. He would not want to be seen like this. Suddenly, he blinked, and found himself sitting on the side of the bed, hypnotized by the rhythmic breath of his sleep longer than he would have liked to admit. 

He shook his head and got up. He had completely forgotten about the ceramic shards still on the floor. He picked the broken pieces one by one. Luckily, there didn’t seem to be a lot of small bits, just five big shapes that fit neatly like a puzzle. He chose not to throw them away, thinking of putting them back together if possible. He grabbed the dark gray fedora that had rolled off his head and left it on the bedside table. 

He saw an alarm clock, set to chime three hours from now. He turned it off. There was no way he was gonna let him sleep so little. He would let him sleep in, have the day off. He could make up something not to make the others suspicious. He’d ask him about that jungle of papers another time. He needed rest now. 

He turned off the lights and shut the door, the pieces of the coffee cup still in his right hand.

[cinnamonrusts]

heart’s true destiny -- 1

[axel x reader - orig. posted on my ao3]

✧.* ✧.* ✧.* ✧.* ✧.*

The night sky always was your favorite. You would sit on at your windowsill and watch as the smoke from the chimneys of homes around you wafted up to the stars.  Radiant Garden slept peacefully as you were kept awake by the sounds of yelling that screeched from below your floorboards. It was a nightly routine for your parents, they would bark at each other over something trivial before they would quiet down for the night. You tried your best to ignore it but it was getting harder and harder to, tonight was no exception. So, you decided you had enough, your chest huffed a sigh and you pushed the window upward with a single motion.

You sought solace in friends, but one friend brought you a sort of comfort that you couldn't exactly explain. It was a fellow schoolmate with red hair that matched his fiery personality. He was a tall and lanky boy, his raging locks stuck out in spikes from his head and his emerald like eyes shined from his light skin. This schoolmate turned friend was named Lea. You didn't know much about him at first, but he was universally liked by everyone on the school and was notorious for having quite the loud mouth. Attached to his hip was his indigo haired friend, Isa, who's personality could be comparable to your own. Soon, the two them would become your dearest pals.

 You met when Lea's frisbee collided with the back of your head.

Your legs dangled over the edge of the park table that you were sat on. The back of your shoes kicked the wooden bench and your attention was buried to the book that was in your lap. Suddenly, a hard item smacked you in the back of the head, the book tumbled from your lap as you stood up in frustration. At your feet was what looked like a frisbee decorated with a flame that had a menacing looking expression. "Who threw this?!" you yelled as you bent over to pick it up. "Oh, man!" you heard a voice and the shake of the chain-linked fence that was behind you. It was that red headed guy from school. He stuck a foot in a link and hoisted himself up and over it, then landed on his feet before he approached you. "I'm sorry!" he took the disk from your hand and smiled sheepishly with an awkward head rub.

"It's alright," you forgave him and your [e/c] orbs connected with his emerald ones. A silence hovered in the air above as the two of you searched for words to say but nothing seemed to come to light. "Hey, you're, [Y/N]." he finally spoke. "Yeah, and you're ---," you struggled to remember his name, "Lea! Got it memorized?" he finished. "Sure," you answered. "You okay, though?" he asked as he pushed himself onto his toes to try to see the back of your head. You rubbed the spot where it smacked you and nodded, "Yeah, you just got a heck of a throw." Lea felt awkward again and rubbed his head once more, "Sorry, again, heh." A quiet laugh giggled in your throat, "Well, when I'm finished studying. You'll have to let me beat you."

Lea grinned, "Who wants to study, when you could just be having fun!" The teen had seen his fair share of F's on his tests. You insisted that you needed to finish what you were doing to his disappointment. "Well, [Y/N]. I'll be waiting for you!" you nodded with a smile. He held his palm up in the air, "Friends?" you raised yours to meet his high-five, "Friends."

You leaped from your bedroom window and landed on the cobblestone street below. Your feet carried you to the same location that you went when you needed an escape from the "family" that you lived with. It wasn't far, just about a few streets away and up over a stone wall.

Once you reached the barrier, you pulled yourself up, sat on top, and peered down to the window of the home that was below. When you jumped down and approached the glass, you could see Lea inside who was fast asleep; his limbs were sprawled across his bed and his mouth was wide open as he snored. You knocked quietly on the glass to wake him up but his snoring was so loud that he couldn't hear it. So, you tried again but a little louder this time. The sound of glass rattled loudly through the empty alley behind you but if you did it any louder, it would most certainly wake his parents up. "Leaaaa..." you whispered with another knock but he simply rolled onto his side, still asleep. Your last option was to just open the window and slither inside. It was unlocked and you slowly pushed it up but when you tried to slip in - you tumbled down onto his carpeted floor.

Slowly you peeled the covers back and slid inside his bed beside him. Your hand rested on the back of his bicep which startled him awake, when he called out you hushed him quietly. "[Y/N]?!" he asked in a whisper. He had his back turned toward you and his feet kicked around until they met yours, "Hush, yes it's me." Once he heard your voice he calmed down, "What're you doing here?" his whisper was now lower than before and he flipped on his other side to face you. Your first response was a shrug but eventually you gave in, "I just needed some fresh air." you didn't need to go on anymore, Lea already knew about all your issues at home. He let you know that his home was also yours, and that he would always be there for his friends. Lea was silent for a moment as he studied your face in the dark, "I'm sorry." as he frowned, his hand took the blanket that was bundled at his waist and pulled it over the two of you. Your cheeks warmed at his tenderness and you hoped that the darkness would hide the pink in your cheeks -- you could only imagine what he would say if he could see it.

 Your heart beat quickened when you could feel Lea's heat on your skin but your a blooming warmth blossomed in the pit of your stomach. This sensation trickled upward to your increased beating heart. You liked him, you really, really did. It wasn't just a, "oh - he's my friend", no, it was more of a, "I think I love him".

Lea's foot tapped yours as your blossomed feelings made you grow quiet. "D-Do you want to get some sea salt ice cream tomorrow after school? Maybe go to the fountain park after?" you asked impulsively. The feeling of his skin on yours and your realization triggered you to ask him on a date. Sea Salt Ice Cream was a normal part of your diet but it was your trio that would indulge in the cold delicacy, but this time you wanted it to just but you and Lea. "I'll tell Is-," you cut him off with a finger to your lips, "Just me and you." your finger remained on your lips and you could feel your palms grow clammy. His expression was hard to read for a moment before he smiled, "It's a date." After an unknown amount of time, the two of you drifted off to sleep...

 "Lea! You're going to be late!" the sound of his mother's voice yelled from behind his bedroom door. The knocks woke you up with a jolt, you quickly shook him awake and he nearly flipped off the side of his bed. "Hang on, mom!" he yelled back which gave you time to scatter to the window. "I'll see you at school," you whispered before going out the window.

 Later on at school...

"Are you two finally going on a date?" a tall, slender brunette asked as she walked beside you in sync on the way to math class. "Do you really think it's considered a date, Aerith?" She nodded quickly, "Of course! It's just going to be the two of you, alone...tonight," she paused as the two of you reached the doorway into the classroom, "Speaking of which, look who's over there." she pointed toward Lea and Isa who were further down the hall, they were leaned on the wall and seemed to be invested in whatever they were talking about. A blush surfaced to your cheeks as you made eye contact with your date, he smiled and waved when he noticed you; Isa turned around and gave you a nod in acknowledgment.

Once you disappeared into the classroom, Isa turned his attention back to Lea. "So, are we finally going to break in tonight?" Lea grinned and hit his chest with the side of his fist, "For sure!" His attention drifted off as he imagined all the cool things that the mysterious castle just outside of the city held, but then he remembered your date. "Oh, man!" he ran his fingers through his hair, "I got a thing with [Y/N] tonight!" Isa scoffed as he folded his arms, "You two are dating?" Lea shook his head, "No! It's just -- going out for ice cream." he insisted with a shake in his voice. The indigo haired boy shook his head, "Date or not, we've been planning this for weeks, Lea. You can't dump me now."

Lea groaned and rolled his head around, "Fine!" he didn't want to pass up on this chance, "I will help you break in but only for 30 minutes and then I'm out!" he shoved his hands in his pockets and then took off toward his class, but before going to far, he turned around, "I have to meet [Y/N]."

Later on in the day the two boys met in the center of town to discuss their plans of breaking into the castle. They wouldn't let the black haired ponytail man get them again...

 But as the boys prepped, you got ready for your night with Lea. You brushed your hair in the mirror and happy thoughts danced through your mind as you imagined the events that would unfold. Would the two of you kiss? Would he maybe ask you to be his girlfriend? All the possibilities! Once you finished your hair, you pulled a sundress over your body and slipped on a pair of shoes. You gave yourself a once over in the mirror and practiced kissing faces to make sure you were prepared for anything. Anything!

Your feet carried you toward your destination, you nearly skipped to Scrooge McDuck's shop where he sold the sweet treat. A white duckling greeted you when you arrived, "Two, please!" When he handed you the blue treats, he asked, "No Lea and Isa?" Your head shook as you batted your lashes, "I'll be meeting Lea over by the fountains in a bit!" a smile spread as you grew more and more excited. You took a seat at a fountain when you arrived, your feet kicked in the air as you looked around to try and spot a mane of red hair. Time began to pass --- and the 30 minutes that Lea insisted he would be inside the castle for had gone and passed.

The once frozen treat turned into a sticky puddle beneath your shoes and traces of the blue coloring stained the skin on your right hand. Your ice cream was eaten about 15 minutes into your waiting and you tried to save Lea's but when too much time went by, you tossed it onto the ground. The sun was now just barely over the horizon and the town clocks chimed their nightly tunes, it was too late to stay out now. You started to walk home and your head hung in sadness as you felt betrayed. Lea ditched you. Maybe he really didn't like you or was off with Isa in that stupid castle instead... Your heart hurt and you were confused.

  Days turned into weeks and no one in Radiant Garden had heard nor seen the two teenage boys. You asked their families if they had gone off somewhere but they had no answers because they themselves were unsure. The two closest people in your life literally disappeared into thin air without a sign -- what happened to them?

During this time, a depression shrouded over you -- your body felt like a vessel for a weak soul. Your heart hurt and felt smaller as each day passed without Lea and Isa. "Are you okay?" Aerith's voice called out over the rush of the many fountains. "Hmm?" you turned your head to her, "Yeah, yeah, I'm fine." your response was not reassuring and your slight shoulder shrug was not either. You knew that Aerith would go through her list of questions that she seemed to have drafted since the two teens disappeared, she asked because she cared but you weren't in the mood to give your recycled answers. "I'm going to go home," you said as you bent over to pick up your bookbag. "Be careful, [Y/N]! I'll see you tomorrow!" she waved goodbye and you assured her that you would see her then. Aerith's kindness made you feel better for the time being and that warm feeling carried with you until an overwhelming sensation of being watched overshadowed it.

You stopped walking and raised your line of sight to meet the top of the roof of a home in front of you. Your eyes squinted as you made out what looked like a cloaked person standing next to the large chimney; their hood was pulled up to disguise their face and they were draped in completely in black. They must had noticed you saw them because not long after you stopped walking, they turned around and jumped off the opposite side. "A -- person?" you asked, confused.

 "How long are you going to keep watching her like a creep?" an identically dressed person asked the one who had been watching you from the roof. "I'm not a creep! And anyway, what does it matter to you?" your stalker snapped. The other cloaked person shook their head and placed a hand on their hip, "Well, the boss isn't going to be happy to hear that you're spending time stalking and not working."

Your stalker snapped again, "We're off the clock, idiot." they rounded the wall of the building they previously were standing on. With their back pressed against the stone, they peeked around the corner to see if you were still looking for them. A sigh of relief blew from between their lips when they saw you were now gone. "Just hurry up and get it over with, I wanna go home." the other cloaked person groaned before walking away through a dark portal they summoned with a swipe of a hand. "I'm just not ready yet..." your stalker whispered as they stared at where you not long before.

 The thought of someone watching you was on your mind the rest of the way home. Who was it? Why were they watching you? How long were they watching you? It made you feel uneasy and once you got to your room, you went to the window and looked outside - hoping to maybe catch another glimpse of them. This fear of a stalker added to your troublesome list of anxieties. You were sad and angry that Lea left, but now you were scared about whoever it was that was watching you.

So many unanswered questions. With little hope of any solutions.

[beelsnack]

Hello! Since requests are open, can I please see the brother’s reactions to an MC getting their really long curly hair cut short? Not for any bad, reason, just because MC wanted to do it. Also if it’s possible can you use gn pronouns (they/them) for this? Thank you so much! Your headcanons are the best!

Aw, you’re so welcome! I’m always down for a hair-canon, lol.

Lucifer: It was quite an accomplishment to make Lucifer do a double take.

When they had left for classes that morning, they appeared as they always did - uniform slightly askew but otherwise fairly in order, school bag bulging with all of the books they took out from the library, and, of course, their wild tangle of curls wrestled back into a very precarious ponytail.

When they returned, however, their waist length hair now settled against their jaw, styled in a carefully messy bob.

“So that’s why you’re late.” he remarked in lieu of a greeting, rising from his seat in the living room.

“Yeah, it was time for a haircut, haha,” they reached up to rub at the back of their neck, unused to the cool air against the skin there. “It was starting to get kind of ridiculous.”

Lucifer reached out, wrapping a strand around his finger thoughtfully. “You look quite satisfied with it.”

“I feel like I’ve gotten rid of five pounds worth of hair.” they grinned. “Now maybe I won’t have to buy hair ties every week.”

“How frugal,” Lucifer laughed as he let the curl bounce back into place. “It suits you.”

Mammon: “Uh, human? Where did the rest of your hair go?”

The brothers’ barging into their room unannounced was such a common occurrence that they didn’t even look up from their homework when Mammon practically kicked the door in.

“A witch stole it so she could use it in some mystical voodoo bullshit.”

“Huh?!”

They turned their head towards the doorway, rolling their eyes fondly. “I got a haircut, dummy.”

Mammon looked like his heart was about cartwheel out of his chest. “You can’t joke about that kind of stuff!”

“Sorry, sorry,” they tried to smother their giggles as Mammon pouted, stomping across the room to plant himself on the corner of the human’s desk. 

“Why d’ya cut it, anyway?”

“Taking care of it was a pain in the neck. Sometimes literally.” they shook their head, letting the short curls slap lightly against their face. “Cutting it short makes it easier to deal with, y’know?”

“I guess...” Mammon subconsciously reached out to pet their head before he realized what he was doing and backpedaled. “U-Um, I, I don’t - “

“You can touch it, I don’t mind.” they laughed, reaching out and taking a hold of his wrist. “With all the times you let me play with your hair, it’s only fair.”

Mammon would be surprised if they couldn’t feel the heat radiating from his face as they tugged his hand towards their head. Their hair was naturally a bit coarse, and it was obvious there was still some product in it from the salon, but it wasn’t unpleasant to touch. And they seemed to be enjoying themself just as much as he was.

“...You wouldn’t actually let a witch take your hair, would you?”

“Not for free.”

“That’s my human.”

Levi: Of course the group chat was blowing up when he was in the middle of a cutscene.

He considered turning on Do Not Disturb, but that would involve looking away from the screen. Knowing these particularly devs, they probably hid some of the most crucial lore bits in the background of the cutscene, and with his luck, it would be the exact second he took his eyes off of the monitor.

When he finally regained control over the character, he hit pause and picked up his D.D.D. His intention was to skim over the chat to make sure it wasn’t anything super important and then silence it, but when he saw the message log, he found himself frozen.

Human: [image]

Human: What do you guys think?

They were sitting in a salon chair, sticking their tongue out as they took the selfie. Instead of their long, wildly curling mane, their hair had been skillfully cut and styled into a bob.

Asmodeus: Ooh, that style is perfect for you!

Asmodeus: Ever since Crystal from Sucre Frenzy cut her hair, everyone’s been copying her style, but it’s such a you look!

Levi stared at the picture, not even bothering to look at the comments from his brothers. It wasn’t fair, they were too cute! Not that they weren’t cute before, but now they were super cute and - 

His D.D.D pinged, this time as a text message.

What do you think, Levi? Am I as cute as Crystal?

It took him five attempts to actually get his hands to stop shaking enough to type a coherent response.

No way.

You’re cuter.

Satan: “Is there a particular reason why you’re staring at me?”

Satan leaned forward, resting his chin on the back of his hand as he took a drink from his coffee. “You cut your hair.”

“You’re just now noticing this?” they shot back, raising an eyebrow. “I hacked off nearly a foot of hair, Satan, you’re usually more astute than this.”

“In most human literature I’ve read,” he continued. “When someone makes a dramatic change to their appearance, specifically hair, there’s a significant reason behind it.”

“The significant reason is that I’m in literal Hell, my hair retains heat, and if I die down here it isn’t going to be because of my own fucking hair.” 

Satan paused, looking a bit startled before he snorted. “Fair enough. It looks good on you.”

Asmodeus: “You’re sure about this, love?”

They were settled down in front of Asmo’s vanity, staring into the mirror. “Positive. I’ve wanted to switch up styles forever!” they played idly with the end of a curl. “Besides, if nothing else, these split ends have got to go.”

“Oh, hush,” Asmo chided as he leaned over them to grab the scissors from the vanity. “You have, like, a split end.”

“You’re only saying that because you can’t see the actual ends of my hair.”

“Be that as it may,” he laughed when they wrinkled their nose at him in the mirror. “Now, you just sit back and relax, darling. Asmo will take good care of you.”

Beelzebub: “When did you cut your hair?”

They were so used to Beel wandering into the kitchen while they were on cooking duty that they didn’t even jump when he suddenly appeared in the doorway. “Literally like an hour ago. I was almost late to start dinner because the demon in front of me would not stop trying to chat up the hairdresser.”

They grinned at him, twirling around to show off the full effect. “What do you think?”

Beel hummed. “It’s your hair.”

They tilted their head, looking slightly confused. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He shrugged. “It means that if you like it, then I like it. I like it when you’re happy.”

Although it hadn’t been his intention, the blush that appeared on their face made him feel like he had just won an award.

Belphegor: “What’s the point of you having your own bed if you’re just going to steal mine?”

Belphie cracked open one eye as the human shut the door behind them. “I miss you when you’re gone.”

The human stared back at him, unimpressed.

“Beel got crumbs in my bed and I didn’t feel like cleaning it.”

“There it is.” the human sighed, flopping down on the bed next to him. When Belphegor opened his other eye, he immediately noticed something different.

“You got a haircut.”

“Figure that out on your own?” they blew him a raspberry as they took their shoes off and settled down next to him. As was routine, he rolled over onto his back and let them lay their head on his chest. 

“Any particular reason why?” he asked, stifling a yawn. 

“I wanted to see how it would feel to go one night without being suffocated by my own hair.”

“I thought you liked being choked.”

They punched him lightly in the stomach. “Shut up.”

He hummed, bringing his hand up to card it through their hair. “I like it. It’s more fun to play with like this.”

They sighed contentedly, relaxing fully against him. “You know that’s going to put me to sleep.”

“That’s the point.”

[ohayohimawari]

30 Minutes to gift!! KAGUMO EDITION

I had too much fun creating a 30-minute-gift for an exchange in @sloaners server! Here is my giftee’s prompt list:

List three colors: purple, blue, pink List two household or outer space items: desk, mug List/Link one favorite mood song: Rocket Man (cover) by Ninja Sex Party  How about a favorite AU??? (‘Canon’ is also acceptable): im a normie,i genuinely love the coffee shop AU or anything wholesome Why you love/hate Zetsu in 5 words or less: how people see weed dealers A favorite character or two outside of KAGUMO: obito

The overall theme is: KAGUMO! The Moon Mom content we all adore

I hope you enjoy!

Obito set his messenger bag down on his desk and double-checked the contents to confirm that he had everything he needed. His passion for political science led him to volunteer to be a pollster, and today was the first day of his new extracurricular gig. He noticed a mug that he’d left there the night before and carried it to his kitchen sink with the intention of washing it, when he checked the clock and realized he had enough time to treat himself to coffee from a shop rather than brew it.

He stepped out into the first autumn chill and decided that he’d indulge in a hot white mocha pumpkin spice latte-his favorite fall drink, even if most didn’t understand why.

He breezed past the resident oddball that lurked around the corner from his neighborhood. Whether it was the shock of green hair on his head or the fact that half of his face was darkened by the shadows he kept to, he’d earned a reputation for being any number of unfortunate things, the best of which being a dealer. “Hey kid,” he rasped out, but Obito ignored him and quickened his pace.

Pumpkin spice madness had taken hold of more than himself that morning, and the crowded coffee shop proved it. Obito studied the people around him as he waited for his turn to order, and his gaze was drawn to a man that would stand out in any crowd, anywhere.

The man’s most prominent feature was his wild mane of silver hair, which was barely contained in a ponytail. Obito studied his face and thought the man appeared younger than his hair would lead one to believe, though he did notice lines around the man’s eyes that seemed to be caused by decades of laughter. Even now, amusement was plain on the man’s face, almost as if it was permanently fixed upon it.

However, that wasn’t what drew Obito’s attention to him.

The man wore an impossible combination of blue, purple, and pink shimmering attire. He wondered if the man couldn’t wait for Halloween, or if he was on his way to a very early costume party. Either way, Obito had never seen that many sequins all at once in his life.

Obito couldn’t tear his eyes from the man, not even after he was caught staring at him. He had to know what made this man tick and decided that he’d found his first subject for his political survey.

The sparkling man eagerly agreed to participate, and once Obito heard his name mispronounced loudly as the signal that his coffee was ready, they sat together at a table.

“Okay,” Obito began as he turned on his tablet, “these questions pertain to the upcoming primary election, and I thank you for your participation, Sir.”

“Call me Sakumo.”

“Uh, well, the survey is supposed to be anonymous.”

“Okay, then don’t,” Sakumo smiled.

Obito swallowed a snicker and asked the first question. “Are you registered to vote at the current address you reside at?”

“You betcha, that was one of the first things I did when I returned.”

Obito checked off the box that fit Sakumo’s answer and moved on to the next question. “How likely are you to vote in the upcoming elections?”

“Nothing will keep me from the polls,” Sakumo winked.

“Who did you vote for in the last election?” Obito continued, gaining confidence that he presented himself as an experienced pollster.

“Mondale.”

“M-Mondale? Walter Mondale, from the 1984 election?” Obito stuttered his surprise.

“I’ve been away for a while.”

“I see, well, welcome back,” Obito tried to pick up his jaw and his professionalism at the same time and carried on to the next question. “What do you look for in a candidate?”

“Their dedication to the space program,” was Sakumo’s prompt reply.

“Oh, you have a particular fascination with the universe?” Obito strayed from his script out of curiosity before he could stop himself.

“I miss my wife.”

Obito blinked while he processed Sakumo’s answer. “Okay, well, um, moving on,” he checked off ‘other’ as the answer that best fit on his survey. “How important is the issue of school funding to you?”

“Very important,” Sakumo nodded his earnestness, “I’m relying on the fact that schools here will help me to convince Kagu—oh, right, anonymous, I mean, my wife to bring our son here.”

“That’s an understandable reason,” Obito selected the appropriate answer from the list.

“I mean, Mars ain’t the kind of place to raise your kids,” Sakumo elaborated.

Obito’s gaze shot up from his tablet and focused on Sakumo. “Mars,” he repeated, incredulous.

“It’s cold as hell.”

“I-I can imagine it would be.” Obito scanned the list of questions for the most harmless that remained so he could end their interview quickly, but politely. When his screen only offered options on sensitive subjects like national security, he decided to make one up. “I just have one final question, Sir,” he said as his mind raced through mundane topics that he considered safe, “what is your…occupation?”

Sakumo eyed him, and his smile suddenly turned serious. He assessed Obito a moment before asking, “This is anonymous?”

Obito nodded, already regretting his question.

Sakumo leaned across the table to answer in a hushed voice. “Ninja.”

Obito couldn’t hide his surprise if he tried and so he didn’t. He gaped at Sakumo as the other man stood up from the table and laughed at him. “What did you think I was, an accountant?”

“I admit, that wasn’t an answer I expected,” Obito tried to recover his composure and reached for his latte with one hand while he discreetly deleted the survey with the other. He silently wondered if the suspicious man with green hair was still lurking nearby, and if that survey would be any easier.

Sakumo laughed again and threw his empty coffee cup in the recycling bin. “I’m not the man they think I am at home,” he said as he gestured finger guns at Obito and exited the coffee shop.

[the-messedup-priorities-so-far]

sticker fic:

brought to you by the sticker ficcers, @xojo​ and @misha-moose-dean-burger-lover​.

the narrated version:

"Morning, Sunshine." Says Dean. "Some coffee?"

"SCREW YOU." Says Sam. His glorious hair is wet.

"How dare you!" Says Dean. His mouth's the O-shape of offense. He's also putting on the dead guy robe for some reason.

"BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH!" Sam bitchfaces. In his eyes, is a glint which says, as he does - blah, blah, blah, blah. Then, he casts down his gaze. "Well, you are kinda butch."

Dean's eyes widen. His eyebrows don't rise. Instead of surprised, he looks shocked. Then he smirks, and quickly grows a stubble. With completely black eyes, he says. "I'm a demon."

Crowley appears, smirking. "Hello, boys."

"ASSBUTT." Castiel bellows. 

No one had known he was there.

"What's wrong with you?" Says Crowley, after quickly growing a stubble as well.

Castiel folds his arms. It makes the trenchcoat look fitted. You know, like a liar.

"Are you okay?" Sam asks, tucking his hair behind his ear at supersonic speed. No one knows when it happened. But he's Sam Fucking Winchester, so they know it did.

"I don't know!" Dean scratches his ear. He does not know the question was for Castiel. He makes his eyes as sad as they can be - and they can be impressively sad. One eyebrow strays up, floating on a cloud of misery. "I never was."

Sam looks alarmed in a V-neck. 

This is important information. Absolutely integral.

"Cat's out." Says Cas. He's rude, because his lips do a rude thing. And because of what he said. His eyes mock tragedy.

"Shut your face." Dean points. Pointing is rude. He does it anyway. While he does it, Sam grows bangs. "Oh god."

He lies down on the floor.

"Don't say that to me." Says Sam, with dimples of depression. He buries his face in his hands. Must feel pretty, the author conjectures.

"Come on." Dean says. He's frowning, and on a park bench. He looks closer with concentration and develops a double chin. Then he gels his hair really quickly and adds. "You look like a baby."

"SCREW YOU." Says Sam. His hair is wetter. His head is wet as well. Then he dries it with a whoosh no one notices, and looks away in disdain. He is in an open collared shirt. The author hopes you take note of these plot points carefully.

Dean shrieks.

Dean cries at a mirror.

Dean scowls, unimpressed. Ironically, his scowl is impressive. Moreover, it deages him.

Cas shrieks too. His eyes scream horrifiedness. His nostrils flare. You could see his molars, if you tried. The author tries.

Dean looks at a corner. "I don't even care anymore."

Charlie pokes her head out of a yellow car. Not enough is visible to be ugly, but readers are advised to assume it's ugly. "What's up bitches?" She's wearing a seatbelt. Gays are awesome.

"Kind of in the middle of something." Says Dean. His forehead has creases which have no right being pretty. They're pretty.

"I know. I was surprised too." Says Cas.

No one knows what he means.

Sam, suddenly lit in a green light, shows that he doesn't know what he means. He doesn't wait for an explanation, and raises his hand. "That's enough, uh yeah, thanks."

Sam is rude, beautifully.

The author is very helpful with pointing out plot points, as ever.

"You done?" Says Claire and her french braid.

Chuck is there now. He has an extremely white mug. It could have coffee inside. It could also have poison. The author does not identify as a journalist, and is not required to be unbiased.

"Do you have any bacon?" Says Chuck. He has curls. They hide the evil under.

"No." Jack says, blank faced for some reason. "You back off. Old man."

"Back off." Says Sam, in a slightly greater font size. One (1) lock of hair strays from his perfect mane, and falls on his face. It's still perfect, the author assures. Then Sam quickly gets shot, and his forehead pierced with metal rods. It's clearly for the vibe. Because Sam says, "I will destroy you." He does not say it periodlessly.

"Yeah. That's right." Says Jack. He pouts, because he's right. He can, because he's Jack.

Sam looks proud of him with a spotted blue tie and shiny, conditioned hair.

The author loves him very much.

part two, if you're the kind of person who wants it:

Rowena purses her lips, ending up with dimples of discontent.

"Balls!" Bobby cries out. Then he takes off his cap for some reason before adding, "Were you ever nice?"

"Shut up!" Dean yells over his shoulder. He fixes her with an offended stare - as if not shutting up would be offensive on her part.

"I hate to interrupt." Says Rowena, interrupting. "What the hell is this?" She looks appalled. Perhaps she's realized she just interrupted.

He's excellent at delivering backhanded insults like that. The author is proud of his newfound subtlety.

"Gun. Mouth. Now." Dean simply reaffirms Bobby's accusation - because he's awesome like that. "Shut your face." He also says, pointing at them all, to further illustrate his paternal figure's point.

Crowley plants his chin in his palm, and looks at the floor with an unreadable (the author swears she tried) glint in his eyes. "Kill me." Perhaps they're tears.

"Oh, they don't miss me." Cas lets out, matter-of-factly, as he sips from his teacup of coffee.

"I think this was just a minor misunderstanding." Sam steps in, and brings puppy bangs with him to solidify his statement.

The author tries and fails to survive staring at them.

Dean clicks his tongue, and manages to resemble a squirrel to a T. Or an S. Everyone's entitled to spell words differently, English is a weird language.

Sam looks at Dean, irritated. "Make it stop." He grits out, clenching his jaw. He's replaced the bangs with sideburns. They have more potential to seem irritated.

"Maybe." Cas pouts, inexplicably.

"What?" Dean sounds positively aghast - but it's toned down from the years of practise from being in the poetic kind of love with the only angel in the world for him - and thus, only shows up in his eyes.

"You don't understand." Cas picks up a salesboy by his collar. He's so whimsical, the author completely gets why Dean's head over heels for him. Cas keeps everyone - especially salesboys who don't get him pie - on their toes.

"You look like a baby." Dean informs him, all laugh-lines and dimples. "Okay, all right." He says next, gruff, trying to smoothen out the curve of seeming like a goner for Cas.

Cas shoots him a discouraging look. "Ouch." He bites his bottom lip, and closes his eyes - and everyone in a seven mile radius ends up pregnant.

True story.

Also, Narendra Modi shows up, namaste-ing the phenomena that is Cas.

"Shhhhit!" Cas squints. He knows a thing or two about horrible, prejudiced political leaders, from an alternate universe Cas's experiences.

"Oh god." Sam adds, regrowing bangs really quickly.

Modi whispers into his phone, eyes trepidly on everyone in the room, and a hand covering his mouth.

Dean stares, unimpressed. Or so it seems until he says, "You gotta teach me how to do that."

Modi shoots the universal gesture for OK at him.

"I will stab you in your face." Dean declares, with parted hair and an office tie. "I'm gonna get my gun." Now he's got sleep-floofed hair and the dead guy robe. Threatening Dean Winchester sure is impressive like that.

(Maybe he'd wanted to learn right away, and took Modi's OK as dismissal.)

(Meh.)

"Maybe you could be a little less... Lord-ly?" Sam cuts in, with his best lawyer impression. Nobody's sure who it's directed to - Dean, the Indian PM, Cas even? - but it doesn't matter because his eyebrows curve like parentheses of reasonability, hair tucked completely behind his ears - and everyone listens to this Sam.

"OKAY." Dean mumbles, sticking a needle in a doll. Or so, the author assumes he's doing.

Sam stares at him blankly for a beat, and then sighs into a smile. His hair's now long enough to curl magnificently at his neck. "You're too precious for the world." He strangles out, basically choking on the sentiment as he grabs Dean, and smushes him into a hug.

Cas smirks, smug.

"Oh, you." Sam pulls back enough to suddenly be in a maroon cardigan as he gazes at his brother through spectacled eyes of adoration.

Dean pulls him in then, bringing Sam down to his height - and Sam's hair escapes the ponytail grandly enough to fall over his face in perfect, messy locks.

The author's already weak heart stutters in her chest, and proceeds to give up entirely.

"Oh. No." Cas exclaims. Probably not for the author, but it's a sweet, borderline necromance-y coincidence. And then, unexplanably, he tilts his head and furrows his brow. "The whore."

Dean sighs, and facepalms. Sam changes into a grey button-up, and looks away into the distance.

The author daydreams too hard about being looked at like that, and loses it entirely.

Fin.

[feverinfeveroutfic]

chapter sixteen: fluffy tufts

Much like Testament themselves, Anthrax played two nights in Long Beach, at a place not too far from the Queen Mary as it had stayed lit up with the Christmas season. Small clusters of bright red and white poinsettias dotted the edge of the makeshift stage and little twinkling lights adorned the rails of the stands all around them. No fake snow fell over their heads given it was a large arena that held a little over fourteen thousand people, but a rather large spotlight shone down upon the crown of Joey's head so he resembled to a choir boy. The same light shone down on the crown of Dan's head for the same effect.

It was Zelda's twenty first birthday and thus everyone got drinks for half price. But Chuck advised Sam and Alex to stay up in the handicap balcony on the other side of the room lest they both fall into that trap. Eric offered to sit with them both there in the small balcony overhead.

“Alex, do you remember that club we played at when we were first starting out?” he started out over the roar of the crowd down below. “The one that's like three blocks down the street from you and your parents' place?”

Alex hesitated for a second; Sam glanced over at him as his eyes wandered about whilst deep in thought.

“Vaguely,” he finally replied, “I think it burned down.”

“Yeah, we burned it down,” Eric joked, and Sam chuckled at that and he smiled at her. Alex sipped on his club soda and he shuddered a bit at the taste.

“Jeez, dude, put some lemon in that why don't ya?” Eric offered him.

“I don't really wanna go down there just to get a lemon, though,” Alex said with a shrug of his shoulders.

“It's—fizzy water,” Sam stated before she took a sip of her mug of Irish coffee. She almost gagged on the sharpness of the coffee paired with the whiskey inside.

“How's that Irish coffee?” Eric asked her.

“Strong,” she declared, and that time she coughed. “Woof—”

“Want a sip?” Alex offered her his club soda.

“Nah—it could genuinely worse, Alex,” she assured him as she stirred the coffee with her straw.

“I think it really could be, too,” Eric added as he sipped on his frosty glass of beer.

The crowd down below cheered for Anthrax, the four of whom stood there up on that stage and gave them what for in the last ten minutes alone.

“This next song is from a record called State of Euphoria,” Joey announced and the crowd cheered out loud at that, “and if I'm bein' perfectly honest with ya, Long Beach—Long Beach, California—seeing as it's New Years, I feel like we could use a li'l bitta help on this one.” Sam and Alex peered over the ornate black wooden railing: he stood there in the middle of the stage with that white flying V guitar slung down below his waist, way out of line for which Alex had suggested before, but he tied up his jet black curls into a snug thick ponytail at the back of his head. A few stray ringlets dangled over his shoulder and onto his chest.

“What do you think, Frankie?” Joey asked into the microphone; he turned his head for a better look at Frank on the left side of the stage.

“I think we do a bitta help on this one, Joey,” he proclaimed into his own microphone.

“C'mon out here, Scott!” Joey declared.

“What!” Alex yelped and he gaped back over the railing.

“Holy shit!” Eric sputtered out and he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Everyone in the crowd went wild at the sound of his name. Sam clasped her hands to her mouth as she and Alex watched Scott take to the stage: the spotlight followed him and his head of thinning black hair. He waved at everyone in the crowd down on the floor as Frank and Dan clapped for him; Joey slung his guitar behind his back and extended his arms for him. Sam and Alex flashed smiles at each other at the sight of the two of them embracing one another. Eric meanwhile loomed right next to her and the three of them watched Scott sling another flying V over his shoulder, one that was a creamy shade of white.

Sam remembered that from when they first performed “Madhouse” to her. He plugged it in and strummed it a bit to ensure it was turned on.

He gave his thinned black hair a little toss once he straightened himself out, and everyone down below the balcony roared at the sight of him.

Sam and Alex gaped at one another, and then she gaped over at Eric.

“Interesting to be back up on stage after a bit,” Scott remarked into Joey's microphone: that big Queens accent filled the room. “I feel like these four guys here could use a little help regardless of anything. You know, Charlie can see everything from the drum kit here. And I can see everything from the side of the stage. This crowd could use a little help, too.”

Several people cheered at that.

“Bullshit, Long Beach!” he spat and Joey laughed at that. “You guys here in California are tough especially after the Gipper's terror in the past eight years.”

“Yeah, but we got another Rep in the White House now,” Alex muttered into Sam's ear; she turned to see him shaking his head at that.

“Lemme hear you, Long Beach,” Scott continued. “I'm back for you guys—and I wanna see what a California crowd has for a welcome back to the fold and a birthday present, too. I want all of youses to kill two birds with one stone for me. I wanna feel this fuckin' floor tremble and shake under my feet. I want Charlie to feel it—I want Joey to feel it—I want Frankie and Danny to feel it—and I sure as holy fuck wanna feel it. I want our pals up there in the balcony to feel it, too!”

Eric snickered at that.

“This song should be our new national anthem—it's called 'Now It's Dark'!”

“Ooh, I like this song!” Eric declared. Scott got it started with a little strum of his guitar as if he was genuinely rusty, but then once Charlie picked up the groove with the bass drum and those blast beats, he picked it up again as if he never missed a beat. Joey and Dan both followed suit.

Three guitars all at once for that upwards sawblade sounding riff. Frank joined in with a bit of overdrive on his bass.

“Holy hell, there's enough metal down there to salvage the Titanic,” Eric said, and Alex laughed at that.

But he had a point however: the second Joey opened his mouth and let out that first note, it felt as though several strong men were about to save something hard and heavy, as hard as metal itself, from the depths of something far too incredible to fathom right there. Joey's vocals were strong and lush, and to the point it almost tickled her in between the legs.

That big voice from that little body, from that flat little belly.

How was it even possible as she asked herself right at that moment.

There was also the way in which he blurted out the word “Mommy!” during the chorus. She thought about the way he knelt down before her with such ease and with such readiness as well, as if he was willing to give himself up to her.

He was in fact willing to give himself to her. He wouldn't have done that there in the hallway, out in public, if he wasn't willing.

But then there was Krista.

It made no sense, or maybe she overthought it again.

Dan launched into his solo right at that moment and down on the floor, people started moving about in a little circle. Sam swore that a few of them were skipping. From high up above the floor, she watched the entire floor coalesce into one big mosh pit. She had never seen a pit that big, not even during Testament or the Cherry Suicides' shows, or during any of the stops on the Stormtroopers of Death tour. But then again, she watched a few people closer to the stage and the poinsettias closest to Dan's feet: they pushed each other a little too hard.

Eric pointed at them and Sam nodded at it: the brunette punched the redhead, who then returned the favor by tackling her and then she smacked her head on the floor. More people saw this: one guy hit the redhead on the back but she turned and punched the guy right in the face. Another guy came behind her with his fists ready but then the redhead fell face first and right into the side of the stage, which made Joey and Scott both lunge back from the edge. One of the pots with the red poinsettias fell right onto her head and then a brawl broke out.

“I think we should go,” Chuck said from right behind them.

“Yeah, there's a fight down there,” Alex declared, “—between two women! Holy shit!”

The three of them ran after him and into the hallway: he led them down the stairs and into the front lobby of the Long Beach Arena. Sam paid more attention to the glass of Irish coffee in hand such that when Chuck led them back outside to the dark drenched street she swore that she was missing something.

“What's the matter?” Chuck asked her.

“I got it!” Eric proclaimed from right behind her, and he showed her her purse.

“Oh, thank you,” Sam breathed a sigh of relief.

“Yeah, I was finishing my beer and I noticed that you left your purse behind—so I got it for you.”

“God—thank you, Eric,” she repeated as she slung it over her shoulder. She fetched up a sigh as Chuck and Alex closer to her.

“Dunno if the girls are even going to play now,” Chuck confessed, “you guys remember that big ass brawl in Boston.”

“How could we forget?” Sam said aloud as she took another sip of her Irish coffee.

“And how could Eric forget?” Alex added.

“Damn panic attack,” Eric noted with a shake of his head and his inky black hair shimmered under the soft twilight and the streetlights which began to show themselves for the incoming nightfall.

“Did Greg and Louie go home?” Sam asked Chuck.

“I think they did?” He paused for a second. “Yeah, I just realized I haven't seen either of those two guys anywhere for like the past—couple of hours.” He craned his neck and Sam turned for a look herself. No one behind them, but a small line of people stood before one side of the convention center.

“No, wait, there they are,” Chuck pointed out, “and they're with Zelda.”

Greg's long dark hair streamed behind his head like a thick lush mane while Louie looked as though he had just seen a ghost. Zelda let out a low whistle and she ran her fingers through her short bob of dark hair.

“Well, so much for that,” Zelda proclaimed once they came within earshot; she fixed her the lapels of her button up shirt but she left it open so the cool ocean air caressed over her toned bare stomach and her black sports bra.

“Seriously?” Eric asked her, stunned.

“Yeah—the guys were like 'get out of here, it's gonna be bad'. Rose and Min are both loading up the van so I can't stick around. That pot of poinsettias literally fell on that chick's head!” She pressed her hands to her hips and she showed Sam a smirk.

“Look at you drinkin' Irish coffee,” she joked.

“It's real strong, though,” Sam told her, to which she frowned and grimaced. “The bartender gave me a little too much whiskey.”

“Fewer things in life are as hard as an Irish coffee with too much whiskey,” Louie remarked, and Zelda laughed at that.

“Well, today's your birthday, though, Zelda,” Chuck pointed out, “I kind of wanna do something for ya.”

“Yeah, I do, too,” Sam added.

“Well, Rose made me a cake,” Zelda explained.

“Rosita made you a cake, really?” Greg asked her.

“Yeah, this little cupcake about the size of my hand. She told me it's got a little bit of booze in it, but—it's a surprise, though.”

Sirens wailed off in the distance and Sam wondered if they were headed their way there in the parking lot of the arena.

“There is a bar across the street, though,” Eric pointed out, “I mean, you only turn twenty one once in your life.”

“True.” Zelda had a little twinkle in her eye. “If we go over there, maybe we can give Sam something a little better than a glass of strong Irish coffee.”

Before Sam could say anything to her, she then turned her head back in the direction of Rosita and Minerva.

“Ask the girls first,” Greg advised her, to which she doubled back to them. Sam swirled the glass of Irish coffee but she knew that wouldn't do any justice of sorts.

“Not gonna lie—I kinda miss you,” she overheard Louie tell Zelda; she raised her eyebrows at him but she never said anything in response. Instead, she ran back towards her band mates.

“Sam!”

Sam herself peered past Eric, and Joey hurried towards them with a flat white box tucked underneath his arm. Eric stepped back a bit so he could stand right in front of her.

“Hi,” she greeted him in a soft voice. He handed her the box.

“I was gonna give this to you sooner as like an apology for—being such a prick and a half but—you know. It's Christmas and it's almost your birthday, too.”

“What is it?” she asked him.

“Open it,” he encouraged her.

She handed the glass of Irish coffee to Eric and she lifted the lid. Inside of there was a large woven black dream catcher with five large black beads attached to the weaves such that they formed a star shape; five black and red feathers dangled off the bottom all the while. Even in the waning light, the beads glimmered and shone as much as her fire opal bracelet.

“Aw—oh my god.” She lifted it out of the box for a second look at the beads, at the way they glittered and shone.

“Good man, Joey,” Chuck said aloud.

“A li'l sump'n to keep the bad dreams away,” Joey explained.

“They go up in the dream catcher and then they blow away in the morning winds,” Chuck added.

She then set it down inside the box and extended her free arm to Joey: he returned the favor as well as with a kiss on the side of her neck.

All the while, the sirens came closer and closer to them.

“Again, we should go,” Chuck declared.

“Thank you,” Sam whispered into Joey's ear.

“I'll see you again,” he whispered right back at her, and he bowed away from them. She watched him run back into the shadows, towards Anthrax's van parked next to the curb. He was sincere. He belonged to her, or so she believed as she watched him duck into the back of the van: Krista was back there and she greeted him with a kiss on the side of the neck.

“Zelda's gesturing for us to join them,” Eric pointed out right behind her. The six of them ran together the other way towards the Cherry Suicides' van on the opposite curb. Zelda and Morgan stayed there on the floor of the van and right under the plain white glow of the light on the outside of the arena: as they came closer, Sam noticed bright red glitter embedded in the roots of Morgan's hair.

“Gentlemen—” she greeted them, “and lady!”

“So what're we doing?” Eric asked them.

“Well, Zelda's gonna have her cake and eat it, too,” Morgan explained, “and then we're gonna take her to that bar in question over here.”

“Except Mr. Skolnick here isn't twenty one yet,” Sam pointed out.

“Ah, damn it!” Zelda groaned. “You can always say you're almost twenty one, though.”

“Nah, they'll probably see right through that,” Alex replied.

“He'll be all alone, too,” Greg added. Sam turned her attention to Alex and his tucking his hands into his jeans pockets. Even in the dim light, she could tell the black hair dye was already beginning to wear off from his head: even in the dim light, that little pearl of gray now a singular tuft, stood out from his head as if it was from someone else's head.

And then she remembered that they weren't too far from the port for those boat rides down to Avalon.

“Shall we head on back to Catalina?” she offered him.

“We shall!” he replied with a chuckle.

“Alex, you stud,” Eric joked, “going to and fro Santa Catalina Island.” And then he showed Sam the glass of Irish coffee. “Are you done with this?”

“Oh, yeah,” she assured him. “No way I'm drinking any more of that.”

“Keep the glass, though, Eric,” Chuck advised him. Sam put her arms around him as well as Eric, Greg, and Louie, the latter of whom she nudged back a lock of hair from his ear.

“You behave,” she whispered to him.

“With Zelda, absolutely,” he whispered back to her. She let go of him and put her arms around Zelda.

“Happy birthday,” she said.

“Aw, thank you, Sam I am,” Zelda returned the favor.

“Don't stay up too late, okay?” Sam called out to the Cherry Suicides.

“We try not to,” Minerva called from the driver's seat, and Morgan and Rosita laughed at that. Sam then doubled back out of the light right as the sirens reached the corner right up the block, headed their way.

“C'mon, Alex,” she encouraged him as the two of them walked on the street. Even in the dark, she remembered where she was headed for the harbor and that one port in particular. Alex lingered right next to her every step of the way.

“Your car's back at the arena, right?” she asked him.

“Yeah, and by the way, you never told me where you wanna take me tomorrow,” he told her once they reached the heavy aged wooden docks.

“You'll see,” she assured him as they boarded the big blue and white expressway boat. “We're gonna have to leave early, too—you know, if we wanna beat rush hour traffic first thing in the morning.”

“As long as it gets us there,” he told her as they took their spots on the bottom level of the boat and out of the winds.

Soon, they reached the harbor and Avalon once again, where Esmé awaited them for a ride back to the house once again. Given it was getting late, she offered to make them a quick dinner with another slice of that fresh pie once more. He found himself rather sleepy once more and he volunteered to take the couch yet again.

Meanwhile, in what may as well have become her bedroom, Sam hung up the dream catcher that Joey had given her upon the wall over her head board. That large circle of black right over her whilst she would sleep, and she knew she was protected from that point onward. She had her journal and a lot of her art supplies already packed in that red courier bag that the Skolnicks had made for her for Christmas, and she placed it in the seat of the desk chair across the room.

She soon changed out of her bra and into one of those Death Angel shirts: one of these days, she would have a proper set of flannel pajamas for when it got too cold. The rest of the house was dark at that point.

She wished for him to sleep in the same bed as her, but then again at that point, he had already fallen asleep on the comfy couch. As she headed out of her room and towards the bathroom to brush her teeth, she caught the sound of Esmé humming to herself coupled with Alex's heavy breathing.

She crept to the end of the hallway and she peered around the corner: he lay there on the couch, on his side with his shirt ridden up a bit and his hands tucked underneath his head and the pillow. His deep eyes cloaked in shadow and that little tuft of gray as it stayed hidden under the black hair dye. She was about to walk on over to him when a shadow crossed over him.

Her mother lay a blanket over his body and tucked it behind his back, right up against the back of the couch.

Esmé caressed her hand over Alex's hip and Sam had to resist the urge to chuckle at the sight of that.

She doubled back to the bathroom so she could be out of sight and so she could brush her teeth. With Joey, she grew possessive in the face of her mother's advances. But with Alex, she couldn't help but laugh. Her mother's whispered voice floated in from the hallway. She couldn't tell what she was saying, but she did catch a single fragment before Esmé entered her range of hearing.

“—got to write that descriptor down—”

And then, when she caught the sound of a soft chuckle, she realized her mother was an author for erotica. The pieces just fit together perfectly, as she rinsed her mouth and dried off her lips. Even though Sam had very little experience, she felt it in her bones.

If only there was a way in which she could uncover those feelings for herself. She did caress over her own skin a few times before, but they swirled away within her like the tides of the channel waters outside. As far as she knew, it would take place over the course of her entire life, all the uncovering and all the peeling back of the layers like that of the ocean's waters.

She switched off the light and she headed back to her bedroom.

A part of her still wished for him to join there in the bed but she knew that it would prove to be a tight fit for the both of them. She thought about the kind way in which Eric treated her earlier. So much to these boys she still needed to figure out, and with Alex himself in particular.

So much to consider and think about and she wound up falling asleep as a result.

The dream catcher did indeed work as she awoke early the next morning and with no memory of the dreams she had had before: she hadn't seen the mysterious man in what felt like forever at that point. She knew that it was early enough and thus she climbed out of bed and got dressed, and scooped up her purse and that courier bag. Alex himself was already up and changed into that little black Gary Moore shirt that he had gotten for his nineteenth birthday. Esmé, who had spent the night awake and tending to her manuscript at her typewriter, drove them down to the marina. Once they got there, she bode them both farewell and safe travels.

“Treat him well, my love,” she told Sam as she put her arms around her, “call me when you get there, too.”

“Of course!”

“Do you have your jackets, too? I think it's gonna snow there.”

Sam nodded her head and she showed her mother her brand new windbreaker which she swiped from the hook next to the front door. The otherwise black sky had already begun to bleed over into a rich violet for the sunrise: pieces of the marine layer lingered all around the island and the Channel before them.

“My jacket's in the car,” he told her as they awaited the boat: all the while, he still had a puzzled look upon his face. Sam wanted it to be a surprise, especially when they got on the road. It was something so near and dear to her, and she wanted nothing more than to show it to him. Show it to him in the way she never got to show Joey at that point.

Soon, the boat arrived and they crossed those twenty two miles over the dark choppy waters of the high tides all around them.

Sam led him back to the arena, and he got the keys ready for the trip she bore in mind for him.

“You want me to drive or should I do it?” he asked her as he handed her the keys.

“I'll drive,” she assured him. “I know the way.” He showed her a little smirk as he handed her the key before they reached his little older royal blue car parked near the center of the lot, as if he picked the single spot that was equal distance from the front doors to the driveway. Once she unlocked the doors and tucked her purse and the courier bag in the back seat, right behind the driver's seat, she climbed in first and Alex followed suit.

She drove them out of that parking lot and then she drove them onto the 110 Freeway, which led them right through the heart of Los Angeles. Given it was so early, they zipped past the skyline as it rose strong and high against the early morning marine layer and the rich pink sky. She never realized how much it reminded her of New York before, but her beloved City of Angels remained more in conjunction with the wilderness.

“I'm glad we left early,” she told him. “Yeah, for real,” he replied.

“Rush hour should be starting up like any second now right behind us.”

At the interchange to the 10 Freeway, Sam peered out the window and she beheld the sight of Beverly Hills as they were nestled back in the hills themselves; right next to that stood the Hollywood sign in all of its faded off white glory: parts of the letters glowed a soft orange color against the sunrise. With Alex right there next to her in the passenger seat, and the fact they were driving a twenty year old car, Sam couldn't help but think of the Golden Age, complete with the wisps of marine layer all around them. Like a couple of bandits as they escaped the heist right in the heart of downtown and were about to make their grand escape.

Within time, and right when Sam started to see more cars on the other four lanes next to them, they merged onto the Interstate 5.

“We could've taken the 170, but the difference is we don't have to go through Griffith Park,” she explained to him.

“I think we could've taken the 405, too,” Alex added. “If I remember correctly, that takes us back to the 5, too.”

“The 405 gets bad, though, especially during rush hour,” she pointed out.

“Like—really bad?”

“Notoriously so. Everyone tells you to not take the 405 if you possibly can. It goes through Torrance and Inglewood and past all the airports and the ways to the beaches.”

“I see.”

They cleared the northern edge of Los Angeles, through Glendale and Burbank, and soon they cleared the San Fernando Valley as it woke up for the morning. Sam watched the signs for the turn off to the desert. More and more fresh sunlight shone through Alex's window, such that he reached into the glove box for his mirrored sunglasses.

“Want yours, too?” he asked her.

“Yeah, they're in my purse,” she told him, “it's in the back seat.”

He reached behind him for her purse and she merged into the right lane for the interchange onto the 14 Freeway.

“I love you, Los Angeles—I'll be back soon enough,” she vowed as she merged one more lane; as he reached back, Alex leaned his head closer to her shoulder and the right side of her chest, but he never got any further than that. Sam merged onto the the 14 Freeway, which she remembered would take them all the way up the spine of the California desert. Alex returned to her with her sunglasses in one hand. With one hand herself, she took them and placed them right upon her nose.

“Thank you, my dear,” she told him in a singsong voice and he chuckled at that. “This road will take us all the way up through the desert and that road in turn will take us all along the spine of California. The Eastern Sierra.” She recalled what Louie had told her about the eastern Sierra Nevada on her road trip with him.

The road wound through the low barren foothills, several of which appeared to rise up from the pallid yellow grass in opposite direction.

“Is this the San Andreas?” he asked her.

“It is!” He peered out the window at the risen striated rocks that dotted the hillsides on either side of the freeway. She took a glimpse over at him and his side profile, the way in which his nose formed that full point at the very end: perfectly imperfect, against the orange sunrise.

The hills and rocky canyons were as barren and dry as ever as she led them through there and all the way into the Antelope Valley. All the nooks and crannies made her think of the most barren place she knew all too well, the place where she needed her fingers to be once again. Another layer peeled, and another hillside that they scoured together.

If Joey could play the field and experiment, then no one said she couldn't, either.

Soon they cleared the mountain pass and they were beheld with the tail end of the desert and the very beginning of the vast Walker Lane. The sunrise caressed over the barren badlands all the way through the low dips and soft turns throughout the heart of Palmdale and Lancaster. Big fluffy white clouds loomed over the Tehachapi Mountains to the northwest: Sam spotted a fine fresh dusting of white snow on their peaks.

“Glad we brought our jackets,” he confessed.

“Absolutely!”

They rolled on to the northern end of town, past the fair grounds and the vast stretch of flat desert off to the right. All the sage brush. The occasional rise in the earth. All of the unknowns beyond the horizon. All desolate. All lonely. All strangely special when under the golden light of the sunrise.

They rounded a gentle curve in the freeway, followed by another and they were in Rosamond, a small town sprawled over the sage brush and across some low hills and a ridge.

“You really do need a car when in California,” she remarked.

“Right?” he chuckled.

The road wound its way over the windswept ridge, through even more sage brush and past a railroad and a parallel two lane road, both of which bent around the den and extended off in the distance. Low barren hills adorned the sunset side of the flat land until they reached Mojave: the southern end of the Sierra Nevadas, in all of their arid glory with their eroded grooves and ridges, loomed off to the right as they cleared that small desert town. Wind turbines pumped away on the hill's leeward side: every so often, against the bright sunlight, they flickered with a soft red signal light.

“This kind of reminds me of Georgia O'Keeffe,” Alex said at one point as they motored along the freeway. Miles upon miles of desert, all the way out to California City and beyond.

“How so?”

“Just kind of the way the hills look—it's giving me an O'Keeffe vibe to a degree.” He turned his head in her direction; she took a glimpse over at him and her reflection in his mirrored lenses. He had sank down in the seat a bit and put his knee close to the dashboard and extended his leg out a bit. He looked as though he had been riding a bicycle. “Have you seen her paintings?”

“I have, yes,” she replied with a nod, “when I took art history, I happened to see one or two of them. Not a lot because Bill being such a cheap ass and what not.”

He chuckled at that.

“They're interesting, aren't they?” she continued.

“They have this—very feminine look to them.”

“Especially her flowers.”

“Ah, yes—and how.”

She couldn't help but chuckle at that herself.

“So how long is this gonna be?” he asked her

“It's about seven hours from Mojave,” she replied and he whistled at that. “Hey, I wanted to show you this place. Seven hours, it's gonna be totally worth it.”

“You took art history,” he echoed her.

“Yeah.”

“And you mentioned going to school, too.”

“Yeah.” She took another glimpse over at him and the thoughtful look on his face. “Do you remember those ink drawings that I made for Charlie on their last tour?”

He paused for a moment.

“Oh yeah! Oh yeah, I do.”

He paused again.

“Wait a minute. Did you make those?”

And she nodded.

“Get outta here, there's no way you made those.” He shuffled into an upright position.

“I did!”

“What the hell.” He shook his head and those jet black curls caressed over his shoulders. He paused again, albeit with a smirk on his face. He then turned his attention to her again. “It's been right under my nose this whole entire time.”

“Whole entire time,” she declared. “Been meaning to show you, too. I just never could. In fact, I tell you what. The next opportunity we get—and there are many on this road here. I'll do a demo for you.”

“Just for me?”

“All for you, big boy.”

He lowered his sunglasses a bit so as to flash her a wink at that. The landscape gave way to even more distant hills.

But right before them was Red Rocks, with its tall columns of pale red and white sandstone: much like the rock formations down by the San Andreas, these all ventured and pointed about in differing directions, much like Alex himself.

“For some reason, I just pictured you becoming the next Georgia O'Keeffe,” he admitted as they cleared a gentle curve in the road: a tall cliff of sandstone cast a cold shadow over them.

“It's all these rocks,” she told him as they returned to the sunshine once again. “They're digging up something inside you, I'd think.”

“Yeah, you'd think that,” he teased her, and she giggled at that.

They cleared Red Rocks and returned to the vast windswept desert on either side of them. The two lane turn off to Lake Isabella.

The entire stretch of vast land off to the right that led off to the communities of China Lake and Ridgecrest: somewhere out there was Garlock and Johannesburg, that was according to the signs on the side of the road.

The slight rises and ridges in the ground told her that they were nearing Coso Junction and the first big stop of the trip. A small reddish brown cone emerged from the ground on his side before them at one point, as did a whole series of cliffs of solid black rock: the sunlight gave them a bit of a reddish hue. Meanwhile, on her side, the hills rose up, higher and higher until they formed snow capped mountains which contained all those ancient sequoia trees.

“All volcanic,” Alex pointed out to the cliffs.

“Every last part of it,” Sam said; she took a glimpse out the windshield to the grasslands on the side of the road and the little stream that poked out every so often. The stream led to Little Lake, cradled by those volcanic cliffs, and they turned a bend in the road. Another reddish cone emerged before them, as did more of those fields of rich black volcanic rock. The highway separated out with two lanes on their side and two lanes on the opposite and Sam sighed through her nose. She was taking him up the only road she knew by heart.

They soon stopped at Coso Junction, a literal oasis against the narrowing desert valley before them: she slowed down a bit for that initial little road and she doubled back to the small lot shrouded with cottonwood trees. Right behind them stood more hillsides and low barren ridges.

“Seven hours of nothin', but I kinda like it out here,” he confessed once he returned from the bathroom.

“It gets better,” she promised him once she fired up the car again.

They returned to the road for another round of vast stretches of near straight road, all the way up to the Owens Valley and the mostly dried up nearly pure white Owens Lake bed.

“You want some beef jerky?” she offered him once handmade signs for Olancha popped into their view.

“Love some beef jerky,” he said, “kinda early, though, don't ya think? I kinda want something hearty like that but without all the salt.”

“Be nice to have, though,” she pointed out. “How 'bout some on the way home?”

“Good plan!” he decreed: at that point, the mountains to the left rose up strong and high against the desert. She slowed down a little bit given they were driving through Grant, followed by Olancha and Cartago: a series of low silvery gray metal buildings emerged from his side of the road.

“Dyin' of thirst right now,” he told her as he realized it was a water bottling plant.

“It's a shame you can't even go in there for a bottle of water,” she said.

“Seriously?”

“Yeah! This is a literal oasis, especially with Owens Lake being all dried up now. Don't worry, though: little more and we'll be in Lone Pine.”

They scoured the rim of the enormous lake bed: right smack in the middle of those cold bone dry white and gray sands stood a small sliver of fresh water, the only water for miles. The northernmost edge of the bed was rounded out by a rusted abandoned salt plant nestled in the hills and the two separated lanes in the highway returned to one road once again. The mountains bowed away as Sam rounded the corner, around a series of low rolling hills. Soon before they reached the last stretch of road before Lone Pine, the mountains rose up once again, even higher and blanketed with even more snow. Somewhere inside of those menacing white clouds was Mount Whitney, those jagged saw blades as they towered high over everything else.

Alex adjusted himself in the seat yet again and he set a hand on his stomach.

“Ooh—that did not feel good,” he told her. “Oh, god, hungry...”

“It's okay, we're almost there.”

She thought about the way in which Joey said the word “Mommy” in that song the night before. Her mother cared for both her as well as Alex, and it was right there in that driver's seat, against the roar of the tires on the road, when she picked up a low famished rumble from Alex's stomach. She had to care for him all the way up the road, such that it brought a smile to her face.

[carewyncromwell]

NEXT PART OF THE “PIRATES AU” GO TIME! For the previous part, click here, or you can also browse the entire tag for this AU here! Featuring in this section, once again, is ma cherie @cursebreakerfarrier’s girl Juliette “Jules” Farrier. <3

x~x~x~x

Carewyn had been glad for the rumbles of thunder and the terrible fog that rolled in that night. She knew Governor Farrier would want to quickly make an example out of Orion, and she needed any excuse she could scrounge up to belay his execution date so that she could figure out a way to get him out that wouldn’t either 1, put him in too much danger, or 2, make her lose her position as Commodore. If she got on the wrong side of the law herself, she’d lose the one advantage she had -- namely, the authority and power needed to keep Orion from harm.

What Carewyn could not have expected was the sound that soon accompanied the rumbles of thunder -- cannon fire.

Port Royal was under attack.

A large ship, nearly the size of the Dauntless that somehow seemed to glide in as quickly and silently as the fog, with a blood-red-stained hull and an intricate “R” chiseled into the left side of its bow came into port, and out of it came a mass of filthy, terrifying pirates all wearing dark red tunics. They held torches, pistols, and cutlasses, and they descended upon the island like a swarm of blood-stained rats.

Carewyn immediately ordered a counterattack. Sending out several battalions to protect the Governor’s mansion and the townspeople, she then stayed behind at the fort to lead her soldiers in an offensive against the ship the pirates had come from. The assault went on for almost an hour, but somehow, no matter how outnumbered the pirates were, their advance toward the fort never seemed to halt -- and somehow their numbers never seemed to dwindle...

In the brig, Orion could see the attack in the distance from the tiny window in the far upper corner of his cell. Anyone who wasn’t part of the Artemis’s crew might’ve hypothesized that these pirates had come after Orion, but Orion knew better. Murphy was far too strategic to just barrel into a busy and well-guarded town like Port Royal, and he and the rest of the crew would’ve never done something so dangerous and destructive, if nothing else, than because they’d know he wouldn’t approve. More importantly...Orion could see they were attacking the fort -- where Carewyn likely was at that very moment.

It was a struggle for Orion to try to keep calm. Whenever he was under a lot of stress -- and, to a lesser extent, whenever cannons were fired around him -- it was always rather difficult for him to find and keep his center. His heart rate would pound way too fast and he’d be unable to breathe fully or steadily and he’d have to hold his own hands in a vain attempt to keep them from shaking.

He had to get up there -- and yet his thoughts and his heartbeat were just too loud and too fast in his head for him to think. At several points the Revenge fired cannon balls right at the brig and smashed down walls, but they never managed to explode in a place Orion could use to bust his way out. He tried to meditate and clear his head -- place his faith in Carewyn, that she’d be safe -- just so that he’d be able to think clearly enough to summon up a means to actually help...but he found himself stuck in a terrible cycle of anxiety he couldn’t break free of.

Center yourself -- center -- Carewyn -- find your center -- balance -- calm -- Carewyn, please -- she’s all right -- center yourself -- no, she’s not -- no, she’s not -- find your center -- breathe --

Orion had good reason to be worried -- for when the pirates reached the fort, they cut down every soldier in their way, all with seemingly little effort. When they arrived, Carewyn also realized who it was that was attacking them.

Carewyn’s blue eyes widened upon the dark red tunics worn by the pirates at the head of the charge.

She knew that uniform only too well. It perfectly explained their ruthlessness -- and worse, despite their clear advantage in numbers, her soldiers were still somehow outmatched...

She dashed over to Percy, who had been firing at the pirates with his rifle, and seized his shoulder.

“Percy -- lead the new recruits in a retreat,” she said urgently.

Percy looked up in alarm. “Retreat? We’re abandoning the fort?”

“I care less about the fort than I do our men’s lives,” Carewyn said fiercely. “Get them out of here -- I’ll cover you.”

“But -- ”

“That’s an order, Lieutenant!” she cut him off sharply. Seeing the conflict and worry in his eyes, she then gave his shoulder a squeeze and said more softly, “I’m counting on you. Look after them.”

Percy couldn’t seem to summon any response. His freckled face was very white and scared. Nonetheless, he eventually managed to swallow back the lump in his throat and give her a fervent nod. He then immediately rushed off to gather the rest of his regiment.

“Fall back! Fall back! Stay together!”

Carewyn couldn’t hide the fear she felt herself as she turned her back on Percy and the other soldiers, unsheathing her sword and strolling leisurely into the throng of red-garbed pirates. They attacked her all at once, and within moments, she was fighting all six of them, ducking their blows and slashing into them with ferocity.

By her own design, the Commodore of Port Royal fought the crew of the pirate ship Revenge completely single-handed.

Not long after the seven pirates had swarmed the fort, they seemed to just as abruptly withdraw. No one knew why until Charlie and Bill -- hotly engaged in fighting a handful of pirates who had been ransacking houses -- caught sight of the red-garbed group who was retreating.

‘That must be the Captain!’ thought Bill.

At the head of the group was an older graying pirate dressed in a black coat much more ornate than the rest of his crew’s and a wide-brimmed red hat, which made him look like a silent, hungry vulture among a sea of red. His face was oddly placid and coolly smiling in response to all the chaos, even as he barked around at the rest of the pirates.

“Enough! Fall back now! We have what we came for!”

There was a roar of raucous delight from the rest of the crew, and they just as quickly flocked to the older man’s side.

Charlie’s eyes narrowed angrily. “No way am I gonna let you all walk off that easily -- !”

Before Bill could stop him, he charged at the group of pirates. One of them -- a female pirate, to Bill’s surprise, with a mane of long dark red curls and very cold almond-shaped blue eyes -- immediately unsheathed her own sword and the two began to fight. At last Charlie managed to stab her in the chest, making her collapse in a heap --

It was when she fell back that Charlie saw what the brown-haired female pirate to the pirate captain’s left was carrying over her shoulder -- the prone form of someone dressed in Navy blue and loosely flying ginger red hair.

“CAREY!” screamed Charlie.

Three other pirates immediately descended on Charlie with their cutlasses, slashing at his chest and his long ponytail. Charlie was soon completely overwhelmed in battle, unable to push past them. He tried to keep Carewyn in sight, but she was disappearing over the horizon --

Bill’s heart leapt into his throat as he chased after the group of pirates, his own sword high. His white robes were torn and covered in blood, but he didn’t care -- he couldn’t let them take Carewyn --

With a roar of fury, he went straight for the woman holding Carewyn. He slashed her shoulder, making her crumple in on herself with an angry cry -- Bill seized the back of Carewyn’s jacket, to pull her away --

“AAAARGH!”

Searing pain wrenched through Bill’s back, and in an instant, he was yanked backward away from Carewyn and thrown to the ground. Blood pooled out of his left side as someone stomped their foot on top of him with such force that he was slammed into the brick.

“ACK!”

“Don’t bother getting up, holy Father,” said a very cold, and yet scalding female voice. “We are demons you cannot defeat.”

Bill gritted his teeth in pain as he struggled to get to his feet.

“No -- “ he choked, his eyes flaring with righteous anger. “No, you -- you can’t have him -- !”

The captain raised his eyebrows in a cruel kind of amusement. “‘Him?’“

The brown-haired woman, who seemed to have completely shaken off the injury Bill had inflicted on her, gave a hard, forced-sounding laugh. The woman on top of Bill pushed down into him harder, making him gasp in pain.

“Heed this warning, boy,” she hissed right in his ear. “Stay away from our flesh and blood, or we’ll happily slash open your flesh and spill your blood in full.”

Her dark red curls had dropped into his line of vision -- Bill’s face contorted with confusion -- wait -- hadn’t Charlie already -- !?

“Stop playing with your food, Pearl,” said a younger, scathing male voice somewhere behind her. “We’ve got what we came for, so let’s leave this hovel behind.”

“Don’t tell me what to -- ”

“Fall back, Pearl,” the captain repeated very coolly. “Let the holy man be. Better that he learn the sting of failure that comes from doing the Lord’s work sooner rather than later.”

Bill made one last valiant attempt to get up, but the woman called Pearl kicked him in the back of the head with the metal heel of her boot and his mind went black.

Port Royal was absolutely devastated by the aftermath of the attack. Not only had their town been largely trashed, but their local hero had been stolen from them by the very pirates she fought single-handedly to give the rest of her soldiers the chance to escape from. All three Weasleys took what had happened very hard, all feeling ashamed and responsible for not having been able to protect Carewyn, who they saw as family to them. Percy immediately put his efforts toward helping the remaining officers put together a search party, but both Bill and Charlie feared that the Navy would never be able to find her. The Revenge was a ship of legends that seemingly appeared in and out of the fog like a ghost and only made berth on an island that supposedly nobody could reach unless they somehow already knew where it was. And given that it was an island inhabited by pirates, it was unlikely to be a place the British Navy could easily find.

Fortunately for the Weasleys, there was another person who was worried about Carewyn and was determined to do whatever had to be done to rescue her -- Jules Farrier. And so she charmed her way into the brig, slipped the watching guards some drugged drinks, and then picked up her skirts so she could dash down the stairs to the lone cell she knew was still inhabited.

Jules found Orion Amari sitting cross-legged in the corner of his cell. His eyes were closed and his hands were clasped in his lap. The wall behind him had been broken open at the top, but the jagged hole wasn’t wide enough for him to slip through.

The Governor’s daughter bent down, grabbing onto one of the wooden bars of his cell so she could look through them at him.

“Captain Amari,” she said urgently.

Orion’s head twitched. Although his expression was as unreadable as ever, his shoulders were tenser than normal as he slowly opened his eyes.

“...Miss Farrier,” he said, sounding far less surprised than he probably was. “I hope your Mr. Weasley is well.”

Jules flushed a little at the mention of “her” Mr. Weasley, but was too focused on the task at hand to care.

“Captain Amari, Carey’s been kidnapped.”

Orion’s expression abruptly tensed. His dark eyes went very wide and he froze up like a deer in the headlights.

“What?” The word came out so quietly and shakily it was like it was only said by a shadow of his actual voice.

“It was the Revenge,” said Jules, as Orion quickly shoved himself across the floor so that he could also grab onto the bars and peek through them at her. “They stormed the fort -- they trashed everything, but didn’t take anything except her. Bill and Charlie tried to stop them, but -- ”

“You can’t fight those men,” Orion cut her off very lowly.

He closed his eyes again -- he was breathing as deeply as he could, as if he were trying to keep his heart rate down.

“...There are tales, about the curse that plagues the Revenge’s crew. Some say they cannot be killed. Some say they’re not even human. Some say that they’re more dead than alive, and yet they walk among us all the same...”

He clasped his hands together, his dark eyebrows knitting together over his eyes.

“Carewyn was able to escape their curse, when she and Jacob fled all those years ago...and knowing Charles Cromwell, he couldn’t stand the thought of any member of his family living free -- of the curse...or of him.”

Jules’s eyes narrowed. Carewyn had never told her much about her grandfather, but considering she was more than experienced dealing with a family member who tried to dictate how she should live her life, she completely understood why Jacob wanted to get himself and his sister away from that.

“The Navy’s sent out search parties, but we all know that they won’t find her quickly. But you care about Carewyn -- she told me she helped you, and that you let her escape. You have a ship and a crew -- and since you’re a pirate, you’d probably be able to find out where the Revenge makes berth, right?”

Orion opened his eyes at last. His gaze upon Jules’s face was very unreadable.

“Finding Carewyn I believe I could manage,” he said levelly, “were I not currently imprisoned.”

Jules’s lips spread into a wry smile as she rose to her feet and reached into her sleeve.

“These might help with that,” she said coolly, dangling the ring of keys off of her pointer finger.

Getting Orion out of his cell was the easy part. Another pair of men had come to take the place of the original guards and found them passed out on the floor, just before they caught sight of Orion and Jules darting around the hall. Soon the bronze bell was clanging, signalling a prison break, and more soldiers arrived. At one point Orion even had to pick Jules up bridal style so they could jump down a set of stairs. Just when it seemed they might get captured, though, who should come to their rescue, but --

“Bill!” breathed Jules in relief.

Bill kicked the last soldier off the wall and whirled around. Orion quickly put Jules down, and Bill immediately swooped down on her, clutching her shoulder and searching her face for injuries.

“Are you hurt? Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” said Jules, “but Bill -- what are you -- ?”

Bill gave her a grim smile. “Same reason as you, I reckon.”

His brown eyes flickered over to Orion, narrowing slightly as he straightened up.

“I don’t trust you as far as I can throw you, Amari,” said the priest, “but if Miss Farrier got you out, I imagine she convinced you to help us find out where Charles Cromwell took Carey.”

Orion inclined his head. “I understand that you don’t trust me, Bill Weasley, but rest assured, I don’t want Carewyn in the clutches of Charles Cromwell any more than you do.”

Bill still looked very suspicious; Jules brought a hand onto his arm and gave it a squeeze through the sleeve of his robes.

“Bill, we can trust him. He cares about Carey -- I know she’d trust him, if our places were switched.”

Bill deflated slightly under Jules’s hold. He stared down at her for a long moment; then, with a swallow, he turned back to Orion.

“...Carey never has trusted easily,” he said quietly, “so if you think that’s true, and if you trust him...then I will as well.”

His silent stare seemed to add, ‘For now.’

The three were abruptly startled to attention by the sound of a loud CRASH. They dashed around the corner, to find a large piece of the lowered wooden gate on top of a group of stunned soldiers and another ginger-haired man climbing casually through the hole over to them.

“Charlie?” said Bill, taken aback.

Charlie grinned at Bill and Jules. “Hey, lovebirds! Guess we must’ve had the same idea -- though I’d planned on shaking the bloke down for information, not set him loose...”

He cocked an eyebrow at Orion.

“But oh well -- is he taking us to Carey?”

Orion inclined his head to Charlie like he had Bill, his dark eyes very calm but still narrowed seriously.

“I am returning to the Artemis and aim to go after the Revenge. If you wish to assist me in that, I would be very grateful. If you wish to join me in it, however, it would be far more dangerous -- even more so than what you’ve already done.”

Charlie’s grin grew a bit more cocky. “Look, mate -- Carey is my twin. Not by blood, but she’s my twin all the same. She’s family. There’s no way in Hell I’m not going to help her, if she needs me.”

Bill glanced at Jules. He agreed with Charlie 100%, but Jules going would be very different than either of them. She hadn’t been in the Navy -- she wasn’t trained with a pistol or sword.

Nevertheless Jules looked back at Bill with a perfectly fearless expression.

“Us too,” she said firmly.

Bill’s eyes rippled with emotion around his broadening smile. Juliette Farrier truly was the bravest, most wonderful woman he’d ever met in his life.

Grinning, Charlie turned back to the broken gate.

“Now then, you’d best get those swords out -- there’ll no doubt be a party waiting for us, if we head for any of the docks. I hope your ship’s not too far off, Amari.”

Orion’s dark eyes twinkled with mischief.

“Not at all,” he said levelly. “The Artemis’s best aspect is her ability to hide in plain sight.”

“Good.”

Charlie unsheathed the sword at his side. The heavy iron hilt was beautifully melded into a stylized dragon.

“Never thought I’d get such good use out of this baby, when I made it,” he said with another cheeky grin as he held it aloft.

Orion, Bill, Charlie, and Jules dashed for the northern-most dock. It was largely deserted except for what looked like a single, abandoned ship -- but, as it turned out, that was merely an illusion. Orion Amari apparently had a good friend in Tortuga who specialized in old magics, and after he’d been kind to her, she’d cast a spell on the Artemis that gave it the ability to disguise itself as an innocent-looking merchant ship. Once Orion used the word necessary to remove the illusion, both the Artemis and its crew reappeared, and they made ready to board. As Charlie had predicted, however, a whole slew of soldiers had come to stop them -- among them, the final Weasley brother, Percy, who was the last one left standing after Orion, Charlie, and Bill had taken out the rest of the battalion and Orion had made it on board the Artemis.

Unlike Bill and Charlie, however, Percy refused to trust Orion -- he was a pirate, just like the ones who’d kidnapped Carewyn. He’d kidnapped her himself, even if Carewyn managed to get away. If Bill and Charlie went with him, they’d be labeled as pirates too -- if Jules went, then the Governor would hunt all of them down and probably kill them, just to get her back.

“I know you want to help,” he told his brothers sharply, pointing his pistol at them but only by protocol, “but let the Navy handle this!”

“The Navy can’t find a pirate island!” Charlie shot back impatiently. “Charles Cromwell is ruthless, Perce -- if we dally around waiting for the Navy to find her the ‘upstanding way,’  Carey might be dead by the time we reach her!”

“And if you do this, then you’ll have nothing left to come back to!” said Percy. “You’ll be tarred with Amari’s brush, Charlie -- you and Bill, and Jules -- you’ll be criminals! You’ll have no future, no home -- no chance at a normal life, ever again! You’ll be hunted down like animals! The Navy will hunt you down -- the thing you fought for! The thing we fought for! The thing Carey and I still fight for! Is that what Mum and Dad would want? Ginny, or Ron, or Fred and George? Is that what Carey would want -- you throwing away your entire lives and futures!?”

Percy’s hand holding his pistol was shaking. Bill’s lips came together very tightly.

“Percy,” he said very softly, “we can’t let Carey stay in the clutches of Charles Cromwell. That man slaughtered his own daughter and her husband, all because they wouldn’t bow to his will. Carey was lucky to escape him, when she had the chance. I’m sure she’s known her whole life that he might catch up with her and dreaded that moment every single day...and yet she kept it all to herself, because that’s what Carey does. She takes every knife she can herself, so we don’t have to.”

Jules looked from Bill to Percy, her brown eyes narrowed in determination as she nodded in agreement.

“We can’t leave her, Percy,” she said firmly. “Once Carey’s safe...whatever happens next...we can deal with the consequences.”

Percy stared up at them, his freckles very stark against his deathly pale face. His eyes darted from Charlie to Bill and back.

“Don’t do this,” he whispered.

Charlie stubbornly turned away and strode right up the gangplank onto the Artemis’s deck. He stopped to Orion’s right, but avoided eye contact with anyone on board.

“Charlie -- ” pleaded Percy. “Don’t do this -- think of Mum -- think of us -- ”

Jules headed up the gangplank too, turning back to look at Bill. Bill turned away from Percy. 

“Bill -- ” Percy said again. “Don’t -- please -- ”

Bill bowed his head.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured.

“Bill!”

Percy’s voice came out as a despair-filled, choked yelp of pain. The sound clearly affected Bill, judging by how he shut his eyes tight. Jules reached out as if to take his hand, but Bill plowed up the gangplank, unable to face anyone, as the gangplank was raised and the Artemis immediately set sail.

Charlie escaped into the rigging and sat in the crow’s nest alone for the next hour. Bill went to the far side of the deck, grabbing onto the railing in a vice grip and hunching over it as he struggled not to cry. Jules came up beside him and, her own eyes full of pain, she rested her head and shoulder against his, desperate to show any support she could.

As much as they all knew they had no other choice, if they wanted to save Carewyn...it didn’t make the schism between the Weasley brothers any less searing and painful.

[trashboatprince]

I said I’d wait to write for this au after I finished with the Reverse Big Bang, but I at least wanted to put out a cute one-shot for the Ineffable Gardener’s au.

Summery: How Francis and Crowley first met, completely inspired by the first drawing for this au. 

Warning: None, just Crowley making a fool out of themself in front of Francis (And Francis is NOT Aziraphale, he’s his own character in this au, same with Nanny Ashtoreth)

On with the fic!

--

Francis looked up from the small slip of paper to the building before him. It was the right address, but why did Francis feel like he was at the wrong place? Piece of Eden looked very much like a café, there was even a little sign indicating it as so, but he had been informed it was a greenhouse.

Still, it wouldn’t hurt to go inside, he could use a nice drink.

Francis opened the door, surprised to find the café itself was rather small, with just a few tables, the counter was only about fifteen feet from the door, and it was about the size of a living room. He then noticed that one wall was completely occupied by obscured windows and a single door.

He wanted to slap himself, he hadn’t even realized that this building was much larger than he had paid attention to. He had been so distracted by the confusion of the café outside that he hadn’t noticed the large attachment that clearly indicated a greenhouse. “Oh, you silly man.” He mumbled to himself as he approached the counter.

A young woman with long, dark hair, and large glasses stood there, smiling a bit at him. “Good morning,” Oh, she was American, how fascinating, “what can I get for you?”

Glancing up, Francis took notice to the chalkboards hanging over the counter, each written with different menu items. One was for their various coffees, another for teas, then pastries, sandwiches, and soups, then information for the store like a website and such.

The tea menu caught his attention and he ordered something called ‘The Tree of Knowledge’. The woman, whose name tag read ‘Anathema’ smiled a bit more. “That’s a good one, you’ll like it.”

“I rather like the name, it’s strange though, never been to a place that sells Biblical themed teas.” He spotted another one up on the menu called the Serpent of Eden, and under that was Guardian of the Eastern Gate.

“Oh, those are just the only ones we have, the original owner was named Eden and thought they were funny. The new owner kept the teas, says they’re good flavors and they found the names as a tongue-in-cheek joke.”

“Well, I still like it.” Francis smiled brightly, paying for the drink before stepping aside to wait for her to make it. He looked towards the doors with the frosted windows, he could make out the shadows of plants through the distorted glass. “Is the greenhouse open, miss?”

“Yep, the owner’s in there now, bet they’re giving those plants a good tongue lashing.” Anathema chuckled as she put the lid on a to-go cup. Francis raised a bushy eyebrow at this, was she making a joke? He thanked her and gave the cup a sip, pleasantly surprised by the strong yet delightful taste of the tea.

He may have to come back here to try some of the other flavors, he thought as he made his way to the door of the greenhouse, stepping inside.

It was much warmer in here than he thought, goodness, he shouldn’t have worn a sweater over his button up. He could hear music playing from somewhere inside the building, which was surprisingly bigger than he had expected. There were beautiful plants all over the place, many of various species and colors! It was rather beautiful in here, and Francis would love to plant some of these on the church grounds.

However, he had nowhere to start.

Looking around, Francis perked up when he heard a voice from somewhere around a corner. “-if I see anymore spots, it’s the mulch pile for you!” He shrunk back, oh dear, that sounded a bit harsh.

Someone stepped into his line of sight, and Francis blinked, for some reason, he felt a bit warmer.

The stranger was dressed in clothing that should be worn by someone who was modeling, not working around plants. A dark green apron, embroidered with pink flowers on the bottom of it, was over the expensive looking outfit, with a little name tag pinned to the front.

This employee, they had to be the owner from what Anathema said, had a fiery mane of red hair, pulled back and clipped in some sort of ponytail. They also seemed to be sporting dark shades across their freckled face.

Francis swallowed, feeling a bit flushed, before approaching them as they were misting what looked like a fern. He brightly smiled at them when he came to a stop. “Ah! Excuse me, my dear! I’m the new gardener at the local church, and I was hoping you could help me out!”

The owner, whose name tag read AJC, seemed to stare right at him, while their hand around the mister seemed to tighten suddenly, putting cracks into the cheap bottle. “Sure.” They said in a rather calm voice, despite the damage they gave the bottle.

The blond winced. “Are you okay?!” He asked, reaching out to gently take the broken bottle, just in case they cut their palm or fingers.

They seemed to register what was happened and stumbled back, their face starting to turn a bit red. “Y-yeah! Fine, sorry, was, uh, just had a- how can I help you?” They quickly replied, trying to cover up their fumbling with a customer service voice.

“Oh, right, uhh... do you mind helping me figure out what is best for the church grounds? I’m the new gardener for them, and, sadly, I am not exactly blessed with a green thumb. I fear I might do more damage than good if I don’t have a bit of help.” Francis chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck, feeling a little overwhelmed.

The owner seemed to have eased up, smiling just a little bit. “At least you’re admittin’ you need help, most people think they can do it but then I get complaints that their plants died in a weak. Sure I’ll help you, uh...”

“Francis, lovely to meet you.” Francis smiled, holding out a hand.

They took his hand, giving it a small shake. “Crowley, same. So! Let’s pick out some plants!”

--

If anyone would like anymore, I’m happy to write up more for these two as a ship.