#even though some of them made the people nearby question Ice's sanity for falling for them

[unlawfulchaos]

Maverick, trying to flirt: My dick is like life... Life is hard.

Iceman, blankly: Life is also short.

Maverick: Listen here, you annoyingly sexy son of a bitch-

Iceman, trying to contain his upset: You should know that my mother is an incredibly kind, respected, and well loved woman.

Maverick: I meant your father?

Iceman: ...

Iceman: Continue.

[stories-by-rie]

Chapter 2 - Heart of Silver

Four years before Evelyn gets herself cursed, she meets Ariel for the first time; and a second time, featuring a stinky Mare.

words: 2665 || masterlist

It had all started in a club. It was a tiny one, close to the university, with mostly students working and partying there. For many, it was both a good way to earn a bit on the side, and to get the mind off nearing exams. The music was mostly pop, with some nichey songs in between, mixed in a way where no one could really complain.

    For Evelyn, it simply was too loud. She could feel the bass in her heart. The room’s air was hot and heavy, and smelled like alcohol and sweat. People were screaming over the music, laughing, possibly also being aggressive. 

    Her phone buzzed in her hand.

    Mareike wrote, just leave, come over to mine instead, we’re having chocolate cake and watching old horror movies.

    With a sigh, Evelyn typed her answer, I promised Kyla, I should at least stay a full hour. She held onto her first beer, but people pushed from all sides, so she slipped up anyway and felt the grip on her bottle lessen. Really, in such situations one had to set priorities, so she focused on the bottle, stumbled over someone else’s foot, and saw her phone fall to the ground. Over the loud noise, she didn’t hear it hit the ground, but she flinched nonetheless.

    “Very sorry!” she yelled to whoever she had run into without even looking up, eyes on the ground. As she reached out to it, she saw her hand shaking slightly. Too much noise and too many people.

    Her phone buzzed on the ground, the blue light showing her just where to reach.

    “Broken?” A voice asked and when Evelyn looked at her phone, it indeed had a thin line running through the display.

    “Just the display, I hope. Sorry, again.”

    “No problem. You should have stuck with simple mobile phones, they don’t break that easily.”

    Evelyn finally looked at the person who held a flip-phone in one of their hands, an alarmingly blue cocktail in the other that was only overshadowed by the bright blue of their hair.

    “That’s so 2009,” was all Evelyn could say which was not a good thing for small-talk, but she blamed it on her anxiety or the alcohol.

    “You don’t look like you want to be here,” the person said, tilting their head in a way that made the colourful lights reflect in their glasses for a moment.

    “I really, really don’t want to be here.”

    “Then why are you?”

    “My… my friends are somewhere-” she pointed in the general direction of the dance floor where it was impossible to single out any familiar faces in the mass of dancing people.

    “Ah,” was all the other said. For some reason, Evelyn was certain she was understood despite her stammering.

    “I’m Evelyn,” she mumbled, ignoring the buzzing in her hand again. She wasn’t sure if she would meet the other again, if in any way exchanging names would matter. But she felt compelled to.

    “Ariel. I use they/them pronouns, if you were wondering.”

    Evelyn replied with a smile. She had been wondering.

    “That’s a nice name.”

    “Thanks, I chose it myself.” Ariel grinned and drank a bit of their cocktail.

    And -- really, this could only be blamed on Evelyn’s anxious state paired with the alcohol -- she blurted out, “Ariel as in the Little Mermaid?”

    Ariel nearly choked on their drink and shook their head. “Curses, no!” Even if they looked a bit amused and somewhat quieter, though enough to be heard, they added, “Ariel as in the Sylph in The Tempest by Shakespeare.”

    Evelyn smiled and put the phone in her jeans pocket, held onto the bottle in her hand instead.

    “Why are you here?” she then asked, even if it was probably a dumb question. Most people did come to party after all, but Ariel seemed to have come on their own and at least that was a bit unusual. 

    “I am glad you asked. I heard there’s a Mare living in the air vent in the restrooms. I came to kick it out.”

    “By yourself?” Evelyn nearly dropped her beer again.

    “Well, I hoped I would run into someone who is better with those creature thingies than me, but if this turns out to be fruitless, I am willing to drag the Mare out with my own hands.”

    “Don’t do that! A Mare is much stronger than you and would cling to you instead! You would not even notice, just feel the pressure on your chest and suffer tremendously from bad dreams every night- that’s- that’s really not how you’re supposed to handle Mares!” Evelyn had spoked too fast, stumbled over her own tongue in haste to keep Ariel from making a mistake, and only now that she saw their -- victorious? -- grin, did she notice what she said. It felt as if she had walked straight into a trap.

    “Sounds a bit like you know your fair share.” The way Ariel said it, they did not sound in the least surprised.

    “You knew.”

    “What are you in for again?”

    “Psychology.” Evelyn took a step back, clutching her beer tighter.

    Ariel followed her, narrowing their eyes. “Liar.”

    “I studied Mythology and Mystical Practices before, but I didn’t graduate, so it doesn’t mean anything.”

    “You still have the knowledge, though.” Ariel looked smug, sipping on their cocktail and Evelyn knew that they wouldn’t relent. But it really was not in her place to help.

    “If there is a Mare in the vent, you should notify the building’s janitor, so that they can then call a company that specialises in this. The insurance might not cover the victims’ therapy if the whole situation isn’t handled following the book, so. Please, really, don’t mess with it. Sometimes it’s better to just leave these things alone.”

    Nausea spread in her stomach. It was time to go. She really had indulged her friends for long enough, wherever they might be amusing themselves. Her heart beat in an unsteady rhythm, calling for sleep or distractions. She turned around, looking at the green exit sign, but Ariel kept talking. 

    “I already did notify the janitor, but he didn’t take me seriously. So I then contacted the owner, but he would not even talk to me. That’s why I decided to take the matter into my own hands and you will help me.”

    “I absolutely will not.” The thought alone made her skin itchy, made the air in the club even harder to breathe. She looked down at her phone, several messages demanding to be read. She quickly unlocked it and opened the group chat.

    I’ll head home, hope you still have some fun! Had a nice evening ^^

    To Mareike’s messages of, r u home yet? just send an emoji that ur fine, she replied with a sparkles emoji.

    “I’ll go,” she said, looking up to Ariel, but they were already gone. A hint of guilt crept into her bones – maybe she had been too harsh? But her heart beat so fast it made her cheeks feel hot, so she really needed fresh air. She put down her beer on a nearby table and fought her way through the sweaty bodies until she saw the night sky above her. The summer heat was not much better.

    The second time she met Ariel was roughly two weeks after their first encounter, on campus during lunch time. Ariel was sitting – lounging – on a bench under some birches. The small leaves were barely enough to provide shelter from the staggering sun. Evelyn really just noticed them because their iced coffee fell right out of their hand, rolling all the way down to her feet.

    “You lost something,” Evelyn said and held out the cup to them. She felt more than uncomfortable the longer she stood there, but she had started it now, maybe feeling still a bit guilty for the last time. The lid had kept most of the coffee inside but some of the cold and slightly sticky beverage still dripped down her fingers. Ariel pushed up their heart-shaped sunglasses, their own glasses underneath, and looked at the cup quizzically. Since they had last met, Ariel had gotten deep shadows under their red-rimmed eyes.

    “You look awful,” Evelyn said, forgetting about the existence of her verbal filter.

    “Thanks, it’s the exams.”

    “What do you-”

    “Doing my Masters in Curses.”

    “That’s a thing?”

    Ariel froze a bit and then mumbled, “I am sort of making it a thing?”

    They finally took the iced coffee out of Evelyn’s hand, took off the lid, chugged it all at once and threw it into the bin next to the bench.

    “Sounds very cool. And useful,” Evelyn mumbled and nearly missed how Ariel’s eyes shut again, only for them to flinch back awake. “You seem incredibly tired, though.”

    “It’s the stress, don’t worry. It’s giving me bad dreams, is all.”

    They looked each other in the eyes, communicating silently that they both knew that the other knew. It was Evelyn who finally broke it.

    “You can’t be serious. You really went into that vent to get the Mare alone? You can’t just do that.”

    Ariel just shrugged and let the sunglasses drop down again. “Well, actually I could. It wasn’t even hard. I just climbed from the toilet seat to the air vent – which is much smaller than it looks in movies, by the way – and crawled through it following the snoring sounds. Then I saw the Mare – which was the ugliest thing I laid sight upon so far, by the way – and hunted it through the maze. Just that I kinda lost it after ten seconds or so. I swear I could still hear it, but it was just too dark and I didn’t really think to bring a flash-light. Damn, it really scared the shit out of me, because I kept turning around? But there was nothing.”

    “That’s because the Mare climbed onto your back and stuck to you then. I told you that would happen, but you didn’t listen. So of course you are tired now, you’re haunted by it.”

    “Ah, right. You did say that.” Ariel rested their head on their hand and pouted. “That’s the bad dreams then.”

    “Yeah. Mares eat good dreams, so you only have the bad ones, and more of them to fill the blanks.” Evelyn sat down next to them, a little helpless.

    “I never have good dreams, though. Just weird ones. The kind where a giant slug comes and eats my master thesis and I give it strawberries as a thank. I miss the slug, I used to call it Bob.”

    Evelyn raised an eyebrow at them, uncertain if they were being serious, joking, or if it was the lack of sleep.

    “Well, maybe you will get lucky and the Mare will lose its sanity and leave you alone soon.”

    “That can happen?”

    “No.”

    Ariel groaned and stretched, only to slump down again. “What do I do now?”

    “Hire a company to get rid of it. Just know that no insurance company is gonna cover it, because you dragged the Mare into your bedroom yourself. You basically asked it to come inside.”

    Ariel pulled a face and sighed heavily. “I can’t afford that. Can’t you come?”

    “If you study curses, haven’t you covered mythological practices in your bachelor's too?”

    “Not really. Just in theory. In more practical terms, I already only focused on curses back then. I want to be a curse-broker, so I never bothered with anything beyond ghosts. You seem to be able to, though. You never once mentioned that you wouldn’t be able to help me, just that you didn’t want to.”

    Evelyn didn’t answer. They were right, of course. She had learnt everything she needed to know long before she had entered uni for the first time, growing up as the daughter of the owners of a company specializing on mythological creatures. Studying that at uni was supposed to only give her the licence to work in the field, she hadn’t gained new knowledge at any point.

    “Have you ever considered that I might really suck at dealing with creatures? I might make the situation worse for you,” she then mumbled, staring at the blue sky behind the birch leaves. She said it barely loud enough to be understood.

    “Do you?” Ariel worked through their bag and pulled out two lollies, offering one to Evelyn.

    “No,” she replied truthfully. “I am really bad with curses, though.” She unwrapped the lolly and put it into her mouth. “Curses are more my sister’s expertise.”

    Something in her voice must have betrayed her feelings. The hurt, the anger, the resentment. It was all she had to say to be understood. Ariel stayed silent for a long time as they sat on that bench, letting the lollies turn their tongues green. When lunch break was over, students walked over the campus to different buildings, but they stayed seated. 

    “She’s not dead, tho, is she? Wait! Did a Mare kill her?” Ariel then suddenly asked, their voice a bit shrill that it made Evelyn giggle.

    “Nah, don’t worry. Mares aren’t high class enough to kill you. Maybe the after effect of the insomnia would in due time, but I don’t know many cases in which it went that far,” Evelyn explained and bit on the lolly stick after the sugar had dissolved inside her mouth. “My sister’s fine. She went abroad.” Evelyn then frowned as the trees’ shadows moved with the sun, the bright light blinding her now. They had sat there for a while. “To the USA. I haven’t seen her in a while, it’s been one and a half years.”

    “You were close?” Ariel asked softly. Evelyn heard how they were more serious now.

    “Yeah. I mean. I am pretty sure that I am always closer to people than they are to me. But we got along well. We were a good team. She got this really good research opportunity in Philadelphia though. It’s good she went.”

    “But you still miss her.” Ariel handed her a new lolly with a grin and she accepted.

    “Yeah, I do. Of course, I do.”

    “Hm.” Ariel unwrapped their second lolly as well, eyes still droopy from their accidental nap. “Is she the reason you don’t go in the field anymore?”

    “More or less,” Evelyn started, and the fear of oversharing hit her. But Ariel had asked, in some way at least. “After she left, I tried to make up for the gap she left behind. It did not work out well. I messed up this one job and no one got hurt, but it just reminded me that I was kinda raised into it all and it felt wrong so I left.”

    “Huh. So you dumped your whole study subject?”

    “Yeah. I worked without a license. My parents covered it all up, which just felt even more wrong. I should have had to face the consequences, or at least my parents. I should have gotten banned from field work anyway, so leaving was the only choice to make.”

    “Do you miss it?”

    “Sometimes. A bit.”

    “I have just  the thing. Back at home there’s a Mare that I can’t afford to kick out professionally. It’s kinda stealing my sleep.”

    Without Evelyn noticing, they had come closer, a slightly mischievous grin on their lips. There really was no way to say no to them now. At some point she must have said something close to a yes, because Ariel was dragging her down the stairs towards the town and their apartment where the Mare occupied their bed. Evelyn wondered every now and then if all that conversation had been some detailed plan to lead her into that trap until she followed Ariel home to help them with the creature. But then again, she somehow had also followed Ariel into that new, quite weird friendship between them, so she did not actually mind that much.

----

previous chapter || WIP intro || masterlist || next chapter

[jolinar]

A Very Star Wars Fictober, Day 3!

Prompt number: #3 “you did this?” from @fictober-event

Fandom: Star Wars 

Rating: Teen and up

Warnings/Tags: Awkward teenage romance, Jedi Fallen Order spoilers

Word Count: 1,127

Summary: I’m not saying that asking about a girl’s family is how you get married on Dathomir, but I for one am very happy for Merrin and her new Jedi Husband.(ft. BD-1 as the best wingman (until he isn’t), Greez being cranky, and Cere just wanting to read a book in peace.)

Read it on Ao3

—

“Wait, you did this?” 

“Cal Kestis. I am sitting here, in front of a painting, holding a paintbrush. So I think the easy answer would be, yes, I did this.” Merrin replied, raising both eyebrows at him as though concerned for his sanity.

From across the tiny lounge, Cere snorted with laughter. She shook her head without looking up and swiped to turn the page on her tablet. Cal ignored her. 

Merrin was, indeed, holding a paintbrush. A newly completed painting and a tray of colors were propped precariously on the low table in front of her. The painting was of three women, but done in an impressionist style rather than realistic like a photo. It seemed odd at first, but the more Cal looked at it, the more it captivated him. This style gave the illusion of motion and life so that the women in the painting seemed to breathe. It was as though he was looking through a window and caught them mid-conversation; any moment they’d look up and see him. 

“It’s…” 

“Not very good, I know,” Merrin finished for him. 

“No, it’s great!” Cal said hurriedly. “It’s really good! I could never make something like that.”

Merrin sniffed in disbelief. “Of course you could.”

“I couldn’t. Jedi training didn’t involve much art, so I never learned.” Suddenly, a thought occurred to him: “Hey! Maybe you could –”

“You don’t want me to teach you,” Merrin said, shaking her head.  

“No, I do. I really do.” 

Merrin looked up, eyes searching his face. What she saw there, he didn’t know, but apparently, he passed whatever test it was because suddenly she was moving over to make room for him. 

“Alright, sit down. What do you want to paint?”

“Uhh…” Honestly, Cal had not thought that far ahead. BD-1 chirped helpfully from his shoulder and Cal grinned. “Good idea, buddy!” he pointed to the flowers nearby, sitting in their lit terrarium. “Can I start with something like the plants?” 

This appeared to be a good answer, as Merrin nodded. He shot BD-1 a grateful smile and the little droid trilled happily.

“That is a good idea. Start simple with something in front of you. Pick just one of the flowers and, here –” she pulled out a piece of paper from her stack and placed it in front of him. Then she pushed a stylus into his hand.

“Now, sketch it.”

Never had a blank page been more intimidating. He had no idea where to start. He snuck a sideways glance at BD-1, who hopped obediently off his shoulder and onto the table below. BD-1 looked at the page, then back at Cal before bobbing up and down in a little shrug. Suggesting a subject seemed to be the limit of the little droid’s help. Meanwhile, Merrin was looking at him expectantly. 

“But how do I do that, exactly? I can’t just…draw it,“ he said.

“Do all Jedi give up so easily?” Merrin wondered aloud. He felt his ears turning red. 

“If you don’t want –” he started to get up, but she pulled him back with a gentle hand. 

“Sit down. Okay. Everything is made up of shapes. Look at the watering can on the bench, it’s actually a cylinder and a triangle joined together –”

“I know the witch isn’t touching my hydroponics back there!” Greez shouted from the cockpit. 

“It’s Nightsister,” Merrin called back to him without turning. “And shouldn’t you be flying the ship?” 

“So it’s about seeing things not just by what they are, but by what makes them up?” Cal asked quickly, cutting off further protests from Greez. “Like, their energy?”

“Exactly!” Merrin said happily, “I knew you would get it. And for us – people from Dathomir, I mean - when we paint we think not just about the shapes that make them up, but the actions that brought them there. When you are painting a warrior,” she gestured down at her work, “you are not just painting the woman.”

“You’re not?”

“No,” Merrin replied, as though the question was elementary. “You’re painting everything that brought her there. You must hold it in your head when you paint. It is the only way it will be a true painting. We are, all of us, made up of the collective choices of ourselves and our ancestors.”

“So when you paint them like that…you’re always connected to them?”

“Yes. Even when they’re far away, or gone.” She said this with a note of sadness in her voice, looking down. He followed her gaze back to the figures on the paper. It dawned on him that this was more than just a painting of some random Nighsisters. They were Merrin’s family.

“Tell me about them?” Cal asked, nodding down at the painting. 

Merrin stiffened and withdrew back into the couch. “I was a child when they died. There is so much I don’t remember, so many things I never got to learn.”

“Tell me about them, please?” Cal asked again, gently. He leaned forward, meeting her halfway. She warmed and sat up again. On an impulse, he reached out and put his hand over hers. Unlike the other times they’d touched, which had been fleeting, she didn’t move away. Instead, she smiled at him and he felt his stomach flop over. 

“A-hem.”

Their hands flew apart as Cere cleared her throat. She rose from her spot on the couch and, without looking at either of them, walked out towards the cockpit. As an afterthought, she doubled back, scooped up a protesting BD-1, and carried him away as well. Cal watched them go out of the corner of his eye, but Merrin’s gaze never left his face.

“Do you really want to hear about my sisters?” she asked quietly, once Cere had gone. 

Cal took a deep breath, gathering his thoughts. Talking to Merrin was a little like scaling the ice walls on Ilum. Each movement was a gamble…would he gain a foothold, or would he overreach and fall to the bottom again? Other than what he’d learned on Dathomir, Cal knew nothing about Merrin’s life. And though he hadn’t put it to words yet, he found that he did want to know what had brought her here. Like the painting, it was the only way to know the true Merrin. He looked up at her again and found her still staring at him, her dark eyes wary, waiting for an answer.

“Yes, I do.“

Merrin nodded sharply, face set, as though a decision had just been made. She looked so intense, he thought at first he’d done something wrong. But then she reached over and, much to his surprise, closed her hand around his own and squeezed.

“Cal, I will tell you about my sisters. And then you will tell me about your family, the Jedi.”

“I’d like that. I’d like that a lot.”

[izzyhunterscar]

Not Your Barbie Girl (pt.1)

OP! Villianous! Murderous! Reader X Tomura Shigaraki

WARNING! Before reading this, you are not in good terms with any UA people so if you happen to like some heroes, spoiler you don’t got a good relationship with them.

        (Y/n) (L/n) was a girl who could be feared, yet she wasn't. Why? Simple. The (h/c) haired girl was the kindest most generous student in class 1-A, or Yuuei for that matter. She was the "Extra Student", entering at the same time as the rest, but only put in the class recently as there was a mix up at the beginning.

         You needed something? She got you covered. Words of encouragement? She poured them out on you. Need free time and have stuff to do? Just dump your work on (Y/n) and she would do it with a smile while you left to train, party, or whatever you chose.

        Now to answer the question, why should she be feared? Her quirk was powerful if used correctly. She could control both animate and inanimate objects, bringing an inanimate object to life or simply shutting down your organs with just a glance. (Y/n) was taught to always put others before herself, as a hero should, however she took her parents words too seriously and put others before her own well being at the cost of her sanity.

        The others? They thought she was a very kind girl, she was a huge pushover though. It led to bullying from people she never knew and pity from onlookers who watched her get pushed around but did nothing to help her.

        Now to her present state. She couldn't take it anymore. The Sports festival was coming up and all anyone wanted to do was train, so they simply asked her to do everything they had. And adding up every student who dumped the work on her, she had no time to herself.          She sat crying, students papers laying around her. "I-I don't want to do this anymore!" She wiped her eyes repeatedly. "Mom...Dad....why do they just shove me around like a toy? I smile and I take it. Don't talk back. Don't talk back. Don't talk back. Just take it. Just take it. Be nice. Be nice. Nice is good. Nice. Help. Nice is good. Don't be mean. Don't be mean. I don't. I don't. I don't want this. Is this what hell feels like? Mom, Dad. I'm sorry." She sobbed out, her eyes closing. (Y/n)'s body slumped down. Her breathing slow, tears drying on her face. The Sports festival was only a day away. (Y/n) still slept, unknown to the world. The students who gave her their work continued their training with no feelings toward the work they put on the poor girl. Unaware of her sanity deteriorating in her hibernation. Finally it was time. Sunlight shined in her room, running over her sleeping face. No sounds were made as (Y/n)'s eyes opened. The (h/c) haired girl stood up, her head tilting at all the papers around her. She raised her hand and snapped. The papers turned to dust and floated away. She smiled, showing the growing fangs. Her hair was longer, almost reaching the floor. She hummed and skipped out of her small house, fanged smile still present. She reached the school and entered her class waiting room. She sat down on a bench, hands folded into her lap. Eyes smiling with her ever present fangs. Soon enough the freshmen are called out and she follows her class out to the middle of the stadium. A familiar ash blonde goes on stage and speaks, causing an uproar. Her ears are deaf to his words and the screams, she stands tall and makes no acknowledgement of the loudness around her. The first event comes, an obstacle race. It begins and everyone leaves her in the dust.  "What is this? (L/n) is just standing at the beginning...uhh...smiling." Present Mic announces to the audience. They all watch her with curious and some furious eyes. "(L/n)?" (Y/n) turns her head slowly towards the announcing box, she raises her hand and snaps. In an instant she's at the end, still smiling.  The teachers stare blankly in shock. She's never done that before, at least not to their knowledge. The audience is loving her. Cheering her last name.  "(L/n)! (L/n)!"  However, they fall on deaf ears as she waits at the end, watching furious and surprised eyes of everyone who comes to the end. Katsuki rages at her, yelling as to how she got there. She didn't even look his way. Next event, the cavalry battle. (Y/n) had received the ten million point headband and let it dangle from her neck. She kicked at the ground, creating her own team, frozen in a position holding  her up. She crossed her legs and leaned back on the "frozen people" she created. It was bending the rules a little, but she was allowed her "team" because it really just gave everyone else an advantage and it was her choice. Monoma glared at her, despising her cockiness. "Stupid, 1-A, think they are so cool."  Everyone got in their teams and it began. Everyone came at (L/n) first, but could never reach her, it was like an invisible wall or more like a box surrounded her. They pounded and used their quirks coming at all angles, her feet never hit the ground and they couldn't reach her. Every angle was covered by this invisible boundary. It frustrated everyone, wanting nothing more to steal the points that dangled right in front of their face. (Y/n) was only using a fraction of her powers to keep them out. And smiled at each angry face. It reminded her of when they all asked for her to do their work and she once said no. She lifted her arm up and waved it around like she was conducting an orchestra. The ground rumbled, stone soldiers rose from the ground, constricting every student on the field. Another stone soldier moved faster than the other and stole every headband from the teams, returning into her box and kneeling presenting her with all the headbands. She took the headbands and jumped down, the soldiers using their hands as steps so she never touched the ground. She held the headbands up and dropped them at the edge of the boundary. The soldiers sank back into the ground and everyone charged at the headbands, (Y/n) standing right behind them. They all smacked into the invisible wall. Shoto froze everyone and tried to freeze through her "walls". The ice couldn't even touch the barrier.

She tilted her head, watching the struggles of all the other students. 

Tomura watched intently, fascinated by the evil dominance in a hero in training. He wanted her for himself. She proved herself a force to be reckoned with and he wanted her on his side. He saw her distaste for the students around her, her smile didn't hide anything. 

Soon the battle ended. The timer hitting zero, everyone but (Y/n) with no points. She sat patiently in the stands as they tried to decide who would continue. 

Of course, the favored class, 1-A, a lot of their students were set to be in the individual fights. Oh (Y/n) couldn't wait!

The hero's moved some people around, unsure of who would be a good battle to watch now that she changed the game. They had a plan set, she wasn't even on their radar, but she showed two cards and they had to shuffle.

It would be a lie to say a few heroes were worried she was too powerful. Most doubted her, talking shit like she was just a master at tricks.

They decided to have her as the final champion. Letting all the other students who continued on have a fair chance to reach the podium. She made no expression of caring whether she fought now or later, just standing there with her creepy fanged smile. The battles seemed to go by quickly, time holding no power over her as she waited for her turn.  Shoto and Katuski stood ready in the arena, about to fight each other. She just glanced down and found herself in the middle of the arena. And for the first time she spoke. "Well done, heroes. You almost made it to me. Sadly, I have a schedule to keep. He watches but I know who you are, I know where you are." She looked at the camera. The live television zooming in on her face. Tomura cackled, wanting nothing more to show her his power, to show her she's nothing to him. He sat back and scratched the back of his neck, the skin peeling much like the rest of him. "What the fuck are you saying, you dipshit?" Katsuki asked in his regular angry tone. "You're interrupting our battle. I'm going to win and fight you. And then I'll be in first." Shoto rolled his eyes but glared at her. "You may have an interesting power, but you are nothing to me."

She scoffed. "I don't think I ever asked what either of you thought. I'll end this now." With a smile she snapped. Both boys fell down in pain, coughing up blood. She glanced towards the hero Eraserhead and swiped her hand in the air.  "Shit." Aiziawa held onto a nearby wall. "I can't see anything. I can't stop her." The crowd went into a panic, trying to make a beeline for the exits. A barrier stopped them and like puppets they all were forced back into their seats and faces turned to the arena. "You wanted a battle. I'll give you a slaughter." Both boys gasped and continued bleeding out. "You have no chance, (Y/n). This place is full of heroes." They tried to scare her with their words. "Did you really think, I didn't know that? I did say this was a slaughter did I not?" She spun around happily waving her hands in a graceful way. Every hero that showed up to the sports festival was plucked from their spot and teleported in a line in the center of the arena. "My my, the great heroes! It's so nice of you to come! Who wants to die first? It seems we are missing the number one hero, but you all shall do!" She then released them. "Let's fight!" They all had their quirks at the ready and charged at her, much like the Cavalry battle. They all ended up running through her. The image flickered and disappeared. "I'm over here you idiots!" Giggling she waved from the other side of the arena. The moment they turned, she snapped. All the heroes gasped and choked, clawing at their chest.  "Help..." They all managed, in a blink of an eye, their hearts burst from their chests. Blood splattered on Bakugo and Todoroki, the look of horror painted on their faces.  She left Endeavor the only hero in the arena alive. "And this is why you'll always be number two. Can't even save your fellow heroes. Such a shame. Not." She circled him. "How do you want to die?" He only glared at her. "I guess I'll decide. You can die like the rest did! Because you are nothing, not even worthy of being called the second hero." She snapped and disappeared. Endeavor's heart lay where she once stood. After she left, chaos ensued. Heroes’ bodies littered the battlefield and the people ran in horror. The students and heroes that were left were in shock. No one knew what to do. They just lost two-thirds of the pro heroes and later discovered twenty students dead, a few from class 1-A and more from general studies and 1-B. After that fiasco, it was with no doubt she would be branded as a villain. She told the media she wanted to be called Smile, leaving with her never ending smile. She knocked on a run down door.  A blonde girl answered. "O! Fang gang! TOMURA! The girl you mentioned before is here!!! She still smells like death!" She walked in and found Tomura, he glared at you. "Who said you could just walk in?"  (Y/n) just smiled and said. "I did. You uncultured swine. Learn manners and invite your guests in." Tomura growled and grabbed her wrist with all five fingers.  Everyone waited. And waited. And waited. And waited. She patted him on the head with your free hand. "Was something supposed to happen....Tenko?" She whispered in his ears. She then removed his hand from her wrist. "Aw, did you just want to touch me? I know no one would want to touch your dry flaky dumbass but you shouldn't force yourself on me. Bad first impression, my dude." Dabi let out a chuckle and Tomura went red faced. "How dare-" She cut him off with a wave of her hand. "Anyways, my name is (Y/n)! Please take care of me. Or die." She smiled.

[fantasyandromancelover]

The Tale of Tales Chapter 30

It had begun to snow the next day so Gray went out into the forest to gather firewood. He had been out there for about an hour when Juvia came to find him.

"I think you have enough wood now so maybe you should come back inside before you catch a cold."

Though her words were kind and considerate, she spoke them in a voice that was filled with a gloomy sadness. Ever since that day when he had said those cruel words about her father she hardly ever spoke to him and when she did it was in that gloomy, sad like voice which lucky for his sake the dwarfs didn't pick up on however he was beside himself with frustration, confusion, and above all guilt. Unbearable guilt over the hurtful words he had spoken toward her.

He had considered apologizing several times but then he would question why he wanted to apologise? Why did he care if he had hurt her feelings or not? He had never cared about other people's feelings before so why was this time different?

"Do you hate me?" Juvia asked him.

"What?"

"I said do you hate me?"

"Why are you asking me that?"

"Because from the moment I've met you you've spoken to me like all I do is irritate you, you said the most awful things to me the other day, and you haven't apologized so I can't help but think that you must hate me."

"Don't take it personally Princess, I hate everybody."

"Even if you don't know them? Even when they've done nothing to you?"

"Yeah so what's your point?"

"That doesn't make any sense. I mean if you live life like that how are you going to make friends or get close to anyone?"

"Did it ever occur to you that maybe I don't want to get close to anyone? That I'm better off alone?"

"But no one's better off alone."

"I am. I don't make friends, I don't get close, I live alone and avoid people when I can."

"Then why haven't you left yet?"

"Huh?"

"Your foot is all better now so if you prefer to be alone then why haven't left yet?"

It didn't occur to Gray til now but she was right. His foot was good as new, he could stand, walk, jump, and run without feeling any pain so why was he still here? And more importantly why hadn't he killed her yet? As he thought about it more he convinced himself that it was because she was the daughter of a king and that if he killed her and word got out he would be executed or worse.

"I'm going back home." She said.

She headed toward the cottage while watching the snow fall. Snow really was a beautiful thing, she understood why her mother had adored it so much for it was so pure, delicate, and fair. She remembered how she used to play in the snow with the children of Fiore, take sleigh rides with her father, and ice skate on frozen lakes.

She was so caught up in her happy winter memories that she didn't notice the nearby patch of ice of the ground and when she stepped on it she slipped and went tumbling down a hill and slid off of the edge of cliff. Luckily she managed to cling to a tree root that stuck out of the ground. At the bottom of the cliff was an ice cold and raging river, if Juvia were to fall it would most likely be the end of her.

"Help!" She screamed holding on to the root for dear life. "Someone please help me!"

She felt her fingers slipping. Gray had heard her screaming and followed her tracks to the cliff.

"Gray please help me! I don't think I can hold on any longer!" She cried.

"Give me your hand!" He bent over a reached out to her, she let go of the root with one hand and used it to reach him. It was a great struggle but their hands managed to grab each other. "I got you! Don't worry I won't let you go I promise!"

"Oh hurry! Please hurry!"

He started to pull her up but then he slipped on the ice and sent both of them falling off the cliff. Acting on instinct, Gray pulled Juvia to his chest and shielded her the best he could. Then splash! They landed right in the freezing river. The water was so cold that it felt like a thousand knives stabbing them and it was so unbearable that they both lost consciousness. By a miracle they didn't sink or drown instead they floated toward land where they were found and saved.

It wasn't until morning when Juvia woke up and when she did she became aware of two things. One that she was warm and two that she was laying on top of a quilt while another covered her. She sat up, opened her eyes, and the first thing she saw was quite unusual. An apple tree. An apple tree growing in this weather? How odd. As her vision adjusted she became more aware of where she was. She was in an incredible garden that was bathed in warm sunlight and thriving with plants. There was the apple tree, a pear tree, a cherry tree, strawberry bushes, blackberry patches, and all sorts of wild flowers. Roses, lillies, violets, daffodils, irises, honeysuckles, carnations, daisies, and many other beautiful flowers. Birds, rabbits, and squirrels were running about instead of hibernating or migrating. It was the most beautiful and extravagant garden she had ever seen. A thousand times better than the royal gardens back at the castle. She thought that surely she must be dreaming because it appeared to be Summer where she was.

"Oh my head." Looking to her side she saw that Gray was lying next to her and starting to wake up. He too became amazed when he saw where they were. "Are we dead?"

"I don't think so."

"Then I must've lost my mind because I'm pretty sure I'm not supposed to be seeing this. Hang on are you seeing the same things I'm seeing?"

"Yes."

"Okay then I'm not going crazy but if we're not dead and I still have my sanity then why is it Summer time right now? Good Lord how long were we out?"

"Half a day." A voice said. They looked over at a table which had three chairs and was set with a table cloth, a case of flowers, a few dishes, and a tea set. Sitting in one of the three chairs was a little girl with her midnight blue hair tied in pigtails and wearing a yellow sun dress with a white sash. "Glad to see you two are finally awake, would you like some tea? I just finished making it."

"Who are you and where are we?" Juvia asked.

"I'm Wendy and this is my garden. Isn't it pretty?"

"How did we get here?" Gray asked.

"Oh I found you two washed up from the river yesterday and you were both so cold and wet so I brought you to my garden to warm you up."

"How could a little girl like you carry both of us?"

"Well technically I didn't carry you two here, I made you two float over here."

"Huh?"

"Oh right you two don't know what I am yet do you? I'm a fairy."

"Correct me if I'm wrong but don't fairies have wings?"

"Yes but I haven't earned mine yet but I will someday. Anyway I figured when you two woke you might be in need of some refreshments so I've prepared some nice hot tea and I've laid out a bowl of strawberries and a plate of tea cakes. Please help yourself."

Gray and Juvia still had some questions for her but they were hungry and thirsty so they decided to have a little snack before continuing with their questions.

[blackjacketmuses]

@multiimuse

Something had happened to the world. That much he was entirely certain of. He’d felt it in his bones, right down to his core, that something fundamental had changed. He had been outside in the city for once, mostly to get some air while the weather was in the acceptable area between cool and warm, and had nearly fallen as the sensation of something changing had rocked him like he was standing on moving ground. But then everything had been exactly the same when he looked around again, the same streets, the same shops, the same distant ocean, the same...the same buildings dominating the skyline....

They weren’t supposed to be black, though. 

Regardless, he was able to ignore the sensation of sinking dread for at least another few more minutes, until walking through a plaza nearby a cafe with the news on made his world shatter into a thousand pieces. 

The news talking about Decay of Angels wasn’t new, honestly; they were a common talking point, especially recently now that things were heating up between them and the Syndicate, but...to hear that they were on the run and that two of them had been arrested, one of them possibly killed? That was--- how had he not heard about that? The government would have been involved, yes, but no one else but the Syndicate could have. There’s no way the news got to that first...and then. And then the subject rolls around to another arrest, and his head whips around to stare at his own face on the screen, staring blankly out of the photograph with his own expression of vague disinterest, but with eyes that were black and cold as ice, a stranger’s eyes. Leader of the terrorist group Rats in the House of the Dead, Fyodor Dostoevsky...

....what?

He unconsciously tugs his hood up, burying himself in it and clutching a little tighter to the strap of his laptop bag. He needs to get back to the hotel. He needs to get back to Kolya and Vanya, sit down and come up with what’s happened. Find out who and why and how. He needs to call Mori, call the Syndicate, call the Guild. He needs to talk to someone.

(He’s already half sure he knows what happened, but he refuses to believe it. That can’t be right. It can’t have happened. If that happened, then...then none of them are...then he shouldn’t even be...but--- if he was the one who’d--- but why would he have...? No. He’s wrong. He knows he’s never wrong, but this time he has to be wrong. The alternative is too horrible to bear.)

None of the numbers he calls pick up, and Kolya and Vanya’s numbers don’t work at all. The hotel has no one listed as staying in his room, the name used for the booking not there. His hands are starting to tremble, slightly, and he juggles the phone in one hand as he starts chewing on his other thumb. This simply isn’t happening. His hypothesis has to be incorrect. This is wrong. This is just a nightmare, that’s all. Another night terror. He’ll wake soon, and Vanya will make him a cup of tea, and Kolya will hug him and start cracking stupid jokes, and this will be only a memory. How could this happen? He cannot picture a world in which he would...he cannot--- he cannot fathom doing it, using that thing, and even if somehow he had...he shouldn’t be here...

Logic and rational thought say one thing, but he denies it, denies it with all the faith he had once put into the god that he now knows doesn’t exist. It can’t be true. If it is, then...if it is, then his world, his everything, what will become of it? What is left of him if---? No. No, it’s just a nightmare. A cruel nightmare. His have always been so vivid, and with all the stress about The Book...of course he’d begin to fear what would happen if it was used. Used by someone here, used by someone elsewhere. He has to believe it is just a dream. If it isn’t, then--- then even his ideals, where will they be? Where will he be in a world where he’s already thrown them away, a world where he’s redundant, a shadow, a ghost that hadn’t been meant to linger? No. No, that doesn’t matter, because it can’t be true.

His world, however, continues to fall apart. It isn’t another hour before men in suits find him, surround him, and--- he doesn’t recall anything after that, really, not for a little while. When he wakes, he’s in a cold, dark room, the concrete stained with old blood and who knows what else, and suddenly he finds it hard to breathe. His coat is gone, his arms are cuffed together tightly, and he doesn’t know anyone in this room, any of the men in suits and sunglasses, and for once he doesn’t know what in the world is going on. He can’t think to figure it out, either, the room and the old dry blood and the coldness and the cuffs on his wrists shorting out his brain and strangling his thoughts and making his breath come short and quick and his body tremble. He has to try and focus, though, focus on what’s happening, get answers--- but none come, and he has no answers for the men, either. He can barely process their questions, but the ones they have he genuinely can’t answer. Who’s the mafia? Who’s the Agency? What does he have to do with any of it? He hasn’t been in prison since back then, let alone broke out of it. None of it makes sense, and he can’t put it together enough for it to make any. 

He gets kicked around a bit for his reticence, and he lays on his side once they leave, blood dripping steadily from his nose and split lip, bruises forming darkly on his cheek and likely on his chest beneath his shirt. It could be worse, he thinks hazily through the low murmur of panic that’s slowly getting louder. He’s had much worse than just this. But even so--- even so--- he doesn’t understand. What’s going on?

Meanwhile, the mafia’s confiscated his things, giving them over to their boss --- the bag their new prisoner was carrying just has a heavily encrypted laptop with a familiar rat’s-head logo on it, its charger, and a secondhand fantasy novel, and the coat pockets contain a switchblade, a box of pills, wallet with a few yen bills, and an ID and things that don’t confirm any sort of real identity, a room key from a local hotel, just-as-encrypted phone, a box of band-aids, a USB drive, a package of candy with a label in Cyrillic, and a few other bits of useless junk. None of it really makes sense, however--- given the man’s identity, he shouldn’t have anything, let alone things like this, as if he’d never been in prison at all. But his identity had been confirmed by the Eyes of God--- Fyodor Dostoevsky was in the mafia’s dungeon, and yet the prison itself confirms that he is also still there, having his battle of wits with Osamu Dazai. This doesn’t seem like it could be possible.

But there he is when the executives in question come down to talk to the man personally, a wisp-thin and ghost pale figure in grey pants and a dress shirt, black hair framing a bruised and bloody face, burgundy eyes ringed with thick shadows and filled with confusion and thinly veiled panic --- emotions that are joined with shock and recognition when he sees the new visitors. It--- it’s them, he thinks faintly, almost dizzy with relief. People he knows. People he trusts. They can tell him what’s happening, can’t they? They can finally reassure him that this isn’t real, despite the ache in his frail body telling him he can’t keep denying it for much longer. They stare at him like they’re looking at an enemy, and the look his eyes fade into lost, almost frightened desperation, too shaken and panicked and close to the edge to hide it. 

Please, he thinks silently. Please, please, tell him this is a dream. Because if it isn’t, then everything he knows is gone by his own hands, and--- and he’ll never be able to get it back. He can’t bear that. He can’t live with that, not after crawling back out of hell once already. He looks up at the people he knows, the people who should be his friends, at Ougai Mori and Chuuya Nakahara (and where’s Dazai?) and holds his breath. His world can’t take another shattering. It can’t. (He knows it will, in the part of him that can’t deny it anymore; but for his own fragile, once-repaired sanity, he...he can’t admit that.)

[fantasyelffanfic]

Star Wars -Thief in the Darkness - Chapter 2 - Kylo Ren/OC

Star Wars - Thief in the Darkness

Chapter 2

-o-o-o-

"The journey begins with a single step..."

-o-o-

I darted between the tents after them. At one point I lost sight of Rey and the stranger, but I knew this area like the back of my hand. It was my playground. I vaulted up onto a roof, leaping across the space. I followed their tracks in the sand, hunting them easily. There she stood, Rey, towering over the fallen man. I jumped down beside her and upon closer inspection, I saw that he was young, not much older than myself. The jacket he wore was that of a flight pilot.

I froze, the details clicking into place in my mind like a jigsaw puzzle. Was he part of the resistance? Jakku was a barren planet, with little life growing on it or sign of conflict. But even here there were stories of the rebellion, of the battle against the first order.

Rey pinned the male down with her quaterstaff, both parties breathing heavily from the chase.

"What's your hurry, thief?" Rey snarled at him, whacking him in the chest for good measure.

"Rey, wait." I stepped closer to stand beside her, looking down at our new companion. He looked rough, covered in dust and his skin dry like the desert sand on which he laid upon. But most of all he looked afraid. Trying to be calm, but definitely afraid of something. His eyes kept casting around them, as though searching for a threat we could not see.

"The jacket," Rey demanded, leaning closer in threat. "BB-8 says you stole it. It belongs to his master."

The man held up his hands in a non-threatening gesture, "It belonged to Poe Dameron." He looked between the droid and Rey with panic. "That's his name, right? He was captured by the first order. I helped him escape but our ship crashed..." he trailed off, sadness casting a shadow across his dark eyes. "Poe didn't make it. I tried to help him. I'm sorry..."

The BB droid next to me moved back. It moved slowly, almost sadly in reaction to the news. I felt the urge to reach out and pat its domed metal head in reassurance.

"So," Rey lowered her staff, her expression changing to that of wonder. "You're with the resistance?"

There was a moment's pause. Long. Awkward. And somewhat suspicious.

"Obviously," the man replied, nodding in confirmation, "Yes. Yes, I am with the resistance."

I narrowed my eyes at him. I knew a liar when I saw one. Some were good at lying, but this guy wasn't one of them. I could see right through him. And the way his eyes darted away from me nervously confirmed my suspicions even more. Which left me with questions. Who was he? What was he up to? If he wasn't with the resistance, then who was he with? Time would tell. He couldn't hide it forever, that was for certain. This stranger and BB unit seemed linked somehow.

"I've never met a resistance fighter before," Rey smiled up at him and I couldn't prevent my eyes from rolling at her naivety.

They carried on talking to one another in hushed, excited voices, but something drew my focus away from them. A disturbance at the far end of the marketplace. I tried to peer closer but couldn't make out what was happening amongst the crowds of people.

"...Luke Skywalker..."

My head snapped back to the pair, my mouth falling open at the mentioned name.

"Luke Skywalker?" I repeated in awe. " As in, Skywalker the Jedi master?"

I'd heard of such a person. A person so powerful and wise, yet only heard about in stories and legends. His name was known throughout all of the galaxies. But surely he couldn't be real, could he? My mind went wild at the idea. The force, Jedi's, the dark side; none of it was real... Was it?

The BB droid began to beep in high pitched panic. All three of us span towards the far end of the market. The commotion from earlier had grown in intensity. The throng of people parted and there, staring directly at us, was a pair of stormtroopers. Armed, and beginning to make their way towards us.

Uh oh, this wasn't good. What were storm troopers doing here? I couldn't fathom it at first, but then it clicked. I spun to the dark male who stood beside us, who was also looking towards the troopers with unease.

"Come on!" He shouted suddenly and reached for Rey, dragging her along with him as he began to run.

I stood there for a moment, stunned like an idiot watching them flee. I had no idea what was going on. Or who this strange guy was, or why Rey was escaping with him.

I didn't have much time to ponder it as laser blasted and scorched its way across the cleaning unit, inches away from my body. I ducked down low as more blasts shot their way towards me.

What the...

I could hear their heavy footsteps drawing nearer. I shot up and began to run in the direction Rey and the stranger had taken.

I caught up with them swiftly, just as a loud and oppressive screeching filled the skies. The sound deafening. I skidded to a stop and tilted my head back, looking up to the source. My stomach dropped and fear flooded my veins like ice. Two TIE fighters screamed above us. Turning in the air before launching a merciless assault upon the village. Sand and debris flew all around me. I was thrown hard to the ground, my teeth rattling from the impact. My ears rang.

Troopers and now starfighters were here. They were hunting for the male stranger in the pilot jacket. I knew it with every fibre of my being. They offered no mercy, they came here to kill.

I spat out the sand from my mouth and glared at the stranger laying beside me and Rey. "You! What the fuck is going! You know, don't you? Who are you?"

"I'll explain later," he gasped, "We've got to move!"

I shot up, following after them as they made a beeline towards a crash wreck covered in huge sheets of tarpaulin. Above me I could hear the slicing of the fighters shots through the air, the blasts shaking the ground beneath my feet.

I was practically crawling my way up the ship's ramp when it began to surge into life. The lights blazed brightly and the door began to move. I lunged forward with all my might in time to make it inside before they closed with a soft whoosh.

"I don't like this," I breathed heavily to myself, "I don't like this one single bit." I slid down against a nearby wall, adrenaline burning through my body like liquid fire.

"Gunner position's down there!"

"You ever flown this thing?!"

Rey and the stranger's voices echoed nearby. I pulled myself up and rushed further into the aircraft. My footsteps clanged loudly against the metal flooring as I sprinted down the corridors. I burst through a set of doors to find Rey sat in the cockpit looking at me.

"Sit down and get strapped in!"

I didn't need telling twice. I took the nearest seat and buckled myself in just as panic seized me full on. The area was too small and enclosed for my liking. The walls seemed to narrow around me. The air seemed thin in here. The lights harsh and bright, but hardly enough to give me comfort. My body trembled, shuddering so hard that it felt as though I was about to tear a limb from the tension. The ship began to vibrate, rising up from the ground with a shudder. It tilts and my body tilts with it.

"Breathe, Freya," I chant to myself over and over. "Breathe, just breathe."

Rey and the stranger shout to one another, but my mind is too foggy to make sense of what is happening. I had no control over my body or the situation. The speed of the flying ship caught my stomach with unpleasant butterflies. I gripped the straps of my seat with tight fingers, strangling it.

Through the chaos, my brain drifts through a languid fog, lost in a whirlwind of sensation and memories that were familiar and unwanted...

The walls close in around me, darkness is everywhere. Suffocating. Strangling me of my sanity.

"Please... Let me out!"

My legs and arms thrash out against walls of my prison. The space so small I can barely turn within its confines.

"I won't do it again... please!"

There is no light, no freedom, no comfort.

Blackness is my captor.

"Father!"

"Freya!"

As though emerging from a deep sea of water, I gasped for breath and sprung upright. Hands rested upon my shoulders, comforting and gentle. I blink through the haze and look to the person standing over me. Rey. Her light eyes searched mine, filled with concern.

"Freya? Are you alright?" She said again.

"What happened?" I asked groggily, sitting straighter in the seat. My neck ached terribly, my stomach burned as though filled with bile and fire. I felt awful. My head was heavy, unclear. I lifted a hand, trying to clear the fog that clouded it. "Where am I?"

"We're still aboard the ship. We managed to escape the fighters." Rey explained.

I unbuckled my belt and stood up on unsteady feet. My entire back felt moist, drenched in sweat.

"That.." I began, with a shake of my head, "...was by far the worst experience I've had in long time."

I turned a little and I noticed then the dark stranger stood nearby watching us. The same guy from earlier whom the troopers had been chasing. He had a lot to answer for, and I was determined to get answers.

"You." I stepped towards him, pointing at him with a shaking arm. "Who are you? Why were they following you?"

"It's ok," Rey said, resting a hand upon my shoulder again. "He's with the resistance. He's trying to get BB-8 back home, he has the map to help find Luke Skywalker."

I frowned, "BB-8?"

She gestured downwards. I looked down to find the little white and orange droid from earlier beside us. Its domed like head spun towards me. The rounded circle of its optic zooming in. Curious.

"The droid?" I asked.

Rey nodded, "BB-8. That's his name. We have to help him." She looked to the man standing beside her, "I don't know your name."

"Finn," He answered, albeit after a brief pause. "What's yours?"

"I'm Rey," she gestured towards me, "and this is Freya. A friend."

A friend...

That word alone made my chest warm and calm. I slid myself back down upon my seat, my legs still weak. I glanced between the two of them; Rey and Finn. I'd never had companions as such. Yet this young woman stood before me and declared me as her friend. Despite all the rush, all the chaos and fear I had experienced in such a short time, I felt myself smiling.

[seenashwrite]

The Midwife: Part One

Status: Complete (1 of 4) Word Count: 3K Category: Mini-series; Behind-the-scenes canon compliant; Historical; Mystery; Teamwork; On-the-hunt   Rating: Teen & Up Character(s): Various O.C.s; References to familiar people/places Pairing(s): N/A  Warnings: None Overall Summary: In the mid-1950s, a member of the New York City chapter of the Men of Letters is sent to the United Kingdom to assist with what appears to be another stack of cold case dead-ends, when he suddenly finds himself questioning one of his closest-held convictions. 

          *~* The Midwife : Master Post *~*

There was once a small pocket of unmoved time in Kansas, about half a century's worth, and it came to an end simply, no magic required. A turn of a key in a lock, two sets of steps across a threshold, then it was over, just like that. Simple maneuvers were in contrast with the Men of Letters' old hat routine but the new occupants of their abandoned shelter under Lebanon favored such actions when they had the option.

These legacies were not alone in that position, though they may have found the premise hard to swallow as the years went by, as their knowledge grew. Their encounters with a few of the more interesting members of their inherited fraternity would have done little to convince them otherwise. Seeing is believing, and what-have-you.    

Proof. Tangibility. Something solid, something that could be held in the hand, studied, documented. Rumor meets research meets methodology. Hunter meets weapon meets monster. So, in that respect, more Men of Letters than not.

No one would have faulted the Winchester brothers for missing the typewriter at the very back of the lowest, farthest space, under the rotting table, inside the water-damaged and disintegrating box, completely covered by shadows and cobwebs in that brick-walled cellar of a storage room.

Perhaps some fault - they had lived there for years by the time the typewriter's keys began to move for the first time in decades - maybe that room should have long been discovered, its items sorted. The youngest would have found the books of value, slightly molded as they were. The eldest most assuredly would have found the vintage weaponry of interest, if not use.  

Should they ever go hunting in their home, and should that hunt take them to the dark corner, and the box, and the rusted device, a yellowed paper wrapped on the roll, filled with words in faded ink would await them, though they'd need to be timely: things of such nature do eventually tend to fall to pieces.

Kendricks Academy, just outside London - 1956

.

I've heard it said that if you question your own sanity, then the thought in-and-of itself means you're not. Insane, that is. I found that reasonable, though I suspected many a lunatic had to have felt it creeping on, so reason, yes; comfort, no.

Burt flicked a tiny paper ball across the huge library table to get my attention, and I tilted my head slightly in his direction, met mischievous eyes with my own, ones I suspected were dull and glazed-over and a step shy of insanity. A small snicker was my confirmation, and it was quickly shifted into a mild throat-clearing when our monotone host glanced over his shoulder in our direction. Undeterred, the long, thin stick in his hand went back to pointing - poking, really - at the projected data on the wall, the droning getting right back on track.

This was how I'd die.

He was such a promising young man, they'd write. Twenty-four, taken long before his time, found still sitting up in the chair, his beloved research scattered around him. He is survived by an incredibly angry fiancée, bereft over the meticulously-yet-indecisively-planned wedding that shall never occur. In lieu of flowers, donations may be made in his name to the Men of Letters, United Kingdom Headquarters, London. Please earmark as funding for booze-filled credenzas in all meeting rooms.

It wasn't just the London chapter - my home chapter in New York City was filled with fellows who could bore with the best of them, and though I loved my job, this assignment was working my nerves. I'd thought my breaks in the cold cases department - especially the last one - would send me into the more active areas of our duties. Active without action, for the most part, but I would've happily taken it.

Instead they’d sent the Lily Sunder investigation on without me, then sent me across the pond, a stack of ice-colds awaiting me in the United Kingdom. And, of course, the not-so-brief briefings delivered in succession by brethren who grew increasingly brain-numbing. Thank heavens for Burt.

Per usual, he seemed to take everything in stride, easygoing to a fault. He was only around five years my senior, though his somewhat girthy physique and heavily balding scalp made him look older. And while he supported me in my desire to see what else our secret society had to offer, he seemed perfectly content languishing with the cold cases.

Even the fact that we'd been boarded at the school didn't seem to faze him, thin mattresses and bland food be damned. His pockets were always filled with candy, a bit grandfatherly, but I found myself grateful. I'd taken to munching whenever he did, and after almost three weeks, my waistband had started to protest - made sense why Burt was perpetually suspendered. Still, I took the offered piece of wax-wrapped taffy as we walked back to the dormitory.

"No more bubblegum?" I asked, pulling the sticky wad in two before I stuck it in my mouth.

"Nah," Burt replied, talking around an entire piece of taffy settled into his cheek, where it was causing a giant bulge. "Got in my mustache the other day."

"Stop blowing bubbles."

"Then what's the point, Jacky?"

"Got me."

"Say, you heard anything from home?"

"Colleen changed her bouquet again."

"I meant Lily."

"No, lilies were three bouquets ago."

"The Sunder case, you moron."

"Ah. No. Last time I asked, Peterson said it was now 'eyes only'." I capped off my response with rolled eyes, then went ahead and stuffed the other half of the taffy in my mouth. Burt knew better. I hated talking about it.

"Still makes me mad," he replied in a sympathetic tone.

"Nothing makes you mad."

"Well, that did! Jack, you're the one that found the lead, confirmed the Canada sighting---"

I sighed. "Burt---"

"And for pity's sake, the Nephi---"

I hocked my taffy into a nearby bush before I stopped in my tracks, turned, gripped his forearm. "Burt!" I hissed, glancing up and down the walkway. 

Smatterings of students were still lingering and walking about, most headed into the common areas or their next class. And though we were outside, I still couldn't believe he was speaking so loudly, so casually. Saying that word aloud at all.

Burt's brow creased slightly and those always-rosy cheeks pinked up a notch, but then he swallowed his taffy and grinned. "Wanna skip that lukewarm, eighty-percent-dough-shepherd's pie in the canteen, head to a pub? I know one that serves actual hot meals, overfill the pints...." He trailed off in a slightly sing-song voice, wiggled his eyebrows so much they almost hit the rim of his cap.

I sighed again, then shrugged my shoulders. "Why not?"

It wasn't simply that they'd taken what I'd come to consider my case away from me. It was the nagging feeling I had that despite the fact Sunder had caused no harm to civilians to our knowledge - well, excepting herself - the Men of Letters' continued interest in her was more than just loose-end tying. No reason but the pangs in my gut to think it was some kind of vendetta. Then they'd allowed more and more access to the files once my early, modest hypothesis showed promise, and I'd stumbled upon quite the reason during a fact-finding mission to the chapter house in Kansas.

House. Ha. Basement, more accurately, and the cold case guru there, Haggerty, was so excited to have company he would've let us redecorate the place in pastels if we'd asked nicely enough. Anything to keep me and Burt there longer, keep him occupied.

He was one of the more enthusiastic members, reminded me a lot of my father, truth be told. More into the metaphysical than I was, sure, but with a logical mindset. I understood why I'd been ordered to consult with him, given the nature of Sunder's appearance in the grainy photograph we'd obtained. The professor hadn't aged a day since the time she'd disappeared from what was left of her life, and our working theory was witchcraft.

Witchcraft didn't just mean magic in my business; it was one of several sub-classifications under the magical umbrella. And if you wanted the skinny on the workings of witches, you called on Haggerty. Even though he'd retired not long after we'd met, he never hesitated to get back in touch with any thoughts he had on the ideas I'd written to him about, the more far-fetched ones  I'd want to bounce off of someone before writing them up for field work consideration. Besides Burt, he was the most open-minded member of our little club. At least, that I'd ever encountered.

Which was why I was glad it was just Haggerty in the room with me when I'd had to sit down due to my shock, right there on the concrete floor, deep in the bowels of that small-town basement, just to the front of the rickety file cabinet I'd been plundering.

"You okay, kid? What's that you got there?" he'd asked.

In reply, I'd simply held out the folder to him when he'd come over and stooped down beside me.

He'd let out a low whistle, went from a stoop to taking a knee as he flipped through the papers. "This must've come from your neck of the woods, you know," he'd said cautiously. "Not sure I know how an old northeast recruitment file would've ended up here."

I knew.

They'd chalk it up to a mistake if I'd asked, a clerical error fifty-some-odd years gone, that the documentation should've gone to storage with anything else not germane to the ongoing nature of our work. Besides, they would say, it doesn't matter to the case, didn’t change the goal. Lily Sunder needed to answer for her meddling in otherworldly affairs, she needed to be monitored, needed to be questioned on her intentions.

But the truth was obvious - to me, to Burt, to Haggerty - that the real reason the file had been sent away from the New York house all those years ago was because they were embarrassed.

Sunder had refused no less than fourteen separate invitations to join the Men of Letters before the turn of the century. They'd been after her research talents since she was barely into adulthood, based on her early work in apocalyptic studies. They got more aggressive once her teaching career took off, and - judging by the verbiage in the copies of the letters they'd sent and the documentation of multiple recruitment trips to Maine - they were practically salivating over the thought of having a bonafide angel expert in their ranks.

"I still think it's why the Moles sent us here," Burt was saying, using our pet name for the ancient, die-instead-of-retire administrators in the Men of Letters.

He took large swig of beer to wash down the meat-and-two veg he'd just polished off. The rationing from the war had ended in the not-so-distant past, and it seemed all the cooks in the land - excepting the ones back at Kendricks, that is - were excited to get to do things up right again. Not that I had much of an appetite, but if we'd had to be banished, it had come at an ideal time, at least in that respect.

"We weren't banished."

Oh. I must've said that part aloud.

"Eat your food."

Burt was channeling his mother then - I knew because of the full British accent on all three words. His father was an American Mole, while his mother was the daughter of a very well-respected professor at Kendricks, not to mention all the uncles and cousins on both sides. Their family visited London for several months each year, so between that and hearing his mother every day, he was good for the occasional drift from American English, though he’d let loose around me from the jump.

There was some beef that kicked up off-and-on between the American and British leadership, and I never got invested, but a few of the older members in New York would dole out side-eyes and huffs at Burt's sporadic "pints" at "pubs", "mash" and "chips". It was more than the accent thing, though.

He kept close to the vest in general. I think because they weren’t shy about their resentment - some odd contempt for him for not being more of a go-getter, double legacy and all. Though about all that pedigree garbage, Burt couldn't have cared less. 

They didn’t know how hard he worked behind the scenes, how much Burt cared about our mission. Not how I knew. And I also knew how much he cared for me.

So I obeyed, eating a few bites of some of the best fish I'd probably ever had, and he went on.

"I'm telling you, them pulling us out here right after Sunder? It's not a coincidence. Tell me you're not thinking the same thing."

I set down my fork, wiped my mouth, then looked at him as seriously as I could manage. "If I think too much about it, I'm going to get mad. Besides, she's not out here, and they know it. She may've been, but it's not as if there's any way to determine it - she's been running since Zeppelins were all the rage. I don't know what it is, but it's not Sunder."

Burt pulled his small, leather-bound notebook from his inside pocket and untied the strings, ready to make his case. I started stuffing carrots I didn't want into my mouth so I wouldn't slip from my current irritation at his pressing into that anger I'd just warned him about. My best friend was an absolute mule.

"Wales: Llandudno - old Liddell summer home location - nothing.  Cairnholm - what was left of the Peregrine house - mild trace. You know how many kilometers we covered in Wales, total?"

"No idea, but I bet you---"

"Nine-hundred eighty-seven-point-eight, Jacko. You know how many miles that is?"

"Burt, are you going to be arriving at a point anytime in the near---"

"Then here," he continued, flipping a page. "Bloomsbury - former home of the Darlings - mild trace. All those random train depots - all the tunnels, ALL of them, Jack---"

"I was there," I said, downing the last quarter of my pint quicker than I should've, mentally crossing my fingers that his end point would have an actual theory behind it this time.

"---and we only confirmed potential - just potential - trace on one."

"You do recall when they ponied up about already knowing all this? I wanted to punch that guy."

"The short fella, the white-haired gentleman, who likely would've died on the spot if you had done?"

"Yup, that’s the one," I shot back casually, then glanced around. I caught our waitress' eye and held up my empty mug with what I hoped was a somewhat genuine smile. Burt was still going.

"All-in-all, not a definitive sign of an active hidey-hole to be found."

"I hate when you call them that."

"Window, door, aperture, passage, thinning, portal - still a hole. I stand by it."

"Fine."

"Kirke estate - every single room - not even a hint of anything."

"I'm going to rescind your best man status if you keep this up."

"Colleen can’t stand me, she'd be thrilled. Hell, Jack, make it her wedding present for all I care."

I frowned. “Jeez, Burt. What is with you?”

Then he frowned. “I was actually listening to their briefings. Were you?”

"Barely," I replied honestly. "They're sending us on follow-up field trips that first year initiates should be handling, and I actually miss our office and the city and my family and even that stupid tiny room in that overcrowded chapter house."

"And your fiancée."

I gave him a look. "I'm tired of chasing down what have always been children's stories with bits of truth in them somewhere. Bedtime tales that have been around long enough - plenty long enough - that if there were anything important to them, the Moles would've sussed it out when they were initiates."

Thankfully the waitress brought over our next round then, and I set into mine like a man just crawling in from the Sahara.  

Burt huffed at that, then said, "Tomorrow's the first time we're going somewhere that's not a rehash. You didn't notice anything new and different about the briefing today?"

"That it's the closest I've gotten to empathizing with the undead."

He flipped his notebook around to face me and planted a finger above several sets of numbers. "Exact latitudes and longitudes, exact area of square kilometers to cover." He flipped another page. “And here's the inns we'll be staying in. We're gonna be gone for a few weeks, and I know it's not just a hop-skip from here, but this shouldn't take more than four or five days, give-or-take.”

I set my mug down slowly, scanning over the notes quickly. He was right. I raised my eyes to his. He grinned when he saw he finally had my interest.

“I think they might've been testing us with all this other stuff, make sure we were accurate on the traces we'd found, see how thorough we were in following up with any living witnesses, how detailed we were in reports. I think this trip is why we're here. Because if I wanted to whip up a nice little spread, keep people away from my hidey-hole? This is exactly the type of place I'd put it.”

I stared at him for a few moments, my normally whirring, ever-processing mind at a complete standstill.

Now he leaned in closer. “And I think I have an idea about how it connects to the Sunder case - to your theory.”

Burt wisely didn't say the word - though the volume of the pub's patrons would've likely drowned it out anyway - and instead just kept studying my face.

“Spit it out,” he finally ordered.

I inhaled and exhaled a deep breath, glancing down at the scribbled locales, then back up, obeying Burt once more.

“What in damnation do they think is out on the moors?"

Feedback makes my ❤️ go boom

See Nash Write : Master  |  See Nash Write : Mobile 

🏷️🏷️Wanna be tagged? Hit me up! 🏷️🏷️