#i was stupid and used Sun’s old reference mixed with a bit of his new so that’s why he looks a bit odd

[merrystar]

LDR Sun and Moon!

They both terrify me, Sun more so because Moon is baby, but this isn’t gonna stop me from reading the fic, it’s very good.

AU belongs to @spadillelicious

Close ups and one doodle under the cut.

[falcor-thee-luck-dragon]

Of Monsters and Men

Chapter 5- Be Wary Of Old Friends

Summary: Your boys may annoy you at times but you’ll protect them with your life, especially when an unexpected acquaintance makes themselves know.

Warning: monster hunting ensues, reader goes a little feral, a bard in danger

Masterlist

"Hey songbird!" You shout from across the small campsite to where Jaskier is, "You helping pack or are you going to finger that lute all day?" You add with an amused laugh as he throws you a half-hearted glare while you start to snicker at his almost grossed out face.

"Y/N, you are hilarious." Mutters the bard unenthusiastically as he places his prized lute in her travel case, suddenly you hear a stick snap to your left near the woods. Raising to your feet at the sudden noise, you sigh in relief once Geralt emerges from the forest.

"Ah, yes, there you are." Announces Jaskier as he gains Geralt's attention, "Your lady here has been harassing me for the past ten minutes that you've been out and about." He complains, Geralt turns to you with a raised eyebrow.

Scoffing you roll your eyes, "Oh please, I've been the only one doing anything helpful since you've miraculously disappeared, and Jask can't stop from fondling his lute in the meantime." Geralt's lips pull at the corners of his mouth as Jaskier lets out a gasp at your nonchalant explanation.

"I was not fondling anything Y/N! Maybe if I shoved a wooden stake through your chest you'd stop...uh, you'd stop....being mean to me...yeah." Exclaims Jaskier with a hand on his hip, lute strapped to his shoulder as Geralt looks from you to the bard. Oh, you are seriously enjoying this.

A smirk makes its way onto your face at his words, "I'd like to see you try, you pampered little princess." You sass with a raise of your eyebrow as he purses his lips together at your admittedly bland insult, you're just trying to rile him up for the fun of it.

"Maybe I can....be violent, you have yet to see what I can do with these hands." He boasts while Geralt packs a last bag onto Roach's back, doing his best to ignore yourself and Jaskier's back and forth comments.

"Oh right, besides gettin' it on with the ladies of the high court with those sneaky paws of yours...so we have to save your stupid ass when things go south." You chuckle while pulling on your cloak, Jaskier simply shakes his head at you as Geralt leads Roach over to where you're standing.

He gently nudges your arm affectionately, "Come on you two, time to go elsewhere before the sun goes down." Implores Geralt as he looks at your amused face, Roach letting out a snort of agreement.

Jaskier turns his head up towards the cloudy sky, "But it's not even seven in the morning yet." Protests the bard as you walk past him with a mischievous wink.

"You wanted to come remember. Get inspiration for your ballots and all the good shit." He shakes his head as a humored grin comes to his face, you got him there.

"Right. Right. You enjoy my company I know it." Calls after the bard while you continue up the woodland trail, trees and bushes to either side while he turns his attention back to Geralt, "I know it, she's fond of me I can just tell. Underneath all that mystery, satirical annoyance, unprecedented violent tendencies and whatnot. She thinks I'm interesting. Right?" Wonders Jaskier as Geralt leads Roach around him.

He glances at Jaskier for a moment to answer with a bit of wisdom, "Give it some time bard." He mutters, Jaskier jogs over to his side with a puzzled look upon his face implying that Geralt should continue, "It took me a while to gain her full trust and respect, she's just testing you Jask...it's in her nature or something of the like. It's how she shows her love, in her own way." The bard gives a thoughtful nod as he watches you walk down the trail.

"What do I have to do?" Wonders Jaskier with a shrug, "Kill a man with my bare hands...or..or perhaps I must tame a bear to juggle wild rabbit heads?" Inquirers Jaskier as he turns to look at you once again, his eyes going wide as he suddenly realizes you're nowhere to be found.

Jaskier nudges your Witcher who looks at him rather bored like, "Uh, Geralt...uh..wh-where has she gone. I don't happen to see Y/N anymore, I mean we haven't been walking that slow now have we?" He rambles nervously as his head turns from right to left and back down the trail again, "Geralt seriously, where the fuck did Y/N go....I'd really rather not have her scare me, again."

"Now watching you tame a bear..." Jaskier jumps while letting out a small yelp in surprise at the unexpected sound of your sly voice from behind him, "That would be interesting and very entertaining...but no, I just enjoy pushing your buttons cause let me be honest here, its too goddamn easy." Jaskier sends you a glare as you walk to his side while he tries to keep pace with you and Geralt.

"My gods Y/N you're such a...uh well...never mind it, I'm going to have to remind myself that you can hear incredibly well...and do," He points his fingers to your humored form, "That. Even traveling with you two for a whole year and all."

You slowly nod, a thoughtful expression on your face, "If I showed you what else I'm capable of, you'd probably shit yourself so don't fret, I'll save your eyes the horror." Jaskier glances at you with a wary doubtful look in his eyes as he hugs his lute closer in the cool morning breeze. Feeling his suspicious gaze upon you, a low chuckle escapes from your lips that sends mist into the crisp air like a dragon about to spit fire.

"Oh thanks I feel so much better now." Replies Jaskier, sarcasm dripping off of every word.

——

After a solid week of traveling through woodland trails, over bridges, and past rows of plowed fields. Your band of merry adventurers has made it to a small lakeside village overlooking magnificent mountains that tower high into the sky, ones that reflect beautifully off of the shimmering crystal blue lake below.

When you make it to the stables, the sky has turned into an exquisite mix of fiery oranges, reds, and purples that paint the sky and some of her wispy clouds overhead. A cool but refreshing breeze blows in your faces as it makes your cloaks flap in the wind with every new gust.

Once Roach has been fed and watered in her comfortable new temporary stall for the night, you and Geralt make your way to the only tavern in the village where Jaskier can be heard singing loudly his newest ballot. Something about how you and Geralt fought bravely back a pack of fierce shapeshifters on one hunt. The songs almost truthful, the exception being that the shapeshifters were actually old friends of Jaskier's who were pissed off cause he owed them money. In the end, they didn't get any money, mostly because they're not currently alive anymore to need it.

"I was hoping for a quiet evening, we could just drink our fill and then sleep in an actual bed for once....no one to bother us." Admits Geralt as he opens up the wooden door for you to walk inside the warm welcoming tavern.

Turning your face to look up at him you let out a yawn hidden behind your arm, "No one to bother us sounds very enticing." You muse while turning your attention back to the bustling tavern life.

The place is lit up with candles positioned at each table, a roaring fire casts shadows over the room from its prison in the hearth as you find an empty corner just perfect for yourself and Geralt. Taking the lead you walk past a couple drunken tavern goers on your way to the quiet corner of the place. Almost hidden from Jaskier's very loud singing that's taking place by the fire where a significant amount of women are sat, listening intently as they practically undress him with their eyes.

Sliding into the corner first, you lean yourself against the wall as Geralt sits down next to you, your legs touching even though there's enough room that you wouldn't have to be so close. You can tell how much he's been holding back since Jaskier has been around to ruin most of the fun.

Letting out a satisfied sigh as you close your eyes, your ears listen to the sounds of a woman's footsteps approaching your table, "Welcome travelers I'm Misha, what'll it be this even'n?" Announces a peppy teenager through a peculiar accent as she looks between the two of you with big curious brown eyes.

"Two ale's and whatever's on the menu for tonight." Mutters Geralt as you open your scarlet irises while holding your tired head up with the palm of your hand, a lazy smile painted onto your face. Her own eyes widen for a brief moment before she regains her bearings once again, flashing a nervous smile a she abruptly turns on her heel for the kitchens.

Looking over to the lively sight of the singing bard you smile, "Wonder who's going to keep Jask warm tonight, huh?" You chuckle as Geralt turns an amused smirk towards you while you shift your eyes back to the singing bard.

Geralt nudges his shoulder against yours, "Could be that blonde one in green or maybe the redhead to his left?" You find the ladies that he's referring to and watch as Jaskier gives the she-fox a charming wink.

Turning your attention back to Geralt, he looks down at you with a raise of his brow, "Oh it's definitely the redhead, she's already caught his eye so we needn't concern ourselves with him till morning, if all goes well for him that is." You muse as the tavern maid sets two ale's in front of you, a shy smile gracing her young face as she leaves.

Grasping your mug you take a hearty much needed chug before slamming it onto the table and wiping off your mouth, "Oh fuck yeah I've missed what real ale tastes like." You breath out happily as Geralt lightly sets his half empty mug onto the wooden table while you take another sip.

"It's not half bad." He admits with a shrug as you lean into his side.

You're about to comment on how lackluster his review was when your crimson eyes light up at the large single plate of trout and various steaming greens coming your way, "Ah yes our foods here."

After eating your meal and finishing off your glasses while forcing yourselves to listen to Jaskier's ballots that you've heard over a hundred times. You and Geralt get up and head to the bar for a key to a room upstairs. You watch as Jaskier disappears into a room with the redhead from earlier as you turn to face the young woman at the bar.

"Room for two....please." She gives you a quick nod before searching a drawer for the key to a room. Once she finds them you're able to take the rusted old key and walk over to the stairway as Geralt silently follows. The climb up is a short one, your quest taking you both to the end of the dimly lit hallway until you finally reach your room.

Stepping inside you look around the place and notice a small window, a decently large bed, and a fireplace next to it. The room isn't terrible if you're being honest and the bed looks incredibly inviting after sleeping on the ground for almost a month. Your face shifting into a pleasant grin as you drop your belongings and weapon onto the ground.

"Nice place." You add while turning around to give Geralt a knowing smirk, his face breaking out into a grin at your silent implications, "Guess we better test out the bed.." His golden eyes trail up your body as you continue, "make sure it's soft enough and..." You don't have time to finish as Geralt's soft lips have entrapped you into a heated embrace, his calloused hands snaking around you as yours does the same.

He gently leads you backwards until your legs hit the edge of the bed, your lips still locked with one another the whole time, even while he tenderly lays you onto your back. The mattress is soft and inviting as Geralt climbs over you, never once breaking the kiss to your great satisfaction.

——

Walking over to a table, three drinks in one hand and a plate of fresh bread and butter in the other. You watch in amusement at the morning faces of your Witcher and bard who look like they desperately need something to wake them up with.

"So Jask how was the redhead last night, was she all you'd dreamed of...did she fulfill every last perverted wish of yours?" You jest with a smirk as you set the drinks and plate of food onto the table, setting yourself down next to Geralt.

Jaskier shakes his head as a bashful smile appears onto his lips, "It was...very pleasant and uh...that's all the information I'll let you have." He retorts while taking a sip from one of the provided cups in an attempt at hiding behind the glass. Honestly you're kinda glad he has decided against spilling any private details, something he usually does much to yours and Geralt's disgust.

Geralt hums before adding in his two cents, "No one can quite resist your charms no matter where we seem to go." He deadpans while breaking off a warm piece of bread that he kindly hands to you before reaching over to break off a new chunk for himself.

Jaskier looks down with an almost shy smile before taking another sip, "Well, I try not to pride myself or anything, it's just a talent you see...which of course my voice and handiwork with my lute helps, also having you two as friends seems to peak some interest in the ladies now since I think of it." He replies as he stuffs a fluffy piece of bread into his mouth.

"Glad we could help then." You add with a cheerful raise of your mug before downing the rest of the liquid. The three of you taking a couple blissful minutes of peace to eat and wake up.

Glancing around the room you watch for any new tavern goers who may spark your interest as you suddenly decide to get on with your morning, "I'm going to pay, you two want anything while I'm up?"

"Um yeah, Valdo Marx's head on a shiny platter...that's all." Quips Jaskier with a nonchalant shrug of his shoulders.

"I'll see what I can do." You reply before turning around and walking over to the bar where the young brown eyed woman is tending to a customer.

Leaning your arms against the shiny wood of the counter you nod to the old man next to you who gives a cautious glare as you turn your head to the bartender, "Misha, right? Here's the coin for the room and the food. We'll be off soon enough."

She turns to you with a frown, "Just one night? That's too bad, we've actually been havin' some troubles 'round here recently and it would be wonderful if you and that Witcher could possibly help..."

"Will you shut it girl, we don't need no outsiders knowing of our business," Snaps the man from earlier as he sneers at her, "We got men handling it just fine." He adds with a gruff nod, his cold steely eyes intimidating to the innocent tavern maid.

Her once happy face goes sad as unshed tears form in her shimmering doe eyes while she ignores the grump, "Twenty are already dead miss, my poor brother included..."

"Shut your fucking mou.."

"If you interrupt her again I'll cut off your tongue and shove it up your ass." You threaten as your eyes glow bright red, the old greying man abruptly goes silent at your heated warning as you turn your cooler demeanor back to the young girl, "Tell me more about this...whatever the fuck that's slaughtering your village's men."

Her brows furrow in troubled thought as she looks back up to you, "Uh, they come back looking, well...mutilated, their throats practically torn out, their chests ripped open and their eyes gone, bodies pale as ghosts." A frightful expression flashes across her terrified face, "But it's not just the men.." She whispers while leaning her head in closer to yours, "The village women have gone missing, snatched from their beds in the middle of the night...never seen from again...no one knows who takes them but..."

"How long has this been going on for?" You quickly interrupt, wanting to find out if your growing suspicions are possibly correct.

"About five months now, it happens around the same time every month in fact, oh god...this night is when the beast usually strikes...", A single tear runs down the side of her face as she tries to control her trembling, "I don't want to be taken miss, but I must tell you....some have said that the creature walks like a man, is too swift to be truly seen, and can magically get into your house...no matter if its locked or not." Your eyebrows furrow in concern for the girl and this alarming news that's slowly starting to fit into place.

"You said tonight yes...hm alright, where have these bodies been found, I mean isn't there any tracks in the mud or sand, on trails?" Misha quickly shakes her head as the old man listens intently, thankfully minding his own.

Smirking at a new and appealing thought you find her wary eyes once again, "I've gotten an idea, would your village happen to have a carriage for long traveling, I think we may be able to lure the beast away from the village with the thing during the time that you claim it comes into town." She gives a hopeful smile as you return one just the same.

"Miss I can get that arranged for you in no time. Meet me by the stables, an hour before sunset and my father will have the carriage waiting....oh bless you, he'll be ever so grateful." She affirms happily with a beaming smile, though behind it all you can tell how truly terrified she really is. She hopes whatever plan you have works, you're hoping it will too.

Setting down your coin, she quickly takes it before tending to another tavern goer, but as you turn to leave the old man grasps your arm, "Do you really think its possible, that the man-beast can be killed?" He wonders in a hushed tone as he looks up with pleading eyes, they soon turn skeptical once again, "I don't believe a word anyone says until I see it with me own two eyes."

Removing his arm from your own you nod to him, "I'll gut the fucker and put its head on a spike, then you'll know for yourself." His face morphs into a troubled expression as you leave him doubting by the bar, your mind now set on how to handle the new problem hiding like a coward in the woods.

—-

Walking to the stables with Geralt by your side and Jaskier on your tail, you casually touch the side of your hip, making certain that your silver dagger is still in its place.

"So what...or I guess whom do you presume this monster is again Y/N?" Questions the bard as he falls in step with you.

"I'll be one hundred percent certain once I actually see it, Jask. So until then, no more questions or I'll shove that pretty jacket of yours down your throat." You muse as he gives a curt nod.

"Yes alright, noted Y/N. Noted." Mutters Jaskier as Geralt holds back a laugh.

Once the three of you make it to the stables, you're pleasantly surprised to find a black two horsed carriage awaiting you along with Misha and her father who appears to be rather glad that someone is finally here to put an end to the deaths and mystery. She instructs you three to trek on the northern trail, where the pine forest is located, same area that the man-beast has made its hunting grounds, or so its claimed.

With that in mind you direct Geralt to take the reigns and for Jaskier to hold a silver sword as he keeps himself in the actual carriage, while you keep close by in the woods for a better view of the beast and where it may be coming from. Then just like that you're off and into the crisp night air as a full moon graces you all with its brightness upon the land, you fly through the great pine trees as you follow Geralt who's leading the horses down the wide woodland trail. Luckily the woods seem mostly vacant of bushes and greenery of the like, only tall bristly pines tower over the ground as they leave the woods shadowed from the rising moon.

"Geralt. Heyyyyyy Geeeeraltttt." Whines Jaskier from within the small carriage as Geralt holds tightly onto the leather reigns, a soft cool breeze blowing his silver hair back.

"What?" Grumbles the Witcher with a sigh, eyes set to the path ahead.

Jaskier leans back into the velvety cushions as he crosses his arms over his chest, "You think I could have a peek, you know...sit up there with you? I mean come on, I'm not seeing shit back here and I think.."

"No."

Letting out a huff in annoyance, the bard knocks onto the back of the wall where Geralt is leaned against on the other side, "Y/N doesn't have to know. I'll be as still as a statue and quieter then a dormouse...she'll never even know." Exclaims Jaskier has he pauses for a second to see if Geralt gives a shit, not getting anything he continues, "Come on, this man-beast or whoever the fuck can't be that horrendous now can it right? Those villagers could have been pulling her leg for all we know, what if its just a werewolf, I mean seriously it is a full moon after all. Perfect scenario, the stars are quit literally aligning....hellooooo its gotta be a werewolf."

"It left bodies and has taken multiple women, this is something else. So I advise you to shut the fuck up." Growls Geralt over the clip clopping of the horses hooves against the hardened ground. Jaskier wisely decides to keep silent and instead look out the tiny window as a way to distract himself. He watches as a sea of trees pass by, the occasional fern cluster rising from the roots, and a reddish brown blur that goes from tree to tree.

Squinting he realizes that this mystery blur is most definitely not just a figment of his imagination and quit possibly hunting them from the tree tops. He stares on in confused bewilderment as the man like thing jumps from one branch to the next in rapid succession, although he's only able to catch a prominent glimpse of it as the moonlight catches it when it jumps. The creature looks black in the white light of the full moon, a large healthy mane of reddish brown hair flying as it lunges from tree to tree. Still too fast to fully make out.

He blinks and a second later the creature is gone, Jaskier lets out a whispered "oh shit" as he shuts the tiny window and grasps the hilt of his silver sword while hastily knocking on the carriage wall, "Geralt I saw it, I fucking saw it...Y/N wasn't lying this thing is most definitely not a werewolf."

Geralt's brows furrow in confusion as he listens to what Jaskier is rambling on about, "What did it look like?"

"Like a fucking pale monkey man wearing black with red hair or something. I don't know it happened so fast...sorry I was too busy getting my prized jewels fondled by the lovely elven lady in this carriage to notice anything else." He sasses from the back as Geralt rolls his eyes, suddenly the carriage jostles from the rear like something has angrily rammed into it.

"That wasn't me." Squeaks out Jaskier with wide eyes as he firmly clutches his sword with both hands. A moment later something fast with sharp talons whips past Geralt's head from the right as it leaves a clean slice on his cheek, and then its gone again like it never even happened. He snaps his head in the direction of the creature, too late to catch a glimpse.

Eyeing up the area around him, he braces for another unexpected assault, "Where are you?" Whispers Geralt to no one in particular as he holds onto the reigns with one hand and a sword in his other as he waits for the beast to make itself known. He can sense the nervousness radiating off of the galloping horses as he watches ahead of him, the pine trees swaying in the wind, making it increasingly more difficult to tell where the beast is coming from. On the inside of the carriage Jaskier braces for more trouble as a moment later, without warning the carriage lifts off of the ground before slamming into the dirt trail with a loud crack. The back wheels snapping off with the abrupt impact, he falls forward into the nearby cushions as the carriage skids in the dirt.

"Fuck." Mutters Geralt through clenched teeth as the horses race onward, then to his great astonishment, one of them lets out a horrific scream as a river of blood pours forth from its muscular neck by an unseen force that he must have missed when he was trying to regain his bearings after the back wheels collapsed.

He watches in confusion and slight fear as the bleeding horse clashes into the other, the both of them abruptly tripping over themselves in a screeching heap as they fall to the earth. Bringing the carriage down with them, the Witcher jumps for the safety of the ground as the vessel tips onto its side, the only live horse whining in pain as one of the broken wooden pieces lodges itself into the poor animals stomach.

Jumping to his feet, Geralt races over to the bent in door where he quickly pulls it open to reveal a bruised bard, Jaskier's sword stuck into the back wall. He smiles up to Geralt as a trail of blood seeps out of his nose, "I'm gonna be honest here, but that was not something I'd rather ever do again." He confesses as the Witcher pulls him out and onto his feet as they stand back and assess their woodland surroundings.

Suddenly they hear a branch snap from up above near the tree line where the edge of the trail begins, before a dreamy chuckle snaps their attention over to a stunning pale faced man approaching them from out of the woods. He looks at them curiously through fiery ember eyes, his long tousled reddish-brown hair hanging all about as it cascades down his muscular shoulders all the way to his lower back. On his lean slender body does he adorn himself with black attire under an equally as dark long-coat that just barely touches the frosting ground below. He's rather quite attractive all things considered, as he swaggers through the moonlight with not a weapon in sight, or anything for that matter in his gloveless hands, only but a few golden rings clinging to their master that shine in the moonlight.

He hands Geralt and Jaskier a sly grin, revealing sharp pearly white fangs as he stops a good couple yards away from them, "So you're the infamous White Wolf...and of course...his loyal bard." Inquires the mysterious vampire as he speaks in an entrancing velvety voice, his glowing irises watching their every move as he tilts his head to the side, "But alas, you lack one which I would love to grace my aged eyes upon once again." Reveals the enticing man as he looks dismally to the ground before he raises his head to smile again, his beautiful reddish hair parting perfectly onto either side of his sculpted marble face.

"Are you the one who's been killing men and taking the women?" Snaps Geralt as he points an accusing sword towards the smirking vampire.

The man merely shrugs, a single hair falling seductively over his eye as he peers through it at your Witcher, "The men are simply human cattle, barely worth the air they breath. The women on the other hand, came willingly into my open arms from their beds and rather dreary mundane lives. My compliant acquisitive lovers if you will." Assures the ember eyed vampire as he takes a step closer, Jaskier taking one back as he stands behind Geralt, the vampire smirking at him as Jaskier tries to hide.

"Don't touch the bard." Growls Geralt while holding up his silver sword defensively, "He's not worth your energy."

The vampires face changes to that of a fake pout, "Oh my dear Witcher, I admire your bravery and valor...but I'm hungry and I will get what I desire one way or another." The vampires fiery eyes darken as he races towards the two of them in a black and orange blur, Geralt and Jaskier falling helplessly onto the crunchy leaves just mere feet from one another as the vampire paces in front of them like a lion in a cage. The bloodsucker suddenly stops and watches in amusement as the two groan in pain while trying to sit up again. He tilts his head to the side like a curious wolf observing their prey, before deciding to take another step.

"Velkyn."

He halts all movement as his body goes tense for a split second before his otherworldly charming aurora surrounds him once more, with a fangy smile upon his dashing features he turns around to the low growl emitting from deep in your throat.

His orbs of hellfire trail you up and down as you glare at him, "Why don't you look stunning, my dear Y/N. How longs it been...ninety, one-hundred, two-hundred years my love?"

Your face turns into a pissed off scowl at his words, "You. Don't get to call me that, you fucking cocksucker." He unpretentiously lets out a mock gasp at your bold sharpness, amused that you're still as out-spoken and feisty as ever.

Setting a hand on his slender hip, Velkyn smiles an incredibly punchable grin, "Ouch. You haven't seen me in almost two-hundred years and the second those beautiful scarlet eyes of yours grace my body..."

"What are you doing away from Alkatraz?" You interrupt as your fists clench in agitation, "What, did they finally see how much of a piece of shit you actually are?" You snap as he sends you a nasty glare, the side of his nose scrunching up in displeasure.

"I chose to leave the coven, the Queen gave her blessing an..."

"Right. You mean she threatened you, giving yourself one chance to flee before her death-hounds tore you to shreds. Sounds more plausible." You impede as he squints at you menacingly.

Jutting out a hip, he eyes you up once again, "Very clever, princess. No matter....you will leave me alone and I will continue on my marry way as things have gone on, before you decided to ruin everything."

Letting out an amused chuckle, you slowly unsheathe your silver dagger, "You're nothing but a cantankerous infant, murdering innocents....seducing the women while having your fun and sucking them of their life force." He tilts his head up as his flaming irises never once leave your face, "I know they didn't go willingly you fucking diseased little cunt....I'm rather going to enjoy as I watch the lights go out, leaving you as nothing more then food for maggots." Velkyn hums in irritation before swiftly turning around and bolting for Geralt and Jaskier.

But before he's able to reach them you're at his side, throwing him into a tree as he smacks into the tough wood with a clash of bark and limbs. Once he's onto his two feet again, he looks up just as you violently grab his shoulders and in one fluid motion, throw him across the forest floor. Geralt and Jaskier watching on with wide eyes the whole time.

"Fuck me, you still have it." Sputters Velkyn as a single red streak of blood trails down the side of his mouth. You smirk at this pathetic excuse of a vampire as you race towards him in a blur, he tries to retreat but before he can even get up off of the ground you've already cracked your boot against his skull. He tumbles in the dirt with a pained grunt, suddenly flying up to his feet in an instant as he growls at you. Within seconds he's thrust you into the trunk of a tree as your dagger falls from your hand at the sudden impact, he tightly grasps onto your arms as he throws you harshly upon the trail, leaving you dazed and more furious then ever.

"Not as clever as you'd like to think you are Y/N, I drink human blood. You don't." He brashly affirms as he watches you pick yourself up from the ground, dirt and blood smeared against your face. Licking the bloody cut now adorning your bottom lip, you mockingly chuckle at him, earning a puzzled expression across his pale features while the slice in your skin heals.

"You can't kill me." The whites of your eyes begin shifting to an obsidian black as your skin turns a greyish blue color, "I am Y/N of Alkatraz, the Vampire Queens only daughter....do that again and I'll rip out your entrails while you scream for death."

Velkyn hisses before turning himself into a half man half bat-like creature, face a contortion of bat and human man, his skin a milky pale as a large pair of webbed wings emit from his back. He suddenly screeches at you before spreading out his wings, readying himself to take flight. Doing what you know must be done to prevent his escape you shift yourself into a similar form, a pair of greyish blue wings stretching out from your back muscles as you thrust yourself into the air, just as Velkyn reaches the tops of the tree branches.

Gaining on him in no time, you grasp his pale human sized bat leg, he snaps his grotesque bat-like face down to you while you growl at him from below, "Fuck do you think you're going?" You snap before pulling him down to the harsh forest floor, he lands roughly onto his back as your legs fall to either side of him.

Growling in fury he quickly shoots up his talons in an attempt at clawing at your chest and face, but before he's able to commit anymore damage. You've ripped open his exposed stomach with a single slash of your claws, a second later he lets out a blood curdling shriek as a hot river of red pours out of him, his insides beginning to seep out just the same.

In a desperate last attempt to injure you, his eyes go wide in raging madness as his free arm lunges for your neck, you see it coming a mile away. So in retaliation you quickly pin his arms to the ground as you sink your fangs deep into his pale neck as he cries out in agony at your vicious assault. You feed on him until he's gone limp, your more primal hunger taking over your vessel until you abruptly catch the familiar scent of your Witcher and fearful bard.

Releasing Velkyn's mutilated throat, you shift back into your normal self as blood drips down from your chin and neck, tiny red droplets plopping onto the frosty hardened earth below like warm raindrops on a spring afternoon. Breathing heavily you avoid their suffocating gazes that you're sure are terrified from what you've just done.

"Uh, Y/N. You alright?" Wonders Jaskier as you slowly trail your crimson eyes upon his concerned face. You're confident that you look like a wild animal right now, with your hair a mess, clothes dirty, and half your face covered in blood. But nonetheless they look at you kindly, their brows furrowing in worry for your well-being.

Geralt suddenly makes eye contact with you before reaching down to pick up your forgotten silver dagger, he takes a step forward as he reaches out the dagger in your direction.

On instinct you glide backwards, setting your boots upon the ground once more as your Witcher frowns, "Y/N I wouldn't dare lay a hand upon you.." He assures with sincere pleading eyes as you look down to the grass below. Slowly lifting your blood covered hands into your line of sight, you stare at them with wide saddened eyes as tiny beads of ruby falls to the ground.

"My hands, they're covered in..."

"I know," Your eyes trail up to find his golden irises, "come on there's a stream down the trail, we'll get you cleaned up. Then we can go to the tavern and sleep until the next evening if that's what you'd like" Assures Geralt with a gentle smile upon his handsome face, he understands how much of a monster you truly feel right now, so he's willing to do whatever he can to bring you a bit of comfort in this overwhelming moment.

You let out a tired huff of air as he slowly approaches you, his face so close to yours you could almost touch him, but you don't considering you're covered in blood, "I think I'll take you on that offer, but could you stop looking at me with those pretty eyes of yours before I lose my self control. You're doing it again." You muse with a small smile upon your blood stained face.

"And what would you do then?" He challenges in that lowly voice of his, those big amber eyes taking you all in no matter how grisly your state of being is.

Smiling up at him through your pearly white fangs you lean in close, "Then I would mark you as all mine, in my own way of course. You'd love it without a doubt in my mind." He blinks, a lovestruck expression crossing over his features with a brief flash of lust hidden in his golden eyes while he leans in a tad closer. Your faces so close that you can see every little beautiful blemish and scar adorning his skin as his eyes swallow you whole.

"Uh guys? Can we...you know....leave. I don't know if you've noticed but we have two dead horses and a bloody monster corpse within smelling distance. And wheew, it is not a pleasant scent." Interrupts Jaskier, breaking the intimate moment between you and Geralt as you take a step back to laugh. Geralt's loving gaze following you the whole time before he turns around to glare at the oblivious bard.

—-

Laying your tired head against the soft pillows of the warm tavern's bed, you look up to the wooden beamed ceiling as Geralt holds you close by his side, a protective muscly arm pinning you to the mattress. Not that you'd mind or anything, in fact it feels rather pleasant after your taxing encounter with an old acquaintance of yours just last night.

You sleepily close your eyelids as you listen to the soft snores emitting from your dreaming Witcher, a blissful smile forming onto your lips as he pulls you closer in his sleep. Maybe life in this mystery box of a Continent isn't so bad when you have someone like Geralt to take care of you when things get a bit out of hand.

And with you, that seems to happen a lot.

-

Tagged:  @notahappytree​ @ashleyforeverareject​ @sokkasdarling​ @kmuir1​​@haleypearce @diegos-butt​​ (@auds24 sorry idk why ur name won’t work)

[clotpole-art]

Retrospective: Illustrated Merlin Alphabet Challenge

Finally finished the Merlin Alphabet Challenge, so here's the artist notes no one asked for! See below the cut for comments on each piece by order of creation. Be warned folks, it's a long post.

Before we begin: credit to @merlin-gifs for the challenge, which can be found here. It's awesome, go do it.

First thing you should know is I did probably 80-90% of these while on phone calls or in Zoom meetings and that's reflected in the simplicity of most pieces -- the compositions aren't complicated, the lines aren't refined, the coloring is slapdash. If you noticed variation in quality of the pieces, that's why!

Second: I tried to focus on trying something new for each drawing. Didn't always happen, but this challenge did succeed in helping me push me out of my own comfort zone.

Without further ado...

A is for Arthur Pendragon

Textures, baby! Brushed metal of his armor, scratchy linen texture of his shirt, wispy softness of hair and skin. I'd recently gotten my tablet out of storage after a year of figuring out where the hell I was going to live and this was one of the first pieces of digital art I spent time on. Glad it was Arthur kicking us off!

B is for the Beginning of the End (1x08)

Fun fact, I did not draw this with my tablet. I drew it with my work computer's touchscreen. It was awful, would not recommend.

C is for Camelot

I wanted to get used to different brushes, so landscape of the castle it was! There are brushes that help with drawing grass; I did not use said brushes and my wrist hurt afterward. That being said, I really enjoyed working on this and it was one of the few pieces I didn't do while multitasking.

D is for Daegal

Also drawn on my work computer's touchscreen, not my tablet. I didn't learn my lesson from B and the experience was even worse. This is my least favorite piece which sucks because it's Daegal so I'm slated to redo this sometime in the near future. Gotta do our boy justice.

E is for Elyan

Oh, I adored drawing this. Elyan often gets shafted in terms of fandom appreciation so I made sure to choose Elyan for this prompt and to participate in the Elyan fest. Plus, I love a good ghost story and figuring out a way to include the druid spectre was fun. Didn't multitask on this piece because Elyan deserved my full attention.

F is for Freya

Ho boy. This piece. I have such mixed feelings on this drawing. Really really didn't like it after I'd decided it was done and very nearly scrapped the whole thing. I had a vision in my head that I just couldn't render into reality and it frustrated me SO MUCH. Looking back, I like it much better than I did when I first created it.

G is for Gwaine

What can I say, he's pretty when he's cold. I didn't stretch too much with this one -- it's my normal drawing style, I was just trying to find a brush that mimicked the softness of pencil.

H is for Hunith

Another one that didn't stray too far from my comfort zone. I was stupid sick and slammed at work, so a motherly Hunith manifested herself. I blame the bad brush choice on the cold medicine.

I is for Isolde

I woke up and chose violence! Tried to vary my figure drawing style a little in this piece but my brain resisted, resulting in... this. Not mad at it, but not happy with it either. Poor Isolde.

J is for Juggling

Ah, this lovely piece was drawn during a particularly vexing meeting at work. Fun fact, there's another version of this line art that's less about Merlin's stress and more about mine.

K is for Knights of Camelot

Continuing the theme of doodling through bad news and shit meetings. Like I said above, normally meeting doodles aren't complex because I'm concentrating on something else. This one was more involved because I didn't want to concentrate on the meeting. I have a few issues with this from a technical standpoint (perspective, my nemesis) but it's still one of my favorites. Tried some funky coloring technique, didn't hate it.

V is for Vibrant Colors

And here is where we said fuck the rules and started going out of alphabetical order! This one was really fun to do and I loved kicking off Albion Party with this as my first submission. The colors were a challenge (as I hoped they would be) and this is the first time I had to do some color tweaking midway though and after finishing the coloring process. Vibrant Arthur, my beloved. This started as a multitask doodle but took dedicated time to finish.

O is for Old Religion

The concept for this one was buzzing in my head for a bit before a quote-prompt solidified it. I adore the thought of more visible, tangible representations of Merlin as the son of the elements, of "magic itself" -- not just sun-gold eyes, but sea-water hair and sandstone-skin. A complement to the vibrant Arthur portrait.

S is for Sorcerers

When I said I wanted to challenge myself, I wasn't kidding. Ho boy, this was fun but frustrating. I wanted to completely illustrate a gif. So I did. Will I do something like this again? Maybe. A while from now.

M is for Morgause

See above -- same illustrated gif style so at least I was able to reuse some drawings. Poor Morgause ended up looking a little wretched here because I was mentally done with this when I was drawing her. Love the concept of tarot cards + Merlin but others are doing it so I won't continue this series.

Z is for Zzzz

This one was specifically done to test out some custom brushes I made in Krita to make abstract background drawing easier for me. I think they turned out well! Plus who doesn't love bb iridescent Aithusa.

L is for Leon, P is for Percival

Quick, minimal doodles of the boys! Mentally, I was going for a Brady's-style retro ensemble cast TV show credits feel. Not mad at it! Some boys look closer to their actors than others (I think my brain broke drawing Percy, my apologies to Tom Hopper).

T is for Tristan

It wasn't until after I posted this that I realized there was more than one Tristan in Merlin. Could have drawn Isolde's bf but I drew Ygraine's dumb jock undead brother instead. Had some fun with dark greys and blacks here regardless.

Q is for Queen Annis

Best royal in Albion, bar none. I tried a different coloring technique here and I kinda like it! may make it my go-to but we'll see. Old habits are hard to break. Also: our queen deserved more badass clothes.

X is for Arthur X Merlin

Oh, be still my shipper heart. Doodled and colored during a meeting. I had hoped to spend more time on it outside of multitasking but alas, work is a bitch. This one is slated for a rework sometime in the future; I adore the concept too much to let it go without creating another version of this that isn't an utter mess.

U is for Uther's Ward

And here's my attempt at forgoing line art. Not fun, do not like.

Y is for Young Warlock

Channeled some pain into this one. Those are the dead eyes of someone who had been told that he'd succeeded when his friend died. That the destiny he'd been expecting to carry on his shoulders into old age was done and dusted before he turned 30. Grief plus the existential dread of the aimless immortal. Oof. One of my favs.

N is for Nimueh, R is for Rising Sun, W is for Will

And we end on this sorry offering. I was away from home for a while without my tablet and I just got tired of waiting. So, pen doodles at the airport. This was a challenge in its own right because 1. pen only and 2. I wasn't able to pull Netflix up for a reference on the fly. Which is why Will's face is obscured and Nimueh looks.... not like Nimueh lol.

In summary: this was a goddamn joy to do. I finished 26 letter prompts in approximately 21 weeks, which exceeded my own unspoken goal of filling one letter per week. I found a good, happy corner of the Merlin fandom after a years-long hiatus away from being a fandom creator. If you did make it this far with me, thanks for reading my inane comments and giving this little project even a moment of your time -- I'm so grateful.

[seancekitsch]

Not to Touch the Earth

this is a prize buck 60s au bc apparently i have enough of an ego to do that

a/n & warnings: drug reference, alcohol references, no actual drug use, unprotected car sex, use of the word daddy, roughness, cult references, orgy references, none of this is even really prize buck canon but yknow we might reference it again for a joke or two. natural born killers reference also

“Some outlaws lived by the side of a lake, The minister's daughter's in love with the snake,” you sing off-key, “Who lives in a well by the side of the road. Wake up, girl, we're almost home!”

You punctuate the end of the verse by howling out the window of the car Klaus was using, voice being swallowed by the vastness of the desert somewhere on the California border. Klaus drove on, trying to remember a time you were ever so free. He figures you probably never were, not sober. Not totally sober like now. He was coming up on three years, you on six months, and your new favorite activity was definitely driving out into the desert, as far away from Klaus’ little commune as possible, and singing songs that hadn’t been written yet and making love on the hood of the car. 

He smiles and looks over, watching you lean out the window bathing in the golden light of the sunset and he has to laugh. Is this just what you’re like in a car? Or is it being trapped in time? Your first week here was spent avoiding any of his followers and trying to talk to any of the universities in San Francisco, but none of them would hire you because a woman with a doctorate was rare, and a woman professor was even rarer. You stopped trying in a fit of anger after one Dean told you your ‘husband was a brave man for letting his wife become so educated’ before offering to let you take undergraduate classes because those were available to women. So you leaned into helping him hide from the Destiny’s Children. You had fun here. You kept each other in check being sober, you kept him from being fully engulfed by the group. You like these people, you just wish they didn’t like you and your partner as much as they do.

But the times when the two of were alone were the best. Klaus loves stealing you away from everyone else and being with you like everything’s normal. He loves you without that twinge of shame you carry with you, without waking up with tears in your eyes and thinking he doesn’t notice them. You haven’t been crying or hiding it from him here. He loves how goofy you allow yourself to be, the way you don’t constantly hold yourself back.  He remembers back on earlier today, when you’d snuck up on him, licked a warm stripe up his neck and sang lyrics from the very song you were piecing together now.

“Not to touch the earth, not to see the sun. Nothin left to do but run run run,” you sang, only for him.

“Let’s run.”

You didn’t have to say it again before he grabbed the nearest set of car keys and was swatting at your ass to get you running for the passenger seat. 

You feel the hot air hit your skin, and you can’t remember a time you ever actually liked the heat. You never saw yourself even visiting southern California. Sobriety re-introduced you to the cold and you greeted her like an old lover. You like your cold weather and your jackets and your fucking hospital socks you stole and stockpiled which now didn’t even exist yet. But the heat here is different, it kisses your skin like Klaus does, frees you from the burdens of life fifty years from now. The heat is a reminder that you don’t have the struggles you had in 2019, the heat is a reminder you can rebuild yourself. You know you have to go back sometime, but you can be selfish and steal this time with Klaus. You squint into the setting sun on the horizon as Klaus makes the car slow, then veers off the empty road to park. You’d have the moonlight soon, which meant a cool night with him all to yourself. By the time he walks around to your side of the car, he blocks the sun from your view. Your eyes trail up from the tip of that ugly fucking beard he’s got growing to his chin, to his lips. To the grin he sports, saves only for you.

“Do you think they’ve noticed were gone?”

“Why? Worried Keechie’s missing you?” you snort.

“Keechie? God, no. Although, if I were you I’d be worried Madelaine was getting lonely by now”

Right; you were hiding from two members of the group in particular. Your first mistake was attempting to have sex in a five mile radius of the group. You didn’t think they’d barge into your tent and invite themselves to join. But, ever the adventurous and slightly stupid, you let them. Now two of the four that had been in your tent  were trying to recreate that moment again.

“Not my fault I rocked her world. You jealous, Prophet?”

“At first I was impressed because I didn’t think you swung that way, but yes. Yes, terribly.”

That probably isn’t much of a joke. Sobriety put a bit of a possessive streak in Klaus, and as much free love is flowing, it’s nice to feel like you belong to someone. And you do belong to Klaus, in every way that counts for your group. But you’d struck a chord with Madelaine and now shes creeping in on Klaus’ territory.  

He pulls you from the car, literally pulls you. His hands come up under your armpits and lift you from the car window until you can step out of the window and he can lower you down onto the sand. He’s thankful you’ve learned your lesson, as the last time he did this you weren’t wearing sandals and burned your feet on the sand. He bends to let you pluck the wide brimmed hat from his head and you place it on your own as you walk to the trunk to fetch a blanket. Dancing, not walking, he thinks. The way you walk is more like dancing. You grab a blanket from the trunk and sit with him until it’s night. You sit with him close enough to reach out and touch, but not quite. It’s in these moments you can close your eyes and perfectly imagine you’re back in your studio apartment with him, listening to the record player and sharing a bottle of wine, thinking about the narrowly avoided apocalypse and job hunting for him. You can close your eyes and imagine inviting his siblings over to crowd your apartment for a loud night of laughing and take out. You can hold his hand and think of how very little space the two of you took up in the world and how comforting it felt. 

When you open your eyes again it’s dark. Perfect. Night falls quickly in the desert. You look over to see Klaus equally as relaxed, an easy smile painted across his entire face, worry lines smoothed away.  He hums a song you recognize.

“Sweet Jane? Don’t you think that’s a little too ‘Mickey and Mallory’ for us?”

He hums a little more of the song before he answers.

“I was just thinking if we mixed blood in a wedding ceremony our paramours would leave us alone,” there’s a hint of something dark in his eyes, “Now get on the hood.”

It’s the way that he says it, low and commanding, that has you jumping up onto the hood of the car and eagerly arranging yourself in a provocative pose, legs splayed and leaning on your arms to arch you back a little, just to entice him even more. That’s all part of the dance, and here more often than not he leads. He commands and positions you the way he likes it and rewards you in kind. He actually looks a bit like a god figure or a superhero the way he saunters over to you in the dark and crawls above you onto the hood, sandal clad feet standing on the grill so he has more leverage for what he has in mind. 

“Now, are you ready for Daddy?

You have to snort at that.

“Daddy? If anyone is daddy here, it’s me babe.”

He grips your bare thigh, just above the knee, then gives it a little warning slap. Not hard, just a little more than nothing.

“I don’t think you’re in the position to call yourself anything besides what I feel like calling you, doctor.”

Any retort to that comment, which honestly stung a little, died on your tongue when a low growl rumbles from his throat and his mouth connects with your stomach, biting at the cloth of your tank top and the skin underneath. You sink back down and stare at the stars, whimpering as you count them and let Klaus tease you as he undresses you. 

“If you were the prophet I’d be entirely devoted to you,” He says as he pulls your shorts down your legs, “I’d follow you everywhere on Earth, I’d do anything you asked of me.”

“Don’t you already?” you laugh.

“I do,” He confirms, “I do, I do, I do” and punctuates each confirmation with a little nip at the inside of your thigh, the same one he had just slapped. The beard he’s been growing out tickles as you squirm beneath him, hands roaming wherever they wish but solidly keeping you in place for him. You think back on your first time with him, how eager he’d been to please, how you wanted to be the one he was pleasing, and how far you’ve come together. His fingers wind up your legs like ivy on an old statue and pause at your underwear, teasing for a moment, before pulling them aside and plunging two fingers into you without warning. He pushes them in deep, scissoring them back and forth a few times, before pulling them back out, and sucking on them. If youre moaning or swearing, you can't hear yourself. An appetizer for a meal, or something equivalent of that. The delighted moan that echoes from his throat as he sucks you from his fingers sends shivers up your spine, just knowing you're in for it tonight. Propping yourself up on your elbows, you dare to meet his eyes, dark and stormy and hungry for you. He has the audacity to give you his sweetest smile before roughly pulling your underwear away from your body and heavily dropping his knee onto the car hood between your own. Klaus himself is intoxicating, you didn't need drugs or alcohol. It was so easy for him to consume your senses, and you readily let him. And when he finally kisses you, you feel yourself drowning. Really truly drowning. The way his tongue dances with your own has you gripping his shoulders like hes the last rock before a riptide pulling you under. It takes him no time at all to have his pants undone and to be grinding himself against you. This is a glimpse of the Klaus of 2019, humping against you and gently whimpering into your mouth. But quickly he pushes that away, lining himself up with you and pulling back enough from you to make eye contact as he pushes himself in. No matter how domineering he could be in the 60s with you, he makes sure to look at you, to ask those silent questions, to be granted that permission to absolutely take over you.With each thrust, long and deep, punctuated with a needy moan, he takes a little more of you. And you willingly let him, and give him everything you can. 

You probably look like one of those renaissance paintings beneath him, as he thrusts hard deep fast, your breasts exposed like all of the biblical women, your body contorted on the hood of the car, like one of those angels in anguish. There was no where for your hands to find purchase that wasn't Klaus, so your hands are far up behind you, palms planted on the windshield to give yourself a better angle, a better arch of your back for Klaus to wrap his arms firmly around you, so he could kiss your chest and the long expanse of your neck and shoulders while he kept his pace. He held you as lose as possible, and for a moment you imagine its just him. You as nothing but an extension of himself, your pleasure mixing and becoming his pleasure. When he got like this, its easy to imagine he didn't have many lovers before you that cared that much about his pleasure. Sure they probably thought he was a fun time, as that was a given, but it was probably rare someone actually cared about what he was feeling. You like that he trusts you with this bare part of himself. No, you love it. You love-

A deep moan from his mouth vibrates against your breast, you feel it even more than you hear it, and it brings you back to where you are now, looking down at his lust filled, indulgent expression. 

“Keep looking at me,” he commands, thrusting harder, making you almost squeak at the angel he's hitting, “It's just me, and you, and the coyotes out here.”

Your hands scramble to grab the sides of his face as you start to move your hips to fuck back against his thrusts, eager to come for him while hes watching you. Any attempt to praise him comes out as stuttered moans and fragments of words, but there's a devilish smile on his face that tells you he knows what you're saying. 

He pulls one arm from under you, slams it on the car below right next to your head, and goes in for the kill. He’s merciless in his thrusts as he kisses and nips at your fingers that he can reach. He doesnt guide you but throws you off of the cliff into bliss, a scream parting from your lips as he refuses to slow his pace. This more dominant and possessive Klaus is wild, selfish in a beautiful way. In his face you see indulgence personified, a modern Dionysus filling each urge that swept over you. He doesn't let you calm down, doesn't let you catch your breath, overstimulating you as he reaches his own release. He comes equally as loudly, with a shout of your name and “oh, lover” tumbling from his lips before he stills, and captures your lips on his own. 

He kisses you slowly, like he's drinking in the taste of you, holding you still, feeling your skin melt with his. It's hard to tell where he ends and you begin, but you prefer it this way. It's just the two of you in the desert. Just the two of you in the world. There's plenty of water in the canteen, and after a drink to refresh you, you'll be tearing at each other again, just far enough off the road no one will see you. He pulls out of you with a hiss, like it hurts him not to be inside of you, and you find yourself involuntarily whining at the loss as well. He grabs the canteen and returns to put it to your lips, then his own, then you sit and talk of nothing and everything sweet, needlessly flirting and preening each others egos with loving words until you're both ready to go again. It continues like this until one of you falls asleep on the other. This is the desert routine. 

When you wake around sunrise, covered in bruises and hickies, hair tangled to hell, you're wrapped in the blanket from the trunk, Klaus’ shirt used as your pillow. He’s just outside, naked as you are, greeting the dawn. Something about his posture beckons you to join him, and on shaking legs you pull yourself from the car, unsteadily stepping until you can wrap your arms around his torso, his hand reaching to grab for you and sliding over your shoulders. He repositions you so you stand together, not with you behind him. The way its supposed to be. And then the moment the sun is fully in the sky, he greets it by crowing like a rooster. Loudly, freely. You join in.

[chessdaze]

@khoc-week ⭐ Day 1 - 8/1 

◾ Reference Sheet 

I actually drew one for Sid last year but I decided to update it. His design overall hasn’t changed it’s mostly my style that has - and the quality of my work so I’m glad I was able to redo him for this year. I really want people to get to know him properly this time. 

I’ll repost the original world lore and his background below, but I also want to answer the prompt question In character so here’s that:

◾ How would your character describe themselves?

“Eh, what kinda question is that?” Sid raises an eyebrow, but it’s barely noticeable over his large round sunglasses. “I dunno, smart, stubborn, and uhhhh tough?” There’s a pause. “I was one o’ the only kids t’ even go t’ school back in the city, and Helio and Mari never fuckin’ give me a moment t’ breathe without telling me o’ my stubbornness. As for tough, well, the muscles ain’t for show, I guess.”

“What ya askin’ me this for anyhow? I got work t’ be doin’, these houses won’t build themselves.” 

Now for world info and sid’s bio:

the world trapped in a desert

The Basics

Cindergate is a city that has seemingly seen disasters, parts of the city are being rebuilt and other parts completely abandoned and falling apart. It’s cut off from the vast desert around it by a large, also crumbling, gate. The city has a mix of technology, though seems to shun anything too ‘high tech’.

The city has a population of tough individuals who know how to survive in harsh conditions. Most of the population in this world are human, with occasional animals who can also survive the harsh sun and heat. These people are ruled over by one family - who govern and help make and enforce laws. Because of this the head of the family is often referred to as ‘sheriff’. The family keeps laws strict in the town. There is one law in particular that the sheriff is always eager to punish those for breaking-

The Keyblade Wielder Ban

The people of Cindergate are aware of the keyblade, heartless, the worlds, etc - however they consider Keyblade wielders evil, no matter who they are or what their motivations may be. They believe that the wielders are dragging darkness into the world and are the reason so many heartless live in the desert that surrounds the city. The city has to constantly beat the heartless back, and are the reason why a good portion of the city has been abandoned or is always needing to be rebuilt.

It has been the tradition of the world for a while that if a wielder is found, they are to be branded as a traitor to the city - both metaphorically and literally. After a trial to determine if someone is a wielder or not - they are branded with a mark in the shape of a keyhole. Then they are dragged through the city and out to the gates that surround it. The wielders are then exiled, pushed out to the near lifeless desert. The people of the city will often attack them with weapons or throw objects at them to make sure they don’t try to run back into the city. They consider the wielders ‘sacrifices’ to the heartless to keep them at bay.

At times the heartless in the desert will get the better of the wielders with no training. Those who manage to survive their first day and night have the chance to come across a safehaven made by wielders in the reaches of the desert and on the edges of a canyon.

Landscape.

The city is the mix of a steampunk and wild west setting. There are some technology around the city but it’s big, clunky, and steam or coal powered. The part of the city that has been abandoned has a chance of heartless sneaking in, and so there are people here who patrol at night on occasion but besides that at times kids sneak into the area to play - but it’s strictly forbidden to do so and they will be punished if they do.

The desert surrounding the city is vast and nearly lifeless. Aside from the heartless, there are few plants and animals that live there.

Past the nearly lifeless desert is an area of plateaus and canyons. Within this area those who have been exiled from the city attempt to make a living. They find items that the people of cindergate ‘sacrifice’ to the heartless, (pieces of machinery, cloth, food, etc) and try to repurpose it for their own needs. There’s a bit more life in this area, but not much in terms of subsistence.

The Survivors

The wielders and those who were exiled with them (family members who hid them, other accomplices, and even people who were falsely convicted of being a wielder) have been managing to survive so far, though it’s a constant struggle. They’ve made houses out of spare pieces of wood, tarp, scrap metal, and hide themselves in as much shade as they possibly can.

Some practice with their keyblades in order to get a handle on their abilities and fight off heartless that come near the safe haven. Others completely shun the fact that they can use a keyblade and refuse to wield it. Those who are not wielders try to contribute by making food or volunteering for other odd jobs. There are also wielders dedicated to finding a way off world.

AND NOW THAT THAT’S OUT OF THE WAY -

Sid’s about:

Born to the ruling family of Cindergate, Sid had everything handed to him on a silver platter. And he hated it. He couldn’t wrap his head around the strict rules of the town or the terrible court system. Any time he would try to speak up on this though was met with punishment from his parents. So he decided to bide his time, becoming their perfect ‘puppet’ so that he could become the leader one day and change things for the better.

While still considered a bit of a rebel, his parents at least ‘admired his change of heart’ and let him walk around Cindergate freely. While growing up he made two friends - a girl name Mari and a boy named Helio. The three of them were practically inseparable, they were some of the only ones that didn’t care who Sid was related to. He could be himself around them, and so he vowed to keep them safe most out of everyone in the town.

Mari revealed to the boys one day that she was a keyblade wielder - which was a terrible discovery. Keyblade Wielders were banned from Cindergate and it she was found to be a wielder she would be arrested, branded, and exiled to the harsh desert that surrounded the town. The desert that was filled with heartless. At the same time Helio revealed himself to be a wielder as well - having been one of the longest out of all of them, since he was a child. He knew better than anyone what would happen to wielders who got caught as his mother had been cast out when he was a child. Sid promised that he wouldn’t let them get caught and that he would lift the ban, they just needed to keep their keyblades hidden until he became the leader of the town.

This was easier said than done, especially since Sid would come to be a wielder as well. An old friend of his family invited Sid to his deathbed. This old man revealed how close Sid’s father and him used to be, and how they had a dream to make Cindergate a thriving place. But Sid’s father had done nothing more than oppress the people and make the ban more strict than it needed to be. So the old man had a solution - to pass on the power of the keyblade to Sid. He had kept it hidden all of his life, hoping that one day Sid’s father would change his mind on the ban - but he never did. In his last moments he forced Sid to take the power of the keyblade from him, saying it was Sid’s responsibility now, before passing.

Sid was terrified and furious with the power he had been given. Yes, he had been wanting to make CinderGate a better place for wielders and non wielders alike but - he didn’t want it to be like this. Still, he wasn’t about to let the opportunity slip through his fingers. He told his friends of his new found gift and worked to become even more like the 'perfect’ leader his parents wanted him to be, just so he could take over quicker and get the stupid ban taken down.

Not long after this, Helio and Mari were caught for being keyblade wielders. Sid stood up to his parents to try and get them to see reason. When they still wouldn’t listen he revealed himself as a wielder in front of the whole town - saying if they were going to throw out his friends they would have to throw out him as well.

And they did, but not before branding him as a traitor - literally. They burned the keyhole shaped brand onto the side of his face before exiling him,Helio, and Mari out of the town. The three ran until they couldn’t anymore, fought off heartless, then collapsed with laughter - surprised but grateful they were still alive.

A while longer of traveling lead them to a survivor camp. Other people like them who had been exiled from Cindergate. It wasn’t much, but it became home for the three wielders. Sid took it upon himself to improve the day to day lives of the survivors by building various machines and other contraptions to make life easier for them. But still, it wasn’t enough. Thanks to his parents hoard of keyblade wielder knowledge (because how else were they supposed to fight off such a 'threat’ without an entire library full of knowledge?), he knew of other worlds and he knew that the keyblade could get them there. He just wasn’t sure how to unlock the power. None of the survivors were masters by any means, some of them didn’t even have a keyblade - and were friends or family of wielders exiled or falsely accused and wanted nothing to do with the keyblade.

Sid, taking another burden onto his shoulders, did the only thing he could think he could accomplish - he made himself and his two friends keyblade armor. He hoped that with the armor they could brave the passages in between worlds and find a way to get all the survivors to a new home.

[jtsfavslut]

can you do something about trick or treating with Gray? we know he doesn’t party and i feel like he would love to just be a kid again one halloween

Miss ma’am, I love this!!!! Also I’m sorry this sucks more dick than anyone I know. But we stan Mr. Treat you body and mind right during Halloween!!! Love you<33333

As we all know and have heard way too many times; Grayson Dolan doesn’t party. Grayson Dolan is also a Halloween enthusiast. Mix the two and you get a sober 20-year-old man in LA while everyone else gets wasted. 

That’s when you come in. The famously infamous Y/N that managed to not only catch Grayson’s heart but make him feel like she’s the one. Which he was certain of. 

“Baby, I got an idea,” you said walking out of your room while he was on the couch, acting like he was going to die from boredom, “what if we go trick or treating? It’ll be fun,” you added, moving to stand in front of him, him having to look up at you, at least just this time.

“Y/N, we’re 20, they won’t believe we’re kids,” he said, making you roll your eyes and crawl on his lap, this was your way of getting whatever you wanted from him. 

“And that, my dear, is when the makeup and masks come in,” you said and he let out a loud sigh before nodding his head, “I knew you’d say yes,” you added with a smile before leaning down to press a kiss on his cheek until he turned his head making your lips land on his.

“Your aim was wrong,” he muttered and you shook your head.

“My aim was right, you moved the target, now come on, there’s only an hour before the sun goes down,” you said before getting off him, and dragging the man to your room.

And after a couple of minutes of Pinterest searching and seeing what you had to work with, you decided on a ‘Scarface’ costume since you had everything for it. Grayson quickly slipped into Ethan's room to borrow his white tux before coming back and taking a shower before changing, and you showered while he changed.

“Babe, I need you to sit still or the scar won’t be good,” you muttered, situating yourself in his lap, with a bottle of liquid latex on one hand and a sponge in the other.

“Kiss me first,” he said, puckering his lips, making you shake your head, but you did it anyway, you always will. 

“Y/N, shit that’s cold,” he complained and you just rolled your eyes, and kept up applying the product to his face.

“I never said it wasn’t” you mutter before continuing with the process, taking a bit of toilet paper that you put on your dresser and shaping the scar up.

“Don’t get it on E’s suit please,” he said once he noticed you were about to pour blood on his face. In the actual movie, there wasn’t any blood but for the sake of Halloween, he did now. 

“Now it’s my turn,” you spoke once you were done, getting off his lap while he got up to look in the middle. 

“What are you doing?” he asked as he inspected his face in the mirror. 

“Not much, I just need to become blonde, lucky for us, I got a wig,” you spoke as you began your usual makeup routine. 

“That’s it?”

“Yeah, Elvira doesn’t suffer as much,” you replied, applying on your gloss. 

“Okay, and we’re done,” you said a couple of minutes after, finally done with your costume. 

“We need to take pictures before we go,” he said, getting up from the bed, walking towards you, and wrapping his arms around you.

“Sure thing Mr.Montana,” you whispered, turning your head as he began to kiss your neck.

“Do we have to go anywhere, we can have our own Halloween here?” you could feel his stupid cocky smirk on your neck, so you shook your head before pushing yourself away from him.

“No, I wanna go trick or treating. And no offense but these are all white people so they give out the big ones,” you smirked before walking away.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Isn’t this ironic? You’re a Cuban drug dealer, and I'm some white bitch,” you chuckled as you walked hand in hand down the street, bags filled with candy. 

Surprisingly no one questioned your age, either too tired to care, or you looked like two college students just trying to have fun. 

“God, me with drugs, gross,” he shook his head, making you laugh. 

"We know Grayson, we know," you replied, making him shake his head.

"Did you know that they call Mr. Treat your body and mind right?" you asked and he nodded his head. 

"Honestly, I'm not mad," he shrugged and you nodded your head. 

"It's not a bad thing," you whispered before turning your head to look at him. 

"Please promise me something?"

"What? Everything okay?" he asked and you nodded your head chuckling. 

"Please promise me that you'll be careful. Just looking at this scar is making me sick," you replied, placing your thumb on his jawline as a sweet smile spread on his face. 

"I promise I will, but I think I look hot," you shook your head at his ignorant and sweet response, "don't you think so?"

"You always look hot Gray," you whispered truthfully. You knew he needed the reassurance, "always," you leaned up to press a kiss on his jaw. 

You pulled away before he pulled you back in, this time pressing his lips against yours. 

"I don't like this new thing you're doing. This new habit of yours," he scoffed and you looked at him with confusion.

"Habit? What habit?" 

"This thing. Kissing me everywhere but the lips. I don't like it. It makes me mad," he replied, making you giggle. 

"So you want me to only kiss you on the lips?" you asked, knowing what he was referring to, but wanting to kiss him. 

"I'm not even going to respond," he scoffed, shaking his head. 

“What do you say? The first one to the house gets to keep all the candy, and they can do whatever they want to the other person?” you smirked and his eyes immediately darkened, filling with lust and desire. The desire to destroy you.

“Okay, go, you got 10 seconds,” he said and you ran. 

Yet, he still beat you to the house, where we can just say that he had a lot of plans for that night.

[elsanna-shenanigans]

June Contest Submission #12: Boom Boom Pow

Words: ca. 3,300 Setting: mAU Lemon: lime CW: sand, alcohol, beanbags, dash of lime, language

“Do you like the stars?”

“Anna it’s fucking noon, the sun is up, it’s bright as shit. Why are you asking about stars?”

“Yo, my dude, chill. The sun is a star… right?”

Elsa rolled her eyes and turned up the radio, blasting 80’s music, but only the good songs. “I don’t know why I agree to come with you on these things.”

At this Anna laughed and danced a bit offbeat to the song that was playing. She didn’t know the lyrics, but the bass line was nice and she could vibe with that. She let the whole song play out before answering.

“Because you loooove me” She sing-songed, earning another eye roll from the driver. “You love me and we’re going to the beach and it’s going to be a good time.”

“If I didn’t love you, would it still be a good time?” Elsa asked, smirking.

As a response, Anna reached over and changed the radio. A loud, bass-heavy rap song overtook the speakers. The signer immediately spitting out questionably appropriate lyrics for the radio. Elsa’s face reddened under her large glasses and she reached to change channels so quickly that she turned it off. Enveloping the small sedan in a brief silence till Anna’s laughter filled the space.

And it went on like this the entire car ride, bits and pieces of random songs rapidly changing. Anna would allow something Elsa liked to play out entirely but when it was her turn she either skipped around or Elsa changed the station for her. The older woman apparently hated both rap and country music. The first part Anna didn’t understand and the latter, she agreed with. She was desperately trying to find a gospel station, just to see her sister’s reaction, but she found nothing but commercials.

Finally, she heard what she was looking for and turned to see Elsa’s reaction just as the other girl reached over and turned the radio off again. Anna was going to protest when she realized they were in a drive-thru.

“What can I get started for you today?” a tired-sounding voice asked over the intercom.

Anna leaned over Elsa to get closer to the open window and thus the speaker box. Making sure to be just close enough to be annoying.

“We would like to get married please, with Elvis if you have him, if not we’ll take what you have.”

“Anna!” Elsa exclaimed, slapping her on the shoulder.

There was an audible sigh come over the loudspeaker, “Ma’am this is a Wendy’s.”

“Oh right, then I’ll take a cheeseburger and a medium Coke, no ice. Thank you!”

“Anything else?” the tired voice asked. “I’ll have the same thing.”

They continued driving towards the beach after the drive-thru. Cupholders full of sodas in flimsy paper cups, and Anna’s lap full of white paper bags of greasy food. She kept sneaking a fry when she thought Elsa wasn’t looking. But it was a small car and Elsa could see every bit of fried potato Anna took.

The closer they got to the beach, the darker the sky became. Tall looming clouds crept over the horizon. They couldn’t see the beach yet as it was the east coast, and most roads took you to the beach straight on instead of winding down cliff faces like the Pacific was famous for. But still, the clouds loomed. Elsa knew there was a storm somewhere off the coast, but it seemed far away last she checked, which wasn’t today. She refused to check the weather today for fear of bad news.

On the main highway, traffic was starting to get heavy, more tourists were headed for their long-awaited vacations and the road ahead was either congested to the point of slowing down. Or there was an accident and everyone had to slow to a crawl to creep a glance at the carnage.

Thankfully the girls weren’t tourists, unthankfully they lived close to this tiny town that became a major city in the summer months. Having to deal with millions of tourists every year meant that locals had a series of short-cuts. So when traffic started building, Elsa took the next exit rather suddenly, cutting across the solid white lines and nearly missing the crash barrier.

“Elsa! Shit! What the fuck!” Anna yelled and shot out her hands with nearly inhuman speed to catch the drinks before they spilled out of their too-small cupholders. “There’s a backup, I’m not sitting in that,” Elsa replied, taking the next turn so hard that the car nearly tilted on two wheels.

“But I saw flashing lights, it could have been a firetruck!”

“It could have been a police car…”

“But Elsa you don’t understand, the hot firemen! …and women.”

“Anna I’m not sitting in traffic for 30 minutes or even longer, just for you to ogle at people in uniform.”

Anna took another fry, “Not people in uniform, F-I-R-E-M-E-N and women. It is very different.”

Elsa let out a heavy sigh as they came to a stop at a red light. “If I buy you that stupid Australian calendar will you shut up?”

“Wow, harsh.” Anna dramatically threw one braid over her shoulder. “But, yes.”

Again, Elsa rolled her eyes and continued forward when the light changed. It was only a short while later that they left the main road and turned into a small, older housing development. The narrow street lead them all the way to the ocean, coming out on the far end of the main strip. Highrise condos and hotels dotted the skyline to their left, but right in front of them was the beach, concealed behind a short sand dune. Because life is a bitch like that sometimes.

Luckily for them, there was also free parking at this end if you didn’t mind a bit of a walk. Which, for the price of 17 bucks to park next to the beach, who wouldn’t mind the walk. 17 dollars could buy many cheeseburgers, Anna pointed out.

The beach wasn’t nearly as crowded down where they were, away from the boardwalk and the hotels. The sand also happened to be rockier, rough and pitted with long-forgotten footprints and broken shells. The beach groomers didn’t come this far. Which was fine by them, they would take a rough sandy beach with fewer people over a crowded hellscape any day.

There’s nothing more relaxing than simultaneously listening to eight different speakers all playing different music. While children screamed for no reason and the air was filled with a mix of sunscreen and cigarette smoke.

So yes they will miss out on the hot lifeguards and yes there will be fewer people to watch. But you can’t put a price on the quiet and the fresh air that this section of the beach had to offer.

After crossing the highway on foot, climbing the dune, and laying out their towels, only then did they pause to look out on the water. The ocean was angry, white caps dotted the surface as far as they could see. The horizon line was blurred with fog or rain and the dark clouds from before were more ominous than ever. Why the two women didn’t notice all these signs until now was some kind of act of God. Or stupidly. Probably the latter.

The beach itself was even more sparsely populated than normal. A smart person would have gone home after seeing all the warning signs. But this was Anna’s only day off for the next few weeks. And Elsa, well Elsa was too stubborn to admit her beach idea was a bad one.

They both laid down, on separate towels, choosing to ignore the warning signs and attempting to soak up as much sun as possible before it was swallowed by the coming storm. Elsa tried not to think about it too much. Neither was sure how long it had been before they were interpreted.

“What are you two gay ass losers doing?” Came a female voice.

“Ch’yeah it’s like gonna rain bruh.” Said a male’s.

Elsa opened one eye to see her cousin and her boyfriend, or so it fiancé now? Standing over them. The sky beyond them somehow looked even darker than before, which was very rude.

“Trying to enjoy the sunshine, obviously.” She mumbled in response.

“What sun?” their cousin asked, in a weird out of place, and badly performed accent.

“Wait but what is that voice?” Anna asked, sitting up and brushing the sand off her arms. How that girl could get sand everywhere, Elsa would never know.

“It’s like our new characters,” Eugene answered, earning not an eye roll from Rapunzel but a nod of approval.

“I’m New York and he’s Los Angeles. Both strong and independent cities that you could almost say are their own character. And those characters are us.” She added

“Why though?” Elsa was also now sitting up and confused, though nowhere near as sandy because she wasn’t a dirt gremlin-like her sister.

“Because we wanted to be unique characters, otherwise we’re just boring white people and where’s the fun in that?” Eugene or rather Los Angeles answered.

“Oh boring, like you watch Star Trek and try to fit it into everything even though it has no business being there?”

Eugene shot Anna finger guns, “exactly, this one gets it… bruh.”

A boom was heard in the distance and it sent a few people running towards their cars, towels billowing behind them. A long-distance away, over the water, there was a flash and with it, the wind picked up.

“Looks like our beach day is ruined, I’m sorry Anna.” Elsa stood and began to roll up her towel. Even with the limited sun, she was already red on her front, making a stark difference to the pale skin of her back.

“Nah we just getting started, come back to our place and play some ping pong. We just pulled the table out of storage.” Rapunzel aka New York offered. The two of them didn’t live far from the beach, having taken over Rapunzel’s parent’s beach house. It was very old and run down, but the pair was fixing it up in exchange for free rent.

‘Aye New York is right, and we can take my new whip… bruh.” Los Angeles gestured over his shoulder towards the dunes. They couldn’t see it yet because that dang dune was blocking things again. But everyone knew he was referring to his new golf cart.

Reluctantly the girls agreed and a few long minutes later they were rushing inside an old house to avoid the rain that had just started to fall. Their car was left abandoned in the free parking lot.

Inside was an odd mix of old and new. Brand new stainless steel appliances dotted a kitchen with dark wood cabinets and a yellow linoleum floor. A half-torn-down wall gave way to the living room with floor-to-ceiling wood paneling and floral print furniture.

“It ain’t much but it’s home.” Los Angeles said once everyone was inside. He walked beyond the torn-down wall and slapped his hand on the wood paneling. “New York over there hates this stuff, but it’s hella soundproof if you know what I mean.” With this, he wiggled his eyebrows and finally, earned an eye roll from New York.

“How did you know we were on the beach by the way?” Elsa asked as she took a step further into the kitchen to look at the collection of magnets on the fridge.

“Your sister posted about it on her tumblr of all places. Honestly, get an Instagram like the rest of us already.” New York said throwing her hands up dramatically. The drama ran in the family apparently.

The ping pong table was in the basement, a dimly light space with concrete walls and a tiled floor. Mix-matched chairs lined the walls and a mini-fridge sat in the corner next to a shelf full of liquor bottles.

The ping pong game quickly descended into beer pong with a twist. No one had to drink from the cups the ball landed in. Because that’s gross, don’t do that. Inside if someone managed to land the ball in a cup the other team had to take half a shot of vodka. Los Angeles had wanted to do full shots but Elsa and New York talked him out of it, if only for not dying reasons.

Even so after a few games with no true stand-out winner, just a bunch of dumb luck, they were all fairly buzzed. Flushed creeks and slurred speech. Outside the storm finally hit. Rain battered the small basement windows and thunder boomed overhead.

With each thunderclap, Elsa reached for Anna’s hand and wouldn’t let go till the other girl gave it a reassuring squeeze.

Finally, everyone seemed to have enough of the game and collapsed into bean bag bars that Anna and Elsa had both not noticed before. Elsa scooted her bean bag closer to Anna’s, the other two people didn’t seem to notice. New York was hanging all over Los Angeles. Her fingers tracing the curve of his jawline down, her eyes practically boring holes into his face. He acted like he didn’t see, but it was obvious he knew.

“You guys can stay here for the night if you want since the storm sounds so bad,” Eugene said, dropping his horrible accent.

“That’s very kind, but it’s just a little rain, we’ll be alright,” Anna replied, completely forgetting their car was many blocks away.

New York stopped messing with her man and turned to them. “Anna, it’s more than a little rain. It’s a hurricane, I mean it was a tropical storm and it was supposed to miss us. But you know how it be sometimes.” She said with amazing clarity for a drunkard.

Elsa’s hand shot to Anna’s and she let out an audible gasp. She had refused to check the weather before heading out the door today, figuring what she didn’t know, can’t hurt her. Which was stupid and out of character for someone who claims to be responsible.

Another boom followed by a bright flash of lightning illuminated the room for a brief second. Elsa looked terrified so Anna took it upon herself to change the subject.

“So we will be seeing you in two weeks right?”

Rapunzel playing New York smiled and clapped her hands together, “Yes! At the church!”

“For things better left unspoken,” Eugene playing Los Angeles groaned, covering his eyes with his forearm.

Another boom and the room was suddenly cast in darkness and accompanied by an eerie quiet. You never notice how much sound your electronics make till everything is off. Elsa grabbed Anna’s entire arm, holding it so tightly Anna was worried she would lose it.

“Ah fuck the power is out. We have some candles upstairs, I’ll be right back, Rapunzel can you see if the camping lantern is over on the shelf?”

“Um excuse me, it’s New York, but yes I will look.”

Two bodies moved away in the darkness, their paths illuminated by the small light on their phones. Next to Anna, Elsa’s breathing became rapid and she clung to Anna as if she was in danger of being blown away.

“Hey, it’s going to be alright,” Anna whispered, using her free hand to pet the top of Elsa’s head. The older girl shifted so in one fluid motion she was off her beanbag and on Anna’s before curling into the young girl’s side.

“I found it!” Rapunzel slash New York exclaimed. She turned it on and the room was partly lit up. She walked back to where the other two women were cuddled together and sat back down in her own beanbag.

“Wow, that’s like hella gay.” She said, pointing to the pair.

“Oh shut up, she just doesn’t like storms, you know that.” Anna quipped

Elsa let go of Anna’s arm long enough to extend a hand and flip off her cousin, earning her a laugh in response.

Eugene returned shortly after with the candles, a tray of food, and some cards. “Anyone up for a game of hurricane poker? It’s like regular poker only there’s a hurricane.”

He rejoined the group, placing the tray in the middle of everyone and paying no mind to the two women who now shared a beanbag.

Elsa lifted her head to look, the tray was adorned with a random assortment of food. Celery sticks, M&M’s, KitKat bars, Cheetos, Grapes, and some animal crackers. She made a face.

“What’s wrong uh bruh?” Eugene asked in a bad attempt to get back in character. Los Angeles would never quite be the character that New York was.

“I’ll only eat celery sticks if you pay me,” Elsa responded.

The next few hours consisted of Eugene completely wiping the floor with everyone. They played for the M&M’s, of which he now owned all of. With the power still out and the storm still raging on the decision was made for the sisters to spend the night over.

Their room was completely unrenovated, the same wood paneling from the living room made up the walls and the carpet was a thick green shag rug. Eugene was right about one thing though, the paneling sure did dampen the sound. Once the door was shut the two women could hardly hear anything, which was good because Rapunzel had started blasting Mandy Moore music for some reason.

There was only one bed, pushed into the corner, but it didn’t matter anyway. There could have been 80 beds and they still would have shared just one.

Anna laid down on her back and traced the grains in the wooden wall. “Really makes you want to carve something in this stuff you know? Something that would be around for hundreds of years.”

“Please don’t vandalize our cousin’s house,” Elsa said before sitting on the edge of the bed. She turned the lantern off so the only source of the light in the room was the candle on the nightstand.

“You alright?” Anna asked, propping herself up on one elbow.

“Yeah, I’m just worried about the storm, I can’t stop thinking about it.”

Anna reached out and gently grabbed Elsa’s arm, guiding her back to lay in the bed next to her. “Do you want to sleep or keep your mind off things?”

Elsa paused for a brief moment before removing her arm from Anna’s grip. “I don’t know…”

“It’s your choice, either way, I’m here for you.” Anna smiled at her, a flash of lightning lit up the room but no thunder.

It startled Elsa but she remained where she was, staring at Anna. Thinking, always thinking.

“It’s just a storm and this old house seems to be built like a tank anyway.” She made a fist and pounded the wall to prove her point.

Elsa started twirling the end of one of Anna’s braids but her eyes remained locked on Anna’s. The delayed thunderclap came and Elsa inhaled sharply. Anna leaned over and kissed the top of her forehead.

“You sure this is okay?” Elsa asked and Anna nodded, running the back of her hand down the other girl’s cheek. “Let’s get our mind off of things then.”

Elsa crawled till she was straddling Anna who gazed up at her with eyes that shown like stars in the candlelight.

“What’s your favorite constellation?”

“Hmm, probably Orion, because you can find his belt so easy,” Anna answered, “Yours?” “Your eyes”

“Ew, that’s so fucking cheesy.”

Elsa leaned down, her mouth slightly agape. Anna’s eyes fluttered shut as her hands found their way to the other woman’s shoulders.

The storm, the damage, their car, all these things could wait until tomorrow. Tonight they were out of their control so for tonight they didn’t matter.

Elsa blew out the candle, and they both plunged into the sinful escape of the darkness.

[chasingthepoguelife]

Lonely Boys Do Stupid Things Part 1

Lonely boys do stupid things Part 1

 (gif credits to @rafecameron​)

Summary: Rafe is tired of an already boring summer, constantly being judged by everyone on the island, and is looking for a challenge. When the group is introduced to the new girl hanging out with Kiara, Topper suggests a challenge and Rafe accepts only to be conflicted along the way.

 Author’s: So in this world Rafe is still a bad guy, just not a “I killed a cop and have all these daddy issues” bad, Topper hasn’t developed yet, and also John B hasn’t dragged anyone into his stupid shit and there is a civil ground between kooks and pogues and Ward isn’t a “I love two out my three children and murdered my friend” dad. For reference, I do not support Rafe’s canon character. I’m just blinded by the attraction I feel for him and I love Drew, but will never condone or excuse Rafe’s actions. Also, I’m not writing y/n with many descriptions. I know all types of people might read this and I want to make everyone feel included but I also don’t want to do it the wrong way so I’m leaving a lot of physical features up to the reader’s imagination. I would also accept tips and constructive criticism to be more of an inclusive writer.

 Warning: For part 1 I don’t think there is anything.

 Another summer week has come and passed for the kooks of Figure Eight. The Cameron kids made quite the headlines last year, Sarah dating a boy from the Cut, and the eldest Rafe Cameron, having to save one of his father’s many businesses after almost running it to the ground. The chatter and nosiness of other Figure Eight residents died down in the winter, but they always stick their noses in the Cameron’s business around summer time. Rafe awaited the month of September where he could escape to the mainland again, but after only two weeks down, and what felt like two years, he had no idea how he would survive the next six weeks.

 “Come on get up!” Rafe heard with a pillow meeting his face. He looked over at his clock, 1:30pm, and was greeted with Sarah hovering over his night stand.

 “Sarah, I have no desire to go anywhere except for the kitchen, “Rafe groaned.

 “I’m not going to let you wither away like a pathetic sap. Get your bathing suit on and head outside. We’re meeting John B and Kiara, even your friends bothered to tag along.”

 “Why do you have to make things even more fucked than they already are?” Rafe questioned.

 “If John B and I can move around the island and shut down the lonely gossiping housewives, then you can get on a boat!”

 After Rafe groaned and didn’t move for ten minutes, Sarah had to come back in to make sure he was alive and moving.

 “Five minutes Rafe!” Sarah yelled, pulling off his comforter.

 After fifteen minutes, Rafe managed to get himself dressed and meet his sister and John B on their father’s boat. Ward had suggested they take the boat for a joy ride, all day, wherever they wanted. A year ago, Rafe’s blood would’ve boiled at the thought of a pogue being so close, but things have changed. He actually admires how John B lives his life, not caring what other people think, although he’d rather choke before admitting he looks up to a younger pogue.

 “Ok so Rafe’s a sad sack that barley moves and John B as your girlfriend I automatically make the rules so we’re heading south to meet Kie for the day. I’m going to sail so you two make nice and enjoy the ride,” Sarah demanded.

 As Sarah started the boat’s engine, the group heard screaming, looking up towards the Cameron house, seeing a tall blonde boy in a pink polo, running like his life depended on it.

“You- said- 215pm- Sarah!” the boy gasped out of breath.

 “No Topper, I’m pretty sure I said 2,” Sarah said sarcastically.

 After almost a year, Sarah is still playing jokes on her ex- boyfriend and brother for the way they treated John B and his friends.

 “Rafe boy, you tired of me already?” Topper laughed.

 “Obviously, look at my new best friend here,” Rafe pointed to John B.

 “I’m going to get us beers if this is how the whole ride is going to be,” John B said.

 “You tired of us already Rafey?” Topper joked.

 “I’m always tired of you and Kelce,” Rafe laughed.

 “You know he’s on some better path spiritual shit this summer, giving up booze?” Topper said in disbelief (A/N: in season 2 I want better for Kelce as in he deserves better friends)

 “It has to be better than this. I don’t want to deal with everyone’s judgmental shit so I keep a low profile, and all that’s got me is a boat ride with my sister and John B, and to see more pogues!”

 Rafe and Topper have become more tolerant of the residents of the Cut, but no doubt they wake up every morning still thinking they’re a gift to this planet.

 “I don’t know if I can handle another 6 weeks of this shit, I’m going insane!” Rafe yelled.

 “I’m sure we will find something to fill those weeks. If we go looking long enough, something fun will fall in our lap,” Topper smirked.

 John B had come back with drinks for the group, actually engaging in civil conversation with his girlfriend’s ex and her loopy brother. The boys have adjusted to this civil relationship, something Figure Eight residents loved to gossip about. Not too long after, the kook boys started to see that they would be arriving shortly after passing Heywards, marking their entrance into pogue world. Rafe will never admit it, but the pogue he hates the most is Pope Heyward. He hates how hardworking and smart he is, how his father would do anything for him, but more so how he has an entire group of friends ready to drop everything to help him. Topper is his good friend, but there’s no way he’d do half the things John B and JJ do for Pope.

 “There’s Kie on her dad’s boat,” Sarah pointed out. “I’m going to anchor down close to hers and we can figure it out from there.”

 As Sarah found a good place to drop the anchor, everyone on the boat could here Kie and another voice mixing of loud laughter. Kie was running around on the boat deck as another girl the group had never seen before followed behind her. Surprised by the presence of unknown person, the group couldn’t help but stare.

 “Kie!” Sarah waved enthusiastically. The one good thing out of last year’s madness was that Sarah got her childhood best friend back. Kie and the unknown girl started making their way onto the Druthers as it is bigger than Kie’s boat. Everyone watched the girls make their way on, especially Rafe. He wasn’t sure what to make of this girl, but he definitely noticed her long legs climbing onto the boat and that’s when he thought, what else she was capable of doing with legs that long. His thoughts were interrupted as he heard a new voice.

 “I’m y/n”, she said as everyone stared.

 “Nice to meet you, y/n, I’m John B, this is Sarah, that’s Topper, and that last one is Rafe.”

 As y/n took in the new people in front of her, Topper noticed how her eyes kept lingering on Rafe.

 “Kie, are you going to tell us about your new gorgeous friend?” Topper smirked.

 “No, she won’t, but I will!” y/n chimed in.

 “Well obviously I’m y/n. I’m 18 years old. I’m new to the Outer Banks. My dad had to move us out here for a business deal that he’s got going with Kiara’s dad, I have a 14-year-old brother, and at any time you can either find me in the water or looking for snacks.”

 “Where do you live y/n”? John B asked.

 “Not too far. My parents managed to find a cute little house in the Marigold neighborhood. (A/N: I made this location up) Everyone except Kie stopped in their tracks. The group although already divided, had nothing to do with the residents of Marigold. Anyone in that area of the island was neither a pogue nor a kook. They really had no identity as they were not rich enough to be kooks but not poor enough to be a pogue from the Cut. Most people living there are Marigold born and raised, considered to be more of an outcast than pogues. The rest of the island didn’t know how to label Marigolds. There wasn’t enough money to buy a yacht, but you could still eat enough everyday and rest your head on a comfortable big bed every night.

 An awkward silence lingered in the group that no one knew how to break. Kie pulled y/n by the arm and explained.

 “Y/n I told you, there’s absolutely nothing wrong with where you live, but on this island, everyone is classist and territorial. You’re better off saying you’re from my neighborhood to make it easier for you.”

 “This group is already messed up, what’s one more thing to stir the pot? Welcome to the group y/n!” John B cheered.

 As the tension cleared in the group, the sun came out in full force. Sarah steered the Druthers further out into the ocean for a nice swim. The music began bumping, drinks were passed around, and y/n felt like she knew the group for years. After a few hours, the only ones who needed a break were Topper and Rafe. The two climbed back onto the boat to rest.

 “So, for a Marigold this new girl seems decent?” Topper questioned.

 “She’s alright, just not for me. The last thing I need on top of all this other shit is for me to be seen around the island with a girl like that. The Figure Eight would have a field day.”

 “Maybe that’s it,” Topper smirked. “This is something you’ve never experienced before. It would be a challenge. She’s not the worst thing to look at, you could have some fun with her.”

 “Top if I really wanted to, I could have my pick of any pogue or kook chick in my bed like yesterday,” Rafe boasted.

 “No man, hear me out. You have 6 weeks left. I challenge you to make her head over heels for you in that time. It will give you something to do, you’ll get some and then poof you leave for the mainland. By the time you see her again she’ll be over it. Plus, she seemed to focus on you a bit longer back at the docks so she probably already has a thing for youI get why we had to change with the pogues but at least they know where they stand. This girl thought she’d move here and live like she’s the main character of a tv show but it’s only going to cause more problems, “Topper shared his concerns.

 Rafe had to pause for a moment. Last year he would’ve said yes right away, but lately he’s been finding himself questioning his morals and values, thinking if he behaved more the gossip would stop. It would be wrong to mess with someone like this, but he is bored after all, and he doesn’t want to look like a pussy in front of Topper. He looked out into the ocean watching her swim so happily amongst the waves.

 “This is going to be the easiest thing I’ve ever done,” Rafe declared.

[molluskwritesfic]

The Waif ~ Chapter One

As an alien science experiment, she remembers nothing. Knows no one. With nowhere else to turn, Claudia must rely on the Doctor and his companions for help. She's mutating. The Doctor knows more than he's telling. But why does the Time Lord seem to hate her so much? Rated M.

Chapter Warnings: Death, amnesia, violence.

Masterlist - Fanfiction.net - Ao3

Prologue - This Chapter - Next Chapter

Chapter One: Somebody

Anyone walking the streets of Cardiff at approximately eight in the morning would’ve thought that the young woman waking the wrong way down the sidewalk was mentally challenged. 

And there were people walking the streets, so many of them were thinking this.

Maybe she was a drug addict that had decided to take a walk in the sun. Maybe she had climbed out of her lover’s window when his wife came home early and she only made it out with a nightgown. Maybe she had just escaped from a mental ward.

Perhaps she had. Who knew? Certainly not her. 

She’d left Mr. Stray the moment she realized he was dead. Somewhere in her jumbled thoughts, she recognized that she probably shouldn’t have left his body for some stranger to find, but the mix of relative safety and indifference she’d felt the night before had vanished with the rising sun. She’d panicked, for numerous reasons, and found herself trying to get as far away from the homeless man’s corpse as she could.

Her mind was a confusing murky haze of information and lack thereof. None of her thoughts made sense to her, even though she presumed that they were relatively normal ones to have. 

Thoughts like Where am I? seemed to mock her from within her own mind, but from behind a wall of emptiness, like a question on a test that she knew she ought to know the answer to. She’d studied it, but now it was gone. Stupid, forgetful girl. Who am I? Don’t worry, don’t worry. Relax and it’ll come back to you. Where am I supposed to be? What’s wrong with me? Just ask for help if you get lost, but they’ll laugh at you if they know you’ve forgotten. 

She felt like crying. She was lost in a place she felt like she probably shouldn’t be. She mentally begged for someone to fix it. For someone to just know and help her.

Claudia studied the faces of the people she passed, hoping to see a flicker of recognition in one of them, hoping that someone may recognize her and say, ‘Oh, there you are! Where have you been?’ 

She felt an awful lot like an item in the lost and found. Existing in a strange sort of purgatory until someone thought to come by and claim her. Whether that person be the original owner or someone new, it didn’t matter, she didn’t care. A stray animal wandering the streets, trying to find her way back to her old home or into a new one. 

Her bare feet began to sting and bleed, but she carried on, hoping to eventually find the place she was supposed to be.

~0~0~0~ . . ~0~0~0~

It didn’t take Claudia long to get tired. She was hungry, sad, and her feet were scraped and bleeding. She came across a nice park, one with benches and children playing on colorful plastic playground equipment, and decided to sit and rest.

A little girl from the playground came waddling up to her. She couldn’t have been more than eight, with bright red pigtails and heavily freckled face. She smiled at Claudia shyly, stopping a few feet in front of her and holding out a small white flower.

Claudia smiled at the gesture. The little girl beamed back, displaying a few gaps in her smile. 

“I’m Sara,” the little girl announced confidently, coming the rest of the way over and clambering up on the bench beside Claudia.

“I’m Claudia,” Claudia said softly, smiling down at the little flower as she twirled it between her fingers.

“Why are you so sad?” Sara was looking up at her thoughtfully, her little nose scrunched up as she tried to work out why the grownup beside her could be anything but happy.

Claudia shrugged, keeping her eyes on the flower. “I think… I think I’m lost.”

“That’s no good,” Sara concluded. “Where do you have to go? Maybe I can help.”

“I don’t know. I can’t remember anything.”

Surprisingly, Sara didn’t question it. “Like amn… amnei..”

“Amnesia,” Claudia agreed in her quiet voice, slightly surprised at how easily the word had come to her.

“Yeah. How’d that happen?”

“I don’t know. I just woke up. I don’t even know where I am.”

“You’re in Cardiff,” Sara answered firmly, without the slightest hint of criticism. “That’s in Wales. Which is part of the UK. My teacher made us learn all about it.” Her brow crinkled moodily. “And we even had to point to it on a map. I got that part right, but I messed up on Germany.”

“You’ll get it right next time.” For the first time since she’d woken up, she smiled. It was small and nervous, but a smile nonetheless. 

“Hope so. We have to do it again next week.” 

“Sara!”

Sara and Claudia looked up to see a tall woman staring at them with her hands on her hips. Her glare was intended for Claudia as much as it was for her daughter, full of wary disapproval and a borderline threat that said do anything to hurt my baby, and I’ll kill you. 

Claudia couldn’t blame her, suddenly feeling extremely self conscious about her dirty white dress and bare feet and imagining how it must look to Sara’s mother. For all the mother knew, Claudia was a homeless crackhead and/or lunatic. For all Claudia knew, she was right.

“Is that your mom?” Claudia asked, wilting slightly under the woman’s stern gaze.

Sara winced. “Yeah. I’m not supposed to talk to strangers.”

“That’s good advice.” Claudia picked at her finger nails nervously. “You should probably go back to her.”

“Yeah, okay.” Sara wiggled back to her feet, but instead of leaving, she spun back around to face Claudia. “In class, when I can’t remember what an answer is, I think of all the things I can remember. Sometimes the rest will come back. You should try it, maybe you’ll remember too.”

“I’ll try.” Claudia managed another small smile and Sara, satisfied that she’d managed to cheer the sad woman up a little, bounded back over to her mother.

Claudia watched as the mother scolded her, impressed at how nonchalant the child was in the face of her mother’s wrath. 

She twirled the small flower in her fingers, watching the delicate petals spin as she tried to pull her thoughts together enough to work out what she could remember. She frantically scoured at the deepest recesses of her mind, looking for anything. A name. A place. A face. 

There was nothing.

When an angry black SUV tore around the corner at the other side of the park, Claudia realized that there was something that she knew: angry black SUVs bearing several strange people with strange science equipment and guns were probably bad. 

“You!” The man who had been in the driver’s seat shouted as he leapt out of the car. He was dressed in mostly blue, with suspenders and a long, thick coat that flapped around his legs. “Stay where you are!”

Claudia realized, with increasing anxiety, that he was referring to her. She stood shakily, toying with the hem of her dress, mud squishing unpleasantly between her toes. An empty brown holster jangled around the man's waist, the gun shining in his hand. Claudia swallowed nervously in spite of her cotton-dry mouth.

“An ultrasonic resonance scoop and thirteen deaths, and you thought that no one would notice?” The man loomed over her threateningly. “You got clumsy with the last one, though. Just left on the side of the street. What, did you get bored?”

Claudia’s mouth opened and closed as she floundered for a response, but her throat was too tight for any sound to escape. She couldn’t think of anything to say, anyway. 

“Hold on, Jack. She’s not like the others,” one of the other people from the car interjected, a woman with dark hair, freckles, and wide spaced teeth. Her large grey eyes were soft with curiosity and pity. 

The man, Jack, lacked both of those qualities. His eyes were cold. “You said that about the last one.”

“Oh, be fair,” the woman scoffed, “he looked twelve.”

“Yeah, and he ripped out that police officer’s throat,” another man - a bit frog-faced, in Claudia’s opinion - added. “With his teeth.”

Whatever blood was left in Claudia’s face drained at the thought. Clearly, there was some sort of misunderstanding. She hadn’t killed anyone. Though, a knot twisted in her gut when she realized that she probably wouldn’t be able to remember if she had or not.

“And that’s not counting what the others did before they slipped off.” Jack bared his teeth into something resembling a grin. “We got this one though, don’t we?” 

“I… I…” Claudia managed to croak.

“Ooh, she speaks!” Jack crooned, he lifted the gun so it was pointed squarely at her chest. “Let’s go, sweetheart. We’ve got a nice, cozy cell for you to slip into. I’ll buy you a drink while we have a chat.”

Claudia tried to move, but her legs wouldn’t obey. Her heart was beating frantically in her throat, and she could hardly hear the gawking park spectators through the sound of blood rushing in her ears. But she did catch a glimpse of Sara clinging to her mother’s legs.

“I said let’s go!” Jack snapped, roughly shoving her shoulder so she staggered in the direction of the foreboding SUV. The tiny flower from Sara slipped from her grasp and lay forgotten in the mud.

Claudia managed a few steps in the right direction, but stumbled as the air around her began to hum. Black ate at the corners of her vision and her limbs tingled like they had all decided to fall asleep at once. 

The man with the frog face pressed a finger to his ear. His eyes widened. “Tosh says there’s another energy spike. She’s being teleported…”

Before Claudia could contemplate what he meant, she was enveloped by a bright gold light.

“No— No, wait!” Jack’s voice rang in her ears, but he sounded far away.

The man’s shouts of protest faded away, replaced by a deafening ringing as the world faded into dizzying blackness.

~0~0~0~ . . ~0~0~0~

She was on the floor somewhere that she wasn’t before. Claudia lay still for a moment, dazed, trying to work out what had happened through the ringing in her ears.

“Is she stable?” A masculine voice echoed from somewhere nearby.

“Yeah. It’s just the transmat, it screws with your head a bit. She’ll be fine in a moment.”

A loud knock echoed around her. She floundered, trying to figure out which way was up. Another few knocks rattled her, and she managed to sit up. 

Claudia looked around frantically for the frightening man - Jack, and his two companions - but they were gone, as was the park. The young woman desperately tried to wrap her head around the change in scenery - from a park to what she imagined to be some sort of laboratory. 

She couldn’t recall anything that would help explain the phenomenon from the bank of experiences her short life had to offer, so she decided to assume that this was a normal occurrence.

A man in a pale blue coat was peering down at her through some sort of glass barrier. He looked human, but his eyes were far too yellow, rimmed by squarish black glasses. The man raised his hand to tap on the glass again, displaying unnaturally long fingers. Claudia had the odd sensation of being a fish, or perhaps a hamster, looking out at the student who was annoying the class pet.

“Hello!” The man greeted her cheerfully, giving a little wave. 

She stared out at him blankly, having no idea of how she was supposed to respond. She was frightened, but no more of the man before her than of anything else she’d encountered over the past twelve hours. At least he wasn’t as scary as Jack. The situation felt far too dehumanizing for her to be polite or trusting. But rude probably wasn’t the way to go, either.

She was in a sort of glass cylinder that served as an enclosure. The cylinder continued high above her head to the ceiling, topped with a black vent. The floor was made of silver grating that bit painfully into her feet.

Outside the cylinder was an altogether different environment. It was white and sterile. Metal counters lined the walls, covered with various forms of intricate machinery; their purpose Claudia could only guess at. 

On the opposite side of the room was an observation window. Although tinted, Claudia could make out a man on the other side of the glass. He was an older man, tall with a stern face. He was dressed in a coat like the other scientist, staring out at them with his arms crossed and a clipboard in hand.

At the sight of him, something prickled at the back of Claudia’s mind. It might have been recognition, but it was too faint to be sure. 

To her left, Claudia noticed three other cylindrical tanks like her own, each with its own inhabitant. From her viewpoint, she could just make out a boy in his early teens, a young woman with mossy brown hair, and a muscular man that appeared to be in his late thirties.

The scientist with glasses turned away from Claudia, picking up a clipboard as he went and ruffling though it thoughtfully. He stopped in front of the boy, who was curled up in a ball at the floor of his cell. Although his face was half hidden and his hands fisted in his hair, the blood around his mouth was clearly visible. 

“Yeah, and he ripped out that police officer’s throat,” the frog faced man in the park had said. “With his teeth.”

Claudia shuddered, imagining it. He looked so small and helpless now, but she didn’t doubt what the man in the park had said.

“223-A is responding negatively,” the man on the other side of the window mused, his voice echoing from the ceiling through speakers. “Prepare to terminate.”

The other glanced up from fiddling with an instrument that resembled a microscope. “Aww, come on, Solane, he’s the first to actually accept the treatments. Surely that counts for something.”

Solane simply wrote something down on the clipboard, not bothering to look up. “Unchecked aggression and mental degradation is not what we are trying to achieve. Don’t get sentimental on me. It’s unbecoming. Now, prepare to terminate.”

The younger scientist sighed and made his way over to a computer console. He typed a few lines and turned a nozzle to the right of the computer. “Proceeding.”

A toxic yellow fog began seeping into the boy’s cell from the ceiling vent, filling the cylinder in a matter of seconds. 

Claudia could only watch with mounting horror as the boy twitched and began coughing. Within moments, he was spasming. His gangly body seizing and contorting painfully, head snapping and eyes rolling for what seemed like ages before finally, mercifully, he stilled.

“Lifesigns terminated,” The younger scientist confirmed, still sounding a bit rueful. 

A frightened sob escaped unbidden from Claudia’s lips. She shrank against the glass, trying to put as much space between her and the horrible people as she could. The scientists ignored her.

“Good,” Sloane acknowledged.

Much to her dismay, the young scientist ambled back over to Claudia’s tank. He opened a small rectangular window that Claudia hadn’t noticed and looked at her expectantly. “Put your arm through the hole, please.”

Claudia did not want to put her arm through the gap. She didn’t want to be anywhere near this cold, cruel man. Her stomach was still heaving at witnessing the boy’s death and had there been anything in it, she would have vomited.

“Come on,” the man prompted cheerfully. “You won’t get fed until you cooperate. Today’s combination twenty four. You don’t want to miss that, do you? You must be hungry.”

The scientist’s indifferently positive tone made her feel even more sick to the stomach. But he was right, she was starving. Not to mention that she was willing to bet that he would withhold food altogether until she died, if he didn’t give up and gas her first.

Slowly, hesitantly, Claudia slipped her arm through the small window.

“Good girl,” He praised, taking her by the wrist. In one swift movement, he pressed a tube against her arm just a few inches below her elbow. It pinched sharply, causing her to flinch. 

The scientist put away the tube and took up a syringe filled with something green. He injected it into her bicep and released her.

“There. That wasn’t so bad, was it? I promised a meal, now, didn’t I?”

~0~0~0~ . . ~0~0~0~

Days ticked by dully, or at least Claudia thought they were days. It could’ve been weeks, or months. The harsh artificial lights never changed intensity to indicate the difference between night and day. Meals were regular, and there were stretches of time where Dinstral, the young lab assistant, wasn’t in the room, but these regularities had no relation to anything else, and therefore weren’t enough to use as a method of telling time. But by her estimates, Claudia had only been wherever she was for a handful of days. 

She was given bland bowls of what appeared to be porridge through the small window of her tank. Every so often Dinstral would come by to inject more of the green liquid. Then he would do something called ‘Optimising’. Claudia had no real idea of what that meant, but knew that the assistant would type something in the computer, which then caused her tank to vibrate. 

She couldn’t really feel any difference after Optimising, but they seemed to think that the ten minute session after every injection was necessary, and Claudia wasn’t in a position to protest. 

After Optimization, Dinstral would take a blood sample and would go off to run tests on it, leaving Claudia alone in her glass prison.

She tried on multiple occasions to initiate conversation. She tried to ask Dinstral what was going on; what he was doing; what they wanted with her; where she came from; but he would only tsk and say that good girls didn’t ask so many questions. Claudia was always offended by the statement, but, once again, wasn’t in any position to object.

Her fellow prisoners weren’t any help, either. The tank nearest to her was now empty. The woman one tank over didn’t seem able to speak at all, simply grunting disinterestedly in response to any statement made in her direction.

The man furthest away seemed like he was the most capable of intelligent communication. His eyes weren’t empty like the woman’s were. They were sharp, calculating. Unfortunately, he ignored Claudia entirely, casting the barest glance in her direction at every futile attempt at attracting his attention. He spent his days staring silently out into the lab, undergoing the same procedures that Claudia was subjected to without the slightest complaint. 

Then there was Dr. Sloane. Whenever Dinstral was in the room to administer injections or run tests, he was there, watching through the glass. He would make notes and give instructions, but stayed away. 

Claudia wondered why. What was he afraid of? Or was the hands-on part of the test simply beneath him? 

The longer she was in there, the more distraught Claudia became. Loneliness was setting in, eating away at her heart in a manner similar to how the cold from the metal grating under her feet seeped into her bones. She would have done almost anything for a hug. Her memory hadn’t returned as she hoped it would. There was no one. Nothing. 

Was this where she belonged? A mindless science experiment for strange people to poke and prod at? 

She told herself firmly that it couldn’t be. She had to come from somewhere, didn’t she? Someone had to have given birth to her. She surely had parents, right?

She focused on that, spending her spare hours imaging them in an attempt to calm her frayed nerves.

She thought maybe her mother had brown hair, as she did. She might have been kind with a musical laugh and smile lines at the corner of her eyes.

Her father might have been tall. He might have been witty and energetic. He might have had a brilliant smile and perfect white teeth. 

They might have lived in the countryside somewhere. With tall trees surrounding the house and a big front yard. Bright yellow flowers might have grown there, making the air in the spring smell warm and sweet. They might have read her bedtime stories and played outside with a dog. 

They might have been real, and they might have loved her.

That’s what Claudia told herself, anyway. She knew perfectly well that the probability of any of it being true was incredibly low; but to a person with no memory, fiction is every bit as tangible as reality. 

~0~0~0~ . . ~0~0~0~

Then finally, something happened.

Claudia woke up to the sound of people shouting. She sprang to her feet, shaking the groggy remnants of sleep away as she surveyed the lab, eagerly looking for the source. Her fellow lab rats did the same, getting to their feet and staring around with wide eyes, looking more alive than Claudia had ever seen them. 

The lab door was still closed, so they couldn’t see what was happening, but something had clearly gotten their captors agitated. Claudia pressed her palms to the glass, ignoring the cold that seeped into them from the lifeless material. 

The door finally slid open as Dinstral and two other assistants came bustling in. They moved quickly, shouting things at each other in a language that Claudia couldn’t understand. They tapped at the computers, hustling and gathering equipment. 

The cylindrical tanks shuddered in response to whatever commands had been inputted. Claudia watched in horrified amazement as the man’s tank began to sink into the floor. It lowered until the entire thing vanished through the metal-rimmed hole that had evidently been beneath it. 

An escape hatch, Claudia wondered. Where does it go?

Both Claudia’s and the woman’s tanks shuddered and began to do the same. Their task completed, Dinstral and his lackeys hurried back out of the room and out of sight. 

As her tank was lowered through the floor, Claudia tried to work out what was happening. The best she could figure, they were evacuating.

To get away from what?

Claudia was thrown to the floor, scraping her knees as her tank jarred to a halt, halfway in and out of the floor. The tank reversed, raising itself back out into its original placement before attempting to complete the cycle once more. She stayed on the floor this time, but was still jolted unpleasantly as the machine hit whatever snag it had encountered the first time. 

It tried twice more, but ultimately resigned itself to remaining in its original position while the computer at the other side of the room beeped in distress, flashing red warning lights at scientists that weren’t there to respond to them. 

By this point, the other experiments were long gone, having been removed by their fully functioning escape hatches. 

Claudia got back to her feet and knocked on the glass urgently, having no desire to be caught up in whatever had caused the scientists to leave so quickly. Not that she wanted to stay with Dr. Sloane and his cronies, but that was better than being left to die in her own personal isolation tank. 

“Hello?” She called, voice strained from lack of proper use. “Is anyone there? My thing… my thing got stuck!”

There was no reply. She dared calling out a few more times, but received the same result. Everyone was gone.

She wrapped her arms around herself in a poor imitation of a hug as a new kind of despair seeped into her heart. As dehumanizing and horrible as her stay here had been, it was all she knew. Change is hard, for the better and for the worse. It didn’t help that she had no idea if her situation was either. 

Please don’t leave me, Claudia begged, not to Dinstral or Dr. Sloane, but to anyone; to her theoretical family and friends; to anyone at all that might’ve laid claim to her. Please don’t leave me alone.

Minutes felt like hours, and even though she had been abandoned there for hardly any time at all, she felt like she’d been alone for years. So when the sound of footsteps echoed from through the open door, she barely recognized the hope that flared within her.

A man came racing around the corner, twisting wires together with more draped around his neck. He was tall and skinny with a narrow face. He wore a brown pinstripe suit and tie with light colored shoes and hair that stuck up every which way - like he’d been running his fingers through it in agitation. 

The man spotted her and stopped dead in his tracks, eyes wide with shock. 

He stared at her for a moment, and Claudia watched as a wide variety of expressions crossed his face. Surprise. Confusion. Then winded, like he’d been punched in the gut. Then anger. 

“You!” He sputtered, voice going a bit squeaky. “What are you—?”

“Doctor?” A young blonde woman in a pink sweatshirt and jeans came charging in after him. She skidded to a stop and examined the room owlishly.

“How did…? Where have…?” The man, whom Claudia presumed was called ‘Doctor’, wavered his way over to the glass, coming closer in a few spastic spurts, much like a worked-up dog would to something that it wasn’t sure was friendly or not. His voice became strained and accusing, stress written on every line of his face. “Why did…?”

“Do you know her?” The blonde asked, coming around to peer at Claudia from around the Doctor’s shoulder with doe-like eyes. 

“Know her… I…” The Doctor broke off, hurt and anger melting into confusion and curiosity as his eyes roved over her. “But… What?”

“What?” Claudia echoed with wide eyes, unnerved by the strange man but who had yet to complete a full sentence.

The Doctor pressed the button to the lock and the glass slid away, removing the barrier between them. He stepped into the cell and came uncomfortably close, peering into her confused eyes with his narrowed ones.

“Doctor?” The blonde asked again, looking uneasy as well. 

His eyes darted around Claudia’s face, absorbing every detail. Then he snatched up her hand. He ran his fingers over her palm, pushing and prodding at the space where her fingers met the rest of her hand. 

“Show me your teeth,” he ordered, peeling back his lips as an example.

Claudia did as instructed, but was alarmed when he quickly ran his thumb along the edges of her teeth. Claudia recoiled, slightly disgusted, and looked to the equally perplexed blonde for help.

“Alright, Doctor, that’s enough of…” She came forward, waving her hand in the air. “...whatever this is. Who is she and what’s so important about her teeth?”

The Doctor blinked and took a step back, shoving his hands into his pockets and staring at Claudia. She could practically see the cogs turning behind his deep brown eyes.

“A lot, actually. But…” He took another step towards Claudia. “Do you know who I am?”

Claudia rubbed her hands anxiously, not sure if she felt hopeful or afraid. He was certainly acting like he knew her. So maybe…

“No,” she said, getting a bit breathless with nerves. “Or maybe? I… I don’t know. I don’t know anyone.”

An explosion sounded in the distance, making the floor shudder. Claudia flinched, her eyes darting back and forth as she became even more agitated.

“Claud…” the Doctor said softly but with a hint of warning, like he was addressing a child. “How d’you mean you don’t know anyone?”

“I don’t know.” She cowered under the heat in his endless brown eyes. Then she blinked, her next-to-empty mind having caught the discrepancy. “You know my name?”

The Doctor seemed to realize his mistake. He grimaced slightly.

The floor shook once more. 

The blonde stepped forward and wrapped an arm around Claudia’s shoulders. “Doctor, leave it for now. Ship losing orbit, remember? We’ve got to go.”

“Ship?” Claudia echoed, more confused than ever.

“Spaceship,” the blonde stated, as if it were obvious. “We’re in space. Did you not know?”

“Space?” Claudia blinked, trying to process it. Not that she had a reason to find the concept of being in space ridiculous. Nevertheless, it seemed… wrong. “Oh.”

The Doctor watched Claudia for a moment longer, pain and concern warring behind his eyes, then sprang into action. He took up the wires he’d been messing with before. “Right. Got to patch this into the mainframe, bypass the…” He glanced back up at the two women. “Rose, take her back to the TARDIS. I’ll be along in a minute.”

“Right, this way.” Rose guided Claudia through the empty corridors, reassuring her every time the other girl flinched at a sudden sound.

“Where have all the people gone?” Claudia asked, peering around corners, expecting one of the scientists with the blue coats to come around them at any moment. 

Rose grinned mischievously. “The Doctor locked them all in the cargo hold. Don’t worry, they can’t get out.”

“Oh, okay.”

What else could she say?

[imnotwolverine]

The marriage pact - Seedlings

Henry Cavill x OC Alice - multi-chapter

< Part 23 | Part 24 Seedlings | Part 25 >

Disclaimer: Bit of angst

Author’s note: It’s 6 AM and I’m posting this story live from a submarine ship. I kid you not. This is one crazy Sunday. A photographer friend had an assignment to make a photo report for a newspaper special and she needed someone to model for her. So, here I am. Here we are. Submarine ship Sundays. 😂

Word count: 1.840

(Link to my Masterlist)

Dear readers,

We are back on the island! And just in time. Winter is coming to an end and oh how incredibly happy I am to feel sun rays on my skin as I am working in my garden. Your garden? Oh yes, dear readers. I have, as of now, a garden. A house, a garden, a man. Ain’t life funny? Anyways. With spring soon coming our way it is time to get cracking. Or better yet; shovelling.

In other good news; I am pleased to announce that my book ‘The Tea Party’ will soon hit book shelves near you. The Tea Party is a collection of smaller adult stories which are just long enough to read before bed and exciting enough to spruce up your boring lunch break. Meet a number of mysterious and comedic characters as they go about their daily business, their lives intermixed with a sprinkling of magic and English frivolity. And if you happen to stop by my garden, I’ll be sure to autograph it for you, too.

With her hands in the dirt,

Ali

‘Ali Ali Ali!’ An excited voice bounced behind me and Henry as we strolled through the interior design shop, our hands interlinked. Both looking over our shoulders we didn’t see much, until we looked down. Little Alice! With a smile I turned and greeted her. ‘Hello dear princess! How do you do?’

‘And Swupermann!’ She squealed, looking up at Henry. He chuckled and winked at the little girl. ‘Don’t tell anyone! I’m in disguise!’

The girl stopped bouncing up and down and blinked, then asked: ‘What’s a disbois?’

‘Disguise.’ I sniffled, then reached down to pick her up and settle her on my hip like I always did, my eyes tracing around the shop, but not seeing her parents anywhere - which was understandable as the shop was absolutely PACKED with furniture. ..Oh cheeky..princess.. ‘A disguise is something you wear to hide who you really are. Like..’ I pulled a strip of hair before my nose. ‘See..such wonderful moustache I have! You cannot recognise me now..HON HON!’

The little girl chuckled and pulled away the lock of hair from my nose, scrunching hers in turn. ‘Noooo!!’ She shook her head. ‘That’s superman!’ She pointed at Henry, then nodded as if it was decided. Henry shrugged. ‘Well, guess I am Superman then.’ - ‘AND you are going to have bwabies with Ali.’ She nodded with the same decisive tone. Henry blinked and I near choked.

‘Oh..why do you think that?’

‘Mommy told me.’ She looked back at me and smiled, pleased with herself. I felt a little uneasy diving into this topic, so I remained silent and just raised my eyebrows. ‘Hmmm..’ I hummed, looking at Henry in hope that he would help. Unfortunately, though, he was equally surprised. And then little Alice continued: ‘You have to love like..THIS!’ And then she smooched her hand like there was no tomorrow.

Henry and I both started to grow red with embarrassment, both our mouths falling slightly agape as the little girl explained how you had to kiss. ‘And then you cuddle…’ She looked me dead in the eye. ‘A LOT.’ - ‘Did your mom tell you that?’ - YES! And then..’ She clapped her hands as if finalising her magic spell. ‘You get babies.’

‘Ali! Hey!…HEY you cheeky monkey! What are you doing here?’ Another voice behind us introduced an exasperated looking Maddie. I chuckled and hoisted up Alice a little higher - darn she really was getting heavy now. ‘Hey Mads. Lost something?’ I laughed, being welcomed in a warm hug from Maddie. ‘Oh you are back! It’s so good to see you. And thanks for catching our little princess.’

Next to us Henry was waving at someone and it became clear only moments later that he had waved at Frank, the dad carrying a large box with, by the looks of it, a new lamp. ‘Hey y’all.’ He cheered, putting down the lamp and giving a warning look at little Alice, who quickly folded her hands over her eyes, as if by that act alone she could disappear from her dad’s warning gaze.

‘Yep. We got a house, like you know. And, well, need a bit of furniture. So..you know..buying chairs and catching baby monkeys.’

‘BABIES!!!’ Alice cheered.

‘Yes..and ..babies.’

Maddie widened her eyes. ‘Oh…she did not just tell you the..-’ - ‘She just explained in fine detail how babies are made.’ I laughed, making Maddie run red with embarrassment. ‘Alice..’ Maddie warned.

The little girl shrugged again, folding her arms around my neck as if wishing me to protect her from her father’s and mother’s exasperated gazes. And then, from the crook of my neck she retorted to her mother: ‘But they pacties a lot.’

Henry near choked on his breath, making everyone laugh even louder, the first one to calm down being Maddie as she gave me a curious glance. All I could do was nod. ‘Yep.’ I bit my lip, making Maddie turn her questioning eyes towards Henry, who shrugged. ‘And perhaps with Alice’s good advice..who knows…’ He winked again at the little girl who squealed with excitement, her legs kicking out a bit.

‘Really? You mean..?’ Maddie looked back at me. I sighed and smiled, honestly this time. ‘Yes. Really really.’ - ‘OHHH ALI!!!’ Maddie flew back into my arms, the toddler in between us laughing giddily. ‘Ohhhhh…’ Maddie kissed my cheek, then gave Henry an equally big hug. ‘Oh I’m so happy. OH Oh ohhhh.’

We all laughed and made quick plans for a shared dinner to get Maddie and Frank up to speed - it had been months since I had last actually seen them after all. And Henry? Henry couldn’t be more happy, his face practically beaming as we drove home, having ordered a huge amount of furniture to somewhat fill up the empty house that we now called our home.

And home it was.

—

‘ALI? You up there?’ Henry’s voice sounded from the bottom of the stairs and I quickly swallowed a sniffle. ‘Yes. Here.’ I took a shivery breath and wiped away some tears.

It felt so stupid to cry. I was happy, right? I was probably the happiest I had ever been in my life. I had found someone who was not only my best friend, my buddy, my fellow cook during large dinner parties, my personal coach when I didn’t feel like exercising. No, he was Henry. A sweet, caring, gentleman with a tinge of dorky cheekiness thrown in the mix. He was perfect.

So why, oh why, was I crying?

‘Hey.’ Henry moved through the door way and stepped in beside me, his eyes trailing down the reddened skin beneath my lashes. ‘Are you okay baby?’

‘Yea..yea..it’s nothing. It’s..’ I sighed and sniffled back another tear, my eyes looking around the final and last room to be decorated. We both knew what could come here. What hopefully would come here. But it wasn’t here now. And I couldn’t help but feel the impending doom that it would never come. That this ship had sailed. That we had failed. That we would never fill..the nursery.

Strong arms wrapped around me and soft pillowy lips pressed away the two languid tears that rolled down my cheek. ‘What’s the matter, dear?’ He asked quietly. A question he full well knew the answer to, but he asked it all the same, his fingers tangling more tightly around the weft of my sweater. Locking me in, keeping me safe and leaving no way to run. I couldn’t keep up any walls even if I wished to. Henry knew my every worry. As he knew this one right now.

‘I’m just scared that it won’t..that we won’t..’ I slowly shook my head and held my breath. He pressed his forehead against mine and sighed. ’Time will tell. And if you want, we can get help. You know I don’t care about that. I don’t care about anything. I just want to be with you, okay?’ - ‘I know.’ I muttered, looking down on his day-old scruff, his neck, the slow rise and fall of his chest with every calming breath.

Breathe in. Puff, puff, puff.

The fun little memory of our plane ride here bubbled back up to the surface and I giggled quietly. Henry nuzzled my nose, silently asking me to share the fun. And so I did; I took a deep breath in, then looked him dead in the eye and puff-puff-puffed out. He got the reference and shook his head slightly, laughing. ‘You know what they say; practise makes perfect.’

I nodded and sniffled back another tear, closing in the last of the distance between us and moulding myself to his large chest, feeling his strong arms envelop me like a warm heavy blanket. ‘I love you so much. I just..pray and pray and pray that it will happen. I want the pitter patter of children’s feet in the hallway. I want to have them jump up on our bed and beg us for pancakes, even though it’s only like 5.30 in the morning.’ Henry laughed and I continued: ‘I want the tantrums, the pouting faces, the big fat crocodile tears, the scabbed knees, the cute little drawings that look like absolute shit. I want that.’ I said softly into the crook of his neck, his head slowly nodding, hands drawing slow circles over my back.

‘Marry me.’ He whispered. And then my heart dropped. In a good way and a bad way at once. I choked and grasped onto his long sleeve shirt more tightly, my tears now making place for a new expression. A mix of hope and worry lacing my features.

Not hearing or feeling any response from me, Henry slowly leaned back, studying my dumbfounded face. He rubbed a thumb over my cheek and I looked back up in those stormy blue eyes of his, full of longing, promises, desire. ‘Marry me, please Ali. We can take on any storm. Any challenge. And heck..if we have to adopt, we’ll adopt.’ He picked up my hand and brought it to his lips, pressing a kiss there without losing eye contact. ‘I just want you to know that you are all what truly matters to me. The rest will come.’

I struggled for air and my throat went dry.

Did I want to marry him? Yes. Now? I didn’t know. Why? I wanted to tackle this dream first. Kids couldn’t wait, the clock was ticking. And marriage? We could always get married at a later point.

‘P-please ask me again after..after..’ I rubbed my tummy and swallowed. ‘Let’s..let’s first see if I can even ..get..’ I broke into a new storm of tears and the silent question that was afloat in the air remained unanswered, Henry’s arms pulling me back tightly into him, his face also breaking into one of agony.

‘I’ve got you Ali. I’ve got you. It’s okay.’ He whispered into my hair and long minutes went by as we just stood there.

In our home. The nursery echoing our desperate desire to become a mom and dad. To have a baby of our own.

--

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[skywillsometimeswrite]

Grian's Awful Horrible No Good Very Bad Day

Read it on AO3

Grian has not had a very good day, let alone week, and he is at the end of his rope. He hasn't slept well, he has little inconvenient injuries that won't heal from respawn for some reason, and he can't keep his thoughts in order. He is about to break but he refuses to let that happen. 

Grian was tired. He was tired. He was sore. And he was covered in undoubtedly numerous new scars that he hadn’t taken the time to care for. He was just done, really. He wanted to lay down and sleep for the next week, except even that would be unrestful cause both of his main sleeping areas were either surrounded by loud villagers or a loud pesky bird that demands more and more food from him every day.

He let his eyes rest for a split second too long while flying, gravity taking hold of him in the narrow corridor of the temporary Nether “hub.” He yelped, rolling and getting tangled up in his artificial wings as he ungracefully scraped against the rough netherrack. He let himself lay there in an uncomfortable ball and he glared at the red rock around him with a hatred he had never quite had for it before and was sure wouldn’t last. When he finally stood back up he gave the wall a swift kick, gritting his teeth at how the vibration reverberated up his leg. With a grumble he entered the portal to the shopping district.

On any other day, the nauseous swirling effect of the portal would not have bothered him, but today it felt like another thing that just added onto his ever growing migraine. Add on the bright sun of the Overworld and he was tempted to jump off the platform so he could respawn in his bed and sleep the rest of the day away, his items be damned. But, fortunately or unfortunately you decide, Grian was too stubborn to do that and when he stepped off the platform he glided gracefully to the ground, for once not tripping over his own feet.

Rubbing at his drooping eyes Grian lazily looked around the shopping district, trying to remember what on Earth he came here for. His eyes landed on his barge and he couldn’t suppress the groan that rose as he was reminded once again how much he had to do for it. Sure, he was making tons of diamonds from it, but now that gravel was a hundred times easier to get that means he would have to find something new to stock. Not to mention how much he already has to restock since he’s been neglecting it in favor of his other projects. That’s the part he misses about Sahara the most, not all the work fell on him. If he needed help, at least he could ask Iskall or Mumbo.

Sighing he dragged his feet onto the uneven, rocking floor that was his shop and began checking the chests, slowly making a list on his communicator of things he needed to restock as well as things that weren’t selling. He was pulling the last of the diamonds from the TNT barrel when it hit him. He wasn’t in the shopping district to deal with his barge, he needed Impulse to break the nether roof for him.

Slightly reinvigorated at this realization, and the idea of getting out of one overwhelming project and into a more manageable one, he flew out of the top and up into the sky. He surveyed the island beneath him, looking for some sort of obvious landmark that would dictate a bedrock shop. Squinting against the sun, he didn’t see anything stand out so he glided downward, circling and trying to see if there was anything he didn’t know what it was.

After about ten minutes of circling the shopping district he aimed to land on one of the billboards that had popped up on the island, but when one foot landed the other caught his heel and he went tumbling off the back. He held his arms out, trying to cushion his fall the best he could, but all he managed to do was end up in a scraped up heap with a throbbing wrist held to his chest. He bit his lip as the pain of his wrist (despite not being nearly the worst pain he’s felt all day), his frustration of trying to find this stupid shop, and just the overall stress of the past week started to finally spill over and tears pooled in his eyes. 

He tried everything to push them back, to blink them away, to close his eyes and wait for them to leave. He took deep breaths, embracing the sight of nothing for a few blissful moments as he pushed the weight of everything away. Like this he could almost enjoy the slight breeze of the ocean, or the pungent smell that he had learned to be a hybrid of mycelium and grass, or how nice it felt to just lay on his back and close his eyes, even if he wasn’t necessarily comfortable.

“Grian?” His eyes snapped open and he stared right into brown ones of his mustached friend. Mumbo was bent at an almost exact 90 degree angle, looming over Grian with an eyebrow raised in a mix of confusion and concern. “You alright mate? You seem to have a little something here.” 

Grian felt the spot on his cheek that Mumbo had indicated on his own and hissed at the slight twinge of pain that came with the poke. Withdrawing his hand he saw his dirt covered hand with a hint of red and winced at the sight. Another scar to add to his collection this week, it seemed. And of course it was on his face. He sighed, unfocusing his eyes to a point of the sky past Mumbo’s head.

Mumbo stood up straight, his eyes still fixed on Grian. Grian didn’t have nearly enough energy to try and figure out what the taller man’s thoughts were, and he was still quite enjoying laying in the grass. His mind had fully zoned out, and he didn’t register the fact that Mumbo must have been speaking, his voice mingling with the breeze. He only started paying attention again when Mumbo tried to pull him up by tugging on his sprained wrist.

“Ow! What the hell?” Grian’s voice was high, pulling his wrist away from Mumbo far too quickly to roughly land on his back and causing him to cough a few times to catch his breath.

“Oh! Sorry, Grian. I didn’t- are you okay? I just thought you were tired or, or I don’t know. You weren’t answering me and so I thought I’d just-”

He really hoped Mumbo would just leave him alone after this, but he didn’t seem so lucky as his friend kneeled down beside him. “Grian, is everything alright? What happened to your wrist? Heck, what happened to all of you?” He waved his hand up and down to gesture to Grian’s body.

“I get it. It’s fine. Sorry I didn’t answer you.” He didn’t mean to snap at Mumbo, but he couldn’t get much else past his gritted teeth as he sat up, cradling his wrist to his chest once again. He took a few deep breaths to calm his returning and ever-rising stress. It wasn’t Mumbo’s fault. The last thing you need to do is yell at him.

He didn’t look up to meet Mumbo’s gaze, instead staring down at his chest and his probably swollen wrist that was bent in a very uncomfortably looking way. The longer he stared, he started to notice what Mumbo must be referring to. His jumper looked more brown than red at this point, tears in the fabric revealing the once white undershirt underneath. If that’s what his clothes looked like, he could only imagine what his face and hair must look like.

He really was a mess, huh?

With a sigh he glanced through the unwashed strands of his even dirtier blonde hair to look at Mumbo’s face. “I’m just… having a rough day, is all.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Grian felt his head shrink into the neck of his sweater at the question. He didn’t do talking. Not like this. He was happy-go-lucky Grian that was always playing pranks on people or setting up fun events for everyone. He was never angry or upset unless it was in response to a prank he no doubt deserved, and even then that was all in good fun. He remembers Ren trying to get him to open up to him as hippies, saying it was great to get things off your chest every now and then. But Grian just… couldn’t. He dealt with his negative emotions on his own for years, thank you very much, and he could continue to do it for as long as he needed to.

So he shook his head, using his good wrist to push himself up. He took one more steadying breath and moved to take one step past Mumbo. “No, no. I’m fine, Mumbo, don’t worry about-” His words were cut off by a high-pitched yelp as he stepped on his elytra, the straps around his chest pulling him painfully backwards. He would have fallen over again if Mumbo hadn’t caught him and kept him somewhat upright.

“You were saying?”

“You’re okay.” Grian blinked a few times. “Swears let out stress. At least, I’m pretty sure they do. Doc mentioned something about that a few years back to me when he was helping me with a redstone project. I was getting really, really frustrated and he told me to just… let it out! And I did, and it felt great.” Mumbo’s smile was blindingly bright as he walked over and placed his hands on Grian’s shoulders. “If you need to get something out, just do it. No one else is around.”

Grian dropped his facade, face drooping into a small scowl at his recent fortune. “Okay, maybe I’m not fine. But I don’t need to talk about it, okay? Now if you’ll excuse me I need to go find Impulse’s fucking bedrock shop.” He pushed himself off of Mumbo’s shoulder, taking a few steps away from his friend before he realized exactly what he said. He glanced back to see Mumbo’s wide eyes and internally scolded himself. He hasn’t cursed that openly in years. He hasn’t been this upset in years, either. And it’s all over such stupid stuff. God, he’s an idiot. “Ah, I’m sorry, Mumbo I didn’t mean to-”

Grian looked around, noticing the setting sun in the distance. Other than a few stray villagers from Stress’ campaign, Mumbo was right. They were the only hermits in the shopping district. He glanced once more at Mumbo’s face, contemplating it, but ultimately shook his head.

“No, I, I’m fine. Well, I’m not, I won’t lie to you, but I don’t need to ‘get anything out’ or anything.” A tight smile appeared as he avoided eye contact. “I-I haven’t cursed like that in ages, and I don’t exactly want to fall back into that old habit.”

“You used to curse?”

“Like a sailor.”

Mumbo’s laugh was bright before he cut himself off with a hand over his mouth, his eyes betrayed his amusement, though. “Sorry, that’s just really hard to imagine. I don't think I’ve ever seen you genuinely upset, let alone angry enough to swear.”

Grian found himself smiling despite himself. “Yeah, well, I’ve gotten a better hold of my emotions before I came here. I would get pissed off-” he covered his mouth quickly as he realized his wording, groaning slightly before he continued with muffled words. “-I would get angry at very little annoyances.”

Mumbo snickered at him, leading him with a friendly arm over his shoulder to a hill nearby they could sit on and watch the setting sun. “Quite the gentleman you are now then, huh?”

“I try to be.” He shrugged, letting himself fall roughly onto the dirt beneath him with a grunt. 

Mumbo gave him a softer, concerned glance, resting his head on his hand. “So are you going to tell me what’s wrong or not?”

Grian let the question stir inside his mind as he picked at some grass that was trying to poke through the hillside. After a few moments he answered with a reserved grumble: “I’ve already told you what’s wrong.”

“You’re not seriously this worked up over Impulse’s shop, are you? And what about all your cuts and bruises? Your wrist? Not to mention you are never this clumsy; I almost mistook you for me a moment ago with you bumbling over yourself.”

Once again Grian sunk into his jumper. He looked up at the darkening sky and how the soft lights of the shopping district began illuminating the area. Something about the peacefulness of it all and Mumbo’s comforting presence made the overwhelming feelings come back. He tried to bury his face in his hands, but doing so only made his wrist sting and get dirt in his eyes and the more he tried to rub it out the more irritated they became and then the more irritated he became too. 

And so what if he was worked up about not being able to find Impulse’s shop? Impulse should make it more obvious where it is if he wants any customers! And if the land in the shopping district was taken better care of maybe he would have landed softer. And maybe if everyone had put more time and thought and effort into making a better nether hub then running off to explore everything than he wouldn’t have fallen and scratched himself up on the netherrack. And maybe… And maybe…

“Grian, Grian, it’s okay. Breathe. I’m sorry, you don’t have to talk about it.”

Mumbo’s voice was a knife through the spiralling mess that was Grian’s thoughts. He took a gulping breath of air and pulled his hands from his face, only to realize his face was freezing, but why- oh, he was crying. Fantastic. Exactly what he needed. He was holding himself together so well until Mumbo came along and just had to be a good friend and check up on him.

A sob shook his body as he curled in on himself, hugging his knees. Mumbo seemed to stutter for a moment, unsure of what to do, but eventually settled on gently wrapping Grian up in his arms. He reminded Grian to breathe as his thoughts kept forcing him to forget such an important thing out of his mind. Something far more important than all these stupid suffocating thoughts-

“Grian, you’re okay. It’s okay. Whatever’s got you worked up, I’m sure we can fix it.”

Mumbo’s gentle, comforting words seemed to have the opposite effect on Grian. Because it wasn’t. He couldn’t. He shouldn’t. This was Grian’s problem, not Mumbo’s. It was Grian’s problem that he couldn’t handle all of his projects, it was Grian’s problem that he couldn’t watch where he was going, it was Grian’s problem that everywhere he tried to sleep was either too loud or too dangerous.

“No!” He tries to yell, but it only comes out as a croak in his closed throat as he rips away from Mumbo’s hug to stumble out into the small grassy-mycelium clearing. His hands were balled into fists as he rubbed his eyes with his good arm, trying to get the frustrating tears to stop fucking flowing.

“No?” 

“No! You can’t fix it. These are my problems! And they aren’t even problems! They’re just me being stupid, or not paying attention, or complaining and all I’m doing is blaming everyone else for my own dumb assery, which isn’t fair, but god dammit if it doesn’t get on my nerves! Like this fucking shop! I just need help to get rid of one, one, shitty bedrock block so I can stop hitting every single fucking overhang that could exist in the god damn nether. But I can’t. Fucking. Find it! And that’s not Impulse’s fault, not really, but it’s so tempting to blame him for it because I haven’t slept in five days because my fucking villagers are too noisy and Professor Beak acts like I don’t feed him and I can’t fly straight anymore and I’m pretty sure it’s fucking up my respawn because I’ve died at least fifteen times within the last 24 hours I’m sure--I haven’t exactly been keeping count, but I know it’s a lot--and I’m so sore and tired and I won’t regen naturally anymore and I’m pretty sure I have, like, twelve new scars that I have no clue if they’re gonna heal. I-I mean, I should probably go see Stress or even maybe Scar about it but they don’t need to worry about this because it’s my own fucking fault for being so god damn stupid and I just… I just…” He slumped down again, his legs giving out beneath him and letting him fall on his butt. He had given up trying to stop the tears at this point. “I’m just so tired but I can’t stop or I’ll get behind. But I feel like I’m barely moving forward.”

He let himself fall backwards on the grass, feeling his elytra crumple beneath him. He sniffled. “Motherfucker!” He slammed his fists into the ground and whimpered, holding his injured wrist once again to his chest. “Fuck…”

The air next to him shifted as Mumbo took a seat. When Grian dared to glance at his friend, Mumbo’s eyes and smile were soft. “How do you feel now?”

Letting out a shaky breath he closed his eyes and considered the question. Physically he still felt awful, like he could fall asleep right here and now, but mentally, well, he was still tired, but there was a lot less fog. “Better. A little bit.”

“Told ya it works.”

Mumbo’s smug tone was enough to cause Grian to burst into wet laughter, new tears streaming down his face as he weakly swung a punch at Mumbo’s knee. “Shut up. And don’t you dare tell anyone about this. I have a reputation to uphold.”

“Sure you do. Y’know, Xisuma used to swear all the time. Keralis did too. Actually, almost everyone did. I don’t know when we all started caring about that.”

“Sorry, but I can’t physically imagine X, let alone Keralis, saying ‘fuck.’” He giggled at the thought, wiping away the last of the tears that remained in his eyes.

“It is quite funny to think about nowadays. Although, I’d argue Keralis is easier to believe.”

They carried on like that for a couple minutes before Grian’s exhaustion finally caught him with his guard down. Mumbo didn’t know how long his friend would be asleep for, but he’d be there when he woke up. Then maybe, just maybe, he could convince him to let him help.

[gemder]

a bubbline wip, featuring a dissociative episode by our fave punk rock vamp. set shortly after Stakes.

She doesn't know how long she's been hovering over the couch like this, with her gaze trained on the bumps and dips on the ceiling and her bass planted in her arms. How many times has she sung that old song, so old and resilient it survived the death and rebirth of the world (and the both of hers twice over, now) just by hiding in the corner of her mind she doesn't like to visit? She can't see the sun or moon rise through the entrance to her hideaway from this part of the house, and the cave-imposed darkness tells her nothing of the time or how much of it has passed.

She doesn't dare budge from her spot. She's been turned twice now; she knows from experience that any sudden action, anything to startle her base thought process, could spark that bloodlust from last time. That was some ugly biz, if she remembers correctly. It's been a while, but something like an uncontrollable urge to drain the lifeforce of every living creature within 30 miles sticks to you. She's just going to have to wait it out, until the itch in the back of her throat dies down and she doesn't worry it'll become an insatiable burning for hot blood, no matter how long it takes.

Marceline has had an excessive amount of time to learn how to be alone; 1003 years, in fact. So why does it never get any easier? Why does being left never hurt any less? Why does she seem to be so completely destined for eternal loneliness? What asshat decided she deserved to spend the entirety of her neverending life without a single constant presence?

Mom went out with promises of keeping safe and finding food and I love you so much, sweetie, that alone is strong enough to bring me back to you. It took two weeks before little Marcy came to the conclusion that her mom wasn't coming back with food or supplies, or even returning empty handed. Simon let a stupid magical crown take over every single cell of his brain and wrote a bunch of scattered letters about it while it happened instead of, you know, telling the frightened 7 year old she was going to be left soon. Dad just up and left to go back to running the Nightosphere after a few weeks, with nary a parting word nor any notice. Her post-apocalyptic comrades had no choice but to flee from an otherwise inevitable extinction. Bonnie had to go and grow up, and in the process decide that her 900-something year old girlfriend wasn't mature enough.

(She checked that old, busted up camper as often as she could over the following months. There was never another life in that thing after she hopped down the little steps and let the screen door slam back with the carelessness of a 6 year old.)

(She found a decomposed corpse months later that just happened to be wearing some torn up rags that looked like her mom’s old sweater and jeans. It must have just been a coincidence, though; there were a lot of recently dead back then, and even more moth-eaten sweaters in the world.)

(“I’m trying to save you, but who's going to save me?” ‘I don't know, old man, maybe you could have saved yourself? You could have not purposely used the magical relic that was making you go bananas?’ If a 7 year old could make it through the apocalypse without magic then so could a fully grown man.)

(He left her to survive on her own in the name of being executive manager of hell and he still wonders why she wants nothing to do with him, why she used to have such a hard time so much as calling him “dad” when he’s never been anything like what she was lead to believe dads were supposed to be like.)

(She’s 1000 years old, how in the name of the nightosphere could she not be mature enough?)

(Over the years she’s replaced the world “hell” with “Nightosphere” the same way the being once referred to as “God,” back when even she was young, is now called by their proper name of Glob. The Nightosphere really is hell, so it fits.)

(Sometimes she takes the time to think about how she's the heir apparent to the actual, literal, real life hell, and how she's one of the oldest beings around these days, maybe the oldest to still really be sane, but still a messed up teen.)

(She doesn't know how old she was when she was turned; years and months and all that are hard to keep track of when the species that invented it is all but extinct. Is she old enough to drive? Probably. She does and can regardless, because screw the old ways. Old enough to drink, smoke, vote? Debatable. The point is that she’s 1000 years old but actually, like, 18. What the fuck.)

She drifts, both mentally and physically. She's had plenty of time and isolation to ponder the Big Things about life and the world and why and how things happened the way they did, and what it means. She will have an abundance of opportunities in the future to think about these things, too. Some day she'll reflect on this part of her life in the far away, nostalgia-filtered sepia tones she currently thinks of her childhood and adolescence. She'll remember when Finn and Jake were the heroes of Ooo, when Simon used to chase after princesses who will have long since passed, when she couldn't get over her ex-girlfriend who happened to be sentient candy. It will be distant and she will miss it terribly, the same way she misses her mother, and Simon when he was Simon, and fries in a long-abandoned diner. But it will be a wound long since closed and numbed, like the deep scar she got on her calf sometime in her early teens that still exists today, preserved in her immortality and a sentimentality that prevented her from insta-healing it away, sting and blood long gone.

She has forever to reminisce, but only right now to live in the present. She makes mental patterns in the bumps on the ceiling, and slowly loses grip on her body. She is a million miles upwards, where the sky holds no oxygen and the stars are still pinpricks in a sea of indigo construction paper. Like a kid poking holes in the top of a jar of lightning bugs, equipped with a fork and enthusiasm at being able to destroy something for the sake of encapturing something else. She is, at the same time, hovering above her uncomfortably hard couch. One of her hands slips from its place atop her bass, and Shwabl licks it from his spot next to her on the dusty carpet.

She doesn't hear the knock at the door. She is right there, but she is centuries back and in a different part of the continent entirely. She doesn't hear Bonnie getting increasingly agitated, trying and failing not to raise her voice at her through the door. She doesn't notice when Bonnie lets herself in regardless of Marceline’s lack of response, or when Shwabl jumps up to attention at the guest.

It's the “Marceline, what -” that breaks her dissociative spell. That tone of exasperation in that particular voice is a very familiar one, especially within the last decade. She comes to to find that there are fresh tears in the corner of one eye and the words to a song as old as her youth on her lips.

“Oh, hey Bombòn. How goes it girl?” Marceline has had a millennium to convince the world that she's chill and totally not a big mess, and it shows in the lilt to her voice that screams ‘I'm just chillin’’ and not ‘I've been dissociating and crying and probably singing for who-knows-how-long and I'm really messed up’. She still doesn't dare move from her spot, because moving around could still trigger what she's trying to wait out.

“It's been three weeks, Marcy. Three weeks, and all that heavy biz, and no one's heard from you since. Doesn't that seem even a little bit irresponsible to you? Didn't you think people would worry? Or even wonder ‘hey, what happened to that girl who saved all our butts and got revampified?’”

“Dude, I've just been chilling. You know how it is; jams, games, pets, it keeps a girl busy. It’s cool. Ice cold, in fact.”

Bonnie sighs. Marceline has heard that sigh a million and three times over by now, and she's learned to like that particular sound from the pink girl; it's the one thing about herself that she can't manage to sweeten to the point of oversaturation, until it (like the rest of her) is practically dripping sugar. Marceline likes to deal with the authentic rather than the idealized versions of people, because the latter rarely ever means anything good is coming her way.

(She rationalizes that the Ice King component of Simon, while not idealized, is not authentic in the least; the products of full humans getting mixed up with magic seldom are. The authentic Simon Petrikov is the one who found a 6 year old girl in the ruins of a suburban New Mexico town and still had enough selflessness in the aftermath of the apocalypse to comfort her and take care of her.)

The sigh doesn't lead to the reprimanding the vampire expects. Instead, she watches as Bonnie leans down in her peripheral vision to pet Shwabl, expression focused intently on the dog. She's doing that same schooled neutrality shit she used to do during those globawful trade meetings - the ones Marcy used to steal her away from the go gallivanting through the rock candy mines.

“What kind of sweet tunes have you whipped up, then? Lay it on me girl.”

Marceline lets her face adopt a smirk - the expression has become a reflexive habit after centuries of being a bitter undead loner - even as something in her stomach drops. Bonnie rarely asks about her music because she knows so much of it is personal, and that which isn't is vulgar or morbid and prone to being shared regardless, not to mention the fact that Bonnie’s interests definitely don't lie in the arts, or punk rock music, or most of the uglier parts of Marceline.

“You know my latest album is the epitome of personal mush, Bons. It's so personal I'd have to kill you if you heard any of it. But, I do have a new demo about a fisherman.”

Bonnibel definitely wants something out of her; she has that smile she reserves for Cinnamon Bun and Finn when he's going on about dumb 13 year old boy things, the one that's polite and reservedly encouraging, the one that Marcy has always found to be condescending although it always looks as sweet as its wearer who is literally made out of candy, almost as sweet as the girl’s public persona.

The thing about being 1000 years old and also a teenage girl is that you spend forever being a socially-minded person on some level or another, because back in the day that's how girls were socialized to be - social-driven creatures who cared more about what Allyson wore on Tuesday or what Theresa said about Serena in math class than anything practical. So Marceline has had a long time to notice the tells and ticks of the select few she surrounds herself with often enough to care about. PB smiles like her kindergarten teacher used to on particularly trying days when she thinks the people she's with are idiots but can't call them out for it. Her eyebrows droop when she's so tired that sheer willpower will no longer keep them up. She plays with her hands when she's nervous. She used to chew on her hair when she was younger and in the process of creating her kingdom, when stress was a new feeling she hadn't yet made a feedback loop out of.

This is totally, completely because of the sexist socialization of the old world, and nothing else. Totally not because they dated for a good chunk of time, or because one or the other might, maybe be having rose-coloured thoughts about the other again.

“Everyone and their granny has heard that one, Marcy. If you've had all this time to do nothing but groove and game then I wanna hear some tunes! Don't be a butt about it.” She's trying to gode the older girl, but Marceline is itching to get out of this particular conversation. Somewhere in her cursed, mostly re-dried blood she knows this is a test.

“I don't bust into your lab and start interrogating you about your experiments - can you just lay off, man?” she says it more harshly than she had meant to, but being yanked back to reality and immediately questioned over every move will do that to a person. “Tell me what's been going on in Candyland. You finally get all the earwax off of your junk?”

“You know if you did ask about my science experiments I would be happy to tell you all about them - well, the ones that aren't classified. It's called caring, Marce, it's a thing that friends do.”

A tense silence follows as Marceline thinks of something biting (but not petty!) to throw back at her.

“And yeah, actually, I did. The dingus left a huge mess but there's nothing my purple cleaner can't get rid of.”

Bonnie can't leave a single box unticked, can she?

“Glob, that stuff is nasty. The fumes make me gag, and I don't even need to breathe!”

The princess raises a brow at her. The queen furrows both of hers in frustration and fixes her gaze back on the bumps on the ceiling. When she was younger she used to make images out of the dips and dots in the kindergarten room ceiling; the RV’s was smoothed and didn't allow that particular part of her imagination to play around.

“And I think the expression you're looking for is sharing is caring, Bubs. It's a thing they used to say waaaaaaaay back in the day whenever the old people got tired of little kids fighting over toys.”

*******

this was gonna be a longfic feat. mutual pining by our fave disaster gays and more references to marcy’s life pre- and during the apocalypse bc i have a lot of feelings about Stakes. might come back to it, who knows!!!

[demonsofhunting]

"All My Sins"- Chapter 1

Pairing: priest!Cas x demon!Dean

Summary: Father Castiel Novak has been fallen for Dean Winchester the moment he first laid eyes on him. This is how their story began...and how it came to their first meeting.

Warnings: fluff, flirting, Dean being...pretty sure about what he wants, they're making out in a church...? XD

Words: about 1800

A/N: There you go. I'm so excited for this series to start aahhhh. The idea had been haunting me for months now, and it feels like I already sold my soul to this story! XD I hope I'm not going to hell for writing this...

Well, I hope you'll like it! Enjoy! <3

"Damn it, Dean," Castiel chuckles, his hand buried in the other's hair. Dean's hands are curled around the priest's waist, their faces are only a few inches apart from each other. Castiel feels Dean's breath on his skin, loses himself in those big, deep green eyes.

These damn freckles on the cheeks, the soft lips and - God! - those long eyelashes. Castiel knews that he has already fallen for the other man.

Deeply.

Endlessly.

But he also know that this can't be.

It just can't.

Dean smirks, looking like he just knows what he does to the other. He tilts his head, his tongue is running over his lips.

Cas tries to fight against the excited feeling that rumors inside him. He breathes, heavily.

And then Dean kisses him, roughly and passionately. Cas can't help but kiss back, he can feel Dean's body pressing him against the wall, full of desire.

He's kinda surprised as Dean hesitates after a few heartbeats. His gaze is meeting Castiel's, his lips forming a smile.

"Doesn't look to me like you don't want it, Cas," he mutters, quietly. The other blinks.

"You know what I mean, Dean. We can't do this," he says, shaking his head.

Dean frowns. "What do you mean?" he asks, "Well, if you're referring to us making out in the church - Yeah, obviously, we can."

Castiel cocks his head, looking around like he notices their environment for the first time. Yes, obviously.

They're in an empty church, his back pressed to one of the stone walls next to the altar.

He sighs.

This wasn't supposed to happen. None of it.

But here they are. Dear lord, at least the building is empty at the moment.

Okay, but that's nothing special around midnight.

"Cas. Talk to me," Dean says, a worried expression on his face. Cas looks at him, his heart already filling with warmth again. He strokes over Dean's cheek, gently.

"Oh Dean," he sighs, "I wish I could stop falling in love with you, over and over again."

Dean looks up to him, still holding him like he's the most precious thing on the planet. His eyes are soft and full of love as he answers: "I know. But you can't. And I feel just the same for you." He smiles. It's a sad, hopeless smile.

"We're gonna be damned," he determines.

Castiel nods, his head resting on the other's shoulder. "Yeah. We are," he confirms, closing his eyes.

.................................................................................

[ A few months before ]

The first time Castiel saw him, he just couldn't believe it. That's it, he thought, That's what angels must look like.

To that time, he was new in town, the old priest - who happened to be his father - was passed away recently, and he, a young man who seems to have stepped right in his father's footsteps without knowing, was asked to take the job in the local chruch.

It wasn't a big deal to move into town.

It definitely wasn't.

At home, Castiel had nothing he would miss - he lived in a small village, lonely and without any other relatives.

His mother died at his birth, his father - a total asshole - left him alone right after that. In fact, Cas didn't even knew that he had one. Well...until he got a letter with his name on it, in which he read that his father had passed away a couple of days ago, who strangely happened to be a priest too.

Great. Cas was sure that things were going to be awesome.

And they did.

It was a rainy day. The sky was full of clouds and fog was crawling through the streets. Castiel got up early like he does every day, getting ready and finally making his way over to the church.

He was freezing, a cold wind was tugging on his clothes and sweeping through his hair.

He shivered as he finally opened the old, wooden door with a creak, stepping in, carefully.

It was beautiful to be at church early in the morning, Castiel found. It had something magical to watch the first rays of the sun crawling through the big, colourful windows.

It was always pretty quiet too. The only thing you could hear were the sounds of Castiel's boots on the blank floor as he made his way to the altar.

He breathed in, deeply.

It was only one hour until the bells would begin to ring and the people would come to mass.

C'mon, Castiel. You can do this.

He nodded, preparing himself for what was going to come. Then he walked away, ready to get himself dressed for the mass.

A couple of minutes later, he should encounter his fate. A fate, looking as retty and delicious as an angel.

Castiel saw him right the moment he took his place behind the altar. His gaze was flowing over the people who were sitting on the benches, eyes on him. He noticed a couple of familiar faces, new neighbours and stuff. And then Cas' heart skipped a beat as his gaze lay on him.

He was sitting in the fifth row, looking almost incredibly bored. It was a young man, problably just in his early twenties. He was wearing an old leather jacket, one arm lying over the backrest of the bench, relaxed. His hair had the colour of toasted almond mixed with honey, his lineaments were soft and absolutely pretty. His jaw clenched as he raised his head a little bit, green eyes were searching for something interesting to look at.

Castiel forgot how to breathe. It seemed like the universe suddenly stopped moving. And suddenly, those green eyes met his. It was just a brief moment, but it changed everything as the young man's lips curled into a cocky smirk while he raised an eyebrow.

Cas swallowed, his heart was beating like it wants to jump out of his chest.

Somebody cleared his throat, firmly.

Castiel blinked, suddenly aware of all the other people being present.

What the heaven just happened?!

He shook his head, looking down. He could feel his cheeks going read as he cleared his throat. Castiel balled his fists as he began the mass.

After church, he did his best to pretend that his little black out didn't happen. He shook hands, smiled politely, and listened to some people who had the need to talk. But deep in the back of his mind he still had the strange feeling of those intense green eyes looking right into his soul. So it came that he almost jumped out of his skin as a hand tugged him on his shoulder, carefully.

"Father Novak?" an old, female voice asks.

He winced and turned around, looking right at an old woman with thoughtful eyes. She Smiley it. Castiel did his best to return that. They shook hands, the woman even laid her other hand on top of his.

"That was such a beautiful mass!" she said with a sigh, "Even more beautiful than Chuck's ever was. Thank you so much for that, father!"

Cas swallowed, he felt like he was close to puking right now. He forced a smile, and answered: "I'm glad you liked it, ma'am." Her eyes were full of pure joy as she grinned at his kind words. With a small farewell she followed the other people who were making their way out of the church, walking right in the upcoming rain.

Cas sighed in relief, his hand running through his hair, nervously.

He turned around and -

Oh God.

He was right in front of him, standing just as comfortable as if this church was built just for him. Eyes in a dark forest green looked up and down at Castiel, judging the other. The priest shifted, uncomfortably.

What is this strange feeling?

Lust? I hope not.

"Nice mass," the man said, stepping closer. His voice was deep and soft. He reached out his hand, and Cas grabbed it, still stunned. In this moment he lost himself completely on the other's presence. Finally he could take a closer look. There were freckles, oh so many freckles on the young man's cheeks. He wore jewellery as well, rings on his long, beautiful fingers, and a necklace with an armulet that laid lose on his chest. And he had the most kissable lips Cas had ever seen.

Dear Lord, have mercy.

"Thank you," he stuttered, His voice only a small rasp. The man smirked.

"Usually, I'm not the guy that goes to church, ya know? I'm a little..." He thought about it for a heartbeat, tilting his head.

"Twisted, yes. That's it," he continued eventually, a wide smile on his lips, "But damn it! If anybody said me that our priest is that hot, I would be praying every night. On my knees, if you know what I mean." He whistled, winking.

Castiel could feel his cheeks turn red.

These are not exactly the words you're used to hear at church. Who is this guy?

He wanted to tell the other that this move has been everything but polite, and that he should wipe that cocky look from his face and step out of this building -

But he couldn't.

All he could manage to say was a broken: "I'm sorry? I - "

"Don't worry about it, buddy," the guy said, patting his shoulder, softly, "In fact, I'm here 'cause I want to give you something. I'm cheesy, I know." Castiel watched with big eyes as the other pulled a small note out of one of his jacket's bags. He handed Cas the note, curling his fingers around it, gently. He licked over his lips, looking more than just a little pleased.

"Call me," he muttered with a stupid wink, then he stepped out of the doors which were falling shut behind him with a loud noise.

Silence. All the people are already gone.

Cas just stands there, the little piece of paper in his hand, absolutely confused and turned on at the same time.

His hands were shaking as he unfolded it, slowly. It had a name one it: Dean Winchester, written in a messy, but definitely sexy handwriting.

And, of course, his telephone number.

Cas sighed, his hand clutching around the paper, until he could feel his fingernails digging into his skin.

There was a storm inside him, a storm he just couldn't control. A storm that was about to knock everything over he ever believed in. And Cas was afraid of it.

So damn afraid.

{ A/N: CHAPTER TWO }

That was chapter one! Thank you so much for reading and if you would like to leave a comment or reblog this shit, I will love you forever! <3

Tag lists are open!

Destiel/Forever Tags: @adoptdontshoppets @rebeloftheseas @ablavalba @smodernlife @ignis-glaciesque @certaindeanwinchesterforcastiel @xsghn @trenchcoatsandfreckles @helpmeluci @legendary-destiel @leahslovelylibrary

"All My Sins" Tags: @emodestielshipper @emumag

[blondecarfucker]

Bed of Roses (1988 Special)

Roger Taylor x Reader BoRhap!Roger Taylor x Reader

Fic Summary: It's 1971. You just moved to London to study, and you find a band on a local pub after a bad date. The encounter doesn’t go the way you expect it, and neither does what follows this evening as you try to deal with loving Roger Taylor.

Fic Note: So I’ve had this story in my head for the last three weeks and finally decided to write it down. It’s completely planned. It will have 21 chapters and it’s divided in three acts: Dusk, Night and Dawn. It’s will be a bit angsty in the future, and it will most likely have some smut as well. I hope you guys enjoy it! Tell me what you think about it in the asks/comments/messages. If this is your first time stumbling upon Bed of Roses, thank you for stopping by! The rest of the story is in my masterlist, the link is in my bio - can't put the link here or else the post will disappear from the tags.

Chapter's notes: so this is not even a real chapter??? i mean, it doesn't have a number - it's really a reallll epilogue, you really get to know what happen in the eleven years that follow the end of the story. this wasn't really on my outline - i just kept thinking about the characters cause theyre SO CUTE and DESERVE THE BEST and im an absolute softie so i couldnt help but write this. its probably a bit messy cause im tired atm but im happy i wrote this and i want to share it with you guys already. im curious to know what you guys think about it! - also, just making it clear, there's no story for a sequel, so there's no sequel coming. just so you guys know. thanks again for stopping by and reading my story and being AMAZING. im a bit rusty i guess so sorry about the size of the chapter

Words: around 2.8k

1988

You heard Roger hitting the drums as you opened the studio door.

"Hey, Y/N", Freddie said, coming to hug you. "It's your man recording", he told you, and you nodded.

"I see", you answer, and Jim comes closer to Freddie and says hello to you. You really like the way they feel at ease with each other - it just looks natural. It's been long ever since you saw Freddie so peaceful.

But Roger soon showed up in your field of vision, having just left the recording booth. "Babe, it's so good to see you", he said, hugging you by the waist. "Good seeing you too, Rog. What are you guys recording?, you ask, and Deacy answers.

"It's 'Rain Must Fall', just wrote it with Freddie", he says, as Freddie listens to Roger's recording.

"It's still not right", he says, and Roger sighs. "Be right back", he tells you, going inside the booth.

Now that you're paying attention, you realize it's latin percussion. "This is really nice", you tell Freddie, and he smiles. "Thanks, darling. How's the museum? Did it fall apart after you spent a month away?", he asked, and you laughed.

"Actually, they've been holding up quite nicely", you say, referring to the period you've just spent with them in Montreux. "They're getting used to it, I suppose", and he nods.

You and Roger have been taking turns the last decade on who's gonna spend time along with the other, but now, after you've got your PhD and was promoted to Senior Curator, your job could be done without official office hours, so you've been following Roger around a bit more - which is nice, especially when he's in Montreux, such a calm place you thought about retiring there, in the future.

"And this outfit, too, I love it. You look like such a serious business woman" Jim said, pointing to your tailleur. "I have to look the part, Jim", you shrug, and Brian laughs. "I miss your yellow Chuck Taylors days, Y/N", he says, and you laugh. "These shoes are killing me, so I do, too", you tell him.

"I won't invite you to dance, then", Freddie said, and you frowned. "Please do, Freddie. You know how I love these latin inspired songs of yours", you pouted, and Freddie laughed, extending a hand to you.

You could feel Roger's eyes watching you through the glass as you danced with Freddie. Rain Must Fall reminded you of Cool Cat, and even though the Hot Space days, in 1981 were complicated, it reminded you of an afternoon with Roger on a yacht on Lake Geneva, the two of you drinking mimosas and sunbathing as Montreux glimmed under the Riviera sun.

"God, I hate this fucking song", Roger said, sipping on his mimosa.

"It's not the best", you agreed, and he laughed.

"This fucking album, I swear to God. If it wasn't for you here, I would've dropped this", he said, and you got up to prepare another mimosa for you.

"Don't say that, Rog. You wouldn't drop the band", you said, and he sighed.

"You're right. But I would drop this album, though. This song, even - I didn't take part in anything regarding the production. I just watched, like you watch a car crash", he says, and it's your turn to laugh.

"You're so dramatic", you tell him, mixing the orange juice and the champagne. "But seriously, babe. Do you even like the songs we're making now?", he asks, and you take a sip of your drink.

"I like Under Pressure", you say, and you're happy to see his face lighten up as he laughs. "Of course you do. I'm impressed you didn't ask Bowie for an autograph yet", he said, and you laugh along. "I have to stop myself from fangirling every time he's around, you know. It's pretty hard, but I do my best not to embarass you", you told him, sitting by his side.

His sun kissed skin made his eyes even brighter than usual - like lapis lazuli on bronze.

"Like I try not to embarrass you by looking stupid when we're on one of your fancy dinners?", he asks, hugging you by the side. "Exactly", you told him, pressing a quick kiss on his lips. He tasted like orange.

As you now kept dancing with Freddie, Jim pulled Deacy for a dance too, and eventually everyone was dancing to Roger's percussion. Each had a different level of success, and you were trying to help Brian when Roger finished his part.

It made you happy to have moments like this. After A Kind Of Magic, in 1986, the band was fighting constantly - it made you sad to see such thing. Roger even created a side band, The Cross, and he worked with them for a while before reuniting with Queen for this new album.

You were always a huge fan of his solo work, but you never connected with The Cross - and you felt like he didn't, either. They never really challenged him, and anything only gets better after receiving honest feedback.

But now Freddie wanted to produce again with the rest of the band - as much as they could, non-stop. They wouldn't even tour after this album, The Miracle. You felt like Roger knew exactly why these changes happened, but he didn't share them with you. You didn't really mind - it was not only his privacy, but the privacy of the rest of the band members. The fact that he was trustworthy enough to keep his friend's reasoning behind a polemic decision private only made you love him more.

"Babe", Roger called, walking over to you. You hugged him, his known smell now more refined, cologne mixed with the patchouli and substituting the cigarette smoke - you both quitted smoking, since you heard it could be harmful for little ones.

"The kids are with their nanny, right?" Rog asked you, and you nodded.

It was 1982 when you realized you couldn't keep your breakfast - you vomited every morning, almost religiously, twenty minutes after you ate.

Roger was immediately concerned on the phone - you spent two weeks in Mexico for work, and it was only when Roger spent a weekend there at the end of your trip that he told you not to drink the tap water. So you were both convinced you had some parasite, and Roger took you to a doctor - he liked to spend time with you when you were both in London, even in boring activities, since you still lived in separate flats, always trying to take it slow - even though you felt like a teenager when you had to pack to stay a weekend at your boyfriend's house - and you considered talking to Roger about moving in together again.

The doctor soon realized there were no parasites inside you, but there was a baby - a 3 months old little boy, in fact, as the doctor confirmed after taking you two to the ultrasound room.

You could never forget Roger's face once he understood what the doctor told the two of you. He was going to be a father.

But the realization that you were going to be a mother took a little longer to hit you. It was only when you heard the baby's heartbeat that you really understood what was going on inside you - a baby. Your baby. Roger's baby.

Proof that you were together, proof that you belonged to each other, that you loved each other.

"This is the most beautiful sound I've ever heard", Roger told you, and you smiled in agreement.

Nine months later, Apollo was born.

You agreed on Apollo because you always thought about how Roger reminded you of Apollo, and it did remind you of New York, too - the Apollo Theater was a landmark only a couple dozens streets above the apartment you grew up in.

But Apollo was much more like you than he was like his dad. He inherited his dad's dirty blonde curls, but his eyes were just like yours, and so was his personality - he was very determined, liked to be alone, and a full blown nerd. He taught himself to read when he was four, and now, at age 6, he liked to read The Hobbit by himself.

He didn't speak with an English accent, oddly enough, even though he was raised in London - he spoke water like his dad, but copied your accent in every other word.

Roger would hold him and hug him and always spend time with "his little guy", always telling him how proud he is to be the father of a genius, and Apollo's cheeks would be flushed pink, just like yours did when Roger told you how smart you are.

When Apollo was born, you both agreed to move in together into a big family home, but you filled the walls with artwork and tapestry, and Roger made sure there was always good music playing - it didn't feel like you were abandoning your old selves to become parents; it felt like a natural step.

And for financial reasons - mostly to protect Apollo and to make taxes easier - you and Roger decided to get married. He tried to play the practical part, reaffirming marriage was just a title and the two of you were way beyond that, but you knew, deep down, that he was incredibly happy to get on his knees and propose.

It was a simple ceremony in 1984 - close friends and family under the hawaiian sunset, the Lana'i Island's atmosphere made you feel like you were in a dream. With a simple cotton white dress, you reunited with Roger - in a half open, white cotton button up - in front of a licensed marriage performer, and you became Ms Taylor.

Roger used any excuse to call you Ms Taylor, savoring the name on his tongue just like he did with your lips on honeymoon.

Apollo was 2, and stayed with his grandparents for a week as the two of you enjoyed your honeymoon on paradise. "It's funny how this is like, the millionth time I feel like I'm on honeymoon with you", you tell Roger, and he pouts. "If you consider honeymoon everytime we go somewhere amazing alone and keep fucking like teenagers, then yeah. But this is special. This feels more… I don't know. Official", he said, and you agreed.

And all that young love had a result - you soon found out you got pregnant again after a routine blood test. Roger was, again, the happiest man on Earth.

You felt calmer this time around - a kid and responsibilities didn't ruin your relationship with Roger the first time around, and you were actually pretty good parents.

So when Live Aid came about, you were huge - you enjoyed the many performances, but when Queen was onstage, it felt different. You could remember when, almost fifteen years ago, you saw these guys broke, rehearsing and travelling around in a van.

Now they were here, and in a day filled with performances from stars, they shined the brightest.

You don't know if it was all the emotions you felt watching them, but once you finally got home, the sun about to rise - Apollo long asleep - you sat down to prepare a warm bath for the two of you, but you felt something warm running down your legs. Your water broke.

You and Roger ran to the Hospital, and after a few hours, Artemis was born.

She screamed, not cried, once she first looked at you and Roger, almost annoyed - like she was sad she missed the show.

Artemis was a logical name choice - Apollo's twin in greek mythology - but the kid also got her strong will. She looked just like her father, big, round blue eyes and pink, full lips soon learned to express what she desired and complained when things seemed wrong in her perspective.

At the early age of three and with a reduced vocabulary, she convinced the two of you to get the smallest drum set you could find, and she tried to repeat her fathers movements on it, still too small for her tiny kit, but proud of the loud noises she made, hitting it recklessly.

Roger looked at it as if he was seeing a miracle.

The kids were raised primarily in London, but they spent some time in Montreux, when the band was recording, under their father's care, or on tour when you could stay with them - tour made the kids so confused about their whereabouts that it needed a conjoined effort - but now that the band was recording in London with no plans for long periods away, it was going to be interesting.

Apollo was just getting started in school, and soon it would be Artemis turn. They still had no dimension of their fathers - or their "uncles" - importance, but you and Roger talked about this, waiting for the day you'd have to explain your life for the kids, who you were before you were their parents.

You wondered if Apollo would think back on the time he went to dad's work and he was dressed as a woman - he couldn't recognize Roger when he was Rogerina while recording the video for I Want To Break Free until he took his wig off.

It was a better reaction than John's kids had, screaming in fear of the old, scary and tall lady that tried to pick them up.

The latest video recording was incredibly sweet, actually - it was for The Miracle, the single, and the band was going to be interpreted by 11 year olds. The kid that played Freddie was absolutely brilliant, mimicking all of his signature moves.

But it was the kid that played Roger who stole your heart.

As you watched the tiny Rog rehearse, you couldn't help but imagine Artemis hitting her drums - maybe in a few years, she'd be able to actually play something.

You also thought about Apollo, how he'd look like an even younger version of Roger if he was sitting on the stool, bouncing his curls and pouting in concentration.

You really loved the life you lived now, and when you looked back to all the drama that went between you and Roger so you could get here - two happy, fully realized people; and two great parents - you'd do it all again.

You kept thinking about it as the kid rehearsed Roger's part in the song, until you felt a familiar smell fill the air around you, and an arm snaking around your waist.

"Hello, beautiful stranger. Are you lost?", Roger whispered, his husky voice still able to give you chills.

"I am, actually. I can't find my husband, and I came here just to see him before work", you said.

"How did he get so lucky to have you?", he asks, and you turn around to kiss him.

"Actually, I'm his good luck charm", you say, pulling him closer to you.

He was ready for the shoot, so you felt bad when you broke the kiss and realized you transfered part of your lipstick to his lips.

"Shit, your makeup artist is going to kill me", you say, trying to wipe it away.

"It's fine", he says, kissing you again. "So I'm picking Apollo from school today, right?", he confirmed, and you nodded. It would always amaze you how you found your own level of responsibility, of the feared and dreaded domesticity, without losing the passion you had for each other. Taking it slow.

But now, back in the studio, you said goodbye to everyone, and followed Roger to a limo.

You always had your nights out - nights where you'd stay in a fancy hotel room just for the sake of being together in different ambiances. You two learned from your trip to Paris how it makes you more in love with each other, the new place making you fonder of what you know and love - in your case, Roger.

So when he popped open a bottle of champagne while you undressed, and once you were only in your lingerie, Roger took his own shirt off, knowing to pass it to you - a ritual, really.

You both went out, relaxed and comfortable, and enjoyed the view.

The Thames was below you, and you could see the entire city - if you tried, you could point where the bar you first met was, and Kensington Marked, and the first flat you shared. London was a huge part of your story.

"Let's make a toast", Roger said, and you nodded. "To what?", you asked, but you knew the answer.

You've been together for almost twenty years, now, so it's normal for you to know what to expect from Roger. But it doesn't feel boring - it feels like home.

"Us", he says.

-

Taglist: 

@taylorroger-s @sarai-ibn-la-ahad @its-nessi @anamcg317 @frenchieswiftie @queen-danielle-dani-dan @minihemo @shutup-sorry @theyrealllegends @killerqueenisthebest @ashagracelove @hardy-s @fuckinghurricanesoul @secretsweetscollectionblog @mrswinterhater @11mb0 @tamtam-go92 @derptatosaur @brianandthemays @phantom-fangirl-stuff @the-hysterical-queen @rogerofmylife @notevenlxvely @discodeakyy @x1975sos @16wiishes @jennycidesstuff @partydulce @melros-e @onevisionliz

[chessdaze]

YEAR TWO OF BEING LATE TO KH OC WEEK!!! but I had the energy today and my internet is out so I can’t work (using my phone’s hotspot rn with my laptop) - might as well be productive. Plus I’ve loved all the stuff @khoc-week​ has been reblogging from artists and writers alike so I really just wanted to participate even though I said earlier I wasn’t going to this year.

 Day 1 (August 2nd): Introductions – Whether you are returning or this is your first time, introduce us to the OC(s) you’ll be focusing on for the week!   Show us a picture or a one shot that explains who they are. What do they like? Dislike? Give us the run down!

Last year I talked about Atlas, one of my (many) KHX OCs, this year I’m going to talk about Sid! One of my OCs from one of my original worlds. Him and Atlas are loosely (very loosely) connected, so I thought it would be a good idea.

His real name is Siegfried Jasper Gate - but he insists everyone call him Sid and will not be happy if you say his real name. He started out as my attempt to give KH their own ‘Cid’ character. Yes we have the Cid in Radiant Garden and I love that old man but I wanted one more connected to the overall KH plot. And then it spiraled out of control and I ended up making an entirely new wold so there’s that.

The left design is considered a ‘before’ look and the right ones are his current look. He was exiled from the main hub city of his world (both called Cindergate) with his two best friends (because trios), and end up living in the wild with his friends and a handful of other people who were also exiled from the city. He has a bit of an attitude problem, overall distrusting of strangers and can even be a bit of an ass - but he means well. He pushes himself to his limits to make sure those under his care are safe and sound - he gives up his own resources to those younger than him so they can be a little stronger and healthier, even if he becomes weaker. He’ll complain about anything except about the people around him, because they mean too much to him.

Under the cut is what I’ve written about his world and then a short biography that I’ve had written up for ages. Have fun.

the world trapped in a desert 

The Basics

Cindergate is a city that has seemingly seen disasters, parts of the city are being rebuilt and other parts completely abandoned and falling apart. It’s cut off from the vast desert around it by a large, also crumbling, gate. The city has a mix of technology, though seems to shun anything too ‘high tech’. 

The city has a population of tough individuals who know how to survive in harsh conditions. Most of the population in this world are human, with occasional animals who can also survive the harsh sun and heat. These people are ruled over by one family - who govern and help make and enforce laws. Because of this the head of the family is often referred to as ‘sheriff’. The family keeps laws strict in the town. There is one law in particular that the sheriff is always eager to punish those for breaking-

The Keyblade Wielder Ban

The people of Cindergate are aware of the keyblade, heartless, the worlds, etc - however they consider Keyblade wielders evil, no matter who they are or what their motivations may be. They believe that the wielders are dragging darkness into the world and are the reason so many heartless live in the desert that surrounds the city. The city has to constantly beat the heartless back, and are the reason why a good portion of the city has been abandoned or is always needing to be rebuilt. 

It has been the tradition of the world for a while that if a wielder is found, they are to be branded as a traitor to the city - both metaphorically and literally. After a trial to determine if someone is a wielder or not - they are branded with a mark in the shape of a keyhole. Then they are dragged through the city and out to the gates that surround it. The wielders are then exiled, pushed out to the near lifeless desert. The people of the city will often attack them with weapons or throw objects at them to make sure they don’t try to run back into the city. They consider the wielders ‘sacrifices’ to the heartless to keep them at bay. 

At times the heartless in the desert will get the better of the wielders with no training. Those who manage to survive their first day and night have the chance to come across a safehaven made by wielders in the reaches of the desert and on the edges of a canyon. 

Landscape.

The city is the mix of a steampunk and wild west setting. There are some technology around the city but it’s big, clunky, and steam or coal powered. The part of the city that has been abandoned has a chance of heartless sneaking in, and so there are people here who patrol at night on occasion but besides that at times kids sneak into the area to play - but it’s strictly forbidden to do so and they will be punished if they do.

The desert surrounding the city is vast and nearly lifeless. Aside from the heartless, there are few plants and animals that live there.

Past the nearly lifeless desert is an area of plateaus and canyons. Within this area those who have been exiled from the city attempt to make a living. They find items that the people of cindergate ‘sacrifice’ to the heartless, (pieces of machinery, cloth, food, etc) and try to repurpose it for their own needs. There’s a bit more life in this area, but not much in terms of subsistence. 

The Survivors 

The wielders and those who were exiled with them (family members who hid them, other accomplices, and even people who were falsely convicted of being a wielder) have been managing to survive so far, though it’s a constant struggle. They’ve made houses out of spare pieces of wood, tarp, scrap metal, and hide themselves in as much shade as they possibly can. 

Some practice with their keyblades in order to get a handle on their abilities and fight off heartless that come near the safe haven. Others completely shun the fact that they can use a keyblade and refuse to wield it. Those who are not wielders try to contribute by making food or volunteering for other odd jobs. There are also wielders dedicated to finding a way off world.

AND NOW THAT THAT’S OUT OF THE WAY -

Sid’s about:

Born to the ruling family of Cindergate, Sid had everything handed to him on a silver platter. And he hated it. He couldn’t wrap his head around the strict rules of the town or the terrible court system. Any time he would try to speak up on this though was met with punishment from his parents. So he decided to bide his time, becoming their perfect ‘puppet’ so that he could become the leader one day and change things for the better.

While still considered a bit of a rebel, his parents at least ‘admired his change of heart’ and let him walk around Cindergate freely. While growing up he made two friends - a girl name Mari and a boy named Helio. The three of them were practically inseparable, they were some of the only ones that didn’t care who Sid was related to. He could be himself around them, and so he vowed to keep them safe most out of everyone in the town. 

Mari revealed to the boys one day that she was a keyblade wielder - which was a terrible discovery. Keyblade Wielders were banned from Cindergate and it she was found to be a wielder she would be arrested, branded, and exiled to the harsh desert that surrounded the town. The desert that was filled with heartless. At the same time Helio revealed himself to be a wielder as well - having been one of the longest out of all of them, since he was a child. He knew better than anyone what would happen to wielders who got caught as his mother had been cast out when he was a child. Sid promised that he wouldn’t let them get caught and that he would lift the ban, they just needed to keep their keyblades hidden until he became the leader of the town.

This was easier said than done, especially since Sid would come to be a wielder as well. An old friend of his family invited Sid to his deathbed. This old man revealed how close Sid’s father and him used to be, and how they had a dream to make Cindergate a thriving place. But Sid’s father had done nothing more than oppress the people and make the ban more strict than it needed to be. So the old man had a solution - to pass on the power of the keyblade to Sid. He had kept it hidden all of his life, hoping that one day Sid’s father would change his mind on the ban - but he never did. In his last moments he forced Sid to take the power of the keyblade from him, saying it was Sid’s responsibility now, before passing. 

Sid was terrified and furious with the power he had been given. Yes, he had been wanting to make CinderGate a better place for wielders and non wielders alike but - he didn’t want it to be like this. Still, he wasn’t about to let the opportunity slip through his fingers. He told his friends of his new found gift and worked to become even more like the 'perfect’ leader his parents wanted him to be, just so he could take over quicker and get the stupid ban taken down. 

Not long after this, Helio and Mari were caught for being keyblade wielders. Sid stood up to his parents to try and get them to see reason. When they still wouldn’t listen he revealed himself as a wielder in front of the whole town - saying if they were going to throw out his friends they would have to throw out him as well.

And they did, but not before branding him as a traitor - literally. They burned the keyhole shaped brand onto the side of his face before exiling him,Helio, and Mari out of the town. The three ran until they couldn’t anymore, fought off heartless, then collapsed with laughter - surprised but grateful they were still alive. 

A while longer of traveling lead them to a survivor camp. Other people like them who had been exiled from Cindergate. It wasn’t much, but it became home for the three wielders. Sid took it upon himself to improve the day to day lives of the survivors by building various machines and other contraptions to make life easier for them.But still, it wasn’t enough. Thanks to his parents hoard of keyblade wielder knowledge (because how else were they supposed to fight off such a 'threat’ without an entire library full of knowledge?), he knew of other worlds and he knew that the keyblade could get them there. He just wasn’t sure how to unlock the power. None of the survivors were masters by any means, some of them didn’t even have a keyblade - and were friends or family of wielders exiled or falsely accused and wanted nothing to do with the keyblade. 

Sid, taking another burden onto his shoulders, did the only thing he could think he could accomplish - he made himself and his two friends keyblade armor. He hoped that with the armor they could brave the passages in between worlds and find a way to get all the survivors to a new home.

Images of where sid’s scar is, he uses the braids to cover it up as best he can.

[cassinixii]

Title: Go sing it like a hummingbird, the greatest anthem ever heard | Audition (PHO: Potentially Hazardous Object) Published: June 21, 2016 | 4:42am Description:

someone (*cough* @.hermionelhoranholmes *cough*) got me totally obsessed with that pretty Swedish boy, literally spent the last 24 hours listening to Heroes and Hearts Collide on repeat. What have you done to me?

PHO: Potentially Hazardous Object Example+instructions: http://www.polyvore.com/cgi/set?id=195848184

Character name: Sebastian Kronberg

Faceclaim: Måns Zelmerlöw

Age: 30

Team 1:  Useful, clever and genius people

Team 2: Happy, optimistic and joyful people

Personality: Smart and cute. Honestly, his smile could cure cancer. But on a more serious note, he is sweet and kind, as well as charming, easily gets along with people, and whilst he can seem naive at times, he's by no means stupid. He's good at analyzing people, often judging danger from miles away. But he's also an idiot that then goes towards said danger. Has some sort of a mix between a hero complex and altruism. He's also fun loving, adventurous, and okay, can we go back to his smile now? Because seriously, I am blushing as I listen to him sing Cara Mia live at some Swedish music festival. And when the setting sun hits his face... is this what religion feels like?

Oh, also he tends to confuse people with his politeness, making them wonder if he's flirting or not. Calls everybody buddy, considers the entire world his friend, even if they're literally trying to kill him at the moment. They only people he can't get along with is really serial killers and other predators, he can't understand why they do it. Like, logically, yeah, he can figure out their reasoning and whatever, but it still shakes him.

and as a side note, I'm actually kinda excited about breaking him, because everyone has that point where they can't take it anymore and just snap, and I'm excited about what happens when he loses it, and oh the angst that will happen. . . I guess that makes me kinda evil. . . He's still super pretty though.

Power/mutation: sonic scream

Abilities: Despite his tendency of going towards danger, he's rather intelligent, with an IQ above 200, coupled with an eidetic memory. He's also rather advanced in hand to hand combat and fairly handy with a gun. Plus an arsenal of knowledge ranging from science and history, through to languages. And he's a very skilled detective, quickly identifying patterns, and making connections and deductions.

Weaknesses: Likes to see the best in people, which tends to lead him to taking risks to help people who may not necessarily deserve it, and puts his faith in the good of humanity (which cannot be trusted, case in point, Trump, there's an actual chance he may win. People cannot be trusted) and thus often ends up nearly dying by believing in the wrong person.

As for his sonic scream, he can't control it yet, accidentally pulverizing whatever's in path, making him fear to use mouth in case he hurts someone.

Hobbies/interests: singing (to himself mainly, but is 100% amazing at it, just like MÃ¥ns), and learning new languages. He's currently fluent in English, Swedish, Russian, German, French, and Japanese.

Affiliated with: the government, technically. He works at Scotland Yard, so as a government employee he can't exactly be against them. As for his personal feelings, well, who knows (well, me, I made him, but I'm trying to be cool and mysterious - failing, but eh)

Significant relationships (family, friends etc): He doesn't really talk about his family, is actually estranged from them. Half-swedish, half-english, his parents now live in Sweden and his elder sister in Germany, apart from that, he has no idea how they're doing, and they he. Technically his information is 7 years old, he has no idea if they're still there.  

Backstory: Half-Swedish, Half-English, Sebastian was born in Manchester, but spent most of his childhood in Gothenburg, before moving back to England to attend Oxford. He eventually joined the Met and worked his way up to Detective Inspector, working out of Scotland Yard.

Other/Extra: - he has a tattoo under his left collar bone saying "Love love peace peace" - which is both a joke on his dorkiness, but is 100% a reference to the best song in Eurovision history, which was robbed of it's victory in 2016. Technically it wasn't entered, but it was the best one (which I'm basing on like 12 other songs that I didn't bother to listen through to the end of. I'm Canadian, I watched it a month later and skipped through bits I didn't care about. sorry.) - looks REALLY good in white, light greys, and black leather. Like, seriously, REALLY GOOD. and then imagine that white shirt wet. I'm dying.  

Tag 10+ people who may be interested (2 points each, 20 pts max)

Group link: http://www.polyvore.com/pho_potentially_hazardous_object/group.show?id=202797

Tag me: @/avengersgirl3 Co-Mod: @/magicandmayhem