#maybe things wont crumble if i just decide to step back on my own. if i can. harder to step back when i cant access inner but maybe if i can

[myriadsystem]

.

[thequeenb]

Hey! Can I request poppy x mc where poppy finds out ab what happened between mc and ina at the bar and gets jealous and tells ina to back off? You can end it however you’d like ty 💕💕

Poppy x MC

If there is one thing everyone knows in this university is that you don't mess with Poppy Min-Sinclair. The woman who can make your life heaven or a living hell. She is the Queen of the school but this ice cold Majesty has her eyes on the price even though she will never admit it.

It was all over her text messages. The moment she read that phrase was the one where her blood was basically boiling. I didn't knew Miss perfect was the jealous type

Bea DID slept with Miss Kingsley, i am coming there ASAP

Who knew a text message could have so much effect on the Queen herself? Veronica was the one delivering the news but she did as Poppy said and kept it a secret for now. Would she use it as a weapon against Hughes or..who am i kidding of course she will

Bea has been around only a month and her success is extremely massive. She is top 15 on the rankings and everyone just seem to be drawn to her. Even though she wont admit it Poppy caught herself thinking about her more than she should

After half an hour of pacing around the room with a glass of wine and a face mask she decided to pay a little visit. Oh no

Her heels clicked on the marble floor as she approached Miss Kingsley's office. The door was wide open and welcoming so she casually walked in without knocking.

Miss Kingsley looks up at her in confusion as she gestures at her to sit down and she does so

"That is unexpected, what can i do for you?" Miss Kingsley smile but Poppy is not having it

"Oh nothing professor i am just here for a negotiation"

Her eyebrow raise as she takes her glasses off crossing her arms. Ina has been here for quite sometime and oh does she know about the Queen Bee

"If you aren't in my class I don't think there is anything more we can discuss thank you'

Poppy chuckles then sits straighter on the leather chair. They lock and for a moment, her anger is about to slip out

"Are you familiar with Bea Hughes?"

Ina nods, concern written all over her features

"I know when you make eachother's acquaintance that it isn't very pleasant"

"Correct. But i am here to discuss about you two" her smile can cut diamonds. Inside her she just want to give Bea a taste of revenge but her feelings come onto the surface and her tone is filled with jealousy

"I don't understand what you are implying" Miss Kingsley says, slightly trembling

"Oh? Aren't you two close? How sad"

Ina studies Poppy's features to search for answers. But all she can see is an ice cold smile. She can't quite figure out what is happening but her patience is running out today

"I--" ina tries to speak but she stops when Poppy holds her hand out on her direction

"You listen here and you listen carefully, do i look stupid? I run this place and you Ina are on my bad side"

There was a challenge on her voice, a power radiating from her body. Why was she even bothered to confront Miss Kingsley? Her and Bea were enemies right?..Right??!!

Ina's posture remained the same as her voice slipped into a more dangerous tone now

"I am very busy, if you came here to have a pointless conversation you can leave"

Poppy chuckled. How cute Professor but she has the upper hand now and it just needs one small simple phrase to make your whole world crumble

"I know you slept with her"

The tension in this room is insane but Ina's face is calm, composed but how long can she keep this act? Her foot starts jiggling and her heartbeat quickens, trying her best to dismiss this accusations

"Min-Sinclair this is highly inappropriate! Its absurd to think a woman in my position would abuse the power she has"

Aw i think you made her nervous, good job Pops. In response Poppy stands up, leaning against the desk looking deep into her eyes. Trust me its a scary glare

"Don't play coy with me because whoever play games with me end up getting burned" She now reach her ear whispering "you were incredible"

Ina jerks away in total shock, she cant contain it any longer, her eyes widen as her breath is increasing rapidly "What do you want?"

Oh nothing much just to leave my girlfriend to be alone. Oopsie maybe i do expose Queen Bee after all. She doesn't want much she just marks her territory

"What i want you to do is to leave Bea alone, better yet make her quit her TA position and don't try anything funny Professor, i have eyes everywhere"

Her blood was now boiling. Everytime she imagine Bea screaming another woman's name is driving her crazy. Her hand slams on the hard wood desk and Ina jumps surprised

"I have ten lawyers ready to destroy your whole career Kingsley" Poppy now walks towards her, every step more angry than the last, her expensive heels making deadly sounds

Miss Kingsley backs away, trying desperately to hold on to the last piece of her composure

"And trust they can take everything away from you. What about your lovely job?"

Her smile is sharper than a knife. At this point she stopped questioning why she was even here showing openly her jealousy, all she could focused on was destroying what's left of this affair

"What about this very fascinating research of yours?" Ina is backing more and more away but her back hit the bookshelf and she is now swimming in a sea full of sharks.

Poppy smirked enjoying how helpless she looks, how guilty "My advice is to play by my rules, otherwise i can destroy your whole life"

Ina swallows hard avoiding any eye contact. Her chest is tight, filled with regret and shame "Everything will go your way, is that what you want to hear?"

Ha! Hilarious Professor you got me too. Of course you have to play by the Queen's rules, she is the one who gives commands here, the one who can start a war or bring peace, its her choice

"Did i shutter darling?" She now took a step back adjusting her perfect clothes. Her posture as powerful as ever as she takes one last glance over Ina who is on the verge of tears, shock written all over her features

"Right then thank you so much for negotiating with me Professor, i will see you around"

Just then Bea knocks at the door "Can i come in pro--" but she stops her tracks when she notices Poppy and Miss Kingsley close

"Am i interrupting?"

"O-oh no Bea, me and Poppy were discussing about her rejoining my class" she turns back to her normal professional self fixing her hair

Poppy gives her one last knowing look before walking towards the door. Bea rolls her eyes as she watches her exit "See you soon loser"

Aw i think she likes you Bea. I mean you already have a nickname don't you? You should have seen how she went all mad and jealous lately

"Is everything ok Professor?" Bea now approach closer "Did she really come here to harass you? she is unbelievable"

Ina sighs as she gestures at her to take a sit. Her eyes are filled with pain mixed with anger, not towards Bea but her own self.

"We need to talk about your position Bea" she says crossing her arms. Poppy's words repeat themselves inside her mind and she wince thinking about the consequences. Only if you knew.

Taking a deep breath she starts talking as professionally as she can and just then with the corner of her eye she catches a glimpse of Poppy outside of the office smiling victoriously. No one touches what's hers, and Professor Kingsley learnt that the hard way.

Tag list: @lolimugly @origmansello @greatestflirt-hero @mvalentine @otakufangirl-12 @sugarplumpnhoneybun @princessstellaris @coldbatfriendroad @indecisive-choices @i-loveeveryone @kiara-36 @ognenniyvolk @somewillwin @it-lives-in-braidwood-manor @ghalind @jayrnada @sergeant-pepper-loves-choices @dibberdipper @justastranger-passing

[deadanddeactivated]

Kindness

Fandom: Sanders Sides, Urban Fantasy AU Pairing: Pre-Royality Characters: Patton, Roman, De, Logan, Virgil (Mentioned), Remus (Mentioned)

Notes: Alright so @lux-talks-a-lot said royality so here’s that vague-ish concept idea I had, royality themed.  Please enjoy

--

He’s too kind. 

That’s Patton’s problem, at least according to Virgil.  They can run from everything else but they’ll never outrun his kindness.  Most days Patton would argue that his kindness is a good trait and one to be proud of.  

Today… yeah today he can agree it might, just maybe, be a problem.

It happens at night, as sketchy things are wont to do.  Patton notices the man in passing as he steps off the train.  He’s a very, very pretty man who’s standing with someone in glasses that look a lot like Patton’s.  They look like they’re waiting for something, which is perfectly normal at a train station so Patton thinks nothing of it.  It’s a bit odd they’re not standing by the bus stops but who is Patton to judge.  

Moving on with his life, Patton stands by his own bus stop and starts scrolling through his phone.  He gives a glance of the road, trying to spot his bus, and instead notices the man in glasses.  He’s not standing by the pretty man anymore, instead he’s blending in with the crowd of three by the bus stop to Patton’s left.  Where’d the pretty man go?  Sweeping his gaze up, Patton sees the pretty man hasn’t moved at all.

He is, however, surrounded by three people in dark clothing that definitely weren’t there before.  It doesn’t look like they're having a pleasant conversation, although it does look like a hushed one.

Well, Patton tells himself with a frown, it’s none of his business.  The pretty man clearly has a friend to back him up and Patton’s trying to keep under the radar.  He’ll just let them do whatever it is they’re doing.

Despite his own thoughts, Patton watches the group from the corner of his eye.  It’s probably something totally normal, he tells himself.  Something that’s not at all sketchy or illegal or worrying.  It really could be something like that.  

His instincts say it’s not.

His instincts are right.

The first thing Patton notices is the friend crumbling.  No one else notices and Patton decides he’s not going to tell Virgil that he missed the Unnoticable Charm that’s been placed over the area.  Virgil would not be happy about that.

“Hey!”  The pretty boy snaps, giving up the hush tones.

“I told you to come alone.”  One of the three says, shrugging.  “Normally orders are to just get rid of the both of you and move on with our lives, however I think the boss would love to have a nice little chat with you.  Come quietly and we’ll leave your friend alive.”  The pretty man raises his hand for a fight but one of the figures has managed to get behind him, grabbing his arms and holding him back.  Pretty man doesn’t stand a chance.

Technically speaking, it still isn’t any of Patton’s business.  In fact, since it’s actually a magical sketchy thing, it’s even less his business.

Technically speaking, he shouldn’t step in.  Patton can practically hear Virgil saying as much.

He can also hear Virgil’s resigned sigh as Patton turns to the group.

“I think that’s enough.”  He says, taking no time to walk up to the four who seem startled by his presence.  Which is fair, because he seems exceptionally mortal at the moment and mortals aren’t usually immune to Unnoticeable Charms.  “Leave him alone.” 

“Look, kid, do yourself a favour and don’t get involved.”  One of the three bullies, as Patton’s decided to call them, warns.

“No one has to get involved if you all just leave.”  Patton says.

“Thank you for your concern, but I’m quite alright.”  The pretty man states.  He’s not alright, but Patton thinks it’s sweet he doesn’t want Patton getting hurt. 

“Listen to Roman here kid, get out of here before I change my mind.”  One of the bullies says, the same one that was talking before.  He meets Patton’s eye and Patton suddenly realizes why that voice sounds so familiar.  That’s convenient.  Or really bad.  It could go either way really.

“Come on De.”  He says, smiling and trying not to laugh when the mage’s eyes widen.  “I thought your eyes were better than that.”  

“Boss?”  The person holding Roman asks when De is silent for a moment.  Despite the situation, Patton has to admit he’s a little smug at surprising De.  It’s not easy to do.  It also never lasts, unfortunately.  De shakes his head, surprise turning back into indifference.

“Well, that’s not a fight I can be bothered with tonight.”  He states.  “Let him go.”

“What?”  Roman’s just as confused as the person holding him.  

“The Big Boss isn’t going to be happy about this.”  The person holding him warns.  “The bounty-”

“Means nothing to us if we’re dead.”  De states.  “Trust me, this isn’t a fight you’d win.”

“Don’t take it too hard!”  Patton says because De sounds a bit mean.  “I’m sure you’d try your best!”  De rolls his eyes, turning away from the rest of them.  The goons look to De, then each other, and then begrudgingly follow.

“This isn’t over!”  One of them warns.

“It is.”  Patton assures.  The three step into the shadows and disappear.  Satisfied it’s safe, Patton turns to Roman with a smile.  The pretty man is staring at him, mouth agape.

“What was that?”  He asks.

“That was pretty intense, huh?”  Patton says.  “How come you’re getting mixed up with the wrath gang?  They’re a dangerous bunch.”  

“I know that.”  Roman huffs, clearly Patton is not the first person to point that out to him.  “But I heard they had information.”

“Information?”  Patton asks.  “About what?”

“...something.”  Roman mumbles after a minute, clearly not wanting to answer.  That’s okay, Patton understands few people go to the wrath gang for uncomplicated reasons.  “How did you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Scare them off like that.  I didn’t think The Mage Deceit was scared of anything.”

“Oh we go way back.”  Patton says, even though he knows that doesn’t answer the question.  Roman just stares for a moment, frowning.

“Who are you?”  He eventually asks.

“I’m not really meant to say.”  Patton admits.  “But, um, you can call me Patton?”  He offers.  A mistake, he quickly realizes as Roman’s face fills with recognition.  

“You’re the Great Mage Patton!”  He says.  “Oh my gosh that’s incredible!  What Fate!”  He announces to the sky before stepping up, grabbing Patton’s hands in his own and raising them to their chests.  “If anyone can help, it’s you.”

Patton tries not to sigh because Roman looks so earnest and, really, it’s his own fault for introducing himself but… 

‘Help’ is the whole reason he left the magical world behind.  There’s only so much you can give before you feel empty, only so long you can hold up the world before your knees buckle under the weight.  Patton has long since passed his limits.

But he’s the one that got involved.  It’s your own fault, he can hear Virgil saying, you and your endless kindness.  

“Maybe.”  He says, forcing a smile.  “What do you need help with?”

“It’s my brother, he’s been cursed.”  Roman says.  “He’s… they’re all saying it’s his own fault but I know it’s not!  He’s a good person just a bit… unique.  Surely you know a way to break the curse, if you just teach it to me I can fix everything.  I’ll give you anything.”  Patton’s eyes soften a little at the explanation, feeling a little bad for his reservations.  

“I can try.”  He says, this time meaning it.  “How has your brother been cursed?”

“He’s been forced to become a monster.  A dragon, but a mindless one.  Intent only on treasure and destruction.”  Roman explains.  Patton frowns slightly, racking his brain for any curse like that.

“Prince Roman!”  Before Patton can piece it together, the man in glasses comes rushing up.  “I told you this was a foolish idea!  Are you hurt?”  He demands, hardly aware of Patton yet.  But that’s okay because Patton is hardly aware of him either.

Prince Roman, that’s what he just said.  And oh, Patton thinks, that is one hell of a curse.  If the prince’s brother doesn’t break the curse, there’s a prophecy stating he’ll end up both the magical and non-magical worlds a little.  Patton’s read that prophecy, he’d been glad it was one of few that didn’t need him.

He clearly jinxed himself, as Virgil would say.

“I’m fine Logan.”  Roman assures.  “The Great Mage saved me.”  He adds, gesturing to Patton who smiles sheepishly shen Logan’s sharp eyes turn to him.

“Oh so you found the disappeared mage then.”  Logan states.  Patton gets the impression that he doesn’t quite believe Patton is the Great Mage.  “And I’m sure you’ve already asked him to solve all your problems.  Well then, Great Mage, can we count on you for this quest?”  

Patton should say no.  He’s done his good deed for the year, he doesn’t need to get wrapped up in another world-ending scheme.

But then he thinks of Roman’s face as he asked for Patton’s help.  

He thinks of a boy-prince who’d run out of the palace walls and found Patton.  The only kid his own age that ever played with him.

Patton thinks he might like saving the world this time, if he’s saving it for Roman.

“You can.”  He tells Logan and Roman, sending a silent apology to Virgil.

“Thank you!”  Roman grins, hugging Patton tight and spinning him around.  “Thank you.”  He adds, more emotionally when the spin is over.  All the more proof Patton’s doing the right thing.

“Can you not make a scene?”  Logan scolds, looking around at the people staring their way.  “The Unnoticable Charm is gone.”

[arsmith03]

Navy & Floral: Part 2

Ship: Wade Wilson x Peter Parker

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- "Peter, there is someone at the door for you." May called through the house, up to the second floor.

"I'll be down in a second." I said. Placing my book on my desk, i walked down stairs to the main entry way of the house.

"Who is-?" I asked my aunt who had walked away and I looked at the door.

"Wade? What are you doing at my house? How did you know I lived here?"

"I saw you walking home last night." I stared at him in shock for a second. Did he see me as Spider-man?

"Y-you did?"

"Yeah, I mean, I live down the road from you and you passed my house." He turned at pointed to the house with a bright red car in front of it.

"Oh. Well, that explains a lot. Any way, what do you want?"

"Oh, yeah, here." He put his hand in his pocket and fished out something. He grabbed my hand and placed his fist in it. When he pulled his hand away, in my hand laid a crumbled up ten dollar bill and what look like two ones.

"What's this?"

"I figured I'd give you my money, since I made a bet on you. And the three dollars are what you gave me during lunch yesterday."

"I don't want you betting money, Wade." I forcefully put the money back in his hand.

"Peter, please."

"Wade, no."

"Peter, is your friend staying for lunch?"

"No, aunt May, he was just leaving." I looked over my shoulder when i said that then back at Wade.

"I'm hurt, Parker."  Wade put one of his hands over his chest.

"I don't care, Wade. Can you leave now?" I crossed my arms over my chest and leaned against the door frame.

"Fine, Parker. But, I'll see you at school, Monday I'm picking you up." He started walking down the steps to the sidewalk.

"Don't count on it, Wade." I let out a huff before shutting the door ."

"Peter, who was that boy? Was he the one that was picking on you yesterday?"

"No, aunt May. Though, he is just some guy from school. He offered to drop me off at school, but I refused."

"Peter, what? Why did you refuse? You could have made a friend."  I sat down at the dining table as aunt may brought out a plate with a ham sandwich on it and a thing of chips.

"Thanks, May. And I refused because I don't want to be associated with people like him." I picked up my sandwich and took a bit from it.

"He looks like a good kid. What's wrong with him?" I set down my sandwich and ran my hand through my hair.

"Evey thing, May. He made a bet on when I'd come out and he just tried to give me his money as a way to make it up to me." I let out a sigh.

"Oh, Peter-" May came to my side of the table and rested her hand on my shoulder, but I shrugged her off.

"I'll be in my room." I left my half eaten sandwich on the table and walked back to my room. I slammed my door a littler harder then I wanted.

I sat on my bed for a few minutes before I grabbed my book i discarded on my desk and opened my window to sit on the roof.

"He's a good kid." I mocked in my aunts voice. I opened my book to where I left off. I continued reading until I sense something. Rain. I closed my book and began to walk back inside through my window.

"Peter, make sure you shut that window." My aunt yelled from downstairs.

"Yes, aunt May." I shut my window. As I did, I seen Wade hop in his car and almost speed down the street.

I laid in my bed and looked at the ceiling. I've always stared at the ceiling when I was bored as a child. I remember every detail. I liked to remember calling the texture of the ceiling looked like popcorn. I remember the crack near the light fixture that appeared after a bad rain atom when I was only 7.  I remember the light yellow stain in the left corner from when the roof leaked when I was 10. There was a hole in the ceiling right above my bed where a hook use to be. I hung my favorite tie fighter from it until only a few years ago.  

"Peter. Can you come downstairs?"

I did as I was asked and went downstairs.

"Yes." I walked down the stairs to see another lady standing in the door way.

"Peter Parker?"

"Yes."

"I'm Wade's mother. See he ran away from home again and I was hoping you knew where he went."

"Sorry I don't."

"Not even a direction on where he went?"

"All I seen was him get in his car at go that way." I pointed down the street.

"That's enough for me. Thank you, Peter."

"Sorry I could have been more of a help, Mrs. Wilson."  She gave a small nod and said thank you again before walking back to her house.

My aunt looked at me as I shut the door.

"What?"

"Nothing, Peter. I'm shocked you don't have his phone number."

"Why would I have his phone number? He made a bet to see when I'd come out." I raised an eyebrow at my aunt and began to walk up the stairs where she yelled at me about dinner being done soon.

I looked out my window. Wade still didn't return home.  He still didn't return after dinner. When I left for spidey duty, he still hadn't returned. Maybe I'll see him on patron and tell him he's mother is worried sick.

I sat on a roof top eating my usual sandwich. It was quiet.  The only thing I heard was the sound of cars and the sound of drunkards stumbling out of bars.

"I know you're there."

"That's right Spidey-babe." Deadpool took his spot next to me like last night.  

"What do you want, Deadpool?"

"To be your friend." I felt myself laughing.

"I'm serious, spidey."

"Deadpool, let me say this nicely. I don't want to be friends with someone who murders people."

"That's no fun, babe."

"Didn't I say don't call me that."

"And I un-alive people. I don't kill them." Though he had his mask on i could see that he was smiling.

"Those are the same thing." I sighed and began to eat my sandwich.

"What do you have today?"

"A sandwich." I said plainly as I kept staring at the city.

"I see this. What what kind?" He was really annoying today.

"A roast beef with pickles. Why?"

"I figured you know, being a spider and all, you'd eat like a fly sandwich or something."

"Why would I eat flies?" When I said that my phone went off.

"Shut up." I looked at Deadpool before pulling out my phone.

"Hello." It was aunt May, I couldn't give it away that she was my aunt or maybe deadpool will know who i am.

"Yes, I can get eggs. yes and milk." I looked at Deadpool through my mask.

"Ok, love you too." I said before hanging up.

"Wife have you buying groceries on the way home."

"First of all, I'm still in high school, so I'm not married. And no, it was my aunt."

"You live with your aunt? I know a kid that lives with his aunt. Real nice lady, I don't see how she can live with that hot ass every day. And I'm meaning the nephew she has. Damn, its like hottest bubble butt I've seen."

OK, so Deadpool does know me but he doesn't know that Spider-man is me, so that means i know Deadpool!

"Don't get me wrong Spidey, you have a nice ass as well but, someone has a better one and its never squeezed into spandex." Deadpool looked over the city as well.

"Right." I said. I turned back to the city. I looked at it for a few moments before my phone went off again.

"Hello." It was Wade's mother.

"Hey, whats wrong? No I haven't seen him since this morning."

"I'll keep an eye out for him while I'm out in the city."

"Sorry again."  I hung up and stood. Pulling my mask down, Wade also stood up.

"Who was that?"

"Mrs. Wilson. Her son ran away from home and shes pretty worried and so im going to go look for him."

"I'm sure he's ok."

"Deadpool, tell me you didn't do anything to that kid?"

"I don't even know who that is, so I don't know." I sighed and rubbed my face. I shot my web at the nearby sky-raise.

"Bye, Deadpool." And I took off looking for Wade, if he was still in the state or city of where ever he goes.

"Stupid, Wade. What the hell was he thinking? Why run away?" I said out loud to myself as i swung through the city.

I landed on a roof top several streets over from my own. I seen Wade's mother walking the streets.

I wont intervene cause then she might know who I am.  I decided I'd just go to the store and buy the stuff May wanted. So, without anyone looking I ducked into a near by ally way and changed back into my street clothes. I walked to the grocery store and bought eggs and milk. When I paid, i walked out of it and passed a taco stand.  There was Wade.

"Wade?" I looked at him. He grabbed his taco from the vendor and looked at me.

"Peter? What are you doing here?"

"I'm getting milk and eggs." I held up the bag and milk carton. " What are you doing? Shouldn't you be home?"

"Nah, mom isn't worried about me. Dad could care less." He walked over to me.

"That's not what your mom said when she called me."

"She called you?"

"Yeah, she asked if I'd seen you today but I told her no."  

"My mom is worried about me?" Wade looked around at the night life of the city.

"Yeah, she sounded very upset and worried." Wade stopped looking around before he was just facing to the left of us.

"She is extremely worried right now and I'm almost positive she's sitting at my aunts house right now just waiting for a call saying you are ok. So, just go home, Wade. Go and tell her you are ok."

Wade slowly turned to look at me as I was finishing my sentence.

"Yeah, I might do that." I smiled and nodded before starting to walk down the street.

"Hey, wait, where are you going?"

"Home?"

"I'll give you a ride. That way no body can attack that booty of yours." He winked at me. I stared at him before slowly walking away.

"Wait, I'm sorry, let me give you a ride, really, its late and I don't want you getting hurt when i could have stopped it." He held his hand up as a surrender.

"Fine." I walked to Wade who began walking to his car. He opened the passenger door for me and when I was seated he shut it for me and made his way over to the driver side.

"You know, you didn't have to hold the door open for me?"

"Nonsense." And with that he started up the car and merged into the traffic to go home. I looked out the window the whole time.

"So, Peter? Are you still upset about yesterday?"

"Not so much." Was all I said, not turning my gaze from the glistening lights.

"I'm really sorry, Peter."

"Yeah, I kinda figured that."

"Can we try to be friends? At least try?" I blinked a few times before looking at him.

"You're serious right?"

"Deadly." I nodded and looked out the front window.

"I.....I don't know. Are you sure you want to be friends with the nerd?" I shrugged. I twiddled my thumbs looking at them.

"Who else will help me with homework?"

"I'm not doing any of your homework, if we become friends." I looked at him and pointed as well. "I'll help you and that will be all I do. If we are partners for any reason, you will do fifty percent of the work as well." I crossed my arms and turned back to the front window.

"Deal" he held one of his hands out for me. I looked at it then back at him, then back at his hand. I stared at it for a few seconds before deciding to grab it and shake it.

"Deal." I went back to looking out the window after I let his hand go.

[riseandshinelittleblossom]

Hoping for Home Ch 8 - Burning House

Summary: Sixteen years ago Libby Scott was supposed to become Queen of Cordonia, but Fate had other plans. Catch up here.

Special Thanks to @ritachacha for pre-reading and @ao719 for constantly being my sounding board for this piece. ily both

Disclaimer: I don’t own the TRR characters, they own me.

Song Rec  for this Chapter: “Burning House” by Cam

Tags:  @ao719@cocomaxley@leelee10898@fullbeaumonty@choiceswreckedme@ritachacha@itsstillnotwhatyouthink@blackcoffee85@indiacater@drakesensworld@carabeth@daniv2278@cosigottahavefaith@gibbles82@innerpostmentality@perfectprofessorherokid@darley1101@jovialyouthmusic @liamxs-world@thequeenofcronuts@blznbaby@zilch3382@wannabemc2 @jlouise88@lodberg@jasieschoices@aworldoffandoms @lynne1993 @valtorian-duchess @bbrandy2002 @hopefulmoonobject @dianalend@desiree-0816 @emichelle @lettersofwrittencollective

    "Good morning, Your Majesties." Libby singsonged with a brief curtsey as she entered the breakfast hall.

      Liam and Olivia exchanged glances as the twins looked on in wonder. 

     "Good Morning, Duchess." Liam responded. "It's lovely, if not out of character, to see you so chipper in the morning."

    Olivia quirked a knowing brow at the other redhead in the room as she stabbed a slice of melon.

     "Perhaps Her Grace got a good night's rest?"

    Libby dragged the mug of coffee the servant on her left had just poured closer to herself, eyes fixed sheepishly on the table and unable to hide the smirk on her lips.

     "Oh well now I'm just intrigued. Libby spill." Olivia retorted.

     "My queen this is neither the time or place for that." Liam said, slicing into his French toast.

     The queen looked quickly between her husband and his former flame. Deciding that Liam had certainly not been Libby's late night rendezvous, she returned her attention to her fruit bowl.

      "Will Max and the Walkers not be joining us this morning?" Emma questioned.

     Liam swallowed the gulp of coffee in his mouth.

    "I arranged for their breakfast elsewhere. I had something I wanted to speak to our Valtorian guests about privately."

    Will shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Valtorian. Just the thought made him cringe. The longer they stayed in Cordonia the more he wished to be free of this place. All of the pomp and circumstance was extremely off-setting. He had always wanted to know his father, but if he had known that would mean all of this...maybe his mother had been right to shield them from it.

    "I had hoped we could head to Applewood Manor today. Just the four of us. I'd very much like to take the twins on their first Royal Hunt."

    "The four of us?" Libby questioned, caught slightly off guard.

    "I have no interest in visiting the ruins yet again. And horses are only good for polo and battle, neither of which will be taking place today." Olivia piped up.

     "Hunting? Like hunting?" Emma asked incredulous. 

     "Nah. The Royal Hunt is only symbolic now. It's a trip down old royal hunting grounds on horseback that brings the court to an ancient Cordonian village. There are ruins not far from the village that I assume the queen is referring to. It's rumored that the fabled fire tribe from Cordonian folklore called them their home." Will explained as the rest of the room went silent.

    "What?" He shrugged pushing his eggs around his plate. "I know how to read. History is-"

    "Your favorite subject?" The King finished for him, "Mine as well. I must admit, Will, I'm impressed. It warms my heart to see you take such an interest in your new home country."

     "Well I think that settles it then, we'd be happy to accompany you, King Liam." Libby answered and her former fiance shot her a look that told her he picked up on her subtle sarcasm.

     "Fantastic. I'll have security ready a car. We'll head out to Applewood this afternoon." 

*********

      Liam tapped the mahogany door to Emma's room. After a breath she opened it with a broad smile.

     "Hello Your Majesty. Please come in." She curtsied quickly, stepping aside to let Liam in.

     On her bed there were a few open portfolios scattered about, yet organized all at once. It reminded Liam of the desk in his study.

     "I'm sorry, I didn't realize you were busy. I can come back…" he started but the young girl shook her head.

    "It's okay. I've got plenty of time to finish my campaign platform."

     Liam quirked an eyebrow as he ambled to the mattress plucking one of the pages from it's stack.

     "Student body president?" he asked.

     Emma nodded, knotting her fingers together sheepishly.

     "I was the first freshman to win. And I took sophomore year easily too. I know that I may not be attending for junior year," she paused, her face flashing with a mix of sadness and uncertainty, "but I'd like to be prepared just in case."

     "There is still so much that hangs in the air until we get those results isn't there?"

     She nodded solemnly, taking a seat near the head of the bed.

    "You know, no matter who your father is, political savvy is in your blood."

    "Well you're a king, of course." 

    Liam nodded in agreement before wetting his lips to continue, "Did you know that Maxwell's brother, Duke Bertrand of Ramsford, attended the same Cordonian boarding school as my older brother Leo?"

     Emma crossed her legs beneath her. "Mom told me a little about him. He abdicated right? And the Duke was Mom's sponsor when she came here."

    "Right on both counts. Anyway during their senior year my father encouraged Leo to run for student body president or rather the school's equivalent. He'd done so every year, and every year he won. Of course no one ever ran against him because he was the crown prince. But in their final year, Bertrand Beaumont ran against him. He had a very persuasive campaign. And do you know what?"

    "Bertrand won?"

    "By a landslide. My father was furious, but truth be told Leo was glad. The best man won and he knew it. I suspect even then he knew he had no intentions of taking the crown, he never did like the leadership role."

    "So politics runs in the Beaumont blood as well?"

    "Very much so."

     Emma grinned and the room filled up with a comfortable silence.

    "If I'm able to return to school I think I'll use that in my platform next campaign. It'll be hard to not elect foreign nobility after all." Emma finally laughed.

    "If you choose to, I say milk it for all it's worth, my dear." Liam joked rising from his perch. "I'll leave you to it then,and catch up with you on the way to Applewood, young Emma."

***************

              The trip along the path of the Royal Hunt had taken half of the next day and Libby swore it was longer than she remembered. Emma was as bright eyed and bushy tailed as ever and Will and Liam had spent the entirety of the trip ahead of the ladies deep in conversation about Queen Kenna Rys, the legendary first ruler of what is today Cordonia. 

       As the village appeared on the horizon, Liam rounded his horse back to face Libby and Emma. "Shall we continue on to the ruins first, ladies?"

      Libby nodded, pulling slightly at the reigns of her horse edging him down the wood covered path.

      "Your memory certainly serves you well, Duchess. I'm a little surprised you remember the way." The king called as he fell in line behind Libby and the twins.

     "I'm not," she thought smirking at Liam over her shoulder. "This is where I first fell in love with Maxwell."

**************

         The Ruins at Applewood - 17 years ago

      Libby had shared a private moment with each of her friends at the ruins. It was interesting to hear everyone's insights on the awe inspiring place.

     She found Maxwell last, skipping stones across the face of the river near the center of the crumbling landscape.

     "Not a bad toss." she smiled sidling up next to him.

    "My record is five skips. It's not much, but it's respectable. Though there was probably some kid who lived here who could skip a stone over ten times. Wanna give it a try?"

    "Sure." 

     Maxwell came up behind her, a wide grin on his face. He gifted her the stone and placed his hands on her forearms, his chest pressed against her back.

    Libby's body sighed into him, relishing in his warmth.

   "The trick is to clear your mind and become one with the rock. It is an extension of your will."

     The young redhead tried to do as she was directed, but with Lord Beaumont so close all she could think about was his heavenly scent. Hazelnuts and fresh brewed coffee. Her hand went limp as she breathed him in, the stone falling haphazardly into the water with a splash.

    "I guess its an acquired skill. But that's okay." Maxwell hiked up his pants as he squatted down to pick up a few more stones.

     "You know, I don't really know all that much about you." Libby mused.

    "There's not really much to know."

    "Really? I've seen you talk about yourself for hours at our social events."

   Maxwell sighed skipping another stone before reaching around to rub the back of his neck.

    "That's just, y'know, small talk. Nothing real."

    "Tell me something real."

   "What do you want to know?"

   Libby turned away from the water, her eyes meeting the deep blue of Maxwell's. She tucked her lip between her teeth as she was wont to do before continuing.

    "Have you ever loved someone before?"

    "Oh...you don't play around with these questions do you?"

    "I do not."

    Maxwell sighed, puffing his cheeks before exhaling. "Well Bertrand is the more eligible between the two of us. He's the Duke of Ramsford after all. I always kind of thought I'd figure things out once he was married; but I don't think bertrands gotten any closer to getting married...but there's no need to dwell too much on it."

    Libby nodded solemnly.

    " Mmmmmhmmm," she hummed, sucking her teeth. "But I didn't ask you about your eligibility. I asked you if you'd ever fallen in love."

    Maxwell blinked unbelievingly. "I...uh…"

    She could see the slightest tinge of pink creeping onto his cheeks as he rubbed his hair, eliciting a giggle from her.

    "Yes. Only once, but she's way out of my league."

      He stared deep into her eyes, the two transfixed on one another as if the rest of the world had simply fallen away.

     "Come on guys, let's get back to the others." Drake's voice broke their trance and Maxwell cleared his throat, cheeks as red as Cordonian Rubies.

     "Uh, I'll uh race ya back to the village?" He stammered.

    "You're on, Lord Beaumont," she gulped.

***********

          Applewood Manor - Present day

     Smoke.

      It was thick and billowing as Libby staggered down the hallway. She wadded up her tank top, covering her nose and mouth as she coughed, her lungs and eyes burning.

     "Li-Liam!" she croaked frantically, scanning the labyrinth before her, lit only by the rim flickering of the flames from somewhere ahead.

         More coughing.

    She leaned her shoulder against the wall, the surface warm to the touch already. Her breaths were coming shorter, vision blurring from her wheezing. 

   "Liam! Liam please! Where are you?"

      Libby leaned her head against the wall, closing her eyes and steeling her nerves before pushing off of the surface with purpose.

     Again she staggered down the corridor, finally falling into a drawing room of some sort, pitch black but not as smoky, the embers having not reached this far yet.

   Frantically she lunged at the window, her body bouncing off of the glass although it remained intact.

   "Libby? Libby follow my voice." 

    She jumped at the sound to her left, turning towards it but finding only darkness.  The smoke was beginning to thicken once more, curling into her nostrils and seeming to singe the inside.

    "Liam? Where are you? I can't find you,"

    "I'm just here, darling. Follow my words, my love. You can do this Libby. Come back to me."

    She edged closer to the sound, arms outstretched, fumbling in the abyss.

     A plume of fire erupted through the doorway and she stumbled to the side blinking in the sudden illumination. 

     Liam sprang forward, grasping her shoulders to shield her from the blistering heat as the inferno licked it's way into the parlor with a vengeance.

      Libby's knees buckled and she allowed the king to support the full weight of her, head lolling from her lack of oxygen.

    "Liam. We have to...we have to get out."

   "Oh my love, we're trapped here."

   "Trapped?"

      "I am afraid so. Once again I have failed you, darling."

    The redhead buried her face in Liam's shoulder giving way to a fit of sobs and coughs.

  "Don't cry my love," he soothed her, his voice even and steady as always. He rubbed her hair tenderly.

   "This time I will choose you. I will stay with you until the end...and even in death, my arms will hold you, Libby. As they always should have."

    With the last of her strength, she wrapped her arms around him, holding him as if her life depended upon it.

    "Oh Liam...I wish that I could be the woman you think I am-the woman you deserve."

    He shushed her again. 

  "You're more, Libby. So much more."

   He rocked her gently from side to side and a wave of contentment washed over her. But her bliss was short lived.

    Suddenly above the crackling of the flames and the crumbling of the furniture as it was consumed all around them, Libby heard two voices as clear as a bell.

   "Daddy! Daddy save us! Help please!" Emma screamed.

   "Dad? Dad! What do we do?" Will's words hit her eardrums and Libby tried with all her might to move her feet, but they stayed planted in place as if they'd melted into the foundation. 

   "Go to them, Liam. Please. Save our children."

**************

     Libby sat bolt upright, a cold sweat on her brow. She frantically pawed at her face and throat, chest heaving from her nightmare. 

     It wasn't the first time; she'd had the same dream too many times to count in the years since her departure. However this time there was a very different ending.

     Hearing the pain and panic in the voices of her twins was definitely new, and they had called Liam, Dad. What was that supposed to mean?

     Her head was spinning as she flung her legs over the edge of the bed, grabbing her robe and tying it tight around her.

    Groggy, with her heartbeat still elevated she headed out of her suite, unsure of where she was headed. At the end of the hallway the light was on in a suite, the door slightly cracked allowing the beams to spill into the hallway, splashing over the charcoal slacks of the King's Guard posted outside.

     She approached slowly and when she was just outside she dropped her voice conspiratorially.

    "May I- can I see the king?"

     The guard nodded and Libby pushed the door, slipping inside. She found Liam leaned over his desk, his left ankle crossed over his right, his shoulders exposed in the pajama tank he wore, pulled taut against the rippling muscles of his shoulders. His weight rested on his fingertips, brow furrowed and lips pulled down as he poured over the document before him.

     Stunned, Libby blinked a few times at the sight before finally clearing her throat.

     "Oh, Duchess. Is everything alright?" the king questioned, turning his head towards her.

     "Yes. No. I-I couldn't sleep and I saw your light…"

      Liam smiled and for the first time since her return Libby noticed the crinkles beside his eyes when he did it. He certainly had aged since they were together, but he'd done so gracefully. Like a fine wine, he'd gotten better with age.

    "I am always available for a midnight scotch with an old friend." 

     He corrected his posture to stride across the room, grabbing two small glasses and filling them with a few fingers of liquor. He faced her once more, offering the drink.

    Libby stepped her bare feet across mahogany floors to take the tumbler, still unsure why she'd come to Liam of all people. After all these years he had a way of making her feel completely at ease, and perhaps that was her subconscious reasoning.

     Many moments passed, each of them sipping scotch in silence, seemingly waiting for the other to speak. Finally Liam did.

   "Libby, I hope you don't think me forward for saying this, but I have always envied your effortless beauty. Here you are fresh from bed and still you look so put together."

    He leaned casually against the bar cart, once more supporting himself on his fingertips.

    Libby blushed, averting her gaze.

     "You flatter."

     "I'm simply stating my opinion freely,"

      Liam pushed himself off of the cart and took a few steps towards her.

     "Do you ever wonder- do you think things would've been different if I had chosen you the night of my coronation, Libby? I have pondered the thought millions of times since I made the decision. I was trying to protect you, but in my youthful ignorance all I really did was tear you apart. I loved you so much I just...I never meant you harm. The cracks between us began there didn't they?"

    The walls were closing in on her, heart hammering in her chest and before she even knew what was happening Liam's fingers were brushing her cheek, and he was so close. Libby could feel herself dissolving like sugar cubes in afternoon tea. She closed her eyes as the king brushed a hair across her forehead and tucked it behind her ear.

     "I didn't want them to. I knew you were trying to keep me safe. You will always keep me safe. I knew it then and I know it now. You're a benevolent man, Liam and I love you for it. I just wish I could've ...well, I made choices out of my own youthful ignorance."

     He tenderly took her chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilting her face to look into her eyes.

    "Well we aren't so youthful anymore, my love. I'll just chalk this up to the actions of a foolhardy old man." 

       He bent down, pressing his mouth to hers softly yet forcefully, and when he pulled away Libby stayed frozen in place, lips still slightly parted.

    Dazed, she finally blinked herself back to reality, gaping at Liam. 

    "I should... I-I-I should go." She stammered, setting her glass on the desk and heading for the door. She paused, offering a swift curtsey.

    "Your Majesty." 

     Liam closed his eyes briefly before nodding at her, "Your Grace."

      The next morning Libby was awakened by her phone ringing. Blearily she reached out and pressed it to her ear.

      "Hello?"

    "Apologies for waking you, Your Grace. It's Tessa, your majordomo. I know you had instructed me to forward any letters from the DNA lab to the palace, but since you'll be arriving at Valtoria with the court this afternoon I wasn't sure if I should forward these or keep them here."

    "These?"

    "Yes, Ma'am. One addressed to Lady Emma, the other to Lord William."

    Libby sat up so fast it made her head spin. The results.

    "Uh,uh yes. Tessa, I want you to put them in the safe in my bedroom until I arrive. And don't tell a soul that they're in there, do you understand?"

    "Yes, ma'am. I and the letters await your arrival back home, Your Grace."

   Libby dropped the phone in her lap, scrubbing her hands over her face. There wasn't enough coffee in the world to prepare her for the day ahead.

[grumpyhedgehogs]

The Judgement of Petals

Summary: The Judge leaves flowers for various citizens of Hope County. Secrets are brought to light. 

Part 2: Here Part 3: Here

Notes:

I just love that the Judge will go pick flowers if your player is idle long enough. My sweet summer child. 

One important thing about this fic is that I went with the headcanon that nobody actually knows for sure that it’s Dep behind the mask, but some people have suspicions. Because you can’t tell me that Grace and Sharky and the Ryes wouldn’t go in guns blazing to get Dep back. 

Also: SPOILERS! FOR THE LOVE OF GOD DON’T READ IF YOU HAVEN’T FINISHED THE GAME. (Also, I just kinda handpicked the parts of all the endings that I felt went with the story. Ah, the powers of fic writing.)

@sadyeehawmp3 asked me to tag them, so here you go! Hope you enjoy and angst and fluff!

“They speak only one language- that of violence.”

~

The Father

After it was all over- the twins dead, Hope County saved, the Father neutralized- after everything, the Captain wasn’t surprised to find the Judge had simply disappeared into thin air. They had knelt next to Joseph for a long time at the end; Captain could hear their sobs but couldn’t tell whether they were of sorrow or relief- but they did speak of some unknowable grief. Captain had turned away, paced a few yards, and left them to it. They deserved to collect their thoughts, if only for a moment.

When the Captain turned back, arm already up to gesture that they could both return to Hope County, that they were both free from whatever hell they had fallen into, the Judge was gone. In their wake, they had left three small purple flowers. They were cut too early, barely blooming, and speckled with dirt and ash. They looked bedraggled and flattened, as if the Judge had smothered them into their coat for safekeeping- which they probably did.

The Captain recognized them as petunias.

They were left there, to rot or to burn with the body of the Father. The Captain had a vague hope that the wind would carry the petals away before the flames reached them.

~

Jerome

It had been three or four weeks since the end of the conflict, and to Jerome it seemed as if he was even busier than before the war with the Highwaymen ended. He was needed from one end of the county to another, day in and day out, working to help refugees, go on supply runs, shore up defenses, provide faith and council to the hopeless- whatever the people needed, Jerome was determined to provide.

But he was hesitant more so now than ever to call these people his flock. He’d been burned one too many times he supposed. It never helped to get too attached to many in a place such as their world.

These thoughts, these anxieties-what if something else happens? One thing after another, who’s to say there won’t come someone else- someone worse that Joseph Seed and the Twins put together, we never catch a break do we- combined with the storm brewing that night had him wide awake. He sat quietly watching the rain lash at the muddied yard beyond his porch. There was a fire dying in the grate behind him- he could hear the fading crackles of the last bits of wood. Soon it would just be embers.

He must have been more tired than he realized- maybe the rain or the dying fire had lulled him into a doze, maybe he had been sleepwalking and had only dreamed that he had gotten up, maybe this was still a dream- he couldn't settle on a believable explanation for not seeing who left the bouquet on the top step of his porch.

Jerome jolted in his seat, heart pounding hard enough to break his ribs. The rain had gotten even worse now, mixing with the dark to make a gloom that was impenetrable. There was no way he could catch whoever had done it.

He approached cautiously, thoughts of Faith Seed flickering behind his eyes, but none of the blossoms on the worn wooden floorboards looked a thing like the Bliss.

The bouquet was obviously made by an amateur; the blooms weren’t full- some of them were too young or too old, there were torn petals and browning edges, most of the flowers looked like they’d been drowned in all the rain, and pollen blurted out onto the toe of his boot when he went to nudge them. It was all held together with a rough piece of twine, threaded with another unknown purple flower.

Jerome bent closer, hand on his holster, afraid to inhale in case he did in fact have another Faith on his hands. But he recognized irises when he saw them. Bluebells -the low hanging flowers missing a few blossoms, as if they were pulled off the stem hastily- were there too.

It wasn’t until he showed Nana the bouquet later the next (same? Jerome really needed to catch up on his sleep) morning that he found out the two flowers he didn’t know were called bittersweet and magnolias. The one in the twine was verbana.

“What does it mean?” He asked her, rubbing the back of his scalp irritably. He was unused to feeling flustered by plants.

“Means someone out there thinks very highly of you son,” Nana quipped flippantly. “Magnolia and bittersweet, those are nobility and truth, respectively, ya see, and bluebells are humility. Verbana’s a strange inclusion though- usually means ‘pray for me.’ Guess they know you’re a pastor. But the iris, now that’s the interesting one.”

“It is? Why?”

She tipped her head back, blew out a big breath and pushed her glasses up her sweaty nose. The storm had blown away in the early hours and now Jerome could already feel a sunburn starting across the tops of his shoulders. “Means a couple a things, depending on who gives em- faith, hope, those are probably the meanings this one’s going for. Wisdom and valor, too, I suppose. If somebody you know gave ‘em to you they can mean that your friendship means a lot too. Who’s the lucky lady?”

“Nobody,” Jerome hastened to answer. He shook his head in bewilderment, staring at the wilting flowers in his palm. Something deep in his gut flickered with warmth. There was a nagging at the back of his mind. “I didn’t see who left it.”

“Hm,” Nana rejoined. She shrugged. “Captain said the Judge left flowers for the Father at the end. Petunias.”

“You think the Judge is giving out bouquets?” Jerome couldn’t really wrap his head around such an imposing figure slogging through the storm in the middle of the night to give him flowers. But there were rumors…

Nick had said that when he saw their eyes there was something familiar-

“You see anybody else picking flowers these days?” She had a point there. “Besides, if it is the Judge, they think a hell of a lot more of you than the Father.”

“Wh- that’s not true. They loved the Father. They followed him everywhere. Captain said they grieved when he died.”

Nana’s glare was so sharp and hot he had to drop his eyes. “They cried all right- lots of reasons for people to cry, and not any of them very good these days. But the flowers say something different about those two than your image of their relationship, Jerome. Petunias- they’re something you leave an enemy. Most of the time, at least. Anger, resentment- only good thing they mean is not losing hope.”

Jerome didn’t have anything to say to that. Nana huffed and walked away from him, shaking her head.

In the next few weeks he was on high alert; every crack of a twig and patter of rain outside his door was greeted with attentive eyes. If it was the Judge- if what Nick thought was true-

But he never saw anyone.

(He kept the flowers until they browned and cracked and crumbled away.)

~

Kim

Kim had already talked about the petunias with the Captain- they had seemed agitated, upset ever since the Judge disappeared after they helped take down Joseph. Kim wasn’t sure what surprised her more; that the Judge really turned on the Father they loved so much, or that the Captain was so torn up about them leaving without saying goodbye.

Nana had also let slip that Jerome had received an odd gift from out of the blue a week ago, but she hadn’t thought much of it. Jerome was an attractive man and a compassionate one at that- it wouldn’t surprise her if he had more than a few admirers around Hope County.  

Her flowers showed up on the kitchen table in the early morning.

Kim had been the first one awake; that in and of itself was a startling feat, given that Carmina was wont to be up at the “ass-crack of dawn” as her father put it. She’d decided to have an actual breakfast ready for her daughter and husband today; no cereal bars or stale bread crap for them today.

The kitchen was cool and welcoming in the soft morning light. Kim loved this time of day; everything seemed quiet and peaceful. The world was for the taking and Kim wasn’t going to waste the chance.

She’d opened the back door, propped the screen ajar to get some nice air flow and gone into the pantry to check their stores. Her fringe brushed into her eyes. As Kim lifted an absent hand to stroke the strands out of the way, she heard that faulty floorboard two feet inside the back door creak.

She froze.

There was silence. Her fingers twitched to her gun. Birds were singing outside the window.

There was a rustle of fabric. Kim pulled her gun. It caught on the calluses of her palms, slipping in her sweat. Should she call out to Nick? Take whoever it was on her own? How much time did she have?

There was another shuffle. The same floorboard creaked. She breathed in, breathed out.

“Hands up,” she shouted, twisting around the corner, gun up, trigger finger itchy. Kim only caught a glimpse of the tails of a long coat whipping out of sight around the screen door.

There was a thump from upstairs, feet on the landing. “Mom?”

It took Kim a second to see the bouquet. It sat innocently before her chair at the table. The twine was tied in a lopsided bow.

The confusion Nana had mentioned Jerome expressed suddenly started to make sense.

“I’m fine honey,” Kim called back while holstering her weapon tentatively, knowing that wouldn’t assuage Carmina’s worries in the slightest. “Just- thought I saw somebody. It’s nothing. Go back to sleep.”

She had to take a few more minutes to calm her daughter down enough to go back to resting, but once she did, Kim snatched up the bundle. Just like Nana had mentioned with Jerome’s flowers, not a single Bliss blossom was in sight. They were all flowers Kim knew were native to Hope County, all ones Carmina herself had picked for her mother when she was little.

There was a book on flowers somewhere on their bookshelf; Kim remembered thinking it could tell them about which ones were good to eat before promptly forgetting it was there when she put it down.

She found it after a few minutes of scrambling, in which she tried to be as quiet as possible for the house’s sleeping occupants. It was old and dusty, pages yellowed and crinkled with water damage. It took even longer to find all the right flowers inside.

Camomile she recognized from the front of the box of tea; apparently they were for relaxation now, but the old meaning was “energy in the face of adversity.” Some 19th century bullshit.

Red poppies, like the ones that grew outside their home, meant “remembrance.” (Something twisted in Kim’s chest.)

Blue violets meant “faithfulness” or “watchfulness”; the book suggested that the sender was either saying they would watch out for the receiver until death, or that the sender believed that the receiver was a symbol of faithfulness. White zinnia was supposedly for “goodness,” and white heather meant “protection.”

But the last blooms, the ones that it took Kim the longest to define, were purple hyacinths.

“Pleading for forgiveness,” Kim murmured aloud, and the knot in her chest moved to her throat.

She showed Nick the bouquet; he’d already heard from Nana who the old woman thought was giving out flowers and Kim knew who Nick thought the Judge was. She didn’t say anything, just slid him the book across the breakfast table after Carmina had blown out the door to “get shit done.”

He sat silently for a few minutes but Kim knew when he got to the hyacinths. Nick shoved the text away, pushed his hat back on his head and placed his face in worn hands. Kim couldn’t think to say anything- what was there to say that would make this better? She just sat with her husband, held him around the shoulders, and stared at the crudely put together gesture on the table. The flowers were as ragged as Nana had mentioned Jerome’s were. The twine was obviously pulled off of a larger rope. It looked like a child had made it.

(Kim put it in a vase on her bedside table and woke every morning for the next week afraid it would be gone when she looked over. She didn't want to think what they’d do once the flowers died.)

~

Hurk

Blade showed up holding a bouquet out to his father with a note declaiming Hurk as the recipient. His son and cousin had been down at the river, hoping to catch something edible and not canned to eat for dinner. When Hurk jerked around to stare accusingly at Sharky, he simply shook his head.

“Kid went to take a piss in the woods and says he stopped to draw some shit in the dirt or something. Said a nice stranger from the trees gave him that and a cool stick to play with.”

“You think it was the Judge?” Hurk asked uneasily. If Blade’s mother found out how near to the Judge their son had been, he would be in deep shit.

Sharky’s face was uncharacteristically stony. “Kid said they didn’t say nothin’.”

“Nick says- do you really think it could be them?”

Sharky paused before he shrugged. The Dep was always a rough topic with him, just like they were with Nick: talking about a man’s only friend who died horribly did that.

“It was a pretty cool stick,” Sharky admitted.

Hurk gulped and nodded. He pried the flowers gently out of his son’s hand and dropped a kiss on the top of Blade’s head. Sharky motioned to Blade to help him get the fish he had thrown over his shoulder to the kitchens. Hurk held out a hand to stop him.

“How am I supposed to know what the fuck any of these mean? Kim said they might be important but I know fuck all about flowers, man.”

Sharky smirked a little and nodded at the note with Hurk’s name on it. “Think they made it easy on you, idiot.”

Hurk scowled at his cousin but flipped open the note, which was really a piece of notebook paper folded in half. He hardly registered Sharky herding Blade away once he stared matching the names and descriptions to the petals.

The handwriting was sloppy and jagged, trailing off and leaving punctures through the paper in places as if the person writing wasn’t used to holding a pen. Hurk read it all anyway. And then he read it again, just in case he missed something. His stomach was sinking.

Red tulip- Loyalty. Weird start, but okay. He guessed he was pretty loyal to his family.

Daffodils- New beginnings. Was the Judge talking about Blade? Probably. Hurk hadn’t exactly been quiet about his excitement about being a father.

Red Gladiolus- Strength, integrity. What the hell did integrity mean again?  

Buttercups- childishness. Which, okay, that was fair he guessed.

Coreopsis- Always cheerful. Hurk swallowed thickly at that: Dep had liked him for his sense of humor.

Red/Yellow Zinnia- In memory of an absent friend.

That one threw him for a loop. Who was missing? A lot of people these days, but Hurk flashed on how torn up Kim Rye had seemed that day she muttered something about her own flowers dying, how Jerome had seemed pale for weeks, how Sharky and Nick were unable to speak from anger when they saw the Captain with that stupid old deputy outfit they’d found and donned on a lark. Yeah, okay. Maybe Hope County was missing someone pretty damn important.

The bouquet itself wasn’t tied with anything but a few other flowers; these were long stemmed yellow flowers, keeping in theme with the colors of the bouquet itself. Hurk flipped the paper over and found one last line down at the bottom of the page like he wasn’t really supposed to find it.

Rue- Regret, sorrow, repentance. You were a good friend.

“Well,” Hurk said aloud. He was hoarse; it hurt to speak. “Fuck.”

He stopped thinking Sharky and Nick were crazy after that.

He kept Blade close the next few days because while he missed them something awful like hell was he gonna let his son anywhere near somebody who’d been brainwashed for years on end by Joseph fucking Seed. That didn’t mean that he didn’t try to look out for anybody living in the woods. Sometimes Hurk thought he saw somebody moving on the edges of his vision when he was out there, but there was no one whenever he turned.

(He kept the flowers on the windowsill- he couldn’t take care of them for shit and his throat felt tight every time he realized that the only thing he had left of his friend would die in a day or two, but he just- he wanted them to know. To see. He is loyal, damn it. He is.)

~

Sharky

The Dep and Sharky were good friends. They were best friends.

He didn’t feel at all put-off that he hadn’t received a bunch of stupid flowers from the Judge. Nope. Nuh-uh. They didn’t even know that the Judge and Dep were the same person, really. The Judge could just be some weirdo in a mask with personal space issues. He didn't care if he didn’t get a bunch of plants from some stalker psycho killer. Zero jealousy here. Zip. Zilch. Nada.

“Oh fuck yeah!” Sharky pumped his fist in the air when he saw the stupid not at all long awaited bouquet sitting on the hood of his truck. The same notebook paper as Hurk’s bunch lay folded underneath the plants, so that the hot metal was buffered from melting the petals too easily. The heat wave was continuing, though, and the flowers were already looking more than a little worse for wear. He snapped them up eagerly and shoved his way into the truck before he allowed himself to read it. His hands were shaking.

His name- Charlemagne Victor Boshaw IV, not his nickname- was printed sloppily on the outside. (They remembered how to spell my name!)

On the inside, his note looked pretty much like Hurk’s.

Morning Glory- affection. Don’t make any jokes.

White clover- Thinking of you. Seriously, no jokes.

Purple Carnation- changeable, whimsical.  His mood swings weren’t that bad, come on.

Baby’s Breath- purity of heart. Okay, that one wasn’t really true.

Azalea- Take care of yourself for me. NOT that way.

Viscaria- Invitation to dance. We disco-ed pretty good, huh?

Then, at the bottom, it was signed with a shaky smiley face. It looked like they’d tried to cross it out a few times, but he could still make it out.

Hurk had told him about his note, and there was still at least one flower he didn’t know the name of. His heart beat too fast in his mouth. This part was gonna suck.

Sure enough, there were three more lines on the back.

Aloe- grief.

Love-lies-bleeding- hopelessness.

Don’t try to find me, friend. Please.

“Oh, like hell,” Sharky snarled at the paper. He crumpled it in his overeager grip, but just as quickly smoothed it back out. His friend- his only friend.

They weren’t dead.

“Hang on in there, Dep,” Sharky muttered, starting up the truck. The engine whined, rumbled, and turned over. He’d have to take a detour; Nick Rye would want to know about this.

He’d keep looking however fucking long it took. The Dep couldn’t honestly expect to reappear having obviously been fucked up by Joseph Seed for years, turn on the fucker at the last second and then get away with just sending fucking flowers, could they? They couldn't really think he’d leave them out in the cold without putting up a good Goddamn fight.

“You just hang on in there, buddy. We’re gonna getcha home safe.”

(He kept the flowers in a loop of the same twine that tied them together hanging from his rear view mirror. They dried and crumpled in on themselves in record time, but he didn't mind. When they started to lose their smell Sharky dug out an old air-freshener from the glove box. It was all good.)

~

Grace

Grace had Nana explain her flowers to her when they came.

She knew that she might get some; hell, if Hurk radioed in to say he got a bouquet she sure as shit better get one if the Judge really was who they thought they were. God, this would all be a lot easier if the Judge could talk. If Grace could see. If the world hadn't gone to hell in a handbasket.

“If, if, if.” She had no time for “if” these days.

The flowers smelled pungent; they must have picked the ones they did so she could find them in the dark. They were on her window ledge when she woke up in the morning. Grace was less worried about the Judge wandering around her land in the dark of the night than she thought she'd be. (she still closed the window.)

Nana took her hands and placed her fingers on the petals as she explained them. Grace kept her touch as delicate as she could; she could imagine it was almost as if she were touching the Dep’s face instead of dying vegetation this way.

Who knew being blind bred loneliness?

“Black-eyed susans,” Nana helped Grace finger the thin, long petals, soft like silk. “They’re bright yellow, in pretty good shape. The Judge is getting better at picking flowers.”

“What do they mean?”

“For you? Justice, most likely. Now these next, with the wide petals? Those are geraniums, pinkish-white, they mean determination, or refinement I guess, but I think it’s the former. These layered ones are chrysanthemums, white and purple, so let’s see, that’d be...truth and honesty.”

“This is-” Grace felt the next stem, her fingernail accidentally slicing into it. “Isn’t this a dandelion? I can feel the- the fluffy bit.”

Nana snorted a laugh. “Yes ma’am it is. They mean overcoming hardship.”

Grace’s mouth went dry. God damn them. They could still get to her, and they didn’t even have to give a rousing speech to do it this time.

Where the hell were they?

“What’s this tying it together, Nana? It’s not rope.” whatever it was, there were crinkles in it like the Judge (Dep?) had tried to do something fancy with it but gave up halfway through. The knot itself was double or triple tied. It was probably cutting into the stems too much. Grace guessed the Judge moved around a lot on a daily basis; they probably wanted to make sure the bunch all stayed together.

“That’s ivy, dear. Feel the leaves? Don’t worry, I’ll bet the Judge made sure it wasn’t the poisonous type. It’s got some wormwood woven in, too. That’s the pokey bits.”

“Why ivy? Why wormwood?”

Nana sighed softly. “Ivy means endurance, faithfulness. It’s good for you, kiddo. But wormwood-”

Grace had heard from Jerome that not all the flowers were- she’d heard about this part. “What?”

“It means absence and bitter sorrow. The absolute worst kind, you know? The kind you don’t really come back from.”

Damn it. Damn them.

“I don’t believe them,” Grace decided suddenly. She wanted to slam the flowers down, to run away from this- how dare they put this on her? How could they just say something like this and not face the consequences?

(Her heart was squeezing too tight, wrung out like a sponge. How could they not come to me?)

“Kid-”

“No, I don’t believe it.” Grace thinned her lips, narrowed unseeing eyes towards where she knew the breeze came in the open window. She hoped they saw her. “I can't believe that. They’re coming back. By God, I'll drag them back kicking and screaming if I have to.”

(She took apart the bouquet carefully and kept everything- ivy, wormwood and all. She dried the flowers and put them all in separate books on her shelf for safe keeping. They’d stay there until she could figure out how to catch the idiot and smack some sense into them. Maybe the flowers would still stay after that. Maybe always.)

~

Nick

Nick didn’t care how long it took. He didn't care who thought he was right, who thought he was wrong, or who thought he was crazy. He’d known from the start, from the day the bombs dropped, from the day that the Dep took care of them when Carmina was coming. He knew the Dep was gonna survive. If anyone could make it through hell and back with a funny one-liner and a lopsided grin, it’d be the Dep.

He’d seen them when they were following the Captain through the countryside a few times. Something about the way they held their bow, shifted their feet, deliberated silently whenever they took a shot- it was familiar. At first Nick thought maybe he was remembering Jess Black but that wasn’t it. Actually, he didn't start putting it together until he unsuccessfully tried to get the Judge to talk to him outside his home.

The Captain had been busy and left the Judge standing awkwardly by the porch. Nick had offered them a seat, nervous around someone with no discernable eyes, but was met with silence.

That was the first clue.

“Hey, you all right in there?” He’d ventured uneasily. The Judge (the Deputy, it was Dep, he knew they couldn’t be dead, the tough son of a bitch!) hadn’t answered, simply tipped their head in just the right way and-

“Holy shit,” Nick could remember exclaiming. The Judge had shuffled back a step and he’d scrambled to recover. “Sorry, I- you remind me of-”

He never got to finish, though, because the Judge had veritably sprinted across the camp to where the Captain was beckoning for them. They’d been careful not to come near the Ryes ever since. Nick wasn’t sure how to take that.

Sure, he knew, but Nick sure as hell didn't know what to do about the fact that he knew. Everyone else- even Kim- didn’t seem to understand. They thought it was wishful thinking.

But Nick knew. He knew.

So when he caught the Judge stealthily sneaking a bunch of flowers into his barn, he didn't yell or attack.

“Ya know, you could just come in for a beer, man.” He leaned against the doorjamb, trying to appear casual. The Dep had always been skittish, and that was before a madman had locked them in with him for seven years.

The Judge whirled so fast he winced in sympathy for their back. The flowers scattered a few petals. Nick raised his hands in alarm; the Judge was panting- nearly wheezing- behind their mask.

“Sorry, didn't mean to scare ya.” He wondered if he should step inside. The Judge was darting looks over their shoulder to the nearest exit. Nick would either have to get real good at negotiation real fast, or he’d lose his only chance. “Heard you were making house calls, thought I’d check it out for myself.”

They didn’t seem pleased with that. They took two steps to the right and one back. Nick tried to step forward, but only succeeded in making the Judge leap back so far they slammed into the opposite wall. “Hey, hey, no worries, man, I’m not gonna hurt you- stop!”

They lunged to the side, towards the open barn door and Nick hurtled forward too, catching them around the elbow.

“Hey, stop okay- I know that’s you, Dep!” They stilled for only a moment, but Nick thought- stupidly, maybe- that he’d won. “It’s okay, you can come in now. It’s over- you and Cap killed Seed-”

The Judge turned and shoved him back with the hand holding the bouquet. Nick probably could have done more to stop them, but between the fact that he didn’t actually want to cause violence, and the fact that the Judge took his free hand and curled it over the flowers, he was left standing stupidly gaping, in an empty barn as they ran.

Nick Rye was never one to take shit lying down though, and he was hot on the Dep’s heels a second later. (Maybe chasing them around Hope County didn’t say “hey, it’s super safe now and I promise I won’t hurt you like the crazy guy you were locked up with for years on end,” but he was flying by the seat of his pants here.)

They’d cleared half of the yard by the time he was done tripping over his own feet, but Nick was gaining fast, and the Dep still had a fence to clear before the woodline started.

“Dep,” He screamed; his lungs felt like they were about to give out. He really was getting old. “Goddamnit Dep, stop running!”

They did not stop running.

The dirt was dry and cracked in the yard but the grass was still dewy from early that morning, and Nick saw them slip a little when they got to the fence. The entrance was actually on the other side of the barn but they probably didn’t think they could cut around the barn fast enough to get away. He could have caught them from a side entrance to the barn if they’d done that. Dep had always been too smart for their own good.

Nick lurched forward, heart dropping to the pit of his stomach, unsure of whether he was lunging to help Dep up or excited that their slip gave him a few seconds to catch up and make them stay.

But the Judge righted themselves easily and flung a hand out in his direction. Nick was lower to the ground, hand out already to try to help them up, and the dirt that flew out of their palm struck him square in the face.

“Augh!”

He twisted sideways, lost his footing and slammed his shoulder hard into the ground. It was the first time the Judge (or Dep) had ever done something to harm him.

“Fucking hell, Dep,” He called, ignoring how raw his throat felt. Dust coated his tongue. “Christ, would you just listen?”

The fence jangled. Boots hit the ground. They were getting away.

He managed to regain his sight after a moment, although tears trailed down his temples. He was having a hard time not coughing up a lung. But when he raised his head feebly, the Judge hadn't disappeared into the darkness of the forest. They were standing stock still, head tilted to that same fucking angle as always, watching him through the fence.

For a long moment, they held each other’s eyes. Nick’s shoulder ached something awful.

Finally, his hip and knee told him they wouldn’t stand being dug into the dirt any longer. He rolled over onto all fours and slowly, painfully, hauled himself up.

“That was a shitty trick, man.”

The Judge shifted on their feet, took a step back. They let out a concerned grunt. Nick decided to think it was concerned, anyway. He chuckled lightly and dusted his hands off on his jeans. “Nah, I’m good. Just the joints- they don’t work exactly like they used to, is all.”

The Judge took another step back and joined their hands together at their middle, making sharp, small movements with them. It took a second for it to register with Nick.

“Aw hell, don’t get so worried,” Nick reassured them, rubbing the back of his neck. It was never easy dealing with a nervous Dep. “Ya didn’t hurt me- stop wringing your hands man, you’re freakin’ me out.”

Another grunt. The Judge gestured to the house.

Nick perked up. “Hey, yeah, I’ll go in- but you gotta come with me, okay?”

They shook their head so vigorously there was an audibly crack. Another step back, and they pointed to the ground, then Nick and finally themselves.

“I’m tellin’ you, you didn’t hurt me. You can come in, Dep. You can come on home.”

The noise they let out was as close to a wail as anything Nick had ever heard; it bubbled forth from somewhere deep and warbled in the air. The pitch grew and grew for agonizing moments before the Judge dropped their head in their hands, shaking, and cut themselves off.

It was the worst thing he’d ever heard.

“Hey,” he soothed quietly, shifting forward an inch. He held out his hands, palms out, and tried to make himself as non threatening as possible. “Hey, it’s okay, see? You’re oka-”

The Dep jerked their head up towards him and Nick froze. He was still holding the bedraggled remains of his flowers in his dirt covered right hand. They seemed to zero in on the torn blossoms, and they let out a low-pitched sob behind that damn mask. Their hands clutched the sides of their head for a moment, squeezing violently.

Then the Judge turned and sprinted for the forest. They were gone in seconds.

“Shit.” He muttered, pulling his cap off and running his hand through his hair. “Fuck. Shit. I fucked that up.”

Kim was kind enough to only glare a little when he presented the torn up blossoms and grumbled out the details. She thumped the book down in his lap and stormed off to the kitchen. That was fair enough he guessed.

Nick wrote the meanings out this time- he knew Kim hated that her flowers had died months ago. He’d caught her flipping through the book just to read the same descriptions over and over again. She did it when she couldn't sleep.

Myrtle meant love or affection, and peonies wished the receiving party a happy marriage or life. Snowdrops meant hope. Bells of Ireland, which took him forever to find, were meant to tell him good luck in life. Pine needles, which were threaded through the stems, could mean either hope or pity. Nick hoped it wasn't the latter.

The last flower was something called a rainflower. It didn't look very intimidating, but Nick’s throat still closed when he read the description.

Rainflower- often taken to mean “I must atone for my sins, I will never forget you.”

“Goddamnit Dep.” He pushed shaking fingers through his hair again and tugged, letting the burning in his scalp turn his thoughts from the burning in his eyes. “Why can't you just, for once, let someone help you?”

(He put the flowers in the same vase Kim had- she hadn't moved it from their bedside table. Maybe she’d been waiting for his turn. Maybe she’d just been hoping that if the vase stayed, the Dep would have to come back and give them more flowers to fill it. Nick knew that’s what he’d been naive enough to wish for.)

~

Carmina

Carmina found them paying unexpected respects at Rush’s grave. There had not been any sightings of them, hide nor hair, since her father tried to convince them to come back.

They were still wearing that thick, furred coat even in the heat. Summer was in full swing. She worried about heat stroke.

(Heat stroke wouldn't matter if she couldn’t get them to listen. They’d die of exposure or bears or starvation if they didn’t quit this stupid running schtick.)

“Deputy,” Carmina called softly, letting her footfalls sound louder than they usually did. She wasn't eager to get shot full of arrows because the person her parents told her so much about got jumpy.

The Deputy was standing over Rush’s grave silently in the fading light. She couldn’t see their hands- they were standing with their arms held in front of them, maybe clasping their hands. She didn’t know if they ever prayed.

They stiffened at her voice but didn’t turn. They didn’t run.

“Deputy, we all know that’s you in there.” She inched forward cautiously, as if the person in front of her was the scared child, not her. They shook their head and made a rasping groan of denial.

“Yes, you are.” Carmina admonished gently. “You’re not the Judge. You’re not anything he made you.”

The Deputy looked at her then and Carmina’s heart clenched tight. Their mask was covered in grime, caked in dirt and blood. There were cracks and fissure in the material (was it wood? Plastic? She could never get close enough to tell). Their neck was stained with what was either tear-tracks or sweat. Maybe both. Their jacket was spattered with gore and stank to high heaven- the Dep probably hadn’t bathed in at least a few days, simply hunting and foraging and picking flowers instead. They were holding a few lilies- flowers for a grave.

One of the lenses in the mask was missing. Through the hole it created Carmina could finally see one bright eye. It blinked at her. The Deputy shook their head.

“He’s gone,” Carmina stepped even closer. They didn’t move. She risked a hand on their bicep; she could feel them trembling. “It’s over. You made sure of that.”

With her other hand, Carmina pressed the bunch of flowers she’d brought into the Deputy’s palms.

“Rose leaves say you can hope,” Carmina explained gently- unneeded, to be sure, but she had the idea that if she stopped talking the Dep might just book it. “And tea roses say we’ll never forget you. Stock, for the bonds of affection and to remind you you’ll always be with us. Star of Bethlehem for “reconciliation.” White jasmine for “sweet love,” and goldenrod for “encouragement.” And finally-”

She pulled one stem from the rest and reached to tuck it, safe and sound, into the hood and behind the Deputy’s ear. “White daisies: for rebirth.”

The Deputy moaned quietly and dropped their head. Their shoulders quaked as they sobbed weakly behind the mask. Carmina held them lightly, carefully, against her shoulder. She turned her head to speak directly into their ear. “It’s okay now, Dep. It’s time to come in from the cold. It’s time to come home.”

[foxpunk]

// vent thing, int if u read

been listening to Landslide a lot lately but not in like...the context it was written in?? and more like. applying it to my own struggles, esp regarding abuse n shit. which! probs isnt entirely healthy but my minds stuck on it so hopefully spewiing it all here will get it Out of my mind for now

its a good song for like. growing past something traumatizing. esp when youre very. very young when the trauma starts (n keeps goin).

like. can definitely relate to being scared of changing cause i was forced to build my life around an abuser for most of my life. and not knowing if this Me is Really me or just. something Else something Other. not having anything solid and not really knowing who *i* am cause if you take away what i built myself around wont i just be a shell? if you strip away the fence that the vines grew around, wont they just fall and die? all i know is what im Not n what i Cant be and thats no basis for a healthy identity but thats all ive got aside from longing to be something else. acting on that longing is terrifying but i gotta take the first step if i wanna know the answer right?

and while my reflection being washed away in a landslide is terrifying, and not knowing who or what ill see looking back at me in the mirror every time i look is terrifying, and feeling like im crumbling apart and taking everything around em down with me is terrifying, and having a constantly shifting n fuckt up view of myself/my body due to abuse (on top of like, trans stuff) is terrifying, its also kinda like. it Could be uplifting if i ever took control of that landslide and decided for myself yeah enough w this im starting fresh and like a new layer of snow slowly smoothing out the previous landslide i can heal. maybe

and the whole. “mirror in the sky what is love?” not knowing what love is is!! big oof!! even now that ive surrounded myself with support i Constantly Doubt the love i give and recieve. especially the giving part. just questioning Myself cause what if im so twisted i cant really love? what if i cant give back what i get? what if im doing it wrong, what if im just hurting others, what if its not enough, what if they dont feel appreciated cause i cant love them enough or properly or Whatever the heck. constantly questioning my own ability to love and be loved because i didnt receive actual love for Fucking Decades almost and didnt grow up around a n y healthy relationships What So Ever and its! Wild! its not great!! i dont wanna do that!! i wanna be able to trust when my friends and chosen family and boyfriends tell me they love me! like Actually trust and hold onto that happy feeling it gives me, and not lose it to some!! messed up doubt every time.

and o o f “can the child in my heart rise above?” hoooo boy. wow. yowza. ouch! that line is. real big for childhood abuse. especially cause part of me always feels. Stuck back then. in my earliest memories of my abuse. which. isnt a Lot cause theres Huge gaps in my memory cause Trauma and also cause it started when i was. SuperYoung so memory retention aint great anyways. but. digress. like. can i get past this, can All of me eventually grow past this, can i ever adjust? its so scary to navigate n all so turbulent and it feels like its too much change!! but!! i Want to change and in this case the change would be towards somethng Good so even if its scary to even try i Gotta

anyways!!

if you read all that damn rip ur eyes cause my thought process was not sorted thru At All this is 100% pure vent i just spewed out n didnt stop typing til i finished cause i needed it Out of me, so it makes like, little to no sense to whoevers reading this probs cause it jumps around a fair deal

theres no conclusion to this so yeah, yee haw, bye

[dragonwitch77]

Death’s Flower ch 2

“Stupid kid. Stupid gods.” Snatcher grumbled, stomping down the seamlessly endless steps that descended down to his realm. A realm that only housed beings that had left the mortal world for good, where there is nowhere else to go when their life came to an end. A domain that had many names.

The Underworld. The Realm of the Death. The Underground. The Forsaken Place. The Domain of the Snatcher.

Pretty much those names were enough to fill in the mortals and gods alike of what was down there. Being the God of Death, souls of mortals were sent to his domain to be dealt with after their parting from the living world. It was his sole duty alone to do this task, whether he liked it or not.

And he didn’t mind it one bit.

In fact he liked that he was the God of Death. If it meant that others feared him and left him alone, then he didn’t mind reaping a couple hundred souls each day. It was fun to see others squirm in his presence, fearing when he might snap and attack them or prank them out of the blue. He may be the God of Death, but he had to have some fun once in a while.

He took in the site of his world as he reached the final step, standing on it as his eyes gazed over the world he ruled. Some would say that his domain was a dark place that didn’t even have a speck of light in it, but he could prove them wrong once they saw what a wonder his world was. It was like a kingdom of darkness, the only light coming from the pools filled with souls he had yet to judge, varying from bluish greens to deep purples and sky blue. As long as it wasn’t too colorful, his world was perfect.

“Boss! Boss!”

Almost perfect.

“What is it?” Snatcher sighed, stepping off the final step, letting the earth return to its natural state as it closed up behind him for another year before he could leave again.

His minion, one of many identical beings that swore their service to him, fell to the ground in front of him in a clumsy manor. Picking themselves up, they stood tall, or as tall as their pudgy small round body could only reach the height just half way to his knee. “Boss! Thank the Sisters you’re back! We just got a new batch of souls! It seems like a bunch a them had drowned.”

Snatcher rolled his eyes, sighing heavily. “That’s the third time this month. Honestly, how many idiotic mortals are going to die before they realize that fishing out in a storm is NOT a good idea?!” He walked past the minion, grumbling to himself as he went deep into his domain. “What’s the status on our current pools?”

“W-well, we’ve managed to sort out all the young and old into the pools they should go in. Few have tried to escape.” The minion followed behind him, listing off the things that had happened while the deathly ruler was gone. “The dogs were getting restless after you left so we set them lose on some damned souls to keep them occupied. A child recently died of an illness. Someone was stabbed to death. Moonjumper is here. And we still—OOF!”

The minion fell backwards, looking up at the long black hair of their master.

“I’m sorry.” The minion coward as Snatcher slowly turned around, his eyes illuminating in the darkness, staring down the minion. “Did I hear that right? Did you just say, Moon. Jumper. Is here?!” A deep growl emanated within Snatcher’s throat as his cape began dancing with power.

“I-I-I-I-I’M SORRY! We tried to send him away but he wouldn’t listen!” The minion shook with fear as the dark serge of Snatcher’s power radiated. “He insisted that he needed to see you urgently, but you weren’t here!”

“WHERE IS HE?!”

“AT THE TEMPLE! HE’S IN THE TEMPLE!” The minion openly wept as Snatcher growled with rage, running towards his home.

)*(

The home of the God of Death was, as the other gods described it, not as fancy or well lavished as all the other homes of the other gods and goddesses. It wasn’t made out of white stone marble, but black cracking earth and vines with sharp thorns that held it together. It was just as big as any home fit for a god, maybe even bigger than the rest of them, but was not very appealing to look at with crumbling pillars, broken floors, skeletons of the many deceased used for decorations and furniture, and bodies of past intruders hung on the ceiling to show as an example.

But while the other gods and goddesses would find the thought of going to such place disturbing if not revolting, there was in fact one god who did not mind Snatcher’s strange taste of design.

And the only god to get on his nerves.

“MOONJUMPERRRRR!” Snatcher screamed as he burst open the doors of his home, forgetting to restrain himself as his power tore the rotten wood off their hinges and clatter to the ground in pieces.

“Ah! So he finally arrives! Though I can see he’s quite angry as a beehive!”

Snatcher growled as he spotted the god sitting in his favorite chair with a bowl of grapes in his hand. “What are you doing here you pathetic excuse of a god?! You aren’t allowed in the Underworld without permission from me!”

The god merely grinned, plucking a grape and popping it in his mouth. “Permission from you? Oh how silly but true. While indeed most do, I however can pop in out of the blue.”

Snatcher stormed his way up to Moonjumper, slamming his claws into the seat’s armrests and growled dangerously. “I REALLY insist that you stop with your ridiculous habit of rhymes you—”

“Temper temper! There’s no need of this distemper!” Moonjumper rose from the seat, shoving the bowl in Snatcher’s hands. “I only came for a visit! Now that’s not such a crime, is it?”

The god giggled, going around Snatcher as he threw the bowl filled with fruit away. Most would say that the two were look similar to one another. But while their faces did seem to mirror each other, that is where the similarity ended. While Snatcher was thin, bony, pale skinned, golden eyes, had wild long hair that reached to the floor, covered in darkness and wore pants, Moonjumper was a class of his own with his short pure white hair, blue skin, bright red colored clothing with chains wrapped around his torso and neck, wild red eyes, and scars covering his face.

And majorly legless. Everyone could spot the lack of legs from miles away. And it was no secret to how he lost them in the first place.

“You little pest! How many times do I have to beat it in you that I do not want you here?! You have your own domain! Go use that instead of here!”

“I do not wish to be this pestering! I only dropped by to see what your mind is festering.” Moonjumper grinned, floated around Snatcher. “You seemed quite tense, I should know. Tell me, what’s bothering you so?”

“I don’t need to tell the likes of you!” Snatcher shoved past Moonjumper. “I know your tricks God of Corpses! Don’t think for a second that I won’t know what you’re up to!”

“But that is not true! I really came to see you!” Moonjumper followed him, keeping a distance between them in case the Death God decided to get a little… slashy. “Say all you want with your skilled tongue of lies, I can see it in your sad eyes.”

“Stop following me.” Snatcher growled. “I’ve already got enough to deal with, and your visit is not helping.”

“Indeed all this talking isn’t much help. Shouldn’t you be searching for the thieving little whelp?”

Snatcher froze in his tracks. He slowly looked over his shoulder, glaring at the other god behind him. “How… did you know something was stolen from me?”

Moonjumper clicked his tongue, waging his finger at Snatcher. “Oh silly Snatcher, can’t you see? There’s a connection between you and me. Though knowledge and memories we do not share, you tend to let you emotions go wild without care. Though it was only just very brisk, I could feel that the balance of the world is at great risk.” He grabbed to cloak that Snatcher never took off, pulling it up so that the tear was visible for both of them to see.

“For such a precious item that you deeply tend with care, seems that someone defiled it with a horrible tear.”

Snatcher swatted Moonjumper’s hands away, tugging the cloak close to him.

“This act is quite shameful, but who is very blameful? Mortal or god? This act has got me quite awed! For stealing a piece of the cloak that belongs to none other than you Snatcher, must be feeling deep satisfactory and rapture.”

“If it were a mere mortal that stole from me, they would die instantly when they touch the piece even by a little.” Snatcher glared at the tear. “No mortal can do such a task and get away with this without consequences. Even with help from another god, the task is impossible.”

“Ah! But to have a piece taken under your nose and gone! It seems that impossible was in fact improbable along.”

Snatcher shot a dirty look at Moonjumper. “… I don’t have time to deal with you. I have work that needs my attendance.” With that he stormed off, leaving Moonjumper to giggle madly at nothing.

)*(

“Thank you for coming Caitlin. I know this was sudden with what happened earlier today and with your help with the guests.”

“It’s no trouble! I was happy to help! Plus, I hadn’t had the chance to use my whip on someone for a long time now so I felt it was necessary for some practice.” Caitlin grinned, patting her trusted whip hooked on her belt. “Besides, I wanted to see the little cutie again~! I just can’t get enough of his tiny little fingers~!” The goddess purred, making Zaman laugh happily.

“Yes. Lyvia has certainly made a cute… child…”

“… Is something the matter?” Caitlin asked, noticing the sad look in Zaman’s three eyes.

“It’s nothing old friend. Just… Lyvia never showed any deep desire for anything other than looks before. I knew she had a soft spot for children, but… to go this far to make one. Without a partner no doubt. I… I honestly don’t know how to feel! I would never allow her to sleep with any man of course! She’s still too… too arrogant I fear. I feel like she only did it for attention and has no real desire to care for her daughter.”

“Zaman, old friend, do not worry!” Caitlin took Zaman’s hand between hers, grasping it tightly. “Your daughter is taking a big step. Motherhood is rewarding and learning. She will learn to be less immodest as she cares for her new child and learn to take her responsibility well. She now has someone who will depend on her and rely on her to take care of them. I’ve seen plenty of new mothers in my time and she’s no different.”

“But what if she strays from her duty as a mother? Children need constant care after all. I would know this well when Lyvia was but a small child herself and I had to raise her on my own.”

“Ah, but that is where you are wrong dear friend. You were not alone! You had friends who were willing to help. And now, your daughter has friends that are willing to help her raise her child when she is in need of that help.” She gave her friend’s hand a squeeze.

Zaman sighed, shaking his head with a smile. “You… are a very wise old friend. And very right. I’m still worried about her, but I will give her a chance at being a mother.” His smile grew wide as his three eyes gleamed with a spark of giddiness in them. “And it will be a joy to be a grandfather. After all, someone needs to spoil my grandchild!”

“Oh you!” Caitlin slapped his arm in good fun as the God of Time roared with laughter.

“Father? Caitlin? Can you come to the garden please?” Lyvia’s voice called out from the garden, catching both of the gods attention. They shared a look before heading over to the garden.

The garden was a beautiful place, filled with flowers and fruits, with decorations that wild the imagination of any mortal, and small animals that played in the trees and sang lovely songs gifted by the goddess herself. Lyvia was seated by the edge of one of the many lakes in the garden, watching the colorful fish swim about.

“Lyvia? Is something the matter child?” Zaman asked, approaching her quietly as her child was sleeping in her arms.

Lyvia continued to stare at the fish swimming in the water before slowly turning her gaze to the moon. “… Father? How, high are the walls surrounding the garden?”

Zaman, taken by surprise by the question, shared a glance with his old friend. “Well, very high my child. Why do you ask?”

Lyvia looked away from the fish, fixing her eyes on her father. “Is it not possible to make them higher? I… would like them to be taller.”

“Now why in the world would you want that? The walls surrounding the garden are very high already.” Caitlin questioned, one of her ears tilting down in confusion.

“I know they are high as they are now Caitlin. And you are right to question my sudden request.” Lyvia stood up slowly so not to disturb her child’s rest. “But, please understand. It’s for my child’s safety.”

“The walls are tall enough for you not to worry for her safety my daughter. I made them myself and with the finest builders! Why has this worry come upon you?”

“…”

“… It’s… because of him, isn’t it?” Caitlin’s ear flattened against her head, her tail dipping down low to the ground.

Zaman sighed. “Lyvia—”

“Please father! After what happened today, I’m worried for her safety! Not fearing the God of Death is one thing, but to laugh in his face is another! Have you ever met someone who has laughed in the face, the actual face, of death himself?”

Zaman’s mouth hung open, yet no words came out. “… well… no. I can not tell you who has done such a thing.”

“Exactly! You both have told me what he is like. He will not take this lightly! What if he tries to do harm to my child? Or worse, kill her?”

“Now now! There’s no need to worry about that!” Zaman placed his hands on Lyvia’s shoulders. “Snatcher has used his one day of walking on the surface of the living. And he may be the God of Death, but he’s never taken a life of a god before!”

“But… but what about the Dark Days?”

The two older gods cringed, looking away from Lyvia.

“… Snatcher… does tend to hold a bit of a grudge against others.” Caitlin spoke quietly, her tail swishing to and fro. “I’ve seen firsthand of what he can do when he’s pushed far enough. He can turn things rather ugly real quick.”

Zaman sighed, rubbing his neck. “He’s an unpredictable one. With a variety of tricks up his sleeve.”

“Please build the wall higher father! My child must be protected from his wrath!”

Zaman glanced at his daughter, looking deep into her pleading eyes and found great worry deep within them. He looked to his grandchild, seeing the peaceful look on her sleeping face. So innocent and untainted by the world.

“… fine.” Zaman sighed with reluctance. “I shall see to it that the wall gets built taller.”

“Thank you father!” Lyvia threw her arm around her father, hugging him tightly. “Thank you! Thank—Oh!” Lyvia pulled back as her child started to cry. “My poor baby, did mommy startle you? Oh, I’m sorry.” She rocked herself, heading off for her chambers.

Caitlin watched as the young goddess walked away, turning to her old friend with a deep frown on her face. “Would building the walls higher even make a difference? Snatcher is a crafty one and you know that walls won’t stop him if he really will go after her child.”

Zaman rubbed his chin, stroking his small beard. “He is crafty. Too cleaver for my taste, and, dare I say, smarter than me and the Sisters. And terrifyingly dangerous. I wouldn’t be surprised if he tries anything, but I’m sure he wouldn’t try anything so soon. But then again. It wouldn’t hurt to prepare and add a little guard to the place.”

“Yes, but would it be enough to stop him? He can be very persistent on his tasks, nothing will sway him from what he sets his mind on.” Caitlin huffed. “To think… he was once one of us on equal ground.”

“Now now. The past is behind us all Caitlin. What happened, happened. There’s nothing we can do now but more forward with time of the future.”

“… Zaman… how… how can you be the only god I know who doesn’t hold on to the past without a deep grudge? Everyone else seems to still hold it against him for what he’s done but you—”

“Caitlin, let’s just say for now that we all were young back then. Snatcher may almost be as old as me and older than you, but sometimes, you have to look at all angles before you see the whole picture.”

Caitlin stared at her friend for a moment before sighing and shaking her head. “I love you old fool, but sometimes, even with the clearness of a cat, you still remain a big mystery to me.”

Zanam smiled. “Because too much curiosity can kill the cat.” He laughed as Caitlin gave him a solid punch to the arm, leading her back inside for a few drinks before seeing her off that night.

[wardencommanderrodimiss]

Chapter Six: Flashback, one of two, and also Maya’s in it

[Beginning] [Chapter Masterlist]

“Hey, Chief, question: so murder’s murder even if it’s one of the Fair F -- the fae, who’s murdered.”

“Murder is murder when a person is killed, accounting for manslaughter, accidental death, and the like -- honestly, Phoenix, you just think a person doesn’t count?”

“No! I mean, like… It just surprises me, is all, that you would let a human court arbitrate it and not just…”

“Revenge ourselves on the suspected killer with our magics in our home realm?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s always a possibility -- but it’s far too messy. That sort of thing tends to drag others who are far outside of the disagreement into the fighting, by way of networks of alliances, and before you know it there’s a full war that began because of a stupid crime of passion in a human bar. Some time before me, our Courts decided that humans and your courts and laws are the closest to fair, neutral judgment available, and that we would abide by their verdicts. Oh, certainly humanity was not consulted, but it is to your benefit to investigate the killings of fae, so as the allies of the deceased will not strike a curse down on all who were in the vicinity. And besides, you don’t think that, if humanity agreed that fae deaths won’t be tried, that rule wouldn’t be abused? That any man might claim his neighbor was one of the Fair Folk and killing him does not ‘count’ -- that any mother might throw her child in a fire because it acted just the slightest bit strange and claim that its life was forfeit on her suspicion?”

“You say that humans are fair and then list out all that. Neutral, with our lying and biases and stupid foolhardy impulsive actions--”

“Other than lies, we have the same faults, but so often magnified. We are impulsive and petty and cruel, with bias bred into our bloodlines -- it is an imperfect decision, as we are imperfect, as you are imperfect, as I have found even your laws to be. We make do with our best. It is all we have, in the end.”

-

A cold iron stake through the heart will kill anyone, not just one of the fae.

The same, Phoenix thinks, would go for an iron bullet through the forehead.

It’s not that he doesn’t know what Magnifi was -- Zak told him that from the beginning, and Pearl’s gift confirms for him that he wasn’t lying. And even without it, he could still see the lingering traces that Zak was a witch -- once. Their powers fade quickly when their patron is gone. He knows that without asking.

If it should matter, though, there is no way to prove to anyone else what Magnifi was.

Fae corpses don’t leave evidence. If they leave a corpse at all -- most do, but not all, and those deaths by their nature are never judged but in the Courts of Kurain, if the dead has the allies to bring the matter forth -- it is indistinguishable from a human’s, a last residual enchantment to make sure they cannot be ignored or dismissed.

Or to fuck with those left behind, as Phoenix comes to understand of Magnifi.

The evidence of the trial made that much obvious: one shot to the forehead; you cannot refuse, and we both know the reason why. A final cruelty to impart on those whom he bargained with -- and why wouldn’t he? If he knew he was dying -- of age, a curse from another, whatever it was -- the Gramarye witches would outlast him. And even if his death would take their powers away, the fae never like to feel that they’ve been cheated. One last indignity: don’t forget what you lost forever to make a bargain with me.

There is a lot Phoenix does not know, answers he is still seeking, but this, he understands. The nature of the fae, he understands.

The Bar Association suspends his badge pending inquiry, the hearing scheduled for one short week after the trial. News travels fast about Phoenix, ever since von Karma, ever since Gant, two pillars of the legal system he brought crumbling down, and the prosecution already had done half of their inquiry for them, placing Drew Misham in the courtroom with a speed that made Phoenix’s head spin. His memories of the trial are patchy, direly so, when it comes to the diary page -- how he got it, why he didn’t find it too suspicious to present -- and that will be his own inquiry: who fooled him, and how. It probably wasn’t Zak; it very likely could have been Gavin, a prodigy looking to make a name for himself, with enough enchantments and glamours to make it happen. He is human at the core and nowhere else, but the old adage, foot in each world, doesn’t seem so true, not when he drapes himself in iron jewelry like he thinks it can ground him firmly on this side of the veil.

Phoenix doesn’t trust him -- Phoenix has five people whom he personally trusts -- but he can’t condemn him, not yet. Not without more evidence.

The first lead he chases down is the forger himself, Drew Misham. (No, not himself.) The forger is his daughter, Vera, a shy, sickly little girl, and a changeling besides. Drew seems to know, but he won’t say it outright -- Vera is “exceptionally talented”, “a genius”, and he never makes eye contact with Phoenix. She was the only one to see the client’s face, and whoever it was has done a good job of convincing her to clam up. A gentle smile, she says. Like an angel, but for the briefest of moments -- a slip in the upkeep of a glamour? -- Vera saw the devil.

Not exactly helpful, and definitely worrying when compounded with the secret charm that she won’t show, but she does tell him that she lays an enchantment on all of her forgeries -- not in those exact words. Phoenix isn’t even sure that she realizes what she is, that her powers are not human.

Valant is the second he speaks with, at the detention center where he has been interred for trying to pin the murder on Zak. Talking to him -- or maybe it’s that Phoenix retrieved the magatama to keep with him on this investigation -- brings one memory into sharper focus -- the girl, the little girl, Zak’s daughter, as human as her father but draped in magic even when it was fading from Magnifi’s two pupils. And that is definitely worrying, too; Phoenix has stumbled sightlessly into the dark, and something monstrous is lurking in it.

He nearly misses his hearing -- an unnecessary formality because there wasn’t one among them, except apparently Kristoph Gavin, who hadn’t decided that Phoenix’s badge would be gone at the end of it -- trying to track down Trucy. The Gramaryes were an elusive coven -- Valant tried to make a cursory protest on the terminology, “Troupe! We were not…”, and Phoenix broke the single lock by just staring him down until he rescinded his words -- who were never found by those desperate enough to seek them out, but instead would appear to them in the midst of their search. If they had a home base, Valant won’t say, and no one else in the world knows. Zak’s daughter, Trucy is her name, could be anywhere in the city, anywhere beyond the city, out to the mountains of Kurain, and Phoenix might never find her.

Getting an answer from her about who she received the diary page from would be a bonus; Phoenix is more concerned for her sake. He was only able to briefly See her, but he didn’t like the glimpse.

This is going to take some assistance.

The first thing he can unearth in his apartment that can make a circular shape is an extension cord; he drags it out to the kitchen and sets a cold half of a ground beef patty on a plate in the center. The fake candles are back at the office, but that is an unneeded trifle -- funny, but unnecessary. “Maya,” he says, stepping back from the circle and closing his eyes, “there is someone I need your help to find.”

A cold gust of wind batters against his face. When he opens his eyes, the room has filled with a slowly-dispersing purple mist, twisting in strands around the fae standing in the circle. She has gained an extra pair of eyes since he last saw her, smaller slits right along the browbone, all four glowing red. The remaining mist settles about her head like hair or the headdress of royalty, not quite blending with the void-black tendrils that frame her face. One of them extends, almost like an extra arm made of shadow, down to the floor, snatching up the burger and tossing it into her mouth. She grins, the truest cheshire smile Phoenix has ever seen, stretching literally from pointed ear to ear, displaying dozens of huge sharp fangs. “Hey Nick!”

Immediately she turns to face the refrigerator right behind her. “Are you holding out on me? That was a lame burger just now.”

“Cut me some slack. I just lost my badge. I’m trying not to burn my savings on food too quickly.”

She cocks her head, still staring at the fridge. The mist doesn’t move with her like something part of her should. “Where’d you have it last?” she asks. “If you lost it at the office, Sis will probably have it on your desk in the next couple days.”

Ah. Literalism. The main weapon and weakness both of the fae. “No, I mean -- I was disbarred. I am no longer allowed to work as a lawyer--”

He stops when he sees Maya’s face. She has finally looked at him and her expression, however hard to parse it can be, shifts rapidly, the briefest flash of something like horror that twists into fury, a contorted, monstrous rage. “Who did this to you?” she snarls, and he didn’t know he looked, physically, that bad, or that she knew how to read the depths of his exhaustion and despair from his aura. “You want my help to hunt them down and eat their hearts?”

“No! No, that’s not what I want!”

“Oh.” She frowns. “I would throw it in for free.”

“No!” He bends down to break the circle and stops. “On the condition of not eating any part of a person, I let you leave.”

“For the duration of this summoning, you have my word,” she replies. He could -- should -- argue that, try and make it a blanket deal for eternity, but he decides they can negotiate that some other time. For now, he has what he needs, and he unwinds the extension cord.

When Maya steps forth, the glamour settles over her in a wave, the mist hanging over her settling into glossy black hair, her two smallest eyes vanishing and the others whitening and gaining dark irises, her mouth shrinking, and the four small glowing orbs that drift lazily about her face sink down to become four large beads of a necklace. And then she looks like an ordinary girl, late teens or early twenties, her hair done up in a topknot and her smile small but still toothy and just a little too sharp. “So who is it that you want to find?” she asks. She frowns, but it seems like such a minute motion compared to moments ago. “Is your prosecutor in trouble again, too?”

“No; that was last month.”

And he leaves her hanging on that one and they sit at the kitchen table while he instead begins to explain his own case, his own worst situation, and the Gramaryes. She repeats Magnifi’s name to herself after he says it, again and again until her voice loses its human quality, sounding instead like the clatter of bells or a windchime, until suddenly she snaps back. “This fae you call Magnifi -- he was banished, many years ago, stripped of his power with his name and cursed to never return.”

“Why?”

“He strove for power and made those who had that power very mad,” she answers. “And so -- ouch.” She picks at some stain on the table and Phoenix winces, anticipating her leaving claw marks gouged into the wood. “He had a daughter. No other allies besides her -- she left with him, naturally.”

“Thalassa,” Phoenix says. Maya nods. “It was a far fall for him, huh, to end up where he did. Probably all he had left was the power trip over Zak and Valant, and all they had was pretending that they weren’t witches sworn to some bastard.”

“That’s the funny part of it, kinda,” Maya says. “They didn’t even credit him, when they were saying they can perform spells for whatever sorry suckers show up hoping for a miracle -- they were just like ‘yeah, no fae involved, ignore that guy, we won’t screw you out of a deal’. And they by being like that probably screwed him out of dozens more deals with sad desperate humans. No wonder he decided his death should be one last one-over on them.”

Sitting cross-legged in her chair, her hands in her lap, she leans it back to balance impossibly on two legs. She likes to cause the double-take, to force Edgeworth or Franziska or whoever else to look twice at the way she twists the world around her. “And you’re looking for his granddaughter?” she asks. “Not his daughter?”

“Thalassa is dead,” Phoenix says. “And Trucy isn’t, yet, so yes, I’m looking for Trucy.”

“I’m vaguely flattered that you think I’m powerful enough that I can just find her, just like that,” Maya says. She doesn’t wobble. “It’s not so easy, not here in this realm, not without knowing her true name.” “Trucy Enigmar,” Phoenix says. “Or Trucy Gramarye.” Maya rolls her eyes. “I need to know which, Nick.” Names have more power in the Twilight Realm. It’s why Mia, even trying to be human, stumbled on names that weren’t Phoenix, the human whose life she owned, and Dahlia, the fae she defeated. It’s why Iris only ever called him Feenie. It was the kindest gesture she could make. In the same fashion, Maya calls him Nick. They don’t own him, not entirely, though they could. “It’s only two choices. You can’t guess?” “No. I need to know.” Half of magic is certainty, Maya and Dahlia so certain they have the world at their fingertips, Iris so much meeker and weaker than her sister, Vera knowing little about herself but knowing that once instructed she can create anything and that is all she needs to know. And Valant, weaker, because he was so sure he was second-best, a self-fulfilling prophecy, the only kind of prophecy that Phoenix ever sees. A spell can’t be cast on a guess. “Is there anything you can do if you go back to the Twilight Realm?” Phoenix asks. “Hm.” Maya holds her hands up, palms facing each other, and a purple glow begins to form around them. Then she claps them together and the light vanishes, her eyes glinting red for a moment in the sterile light of his kitchen. “I’ll ask Sis for help, first.” It has started to rain when they leave Phoenix’s apartment. Biking in this weather is unfortunate enough, but Maya insists on balancing herself on the handlebars, right in Phoenix’s line of sight, and this would be the most embarrassing way for Phoenix to die after everything he has been through. They are both soaked through to the skin but only fell once by the time they arrive at the office. The lights are already on and the heat is blasting a literal warm welcome. “Hey, Sis!” Maya calls into the silence. No answer comes forth, of course, but the smile on Maya’s face is one that shows her to be more at ease than in a long time. “I could use some help! Nick’s trying to steal a kid.” “I’m trying to help her,” Phoenix objects. “Honestly, Maya.” “Yeah, yeah.” Maya twirls through the office and her hair doesn’t move like it is heavy with water, or even like it has the weight of that much hair. She stops at the shelves of law books that Phoenix has meant to read for two and a half years and never did, running her fingers down the spines but not stopping at any of them and proceeding on to the binders and file folders full of Mia’s case references and research materials that Phoenix hasn’t known how to sort and get rid of. “Somewhere here,” she mutters, “maybe there’s something.” Phoenix gives her a moment to offer one before he asks for an explanation. “After our mother left,” she says, “Sis at some point moved some of the royal records out of the Twilight Realm. I think she was worried about our aunt getting her hands on them.” The pages turn without Maya touching them. Her bangs and the hair framing her face sway as though there is a gentle wind to tousle them. “But… nope.” She stops on a page and squints down at it, only to resume flipping a few seconds later. “This Magnifi of yours, his true name – it wasn’t just taken, but erased. There’s not even an echo for me to work from.” The binder slams shut and is tossed over her shoulder without her moving her hand. “If these witches were well-enough known, how did people usually find them?” “They didn’t,” Phoenix says. “Anyone who went looking for them, they would eventually appear to.” “Huh,” Maya says. “Well, we’ve got two options, now!” Phoenix is already bracing himself to hear them. “We can go out and wander until I find us a likely trail, or you can put up some – uh, wanted posters.” “Wanted? For the Old West, maybe, but—” “Then, a ‘lost kid’ kinda thing. You do that, right? With the description, and the phone number, and the reward money.” “That’s for pets.” “It could be for kids. Don’t let your narrow-minded cultural assumptions box you in.” “Ah.” Sometimes, Phoenix has no idea what the hell she is talking about. “If we’ve got to make a grid search of the city, we’d better get started.” Maya hops up onto the couch and pushes the curtains aside to look out at the rain. “Maya, do you know how big Los Angeles is?” She looks back at him with her head cocked. “No,” she says. “How big?” Again they set out, on foot this time. “We’re helping her by stealing her,” Maya says, jumping squarely into a puddle and splashing muddy streetwater up Phoenix’s jeans. “It’s not either-or.” She tilts her head back, face to the clouds that are darkening from gray to black as night falls. “I bet Sis can save her, like she did you.”

Streetlamps flicker as they pass, and in those brief spurts of shadow, Maya’s shape flickers too.

She leads him down streets he didn’t know existed, past storefronts that look long-abandoned, with neon signs still glowing in the windows but not the puddles they should be reflected in. “You definitely were enchanted, by the way,” she adds. “I can still see the residue.”

“It’s been a week,” Phoenix says.

“Well, double-layered enchantments are harder to shake off and take longer to fade.” She shakes her head. “You were doomed as soon as you took that paper, without anyone to help you. You’re only human, after all.”

“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, I know.” A cheap, sad ball bounced back and forth between players of a game whose rules he doesn’t understand, then as in now, a pawn dragged to the other side of the board to be crowned a knight and turned back again.

“What did you say this coven called themselves, again?” Maya asks, when they’ve been out for a little more than an hour, Phoenix soaked through to the bone, Maya having given up the illusion that weather affects her the way it does mere mortals. Her skin does not shine wet in the light. Her hair still flutters like a ribbon with the breeze of passing cars.

“Gramarye.”

“The name itself might be an invocation,” she says.

“What, like ‘Bloody Mary’ three times in the mirror and she’ll--”

Maya squints at him. “I don’t know anyone who uses that moniker,” she says, very seriously. “Is that a meme?”

Phoenix regrets teaching her about memes, for many more reasons than this, but also specifically for this. “The -- the belief is that you say her name three times and she’ll appear behind you in the mirror.” He turns to his reflection, staring back at him out of the dark window of a closed-down ramen shop. “Gramarye,” he says firmly, despite feeling a little silly, and doubting that the reflection is even necessary. “Gramarye, Gramarye.”

“That’s not a mirror,” Maya says.

“I don’t wear makeup so I’m not going to just have one in my pocket--” Something flashes in the storefront window and Phoenix glances back. Something is glowing, a small pink light, and he figures that some neon sign in the shop has sputtered back to life until it moves, flitting about like a moth thumping up against a lamp. He looks back over his shoulder. There, down at the end of the block, the light is dancing up above the street. “Maya, look,” he says, nudging her, not even sure why he’s pointing it out but compelled to. “What’s that? We should go look—”

“Nope!” She grabs his arm and yanks him back. He hadn’t realized he ha started walking, toward it, until she stopped him. “What’d we just talk about, Nick?”

“Bloody Mary? Or that I’m only human?” The light pulses, brighter and softer, but never too bright that the glare is jarring in the dark and the rain.

“Yes! That without me you walk right into enchantments!”

“An enchantment?” He looks again at the light, really looks, but nothing about its shape or color changes and he takes another step forward. The edges of his vision are blurry, like he is staring through a sheet of falling water, and he should be able to see something—

He didn’t see anything suspicious about the diary page, either. Glancing over at Maya, his stomach momentarily turns over at the sight of the pale claws on his arm. “It’s trying to lead you astray,” she says, and even when she isn’t grinning, her full shark’s mouth of several rows of teeth is made visible, and she tugs at his arm again. “Back this way.”

The light bobs back and forth, sashaying forward as Phoenix moves away from it. “A will o’ the wisp?” he asks.

Maya nods. “A distraction,” she says, very seriously. “This is all very clever, actually.” One hand still closed around his upper arm -- he blinks and wills her claws to look like stubby nails and blunt fingertips again -- she pulls him back toward the storefront. “The doorway appears where there is a need, then the wisp distracts for the witch to step forth and seem to have just appeared from nowhere.” She reaches forward, touching a finger to the glass, and it wobbles and ripples like water, opening wider and wider a circle big enough to step through. “Because you can’t just teleport like that. There always has to be a door, but it adds to the illusion if it doesn’t look like there’s one.” Stepping to the side, she waves to usher Phoenix in first. He can see a stained wooden stairs descending, before they are swallowed up entirely by darkness. “Age before beauty!”

Even in the most human of her grins, he is reminded what she is.

Beneath his feet, the steps creak at every movement, the walls closing tighter and tighter as he descends, brushing against both of his shoulders at the same time. He fumbles forward, one hand stretched out groping blindly for an exit or a wall. Maya is prodding him in the back as they go -- “C’mon, Nick, you’re so slow!”

“I can’t see,” he protests, right as he walks straight into something solid, the impact of his hand against it jarring his entire body. “Ah.”

Maya’s hand brushes past his ear to reach over and tap the wall. With a loud scraping sound, a thin crack of light slowly spreads wider and wider, shifting aside to reveal the interior of a gaudy gilded room. It isn’t the decrepit shack he expected, no rats or exposed wires or broken furniture, but it still disgusts what slight aesthetic sense he has. Everything is gold, or red, or black, a collection of clashing decorative styles, Victorian-looking couches with abstract modernist tables and shelves, and a few implements that look like something from a circus, strange boxes and colorful flags and hula hoops.

Stage magic. Phoenix snorts.

Sitting on the couch, a blue plastic bowl in her hands, a spoonful of mac-and-cheese on its way to her mouth, is Zak’s daughter. “Oh!” she says brightly, through a mouthful of noodles. “Hi, Mr Lawyer! If I had known it was you I wouldn’t have let Mr Hat lead you away.”

Mr Hat? Phoenix mouths it at Maya, even though reasonably there is no way she will know what that means. She shrugs. “Hi Trucy,” he says, looking around for a place to sit and deciding he doesn’t trust anything in this place. “Your daddy hasn’t come back, has he?”

Her face falls. “No,” she says. “He hasn’t. But he told me I could trust you, Mr Lawyer!”

Why, Phoenix so desperately wants to ask, but he is trying to keep that trust and that question will not do him any good. “I did some digging to find out if you have any other family,” he says, trying to keep eye contact with her while also watching where he puts his feet. “And it didn’t seem like it, so I wondered if you wanted to stay with me for a little while -- until your daddy comes back.”

She nearly overturns her bowl trying to set it down. “So if I stay with you,” she says, “does that mean we’ll be family?”

“I, uh… I guess so?”

Maya is laughing quietly as she circles the room, plucking up the decorations on the mantles and setting them back down. “Who is she?” Trucy asks. “Will she be my new mommy?”

“Er -- no. No, no.”

Trucy’s face falls. “Oh,” she says. “Since my mommy disappeared years ago, I thought I might get a new one now too.”

“No,” Phoenix says, “she’s just -- a friend.” Sort of. As much as human and fae can ever be friends, without the tangle of deals and magic and curses that always litter those relationships. He’s heard of romantic couplings of fae and human -- ones genuinely built on love, he means -- but that was not his experience and he has no intention of repeating anything close to that situation.

“I’m Maya,” she says. “Nick and I have known each other for a few years now. You can trust him.” She grins. Trucy hasn’t recoiled from horror from her; it doesn’t appear that she has the Sight, and another quick glance over her confirms that. Phoenix hadn’t paid attention to that last time, distracted as he was by everything else that was going on, with her, and in general. Now he can see that her eyes don’t change, but marked around them is a teal glow, in the shape of a diamond, over each of her eyes like a variation on a domino mask. He can’t quite tell what it means; curses are always easier to read, a red slash across the throat only really meaning one thing.

In the meantime, until he can ask Maya out-of-earshot, he decides he should stop staring and instead deal directly with the situation he has invited upon himself. “Oh, Trucy? You don’t have to call me ‘Mr Wright’ or ‘Mr Lawyer’ or anything. You can just call me Nick if you want.” He scratches his head, as the depth of this is beginning to weigh on him. “Or even ‘Daddy’ someday, but not now if you don’t want to--”

“Okay, Daddy!”

Oh. Okay.

“I have to get my stuff, if I’m going to be living with you,” Trucy says. “I’ll be right back!”

She springs to her feet and runs off into the next room. Phoenix moves to follow her, not sure if this place won’t swallow them both up, never to be spat back out into the world. “It’s truth, if you’re wondering,” Maya says, opening an ancient-looking wooden cupboard and rifling around in it. “The blessing on her,” she adds, emerging with a pack of microwave mac-and-cheese that for some reason was stashed there, and tearing open the pack of cheese powder and shaking it into her mouth. “It probably doesn’t look quite the same as Pearly gave you, but I wouldn’t recommend lying to her.”

“I see,” he says.

“No, you didn’t See. You were wondering.” She grins again, and she swallows the package of pasta, plastic and all. Once she told him that she can unhinge her jaw like a snake to swallow anything as big as her head; he wishes that she could lie. He wishes that her sense of humor could extend beyond literalism into exaggerated falseholds.

He steps into the hall that Trucy disappeared down, just far enough to see her running from room to room, with the clattering of objects upended and tossed aside. “Do you need help carrying things?” he calls.

Trucy sticks her head back into the hall, beaming. “Nope!” she says proudly. “I have this!” She waves at him a huge pair of frilly pink bloomers, and part of him -- most of him -- does not want to ask, but he also does not want to trek back into this hideout when he finds out she didn’t bring any of her clothes. “My magic panties are better than any suitcase!”

“Can you… elaborate?”

She reaches in through the top of the bloomers and pulls forth a pink cape. “Oh,” he says, but she drops the cape in a heap on the floor and reaches again to bring out a t-shirt. “Okay, I see. Thank you.”

Maya has wandered into the kitchen area and is continuing to devour everything she can find in the cabinets. Phoenix decides against asking her to leave him some of it to bring home for him and Trucy now. “This really isn’t a liminal space, is it?” Phoenix asks. He would be able to see if it were, the way magic hangs in the very air in his office, the way Mia herself and the last traces of her life linger.

Maya shakes her head and sinks her teeth into three donuts stacked together like a hamburger. “Hidden by magic, but no closer to the Twilight Realm than anywhere else. She’d have at least a bit of the Sight if it were.” She leans up against the wall, watching Phoenix with eyes that glamour doesn’t quite have a hold over, flickering as they do to red. “But even then, she might still be too young to know to be afraid.”

[mauriacs]

In Memoriam: Alfred Goodall

{This is the true [and short] story of my great-great-uncle and his time in World War. I’ve tried to stay as close to what I’ve been told as possible, and I also haven’t proofread it, so good luck ;-;. Words: 2500 or something}

@james-saintvincent @aislirn @mezihvezdne @athenca

The [Extremely Short but True] Story of Alfred Goodall

He lied about his age to get into the trenches – probably out of fear of multiple things. Out of fear of what image it would give his family (a mentally and physically eligible son, not out fighting for his country?); out of fear that, if anything were to happen to them, he might never know what did happen to his Da and brothers if he wasn’t there to see it with this own two eyes; out of fear that he would never leave Sydenham, or at least London, and he would never get to see the sun rise in a different country – no matter the horrors going on in it.

The recruiting officer had raised an eyebrow as Alf’s voice broke on the first hello, and his family had been shocked, to say the least, but eventually, he and the rest of his regiment found their way into France. And sure, he did get to see the sunrise there – but through the eye-holes of his gas mask. Sure – he did see his Da and Art and William, but only visiting a heavily injured, hospitalised Art whose greetings swiftly turned into awful, hacking coughs (gas, you see). And his family now had all the possible male figures in the war, but all he could think about was how scared they must be; back home, all the way in fucking Sydenham.

At some point, he went over the top. Despite his previous excitement about ‘getting some of the action’, his visit to the hospital to see Art had turned these thoughts on their head. He was bloody terrified – but it wasn’t as if he could turn around and run. In his mind, he was condemned to die either way he went, so he might as well forge forth into the mud-and-blood-bath spreading before him. Somehow, the first time, he managed to make it back to the trench – and despite the scuttering rats and the piss-poor conditions, he had never felt more grateful. He thanked God that night.

However, at some point in late 1917, there was no God on his side, it appeared, as he watched first his friends and then his own leg crumble and cripple around him. There was no God on his side as his fall was broken by the squelching mud and his scream drowned by the same sounds surrounding him.

He lay there in the crump-hole, for what seemed like an age, waiting for the ‘bright light’ to shine over and collect him into where-ever he was going to go, After. Nothing appeared. The only change seemed to be that the guns had moved away slightly, and the pain in his leg had gotten much worse. The only things surrounding him were the corpses (Oh god, oh god, oh god) caught in the painful, unforgiving barbed wire and, of course, the deep, swallowing mud.

Later, just as the sun changed positions and the moon began to take its place, a voice broke into his feverish reverie. It was yelling-- something? Had the bullet-wound already been infected? Was it affecting his brain? Why couldn’t he—oh. This man was not speaking English. He recognised, after a few months of overhearing the language, German. Alf stayed as still as he could (not that he could move much anyway) and hoped to God – who wasn’t being very helpful recently, but it was worth a shot – that the Squarehead didn’t go near him.

His wishes were not granted as a heavy boot come down on his equally as heavy, although much worse quality boot, and he swore in pain.

“Ow- shit!”

The German bloke leapt back in shock and reached for the gun at his side, before dropping his hands, and taking a step away. Their eyes met as Fritz looked at him, almost contemplatively, before turning tail and heading towards the German trenches.

Alf was almost disappointed. He was now most likely to die in solitude, after a long, torturous infection, and his body would be slowly consumed by the mud underneath him. A bullet to the brain would be quick, easy, painless – and at least one person would be there to see him die, even if it was the man who killed him. But that was the way it was supposed to go – if it was the other way around, he would shoot a German soldier. That was what he was s’posed to do, wasn’t it? Shoot the Hun. But, thinking about it, if he came across an injured, helpless Gerrie, would he be able to put him out of his memory – like a retired racehorse. (He’d watched his father shoot a horse once when he was 6. He’d cried all night.)

No, if he was being honest with himself, he didn’t think he could. Shoot an injured man. Or a racehorse, for that matter. He could easily kill a man who was trying to kill him – like he did, both times he went over the top. But if one looked him in the eye, his skin dyed with his own blood… he wouldn’t be able to live with himself.

He resigned himself to his fate, closing his eyes so he wouldn’t have to see the sunrise again – the one thing he so wished to see, before he signed up. The backs of his eyelids were a much better view than a landscape of regret.

A voice – no, The Voice, the same voice as before, made his eyes open and widen again. Christ – had he gone back to collect his friends? Were they going to shoot him to death? Had Fritz gone back specifically to collect a weapon to kill him with? Was a gun not enough? He squeezed his eyes shut and begged that neither of these scenarios was the case.

A hand began roughly shaking his shoulder (no, no, no, get off, I don’t want to be killed by you and your friends, kindly fuck off) – “Hallo? Hallo?”

He had a tiny inkling of what that meant, but he really didn’t care as the pain in his leg was becoming unbearable with the movement in his upper body, and he wrenched his eyes open to – Oh. The German man from before was crouched beside him, holding a… was that a flask? He gestured the flask towards Alf, and mimed drinking it.

With nothing left to lose, in his opinion, he allowed Fritz to bring the flask to his mouth and – it was cold coffee. He couldn’t care less if it was laced with a fast-acting poison; it tasted like the best thing he’d ever had in all his 18 years of being. He drank every-last-bloody-drop in that flask and, as he laid back into the mud, assessed both the situation and the man in front of him. This was, by far, the most surreal thing that had ever happened to him – wedged in a muddy crater in the ground, a hole in his leg from a German bullet, drinking cold coffee from a German flask, belonging to a German soldier, in the middle of the bloodiest war in the history of Europe – against the Germans.

The bloke before him – or ‘Fritz’ as Alf had christened him – was wearing one of them spiky helmets the Hun had and had a neat little moustache nestled under his nose. He searched the man’s eyes for any sign of maliciousness, any hint that he was waiting for some sign of poison in Alf – he wanted to see the evil image that he’d been provided with for the past few years. God, maybe he just wasn’t that observant, but it looked like all Fritz had wanted to do was feed him some cold coffee. There was a little, almost hopeful smile on the man’s face – and Alf, through all his shock, managed to force one out too. It might’ve looked too much like a grimace, as, with a nod in his general direction and a widening smile, Fritz turned tail in the direction of the Gerrie trench.

Alf’s head fell back into the dirt, and he stared up at the crescent moon as it illuminated the night-sky. He could have cried; he could have thanked God; he could swear as loud as he could at everyone and everything who would listen. Instead, he contemplated: why had Fritz done this? Alf would, unquestionably, be dead very soon – from either infection or a misplaced shell, so why? Certainly not to prolong his suffering. He considered – this man (this man who had a family, a life, a home) had crept out of the mild safety of his trench all for the short-lived welfare of an injured British soldier; he had literally put his life on the line so a dying 18-year-old from Sydenham, South-East London’s final taste would not be the blood of his tongue as he bit it to balance the pain of his leg. No, it would be some cold coffee, given to him by the simple hand of human kindness.

With this, Alf slipped into sleep, his dreams permeated with horror and sadness – with occasional interjections of calm. The calm of home, of the sight of his mother embroidering by the fire, of cricket with Art and Will on summer days, of anything but this bloody war. Slowly, the infection in his leg began to catch up with his brain as the dreams spiralled into fevered nightmares and the images of home rapidly dissipated.

In this fever, he could make out the feeling of rough hands, tugging him onto something that was definitely not No-Man’s Mud. There were faces above him that looked like they were floating – none of them the kind man from before (oh what was his name again?), but all of them looking down at him and conversation-ing in the same tone, the same language. He tried to move his head, but his body refused to cooperate and, rather, decided to send the wont of movement down to the hole in his leg (he recalled a shriek of pain, and then yet another spiral into the nightmarish lands of before). A hand came over his face, covering his mouth with a dirty rag, and his eyes rolled back into his skull.

--

He awoke to the sensation of a dull throbbing in his left leg – the injured leg. He hadn’t died; or if he had, and he was in heaven, God had a lot to answer for. His eyes focused on the ceiling above him (ceiling?) and then, wildly taking in everything around him.

A hospital.

And— Gordon Bennet. This was not a British hospital.

--

A hunching man in a white coat came to talk to Alf, in fragmented English that he could only just understand. As far as he could tell, they’d amputated his leg (he’d whipped back the covers at this point, and looked at the stump that was left, his chest gripping with the familiar pressure or fear) at the knee.

“That- that’s not the knee.” His knee was decidedly not there, and neither was anything three inches above it. His hands shook as they surrounded the remainder of the limb, not wanting to touch it, not wanting it to be real.

He had gangrene, the doctor had said. It had spread above the knee, where they had cut first, and they had to go higher. But look on the bloody bright side, he’d been informed – they’d make him an aluminium prosthetic, with a fixed knee so he could just about walk. It didn’t take away from the fact that his left leg was not there.

He asked for a lot at that hospital (he thought he’d earned it – they’d put in the bullet that had made them take his leg) – not that most of the people there could understand him. He asked for the man, the soldier who’d crept out with cold coffee in the dead of night. It was a bit of a lost cause, really, as the entire Hun had ‘them helmets’ and half of them had moustaches; and, course, you couldn’t really ask them to find a man who had ‘kind eyes’.

Alf asked for his family, in the dead of night, when he was alone with his thoughts and everything was silent (‘part from the pained groans of the injured men around him). There was no way of communicating to the Germans who he was, and there was no way they’d deliver him. He really wasn’t sure how long it would be until he saw them – if he saw them. The Gerries could win the war, and then he’d be in a bit of a bloody predicament. They probably thought he was dead, what with not getting a letter for God knows how long. MIA. That’s what he was.

He asked for books, or magazines, or newspapers – in English of course. Anything that would keep him from thinking about... well, everything. The Red Cross had donated some magazines to the Germans a while back, and so he stuck to them. They were full of the news of five or six years ago and were a good distraction from the world around him.

Turning over the page of one of them, his eyes scanned the adverts on the back page – Cedar Polish, Pyrex, Robinsons Patent Barley…

“Holy shit. Nurse!”

The Robinsons Patent Barley advert, as he was so desperately trying to communicate to the nurse, was the same one his family’d done, back in the day – he’d said they were well known in the area, and the company had picked up on it and picked them to do a baby food advert for the magazine, and holy shit indeed.

His own face, albeit younger and more naïve than now, was staring up at him from the dog-eared page. His entire family was in the image, proudly brandishing the Patent Barley as if they used it – and underneath!

Pictured: The Goodall Family, Sydenham, South-East London, SE26 4RJ

Gesticulating wildly to anyone that would listen, Alf pointed to his own face, and then to the face on the page, and repeated this until he was understood – his heart was bursting with a hope he had not felt since the day of recruitment.

--

Eventually, they got it all sorted out. Alf was offered a swap with the Red Cross – one of the German Prisoners of War for him. Repatriated.

Alf drilled holes in that massive, clunky leg as soon as he was home so he could move it and it wasn’t just a deadweight. He even fixed the chain on his bike so he could cycle down to his work at the Beulah Hill Telephone Exchange, and then when he retired, around anywhere he wanted to. Free to go, free to stay.

And even though Art returned with heavy, laboured breathing and no sight in one eye and Will had to be sent down to Seale Hayne, and his Da returned much angrier and much jumpier than before, not one word came out of his mouth that spoke ill of the Germans.

Every November 11th, right up until the day he drew his last breath, he didn’t just remember the others in his regiment, or his family. He thought about the man in the white coat who’d sat there, essentially informing him that he’d saved his life while Alf fumed and raged; the men who’d carried him from that crump-hole in the middle of No-Man’s-Land; the nurse who’d calmed him down and listened to him as he madly gestured at the magazine. Most of all, he thought about the hopeful smile on the face of a man he would never see again as they looked at each other, Alf futilely searching for ill-nature - and the simple meaning in that offering of cold coffee.

[haruharu-soloday-blog]

Runaway Boy

Pairing: JiyongxReader Rating: G, Fluff Summary: RoyaltyAU, When you were just a small girl, you found a runaway boy tapping at the window. 

Notes: I’m sad so I decided to write some fluff Ji to cheer myself up. Not too happy with how this came out but I hope you enjoy it if you give it a read. For the @vipnetwork

Every little girl in the kingdom dreamed about being born into the royal family, dreamed about being born a princess. Every little girl except for you, the princess of the Kingdom of the Fields. If you could grant their wish and switch places with them, you’d do so in a heartbeat. Maybe then they’d understand that being a “princess” is more of a sentence than a title. Maybe then they’d understand how it feels to grow up as the second born but first forgotten child of the king.

You were always being talked down to or pushed the side. You weren’t allowed to do anything but your older brother was given the world. Why was he allowed to study the books in the library? Why was he allowed to play with the knights in training? Why was he allowed to ride the pretty horses in the stables? Well, because he’s the heir, your mother would tell you before pushing you off onto the first maid she saw. 

You huffed and stopped following the maid who was to lead you back to your chambers. As you expected the maid didn’t notice that you were no longer following and continued walking. Once she turned the corner at the end of the corridor you hurried down the corridor the opposite way and ran to your favorite place, the stables.

You slip inside the stables and sneak over to the tack area to hide behind the piles of blankets they keep for the horses in the winter. You use a footstool to peak over the mountain of quilt to watch the stable women clean and prep the knight’s horses for tomorrow’s ride. You remember overhearing your father talk about the knights escorting a visiting party out of the kingdom. But whatever the reason, you’re thankful to be able to be so close to the beautiful animals. 

TapTapTap 

TapTapTap

You look around confused as a rapid tapping sound steals your attention away from the horses. Your eyes fall on the window behind you, the light shining in highlights the silhouette of a boy sitting on the ledge of the windowsill. Curious about the boy, you got down from your stool and dragged it over the window. Once in place, you step up on your stool so you can reach the latch. With a glance over your shoulder to make sure none of the working stable women have seen you, you flip the latch and pull the panels of the window open. You’re met with a small boy about your age on the other side. 

“Hello!” He waves with the same hand that was raised to tap on the glass. “I’m Jiyong!”

You hold your hands to your chest shyly. “I’m Y/N.”

The boy, Jiyong, doesn’t seem to notice or mind your shyness as he looks over your shoulder to see into the stables. “Do you work with the horses?” He asks eagerly. 

You glance wishfully behind you but turn back with a sad shake of your head. “I wish, I’m not allowed near the horses.” 

Jiyong flicks his gaze between you and the horses over your shoulder. “You seem to be near the horses to me.” He smiles knowingly at you. 

You giggle at the boy, making his smile grow. “Don’t tell anyone.” 

He places his fist over his heart and bows his head. “Your secret is safe with me, I wont tell. Besides, I also like doing things I’m not allowed to.” 

“Like what?”

He swings his arms out around him. “Like running away!” He dramatically swings one of his arms out in front of him, placing the other back over his heart and bowing to you once again. “Would you like to run away with me?”

You stare at the hand offered to you for a while. Debating on whether or not you could trust this runaway boy. Sensing your hesitation, he straightens up from his bow to flash you a gummy smile. “Come on, we’ll run like horses.” 

Memorized by the boy, you wordlessly place your small hand into his. Your heart galloping away in your chest from excitement as he helps you up onto the ledge of the window. He then turns and jumps from the ledge onto the dirt road below. Once his feet touch down you’re jumping off the ledge and onto his back. “Yah!” He cries as he struggles to stay up right. “Careful! Or we’ll both fall.” He helps set you down on your feet before grabbing your hand and dragging you down the road, away from the stables. 

You look back at the window, a stray feeling of worry pulling at your gut. However, a squeeze of your hand pulls your attention back to Jiyong who is smiling reassuringly over his shoulder. And suddenly, you’re not worried anymore.

The day has given way to the night by the time the two of you make it back to the window of the stables. You’re both sat under the window nestled close together and giggling softly. “Did you have fun?” Jiyong asks as he leans closer to see your face in the dark. 

“I did. Thank you runaway boy.” Your answer is met with another flash of his gummy smile. “Will you be back tomorrow?”

The smile you’ve grown to love slips from his face. “Unfortunately I can’t runaway everyday. My family was only passing here for a visit, we’ll be leaving in the morning.” 

“Oh,” You look down at the dirt that has gathered at the bottom of your dress. You start to pick at the dry pieces, watching as they break off and crumble into bits. 

“Hey,” Jiyong shuffles closer and tilts his head in front of yours to force you to look at him. This close you can see his chubby cheeks, still colored red from the day of laughter you two shared. “We can still be friends, okay? I’ll come back one day soon and we can run away together again.” 

Tears sting your eyes as you nod desperately. “Okay.” Jiyong seems uncomfortable at the sight of tears in your eyes and quickly stands up. 

“Uh, I’ll help you get inside.” He says awkwardly and reaches for your hand to help you up. Once you’re standing he places his hands around your small waist and lifts you so you’re high enough to climb onto the ledge of the window. When you’re comfortably seated on the ledge you turn and face him. Wiping the tears from your eyes, you give him a big watery smile. 

“Don’t forget me, okay?” 

The runaway boy stands in front of you, smile back on his face. His black hair has lost any sense of order and lies in different directions on his head. His clothes are dirty and disheveled. “Never.” He promises you. 

You turn and climb down from the ledge into the stables. Making sure to close the window and latch it back into place. Your heart heavy with the thought of not being able to see your friend again.

A little while later a frantic stable woman finds you sitting on your stool under the window. 

“Princess!” she rushes forward to grab your arm and lead you towards the castle. “Blessed Maker, you had the entire castle in an uproar trying to find you! The King was about to send all of the knights out to search for you! Where have you been all this time, and what happened to your dress?”

You tune the woman out and let her lead you away from the stables. You’ll probably be in a lot of trouble for running away but you can’t bring yourself to regret today.

Years later 

Many things have changed over the following years. For one thing, your brother has finally taken a wife and taken the throne. However, one thing that hasn’t seemed to change is how invisible you feel in your own kingdom. 

The day you disappeared your father had planned to forbid you from ever going to the stables but little you fought and cried. Your father was surprised by your strong reaction, he probably thought it was because of your passion for the horses and in some ways it was. What your father didn’t know was that it also was so you’d be able to check the window. And although he never came back, you were allowed to start learning how to ride and care for the horses. 

You wish you could be at the stables now, you think as the maid laces up the back of your gown. The red and gold fabric hugs tightly to your waist before it falls gracefully to the floor. Your hair is styled in ringlets that frame your face and continue down your back. The maid places a small golden tiara on your head before taking a step back to admire you. For as beautiful as you feel, you wish you were anywhere but the castle. Your brother was hosting the leaders of the seven kingdoms tonight for a peaceful feast. This will be the first time the seven kingdoms have come together peacefully since the war broke out in the east.

You take a deep breath and with one last check in the mirror, you exit your chambers. The corridors are quiet as you walk towards the banquet hall, the staff are most likely rushing around the kitchens preparing for the feast. Once you make it to the doors of the hall, you’re met with your brother and his wife. Your brother offers a small nod as the doors are pulled open and a sea of applause greets you. You’re quick to break away from your brother to mingle through the crowd, never stopping to talk to one person for long. 

You’re talking with the princess from the kingdom of the north when you feel the pressure of eyes on your back. When you turn to chase the feeling you spot a young man dressed in a black suit, silver embellishments decorating the jacket. A few strands of his blonde hair falls out of place on the side of his forehead. His dark eyes follow you as he spins gracefully along with the light music. Your gaze locks with his for a moment before he turns and disappears in the crowd. Mesmerized by this man, you move to follow him. 

However, your brother chooses that moment to step into your path. “Y/n”

“Who was that?” You ask as you try to look around your brother. Catching a small glimpse of him when the crowd parts. You see him talking to a knight. 

“Who?” Your brother asks, turning to follow your gaze.

“The blonde man in the black suit.” As if summoned by your description of him, the man in question turns and meets your gaze a second time. He offers a small closed lip smile before turning and disappearing into the crowd again. 

“Oh that’s the king of the kingdom to the east. He’s a very nice man despite what his kingdom has been through. I’m surprised he made the journey here.” He turns back to you and takes your arm. “But my reason for stopping you is to inform you that you wont be dinning at the family table once the feast starts.” 

Your attention returns fully to your brother, whom seems more like a king than family at the moment. “Why not?”

Your brother doesn’t answer your question just moves on as he scans the hall. “You’ll be sitting at the table with the king of the kingdom of the deserts and his son. I heard his son tells great stories of his travels, so I’m sure you’ll be respectful and enjoy yourself.” 

Dread pools in your stomach as you realize your brother’s intentions. You were wondering when your brother would start looking for someone to take you off his hands. Wanting your brother to leave, you nod your head in agreement. He smiles and pats your shoulder before leaving you standing alone in the middle of the crowd. After a moment you make your way to the back wall of the hall and slip out the door. The prince of the dessert probably tells lovely stories, but you won’t be there to hear them.

You enter the stables and immediately move to the stall that holds your favorite horse, a young dark brown thoroughbred. You make quick work of pulling him from his stall and tying him to the cross ties so you could start grooming him. A passing stable woman scuffs and chuckles at you, making you turn to face her. 

“Only you Princess, would be in the stables instead of at a feast with many young dashing men. Cleaning a dirty horse in a gown that could probably buy two if not three new horses.” You send her a wink and move back to the horse. The stable woman places a fresh bale of water beside you before leaving you alone in the stables. 

TapTapTap

TapTapTap 

You turned, surprised at the sound of tapping coming from the window. You placed down the brush in your hand and moved towards the sound. Night had fallen so it was too dark to see what might be on the other side. However, the memory of a gummy smile has you reaching for the latch. With shaking hands you flick the latch and pull the window open. 

Standing on the other side is the man from the ball, the king of the east your brother had told you. Stunned and confused by what might have brought the handsome man to the stables, you bow respectfully. 

“Yah, none of that.” He waves his arm in a dismissing motion. “Friends shouldn’t have to bow to each other.” 

Straightening up you tilt your head at him. “I’m sorry, but I believe you might have me confused with someone else.”

“Come now, how could I forget my runaway girl? I see you’re allowed near the horses now.”

Your eyes and mouth were frozen wide open in an expression of stunned surprise. You reevaluate the man standing in front of you noticing the similarities you missed before. His hair might be of a different color and his face aged with time but the gummy smile he flashes you remains the same. “Jiyong,” you question breathlessly. “You’re a king?”

“And you’re a princess.” He places his hands into the pockets of his suit and you’re once again struck by how beautiful this man was. “I apologize for not being able to return sooner. My kingdom was has been plagued by misfortune and misery. And after the death of my father, I was forced to take the throne.”

“I’m sorry to hear about the lose of your father.”

“Thank you.” He stares at you serious. “I’ll be honest with you Y/N. I’ve held the dream of returning to you close to my heart. When things would become too much all I would want to do was runaway with the girl from the stables. I promised myself that once my kingdom was safe I’d come find you. Unfortunately, my kingdom is still at war and needs their king. I won’t be able to runaway, I’m sorry.” 

“What if I ran away myself?” You question him as a plan forms in your head. “What if I ran away to a kingdom far from my own.”

He takes a step closer to the window, searching your face for answers. “I’d say that, that sounds like something that you’re not allowed to do.”

You mirror his step forward. “I like doing things I’m not allowed to.”

You’re graced again by his gummy smile, his eyes squinting close. He moves away from the window slightly and offers you his hand. You place your hand in his, your heart once again galloping away with excitement as he helps you through the window.

[megabadbunny]

some kind of AU where Rose dates her superior, The Doctor. Could be student,teacher or worker,boss or whatever you want

Hey there nonny!!! I’m sure your interest in my fill for this prompt died a long time ago and its corpse is now gently crumbling away to dust, for which I deeply apologize. The thing is, while I totally understand why folks like AUs, they’re not my thing (I tend to be a stickler for canon or canon-divergent stuff, with the exception of fem!versions of the Doctor), and after a series of former jobs with male supervisors who were, well, kinda dickbags a lot of the time, I’ll admit I had a hard time getting over that and struggled with this prompt quite a bit. (Seriously, I’ve been working on a response to this for two and a half years now!) However, because I do have stuff written, and it seems a shame for it to just languish away in my WIPs folder untouched by the light of day, Imma go ahead and post what little I did manage to get written over the last 28 months. And here’s the dilly: if someone else sees it and feels a mighty need, I’d be more than happy to send them my notes or do a bit of collab with them if they’d like to pick up the trail from here!

pygmalion’s revenge

Rose Tyler is, in no particularorder, 24 years old, British, white, female, a stage actress, a former gymnastand current runner, a connoisseur of chocolates and films starring Idris Elba andColin Firth, and, despite being a dreadful flirt, just a tad bit dense when itcomes to picking up on signs of a certain nature.

The epiphany smacks her like a handto the face, dawning on her sometime in a grey morning in her tiny London flat.Evidence of a job hunt is spread over her dinged old kitchen table, a smallmountain of newspapers and printouts with her laptop sitting pretty andvictorious at the peak, all of them hiding pockmarks and coffee-rings andsomething that looks suspiciously like a cigarette burn which Shareen swears upand down that she knows nothing about. Rose stares at it all while hersleep-lagged brain tries to decide whether her mouth wants tea or coffee. (Teais the obvious answer, and the likely victor, but sometimes a mug of foul-tastingjet fuel is just what she needs to get through the morning. “Morning person”does not number among the many things that Rose Tyler is.) And while her eyesstare and her eyelids droop and her brain pontificates, even though it’s gotnothing to do with anything, somewhere in the back room of her subconscioussome part of her just realizes.

The Doctor is totally, completelyarse-over-heels in love with her.

“Jesus, Jack,” she asks, withoutpreamble, the moment her flatmate steps into the kitchen, “Am I an idiot?”

Jack’s resounding laughter letsher know that yes, in this particular case, “idiot” ranks very high on the listof things that Rose Tyler is.

***

Rose firstmet the Doctor when she was 19 years old, neither a gymnast nor a runner norsomeone with even her A-levels, working a dead-end job at Henrik’s. She hadnabbed the position in an attempt to chip away at theseveral-thousand-pound-debt incurred by a year of irresponsible living with agood-for-nothing boyfriend. (Thanks, Jimmy.) And the day she met the Doctor, shehad just clocked out at the end of her shift and stepped into the ancient lift,so absorbed in her fashion magazine with some silly name (Belle or Metropolitanor Splendor or some such rot) that she didn’t even look up when the doorsopened and someone joined her.

She frowned.There it was again.

This time thetext was splashed in white across a model’s bright blue jumper—“Bad Wolf.”Those words kept popping up everywhere Rose looked. She saw them spray-paintedon bins, printed on takeaway menus, in big black letters outside stuffy-lookingoffice buildings, on the bottoms of pink and yellow nail polish sets. Thephrase had popped up everywhere seemingly overnight. What was this obsessionwith Bad Wolf, and more importantly, whydid no one else seem to notice it?

“I wouldn’tbuy that one,” a chipper voice informed her from somewhere to her left. “Thecolor is nice, but the lanolin acids present in such a wool-heavy blend arelikely to cause some unpleasant contact dermatitis.”

Rose openedher mouth to politely tell this gent and his posh Estuary accent to mind theirown business, but fortunately, her eyes moved faster than her lips; she foundherself staring at a bloke who, despite being so thin that a hard look mightknock him over, was pretty enough to make her heart trip on itself. Academictypes didn’t usually do it for her (there was something about their snootyvoices and prim manners and patronizing attitudes that grated on her nerves,somehow). But, looking this fellow up and down as subtly as she was able, eyescataloging everything from his spectacles to his wild hair to his freckles tothe ever-so-slightly tatty brown pinstripe suit—paired with Chucks, no less,who wears Chucks with a pinstripe suit?—Rose felt that perhaps she could makean exception this time.

“Thanks,professor. I’ll keep it in mind,” she teased as the lift lurched and lumbered upward.

“What makesyou say I’m a professor?” he asked, mouth twitching in amusement.

Sheshrugged. “S’just a joke,” she replied, but halfway through her sentence, itoccurred to her that the fellow was looking at her in a very specific way, andthat gave her pause. He wasn’t leering at her like the lads on the sidewalk, orsneering at her like gentlemen in suits were oft wont to do. Instead he waswatching her almost like—

Like she wasonto something.

Rose’s eyestracked him over. “I guess the specs look sort of professor-ish,” she offered.“Wearing a suit, too, brown and not too fancy. Nothing wrong with it, but youwouldn’t catch it at Harrods. And you’ve got a bunch of student papers stickingout of your briefcase,” she said, pointing at the worn leather case danglingfrom one hand.

“What makesyou say they’re from students?” he asked, a smile hiding in the corners of hiseyes.

She was definitely onto something.

“Well,they’ve got grades on them, don’t they?” Rose asked. “Gotta be students.”

His facesplit in a wide grin. “That makes sense. Well done.”

“Thanks,”Rose laughed, and she was only being a little sarcastic. “Did I pass the test,then?”

“With flyingcolors.”

Both of themsmiled at each other, and Rose felt just the tiniest twinge of regret when thelift arrived at its destination. The doors slid open, the bell chimed out aloud announcement, and neither Rose nor the professor moved away.

“Well,” theprofessor said, fidgeting a bit in his plimsolls. He tilted his head toward theexit. “Got to run. See you around, maybe?”

Not if I see you first is what Rose thought.

“Sure,” iswhat she said.

With acheeky grin, the professor stepped out of the lift and walked away. He didn’t seemto notice the paper that fluttered in his wake, drifting out of his case andfloating lazily, featherlike, to the floor.

“Wait,” Rosestarted, scooping the paper up in her hand, but the doors were closing and theprofessor didn’t turn back. Rose quickly gave the paper a once-over (it couldbe rubbish, but what if it was a student’s assignment, what if the professorhadn’t graded it yet, what if that poor sod ended up with a 0 through no faultof their own?) and was surprised by the words she found at the top.

OPEN CASTING CALL

And a littlebelow that:

For George Bernard Shaw’s

PYGMALION

At the Blue Box Theatre

Rosefrowned. Open casting? She wasn’tsure what that meant, exactly, but it was obviously something to do with aplay. Had to be a play if it was in a theatre. Right? Was it like auditions?(And if it was like auditions, why didn’t it just say that?)

The liftdoors opened at her destination and Rose balled the paper up in her hands,compressing it neatly into its own little cragged-edged world. She tossed it inthe rubbish bin without a second thought.

…but she didhave an individual thought, on its own, not two seconds later, which encouragedher to pick the paper right back up.

(No harm inchecking it out, right?)

***

A quick few minutes of Googlingshow her everything she needs to know. Jack is happy to supplement the rest.

“A bit familiar, isn’t it?” heteases, looking over her shoulder while she types. Normally she would beinclined to tell him that that’s a load of bunk, and then outline preciselyjust how much bunk that is, but the parallels seem pretty undeniable.

“Pyggies was years ago,” Rosesays in a protest that they both know is feeble. “This doesn’t mean—”

“Rose,” Jack interrupts, gently.“It means.”

Rose worries her lip while shescrolls down the screen. Jack’s right. Of course he is. But that doesn’t makethings any easier. It doesn’t make hurt feelings unhurt or apologies magicallysaid.

But.

“He’s trying,” Jack says.

“What, you his agent, now? Mostpeople get paid for a job like that.”

Jack rolls his eyes. “Look, Iknow he’s an idiot. Everyone knows. Hell, even he knows. But you also know he’smore than that. And even if it’s a stupid gesture…at least it’s a gesture.”

Rose stares at the screen somemore. Open CastingCall, it says. Born Yesterday, it says. Seeking ExceptionallyTalented Woman (Character Experience Preferred), it says.

“Those American accents are goingto be dreadful,” Rose says.

***

They’ll tellyou that you should never go into an audition unprepared, but Rose didn’t knowthat yet. Besides, she never really cared much about what They tell you.

(Also, shestill wasn’t entirely sure she was going to audition at all. Or so she toldherself, standing in front of the Blue Box Theatre with a crumpled flier in herhand. Maybe she had only shown up to see what the thing was all about.Certainly she had not shown up hoping to get cast, definitely she wasn’t hopingto see the intriguing professor-bloke again.)

“The queuestarts round the back,” a Scottish voice popped up, and Rose turned to see ayoung redheaded woman leaning against the blue brick wall. Her hair fell aroundher face in curtains, her legs were impossibly long, and the casual way shedragged smoke out of her cigarette made Rose’s fingers itch.

“Sorry?”

“The queue,”the girl repeated, as if repetition would encourage understanding. “It’s roundthe back.” She gestured with the cigarette, trailing ash in its wake. “Thatway.”

***

And that’s it, folks. If you’re interesting in picking it up, let me know and I’ll send you my notes!

[angry-fishy8]

A story that'll never be published

I remember that night. We talked till the sun came up and you kissed me. Not like I was wanting or the kind you were hoping, but I think that's when we finally learned that there was something. I don't think I wanted to admit it, and neither did you,  so we kind of just forgot about that night. I mean why would we? I was plain and you were Mr. Fourteen. I gave up on closing myself because you told me to open up. God, looking at it, we were so stupid. But I'm not saying that being angry. I'm saying that with a huge smile on my face." +

I don't remember when I fell asleep but I woke up around three. Tyler still wasn't there so it made me worried. Are you really that mad at me? I just wanted to sleep but my brain wouldn't shut off. +

I grabbed one of Tyler's hoodies and grabbed a blanket. I didn't have an exact place where I wanted to go, but I didn't want to be in the hotel right now. I know I could've just went to talk to Brooklynn, but she'd just tell me off. +

When I had gone outside, the crisp fall air hit my legs before anywhere else. I guess shorts were a mistake. +

While I was walking I was replaying everything that happened today. Why would Tyler be so mad just because he pushed me away? I mean I guess in hind sight what I said after didn't really help. +

"I promised I wouldn't hurt you and that wasn't enough!" +

"It was!" I yelled. +

"Are you sure? Because everyone thinks that I'm the one trying." +

"What am I supposed to do, I told you I didn't want to ruin our friendship! Here we are! And here you are getting ready to leave." I grab his coat and threw it at him. "Do it, like everyone else." +

"Kate, this is just you worrying." he said calmingly. +

"GO! I DON'T CARE ANYMORE!" +

"Is that what you really want?" +

"You're gonna do it anyways! Might as well let me do it on my terms." I cried. "Because that's what you want right? To leave? It's obvious, you've wanted that for a while." I looked away while he stepped closer. "Leave." +

He stood there for a moment. +

"I really did love you." +

I could feel everything crumble. After a while of not responding, he left. And everything I had to offer did too. +

I sat down at the park where Mrs. K and us talked. I just sat staring at the stars waiting for something to happen. +

"Kate, sweetie, it's time for school." I heard my mom sit on the opposite side of my bed. "You've been here all weekend." +

I didn't pull the covers from my head but I'd been awake the entire night. +

"Bumblebee." I whispered. +

"Are you sure?" She put her hand on my leg rubbing it. "It's the last one for the semester." +

"Yes please." +

"I'll call the school and tell them you've been sick all weekend. You have your concert tonight though." She kissed my head. "Don't let this bring you down." +

Brooklynn: You left me alone all weekend and now? +

Kate: We broke up. +

She didn't reply. And I stayed awake just watching my wall. That was enough. +

There was a shooting star and that's what pulled me from my thoughts. I laughed. +

Story continues below

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"You weren't even that special." I whispered. +

"There'll be a day you can say you're okay and mean it." I sang. Secret for the mad by Dodie was the one thing that helped me when I was down. +

"I promise you, it'll all make sense again." +

"That's the song you want to sing for Senior Night?" Mrs. K asked. +

"Why not?" I laughed. +

"It just doesn't seem like you, I mean it fits your vocal tone beautifully, and the vibrato in your voice is lovely with it." +

"But?" +

"Sweetie." She patted my arm, "We can talk if you want." +

"I know." I fake smiled. "I think when I'm fully ready, you'll be the first person I'll talk to you. I promise." +

"Alright then, I'll remember that." she smiled. "How's college searching?" +

"I found a great culinary arts school." +

"Culinary Arts? Like your father?" +

"Through everything he put me through, our best memories are cooking." I played with my ring finger. "It's all I know." +

"And music sweetie." +

"Yeah, but I'll never be good enough for that," +

"I thought the same thing once. And here I am" +

I smiled. That was the best memory between us. I mean there are a million great memories, but the one on one moments are the best. +

"Kate?" I heard Tyler say. +

I covered up in the blanket more as he sat by me. +

"What are you doing here?" +

"I couldn't sleep." I said looking up at the stars. "Never seems to shut off when I want it to." +

"Same." He whispered. +

"I think I owe you an apology." +

"For?" +

"I'm not sure." +

"Then don't" he said sweetly. "Don't do that to yourself. If you said sorry for every time I did something wrong, then you'll never trust me." +

"But what did you do?" +

"What did you do?" +

"I let you leave and didn't talk it out with you." +

He laughed. "I didn't want you to feel obligated to. If you need space that's what I'm more than happy to give you." +

"Wait." +

"Yes that's why I left." he wrapped his hands around his legs. "What were you thinking about that couldn't make you sleep." +

I laughed. "Seeing Mrs. K today and talking about my fidget just made some unhappy memories pop up." +

"Like Alec?" +

"Yeah." He didn't respond so I pushed myself. "Is there anything you really want to know about my past?" +

He looked up at me but I didn't turn towards him. +

"Uhm no not really." +

"Come on, I won't lie." +

"Okay. Why do you play with your ring finger?" +

"Ahh the basics." I laughed, "I caught it when I first met Alec. He used to comment on how I would be a "beautiful bride". It was basically his way of trying to have me open up. Our friends would call him future husband and after a while we'd laugh about it. The first time he'd ever held my hand, he grabbed my hand and played with my ring finger." I started to rub it. "For Christmas, he bought me a little ring to put on it so I had something to play with. It was the first time he'd shown that he liked me. I always thought it was a game with him." +

Story continues below

"So you didn't trust him when you first met him?" +

"No," I looked at the stars, "I didn't really like trusting guys." +

"Why?" +

"My dad." I grinned, "How cliché? The one guy who should give me unconditional love and make me think I'm really beautiful, actually made me think the opposite." +

"Did he ever-" +

"No, all emotional trauma. If I wore something tight fitting, he'd call me too fat. If I wore makeup it was too much. If I was asked out, he'd ask who'd ask me out. After a while I started to wear long sleeved shirts and pants every day. Even in the summer. Then my sophomore year, I didn't eat, and he'd tell me off. Asking why am I taking the easy way out. How is starving yourself to a certain image the easy way out? I had started to get so bad, I fainted in certain times. Basically anything he saw wrong with me, I saw wrong with myself times ten." +

"Oh." Was his only response. +

"Next question?" +

"Uhm, do you ever think you could fall in love again?" +

My heart stopped. "Sometimes I wonder that myself. But then I ask am I really capable of it?" +

"What do you mean?" +

"Like, I love seeing people in love. It's beautiful. Not just the honeymoon stage, but when you see a couple and know, yeah they fight, but they choose to give each other space, to think about if the fight was important or not. Then they pretend it didn't happen or they move passed it. It makes them stronger. It's like the strongest friendship, but more. I see that and I think, am I capable of that?" +

"And?" +

"I mean that's what we did." I didn't look at him but I saw from the corner of my eye that his mouth slightly opened. "I'm not saying I'm in love with you, but I'm also not saying I wouldn't be able to." +

"With me?" +

"With anyone." His jaw clenched. "The idea of opening up to someone scares me." I continued. "Think of it, if the men who are supposed to love you, support you, treat you with respect and dignity, if they chose to do the opposite, could you learn to love or even fathom the idea of it?" +

"I have." It was his turn. "My mom, we have a strange relationship, it's nothing like you and your dad, but it's close. She blamed me for my sister getting sick, when we first found out, and when I wanted to come and listen to what the doctors had to say, she'd just tell me no. She'd blame me for it." +

"I'm so sorry.." +

"Well after awhile I gave up on our relationship, how can you blame someone who had no iea what was going on?" +

"You can't." +

"But she did." his voice broke. "I think that's why I have such a strange relationship with girls, "Jennifers and Carries" they make it easy. Because I can shut it down. I can just refuse to get close to them, and they'll take a hint. Other than my sister, I've never had a strong connection with woman." +

"So you're scared." I said silently. "Of being hurt again. Of trying to jump and not knowing if that person is going to catch you or just leave." +

We didn't say anything for a while. But I took his hand. It wasn't in the romantic sense. I wanted him to know I'm willing to catch him if he was willing to do the same. Neither of us knew how to connect with someone of the opposite sex, and just grabbing his hand, it was the first step. +

"Together," I started. "I want us to take baby steps together." +

"In a romantic way?" +

I laughed, "No bozo, in a platonic way. Neither you nor I have any real sense on trust. you preach to me about dating but you've yet to notice we're in the same boat." I nudged him. "So why not take the same ride and see where we go." +

"As friends?" +

"As friends." +

"And if one day, one of us decides we want something more?" he squeezed my hand but he couldn't tell he was squeezing my heart too. +

"Then the other one has to be just as ready." I looked at him. "Deal?" +

"Is this your idea of asking me out in the future?" +

"No." I smiled noticing he was leaning in closer. "Because neither of us know if this'll work." +

"I have a pretty good idea that it will." He said inches from my face. Just before I could pull away he kissed me on the forehead. "When you're ready." He whispered. +

We sat there for a moment looking at each other and for a moment I could feel every negative thought drift away. He smiled and it made me smile just as wide. +

"There you are!" I heard a female voice squeal and I jumped away from him. "Tyler you forgot your key in my car." +

"Oh uhm thanks Lacey." He coughed. +

"Who's this?" we asked in unison. +

"Oh Lacey this is Kate the friend I told you about, Kate this is Lacey, I met her in a bar on my walk." +

And all the bad thoughts were back but they weren't about me. No they were about Lacey and Tyler. He looked at me and under the blankets squeezed my hand. +

"Pleasure meeting you Lacey." I smile letting go of Tyler's hand and getting up, "I guess you two should continue getting to know each other." +

"Are you his girlfriend?" The young blonde asked. +

"No." Tyler said before I could, "We're just friends." +

"Then why is she wearing a hoodie with your last name?" She pointed her hand at me. +

"Believe it or not friends share clothes." I laugh taking it off and handing it to her. "Believe me when I say, if he remembered your name after a while, you've got no threat from me. I'm just a friend." I strained. "Anyways, I need to pack, I've gotta get back to Pueblo tomorrow." +

Tyler stood up and grabbed my hand, "But we weren't supposed to go back till Monday." +

"Silly me, I forgot I put in a three day weekend." I smiled. "Again it was nice meeting you Lacey, you're in great hands with him." +

And I walked back to the hotel without my blanket, his hoodie, or a clear mind. +

"Stupid." I whispered to myself

[unsocialspecies]

Jeffrey and his dear ol ma and pa find a sleepy little hotel in some small town on theyr way to see cousin randall up north young jeff has been against the trip from the start he says it interferes with his partying and he doesn’t really relate to people who sleep. As his parents drift off and he is left to his thoughts his mind begins to race. He finds the down time unbearable and hes nearly chewed a hole threw his tounge. Suddenly he bolts upright in bed He turns to where his parents are sleeping and yells “yo dad psssst pops where the party at?   what the hell you sleepin for are you a lazy fuckin bum or something??” His father a costumed to jeffs shenanigans calmly retorts back “Son shut your fucking mouth its 1 a.m” Damn … well I tried. Jeff says to himself as he lays back down. Thoughts of hoodrat shit le cigarettes honkey tonks and hangin with blue collar gentlemen and rollin bolo back home streak across his mind he remembers the good times digging through trash staring at radio tower lights all night with ol boy Jr all the lurpage that’s going on back at the trap without him and all the fun hes missing out on. Fuck it he swings out of bed and makes his way to the bathroom “ight pops get to sleep you lazy fuck ill be in the bathroom probably jerkin my gerkin till sunrise Oh  ill try to act surprised when you bust in at 3am to take a piss but no promises after the 4th time it loses its excitement and after the last one remember when I was trying to hit a bolo and slap my sausage at the same time well it just want the same . After that I kinda just put it off as one of those thing that happen Anyway if you ever decide to stop being lame and show some interest in the finer things in this life well you know where to find me I got the firest dope in the whole trailer park this shit will fuuuuuck your whole life it aint dope if it doesn’t make you regret all your life choices take a hit of this and you will come out of your zone 5 years later  you will notice your in an  r.v and theres pictures hanging up of you and a dog eating wedding cake together you are wearing a huge white  dress but whats this .. No it couldn’t be the dog is in a tux and you realize that dog in the picture that dog eating cake with you …That’s now your husband and that’s when it hits you … you realize how good that fucking dope was and your like duuuude im so glad my son let me party with him that night so dad in conclusion come on don’t you wanna have some good friendly fun with crystal meth . Jeffs father has become a bit triggered after hearing another weird fucking story that  probably came about from some fucked  hallucination jeff accidentally filed under reality  Jeffs dad says “Son im not and I never ever will join in on your weird fucked up activities iv seen enough I don’t want to dabble in anymore of your tweakery than I have to”              Well dad that’s on you and if those are the kind of selfish choices you want to make in life then I cant tell you what to do just remember im not mad im just disappointed now give me the wifi password so I can go set up  headquarters and get some videos buffered up its gonna be long night nuts don’t bust themselves it’s a lot of hard work and blood and sweat and tears. Jeff grabs the wifi password and locks himself in the bathroom. AHHHHH bliss I should get paid for this he chuckles to himself before getting down to business first things first he pulls out his pookie and blows the fattest cloud on record. Then its time. He is focused like hes on a mission from god. After he stretches and gets in the zone The suddle slapping of a monkey is the only noise heard throughout the night. Hours pass by but to jeff time is only made up it does not exist in his reality A thump against the door startles him out of focus and breaks the steady pattern of fapping goddamit jeff whispers . the door crashes open as his dad comes in rubs his eyes and realizes whats going on  “oh for god sake  son  your gonna rub your godamn dick off at this rate if you spent as much time collecting pennies off the ground  as you do peddlin on your pecker iv swear Iv become numb to all this shit I ll probably walk in next time and you will be bent over the sink reaching an arm back fingerboppin your asshole what do you wan… Dad …dad jeff interrupts his fathers breakdown to ask an important question  “WHAT???!!! JEFF what is it” uhhhhh I wanted to ask you if it was normal for a shaft to go numb…. Not me though my penis is healthy . Im asking for a friend. jeffs father has a distant stare on his face as he shakes his head slowly back in forth and scratches at his hair “OK YOU WIN JEFF never have I heard of anyone BOMBING THE FUGGIN universe as much as you have in one day every time I think it cant get anymore disappointing you proceed to bypass your previous shame by miles. You are the definition of a terminal illness growing like a godamn tumor. Don’t get up from your throne I wouldn’t wanna come between you and the only true passion iv ever seen you have for anything. Ill just piss outside oh and to let you in on a little something something your mom explained last night her growing dislike towards you its not about the drugs or trannies you brought to grandmas last month its “THAT stupid fucking look on your face  your always making she cant stand it   and if it continues to intrude on her life she will have to take a hammer and bash it until it caves in on itself the bright side is we can go to the Halloween store and pick you out a mask. Think of it like that show where they tear apart those shitty houses and make them look amazing…. But hey maybe it wont come to that just practice in the mirror son try really hard to not look retarded I know just be strong if anything just think about that Halloween mask you will get to wear. Jeff sighs…. Oh my good godamn I see how it is I figured something was fishy but didn’t look into it due to a mix up in differentiating between pychosis and  my incredible intuition. see I pick up on small things that the normal person would never even think about but due to paranoia and sleep deprivation sometimes I just confuse red flags as my own made up dellusion. Ya know whaa….But there was no point explaining the situation to his dad for the old man must of  lost focus and walked off right at the beginning…. Well some people just don’t function  on this high of a brain frequency  almost makes ya feel sorry for em. They cant help being fools. Oh well I got other shit to take care of important stuff . He quickly makes a calculation in his head and decides if he cannot climax by sun up he will go to the doctor but  150 google searches 300 different adult websites and an undetermined number of computer viruses Young jeff finaly got the sweet satisfaction he had set out to find he let out a sigh of relief although it was short lived  because as soon as his heels touched back down on the bathroom floor his legs both cramped and jeff let out a horrific scream as he crumbled to the ground. after dragging the lower half of his body across the bathroom and crawling over into the bathtub he dove deep into his mind body and spirit….. Bingo “ I should just sit next time im whoopin the worm that way my legs don’t get weak and I don’t lose feeling in my lower extremities  next time I bust a nut” suddenly he felt a lot better about things see most people wouldn’t take the time to figure out why life dealt such a hard blow but not jeff he took in every factor anlysed the situation and he aint gonna make the same mistake more than maybe 3 times .  So there he sat waiting for his leg muscles to return to the correct places. Hmmmmm “you like that you like it when people get injured while jerking off as you watch the whole thing and laugh about later with your no good hippie step son”!!!he began pondering the existence of god   he flipped his pecker like some toy from a souvenir shop it helped him think smarter he wondered if even though he had no faith in the holy spirit and was not a believer why it felt so good to talk shit to god  maybe im having a spiritual awakening or just need somebody to blame. Ah maybe I should pray perhaps prayer is just another  method of begging .The man upstairs sounds like the haggling type of son a bitch maybe hes into horse trades. Then jeff did something he aint never done before he bowed his head stopped playing with his damn pecker put his hands together and prayed “Lord I don’t know if your listening but im in some trouble nothing too bad but… just please if you hear this gimme some feeling in my legs back I learned my lesson I heard somewhere theres no choking the chicken in heaven I know it cant be true though because what would heaven be if you couldn’t beat your meat every now and again. Anyway maybe that whole leg cramp thing was a god given sign of some sort but it was totally unnecessary now Iv not been on too good terms with you because back a couple months or so when I lost that portable dvd player under a truck wheel in the driveway and getting crushed. I blamed joe joe bean for the longest time but considering the holy spirit in charge of shit around here is you I figure you’re the sorry son a bitch that put joe joe up to something like that.