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ellewritesathing · 4 years

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Ten Things VIII

Summary: If there’s one thing you have to know about Harvey Kinkle, it’s that he rarely thinks things through. So when he meets (and falls for) Sabrina Spellman on his first day of Baxter High and finds out that she can’t date anyone until her tempestuous sister does, it seems like the obvious solution is to get someone to date her so he can go out with Sabrina. A not so obvious choice for the challenge is Caliban, but, hey, it’s not like Harvey thought that far.

Masterlist Prev. | Part 8

Word-count: 3.8k+

A/N: ahh i can’t believe this series is completed!! it’s been super fun to write these characters and their relationships and i hope you guys like how i’ve done this (endings are not my strong suit lmao) 💕 thank you for reading!!

A few months ago, your and Sabrina’s relationship had been strained at best. She had been so young and all she wanted to do was experience everything, and you were older and a bit more jaded because you’d already experienced it all. And thanks to your wild days of experiences, Hilda and Zelda set a rule in place when you cooled down: Sabrina could only do something if you did too.

A part of Sabrina had always resented you for it, even though the rule wasn’t your fault. It was just incredibly frustrating to always be asking you for favors and you consistently refusing because you were done ‘pretending to be someone you weren’t.’ She hadn't understood what that meant back then.

And Sabrina had to admit, even though Hilda and Zelda would crucify for her saying it, that your relationship got better after Caliban and Harvey came into your lives. Those two idiots had a way of making Sabrina more forgiving and you less hard-headed and, slowly, your relationship improved.

But then prom happened and everything exploded.

No matter how many times you promised that you were fine, Sabrina couldn’t shake the memory of picking up from the mines with Caliban’s car smashed in and abandoned in the background. Nor could she forget how she cradled you in the backseat while you sobbed and asked her why he didn’t like you.

So, when you rejected Sabrina’s thirtieth offer to join her and Harvey for some retail therapy (or vandalism - Harvey could wait in the car), Sabrina did what any good sister would: She canceled her plans with Harvey and hunted down Caliban.

She thought finding Caliban would be the tricky part, but talking to him turned out to be the hard part. The second Sabrina saw him at Dr. Cerberus’ looking for a book, her entire speech that she’d been preparing since breaking Nick’s nose just disappeared into thin air. It wasn’t fair that he was perfectly okay while you cried into a pint of ice cream, but she couldn't find the words to yell that at him.

Despite being at a loss for words, Sabrina stormed over and tapped Caliban on the shoulder. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Looking for a copy of Pride and Prejudice.” Caliban straightened up and bumped Sabrina’s arm lightly to get to the bookshelf. “Do you mind?”

“Do I mind?” Sabrina repeated, crossing her arms and stepping closer to him. Even though he was easily a foot taller than her, she was determined not to be intimidated. “Yes, I mind. I mind that you’re here book shopping while my sister's turned into Boo Radley!”

“Oh, spare me the dramatics, Blondie,” Caliban said with a roll of his eyes. He turned his attention back to the bookshelf. “Firstly, you were just as involved in all this as I was. More so, actually - it was your gentle manipulation that pulled Harvey into all your bullshit. And secondly, your sister is far too strong to get her heart broken. By me or anybody else.”

Sabrina faltered. She had been working very hard to block her part of this whole mess out of her head. “Are you gonna tell her?” she asked, in a very careful voice.

Caliban knelt to get a better view of the shelf. He was in the totally wrong section if he was looking for Pride and Prejudice, but Sabrina didn’t want to point him in the right direction just yet. “Now, why would I do that?” he asked, tilting his head up at her. “So that she can hate us both?”

Tapping her fingers on her arm, Sabrina was forced to admit that Caliban was being a frustratingly good guy about this all. “Well…” Sabrina tried to figure out something to be mad at him for. “What’s your plan?”

“My plan?” Caliban didn’t take his eyes off the copies of The Great Gatsby and Catcher In Rye in front of him.

“Your plan to fix this,” Sabrina said. She put her hand on his head and turned it to in the direction of the British Lit two shelves down. “You’ve got a plan, right?”

Caliban was quiet. He stood up and looked down at her, seemingly figuring out how much Harvey would mind if he pushed Sabrina over. “No,” he said eventually, trying very hard to keep his voice level. “I don’t have a plan.”

He turned to go to the British Lit and Sabrina grabbed his arm to force him to turn around. “How can you not have a plan?” she asked.

“Because-” Caliban shook off her arm and kept walking “-nothing I say will fix this. Your sister hates me.”

“My sister hates everyone!” Sabrina stormed after him, practically knocking him over when she closed the distance. Awkwardly, she added, “But she hates you a little less than everyone else.”

Over the dusty copy of Lord of the Flies, Caliban looked at Sabrina with an almost unreadable expression. Unnerving, yes, but surprisingly unguarded. Sabrina was sure he could set someone on fire with that look alone.

Caliban dropped his gaze and pulled out the last Pride and Prejudice on the shelf. “Well, thanks, Blondie, but I think she hates me most of all right now.”

“That’s just because she doesn’t know!” Sabrina grabbed Caliban’s arm before he could leave. Giving him her best set-you-on-fire look, she said, “If you just talk to her - explain what happened - then I’m sure she’ll forgive you.”

“Because ‘forgiving’ is the first word that comes to mind when one thinks of your sister,” Caliban said quietly, staring at Sabrina’s hand on his arm. He looked back at her with a hard expression. “Whatever happens between me and your sister, I want you to know one thing.”

“Anything,” Sabrina said, caught off-guard by his intensity.

“If you ever hurt Harvey, I’ll break into your house and shave your cat,” Caliban said.

Before Sabrina had the chance to even begin formulating a response to that, Caliban gave her a tight smile and walked away.

Sabrina could see now, after one very frustrating interaction with him, why you liked Caliban so much. He was impulsive, vaguely threatening, and very clearly in love with you.

---

“Okay, let’s open up our books to page 73, Sonnet 141. And listen closely,” Wardwell said. She ushered in a scrawny freshman who rapped the first four lines of the sonnet and then excused him with three quick taps to his shoulder. “As Toby has just shown us, there are multiple ways of engaging with Shakespeare. It wasn’t always bad actors in stuffy period clothes, you know.”

She said it knowingly, as if every dumbass teenager in the class had seen a Shakespeare play and thought wow, this stuff would be great if it weren’t for the poorly done accents and garish clothing.

When no one responded to Wardwell’s attempt at humor, she took a breath and walked in a little circle around her desk to reboot. “I’d like for all to write your own versions of this sonnet,” she said. “A poem riddled with contradictions and the struggle between the physical desire and mental …” she paused when you put your hand up. You knew you should have known to wait until she finished her sentence, lest she forget her original point. “Um, yes, Ms. Spellman? Do you have a problem with the assignment?”

“No problem. Do you want this in iambic pentameter?” you asked, pen ready to write down whatever convoluted answer Wardwell gave you.

Wardwell narrowed her eyes and walked around to the front of her desk again to get a better look at you. “To be clear, you don’t have any problems whatsoever with the assignment?”

“Whatsoever,” you echoed. Your voice had a slight edge to it thanks to your thinning patience. You tapped your pen on your notebook.

“Are you sure?” Wardwell crossed her arms over her chest.

You sighed and put down your pen. With your best attempt at one of Sabrina’s polite smiles, you said, “I’m sure that it’s a great assignment, Mrs. Wardwell. Now, iambic pentameter: yes or no?”

“You know, I’m not sure I like this new attitude of yours,” Wardwell said, pushing herself off her desk and turning to look for a notepad. She scribbled something on it as she walked to your desk. “Take this and go see the nurse. I think you may have a fever.”

“A fever? Wardwell, what the hell is this?” you asked.

“A note. To see the nurse.” Wardwell tore the note off her notepad and handed it to you before gesturing toward the door. “Go.”

“But I-”

“Now, Ms. Spellman.”

You let out a listless breath and slammed your notebook shut. Shoving all your things into your bag and ignoring Nick’s snickering, you grabbed the note from Wardwell and stormed out of the class.

When you turned to flip Nick off while Wardwell had her back to the class, you saw Caliban reaching over his desk to flick Nick’s neck and whisper something in his ear that made him a few shades paler. It filled your heart with a funny feeling and you adjusted your bag and fled before you had a chance to start crying in the middle of your English class.

Once you were in the safety of the hallway, you had no idea which way to turn. The nurse’s office wasn’t an option because Pollit was deeply against any student seeing her unless they were bleeding and you didn’t feel like getting detention for supposedly faking an illness. It was too bright outside to throw rocks at the soccer team. You found yourself heading for the library before you even realized that you’d decided not to ditch.

The smell of coffee and freshly microwaved lunches mingled with old books and teenage angst when you stepped through the threshold. It was surprisingly busy for the sixth period, but luckily your spot in the back corner by the window was open. Slipping on your headphones, you drowned out all the others and started working on your stupid sonnet.

If the writer’s block wasn’t annoying enough, someone slid into the seat across from you and jostled the table in the process. Lifting your gaze from your newly marred page, you were intent on giving the offender the harshest glare in your arsenal until you saw it was Harvey.

He was nervous, spouting some apology that you couldn’t hear over your music, and wearing a football helmet. You took your headphones off to hear some of the ten billion words he was saying.

“Why are you wearing a football helmet?” you asked, setting your headphones aside and doing your best not to glare at him.

“Oh, uh-” Harvey tapped the helmet like he’d forgotten he was wearing it. “I wanted to talk but I thought you’d still be pretty pissed at me.”

You tilted your head to the side. “And you thought a helmet would protect you?”

“I mean, I feel a little dumb about it now but yeah,” Harvey said with a shrug.

You laughed at him and leaned over to take the helmet off his head. He looked ready to run for the exit, but he held still as you took the helmet in your hands. Collapsing back into your seat, you sighed and looked at the red Greendale High football helmet. “I’m not angry with you,” you said. “I tried but it’s like being mad at a puppy.”

Harvey shifted uncomfortably and frowned. “I don’t know if that’s a compliment but thank you.”

“No problem, Harvey.” You sighed and set the helmet on the table. Both of you stared at the helmet for an awkwardly long period of time. “What did you want to talk about?”

Either his seat was very uncomfortable or you still managed to unnerve him because Harvey kept shifting in his seat and starting sentences but never quite finishing them. Eventually, he sighed and said, “It’s not Caliban’s fault. It’s mine.”

“No, you only think it’s yours because you’re sixteen and more easily manipulated than most,” you said.

“Yeah, I know all that but-” Harvey shifted and tapped your notebook as he tried to figure out how to word what he was about to say. “I liked Sabrina, right? But everyone told me that she couldn’t date unless you did. So, I started talking to Caliban because he seemed like your type-”

“Caliban is my type?”

“Yeah, exactly,” Harvey said, completely missing your offense at his assumption of your type. Sure, he’d been right but still. “Anyway, so, like I said it, was my idea. He had feelings for you already and then Nick offered him money and … I don’t know. I told him to go for it anyway.”

You picked at the rings of your notebook in silence, mulling over Harvey’s words and trying not to punch him.

“He was going to tell you but I said it would just hurt you,” Harvey continued. He took a deep breath. “So, if you’re going to be mad at anyone, then be mad at me.”

You hoped you’d see something outside that told you what to do, but everything outside stared at you ambivalently. Letting go of your notebook, you turned back to Harvey and shrugged.

“He lied to me, Harvey. I get that you were selfish and messed up, but Caliban lied,” you said. “That’s worse than what you did because it feels like I can’t trust anything he says.”

Harvey looked like you’d just told him Santa Claus wasn’t real. Gut-punched and disappointed. In a slightly smaller and more strained voice, he said, “But it’s not his fault.”

You reached out and touched Harvey’s hand on the table. “I know you’re just trying to help your friend but it’s not that simple,” you said. “Do you understand?”

“No,” Harvey said lamely. He sank back in his chair and sighed. “But I’ll stop bugging you about it.”

“Thank you.” You squeezed his hand before letting go entirely. You pulled your notebook out from under Harvey’s helmet. “Are you gonna keep staring at me like that or do you have work to do?”

“Oh, I’m supposed to be in chemistry right now,” Harvey said.

Again, a bit of your bad mood dissipated and you laughed. “You should probably go to chemistry.”

“Yeah, probably,” Harvey said. He looked at the door and looked back at you. “But, uh, is it cool if I sit here for a while?”

You wanted to say no and to tell him that he was still an idiot for his part in this whole mess, but he was looking at you with those dumb lost puppy eyes. “Okay,” you said. “But don’t distract me or I’ll kick you under the table.”

Harvey laughed and settled into his seat. “Got it. Next time I’ll bring shin-guards.”

---

All things considered, Caliban had been handling your blind hatred quite well. Though, technically, your hatred wasn’t blind anymore because you knew the truth about him. Your hatred was all-seeing, all-encompassing, and everlasting. Caliban expected no less, considering the remnants of his smashed-up car found on the edge of the mines, but it still felt like he was falling apart every time he saw you.

Before, your almost exactly replicated schedules had been a convenient way to spy on you until Caliban finally worked up the courage to ask you out. Then, it had been the ideal opportunity to pass notes and make fun of Billy. Now, it was the perfect torture session where the two of you pretended not to notice one another.

It had gone on for almost a week before Caliban couldn’t stand it any longer. He had a plan, a very shaky plan, and Ambrose’s assurance that he could treat any of Caliban’s bones that you broke.

Caliban had waited the whole day and all he had to do was get through English, and then he could talk to you. Regardless of whether or not you broke his nose, phase two of the plan would commence with red carnations and one of those cheesy acoustic songs you liked.

“Okay, children,” Wardwell said in her disturbingly chipper voice. Her heels clacked against the floor as she scurried to the front of the class. “You’ve had plenty of time to work on your poems and I’m very excited to hear your takes on this classic sonnet.”

She was met by the silence of two dozen over-tired teens. Awkwardly, Wardwell fiddled with her hands and started walking around again. She paused at the window for a second and turned back to the class with wide eyes.

“Any brave souls willing to read theirs aloud?” Wardwell asked it like it was a dangerous question, like she was asking them if they wanted to rob a bank later.

Again, she was met with uncomfortable silence. Then your hand shot up and the air felt slightly more electric.

“Oh, Ms. Spellman … um, would anyone else like to give it a try?” Wardwell asked, looking out at the crowd with hungry eyes. “No? Well, alright then. Come on up, Ms. Spellman.”

Wardwell waved you over and placed you next to her desk in the front. She gave your shoulders an uncomfortable-looking squeeze and hurried back to her spot near the window. When she stood like that, she looked like a spindly bird watching over her chicks. Or maybe over her prey; it was hard to tell.

Once you were standing in front of the blackboard the way Wardwell liked, you took a deep breath and looked down at your notebook. “Here goes nothing,” you mumbled. Glancing over at the Caliban, his heart stopped as you dropped your gaze and started reading in a tight voice. “I hate the way you talk to me, and the way you cut your hair. I hate the way you drive my car. I hate it when you stare.”

At the mention of his staring, Caliban’s heart stuttered annoyingly. He was staring at you now, along with the rest of the class, but this was different. He’d told you once that he stared because it gave him a chance to figure out what to say, but this time he was staring so that he’d never forget this moment.

“I hate your big dumb combat boots, and the way you read my mind … I hate you so much that it makes me sick-” You let out a short laugh and looked out at the window as you shook your head. “It even makes me rhyme.”

The whole class laughed and you took another breath to prepare for the next stanza. There was no laughter in your voice when you spoke again. “I hate the way you're always right. I hate it when you lie.” Your voice cracked and you looked up at the ceiling. “I hate it when you make me laugh.” A stray tear ran down your face and you wiped it away roughly. “Even worse when you make me cry.”

Caliban leaned forward in his chair. Whatever you said next, he didn’t want to miss a word.

“I hate the way you're not around, and the fact that you didn't call,” you said, voice trembling between the tears that Caliban knew were eating you up inside. As if this moment couldn't twist him up any more, you looked up from your notebook and made eye contact with Caliban for your final lines. “But mostly I hate the way I don't hate you. Not even close … not even a little bit … not even at all.”

With a breath, you shut your notebook and started walking out of the classroom. In a show of remarkable self-control, you didn’t slap Nick on your way out as he asked what on earth that poem could possibly be about.

Wardwell called after you, teetering on her heels as she scurried after you, but she stopped when she was almost run over by Caliban bolting out of his seat. She held onto him until he promised that he would make sure you were okay.

Thanks to the Wardwell delay, you were long gone by the time Caliban made it to the hallway, but he had a pretty good idea of where you’d gone. He raced out of the school and tracked down your car.

You were glaring at your car when Caliban found you, or more specifically glaring at the dozens of red carnations in your backseat. Reluctantly, you picked up the apology note on your windshield.

Technically, it was more of an excerpt than a note. Caliban had ripped out one of the last pages of the Pride and Prejudice he bought the other day, the page where Darcy proposes to Elizabeth (which was your favorite because ‘he promised to leave her the fuck alone if she didn’t feel the same’), circled your quote, and scrawled out an apology.

Caliban didn’t even know you’d seen him standing there until you balled up the note and threw at him. “You know you can’t just keep buying me red carnations every time you mess up, right?” you asked.

Seeing as amusement outweighed the annoyance in your voice, Caliban walked closer to you. “Yeah, but that’s why they have roses…” Closer- “tulips…” Caliban stopped in front of you and let out a shaky breath. “Hell, if I get that desperate, I'll even buy you some peonies.”

You bit the inside of your lip and cast a look at your car. You shrugged. “How do you plan to afford all that, huh? Going to keep dating girls so the cash keeps coming?”

It was a cheap shot but one that Caliban deserved. He dropped his gaze. “No, I, uh, messed up the last time. See, this girl was … something else. And I fell for her.”

You frowned for a second but then gave him a very hesitant smile. “Really?”

“Really,” Caliban repeated. “It’s not every day you find a girl who’ll steal your car and then leave it absolutely wrecked without leaving so much as a note for your insurance company.”

You laughed and covered your face with your hand.

“In her defense, she did leave my tires alone,” Caliban said with a mischievous smile.

For the first time, Caliban’s heart didn’t wrench at the sound of your laugh. You knew the truth and you seemed to care about him anyway. “Shut up,” you told him. You grabbed a fistful of Caliban’s shirt and pulled him closer.

Your first kiss was rushed and clumsy - you wanted to kiss him and Caliban needed to kiss you. After a shared laugh, your second kiss was less frantic and a little smoother - your hand cupped his jaw familiarly and his arms held you without having to think. Then there was your third kiss, your fourth … each one better than the last.

by the way, loves, here’s the quote in case any of you were wondering: Elizabeth was much too embarrassed to say a word. After a short pause, her companion added, “You are too generous to trifle with me. If your feelings are still what they were last April, tell me so at once. My affections and wishes are unchanged, but one word from you will silence me on this subject forever.”

Tagged: @t-a-i-l-o-r-m-a-d-e @miss--moose @marrypuffsstuff @harryscarolinaa @igorsbby @foji2000 @hxlalokidottir @artaxerxesthegreat @thxmagic @strawberriesandknives @xealia @hotmessindisguise @acciomaximoff @reheated-coffee @shelby-x @perseny-blog @millie-753 @luneerius @shizzybarnaclee @lettherebelovex @throughparisallthroughrome @ietss @thebookwormlife @mechanicalanimalz @mariamermaid @nqbmf @caliban-is-my-girl @shephard17895 @andie-kathleen @clockworks-world-to-fandoms @luquincy @marina468 @olivia-west-allen @drrramaaaqweeen @roxytheimmortal @blondeeee-e

#ten things #Chilling Adventures of Sabrina #caos #Caliban #caliban imagine #caliban x reader

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chayacat · 4 years

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Devil’s Sweet Star (7)

Fandom: Dead by Daylight

Ghostface x Female Reader

Rated M for Violence, Language and Smut

***

Twinkle twinkle little star...

How I wonder what you are...

You hear this refrain as you try to escape him. You run desperately through these long corridors that follow each other and collide like an endless Labyrinth. But the more you advanced the more you heard that voice.

Hold your breath and count to ten...

Praise your Lord it’s soon the end...

You suddenly find yourself in front of a dead end. It's getting closer... A sinister sneer was heard.

Twinkle twinkle little star...

Time for you to fall and ... DIE.

A white mask appears in front of you with a knife in his hand. You wake up startled and sweaty, panting and putting a hand on your chest. Then a sigh of relief, all this was a nightmare. Since your conversation with Ghostface, this nightmare haunts you, this feeling of insecurity, knowing that it could appear at any time to kill you... it was horrible.

You're watching your alarm clock, 9:30. Fortunately for you, it's your day off, you have to take your day too, right? You stretch for a long time before heading to the bathroom to pass some water over your face.

“Come on, I've been through a lot worse than being the target of a fucking lunatic. He said that, until I tell the police, he won't kill me. He will eventually forget me, I'm sure... At least, I hope so.”

After you get dressed you leave the bathroom to prepare breakfast, then you sit in front of the television to find out the news of the day. As you listened to the news, your eyes turned to the pictures hanging on the walls.

A photo catches your attention in particular: Your parents sit at the beach, your mother holding you in her arms, your father smiling with all his teeth fresh bottles of beer in his hand. it was your uncle who took this picture and gave it to your mother as a souvenir. Then she gave it to you.

No brothers and sisters, you're an only child. But you didn’t have the feeling of solitude that all the unique children had because your parents have always been there. You shake your head, your eyes closed, then you get up to kiss the photo softly before sitting back on the sofa.

The information is quite repetitive nothing new, nor interesting. You change channels until you stumble upon a series, when someone knocks on the door. given the force in the door knocks, it could only be Mrs. Lawson who surely brought you your mail. or cookies.

“Mrs Lawson! Do you need something?” you said with a bright smile.

“Oh no my dear...in fact, I made cookies and I thought you would like to have some. I’ve followed your advices and James loves them more than before!” She responds with a laugh holding you a packet full of cookies.

“Well thanks! But please come in! I’ll make some tea! Earl Gray, I presume?

“Yes, Thank you sweetheart. What a lovely home you have! It's really different compared to the ancient tenant. He was always absent and this place was the kingdom of dust. Excepted for the bedroom and the bathroom, he never cleaned anything here.”

“Ewwww...Fortunately for him I wasn’t living here with him, otherwise I'll kick his ass for being such lazy. Don’t worry that’s not my case! This is and will stay as clean as the first day!” you said as you prepared and put the tea on the table. “You and Mr Lawson are a lovely couple; how did you meet him?”

“Oh, James and I, we've known each other since we were kids, we’re going to the same school. He was playful and a little impatient. But he was a loyal friend and his kindness was endless. And I'm not talking about the charm he had with women. The only flaw I can find is that he is often distracted and it's not new, I can’t remember how many times he goes to the infirmary. Then we each made our way... and 41 years ago, to the day, we dated. And since then, I've never left him. At 71 and 72 years old we still have the spirit we had when we were 30!” She chuckles before taking a sip of her tea.

“Well, your Kids must be proud to have parents who have loved each other so much all this time as you. And your grandchildren too! “

“oh, if only I had...Unfortunately, I am sterile and we have never been able to have children... but James never abandoned me even for that.”

“Oh...I'm sorry. I didn’t mean to...” You said really embarrassed.

“It’s nothing. Is this your family on those photos? Your parents must be proud to have a beautiful and kind girl like you. I envy them so much. It must have been difficult for them to see their little girl leave the house...I'll hope you call them sometimes to reassure them.”

You remain silent on her last words. The situation is...complicated and too many things come to your mind. Things you'd rather have forgotten forever. And others you want to keep until your last day. You talk for a few more minutes with Mrs. Lawson, whom you learned during the discussion that her name was Meredith, before she left your apartment smiling and more lightly having someone to talk to when her husband is not there.

You put everything in the sink to wash it, and the packet of cookies in one of the kitchen closets, where all your treats are usually located. But shhh... It's a secret. Then you look at the piece of paper on your fridge which is Jed’s number.

He gave it to you when needed. But you don't want to disturb him, risk his life. After all what will Ghostface do if he ever realizes that Jed is also in confidence? he said he would not kill him as it was because of him that he was the star of Roseville. But if he ever realizes that he knows far too much... You shake your head, preferring not to think in what state he might leave that poor Jed if the urge to kill him took Ghostface.

You head to your room, to look at the different dresses you had for the reception. Jed and his colleagues have warned you that proper dress is required once there and everyone knows that for the rich, proper dress means for us an outfit bordering on the overpriced.

“well then, what do I have in there that could do the trick? This one? No, too eccentric. Maybe this one? Hm... No, too flash, if I want to look like a traffic light this dress is perfect. Oh, maybe this one! No no no, too English schoolgirl...”

You looking during 30 minutes before giving up. None of these dresses will fit darling, you'll have to buy one... luckily you were saving for this kind of situation. A clothing emergency doesn't prevent!

You take your bag before leaving the apartment, determined to find this dress. The one that not only will allow you not to get thrown out, but that may impress Jed. Hold on... What?

“But what am I thinking... Remains serious mollusc brain! Jed is your neighbour, nothing more! Even if he has a rather pleasant physique to look at, an angel face and eyes... Ahhhh his eyes... but what's wrong with me???”

“huh...You’re okay?”

Note to yourself: never talk alone or we'll think you're crazy. You turn to face Jed, looking at you a little worried but also surprised. You laugh slightly embarrassed when trying to find your words. Good luck.

“Oh Jed! Hum yes, I'm fine! I was just...going outside...” you start before sighing “sorry... I'm going out for an emergency dress. For the reception. Unfortunately, I have none that will allow me not to find myself outside at the entrance...”

“I suspected it a little ... Then... I thought you'd like it.” He said holding a packet to you.

“oh Jed...You shouldn’t...I can’t, really...” you replied before open the package pulling out a beautiful purple dress. “She’s beautiful. How do you know that was my favourite color?”

“I didn’t know. But... I thought you'd be the only person worthy of wearing her in this town.”

“Thanks...You know what? Tonight, I'll pay you for the restaurant! And I insist! If you refuse, no more cakes.” you laugh.

“Yes, ma'am. I give in to such a threat, I care too much about your cakes for that.” he said raising his hands in the air, laughing too. “See you tonight then”. He replied before leaving. You look at the dress while going home.

That won't stop you from buying one for tonight. Well, it will not be a luxury dress either, but at least enough to be presentable. Brushing your hair a little won't be too much either. Because I doubt that, being dressed in sweatshirts and jeans is the best idea of the century. And above all... be careful. No inappropriate topics and no questions too personal.

You fold and store the purple dress in an empty locker in your wardrobe before you go out to buy tonight's dress. you take the opportunity to go to the café to check that nothing has been stolen or vandalized. You make at least three clothing stores before you find your dress: black with white and red floral pattern with very short sleeves. Simple, soft but effective. On the way you met Lindsey, the florist who, thanks to you, saw her clientele increase.

In the evening, dressed and coiffed, you and Jed left the building to go to dinner. From a distance, we might think you're a young couple dating. You both agreed to a Chinese restaurant, one of the best in Roseville. While eating you were discussing about everything and nothing... let's say you ask more questions about him than he does about you.

“I never thought you'd have had so many adventures... But... I want to know more. I want to know about little Jed Olsen, the pure boy from Florida.” you said eating a spring roll.

“Well, I don't see what more I could tell you about me... When I was little, the other kids thought I was...weird. And they made fun of me because I was the "chouchou" of the school, the poor and weak Jed Olsen. As I told you before, my parents considered me as a mistake. You suspect that they were not going to defend me... they were acting in front of everyone but then...” he responds taking a sip of wine.

“I’m sorry... I don't understand how they can be so horrible with a child...Look at you today! You have a job, a fairly stable situation, you are a beautiful young man... and they miss all that. Just because you're a mistake to them.”

“I managed on my own as soon as I could. I had to have... 15/16 when I emancipated myself. it wasn't easy, but it taught me two or three things. But let's talk about you. Miss Rainbow.”

“hey I had the prettiest rainbow dress! my mother and I had spent a whole day doing it. And it paid off. Otherwise, I don't have much to say either. A normal life... a teenager... almost normal. A mundane life in short. And then I wanted to fly on my own. To create something personal. That's why I moved here.”

“And how did your parents react? I guess they must have cried when they saw you leave the family nest.”

“It’s...complicated. I don’t wanna talk about that. For now.”

He simply nods before eating again. After paying the bill for both meals, you leave the restaurant with Jed, laughing at one of his work anecdotes. Although he remains shy about some things, Jed seems more comfortable with you. As you were about to return to the car, several men stood in front of you, armed with iron bars. Instinctively you take Jed's hand and squeeze it tightly.

“What do you want?” Ask Jed calmly.

“Nothing to do with you, redhead. The boss has a message for her. So, get out of there, or you're going to taste my bar.” respond one of them.

“Ready to run?” Jed replied looking at you holding tightly your hand. When you nod, he hits hard enough in a trash can to send it over your aggressors before pulling you by the hand to escape. “Come on! This way!”

“GET THEM BOYS !!!” Scream one of them.

You follow Jed blindly, while memorizing the path taken in case you manage to sow them to return to the car. After a while you find yourself in a dead end, your pursuers getting closer little by little.

“What do we do now???” you ask panicked and breathless.

“... Give me a hand." He responds pushing a big trash can.

Placing it so that you could pass on the other side of the wall, you were about to go up when Jed took your hand shaking his head. He hit the lid of the trash can loud enough with his hand to make your assailants, who were getting closer and closer, believe that you were actually climbing the wall. Then taking your hand, he walked down a narrow and closed alley, hiding you both deep so that no one would see you.

Jed beckoned you to remain silent, before taking a light look, hearing the assailants stop in front of the wall. By pure reflex, you tighten against him, your arms tightening around his waist, your face buried in his torso.

“Shit! They managed to escape! Goddamnit, the boss is going to be mad.” said the one of the assailants.

The band leaves after a few minutes. Jed looked at you surprised before smiling slightly and patting your shoulder.

“They’re gone...We can go now. Are you alright?” He asks with a smile.

“Y-yeah... I'm sure it's that guy... McKellan who hired these guys. it seems that he wants more than to send me a message...” you start to say before blushing and releasing Jed. “Sorry...W-we should go home now.”

You go back to your car, re-borrowing the road and finally go home. What a night! The fear of being attacked at your home wins over you and, while Jed is about to return to his apartment wishing you good night, you stop him by taking his arm.

“Wait! I... I don’t feel safe to sleep alone at home tonight. Can you...can you just stay with me? Promise it will be the first and the last time.”

“Well... if it makes you feel better... Why not.” responds Jed with a smile while Danny smiles devilishly. You let the wolf enter in the sheepfold? Poor you, you don’t know what you do. Even if he sleeps on the sofa, he can now explore better your home.

You both enter your apartment and prepare something to sleep on the couch for Jed. He didn't mind, he used to do it with work. You take the opportunity to show him where the coffee is and what to eat if he ever gets up before you tomorrow morning.

“Are you sure you don't mind?” you ask.

“Don’t worry. I'll try not to make too much noise. Rest well and relax. I’m here. Good night...and thanks for the restaurant.” he responds with his angelic smile.

“...Good night Jed.” you replied, kissing him on the cheek unwittingly.

You blush when you see him put his hand on his cheek, surprised, and quickly go to your room by closing the door. Your gesture will not remain inconsequential... Maybe it's going to affect your fate. In a way you'll never dare think about it.

***

(Done! I’ll wish you a Merry Christmas to all of you! In these difficult times, nothing beats the Christmas holidays to find some joy and not think about what is happening now! fingers crossed that the year a month is better than this one! If you have questions for me or if you just want to talk, just do! See ya! )

#dbd fanfic #dbd #dead by daylight #ghostface #danny johnson #jed olsen

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jasperwhitcock · 4 years

Text

02. DISTRACTIONS

i’ve decided to continue with the au of bella as a vampire & edward as a human inspired by a post from @bellasredchevy, so here’s another installment (you can read the first chapter here). if anyone has thoughts on if it’d be more preferable for me to post this fanfic on wattpad/fanfiction.net/another website rather than posting it on tumblr, let me know :-) if not, i’ll continue to post here & figure out some tag to make it easier to find!

The boys had left for a hunting trip, so I found myself falling victim to what Alice liked to call a “sleepover”. It was a ridiculous name for this kind of occasion. An unfortunate part of what we were consequently lost us the ability to sleep and thus, dream. I had found this to be something I considered an advantage when I was first changed. I had so much extra time I could devote to reading! Unfortunately, the excitement didn’t last very long. I still enjoyed the benefits of all the ample time, but I did miss the creativity of my subconscious that allowed me to live in other worlds unrestricted by the more sentient, aware parts of my mind. I missed escapism.

I even missed the nightmares at times. I had been such a vivid dreamer.

Additionally, it was even further ridiculous to refer to this as a sleepover when we spent every night together. Without the sleep and the ‘over’ aspect of spending the night away from home, this was definitely the worst sleepover I’d been to in the course of my existence.

Although, as a bonding time amongst the women of the Olympic Coven, with the exception of some of Alice’s ideas for activities, I enjoyed this kind of night very much. I’d have gone with the boys to hunt if I had any intention of returning to school tomorrow. I’d owe them an explanation when they returned as for the tension that filled the car as we drove home from school. I hated to be the center of attention, so I was appreciative when Alice and Rosalie agreed to keep the horrific encounter a secret for now. I didn’t want the scrutiny of their concern nor the dramatics of the situation.

I was lucky that they had plans with Carlisle. Rosalie was able to convince Emmett and Jasper to begin their night early by allowing us to drop them off at the hospital – much to the dismay of my bulkier brother who had spent his day eagerly anticipating our rematch. My other sister easily dismissed their suspicion of our motives. Nobody questioned Alice twice. I was glad to have more time to mull over what to say to Carlisle. As much as I wanted his guidance, if I could put off growing the audience to my moment of weakness for another couple of hours, I’d gladly take the distraction of Alice braiding my hair into a long plait down my back while she blasted music in the garage where Rosalie worked.

Typically when we had nights like these, we each selected an activity to do together. Alice made the choice – unfortunately for me – to sort through all of our closets and rid them of items she no longer deemed wearable. With the exception of a few favorites, we rarely wore the same things twice, so it seemed like a waste of time. That is until I realized that this was all just a ruse to chastise me for the items of clothing she stocked in my closet that I didn’t wear. My small, voyeuristic sister was pleased with Rosalie and Esme, creating a nice, substantial pile of clothing to donate, whereas my closet ended up acquiring even more clothing than before. I was far too moody to care to protest.

Esme arranged for the four of us to paint together while some french movie played in the background. As an added challenge, she had Alice describe a vision to us, and we all attempted to capture the image on our canvases. Rosalie simply wanted our company as she continued her ongoing project of restoring yet another classic car that she’d eventually gift as an item for a charity auction. My activity of choice usually was the same: I’d select a book for us to read, and we’d have a book club to conclude the night once we’d all finished.

Tonight, however, I wasn’t feeling entirely up for it. Although I definitely wouldn’t mind the fictional escape away from Forks, I didn’t have it in me to sincerely participate in the conversation that would follow.

I wanted to move beyond the events of this afternoon already. As much as it disconcerted me, I didn’t want to be so severely consumed. I was growing irritated with the feelings of disappointment that preoccupied me. I had taken my ease in this life for granted.

Although I knew it wasn’t his fault, I found myself becoming frustrated with the Masen kid. When I began to see eyes materializing in the green brush strokes of the trees of my painting, I unintentionally destroyed my canvas. Something about the perplexity in his shockingly perceptive irises and the intelligence that marked his thick eyebrows when they pulled together was inexplicably haunting me. The irony of feeling haunted when I was the undead creature was not lost on me.

“I’ll grab you another one, dear,” Esme soothed, exchanging worried glances with Rosalie and Alice before disappearing to bring me another large square of coarse, woven white fabric to vandalize.

When the lyrics of the song Alice sang along to as Esme handed Rosalie the tools she needed began to creep into my head and develop new meanings I didn’t want to hear, I abruptly sprang from the driver's seat of Rose’s convertible and ran from the garage. I wanted to unravel in peace.

I stopped when I reached the large, grey stones of the riverbank.

The forest was peaceful. It was nearly dawn; a pale, purple-grey tinted light cloaked the scenery before me, the orange and pink hues of the morning sun that should fade into the navy-black of the night sky were hidden behind a thick layer of rain clouds. The water of the river flowed sinuously by as some birds sang far in the distance. The greenery was enveloped in the fallen rain of the night, droplets of water clinging stunningly to every blade of grass, every needle of pine of the lush vegetation like crystals and diamonds. A cold mist intimately caressed the river, enveloping the landscape in a fresh haze. I could now see the vision Alice described a few hours prior come to life. Here I stood now, quietly, amongst the skyline of trees in daybreak.

I closed my eyes to the muted beauty of this morning, indifferent to the ephemerality of the moment. How many mornings had I seen like this? They were all already cemented in my infallible mind. I breathed in, the cold air whistling deliciously down my throat. On my tongue I could taste the minty, rain-kissed evergreens, the warm streams of blood pumping the tiny, fluttering heartbeats of the smallest animals, the earthy, sweet brooks leading back to the river. The wind softly stroked the sparkling spring water, and as I focused on the faint whisper of an insect’s fluttering wings, I heard the lithe, recognizable stride of my adopted mother approaching. With her came new scents and sounds – white gardenia, freshly baked bread, honey, peach blossoms, a whisper of lush silk, a hiss of air, a gentle nuzzling of fast footsteps on glossy moss.

She arrived by my side but said nothing, joining me in my silent reverie.

“You have nothing to say?” I asked after we stood there for some time, Esme watching what I assumed was the faint hint of the sun rising beyond the clouds, lifting the overcast view into lighter shades of blue-grey. I could feel the slight difference in temperature against my skin.

“Is there something you wish for me to say, sweetheart?” Esme asked gently.

I finally opened my eyes, turning to meet her topaz eyes full of love and patience.

“Not really,” I half-smiled, feeling guilty.

Her beautiful mouth widened into a smile, lighting up her heart-shaped face. She seemed to find some humor in my honesty, letting out a peal of laughter that frightened some distant creatures into silence at the unexpected sound of bells. Her caramel-colored waves of hair shook lightly with the motion.

“Oh, my Bella.” Instantaneously, I was enveloped in her warm, velvet arms. “It is absolutely valid to feel such despondency, but we must celebrate that we are not mourning the loss of another life! For that, I am very proud of you. And I’ve been so relieved that in this life you’ve never had to grieve the mistakes that even I have made...but we would never feel differently towards you if you had. Nor do we feel differently that you’re experiencing a struggle much more strenuous than before.”

She paused before continuing more fervently, “it makes you no less strong, and you will have the strength to resist...I believe that with all my heart. Please don’t feel so disappointed with yourself. You must give yourself some credit and patience and forgiveness. It pains me to see you so cheerless!”

“I’m sorry I seem so...down,” I sighed, resting my head dejectedly on her shoulder. “I guess, to be frank, it just...sucks to feel like I don’t have the super sense of self control that I thought I did. I’m beginning to feel bad for Jasper now,” I snorted bitterly.

She laughed again at my colloquial choice of words.

“Perhaps you owe him an apology. You and your brother have given him an awful lot of trouble for how he struggles,” my mother accused me teasingly, stroking my hair just as my sisters had. The comfort was nice, but I also felt irrationally remorseful to have any need for it.

“Yeah, maybe I do,” I frowned, thinking of having to put aside my pride.

She pulled away to hold me at arm’s length, cautiously studying my face.

After a moment, she pulled me against her again in another embrace.

“I will leave you alone now. It seems you would benefit from some more time by yourself to think without your sisters’ futile attempts to distract you.”

I could tell she was smiling from the way the words left her mouth. “But I won’t allow you to wallow in pity forever.”

Esme released me from the hug and reappeared four yards away from me, the expression on her perfect face stern. “So take the time you need to process how you’re feeling. But only be alone if you need to be. Don’t let yourself be lonely. That’s very important...You know where we will be.”

With that, she was gone.

I couldn’t understand why I was so inconsolable. Of course, I valued her words and the sentiment. My family’s understanding and support were wonderful to have, but I couldn’t shake the upheaval the boy’s blood had wreaked on my thoughts. It seemed to me a cruel joke, that after all these years of so naturally adjusting to this life, I now experienced the true, macabre consequences of this form. Would I have traded the ease that had accompanied me until now if it meant I’d never have experienced a magnetism as strong as the sweet scent that lingered just beneath the Masen boy’s frail skin? Would I have chosen to struggle more the entirety of my existence if it meant I’d have avoided the ferocity of that moment in my suddenly not so banal biology class? Maybe I would have.

This must be some kind of punishment from some god somewhere. Why else would I experience such effortlessness only to be met with an unendurable, unassailable call to reject everything good about my existence? I never gave much thought to religion in either of my lives. I suppose that after I’d been changed, it’d seem like a far more interesting subject because what could be the implications of an existence such as mine? Did my being a monster provide more validity to the existence of a god? If mythological evil creatures plagued the earth, then couldn’t a supernatural deity who created the universe exist as well? Or did my being a monster provide evidence that there was no god – because who could create such a despicable creature?

It had been far more evocative a topic to Carlisle who had spent much of his life after his transformation pondering these questions, but in all truthfulness, it never bothered me much. I adjusted well to this life. I understood why I was changed and didn’t long for my humanity the way some of my other family members did. Of course, I hated the risk I posed to human life, but my conscience felt clear as my record remained clean. I never endured any self loathing for what I was.

Only now did I question myself. Only now did I wrestle with the ramifications of my immortality. Only now did I feel in its entirety – I had experienced strong desires for human blood before but never like this – the true shame of lusting for the end to someone’s precious life. Only now did I truly feel like the monster I was.

I was finally recognizing the wrongness within me.

I was mistaken to feel resentful and angry with the human boy. He did not make me this way. I had always been this way. I had just been blind to the fact for all these years. I had been naive.

He was entirely innocent and deserving of the life he would live. One where his future would not be stolen in a high school biology classroom as his body emptied. One where he would graduate and go on to better schools. One where he would have a successful job in something he was interested in that provided him with purpose. One where he would meet someone smart and kind. One where he would marry, have a family, and grow old surrounded by his progeny.

I suddenly experienced a strange sensation. A feeling I hadn’t felt in years – jealousy. Though I’d never envied a human before, I envied the possibilities this boy had. I never mourned the choices that were no longer available to me. I graduated countless times. I held countless jobs. I felt fulfilled in providing to the world with our philanthropy and loving my family. In that, I found purpose. I didn’t care to have children.

But did I care to experience romantic love?

I loved romance, but I never minded that it was unattainable to me beyond the pages of a novel. I’d met other vampires, but were the odds in my favor to find a soulmate amongst such a rare kind? I didn’t think so, and I was fine with that. I was happy in my solitude. At times, I was the odd one out in my coupled-off family, but I had often felt like the odd one out in my previous life. It wasn’t a new experience, so I never cared. But in thinking of this human boy’s life, free of monsters, free of me, I came to the realization that unlike myself, he could have anyone he wanted. He was not bound by anything other than maybe his own inhibitions. He had the luxury of choice in every aspect of his life but also in love. He had simply the luxury of love itself.

Why were these thoughts coming to me now? I had so much time to ponder my existence, and suddenly this encounter had me incomprehensibly considering inessential things.

I take back my previous feelings about the boy’s innocence. He is stupid and culpable. He’s inspiring stupidity in me.

He’s very fortunate that I have a conscience. I could just as easily murder him in irritation of the havoc his existence is inflicting on my life.

I refocused my thoughts on the scenery before me, longing for the previous morning where I watched the verdant motion of the trees outside the car window after Emmett’s silly destruction of the novel I still had yet to fix. Somehow, it seemed like a long time ago.

In that memory, I eventually found a small moment of peace again.

No painted eyes could haunt me here.

And yet, I was left with a sense of uneasiness, feeling as if my life thus far had been a long exposition, and I had just encountered the inciting incident. I was feeling – though I’d been irrevocably altered once before – as if something would soon change me forever.

we all know stubborn bella wouldn’t yeet herself to alaska like edward’s dramatic ass. hope y’all enjoy hehe <3

#twilight fanfiction #twilight renaissance #twilight au #twilight saga #the twilight saga #bella swan #edward cullen #jasperwhitcock #esme cullen #alice cullen #rosalie hale #vampire #equinoxjw

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jiavalentine · 4 years

Text

Is that (Jennie Kim)?! Oh, no, it’s just (Jia Valentine, 26, she/her), the (Sales Associate) from Dunder Mifflin. I heard they’re (charismatic, engaging, adaptable) but can also be (overconfident, careless, lazy). They’re (single) and have been working there for (five years) and post a lot @(msvalentine).

Any of the resident office gossips will tell you she doesn’t have a fancy pedigree, or even a college credit to speak of; she was never given any formal training in communications or the art of the deal. Indeed, she coasts by on pure natural talent for charm and slight deceit - honed into a razor-sharp edge by years of being a problem child and juvenile delinquent. She beguiled her way not only into this job, but also into the hearts and minds of her loyal client base, who never fail to ask for her by name. And a memorable name it is: Jia Valentine. So darling and lyrical, many refuse to accept that it’s the name listed on her birth certificate.

It came as no surprise when she was offered the Head of Sales position, but she summarily turned it down, perfectly content at her current balance of pay and responsibility. Besides, she makes enough in commissions to rival the potential salary, anyway.

hello!! i think most of us are acquainted but i'm angel and this is my darling jia! she's a long-time oc who's been repurposed for this office and i'm very excited to play her here!!

⚛ °｡ about.

full name: jia [redacted] valentine. birthdate: february 2nd. birthplace: scranton, PA. zodiac: aquarius sun, gemini moon, scorpio rising. mbti: entp. gender: cis female. orientation: bisexual.

tw: drugs and self harm, sorta.

with a name like jia valentine, the young girl's parents surely thought they'd set her up for greatness as a beloved musician or soap opera star. and for the first six or seven years of her life, she believed them, and took it to heart that she owed it to them to carry on their legacy. with her father a CFO and her mother a pediatric surgeon, she had no choice but to see the very large shadows they cast, and being the middle child only made it all the more difficult to find a bit of sun.

where her older sister excelled in academics and her younger brother looked to be right on track for a baseball scholarship, jia took to the arts quite beautifully as her name had predicted. she was particularly passionate about and proficient at playing the violin, practicing until her fingertips bled by choice and never failing to dazzle at her recitals.

however, since it was the thing she loved the most, it was the first thing her parents would take from her as punishment when she stepped even slightly out of line, which was often. she was a girl who would come home with grass stains on the white stockings she was forced to wear, who would arm wrestle the boys in her class at recess and get detention for throwing paper wads and giggling with her friends during the lessons. her grades also suffered due to a case of undiagnosed adhd that she wouldn't find out about until she was much older and out from under her parents' roof.

at school, she was able to talk her way out of trouble more often than not. even though she was a definitive underachiever, she was still smart and funny enough that she built up a solid rapport with all of her teachers. her parents were relentless, though, on the occasions that they were called about her behavior, and they thoroughly emptied the art of violin of its joy for jia.

on one fateful day when she was thirteen, she came home after the school had called her parents about an incident involving a visiting superintendent and the cafeteria spaghetti to find them waiting for her. she knew the exact trajectory the ensuing fight would take, and rather than wait for them to forbid her from practicing for however many weeks, she walked directly upstairs despite their continued yelling and decisively bashed her violin against any nearby surface until it snapped in two.

that was the first time she was sent to juvie.

more visits would follow, mostly due to truancy but sometimes vandalism or breaking & entering. by the time she graduated high school, she was on a first name basis with most of the corrective staff and even they couldn't help but like her at least a little and tell her specifically not to come back at the end of her every sentence.

that wouldn't happen until she turned eighteen, though, and left her parents' house the minute after midnight on her birthday. her natural talents for charm and deceit lent themselves nicely to a career in drug running, and she lived quite happily and luxuriously for a few years that way. since she was exceptionally good at it, she never, ever got caught, until she did.

one of her clients, unbeknownst to her, had gotten himself arrested, and was offered a deal for a lighter sentence if he'd wear a wire and help them catch his dealer. four years of this life and it was over in a matter of seconds and a few flashes of blue and red lights.

jia didn't know how, or why, but after waiting in jail for over a month, she was sent for personally by the warden. when she made her way to his office, beige jumpsuit and handcuffs at all, she sat down and found herself face to face with the man who'd overseen her old juvenile detention center for almost twenty years apparently, he'd been promoted.

"alright, ms. valentine." he'd always been a very straightforward person. "you're still young, and maybe despite my better judgement, i still believe there's hope for you yet. get out of here and straighten yourself up. don't let me see you again."

the next thing she knew, she was in street clothes, and she was free.

it would have been easy and comfortable to dive headfirst back into her life of crime, but something about what the warden said stuck with her. she couldn't remember the last time someone had believed in her, no matter how unkindly he may have put it. when she headed straight to poor richard's, she saw a help wanted ad for a sales associate at a paper supply firm.

hey, technically she had several years' experience in sales.

there were other, more qualified applicants, ones with college degrees and references who weren't in prison, but jia's quiet intelligence and witty charms won out in the end, as they had a way of doing.

it's been five years since then, and she's won sales(wo)man of the year twice in that interim. one might never suspect that she's making it all up as she goes along.

⚛ °｡ connections.

childhood friends, maybe even juvie buddies? or just people who joined her in her delinquency

exes are always spicy

drinking buddies, ride or dies, friends in general!

crushes with extra Tension™

anything tbh bring your characters unto me and lo i will love them

#dmfmintro #i put the gif under the read more because #last time i made an intro like this tumblr refused to listen to me when i unchecked full width gifs #anyway this is longgg my apolocheese!

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ehenyeoongg · 4 years

Text

ODD-EYED FREAK

Pairing: Jung Jaehyun x reader Word count: 1.8k

Heterochromia iridum; it wasn’t an illness, and you were completely harmless, but everyone was scared of you.

HIGHSCHOOL AU

"your eyes, they're beautiful.." he reached out to touch your face.

You jolted awake, panting. You dreamed of him again, your first love.. You looked at your reflection in the mirror, and memories flooded into your head when you saw your eyes. One brown, and one blue.

The doctors and professionals called it heterochromia, but the elderly used to scream and shout monster, or cursed girl when you walked through the streets. You still remembered when they would point their fingers at you and talk behind your back when you were a child.

You got ready for school. It took a longer time, with all the extra makeup. As soon as you were done, you grabbed your bag and ran out the door.

“Out of the way, freak.” a clique of girls drove closely behind you. You stepped out of the way and continued walking to your classroom.

The classroom was quiet, and you suspected they were playing a trick, but you didn’t expect it to go that far. As soon as you opened the door, a bucket of dirty water fell onto you. You looked around the classroom and saw that everyone had been waiting for you to enter, just to play the prank on you. The bell rang and the teacher arrived on time.

“Ah, Y/N. Go get yourself cleaned up.” he couldn’t be bothered to reprimand or talk to the class about their behavior anymore. You walked out the door to the girl’s toilet and took your contacts off before hopping into the shower. What you didn’t expect was that someone would steal your clothes. You sighed at their childish behavior and walked out of the toilet in your dirty clothes, forgetting your contact lenses on the sink.

“What’s wrong with your eyes? So you really are a freak!” you looked up to face the mastermind behind the childish pranks. The school bully, Shu and his girlfriend were waiting for you in front of the toilet, and you saw your clean clothes in his girlfriend’s hands.

When you turned, you were met with someone’s chest and you looked up to see Jaehyun. You immediately shielded your eyes and turned away.

“I’m sorry,” you tried to walk away, but he held you by your wrist and placed his towel over your head. He pulled a set of clean clothes from his duffel bag and handed it to you.

“Go get changed.” You bowed and thanked him before running back into the toilet. When you were done, you looked everywhere for your contact lenses.

“Looking for this?” Shu’s girlfriend held up the case.

“G-Give it back.” you reached out for it.

“Give it back?” she dropped it into the toilet bowl. “Oops! my hand slipped.” she flushed the toilet bowl and gasped. “Now that was on purpose.” she smirked and walked out of the toilet.

You sighed and picked up your dirty clothes before walking out of the toilet. Jaehyun was still waiting for you outside, and it seemed that Shu and his gang had walked off.

“T-Thank you for the clothes..” his clothes were a little big on you. But they smelled like him, like the sun, if the Sun were to have a smell.

“Ah..” you forgot that you didn’t have your contacts on and you covered your left eye.

“S-Sorry if I freak you out.. You must think I’m a monster or something..” you laughed awkwardly and walked away, but he grabbed you by your arm.

“You’re injured.. I’ll take you to the infirmary.” When you entered, the nurse looked up from her papers.

“Ah, Y/N.” she noticed your eyes, “Were you bullied again?” you smiled and rubbed the back of your neck.

“Oh, you have blood on your elbow.”

“I’ll wait outside,” Jaehyun left.

“How much longer are you going to keep hiding?” she asked, bandaging your arm.

“Just a while longer. I want to live a normal life before I go back to that world.” you thanked her after she was done and walked out of the infirmary. She had provided you with an eye patch so you could hide your eye and you could resume classes like normal.

“Who is she?” Jaehyun had heard the conversation between you and the nurse.

“She’s like the princess of the underworld. Her father rules the country, and controls the government. His word is the law. Her seven brothers are all gang leaders in different districts. Sadly, the poor girl has no mother. Her mother died during childbirth, and she’s the only female heir of the Dong family.”

“She’s been hiding from them for a few months now because she wants to live a normal life. But, she knows her brothers will soon find her.”

---

“The freak is back!” you entered the classroom.

“Hey, freak, what’s the eye patch for? You wanna become a pirate?” they teased as you walked to your seat. It was vandalized with all sorts of curses.

“Come on, freak, take the eye patch off!” the girls nudged you. Some of them reached for your face, but you dodged them. One of Shu’s henchmen forcefully grabbed you and the girls took your eyepatch off.

You could hear gasps.

“W-Who are you?”

“She’s beautiful.”

“Beautiful? You boys are blind.” Shu’s girlfriend grabbed your face and turned your face to face her. “What’s so beautiful about an odd-eyed.. monster?” she doubted her eyes for a moment and raised her hand to slap you.

There were three knocks on the door and someone entered. You recognized the man in the grey suit and struggled against their hold.

“Boss!” Shu ran up to him. “Look, the school freak turned out to be a beauty!” he pointed at you.

The man in the gray suit slapped him.

“Let go of her, or I’ll have my men cut your arms off.” the people around you released you and took a step back. You were about to run for the door, but one of his bodyguards stopped you.

“Y/N.” he took off his glasses. You sighed and turned to face him.

“He’s so handsome! How does he know the freak?” you could hear the whispers.

“Brother..” your head hung low as he walked toward you.

“BROTHER!?” Shu knelt suddenly.

“B-Boss, I didn’t know she was your sister! If I had known, I-”

“You bullied my sister, called her a freak, and dared to talk to me in that manner?” your brother turned to the boy.

“Someone like you, should die.” his glare sent a chill down Shu’s spine and the boy almost wet his pants.

“Wait! Brother, he doesn’t deserve to die, he-”

“You should know the rule, Y/N. Anyone who insults one of us, insults all of us. These insects deserve death.”

“I.. I know, but isn’t there a.. lighter punishment?” you tried to negotiate with the blue-eyed gangster.

“The only thing I can think of right now is to lock him up in the torture cell. Since you were gone for three months, he would be tortured for thirty months.”

“Thirty months?” the boy was shaking.

You looked up at your brother, and he sighed, knowing that you wanted to give the boy a lighter punishment.

“Fine.. I’ll just cut three of his fingers off.”

“Good.” you nodded. Everyone else looked at you in surprise, their gaping mouths wider than before. G-good? Three fingers is considered a light punishment?

��I let you off easy this time because of my kind sister. You’re lucky I was the one who appeared today, and not my other brothers. If they did, you would’ve died immediately, and..” as your brother rambled on and on, you signaled to the men to carry out the boy’s punishment. His screams were like music to your ears after all you had been through. He deserved a harsher punishment, but you felt pity for the clueless boy.

You took the three fingers and walked up to his girlfriend.

“A present for you..” you placed it in her hands and walked to his two best friends. “A present for you, and for you.” you had a straight face on as you gave them his three fingers.

“She’s not a freak, she’s a psycho.” someone whispered as you walked past.

Your brother glanced at the girl who had whispered and in a matter of seconds, someone had a knife aimed at her throat. You caught the knife with your hand, but he was quick to retreat and left a small scrape on your palm.

“Y/N!” your brother gasped and the guy who had held the knife was killed immediately. Everyone screamed as blood pooled on the classroom floor. You sighed and pushed your brother out.

“We’re done here.” as you walked out, you saw Jaehyun standing outside the classroom.

“Were you the one who called my brother?” he nodded, “Thank you. I’ll return the clothes to you soon.” You smiled and walked off with a panicked brother worrying over the small cut in your palm. When you were gone, Jaehyun finally started breathing. Your presence was strong. How had you managed to hide it behind a pair of contact lens and makeup for three whole months?

He felt his heart beating faster, and an image of your smiley face reappeared in his mind. She thanked me.. He blushed and his palm was placed above his heart, trying to calm it down.

---

“Miss Y/N?” you were running through the mansion and bumped into the butler.

“Where’s Father?” you asked, then ran in the direction of the study.

“Father! I don’t want to live high school! I found him! He.. Jung..” you struggled to catch your breath..

“Calm down..” he chuckled, “I know, that boy was the same boy who saved you 7 years ago.” he smiled.

“I know it’s a bit much to ask for, but can I please..”

“Go ahead, do whatever you want, I won’t stop you. But on one condition..” his face turned serious.

---

“Your clothes.” you stood in front of the school gates, waiting for Jaehyun the next day.

“You’re back?” you nodded excitedly with a bright smile on your face.

“Father said I could continue attending, but I must have a bodyguard with me at all times, and he heard that you have black belt in Taekwondo, so.. please take good care of me!” you bowed.

“Ah.. you don’t need to do that!” Jaehyun held your shoulders, then flinched and stepped back. I touched the princess! Are my hands going to be cut off!?

You stood up suddenly, and shook your head.

“Don’t worry, you have permission to touch me. Father said that if necessary, he allows up to a certain level of skinsh-“ Jaehyun suddenly grew more aware of the amount of people passing by and covered your mouth.

“O-Okay, I get it.. Let’s just quickly get to class..” you had a wide smile on your face as you entered the school.

#nct #nct imagines #nct scenarios #jung jaehyun #nct jaehyun #jaehyun #jung yoonoh #yoonoh x reader #jaehyun x reader #nct x reader

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redbone135 · 4 years

Text

Fake Dating AU

(I’m posting this here for Swanfire week because it bothers me to have unfinished fics on my AO3 account. It’s the set-up for a fake dating AU that I’m fairly certain will never actually get written. Strap in, it’s a long post.)

“Wait in the car,” Rumple hissed as sheriff Humbert let go of Neal’s shoulder with a resigned shake of his head, disappearing into his back office and leaving the front desk clerk to deal with this mess. The recurring shenanigans of Neal Gold had become way below his pay-grade.

“I didn’t do anything wrong!” Neal insisted with a pout.

“I said. Wait. In. The. Car!” His father managed to get out through gritted teeth.

“It wasn’t my fault!” Neal shouted, kicking at the front desk as he passed, causing a heap of papers to fall over onto the floor.

“CAR!”

“FINE!”

“Can I see his emergency contact form,” Rumple asked with a grimace, “I’d like to add Milah Cassidy to it - that’s Cassidy with two Ss and an I. If you could give her a call first next time-”

“You know,” the front desk woman - who the Gold family was on quite intimate terms with at this point - began while eyeing her stack of toppled papers on the floor, “There’s a juvenile support group for young offenders. Their rehabilitation program is said to work wonders.”

“I’m not an ‘offender’!” they heard Neal shout from the front entryway of the county sheriff’s office before slamming the door behind him.

Rumple shook his head. His son would never agree to that. And honestly, he knew where Neal got it from. He wouldn’t want to sit in a room with a bunch of other bad decision makers and share stories of his failure while people plied him with cliche platitudes, assuring him he was still, deep down, a good person. He waved the flier away politely.

“We don’t need that.”

She shrugged, “You know, you’re going to run out of bail money eventually, right?”

“Bail money only runs out when he does.”

They both cast a thoughtful glance back to the front window, Neal visibly sulking in the passenger seat of his dad’s car. He’d somehow managed to find a sharpie in the immaculately clean car and was adding to the permanent collection of his ‘artwork’ on the car’s dashboard.

The front desk clerk raised an eyebrow.

“Ok, fine, give me the flier,” Rumple sighed.

Rumple had been right, Neal did not want to go to the group meetings. In fact, he had been so vehemently opposed that he had threatened to pack his bags and run away, and that had been the end of that conversation. So they hadn’t talked about it, or his community service, or the fact that he hadn’t seemed to learn his lesson at all. In fact, his family had stayed suspiciously quiet about it up until the day they had decided to all go out for a family lunch at Granny’s diner and Belle’s minivan had pulled up to a stop in front of the little church advertised on the flier. And even though Neal begged them to talk about it then, they hadn’t had much in the way of a discussion as his little brother undid his seatbelt, and his stepsister pushed him out of the car, slamming the door behind him, while his father waved spitefully and Belle promised they’d be back to pick him up in an hour.

And he had never planned on walking into that church, he’d hitchhike to his mom’s and it would serve them right, but just in that moment a woman had walked by with a box of doughnuts and they had smelled really, really good. So maybe he had time to grab a snack before he booked it to the relative freedom of the Cassidy-Jones houseboat.

Yes, the plan had been simple. Get a free cup of coffee and doughnut, sneak out the back before anyone noticed, get to his mom’s, and then when stepdad started to irk him - probably around day three - he’d come back to his dad’s and they would have all been so worried about him there would be no more talk about him having to go to these stupid meetings.

Flawless plan.

And then he saw her.

She was slouched over in one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs, flanked on either side by two other girls that looked about as terrifying as Neal’s stepsister, picking at the loose threads in a hole in her leggings. She had thick, black-rimmed glasses that made her bright blue eyes look seductively large, and red lipstick that wasn’t her shade but definitely proved her point.

And a homemade tattoo on her wrist. Intriguing. Neal had done enough homemade tattoos on his friends to recognize talent. His mind began to swim with daydreams of the two of them, stretched out across his bed with a bottle of India ink between them as he added intricate details to the daisy, transforming it into a work of art befitting the masterpiece of a canvas it had been painted on.

New plan.

So he stayed for the meeting, taking carefully timed sips of coffee so that he wouldn’t have to share anything with the group. She didn’t share either, he noticed. Perfect. She also didn’t want to be here.

So he waited for her by the snack table afterwards, watching her put extra doughnuts wrapped in napkins into her purse - like anyone would have cared if she’d just taken the whole box.

“Neal Cassidy,” he said, extending his hand and startling her into jumping and dropping the doughnut she was holding.

She glared. “You don’t need to know my name.”

“I like your tattoo,” he offered, turning to follow her as she walked away toward the front door. “I have one myself, want to see it?”

“Not if it involves you taking off any articles of clothing,” she said, offering him a smug grin.

“Maybe later then,” he said, speeding up his pace to step in front of her and stop cold, blocking the only door, much to her obvious annoyance. “So, why are you here?”

“Stole a car.”

“Wow! Same, we’re twins!” he exclaimed with a grin, and he thought if he wasn’t mistaken he saw the tiniest hint of a grin on her face. “So why’d you do it?”

“Why did you?” she shot back a little too aggressively.

“My mommy didn’t love me enough,” he laughed, “It’s this whole tragic backstory thing, if only I’d had someone to be proud of me, maybe then I wouldn’t be living this life of petty juvenile crime. I was just one caring parent away from being a scholar and a gentleman. You?”

She definitely chuckled at that, her shoulders letting go of some of the tension as she placed a hand on her hips and shot back with equal glibness, “No excuse. I just enjoy pure, mindless vandalism.”

That was kinda hot.

“Really?” he asked, “No tragic backstory? No evil step mom, followed by one who is way too young for your dad? No little half-sibling that gets all the attention and an aggressive step sister who is just staying with you until her mom gets out of jail? No creepy step dad who hits on your friends and takes money out of your wallet when you’re not looking?”

“Nope. My parents are perfect.”

And the way she said the word perfect told Neal everything he needed to know about her family. There was her reason, beyond enjoying the random chaos of destruction, the slight inflection on the word perfect was her reason. And so Neal adjusted his plan slightly.

“Oh, wow. Well you want any of those things? You can have mine, I wouldn't mind sharing.”

“I think I’ll pass, thanks,” she laughed, pushing him lightly out of the way to walk to the church parking lot where a lot of the other teens were climbing into family cars. Of course his family wasn’t here yet.

“Listen, Anna,” he said, “I know you don’t want to be here. Neither do I. What if there was a way we could help each other with that?”

“It’s Emma,” she corrected before realizing the trap she had fallen into. “And if you’re suggesting some sort of murder-suicide pact then you should know I’m already pretty close to murdering the creepy stalker who just tricked me into giving him my name.”

He grinned, shoving his hands in his pockets as he waited for her to finish surveying the parking lot. Her parents weren’t here, either. What a shame.

“Listen, you need someone to help you convince your parents you’re rehabilitated. It’s not a question. With your attitude, they aren’t gonna buy it without some outside assurance. I’d be excellent at that. What says ‘walking the straight and narrow’ better than a polite boyfriend who also happens to be really good and drawing up fake reports cards and providing alibis. I swear, I’ll have you out of this thing in under a month.”

She turned to look at him skeptically, “You think you can charm my parents? My mom literally calls my dad Prince Charming and you think you can charm them?”

“I know I can.”

She mulled it over, not seeming to hate the idea as he had anticipated.

“And in exchange? I’m what? The sweet girl next door in a floral sundress who promises your parents she’ll take you to church and make you normal again?”

“Nah. Dad’s on his third wife and mom lives on a boat. They have no idea what normal even looks like. No, I want you to convince them this whole group thing is hurting more than it’s helping. And you look like exactly the kind of girl who can scare the daylights out of my dad. Tell me, how good are you at faking a pregnancy scare?”

“Who’s faking?” she laughed, rubbing her stomach sarcastically.

“Perfect!” he ginned, pulling a pen out of his bag and scribbling his number on a napkin for her. “I’ll pick you up at six tomorrow - wouldn’t want to have you out past dark. Oh, and one more thing, when you finally do meet my dad, I need you to mention how cute it is that he and my stepmom have matching British accents. That will make more sense when you meet them.”

“Goodbye, fake boyfriend!” she waved, as a rusty blue pick-up pulled into the parking lot, jogging over to climb into the cab.

Neal waited another thirty minutes for his family to arrive.

“How was your meeting?” Belle asked over her shoulder as Neal shoved Regina out of the way to get to the back seat.

“Start any fights yet?” Regina asked, reaching into the back to punch him in the knee, “Light any fires? Get anyone pregnant?”

“Regina!” Belle scolded, “Don’t talk to your brother like that.”

“Step brother!” She and Neal chimed as one.

“And in the spirit of fairness, dearie,” Rumple mumbled from the passenger seat, “Those are all very good questions.”

Neal hoped Emma was as great as acting as he was. Because if his family thought he was trouble now, it was about to get a lot worse.

#sfweek2020 #fake dating au #neal cassidy #emma swan #ouat #sorry it's so long #no graphic today cause adobe is driving me crazy

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hildagirl99 · 5 years

Text

Lady Night (part8)

Next part of the fanfiction to find out the secret of Lorelei (I warn you, there will be violence and blood ⚠️)

Meanwhile, Faceless was sitting in the sheriff's place. He kept Penny, the banker, and Doc Carver locked up.

"Well, do you miss having a sheriff? It's true that it must have traumatized you."

"You killed him! Dirty monster!" Said Penny

"Too bad his daughter couldn't take up the torch."

"Huh? What ... daughter? The ... the sheriff had a daughter?" asks the banker.

"Bunch of naive, of course, she's been among you from the start."

"Huh? Who?"

"16 years ago, remember? Dear banker?" his voice was getting darker.

"Oh yes ... bunch of heartless ... you and Lady Night."

"This treachery betrayed me!" said Faceless, rising suddenly.

"I welcomed her as a father, she suffered from her difference, she wanted to please her father, for 2 years, we vandalized banks, she was very good at entertaining guards, she was very precise with the whip and quick like a ferret. But she preferred to return to her father, stealing the precious diamond The eye of the Lynx from me. It was I who sent her to prison. "

"While you were killing innocent people! You killed our sheriff!" Said Penny, wanting to jump her throat, but Carver was holding her back.

"That's exactly the problem, it was the sheriff's daughter, this bitch was careful not to tell me."

At that moment, a flash reached Penny's memory, if Lady Night was the sheriff's daughter, would it be possible that Lorelei was… Lady Night? Or did she have a hidden sister who was?

Faceless looks out, the sun setting. Hid falcon Diablo returned.

"Okay, I'm afraid they're late."

"No ... Lorelei and Bill can't let us down." said Penny, feeling her last hour coming.

"It's too late now." he said, grabbing her by the arm.

"I don't think so, Faceless !! And get out of the sheriff's office !!" screams a voice from outside.

Penny recognized Lorelei's voice. Faceless went outside.

"Everyone outside! Let me look at your pleading faces not to kill you!" Said Faceless, still holding Penny under his arm.

Lorelei appears at the entrance to the village, armed with her father's revolver.

Faceless and they were face to face a few meters.

"Finally, you didn't waste any time. Where's Bandit Showdown?" sneers the blind bandit.

"He left." Lorelei said immediately.

"It doesn't surprise me, this coward would not come close to an Indian tribe."

"f*ck you ..." whispers Bill hidden behind a house.

"Do you have the diamond?" Faceless asks.

"Yes! But first, free Penny!" Said Lorelei, frowning.

"Well here she is!" he threw her on the ground, Penny ran to Lorelei in her arms.

"Lorelei… I was so scared!" she said, still in shock.

"Go behind the black wooden house, Bill will shelter you. Don't argue." whispers Lorelei in Penny's ear.

Obedient, she ran to hide behind the house.

"Now the diamond." said Faceless, reaching out.

"Promise me to leave the valley immediately." she said, advancing cautiously towards him.

"I never make a promise." he said to her, snatching the bag from her, inside the diamond lay.

"You sincerely believe that I will let you go like that ... Lady Night." said Faceless in a dark voice.

All the villagers became shocked after hearing the revelation. From the beginning, for so many years, Miss Undertaker was in reality, Lady Night. Penny and Bill were even more so.

"No! How is that possible! Lorelei! Tell me it's not true!" shouted Penny.

Lorelei bowed her head.

"No ... I'm Lady Night."

"How you could have been the accomplice of this junk! Why did you do that!" Said Penny, crying.

Her head held high, Lorelei could no longer hide.

"Yes! I was his accomplice! Yes, I participated in all his robberies! I was 17 years old! For 2 years it had lasted! I am not a murderer! I decided to stop following him to find and protect my father! And my father was the sheriff! "

It was deadly silence. Everyone refused to believe what she said.

"Until this day! Where we stole The Lynx's eye, I found myself face to face with my father, I did not know he was the Sheriff of the Showdown Valley! I stopped all this, I took the diamond from you, I gave it back to the Indians, because this diamond belongs to them, it has been safe until now. I rotten for three months in prison for your fault! My father saved me from this hell! He understood who I was and why I did this! I wanted to ... "she caught her breath.

"I wanted him to be proud of me… but not that way. I regret it. It was 14 years ago, I wanted to forget that, to devote myself to my profession, hoping that people will forget the name of Lady Night that I was. " a tear runs from her cheek.

"If your father hadn't stood before you, that evening, people would have quickly forgotten your name! And your father would still be alive, without his dear adored little daughter, and your mother would not have suffers the same fate. On the one hand, I still killed your father, you will all be together today. " said Faceless with a sneer.

"You killed my mother! YOU DESTROYED MY LIFE! DOGS SON!" losing her temper and acting out of anger, she pulled on Faceless. But he disappeared in a cloud of black dust. Villagers run around trying to find a hiding place.

"Lorelei !! Behind you !!" yells Penny.

She had time to take out the shovel that Faceless missed her shot by trying to hit her with his scythe. She rolls on the ground and hides behind a rock.

"You are lost, Lady Night ! Give up while it's time!" Said Faceless.

"What would your dear father think. So ashamed that his own daughter became a gangster, which will cause his own death. Because of you!"

"SHUT UP!" Shouted Lorelei, coming out of her hiding place. Faceless turns his head, he may be blind but he has excellent hearing. He dodges the bullets while approaching with a threatening air towards her. He sends three shock waves which hurt him enormously. Out of strength, she passed out. He grabs her by the neck, the blade caressing Lorelei's neck.

"One last wish before our paths finally separate?"

"We will end up in hell, will die, motherfucker."

"Do as you please. Go and join your father."

He raised his scythe, ready to cut his throat. A gunshot sounds, and the stick of Faceless breaks into a thousand pieces. He drops Lorelei to the ground.

"You are unarmed, Faceless, surrender now." said Bill, threatening with his revolver.

"I thought you were gone, advice, don't get involved in that, well, I think we have things to settle." he said, turning around.

"For your eyes? I think the scarf suits you, it hides your dirty face."

"How dare you! Jackal!"

"It's good that you're blind."

"Why ?"

"If you saw what was in this bag, you would fart a cable, because you thought that we would easily give you The eye of the Lynx easily? It is that a common pebble that you have!" Bill smiles, mischievously. He and Lorelei had the good idea to replace the eye of the Lynx with a simple pebble.

"You…" but he couldn't finish his sentence.

Lorelei got up, struck a large shovel in the back of Faceless. It was a diversion. Defenseless, he retreats.

"No! Wait! Stop!"

Lorelei severely injured his arm, blood started to stain his clothes, continuing to hit him. The villagers, especially the guards, get close behind Faceless's back and surround him. After many blows, he falls to his knees, the guards held his arms. Lorelei took her father's revolver, loaded with a single bullet. She points the revolver and sticks it on his forehead.

Breathless, Faceless sneers.

"So ... that's how it ends? You hold your father's weapon, you have the opportunity to avenge him once and for all. So go ahead, do it! For your father, kill me! "

Lorelei remains silent, her trembling finger on the trigger.

"So what are you waiting for? Do you want to be cowardly or murderous, my dear Lady Night?"

Suddenly, Lorelei remembers her father's last words on the evening of her birthday.

"To save a life, what will you choose? Violence or peace? I have already made my choice, You choose."

The world around her held her breath, but to their surprise, she lowered the gun.

"I will never be like you, Lady Night no longer exists. And my name is Lorelei Undertaker ..." she said in a cold and distant whisper.

And with a sharp and unpredictable blow, with her shovel, she cut his leg, in a cry of pain. Black blood spilled from her shovel, Faceless writhed in pain, screaming to death. Lorelei turns around and says:

"Leave him in the desert ... far from here."

The guards comply, they take him in a cart, the latter always in pain.

(To be continued...)

Part 7 here

#lorelei undertaker #oc #showdown bandit oc #showdown bandit #miss undertaker #faceless bandit #Bill #penny hemsworth #doc carver #banker #my fanfiction #Lady Night #violence

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countryshitposts · 5 years

Text

You’re Shooting Your Bullet the Wrong Way

One Night and One More Time, Thanks for the Memories

Trigger Warnings: child abuse, mentions of rape and assault, violence and gore, suicidal thoughts and mentions of a suicide attempt

AO3 Link

First

Name Guide:

Nippon Koku- Japan

Nippon Teikoku- Japan Empire

Ost- East Germany

Osterreich- Austria

It was a rainy day when our first encounter with Him happened. I was silently examining our files for Teikoku, the rain pouring down on our office slowly but surely. I was smoking on a pipe, smoke coming out from it, the curtains drawn as I am plunged into a dark setting-

"Australia!", Kiwi's voice shatters the tone of Aussie's voice, and his brother glares at him. "You weren't smoking a pipe when Britain called us! You don't even smoke a pipe at all!"

"Psh, Kiwi, let me narrate the story since your sheepfucker brain couldn't start one sentence!"

Kiwi looks offended, clutching his heart dramatically. "I am not a sheepfucker, how many times do I have to tell you! Fine then. Go on with how we got a call from Britain!"

The door opens, and I raise my head up from the documents to find my sheepfucker of a brother enter the doors, coffee in one hand and carrying a tired expression on his face. His eyes show as if he didn't sleep for a few days, wrinkles underneath his eyes. I raise a brow as he steps forward and gives me the cup of coffee I've yearned for the entire morning.

"So what's the news?", I ask, puffing up smoke to white billows in the office, and he sighs.

"Nothing", Kiwi replies with a small sigh. "America's been working me off and I really need a break."

I nod agreeably, also releasing an exhausted sigh. We love our sister very much but sometimes... she's overbearing. "Is it about those mafia mobs running around the whole city?"

"Apparently so", Kiwi nods, as I sip on my coffee. "America is getting restless."

"It's because she's the head of the police", I reply, "she has to do a good job y'know."

Kiwi shrugs, "Yeah..."

Suddenly, my phone starts ringing, and I look at the name of the person who called before my heart starts to beat out loud, even louder than the rain pouring.

With a deep breath, I pick up.

"Hi!", the beautiful French accent speaks from the speaker of my phone, and I immediately sigh as the entire world around me becomes as warm as the feeling I am feeling in my heart. I wish I could see her again in real life and not in my phone, but her voice is melodious.

I can feel Kiwi rolling his eyes from in front of me, but I don't care, since I'm talking to Villers, the love of my life, the angel to my heaven, the moon to my sun, the French to my English-

"The 'French to my English'?", Canada mimicks Aussie's voice while the others snicker, and the narrator glares at them.

"Oh shut up", he grumbles, crossing his arms and looking the other way, before smiling mischievously, "you just don't have any girlfriend or boyfriends yet."

America glares at him with malice and envy, the same way she's glared at him when he said he and Villers are a thing; Canada crosses his arms and raises a brow, not really hindered about how Australia keeps taking jabs at their status, while Kiwi rolls his eyes tiredly, already knowing his antics.

"Can you just go back to the story?", Kiwi asks, "or I'll continue it myself."

Australia's eyes flare as he goes back to the main plot.

"Are you done with work?", Villers' sweet voice asks me again, and I find myself smiling stupidly and my heart beating once again, fiddling with my pipe.

"Unfortunately, no", I say dejectedly, looking at the downpour at the windows. I hear her let out a breath of longing that made me want to find her and tell her that I'm free for her, always.

"Alright", she says, sounding despondent and I now want to cuddle her up in the fluffiest of pillows and coziest of blankets, showering her with kisses as my arms envelop around her like a swan. "Tell me if you're free. Au revoir!" She hangs up and I can find myself missing her already, expecting myself to run across the rain towards her home.

"So", I turn back to my brother, "what's the news?"

"Surprisingly, no major news except a few more mobs clashed once again", Kiwi replies in a professional accent, as if he's professional or older. "Like France and Reich had a shootout again. This time Netherlands' mob got into this crossfire."

"Netherlands?", I repeat, "isn't she the mob boss that has a vendetta against us?"

Kiwi shrugs, "Yeah, I guess."

Just then, when lightning streaks the sky and lights up the gray surroundings for a bit, the power in the office turns off, and Kiwi shrieks a womanly shriek while I caress the gun hidden in my coat-

"First of all", Kiwi interjects, a red tinge on his cheeks, "I did not scream; you did. Second, we both don't have our guns at the time, and third you were the one saying we're gonna die."

"Leave it to tell New Zealand the truth", Canada sniggers to America.

"Don't worry Kiwi, I'll save the both of us-", but before I can continue, the lights turn back on and the fan on my desk starts to twirl, as if nothing happened. Then I look onto the wall, and I gasp, almost dropping the gun to the floor.

Because there was something on the wall.

Something written on it with cursive handwriting, as if they had time in the world for such a thing.

It was in crimson red, a message haunting me to this very day,

"The first step is for your love to surprise you, the next is to look at the edge of her dress."

Me and Kiwi glance at each other with wide eyes before going back to inspect the writing on the walls. I approach it while my coward of a brother is shaking and telling me to be cautious, believing it's booby-trapped. I examine the handwriting once again; how can anyone have time to write such a message just seconds after the power went out? I put out a finger and smear the message, blinking once it smudges with the wall.

"It looks like our vandal used lipstick", I mumble before going back to Kiwi, who was silent, meaning he was thinking of something. I reread the message again, still quite confused to what the vandal means.

"I think I know what it means", Kiwi says with realization striking in his glittering eyes. "Maybe we need to plan a surprise party for someone we both love! And then- oh."

"Disgusting!", I bellow, my eyes flaring. "We are not surprising America and checking underneath her skirt!"

"I have no idea who really said that, but I'd beat you both to Sunday if you do that", America pipes up, crossing her arms while glaring at her brothers. "Also, it means wait for your love to surprise you, meaning they'll be the one bringing the note to you."

"Yeah, that's where I was getting at", Aussie replies, "until you manage to interrupt us."

"I don't know", Kiwi says with a thoughtful look in his eyes, staring and examining the message once again, "maybe it's your love, Aussie."

I blink, processing what my brother just said before blushing red and ruffling my brother. "I am not going to look under her skirts Kiwi!"

"You say that but you've been watching her whenever she bends down to pick something up", Kiwi states with an emotionless look in his eyes. "So maybe, just maybe, Villers is going to surprise you."

"Now that's absurd!", my voice slaps, "a message couldn't tell the future!"

"Not if the future is happening now", Kiwi replies ominously, pointing to the windows.

I follow his finger and, there she is, my soon-to-be-wife, engagement ring and all, holding an umbrella over her head while on her other hand she was holding a picnic basket despite the despondent weather. Her beautiful and striking dark eyes roam each window, before meeting my eyes.

My arms go slack and my legs turn to jelly once again, as I hold her loving stare as she smiles warmly.

Not even the rain can get rid of my sunshine.

"I'm just really worried for you, mon amour", Villers says as her arms wrap around me like a loving embrace. "And I was lonely in my home all alone."

"But I'm here now", I say, soothing her nerves like she was doing with me. "You don't have to be lonely."

"I love you", she says softly, and the whole world implodes and creates the Milky Way between the both of us.

I tilt her chin up, our eyes shining bright like diamonds. "I love you too."

I kiss her right then and there, feeling nothing but her body and warm lips on mine, time standing still and not moving on as I can feel the both of us floating, floating to the skies then to the cosmics, no space between us. She runs her hands over my back as she leans in for more, and my hands roam her light hair with my fingers as my hand reaches the edge of her skirt, hearing her gasp as I touch what was beyond her clothing.

"Disgusting", Kiwi says, face souring as his mind replays the scene without his permission, while Aussie looks so enamoured at the fact that he almost had the chance of doing something with his fianceè.

"Please just, censor the explicit scenes, Aussie?", America asks with a sigh.

Then I feel something with my other hand, which had stopped at the edge of her dress. Puzzled, I kiss her deeply once again before letting go, a piece of paper I extracted from her skirts in my hand.

Meanwhile, Villers was still looking dazed and love struck from the touch and kiss we shared, until her eyes land on the card on my hands.

"Did that come from...?" I nod awkwardly, biting my lip as my love's face turns bright red and inspects her dress for more stray particles. "I am so sorry!"

I kiss her forehead reassuringly, "It's fine." I glance at the card again as I read the entirety of the message, still written in the enthralling cursive from the walls.

"Let the birds come to you once you are at the highest peak of The City."

"What?", Kiwi says from behind me; he must've also been reading the message. "What does that mean?"

"I don't even know Kiwi", I reply, rereading the message again. "Maybe it really means what it means?"

Kiwi meets my eyes, "And what does it mean?"

I shrug, my brain coming up empty. "Maybe we need to find the highest peak in this land? Like climbing a mountain and let the birds do the rest?"

Kiwi scoffs as he rolls his eyes at my answer. "And what are they gonna do? Fly us towards our destination? And why a mountain? We're in the middle of a City, Aussie."

"Maybe it means the birds will point us to our next target!", I give out another suggestion. "Or they'll crap on us like the barbaric birds they are and not give us any clue to where or who this message leads to."

"Maybe they're trained", Kiwi muses as my mind launches off to new theories on what this all means.

Perhaps it means that the 'birds' are aeroplanes?, my mind processes, or maybe this is all a big prank from some asshole who think it'd be funny to prank people doing their job...

Meanwhile, Villers was silently reading the message with her big eyes, moving on from how the card got into its destination the first place, before looking at me with those big eyes I get lost in every time. "Well, the messenger said 'highest peak of The City', right? Maybe it means you two have to scale the highest building here."

Me and Kiwi exchange looks, before my face morphs into a huge smile before hugging my beautiful and smart future wife. I shower her forehead with kisses once again, emitting a beautiful laugh from her mouth as she looks at me with joy.

Kiwi's eyes light up, "Maybe that's it! I think we need to scale the tallest building in The City!"

"Which is?" I think for a moment; there are tonnes of tall buildings in this City.

"Deutsche Towers", Villers responds with a breath, and I know what it means- she was reminiscing the times where she had been caught in a crossfire between two rival gangs; mostly against the Deutsches Family. Her eyes had a clouded look, as if controlling those horrid memories surging in her, but I couldn't help but remember how I had saved the girl who would become my future wife. The event was awful, of course, but it made the both of us responsible and more in love with one another.

"Please don't tell me you were going to tell the story of how you met her", America interrupts surly, "because we were there when you both met."

Aussie rolls his eyes, "Okay, okay, I won't. Although the readers might be disappointed at the lack of a love tale."

America blinks, confused, "Readers?”

Aussie ignores the question and continues,

Kiwi breaks the silence by saying, dejectedly, "Looks like we're gonna have to ask those stingy rich upper class men entrance to the Towers, huh?"

I nod with a look of exhaustion on my face, "Yep." I look at Villers once again, "are you coming with us?"

Villers fidgets on her place, looking from left to right then back at me with those beautiful eyes I always see in my dreams. "Maybe it would be better for me as a lookout."

I grin at her, "You bet."

"Oh come on!", I cry out to one of the guards in the area, pacing back and forth until I glare at their faceless beings underneath their uniforms, "you guys are always open!"

"Sir, I understand your confusion", says one of the guards, not breaking out of their stride, "but Mister Reich ordered us not to let anyone onto the top of the building."

"And why?", I pry, raising a demanding brow at the both of them, who both sneak furtive glances before playing stoic guards. "Even his father of all people let strangers into the top of the Towers!"

The guard shakes his head, still straight-faced, but there was a glint of sadness in his eyes. "His father is dearly departed."

Me and Kiwi's eyes widen in shock, and we both know what we were thinking: Deutsches Reich? Dead? Shouldn't this be on the news?

"Shouldn't we know that Deutsches Reich died?", I ask the guards. "Why are we only hearing this now?"

"Because, gentlemen", a new, frigid voice adjourns my and the guard's conversation, and me and my brother turn the other way to find a man with messy blonde curls posing in front of a painting. His dark green eyes stare right into our souls, as if we were the jewels he has been looking for and he has succeeded. He smiles at us in a peculiar manner, as if he was a serial killer finally meeting his target. "I ordered them to keep my father's... tragic death a secret."

Once again, Weimar stares at me, his grin growing larger. I swallow down the feeling that something is very wrong with the man that had once been afraid of his own shadow.

I give him a smile in return (although it was nervous and awkward, and I hope he’d never make eye contact with me again), and saying, “Mister Weimar, please let us pass. And your secret will never reach the public's ears.”

Weimar only smiles as a reply, a breeze sweeping into the room, telling me oh, how wrong I was to even ask him such a pathetic request. He takes a step forward, slow and calculated, as if he is teasing his prey step by step until he jumps to them and gnash his teeth. I try to move backwards, but my feet were stuck in the ground, not cooperating with me.

He was a few inches from my face, lips curled into an off grin, his emerald green eyes a vision of my death. There was a cold and dark air enveloping him while he embraces it with a haunting sigh.

“You’re ordering me?”, he says with gritted teeth, still in a smile that I will not shake off, even in my nightmares. “I’m not your slave. I’m not someone to step on. I’m nothing like him anymore. I’m not that coward you know.”

We have a silent stare off for God knows how long, Weimar poised for the kill as his emerald green eyes glimmer with intent, intent to see my dead body, as Kiwi looks on to the both of us.

“Papa!”, a voice breaks through the air, and the whole room turns to the source; a young boy holding a girl’s hand who resembles him. A taller, older figure stands behind them, grey eyes tracking the room, strawberry blonde curls concealing his eyes before he fiddles with it.

Weimar’s smile slowly loosens as he turns to glare at the newcomers, specifically the elder. His green eyes bore hatred towards the twins’ guardian, but instead of shivering like I am now, he stares back at him with an unreadable expression.

“I told you to keep them confined in their rooms, Österreich”, he says with a slight snarl.

Österreich shrugs, “They wanted to play, Weimar. And who can deny them? I can’t.” He chuckles as West and Ost gossip to each other, naive children in the world.

Weimar scowls at his children, which makes me confused because everyone knows that Weimar loves his children to hell and back. I clear my throat, and once again everyone looks back at me, Weimar’s glare redirected towards me.

“You’re still here?”, he asks, looking at my form, then forming a smile on his face once again. Jesus Christ, I’m a little intimidated by this new Weimar. “Why the rush to go up my towers, dummkopf? Is it to make you feel like you scare me? But I’m not scared of you anymore. Never. Never again will I be scared of gun-wielding hooligans.”

“Please, sir”, Kiwi speaks up, voice small, “we just needed to see something on top of the Towers.”

Weimar stares at him, a grin still plastered across his face like a mask, not saying anything as if he was considering his request. He shrugs playfully, “Well then, since you asked so nicely-” his eyes glint to me for a second, “I will let you to the top of my towers.”

“Oh my god thank you so much Sir!”, Kiwi says with a look of relief.

“But”, his voice is abrupt, static jumping upon static, “you will have to take the stairs.”

My jaw drops, “Wait… are you serious?”

Weimar just smiles in reply, his eyes looking towards the stairs as me and Kiwi stare at it for a bit, before finally noting that he is - indeed - telling us to take the stairs.

So, with our feet raised, we take the first step to heaven. Before that, however, there was something on Weimar’s hand that almost escaped my eyes: a necklace of pearls that I know belonged to his mother.

“Let’s just say that climbing thirty-one floors wasn’t a dream”, Aussie says, sighing, as Kiwi nods. “I’ll skip to only the important details.”

I heave an exhausted sigh as I unbutton my shirt and fan myself with it, while I hear Kiwi panting from behind me and I can’t blame him- we were only three floors high and I feel my lungs starting to collapse underneath the pressure. Once we reach the fourth floor, we both spot Teikoku and Koku lounging around the lounge, hearing them speak, before moving on.

“Jesus this place loves spirals”, Kiwi says between pants as he takes of his silver fern jacket to fan himself with.

“Yep”, I agree, Teikoku and Koku’s voices already fading now-

“Wait”, America interrupts Aussie’s tale, much to his irritation. “Teikoku and Koku were there? Did you hear them say anything?

“Alright, fine, I’ll go back to it”, he says.

[RECORD SCRATCH, FREEZE FRAME, REWIND THREE SECONDS]

“Isn’t that Koku and Teikoku? In Weimar’s building?”, Kiwi points out, voice a soft whisper to not attract their attention.

“Let’s get closer”, I whisper back to him, as we break away from the steps and into close distance with one mafia mob boss and his brother.

Koku was leaning on the sofa, messy dark hair covering one of his grey eyes like he was a popstar emo goth boy model while he checks his phone. Teikoku, on the other hand, was sitting on the sofas with an imperious way, as if he owns the place. He was biting his lip, muttering something in Japanese as he looks around with his crimson red eyes, searching for someone.

Koku spots him impulsively sitting on his ‘throne’ and sighs, “Look, I knew this was going to be a bad idea.”

Teikoku’s piercing gaze redirects to Koku, “You don’t have a say in this matter, okosama.”

Koku’s eyes flare up in anger at the last word, “I’m not a child, Teikoku. If anyone’s the ‘child’ here, it’d be the girl you’re forcing ME to marry!”

I blink, not knowing that Koku would have the courage to even look at his brother with anger in his eyes, but Teikoku abruptly stands from his seat, looking forward to murder someone with his words. “You dare talk back to me?” His shadow looms over Koku, whose eyes are now tinged with fear and regret for speaking up against his brother. Before Koku opens his mouth once again to answer that no, he wasn’t disrespecting him, Teikoku pins him to the wall with a sound resonating from it.

“Were you questioning my authority?”, he seethes, his fingers digging deep into Koku’s skull, who was looking choked and suffocated.

I was watching this with an ignited fury in me, I raise from my hiding place before Kiwi pulls me back down, shaking his head. We only came here for one thing and it was to know who was sending us these messages.

“At last”, I breathe, fresh and moist air from rain colliding with my face like a soft blanket. “We’re free!”

“And look!”, Kiwi points at something on the dark grey skies, “a flock of birds are coming!”

I glance up in the sky, and Kiwi was right: dark-colored specs were dancing across the sky, growing larger and larger, until they were above us. I let out a gasp of joy as I see what kind of birds they were: robins, with one of them having a slip of paper in its beak, opening it and letting the slip of paper drop into my open palm, before pivoting to one corner and soaring to the direction in where they came from, with Kiwi waving back at them.

Meanwhile, I was already reading the slip of paper:

“The trains might show you the way, yes, but that doesn’t mean you have to get on it, because the houses near the railways are watching you. Be smart and follow the signs.”

“Okay, now this is bullshit”, I say, back in my office, as Kiwi paces back and forth, muttering possible interpretations of the messages.

“Maybe the signs mean the train station signs?”, I can hear one of his murmurs, “And the ‘houses near the railways’ watching us are just other mob bosses… maybe.”

Meanwhile, Villers was snacking on one of the foods she brought in her picnic basket, also lost in thought. I siddle up next to her and she cozies herself on my body, and we both share warmth.

“So”, I whisper, lips on her ear, making her shudder as she holds on to me, “what are you thinking, hm?”

“À propos de vous, bien sûr”, she whispers, red lips staining my face, her voice making my insides heated and red. “And the message to help you too.”

“Of course, but first…” I kiss her once again, exploring the caves of her mouth, her arms swinging around my neck as I hoist her up to sit on my lap, my hands roaming every single part of her body, loving the way she gasps and shudders once I touch what was meant to be sacred, my arousal growing-

“Australia!”, America says, glaring at Aussie, “I said censor the inappropriate parts! That wasn’t appropriate!”

“Alright alright!”, Aussie says, arms up in surrender, “I’m just going to continue…”

“I get it now!”, Villers says as she reads the message once again, “the trains won’t give us the signs, the sender of these messages is going to be the one giving us! But we still have to watch out for the houses near the railways, maybe they’ll give us a hard time getting to our destination.”

“Alright”, I say, getting up, “let’s not waste anymore time and meet our sender.”

“We wasted time”, Kiwi deadpans as he tries to struggle against his binds, glaring up at Belgium, his captor. Me and Villers, on the other hand, were tied up together by Luxembourg, who wasn’t looking at us and was rather looking at his reflection in the mirror, rambling about how he won’t look ‘pleasant’ in his date.

“Mon Dieu, Luxembourg”, Belgium spits at his direction and he scowls right back at his sister, “quit your egotistical self-care routine and help me take these klootzakken to Moeder!”

Luxembourg glances away from his mirror and replies, “Fine, fine, whatever.” He pushes me and Villers away from the railways, and we hear a train coming into the tracks like it was nothing. I hold Villers’ hand when we finally felt our touch next to each other, our pulses becoming one as our heartbeats only call for each other. I fell in love with the right woman, and she fell in love with the wrong man.

We were forced to follow Netherlands’ kids into their hideout, their men looking at us with dark eyes full of intent, and I see some of them staring and sneering maliciously towards my love, and I glare back at them. One wrong move, my eyes say, there will be a bullet through all of your heads. No one will touch my wife the wrong way, no one.

“Op je knieën!”, Lux orders, voice hard and low, and we all follow because we are not sparing a bullet in our heads. I can feel Villers shivering and fearing her death, and I soothe her by rubbing discreet and unseen circles on her back.

“Moeder”, Belgium says as she approaches a swivel chair, concealed by the dark, but I can see smoke forming, and a pale hand holding the cigarette with two fingers. “We hebben Britse zonen gevangen genomen.”

“Ik kan dat België zien”, comes her mother’s reply, a voice of reason and peace, yet I’m not feeling peaceful now. She turns around to face us, blonde hair and stormy grey eyes highlighted into the dark room, and her two kids stand right beside her, her lieges in battle.

“So”, she speaks once again, puffing out more smoke, but I can see her arms shaking and eyes looking as if she had too much cannabis to snort. “Looking for the bastard, hm?”

I sigh, signalling the start of a fight with her once again, “Netherlands, we aren’t here to fight. And who’s to say we were looking for our Dad who left us to our devices?”

It’s not like my dad would come back for me, though, a horrible thought enters my mind, as I stare at the ground once again, feeling Villers’ body warming me.

Netherlands laughs, her voice unstable and shaking for some reason, as if there was a quake happening on her seat. “You boys are idioten if you don’t believe your father isn’t the one sending you messages.”

“He’s the one… sending the clues to us?”, I ask, disbelief evident in my face, a cold feeling now lying in me. “But why? He left us!”

“Oh ik weet het niet!”, Netherlands says exaggerated, throwing her arms up as she shoves her now dim-lit cigarette into Luxembourg’s hands, who was busily checking his hair for stray strands in his reflection.

Kiwi sighs, and I hear him slip into his native language, “Ka patu ahau ki a ratou.” I remembered that back in the old days when we were still living under Britain, he had taught himself how to read, write, and speak Maori, in which Britain retaliated by burning his books and hitting him repeatedly. I can’t ever get it over with.

“Mom, why do we have them?”, Luxembourg asks as he fixes his dark blonde curls, “we don’t care about them anymore, don’t we?”

Suddenly, Netherlands’ hazy grey eyes respond with fear, as she grips onto her chair even more. “Because he needs them.”

“‘He?’”, I repeat, “who’s he?”

Netherlands didn’t reply, and only stared into the distance, before her gaze hardens once again as she looks back at us with hatred.

“Luxembourg, take them to the cells”, she says, and with one pause from Lux, he nods before pulling at our binds. “Belgium, stay here while I go check outside.”

Belgium looks at her mother, bewildered by her sudden anxiety and paranoia. “But… why?”

Netherlands glares back at her, “You know why.”

Belgium’s face clouds over as she nods, disappearing into the curtains behind the throne. I didn’t really have a say in anything, since I was literally being pulled into a stinking cell, but then I feel the tight binds around us loosen, as if someone had snipped it all away.

“Alright, you’re free to go”, Luxembourg says with a huge flirtatious smile on his face, not at me and Villers but at Kiwi, who was grinning back at him as well, but there was fear in his dark blue eyes. I catch his stare and he looks back at me, eyes screaming HELP before smirking back at Lux, meeting his seductive gaze.

“So, when are you free?”, Kiwi asks in the least awkward voice he could muster.

“Eight on Saturday, lieveling”, Lux says as he kisses Kiwi on the cheek before stalking off, “also, secret exit’s that way.” He points to the right, an open door waiting for us. Then he meets Kiwi’s eyes again, seemingly never moving on from New Zealand’s body. “And I assure you that I’d bring my ‘lucky ring’.” He winks at Kiwi before stalking off and leaving us to our own devices.

“Are you saying our baby brother here bribed to be freed by asking Lux out on a date?”, America guffaws, and Canada snickers. Meanwhile, Aussie was smirking triumphantly and New Zealand was blushing red.

“How was the date with Lux, though?”, Canada asks Kiwi, leaning in, “was it good?”

“B-better than a one-night stand”, he says as he looks back at Canada, who raises a brow at his defiance. His eyes target America’s. “Better than the guys you had tried to do.”

Aussie clears his throat, already wanting to get back to his story since he can feel everyone’s eyes on each other,

“So what’re the signs Britain left for us?”, I ask, huffing a breath as a gust of cold air whispers strange sounds into my ear, knowing all about my damned desires. My eyes were roaming anywhere near the trains, reading the signs with my eyes but there was nothing outstanding with them. “I don’t see anything.”

“What if it’s going to come to us?”, Villers hypothesizes once again, a thoughtful look on her face. “What if Britain himself is going to be the one to deliver perhaps the final message to us, hinting on where to go first?”

Kiwi adds on to this, “Maybe you’re right, since it’s almost sundown.”

“We wait”, I say, nodding, looking towards the sky with wonder. When I was a young boy, me and my siblings would watch the sun set, pink, orange, purple and blue colliding with each other in perfect harmony to create a web of colours that would turn the sky to a massive garden of them. I feel Villers once again pressing into me, hands brushing mine before we both clasp our hands together, the great warmth surging towards us.

We wait.

Then we wait for some more, the pink and orange fading and giving into the dark blue and purple, the last traces of the sun dying out and giving way for dusk to transition to night.

The stars appear, one by one, signalling the reign of the moon is supreme for the night, no more, no less. Some were even free falling from the evening sky like they were tears being washed away by Nyx herself, as if they didn’t belong to hers, just insignificant tiny dots in the sky.

Insignificant like me.

But those falling stars were replaced by brand new rising stars, only they were bigger, then I realize they weren’t stars at all: they were fireworks.

Maybe this was Britain’s final message.

Or maybe this was just a fireworks display.

Then the fireworks, with its whistling and popping, starts to form words, and my eyes flare like the firecrackers Britain is firing.

“One last message to you all; meet a man with auburn hair with a black car… he will find you for me.”

“Olá”, a new voice, deep yet soothing sounds behind us, and we see a man with auburn hair and a single green eye, his other eye concealed with an eye patch. He smiles at us like a father would, “meu nome é Portugal, and I’m here to escort you all to your pai.”

It was a silent car ride, none of us really talking while Portugal was humming to the music in the radio. I, however, did not enjoy silent car rides, and so I ask the first question in my head.

“So, what are you to Dad? Are you his personal butler, slave, friend-”

“I’m his boyfriend”, Portugal says, face now clouded with dreams as his eye fogs over. Kiwi and I widen our eyes, giving each other glances of shock. Our father, who smacked Canada twice for being caught in bed with boys, is now in love with a man as well?

“I don’t understand”, I say- there was something wrong with me, there was something wrong with my insides as they give me memories of an awful father who would train his children to become master assassins, who is merciless with the gun and hands, whose judgement is never for us.

Portugal looks back at me in the rear view mirror, face full of pity, but I don’t want that pity. I don’t need that.

“We were rivals, you see”, he says in a soft voice, but it still had a paternal instinct hidden within. “When he escaped from your City and went into ours, he ransacked towns and almost risked me and my men from his hands. And then, only when we met in a civil manner, did we actually learn to like each other, then love each other. Some say it was a bond of best friends and, well… they weren’t wrong.”

“What did Dad do after he escaped from jail, aside from meeting you and ransacking cities and endangering mobs?”, I can feel my throat straining, as if the world doesn’t want me to not display my weaknesses out in the open.

“Well, he created a brand new company on his own, which impressed me”, Portugal replies, “well, not really, perhaps; he robbed his own money from the company he used to own.”

“Ah”, Kiwi deadpans, “no wonder all that money Dad supposedly ‘left’ to us suddenly disappeared one day.”

“He also aspired to be a musician”, Portugal muses, “always rambling on about his song ideas to me, and even learning how to play some instruments himself.”

I have no more questions left in me, my body going slack, the day draining me as we come nearer to the home of the man who is supposedly dead.

Or maybe I’m dead, and he was alive.

Canada frowns, “What’s with the self-deprecating comments, Aussie?”

“Self-deprecation? Me?”, Aussie scoffs, shaking his head. “You all need to know about sarcasm and how it saves a story from disruption.

Meanwhile, Kiwi was looking his way, knowing what was about to come and the sudden change in his brother’s demeanor.

We follow Portugal into the hallways, seeing dozens of sculptures staring at us, knowing what our fates were. Villers’ hand tangles with mine, and I love her every second we were here, accompanying me once we are faced with the ghosts of the past, the ghost of Britain becoming physical from my deepest nightmares, toying with me once again.

“It’s okay, je suis là”, she says in a soothing voice, and I wanted her to caress me one more time. “vous êtes si courageux.”

“But I’m not as brave as you”, I tell her softly, cupping her cheeks, “and I’m now paying the price for it.”

“No, stop saying that”, she bites, “you will always be my loving and brave husband.”

I can feel tears touching my eyes, and I try concealing them in the moonlight. “Je t'aime tellement.”

She kisses my forehead. “Je t'aime aussi.”

Portugal stops behind an ominous-looking door, and my brain forced me to recall the days I spent looking at my father’s door with fear, when I was a small child, afraid of my father, and even now I still am, because I am a coward.

“Beyond this door is your father”, he says, staring straight into my soul. “And I wish you good luck.” He leaves us in front of the door, its mahogany woods waiting for our demise.

As the eldest and the one who knew my dad well out of the three, I softly knock on the door a few times, before entering.

The entire room was surprisingly dim-lit, a lamp on a bedside table, as we were face-to-face with a desk, swivel chair behind it.

“We finally meet”, a clear voice says from behind the desk. “After a decade of waiting.”

I swallow the creeping fear in my stomach: I’m not the same person anymore. He’s not the same. We are both older and wiser, as the sayings go.

“It’s nice to meet you again, Dad”, I say, and he turns his chair around, ashen face and light blonde hair disturbed by white strands, his lips curled into a smile. He was stroking a pet corgi, who was comfortably seated and sleeping on his lap. He was wearing a business suit, shoes and all, as his dark blue eyes glinted back at me with a look of rejoice. “And you’re old.”

The smile on Dad’s face fades, replaced with a look of indignance, and I already regret the words coming out from my mouth. “After ten years of not seeing each other again, those are the words you speak to me?”

Kiwi muffles a laughter in his jacket, and Villers elbows me because I was being rude to my own father.

“E Tama, pai ki te kite ano koe”, Kiwi says to Dad in Maori, perhaps to spite him, but Britain gives him a wide smile in return.

“I missed you.” Kiwi blinks; I too expected Dad to scowl at the language, but he didn’t and only looked as if he treasured us.

Then he glances at Villers, who was hiding behind me and looking at her (unfortunately) future father-in-law with shyness. “And congratulations, my dear, you scored a keeper.” I blink at Dad, puzzled as to why he approved of our relationship. When I came home holding an unconscious girl’s body, he had almost shot me in the head.

She blushes hard, looking at me with desire in her eyes, but Dad wasn’t done yet, as his expression morphs into a thoughtful one.

“Although I am quite disappointed with your moves, son”, he tells me, and I can’t help but blink in confusion.

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve seen the moves you’ve done on Villers and, quite frankly, I am not impressed.”

“Wh-what moves?”

“All of the messages contain hidden cameras, and I manage to catch quite a scenery in your office.” His eyes glance at me, then back at Villers, as realization strikes within me.

“You… oh my god…” My cheeks colour red as Villers hides behind me even more, quite embarrassed and who can blame her?

“Awkward”, Kiwi mutters underneath his breath, also having second-hand embarrassment.

“Now, I think you are all hungry?”

“Not much after you told me you installed cameras in your messages.”

“So you wish to sleep now?”

I look at Villers, her eyes drooping slightly, trying to stay awake, then at Kiwi, who was staring exhaustedly into the night. Even me, always so full of energy, need time for beauty sleep.

“Yeah.”

Luckily enough, my Dad decided to give me and Villers the furthest guest room, away from most people. Villers was nuzzling against my chest, her breaths giving me warmth, her touch comforting me. I hold her, treasuring the greatest gift of all time. I can't sleep since my mind is plagued with questions. And thoughts about how this will all end.

“You’re scared”, Villers whispers into my chest, and I sigh and kiss her forehead.

“I’m not.” I look into her eyes, the entire galaxy waiting for me. “Believe me.”

She sighs, turning away to face the dim walls, “I still remember waking up in your room, covered in bandages. I was scared and helpless, and when I saw you I thought you were going to… well…”

“I know”, I reply, “I could see it in your eyes. But I can’t blame you.”

“But here we are”, she whispers, “lovers in your father’s house.”

She looks at me once again before leaning up to kiss me, and I kiss her back, levelling her with myself, arms going around with each other’s waists and neck. I can feel lust and desire pooling in me now, wanting to tear that beautiful dress she was wearing to pieces and biting her skin to claim her as mine, mine, mine. I enter my tongue into her mouth, tasting how sweet and warm her insides are, loving every noises she makes as she clings tighter to me. I can once again feel my arousal growing, as I kiss the woman of my dreams more, deeper and deeper, and I untie the laces of her dress, not taking it anymore. I flip her on her back as I unbuckle my belt, kissing her once again.

“Guys, if only you would’ve kept it down I’d have slept peacefully”, a voice wakes the both of us up, and I immediately cover a naked Villers with the sheets. Problem is is that I don’t have anything covering me anymore. Kiwi covers his eyes, “Jesus Christ Aussie, put some clothes on!” I retaliate by covering my region with a pillow and scowling sleepily at my younger brother.

“What’s up, Kiwi?”, I ask civilly. “Or you just want to humiliate your brother?”

“You know ‘what’s up’? Your dick last night”, Kiwi sits down on a chair next to the bed. “Anyway, breakfast is downstairs, me and Dad are going to head out.”

I sit up, still handling the pillow, “Wait what? Why?”

“He said he was going to show me something”, Kiwi shrugs, “also once he’s done showing me something he has something to tell you.”

I nod, “Alright. See you later then.”

I watch as he walks out the door, giving me a cursory glance.

“I’ll tell the rest of the story”, Kiwi volunteers, looking at Australia, who nods approvingly.

As New Zealand closes the door from the nightmare he had just seen, he exhales- there is nothing in this entire world that could comfort him now. Sometimes his mind would wander back to the days when everything was large, tall, and cruel to him, back to the days the eyes glaring down at him could burn him alive, but he cannot scream as he is on thin ice, mouth always shut, mind and body subservient to his father.

Then again, he cannot fight his own father back in his days of youth- all he had to do was to survive and do as he says, only a machine in his eyes, not a child with feelings.

He looks at his hands: back then he had held a gun with his grubby and soft little hands, only supposed to hold dirt and toys and nothing as heavy as metal upon metal. He remembers Britain’s dark blue eyes watching him, daggers piercing his small heart as he gulps and tries shooting his target.

Kiwi puts his hands in his pockets like he was hiding something, something important… but the only thing he is hiding is his fear for his father.

He hears his father’s bedroom door closing behind him, and he glances at Britain buttoning his coat up, and he smiles at Kiwi; such a rare feat back at home, when he only smiles at them during formal events but it is strained, forced, plastic, like he was swimming in the oceans full of contaminated waters and garbage, struggling to find the beauty in it.

“Well then, let’s not waste any time”, Britain says, fixing his blonde locks and puts on a cap on his head. “Let’s go meet someone.”

Kiwi blinks, “Who?”

Britain watches him, eyes full of memory of ghosts beyond, “Your mother.”

Kiwi freezes, staring ahead before swivelling to face his father, who was still lost in thought and memories. It was a familiar gaze, one that Kiwi always sees in his father’s face whenever he thinks he was alone, perched on his small yet intricate table in the gardens, gripping his tea cup so hard Kiwi had feared he will break it and the hot liquid inside of it will drip down to his clothes to scald him.

“You told me my mother was gone”, Kiwi answers, voice strained with emotion, bundles of ropes tying him up, mind clouding over with questions of the ghosts of the past.

“Gone”, Britain repeats, voice also full of reminiscing. “Not dead, my son. And it is time for you to meet her.”

Kiwi can feel his heart beating even more, as he can finally meet the half of his heart, the mystery unraveled like the curtains of a stage part for him to see the entire play that is Britain’s life, from start to finish.

The car ride was silent; only hearing the tires rolling on the road, talking and whispering in a heated conversation. Kiwi was looking out towards the window, but he can feel Britain’s gaze on him, as he drives, making him uncomfortable. The world was moving backwards as they move forward to find their destination, a finale to all. The sun was fighting against the dark clouds huddled around the corner, trying to conquer and annex all souls.

“One day, the sun will die”, Britain muses as he goes back to focusing on the road. “And when that day comes everyone will rejoice.”

“Why would people rejoice when their only life source of energy dies?”, Kiwi asks.

“Not that sun, my boy.” The message was so ominous that Kiwi reminds himself to keep his mouth shut.

Yes, this car ride is as tense and silent as the House at Number 63.

Britain parks the car just below the sweltering heat of the sun, always there, always watching their every move, the giant orb just a giant eye to monitor their every movement. Sometimes Kiwi can see crimson red tinges on it, as if the flares of the sun is its blood and it runs from its veins. Kiwi takes off his jacket to tie it upon his waist, and follows his father who did not wait for him to prepare and was already walking forward like a man who has lost his way.

“Who is my mother?”, Kiwi asks sharply and tentatively, still scared that Britain will reply with a sharp tongue. He levels his steps as he catches up with his father, eyes ahead, shielded with distraction, memories, and the foggy resistance. He was clutching his cane tightly, knuckles turning white, as if he was going through all of the horrible memories and the deepest roots of his nightmares.

“Your mother”, he mutters, “was a woman I wronged a long time ago.”

“What did you do to her? What happened to my mother after I was born?” Kiwi can feel himself becoming even more nervous as the near the establishment Britain claims his mother is working in.

Britain suddenly whirls to him, eyes shining, “You must understand; she was the best of the best, the one who caught my heart too much and she wouldn’t let go. Not even when I vanish every so often. I loved her too much, and you were the product of it.”

Kiwi blinks, not even comprehending what his father is saying and why he must care. “But who is she?”

“A woman who can fight, a woman who had many moves to keep me away from her, until I gained the upper hand…”, he opens the door to the buildings, and Kiwi finds himself face to face with cold metal walls, and the creaking and sliding of other entrances. He can feel himself becoming even more curious, wanting to scream his questions at Britain and deafen his hearing in the process. Oh how much he had wanted to talk of his ills about the man who left him, long ago.

They walk in a straight direction, and Kiwi can hear the growth of voices from a room. He watches his father, who was clasping his palms, lips curling into a thin line as the voices grow louder. They stop near a door, Britain in the position to open them, but he stays to stare at Kiwi with a look of longing.

“Your mother was the famous stuntman, Maori.”

He opens the door, as if he was showing Kiwi the way to the secret garden but instead he is pushed into a set full of movie directors, producers, actors and backdrops onstage. Sometimes he would be puzzled at the fact that the scenes in each movie were not real; that they were made up from blood, sweat and tears of the writers and directors and actors, figments of imagination becoming real with the trick of programs and computers.

It was as if they can fabricate the existence of these characters, that they have the knowledge to exist in the same world as Kiwi does, that they can be touched and they can have the power to exist.

In the end, they are fiction; not real.

While Kiwi was busily making paragraphs and paragraphs of sentences, Britain was talking to one of the producers of the set.

“Miss Maori, our financer needs ya!”, the producer calls out to a woman near the stage, sitting with a group of actors, laughing at their own joke before her smile immediately falls at the sight of Britain, standing so casually like he had done no crime against the woman.

She abruptly stands, excusing herself from her friends as she approaches Britain and New Zealand with a surly expression on her face. Her stance looks as if she was prepared to kick Britain in his most sensitive spot, and they come face to face, with Maori’s arms crossed and Britain giving her a casual expression.

“You may be our financer, Peretana”, Maori says in a slow, calculated voice, narrowed eyes trying to see through Britain’s relaxed aura, “but that doesn’t mean I’m bound to respect you.”

“Yes yes, we all know what you think of me”, Britain yawns, “but I am not here for you.”

Maori scoffs, raising a brow, “Oh? Then why call me?”

“Because”, Britain pushes Kiwi into Maori’s view, and her eyes turn to him. He awkwardly smiles and waves at the stunt woman, “this is our son, New Zealand.”

Maori blinks for a moment, taking her time surveying the boy in front of her, of how he can be her son, when all he had are flabby limbs and nothing resembling the woman in front of him, the woman that he was always so keen to solve, the woman that is the half of her heart. She glares at Britain once she is done scrutinizing Kiwi.

“This prepubescent boy isn’t our son”, she spits acidly, “You’re trying to trick me again!”

Britain stares at her, unaffected by her sniping, “He is our son, Maori, believe it or not. And he’s twenty also, believe it or not.”

“He can’t be my son!”, she snarls at Britain, her eyes kindling fire, “He looks nothing like me! Nothing! Nothing! You’re playing me for fools! You think you can fool me once again? No! Never!”

Kiwi can now see tears forming in her eyes, as her body starts to shake, glaring at Britain with hatred and disgust in her eyes. He swallows his fire against Britain; if he has things to say to the man who claims to be his father, he lets his mother go first. He now has a sudden desire to pull his mother in a hug, hoping that maybe it can calm her down.

So he does, feeling the shock of the older woman, her quivers starting to weaken before they immediately halt, an earthquake stopped by a force that shares her own magnitude. Maori lets out a gasp of surprise, but she returns his embrace, and for the first time in his life, he feels the love of a parent that would cherish, nurture and love him for the rest of his life, something he had wished for when he was little.

Maori break their embrace to cup Kiwi’s cheek, a sad smile on her face, “Ko taku tama… ko koe taku tama.”

“Whaea”, Kiwi chokes out, remembering the words he used to practice to spite his father, “Kei te aroha ahau ki a koe.”

Maori chuckles as the tears come rushing down from her cheeks, “I love you too, Aotearoa.”

They embrace once again, mother and son reunited.

Canada sniffles as he wipes stray tears from his face, obviously quite affected from the story. Kiwi’s face seemed to cloud once again with memories, as America looked quite expressionless but there was something in her eyes. However, Australia was the only one that was not in the mood for this sob story to end, as he had one to tell. He can feel himself shaking, tapping his fingers into the table in a brisk way, eyes darting from left to right, his heart pumping and his voice becoming tangled all of a sudden.

Then his mind screams out to him.

It isn’t fair.

It isn’t fair that Kiwi can see his mom again when he can’t.

It isn’t fair that he can talk to his mother while he is stuck with a picture and a worthless father.

It isn’t fair that he has nothing to question anymore.

It isn’t fair Australia is alive and his mother is-

Australia instantaneously stands up from his chair, perturbing his siblings.

“Aussie?”, America queries, making a motion to stand, “what’s wrong?”

Australia doesn’t answer, only looking straight ahead, at the mirror, and he makes notes of his appearance; ginger hair, freckles that look like stars across the evening sky, dark blue eyes… he trembles, realizing how much he stole from his mother, how she could’ve been alive if he didn’t exist. He gulps, as he turns and runs out the room.

“Australia!”, America calls out, standing up and moving to follow her brother but Kiwi pulls her down, “Kiwi, let me go!”

“Look America”, Kiwi says calmly and professionally, “now isn’t the time for being the hero who comforts the victim; he needs some time to himself after what Britain told him.”

America lets out a breath, “What did Dad tell him?”

Kiwi meets her eyes, serious, stern and slow, “His mother.”

While New Zealand was busily spending time catching up with his dear mother, Australia and Villers were strolling through Britain’s gardens, hand-in-hand, humming tunes to keep each other company. It was a serene scenery, untouched by the war going inside of Australia’s head, as a bullet collides with his skull. One question was swirling around his mind,

What did Britain want to tell him?

Australia lets out a deep breath as he picks a rose from one of the rose bushes, carefully ignoring the thorns because he knows they can penetrate through his skin like a dozen ants trying to bite him. He puts the crimson red rose on Villers’ dark hair, and she blushes profusely, kissing him on the cheek, and he chuckles.

Her legs buckle from underneath her and he acts as her railway, letting her lean into him, strawberry perfume entrancing the man next to her.

“Did I hurt you?”, he asks softy.

“I’m fine”, she replies, “I just didn’t know you had that much pent up frustration last night.”

Australia weakly chuckles, “I’m sorry.”

Villers softly laughs, the sound of the angels from above having a choir in the gardens, the light of the moon shining once more.

Australia kisses her softly, lips on lips, never getting enough of her essence. She sighs a little, closing her eyes as she let him overtake their movements as he presses her up in one of the pillars, slipping his hand from underneath her skirt and undergarments, hearing her gasp once again, her skin growing warm as he steadily enters her with his fingers.

As they were in their moment of passion, they fail to notice a newcomer to the gardens, until he makes his presence known to all.

“Australia, my boy”, the newcomer states, and Australia and Villers squeal in surprise as Australia releases Villers from his grip and exits her, wiping his wet fingers on his shirt, as Villers covers her face with Australia’s discarded coat.

“Dad”, Australia says with a breathy tone, his tone breathy. “What is it?”

“I have something to confess.” There was something in his tone, his tone that sounds quite regretful and remorseful, as if thousands of sins he had kept in a vault are now wishing to be unleashed to thousands. He turns his back to the couple, then glances at Australia again with a saddened look in his eyes, “Come with me, son.”

Australia and Villers share a look, and she nods, supporting him from afar. If she cannot come with him, she shall be in his dreams. He nods towards Britain, and he follows him inside of his home.

“What do you want to tell me, dad?”, he asks, hands on his pockets, trying to break the heavy air around the two of them.

“Your mother”, his father replies, not giving him eye contact. “How we met and how you were born.”

Australia tilts his head, unsure of the fact why Britain thinks ‘how’ he was born was special enough for it to get a segment. He had known one thing and it is that Britain had never liked his appearance ever since his youth. He had always thought he looked more like his mother whenever Britain glared at him with those hateful eyes.

“Who was my mother?”, he asks, staring down at the floors, dreading the answer.

“A lady”, he replies, “a wonderful lady I decided to taint.”

A sense of dread starts to form inside of Australia, “What happened to her?”

“It was my fault, Australia, not hers”, Britain chokes a little, eyes shining with tears, as they stop walking. He was holding Australia’s shoulders now, staggering to meet his height now that he was old and miserable and Australia is not the boy he used to be anymore. He is not afraid of his towering father anymore, since he towers before this miserable man now.

“What did you do?”, Australia hisses softly, clutching his chest as he can feel his heart hammering to be freed from his grasp. “What did you do to her?”

Britain swallows, getting ready to tell a tale that Aussie knows will be full of sorrow and heartache. “She was one of those young ladies down in the streets, believing in the naive concept of true love. I, of course, caught her eye; a strapping young lad strutting through the streets like he owned the place. Truly, she thinks, I am her soulmate.” He meets Australia’s eyes once again, haunted and hollow.

“But there is a consequence to loving me.”

He continues, his heart in these winding speeches, “Yes, we interacted more and more, from small greetings then to conversations, and then we were kissing in the rain like it was nothing and then we were being passionate under the sheets. I had taken advantage of her emotions so easily, that I started to unravel her, no remorse whatsoever. I even planned to marry her! Can you believe that, my boy? I wanted to marry this woman who is unaware of my wrongdoings, who loved me for one layer and that layer only.”

“Of course, I ruined her life one day. Netherlands had me good; she had wounded me in several ways, and wounded me in my heart.”

“Why? What did Netherlands do to you? She’d always had a vendetta against us. And you.”

Britain lets out a shaky breath, looking towards Australia as he did with America: cautious, and all the more critical of her movements. “Because Netherlands was America’s mother.”

“What the fuck?”, America says in the present time, her eyes wild and now clear with translucent tears. “Netherlands… the woman who tried to kill me over and over again… is my mom?” She laughs a little, thinking it would lighten the situation but instead it causes the atmosphere of the entire room to sour. She wipes away the tears on her face (either she got it from crying a while or from forcing herself to laugh). “This has got to be a joke… is it?” She tentatively looks at New Zealand, but his face still hasn’t changed.

America’s plastered smile cracks and falls, as she now realizes that the person who she had hated from the first years of her life was her mother all along. America sits down quietly, biting her lip, as Canada puts a hand on her shoulder to comfort her.

Britain continues, his tone becoming even more regretful as they enter his room. Nothing much has changed the last time they were in there, but it was as if the ghosts of Past, Present and Future had swept around the place like a cyclone, their claws turning the Old to New, the New to Old, the old memories that had evaporated from every crevice of the mind comes to haunt everything. The entire room was made to look like his father’s old room, but there was now a spam of picture frames everywhere, and portraits and documents that Australia knows belongs to the past. Britain walks towards his bed, taking a picture frame from the top of his drawers and offering it to Australia.

Australia stares at the photo, vintage and all, of a woman with ginger hair, her freckles spread against her light skin as she smiles into the photo, her hands clasping a small necklace. She was wearing a white, frilly dress, and a sun hat covering most of her head. Her eyes were as green as the grass Australia used to roll on in his youth, her smile rivalling the light of the sun, and her hair as bright as fire. He gingerly touches the photo once again, feeling the glass of the frame, cold and hard, but he wishes for arms to wrap around him, for sweet words to whisper in his ear, for someone to love him.

In the end, it was just a photo of a woman who might have lived a long time ago, who was once real, but now just a figment of imagination. Just a figment of reality that died out and the only thing left was her presence in records and photos.

“She looks a lot like me…”, Australia mutters to himself, staring at the photo with eyes shining, “I look a lot like her…”

“However, her love for me seemed to fade away, over the years.” Britain’s eyes were on the photo of the woman, brilliant and bright, as if not believing that this joyful woman was one of his loves. “Someone had tried to kill her- I saved her but she was not the same ever since, paranoid and never leaving my side. I have had enough of her fear of the unknown; leaving her in our home unattended to come to work, pulling a gun towards her when she comes close, and incessantly never giving her the attention she needed, in hoping she can ‘cope’ herself. Alas, those were horrible ideas, and she spiralled further into insanity.”

“I threatened to leave her if she doesn’t get her act together, and she pleaded with me to stay, no matter how many awful women I’ve slept with, no matter how many times I insulted her and no matter how much I loathed the idea of being with her. So I gave her one condition: she needs to pay me fees for protection, or I’ll put her head on a pike.”

Australia’s eyes dilate for a moment, shaking his head as his hands shake when he stares back at the woman in the photo, years before someone broke her. Years before Britain broke her and crushed her life and sanity to pieces. She is not real anymore; but perhaps her memory is real. He can feel something within him, a pool of lava waiting to burst, but he waits for the right time, letting Britain drone on with the atrocities he’d done to his mother.

“So she works hard, day and night, to keep me by her side, desperately trying to keep me by her side, forever and ever. I took pleasure in seeing her be tortured to death. So I decided to toy with her even more, making her my slave now and for the rest of her life, as she comes in and out of my room, looking utterly more miserable and empty and haunted every time she closes the door. And then one day she comes to me with panicked eyes, handling her stomach, and she confesses to me that she is pregnant and asks me what she should do. I slapped her hard on the face, shouting at her that it was her own fault she had gotten pregnant. So I made her keep the baby; I made her keep you.”

Now the only thing Australia wants to unleash on Britain was the bile working its way up its throat, no way back, but he gulps it down, feeling acid burn his throat and chest. He keeps quiet, eyes still on the picture of his mother.

“She loved me too much”, Britain shakes his head with a small sigh, putting an arm on Australia’s shoulder but his son slaps it away. If Britain was going to comment, he had nothing to say. “So she had you in a night full of stars, almost covering the entire dark sky. Her screams had delighted me back then… sweet and beautiful and all the more melodious. And then you were born, with your ginger curls and skin dotted with freckles like your mother once had, and I knew I would love you.” Britain smiles a little at the ‘happy’ memory, but there was nothing happy about that. Then just like fire burning all too quickly, his smile fades. “Then the day after you were born, your mother killed herself. It seems that she did not want you.”

A teardrop lands on Australia’s mother’s face, as he himself can feel the overwhelming and overbearing sadness his own mother had felt through the remainder of her years. The lava that was over pouring has been replaced by a dark and stormy cloud enveloping his body. Australia shakes, his eyes shining more with tears and he tries not to blink so he could not release such overwhelming emotion. There were too many spurs of emotion inside him, different types of fire kindling and lighting up to try and out flame the other. His vision blurs, and maybe it was not from the tears but from the fact his reality has now shattered into the darkest of places.

Britain’s eyes shine with tears as well, staring ahead, brimming with shame and the wish to repent what he had done. “Maybe that is why I had hit you and insulted you from the very first years of your life… because you looked too much like her and my guilt cannot bear it.”

A memory clicks inside of Australia; when he had asked his father who his mother was, all giddy and excited since he wanted to tell his classmates of his mother. Instead of giving his son a clear answer, he got a grumble and a slap on the cheek, and he stumbled backwards with his stubby little legs. He had covered the mark where he had been slapped, tears of pain tumbling down his cheeks as he started to cry about how much it hurt. Britain had not shown him pity or compassion, however; he had bellowed at him to shut his trap or he will kick him out of the house for the day. The young boy whimpers as he walks to his room, ignoring his worried siblings.

Australia once again looks at his mother, and he chuckles sadly, clutching it closer to his chest, closing his eyes and imagining that it was his mother who was hugging him, not a wooden frame.

At least he had answers from his mother now.

She never loved him.

If she had lived, she would have treated him the same as how Britain had treated him.

She never cared about him.

If he didn’t exist, she would still be alive.

But at what cost?

Tears start to slide down the man’s cheeks, still clutching the frame tightly as he dances with it, remembering the times he’d dance to the beat, thinking everything he is holding is a mother who supports him, but in reality she had died because he merely existed. The tears stain his shirt, but more and more come to replace his damned sadness, overflowing and trying to keep the volcano from erupting. He was smiling stupidly, chuckling a little- the Past is Present and Present is Past.

He should’ve died inside of her stomach; he should’ve been murdered by his own mother; he should’ve been aborted because that’s what he was: a mistake; he should’ve killed himself when he was faced with the noose he tied, the pills he had bought, the gun touching the side of his head.

But why didn’t he do it?

Because there was hope inside him: that somewhere, he will find his mother, who did not want him to die a gruesome death.

So he kept living for her.

But she ended up dead.

And she never loved her.

So what was the point of existing?

Australia starts to sob, heart-wrenching and nerve racking sobs, crawling to a fetal position, his head on his legs as he screams for his mother, as he sobs at the fact he shouldn’t have existed and that she didn’t deserve her fate.

Britain’s voice did not help him, “My dear son, I vehemently apologize-”

The sorrowful river that keeps overflowing is now replaced by a volcano erupting, as Australia bares his teeth and stands up, glaring at Britain, fists clenched around the picture frame and he screams as he hits his father on the head with the frame with all his might, shattering the glass surrounding the photo. Britain made a pained noise, but Australia was not done yet as he kicks Britain’s chest, and he doubles over in pain. Australia glares at the cowardly man in front of him, as he hits him, again and again; he feels nothing but pain, nothing but the pain of his and his mother combined, as he kicks, punches, and hits Britain, until he is a bloodied mess on the floor. Britain chokes out blood, gasping for air, but Australia did not give him more time to breathe as he kicks this miserable man, again and again.

“Australia! Pour l'amour de Dieu, arrêtez!”, he hears someone shout, but he was now in a vengeful haze, continuing to kick his father (he would not even call him his father) harder and repeatedly.

He then feels strong arms wrap around him, pulling him away from Britain who was barely conscious, and he screams in rage, kicking the man behind him, but his knees did not buckle nor did he seem affected by this pathetic man’s attempts to let him go.

“LET ME GO! I’M NOT DONE WITH HIM!”, Australia screams, squirming under the man’s grip.

“I understand why you’re angry at Britain, filho”, comes Portugal’s unhindered and soft voice, still gripping Australia tightly, “but please, don’t beat o bastardo to death.”

“HE DESERVES DEATH! HE DESERVES TO D I E!” Australia replies, and he breaks free from Portugal’s grasp and runs back towards Britain’s mangled body, eyes brimming with tears, as he tries to hit Britain’s face.

He does not hear skin colliding with bone, but a pained gasp and cry. Australia’s blood runs cold, as he opens his eyes to find Villers massaging her cheek, a look of pain evident on her face as she looks at Australia with a poisonous look.

Immediately, all of Australia’s anger vanishes, as his arms go slack.

The entire room was cold, as the two lovers had a standoff.

“Australia, tu sais que je t’aime”, Villers says softly, calmly, steadily, “Mais tu dois de calmer.”

Australia frantically shakes his head, tears sliding down his cheeks once again. “Non ... crois-moi ... je suis vraiment désolé.”

Villers kisses his forehead, giving him a sense of calm, “C’est d’accord, je t’aime encore.”

Australia lets himself be embraced by the shorter woman, the one who had given him the chance to live, the chance to have love. He was crying, ever so silently, holding Villers’ body, as she sings him a lullaby to help him calm down, to help him remember the times that the sun was their friend and not the enemy that burns them alive. And he wonders what would happen to Villers if he didn’t exist.

He puts his lips on her ear, still streaming down tears, “I wish I didn’t exist.”

Villers whispers back, “If you didn’t exist, I wouldn’t have either.”

Australia was staring into space, but he imagines that the vacant space in front of him was his mother, that there were no walls or floors and the both of them were floating in space, with the galaxies looking down on everything and everyone, especially the both of them. His imaginary mother was staring at him, no words to speak but his inevitable doom. If Australia had just killed himself right then and there, he would’ve asked his mother all the questions in his head.

But he was staying alive, once again.

Not for his mother, the one who didn’t want him in the first place.

But for Villers, and his siblings, who were sitting behind those doors, so to speak.

Australia inhales, exhausted at the fact he was sitting here and doing nothing.

But doing nothing was fine.

“Aussie?”, a voice penetrates through the silent air he had created for himself, and with a hum, he raises his eyes at the figures in front of the door, led by his older sister, who was looking as if she had gone through the five stages of grief with him.

Three pairs of arms wrap around his body, which made him feel warm, like Villers’, but their arms were supporting, filial, familial. He closes his eyes as he cozes into their embrace, thinking to himself how lucky he must be to have them.

“We’re grateful you exist”, Canada says in an ‘older brother’ type of voice, and the others nod.

“Don’t beat yourself up ‘cause our asshole dad told you how you were born”, America replies, “I think all of us here didn’t even want to exist.”

“But here we are”, Kiwi continues, smiling at his older brother then at his siblings, who look peaceful at the fact that they were all mistakes, wrong doings their father had committed against the women in his life. “And we’re here to stay.”

Australia smiles at them, a light feeling in his chest that made him soar higher and higher across the skies, until he is ready to burst and pop to be with the others around him.

‘m too tired to put translations screw you this thing’s 12k

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mycatshuman · 5 years

Text

The Emo Who Stole Christmas

Chapter 1 : Story time!

Word Count: 3,068

Pairings: Pre-established Prinxiety, pre-established Logicality, pre-established Demus

Warnings: Commercialization of Christmas, falling down the mountain, Grinch used as an insult? Small car crash with no harm, brief mention of playing with matches, mentions of messing with mail? Almost getting crushed by a stamp, child being wrapped in wrapping paper, that might be it I'm not sure and I know these sound weird but I'm just being careful.

Remus and Deceit don't come in until the next chapter.

Thank you so so much to @icequeenoriginal !!! You are basically the co-creator to this fic and it really would not be as good as it is without you. And I also have to thank you for coming up with such and ingenious title!!💜💜

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Snowflakes fall through the dark sky. A sparkling flake flies close and then we zoom inside the snowflake, watching sparkling crystals fly by as we start on our journey.

Storytime! Inside a snowflake, like the one on your sleeve, there happened a story you must see to believe. The clouds break away and we see snow-covered mountains and evergreen trees dotted across the landscape.

And in that snowflake, way up in the mountains, in the high range of Pontoos, lay the small town of Whoville: the home of the Who's. Ask any Who, And they'll say: "There is no place like Whoville around Christmas Day!"

Every window was flocked, and every lamppost was dressed and the Whoville band marched in their Christmasy best! Or holiday best if they celebrated a different holiday. Who's run through the town as the snow falls around them, their arms full with bags and gifts and decorations.

Arbor Day was fine, and Easter was pleasant and every Saint Fizzin's day, they ate a Fizz pheasant. But every Who knew, from their twelve toes to their snout, they loved Christmas (or other winter holidays like Kwanzaa and Hanukkah) the most, without a single Who doubt.

------

A man with dark skin hurriedly says "Farfingle's welcomes you! Thank you! Happy Holidays! Thank you for shopping at Farfingle's!" The man is looking a little pale as he tries to keep up with the sales as people shove money at him to pay for gifts. No one stopping to take their receipts, causing the man to become exhausted and fighting to keep his smile on his face.

Patton walked around as he stared at his long gift list. "We got a snoozlephone for your brothers Stu and Drew, a muncle for your uncle, fant for your aunt, and a fandpa for your cousin Critic. That means we just need….." Patton paused and looked around, realizing he couldn't find his child. "Emile?" He called out. "Emile? Honey?" He turned to find a set of legs sticking out from under a square of presents. He crouched and pulled a wrapped gift from the middle and his child's face peered out at him. Their face was pinched slightly and they seemed uncertain about something. "Doesn't this seem like a bit much?" They asked as they glanced at the presents.

Patton chuckled heartily. "Oh no! This is what Christmas is all about!" Emile scrunched their nose as they looked at their father. "Can't you feel it?"

Emile shook their head and sighed as they left the store getting ready to head to the post office, where Patton worked. In the background, the sound of the store clerk’s increasingly exhausted voice sounded. "Wait! Don't forget your change!!!!!"

Outside, the loud bell tolled and everyone froze. The Counter shouted, "Another Minute Closer to the Holidays!"

"And now, for the next ten minutes only, 99% off!!" A store owner shouts out into the busy streets and everyone rushed forward to try and get as much as they could from the store.

-------

Yes, every Who down in Whoville liked Christmas a lot. But the Grinch, who lived just north of Whoville, did not.

-----

Four Who teenagers climbed up the mountain quickly laughing and giggling, on their way to cause mischief. Or so they thought. "Come on! All the good mistletoes at the top! Missy! I'll race you!" Emile's brother Pranks shouted.

"The last one to the top is a stinky old Grinch!!" Missy shouted as he raced past his brother.

"Where are we?" One of the teens said as she climbed up alongside her sister. "I think we should go back before something bad happens."

"What? Are you scared of the Grinch?"

The other sister huffed and grabbed her sister's arm and marched up to the door and hesitated. "Go on! Touch the door!" Pranks cried out. The sister gulped and reached forward only for the door to swing open and a huge ugly purple face with piercing fangs stared at them with malevolent eyes. A thundering growl sounded from the pit of the beasts' throat. The teens screamed and turned around only to tumble down the mountain head over heels.

"Remy!! Look at them run!! Scared them so bad they fell right off our mountain!!" A deep voice laughed as he picked up an apple. "It serves them right. Those Yuletide-loving sickly-sweet, not-sucking cheer mongers! I don't like them. I really don't." The voice paused as they stopped and a flush spread across their pale face. "Well, most of them." The voice moved out the door and stood looking down at the town of Whoville. "Remy! Sass master! Get my cloak!" The figure grimaced as he looked down at the town. "I've been too tolerant of these delinquents and their "innocent, victimless pranks." The figure's frown deepened as he glared at the town. If looks could kill. "So, they want to get to know me? Do they really? Want to spend a little quality time with the-" the future's nose scrunched in disgust. "Grinch!" He spat out the name as if it had hurt him. And maybe it had. He huffed and then turned to his cat Remy who sat next to his midnight colored cloak. A wicked grin spread across his face. "I guess I could use a little...social interaction."

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A dark clothed figure walked through the town, A small dark grey cat trotting along beside them. Well, maybe walking wasn't so accurate. The figure seemed to glide and float across the ground as if it was an otherworldly spector. However, none of the Who's seemed to notice this different looking figure. "Happy Holidays!" A person called cheerfully as they walked past the figure. Virgil grimaced. "Yeah, yeah, you bet. Ho, ho, ho, and all that stuff or whatever." If any Who had stopped to peer closer at the hooded figure they might find a weird creepy mask and a lanky body covered in dark purple fur. It was a suit Virgil used to frighten the Whos more. It also to stay warm in the biting cold weather.

A horn blared as a car crashed into a pole and Virgil gasped overdramatically. "Oh no!" He exclaimed and looked down at Remy. "Someone must have vandalized that vehicle. Don't you see, Remy? This city is a dangerous place!" He snickered after he confirmed his little trick hadn't hurt anyone.

The Grinch hated the holidays. The whole Holiday season. Or maybe he didn't. Maybe it just hurt to remember what the Who's had done to him. But please do not ask why. No one quite knows the reason. Aside from one other.

Virgil stopped two children and handed then a play saw, perfectly harmless but looked very real. "Here's a present for you two! Now be sure to run real fast with it! Double time!"

Some believe it's because his head wasn't screwed on just right. Or that his shoes were too tight. But they think the most likely reason of all is, maybe his heart is two sizes too small.

As Virgil was walking a man stopped him from moving any further. "Hey, there stranger! Won't let you go until you buy a chapeau!" Virgil lifted his mask and hissed. The salesperson who had stopped him fainted out of sheer terror. Virgil held back a snort and he and Remy were on their way.

-------

Patton carried presents alongside his child, Emile as they made their way to the post office. "Oh boy! Nothing beats Christmas! Right kiddo?"

Emile frowned. "I don't-I guess."

Patton frowned and turned to look at his child. "You guessed?" He asked, concern lacing through his words.

Emile shrugged as they looked down. "I mean, I look around and see you and Pa getting all kabbabled and doesn't it seem...superfluous?"

Patton opened his mouth to say something when a loud screaming reached his ears and he froze, turning towards the source of the noise as everyone around them did the same.

"DAD!!!!" Missy and Pranks raced into the town square as the Mayor came out of his office along with his assistant to see what the commotion was about.

"What happened to you?!?!" Patton asked panicked. The two boys were covered in frost and snow as they tried to stutter out a response. "It was the Grinch!"

Virgil looked up. "What do you want?" He froze, "I mean.." He pitched his voice higher. "'Grinch? Oh, no!'"

"Did you say Grinch?" The mayor, Anton Who said as he stalked over to the family.

Patton froze.“H-Hello Anton, M-Mayor Sir.” Patton said as he moved his children behind him.

Anton sighed "Patton, I don't think I need to remind all of you that this Christmas marks the one-thousandth Whobilation."

"Whoville's most important celebration!!"

"As you know," the Mayor began as he pulled out a very large and thick book. "The Book of Who says very clearly, 'Every size of Who we can measure knows that Whobilation is a time we must treasure!'" He closed the book, perhaps a bit too quickly. "Now, Patton. Please tell me that your children have not been up on Mount Crumpit provoking one and only creature within a billion bilometers of here who hates the holidays!"

Missy and Pranks began speaking quickly, "But it was the Grinch-"

Patton stopped them by covering their mouths, terrified of what the consequences may be for them and their family if they kept talking. "No, Mayor. They didn't see no Grinch. They were probably just up on the mountain playing with matches or defacing public property or something…"

The Mayor let out a sigh of relief as he placed his gloved hand on his chest. "Oh! That is such a relief." He turned his extravagant cape dragging behind him. "All right! You heard the man! There is no Grinch Problem here! Happy Holidays!" The mayor called cheerfully.

Virgil frowned and raised his mask and stuck a straw between his lips and spit a ball of paper at the Mayor. The mayor frowned and whipped the ball off his face, disgusted. Virgil chuckled as he pulled his mask down and went off again.

-----

Roman May let out a sigh as he realized he still had four hours until it was dark enough to leave town. So he just rolled his new purchase home, slowly, hoping to kill more time. He paused at the post office however and let out a faint chuckle as he noticed the end of a cape and a cat's tail slipping through the crack in the door as it fell close. He sighed dreamily. "That's my love," he muttered fondly to himself and walked away with a lot more pep in his step than before.

-----

Emile frowned as they watched their dad walk down a long hallway with envelopes and presents as he stuffed them in small cubes lining one wall that leads into the room on the other side. "Dad, I just- I don't understand something."

"Hhm?" Patton asked as he continued working but made sure to give his child the attention they deserved.

"Why so everyone so against talking about the Grinch?"

Patton huffed quietly, a little admirable of his child's fascination. "You kids and the Grinch…” he said softly. "You see, Emile, the Grinch is a Who, who always…." He paused. "Well...he's actually not a Who. He's more a..."

"A what?"

Patton nodded. "Yeah, he's more a what who doesn't like Christmas or any other holiday." Emile's face pulled down into a frown as they listened to their dad. "Just take a look at his mailbox. Not a single card, in or out. Not ever!"

Emile looked at the empty mailbox that had seemingly been empty for so long that cobwebs filled the dead space. "But why?" They asked as they turned to look at their dad, unsure why someone wouldn't have at least been kind enough to try and include him.

Patton opened his mouth to answer his child only to be cut off by people crowding around the front counter. "Patton! I got the wrong mail!!!" Someone cried out frantically and Patton gave Emile an apologetic smile and walked to the counter. "I'm coming!" He called out. "We can sort this all out!"

-----

Virgil grinned wickedly as he stood in the mailroom and looking at the mailboxes from the other side. "Oh, this will take them years to sort out!" He began to grab envelopes and switch them around. "This is his and now it’s yours. This is hers and now it’s his!" He giggled gleefully and turned around. Picking up a stack of bright yellow envelopes he spun around. "And for the rest of you!" He flung envelopes into random mailboxes with great force as he chuckled madly to himself. "Jury duty! Jury duty! Jury duty! Blackmail! Pink slip! Chain letter! Eviction notice! Jury duty!" Remy watched unamused as Virgil tried to wreak havoc. He rolled his eyes, as well as a cat could. Virgil may seem threatening but in all actuality, he was just a hurt soul trying to hurt those who hurt him but was too nice to do so. At least he had Remy to keep him in check.

-----

Patton walked over to Emile and held out a small stack of envelopes. "Hey, Emile, would you mind helping me take this to the mailroom?" Emile nodded and took the envelopes from their father. Patton smiled and ruffled their hair. "Thank you. Now be careful of the sorting machine, alright?"

Emile nodded with a small smile and turned around and opened the door to the mailroom and glanced over as they watched the conveyor belt drop presents down a hole to have Fragile stamped on the side. They set the mail down and turned to leave only to hear a loud splat. They turned around and frowned as they noticed an ugly, overly happy mask sitting on the floor. They bent over and picked up the mask and inspected it.

Virgil and Remy stared down below at the small Who child that had entered the mailroom. They were squished into the corner of the ceiling, trying to stay perched where they were until the child left. Then Remy sneezed. "Gesundheit," Virgil muttered. Emile gasped and whirled around, their gaze going to the ceiling. "Whoops."

Emile stuttered as they stared at the purple fur of the Grinch and the dark grey cat and screamed. The Grinch screamed back. Emile screamed again, and as the Grinch let out another scream they slowly composed themselves. "You're the...the...You're the..."

Virgil jumped down and leaned forward into Emile's face. "The Grinch!" He snarled. Emile screamed and fell back into a pile slowly falling through the hole in the floor leading to the conveyor belt for the sorting machine. Virgil blinked as he tried to calm his racing heart. "Well...I guess that worked out..." He quickly turned towards the door, terrified of getting caught. "Remy, let's go. Our work here is done."

"Help!! Help me! Please! Somebody!" Emile screamed as their head fell closer to the conveyor belt. Remy stopped just short of the door and gave Virgil a look that said, 'I know you're gonna feel guilty about this. Go help them, gurl.'

Virgil huffed at being called out despite not actually hearing what Remy said, he was pretty good at telling what his cat was thinking. "All the bleeding hearts of the world unite! Ugh!" Virgil turned around and grabbed a hold of Emile's ankle before pulling the child out and quickly turning them upright. "There!" Virgil exclaimed. Although he turned his voice down at noticing the slightly shocked face of the child. He huffed and yanked the mask from them. "Give me that! Don't you know you're not supposed to take things that don't belong to you?! What are you, some kind of wild animal?!?!?"

Emile blinked, desperately trying to process what exactly had just happened. They quickly found their voice as they vaguely heard the Grinch say something about leaving to their cat. "Thank you for saving me!"

Virgil froze and slowly turned around to face the child again. "Saving you?" He asked slowly, carefully. "Is that what you think I was doing?" Emile nodded. Virgil huffed. He couldn't have this getting out, who knows how many teens would come up to bother him then! He grimaced. "Wrong-o!" He glanced to the side and noticed a roll of wrapping paper on a wrapping paper holder. He glanced back at the child. They can't know where I'm going. I have to make sure to stall them. "I simply noticed you weren't properly packaged, dear child."

Emile stepped back only for the Grinch to began rapidly wrapping them up in the shiny red wrapping paper. "Hold still!" The Grinch exclaimed. Then he turned to his cat. "Remy! Pick out a bow!" Then the Grinch paused. "May I use your finger for a moment?" After a few more moments, Emile felt the Grinch's presence move away. They heard a snap and an "ow" at what, Emile assumed, was the Grinch putting his mask back on.

Emile stood silent for a few moments after the Grinch left before they began shouting. "Hello! Hello!"

Patton frowned as he looked for his child. A small "hello" drew him towards the mailroom and he opened the door. "Emile?"

"Dad! Daddy!" Emile called out as they sensed their father moving closer.

"What ...?" Patton was speechless as he noticed a figure wrapped in wrapping paper around the size of his child. "Emile? Is that really you?" He asked again and began removing the wrapping paper.

Once Emile's head and torso were uncovered, they grinned excitedly at Patton. "Dad! It was astounding! Th-"

"You have been practicing your Christmas wrapping!" Patton exclaimed, eyes twinkling. "Oh, Emile! I am so so proud of you!! That's the holiday spirit!!"

"O-oh…" Emile train of thought halted as they took in their father. His black-framed glasses and the grey cardigan pulled tight over his postal uniform. The smile that was wide on his face, beaming with pride. Emile subconsciously rubbed at the grey material of their school uniform.

Kind little Emile didn't know what to do. In their head, a conflict or two humbled around their brain. 'If The Grinch was so bad, then why did he save me?" They thought. "Maybe he wasn't as bad as they say." Maybe. Just maybe.

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Everything Taglist: @spxced-oxt @superwholocked-for-life @mirror2thespirit @aroundofapplesauce @lyditist @little-euro-girl @unicornofdarknessstuff @maryann-draws

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artgurusauce · 5 years

Photo

Oh hey what’s this an AU without Haudion in it? What sorcery is this, Saucy?

Yes yes, another AU spreadsheet. Twist this time: The prompt ain’t for shipping. I’ve been playing with this specific idea in my head for a while now and after rewatching an old playthrough of God of War 4, I got a tad inspired.

Without further ado, let us begin.

Context: As you can probably already tell, the prompt here was “What if Gladion was much younger when he joined Team Skull?” The question of how young I’m afraid I can’t put into precise numbers buuut, about the age he was in the anime when Lillie was attacked by that Nihilego. I’m assuming he was around 7 at that time but that’s just an estimate. Anyways, he runs away from home after stealing a Pokeball containing a Type:Null from his mother. Unfortunately, he grabbed a rather aggressive Type:Null that is poorly trained. It doesn’t kill him, but it often lashed out at Gladion and attacks him, scratching and headbutting him. One day, in the pouring rain, Guzma finds this crying boy sniveling and covered in all manner of bruises and cuts. Taking pity upon him, he decides to take him in.

1.) New Clothes

Since Gladion’s old clothes while expensive and cozy were absolutely ruined, they had to be replaced. Not only were they soaked, but they were terribly scratched up and beyond repair thanks to Null. Luckily, one of the grunts happens to be an expert in sewing clothes and makes up just the cutest little getup for him. However, she makes the sleeves just a tad too long. Guzma also gives Gladion an old pair of sneakers he used to wear when he was about his age.

2.) Roughhousing

Gladion, even as an older more mature boy is quite the emotional one. Often times he’ll lash out quite easily and it’s not hard to get under his skin. Imagine if you were to upset an even younger Gladion with far less experience, poise and who’s freshly emotionally damaged by his mother’s neglectful behavior, not to mention his frustration with trying to train Type:Null. So it’s not hard to imagine that Gladion still wouldn’t get along with the grunts. In fact, they pick on him even more since he’s so tiny and pathetic and gets far more attention from Guzma seeing as he’s the youngest one and needs more care. Usually it would lead to a grunt stepping out of line, saying something like, “Why don’t you go back home cryin’ to your daddy?” or “I’ll bet your ugly little pet would make a better jacket than a Pokemon.” This would obviously lead little Glad to attempt to beat up the older kids, biting and scratching and kicking them. And of course, Guzma would have to break it up and drag Gladion off to give him a stern talking-to, man to boy. Just what on Earth was Guzma going to do about all this pent up aggression he had?

3.) The Little Moments

Of course eventually after a while it should come as no surprise: The little brat is startin’ to grow on big ol’ bad Guzma. Even for the spoiled rotten, picky, ungrateful rugmuncher he can be sometimes, he’s not quite that bad of a kid. After all, Guzma actually somewhat admires his spunk. It’s not hard for him to see himself in this kid. He knew how scary it was being away from home at such a young age, and especially with such a goliath under his belt with no experience what-so-ever. This illustration is one of a few wholesome little instances you could probably imagine. Poor little Glad got tired from training and fell asleep while listening to one of Guzma’s post-battle lectures. It’s almost kind of cute.

4.) Motherly Advice

Oh but of course, Guzma isn’t the boy’s only parental figure. Plumeria, more docile and passive aggressive in nature is sure to give little Glad any advice he needs. While it is important he learns to toughen up, he’s not a brick wall. She’s there to talk to him whenever he needs it. While at first he’s not privy to talking to her as putting up with Guzma is enough of a challenge in and of itself, eventually, he warms up to her offers to listen when the grunts’ verbal jabs begin to wear down his self-confidence. She also is prone to helping Gladion understand Guzma’s rules and why he’s so hard on the poor little fella. They weren’t so different, even if it didn’t seem that way. “Might be tough for you to believe it, but everybody here has had it rough, even me.” Gladion definitely takes all her advice to heart, frankly just appreciating that someone would just talk to him like...a mother would.

5.) Tough Love

And now we get right back to Gladion’s biggest conundrum: Type:Null. I headcanon pretty much in any AU that there are 3 Type:Nulls in existence: A docile one, an aggressive one, and a pack leader. Gladion this time around ends up taking the aggressive one, not knowing the difference between the Beast Killers. While under Guzma’s wing, Type:Null and Gladion both endure intense and rough training that while unconventional is actually quite necessary. Guzma knows how to handle a bulky mass of rage after all. So first thing’s first, he uses his Golisopod to battle Type:Null in order to help it get out all that pent up aggression and channel it in a productive manner. The more it associated it’s power and ability with Pokemon battle rather than throwing temper tantrums, the better. Golisopod is more than happy to help, which creates a tense rivalry between the two. Often times they will even spar without either of their Trainer’s request. In a similar fashion that Guzma is a mentor to Gladion, Golisopod becomes somewhat of a mentor to Type:Null. Then of course, there’s the trust-building lessons to help Gladion and Type:Null establish a Trainer-Pokemon relationship rather than a Master-Prisoner mentality. It doesn’t quite understand that Gladion is it’s ally, it only knows that it is free from the tazing devices and cold, claustrophobic cages that prevented it from ripping anyone that crossed it to shreds. It had to understand that the boy was it’s friend, not it’s foe. Leading that, Gladion himself would learn how to battle using his Pokemon. A process that requires surprisingly a lot more paper than hands-on studying. After all, he has to memorize all the moves and rules if he’s to become a proper Trainer for that powerhouse.

6.) Am I Supposed To Apologize?

After a long, long, looonnnggg time of building trust and coming to see Guzma like a second father, Gladion finally spills the beans about his mother’s cruelty and his father’s tragic death. Surprisingly, rather than Plumeria, it is Guzma he confides in. He breaks down, confessing every little horrific detail. How his father died in a horrible research accident. How his mother shut them out emotionally after the funeral. How she forced him and his sister to dress perfectly proper in almost all white. How she ridiculed and belittled and shamed them just to make them complicit. How she locked him and Lillie in their rooms for hours on end for simply wearing the wrong shoes. How she took away their Pokemon, saying they weren’t worthy enough children to be Trainers. How she began to pretend as if Gladion didn’t even exist anymore and gave all the attention to his sister just to spite him. All they were to her were ugly, useless children. She didn’t love them anymore, and they didn’t understand. He didn’t understand. He didn’t know what to do. All he wanted to do was run away. But he also wanted to piss her off, give her something to really be upset about. At least then she would give him attention. At least then she would acknowledge him, wouldn’t she? She had to! But she hadn’t even bothered to look for him, she didn’t care about him. She never would. Why did she act like this? Did he do something wrong? Was he supposed to apologize? Why did she hate him so much? Guzma is obviously taken aback by all this and takes pity on the poor boy again, letting him cry out all of his frustrations and woes. Nothing is more painful for Guzma than hearing the things some of these kids he takes in have gone through, but coming from the mouth of someone so young, it also boils his blood. Lusamine will surely regret what she has wrought upon this boy...

7.) Po Town Raid

So I came up with an interesting plot idea, perhaps a sort of climax to this story. Team Skull is still very much a group of criminals. They steal, vandalize, and sometimes even shake down young Trial-Goers who were unfortunate enough to run into one of Guzma’s lackeys. Up to now, nobody really knew where they were hiding out. However, the police somehow found a lead, and raid the entirety of Po Town to arrest and detain everyone. Guzma knows there’s not enough time to save everyone, and decides to make a split second decision as the police come dangerously close to knocking down the door to the mansion. He calls out his Golisopod, ordering Gladion to hide under him and not to come out no matter what he hears. Of course, Gladion is terrified and objects to this, but Guzma manages to convince him that he can handle himself. Begrudgingly, Gladion hides in Golisopod’s grip as it curls up into a ball, shuffling itself under some floor boards beneath a rug on the floor. With bated breath and tears trickling down his face, Gladion is forced to listen quietly as his father figure is arrested and escorted out of the building, insisting there’s no one else left to detain. Golisopod is just as saddened as the boy, hesitant to sit back while it’s Trainer is being hauled off, but obedient enough to keep the boy safe as ordered. After a few hours of complete silence, Gladion and Golisopod finally emerge from their hiding spot, wrought with grief and panic to find Po Town was completely empty and devoid of any other humans or even Pokemon. Everyone was gone.

Sooo another plot twist, I may consider actually writing a fic for this one but obviously not right now. Or I could just keep posting about it here, lol. Honestly I really like this one so I’m definitely gonna continue it regardless. But lemme know what y’all think.

#pokemon #pokemon sun and moon #team skull #guzma #plumeria #gladion #golisopod #type: null #alternate universe #doodle dump #fan art #baby Glad #he a rambunctious boyo #pouty boyo #fussy boyo #yo why is drawing golisopod so hard tho

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chipoo505 · 4 years

Text

I know that I don’t have a huge following/platform but this is something I have wanted to address for a while. I might even lose some followers but oh well 🤷🏽‍♀️. Everyone knows exactly what I am talking about seeing that this is a GLOBAL issue. It is being televised, protested and trended EVERYWHERE.

First things first; That all lives matter shit needs to go! IF ALL LIVES MATTERED THEN THERE WOULD BE NO NEED FOR BLACK LIVES MATTER! I said what I said. Stop trying to put yourself/your race in a situation that doesn’t apply. If all lives mattered then that means that this would be a problem that ALL RACES experience. Or it could mean that ALL RACES SHOULD NOT be experiencing this.

We are tired of seeing our brothers and sisters being murdered and nothing being done about it. We are tired of having to fear for our and/or our families lives IN AND OUTSIDE of our homes, because it has gotten this bad. It has gotten so bad that we don’t even feel safe INSIDE OUR homes. Imagine being in a country that PROMISES freedom and safety but as the years pass you grow to understand that the promise wasn’t meant for you and your “kind”. Imagine seeing someone of your race being killed and knowing that you can’t do anything about it because you know that you will suffer the same fate as them.

Also if you are apart of those people who only go to these protests to wear your outfits that you never got to show off, destroy and vandalize, carry our your fucking fantasies or to terrorized and provoke the protesters then you are a fucking disgrace. Where were you when people were protesting the stay at home orders and when people were at the beach like we weren’t in a pandemic then.

If you are apart of the crowd who supports the BLM movement then I thank you. I cannot thank you enough. YOU are the reason why I still believe that there are genuinely good people in this world. YOU are the reason that I am mentally stable during this time, and I am only speaking for myself so there is no telling how many others you have helped and we thank you 😊💜. When you do good and do what is right, good will come back to you.

Now I would like to move to kpop stan culture:

TO MY BLACK KPOP FANS PLEASE REMEMBER: YOU ARE BLACK BEFORE YOU ARE A KPOP FAN!

When someone looks at you what do you think they notice first your skin or the kpop group you are currently listening to. Think about it...

There are many artists and celebrities who have spoken up, donated, and signed and spread petitions. Then there are some who haven’t.

We want them to speak up because they have a bigger platform with MILLIONS of followers. They can spread this information further.

Kpop is built up on black culture. From the lyrics to the beats to the clothing and hairstyles.

They have said themselves that their inspiration are black artists. Most of their producers are black. Some have black choreographers. Some have black FRIENDS. BLACK PEOPLE WRITE THEIR SONGS, They know that they have black fans. So no matter the situation THEY KNOW WHAT IS GOING ON. It is extremely disappointing that they won’t/don’t speak up.

Some fans are saying that their company won’t let them. That’s Bullshit. Yeri literally posted blm on her story and she is under one of the most strict companies. They can post shit abt their abs but not a fucking movement.

It’s sad the ones who literally praise black culture won’t speak up. I won’t call their names because we already know who they are and they do too. The ones who were born and raised in America as well they should’ve been the first ones! Once again it is just extremely disappointing that they won’t/don’t speak up, But I also DON’T condone spamming and harassing them on their Social Medias though.

Don’t promote this “trend” just to make your fandom and idols look good. This is a serious issue and you are taking it as a joke and when people call you out on your bull you get defensive and reveal your true self.

One more thing and I’m done. DO NOT ROMANTICIZE BLM! Like that’s something I should even have to be saying and yet here I am. To romanticize protests where people are literally losing their lives and fighting to give black people the human rights that we should have received a long time ago is disgusting.

NO, your idol didn’t say BLM in fact he/she didn’t SAY anything at all!

Now if you have a problem with this post lmk and we can talk about it. Please feel free to comment on something I didn’t mention.

DONATE TO THE CAUSE, SIGN AND SHARE THE PETITIONS!!!

Also remember this is not just a “trend” Black Lives should ALWAYS Matter.

#BLACK LIVES MATTER #i said what i said #stan #kpop #got a problem with that?#lmk #black lives fucking matter #Protest #justice for george floyd #all lives cannot matter until black lives matter #imagine #imagines

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myhauntedsalem · 5 years

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911 Operators Describe the Most Disturbing Calls they’ve Ever Taken

1. “Daddy’s Eye Fell Out”

“Had a call for a brother who killed his other brother with a hammer (the pick part) while the victim’s little daughter was watching. The daughter called us from another room and told us her daddy’s eye fell out.

Perp was apprehended, daughter taken by relative. Had to smoke after that one, and I don’t even smoke.”

– rainbowbrite0091

2. “I Need your Help”

“There was an old couple who lived on a run-down ranch house about 20 miles east of town. When the husband passed away, the woman would call 911 at least three times a week, asking for assistance with very mundane tasks not normally dealt to first responders. “I need help turning the thermostat up”, “I need help boiling water for my tea”, etc.

The woman developed dementia, and eventually, it progressed to the point where she believed she was calling 911 to ask her deceased husband for help. All of the dispatchers would recognize the address immediately, even though all she could say was “(husband’s name), I need help. Please come home and help me”

One day she called, and again was only able to repeat her husband’s (I’ll call him “John”) name. “John, I need help. Please come home and help me John.” By the time the first responders arrived on scene, they found the woman lying dead in her bed. The first unit on scene called dispatch to confirm that it was the woman herself who had called 911, as rigor Morris had already set in. We wrote it off as the fact that the heater in her house wasn’t working, and the ambient temperature in the room was about 50 degrees.

We continued to receive 911 calls from that woman, at that address for just over a year after she passed away. Even after her home was vandalized, and burned to the ground, the phone calls did not stop. “John, I need your help. John, please come home and help me.” We were obligated to send a response each and every time, but not once did we find anyone on or near the property.

Multiple calls to the phone company confirmed that the phone line had been disconnected, and the call was not coming from another address.”

– Nevadadrifter

3. Glass Breaking

“1979 NYC. Got a call from a crying child – a little boy – saying his mom and dad were fighting and his dad said he was going to throw the mom out of the window. I could hear a terrible fight going on in the background – woman screaming, things breaking, man yelling, etc. The poor kid didn’t know his address. We didn’t have the technology for call ID and would have to use reverse telephone books. A trace would take forever. Anyway while I’m trying to get the address I hear a horrific scream and glass breaking. A few seconds later the other operators in the room are getting calls about a woman lying in the courtyard who came out of a window. Very sad.

Worst of all is that I am sure someone else in this apartment building must have heard this fight but no one called for help until it was too late. Poor kid. Working 911 in NYC during the 70s/80s was a nightmare.”

– Mizcreant908

4. Alone in the House

“The single worst call I’ve ever taken though was a woman who was calling in that she was hearing weird noises in her house. While walking through her house she started screaming and told me there was someone in her house. There we a couple soft pops followed by a gargling sound. After the officers had cleared the house and found her, it finally came out during the investigation that her adult son had killed her while high and freaking out.

Gunshots don’t sound like you’d think on the phone, they’re rather soft. It’s an eerie sound, something so violent being so soft that if you aren’t paying attention you can miss it.”

– 4x49ers

5. Static on the Line

“My uncle works for dispatch in my town and he recently told my family of the weirdest call he’s ever gotten. He says that he had received a call from a landline one night and when he answered it there was only static on the other end. This happened two more times. Finally, he calls a squad to go check out the address from the caller ID. When the cops got there and walked into the house they immediately saw that there was a dead body. The person had been dead for 5 months.

The craziest part about it was that there was no electricity or any other utility working. So there is no way they should have been able to get those calls into dispatch. But if they hadn’t, who knows how long that person’s body would have stayed there.”

– Zombie_Dance_

6. A Long Raspy Exhale

“Christmas Eve night I answered 911 for a hysterical lady who was crying so hard she couldn’t breathe. I asked her what was going on and she told me these exact words “my boyfriend and I… we were watching a movie… I fell asleep. I woke up and he wasn’t here.”

I thought this was a little odd so I said, “okay ma’am, do you know where he may have went?” she wasn’t done. She said, “I found him.. in our closet, he hung himself.. with our bed sheets.” I walked her through cutting him down and starting CPR. when in the middle of it, he starts making this long raspy exhale that sounds exactly like something from a horror movie, it’s the rest of his air leaving his lungs. She starts getting hysterical again begging him, “oh my god, he’s breathing, please breathe baby, please breathe..” But I knew that’s not what he was doing.

Police/fire/ambulance got there and of course, the guy was way dead. I felt so bad for that woman. That’s really the only call that has ever stuck with me.”

– JeCsGirl

7. Halloween Night

“My mom was a 911 dispatcher in the early 90’s (I was 5 years old-ish) in Washington State. When I got older, I remember asking her about some of the calls that she could still recall. One in particular was pretty bad. She was working one year on Halloween night and around 10 or 11pm she had a call come in that a couple guys were driving around town with a dummy or something dragging behind their truck. The dummy was falling apart and pieces of clothing/plastic were being torn off and scattered around the city.

Being Halloween, it seemed like a prank but she had a patrol car try to find and stop the truck. As time goes by more and more people started to call in about it. Eventually the patrol car caught up with the truck and it turns out that it was a person.

The guys had gone to a store earlier and when they left, they had backed their truck into an elderly man whose clothes got caught in the rear bumper or whatnot. The two guys never even knew that they were dragging around another human being all across town, for miles.

The elderly man had passed away and those pieces of clothing scattered around town, was his clothing, flesh, and body parts. Still gives me chills.”

– Turkeyshoes

8. The Man in the Attic

“I worked dispatch for a total of three months, and in that three months I only received one call I would call creepy. It was the voice of a little boy, and I was trying to be calm because it felt like he was having a hard time breathing. I asked him if he was in danger and he said no, not anymore. I asked him why he had called and he said “well, the man in the attic finally killed my mom. I asked him if he could still see his mom and he said “no, the man took her to the moon” I asked him if he was alone in the house, to which he replied “no, I still have the mans dog here” I asked him what the doggies name was in the hopes I could keep the boy calm, the boy replied “his name is shaitan” I asked him to say it again thinking he said “satan” but he clearly replied “its shaitan”. By the end of the call, the police showed up and I still don’t know what ever happened with the boy and his mother.

But years later I was researching the Djinn/jinn and according to ancient texts, evil spirits like djinn are able to manifest themselves as a dog or other animals and guess what the djin were known as? Shaitan.

I still have a hard time sleeping at night when I think about this call.”

– Mr–Night

9. Possessed

“I was a 911 call taker 10 years ago when I received one of the creepiest calls ever. It was freezing that night, which usually equaled a calm, quiet shift due to even the criminals not wanting to go outside. Around 3am my call box popped up green and as usual I asked what was the emergency. A man starting frantically screaming that his still was possessed by a demon and tried to cut his heart while he slept. He had ran when the attack started and locked himself in his bathroom. I ask him a series of questions trying to figure out what the hell is going on.

I ask him a series of questions trying to figure out what the hell is going on. Everytime he tried to answer I heard what sounded like scratching and banging on the bathroom door. He whispered “There is a demon in my sister’s body, it has been battling me for days. It got free from the chains…” I swear what I heard next chilled me to the core. This unearthly voice began taunting my caller through the door. It didn’t sound like a 20-something woman. It was low and guttural, like she had gargled razor blades before speaking. She continued to growl and speak in a strange sounding language until police arrived. She let out a terrifying scream when the officers broke in, then dead end.

The call was over, I was shaking and had to know what happened? Even my supervisor (who had been listening to the call in real time) was pale and speechless when the line abruptly ended. Before my shift ended the commanding officer on my creepy call called in to tell me what they found. He told me he would have nightmares for the rest of his life.

Apparently, when my caller said his sister got out of her chains, he wasn’t joking around. She still had a chain tied to a bloody handcuff when the officers came in. Her whole body was covered in self-inflicted scratches, her one eye had popped a blood vessel and was bright red. Most of what she was wearing was also shredded and her skin looked like she had been drained of her blood. She was taken in for a psych consult and as you probably guessed, stayed there for a long time. The brother was okay except for deep gouges in his chest. His sister literally tried to dig out his heart.

There was some talk about arresting the brother but nothing ever came of it. I still can vividly remember that voice, it still makes my blood run cold.”

– QueenoftheNorth82

#911 Operators Describe the Most Disturbing Calls they’ve Ever Taken #paranormal #ghost and hauntings

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alix-writes-things · 4 years

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Ember’s Story Chapter Three: Spray Paint and Quick Escapes

“Ember, no.” It’s 10 p.m. on Saturday night, and I’m talking to Everett over the phone. “You’re going to get arrested. Or, worse, your parent’s are going to kill you.”

I ignore him and continue getting ready. I’ve decided to get my revenge on Ethan for upsetting me and my friends. I grab the box of non-flammable spray-paints that I keep in the back of my closet for things like this and begin picking out the cans I know I’ll need.

“Ember, you have to listen to me. It’s one thing if it’s on the back of the bowling alley. It is a whole other thing if it’s someone’s house or car.”

“I don’t care. He deserves it.”

“How does Nox feel about this.”

I hesitate before responding, “They’re fine with this.”

“Uh huh. Sure.”

I continue sorting through the box; picking out any colors I might need. “They are.”

“Then you won’t mind me asking them, right?”

I freeze holding a can of red spray-paint. “Well, I don’t think that’s necessary.”

“Oh, yes, it is.”

I groan while he adds Nox to the call.

“Hey,” Nox says.

“Nox,” Everett says, “can I ask you something?”

“Everett, I don’t think you should bother them.”

“Oh, that’s alright. What’s up, Everett?”

“Do you know what Ember is planning?”

Nox sighs. “Yes, I do, and I think it’s a bad idea.”

I can almost feel Everett glaring at me through the phone. I can already tell that I’m never going to hear the end of this. I almost consider not going through with it, but the memory of Nox’s reaction is enough to convince me to do it.

“Nothing either of y’all says will convince me not to do this.”

“You are going to get arrested. Right, Nox?”

“I’m not going to get arrested,” I say, throwing my hands up in the air.

“Ember,” Nox says slowly, “this is a bad idea. What if you get caught?”

“I don’t get caught,” I say.

“That’s what you say every time,” Everett says, clearly annoyed.

They continue to take turns lecturing me about how I’m going to get arrested. I put myself on mute and continue sorting through my box of spray paint. I’m reaching for my bag to add another half-empty can of blue paint when my younger brother, Amias, walks in. Although it’s nearly midnight, he’s fully dressed in a black t-shirt, black skinny jeans, and a pair of beat up, grey sneakers. He has his shoulder-length, dark brown hair that our parents won’t allow him to cut tucked into a light-grey beanie.

“What’s up, dude?” I ask him while continuing to pack my bag.

“I couldn’t sleep. I heard you drag out the paint box and decided I want to come with you,” he says nonchalantly.

I smile at him. He likes to come with me on, what he calls, my “vigilante projects.”

As if on que, Everett says, “you better not even think about dragging Amias into this mess. It’s one thing to take him when you’re tagging the bowling alley, but it’s a whole other thing to take him to vandalize someone’s house.”

I unmute myself and reply, “too bad. He’s fourteen. He’s older than I was the first time I tagged a house. He can come if he wants to.”

Everett sighs and says, “he already asked, didn’t he?”

“Yes, I did,” Amias speaks up, lowering his voice slightly, “I’ll be fifteen soon, and Ember has done way worse at, like, twelve.”

“First off,” Everett says, “Ember has done way worse at ten.”

“Wow. Throwing me under the bus. I see how it is.”

“Second off,” Everett continues, ignoring my comment, “just because your idiot sibling has done worse doesn’t mean you should be doing this. Also, you won’t be fifteen for another five months.”

“Wait,” Nox says, “who’s Amias, and why is he fourteen?”

We all pause before bursting out laughing. Amias and I try to keep quiet so that we don’t wake up our parents, but Everett, whose parents are probably still awake, is the loudest of all of us.

“I meant,” Nox starts to say before succumbing to laughter again.

It takes us about five minutes, but, eventually, we all calm down enough for Nox to speak.

“I meant,” they say, “why is Ember bringing a fourteen-year-old to vandalize a house, and why have I never met this kid?”

“Amias is my younger brother who likes to go with me to tag buildings. You’ve probably met him before and don’t realize it.”

Our parents don’t let Amias present as a boy or use He/Him pronouns at school which is probably why Nox doesn’t recognize his voice.

“Anyways,” Everett says, “Amias shouldn’t be going with you. You shouldn’t be going in the first place.”

“Give up, Rett.” Everett hates Amias’ nickname for him, so Amias only uses it when he’s trying to bother Everett. “I’m going with Ember, and that’s final.”

“Seriously, dude,” I say, “you’re fighting a losing battle here. I’m pretty sure Nox gave up five minutes ago.”

“Ten, actually,” Nox says.

“Fine. But, when you two get arrested, I’m not bailing you out.”

“Whatever. We need to go before it gets too late. We won’t be back until close to 5 a.m. as it is.”

“Bye,” Nox says, “let me know when you get home.”

“Bye, idiots,” Everett says.

They hang up, and Amias starts going through the box to pick out the paints he wants. I always let him do his own thing when he comes with me, so he tends to pick out his own set of paints.

“Where’s the turquoise?” he asks, searching through the box.

He likes to use turquoise to tag his art, so I always make sure to have at least one can of it in the box.

“It’s probably at the bottom. I bought a new can a few days ago.”

He finds the can at the bottom and adds it to the bag he keeps in my room for when we go on “vigilante projects.” I make it a point to only vandalize buildings that are owned by people who deserve it. The bowling alley is a regular spot of mine and Amias’ because we’ve both had issues with the owner. This is Amias’ first time graffitiing someone’s house, and I can tell he’s both nervous and excited.

Once he’s picked out the paints he wants, we spend a few minutes arranging the cans and random articles of clothing in our bags in a way that will muffle the sound of the cans rattling and prevent the cans from bumping into each other. We can’t risk someone hearing the cans and putting two-and-two together. Not only do I not want to get my brother arrested, but I’d also like to avoid giving Everett the satisfaction of being right.

We start picking our way through the house; avoiding the last step because it creaks, crawling across the furniture in the living room to avoid making noise, and using the back door because it’s on the opposite side of the house from our parents’ and sister’s rooms and makes less noise. We hop the fence because the lock on the gate sticks and makes a lot of noise.

Ethan lives about a mile down the road, so it takes us a while to get there. We stop at a gas station to buy coffee about a half-mile from our house. I have to cross to the other side of the road to wait, but it’s worth it if it means getting coffee.

We walk the rest of the way in near silence. We never discuss our plans for a project, and tonight’s no different. We like to surprise each other with what we come up with.

Before we walk into the neighborhood, we slip on masks to hide our faces from security cameras and to protect us from the spray paint fumes. Ethan and Everett are on the football team together, and Ethan’s parents let Ethan throw parties when the team wins homecoming or championship games which means I go to his house a few times a year. His is the large, blue house at the back of the neighborhood. Even in the dark, it’s not that hard to find.

We get to Ethan’s house at nearly one o’clock. We drop our bags and pull out the colors we want to start with. Amias heads straight for the garage while I walk towards Ethan’s car. It was a sixteenth birthday present, and he treats it like it’s his child. He named it Roxy, so I spray “ROXY�� in black on the newly cleaned hood. On the roof of the car, I paint a big, bright rainbow.

I look over to check on Amias and see that he’s nearly done with the outline of his masterpiece. Smiling, I move to the right side of the house. After locating Ethan’s window, I get to work.

About two hours later, Amias comes over to check on me. I’m nearly finished, so I shoo him away before he ruins the surprise. I add the last line and pull out my favorite, blood red paint. I add my tag and pull out my phone to take a picture. I have a password-protected folder labeled “art projects” that I keep the pictures of the work Amias and I do in. I walk over to the front of the house where Amias is to see his creation.

“You never fail to impress me, little dude,” I whisper.

“I know. And, stop calling me little. I’m the same height as you.”

I roll my eyes and pull out my phone to take a picture of the garage. He’s painted a picture of a pride parade that I recognize from his sketchbook. He likes to bring brushes and sponges with him to make things like this easier.

He grabs my hand and pulls me around to the side of the house I was working on. He stops when he sees what I’ve painted.

“Dude,” he says, “that’s amazing.”

I start to point out all the obvious flaws when he clamps a hand over my mouth.

“I don’t want to hear it,” he says, “you took a picture, right?”

I nod, and he removes his hand from my mouth. He stands there for a minute, tracing the painting with his eyes.

“You need to submit this to the art contest next year,” he says.

“I can’t for multiple reasons. Not the least of which is the fact that this is illegal.”

Amias starts to say something but stops when the light from the room above us turns on and the curtains open. We scramble to pick up our bags. Luckily, we’d learned the hard way to only have one can out at a time in case of situations like this. We’re nearly out of the driveway when the front door opens, and someone starts running after us. I start hoping it’s Ethan because he can run fast but not that far, and both Amias and I are used to running for long periods of time.

We’re halfway out of the neighborhood when I hear the footsteps behind us falter. We don’t stop running because we both have too much experience with being chased, and we know it’s possible he’s going to go back to get his car. We run until we reach a 24-hour convenience store we can duck into.

Amias and I are both covered in paint, so we head to the bathrooms in the back. There are only male and female bathrooms, so we both duck into the male bathroom knowing there’s no one except the bored cashier in the store. We head into separate stalls and start changing into the clothes we have in our bags. I take off my mask and the black beanie I used to hide my vividly red hair and change out of my black t-shirt and jeans into a grey hoodie and blue jeans. I reorganize my bag and head out of the stall to wait for Amias.

It’s another five minutes before Amias walks out. He’s wearing a navy-blue hoodie and a different pair of black skinny jeans. Like me, he’s taken off his beanie and has tied his hair into a flat bun at the nape of his neck. He’s slightly panting, and I think I know why.

“How long did you bind today?” I ask him calmly.

He looks at his feet and mumble something.

“What was that?”

“Almost fourteen hours.” His voice is shaking, and tears are falling from his face.

“Okay. Let’s get home. I think it’s safe to walk now. You’re taking that thing off as soon as we get home.”

“Alright. How long did you bind today?”

“About the same.”

He looks at me incredulously. I put my hands up in a defensive gesture.

“I’ve been binding since I was eleven. I can handle fourteen hours every now and then. I’m not saying it’s healthy or that anyone else can, but I don’t nearly pass out after fourteen hours.”

He glares at me and makes me promise to take it off as soon as we get home. I agree to, and we start walking home. It’s almost five a.m., and we have to be home before our parents wake up at six. We’re only a ten-minute walk from our house, so we’re not too worried.

We go back in the same way we left. I stop at the gate to text Nox and Everett to tell them we’re home safe. We have to be up by 6:30, so Amias and I decided on the walk to Ethan’s house that, if we got back with less than two hours until then, we’d hang out in my room. We have barely over an hour until we have to be up, so we head to my room. I open the door and freeze causing Amias to walk into me.

Lying on my bed, fast asleep, is our parents’ favorite kid: our fifteen-year-old sister, Hope. She got most of our mom’s genes, so rather than thick, dark brown hair, she has thin, blond hair. She’s the smaller of the three of us, so her thin, 5’4” frame would have been almost unnoticeable if it weren’t for her bright pink nightgown standing out against my black and blood red bedding. She’s also an incredibly light sleeper, so she wakes up at the sound of my bedroom door closing.

“Well, hello,” she says as sweetly as ever, “if it isn’t my two favorite sisters.”

She adds a heavy emphasis to the last word knowing it’ll bug us. She’s our parents’ favorite because she’s the “normal” one. This means she gets told almost everything and loves to get me and Amias in trouble as often as possible.

“What do you want this time?” Amias asks, obviously annoyed.

“You two snuck out,” she says, clearly enjoying this.

I roll my eyes and say, “okay? What do you want?”

She giggles and hops down from my bed to get in my face.

“You two are so dead when mom and dad find out.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” Amias says, his voice shaking slightly.

“I think I would. You see, mom and dad already resent you because you, Ember, are dangerous. They had to change their whole lives to accommodate a mistake like you. They resent you, Amias, because you take after our sister. You’re stubborn, you break the rules, you’re disrespectful, and you’re trying to reject the fact that you’re a girl. It’s quite fun, really, to watch you two get in trouble. Mom and dad get their revenge for you making their lives miserable, and I get spoiled for a month or two to make you jealous.”

“What do you want us to do?” I ask knowing she’s just trying to exploit us.

“Oh, nothing,” she says sweetly, “I’m just excited to find out what kind of trouble you two are going to be in.”

“You bi-,” Amias starts to say, but I clamp my hand over his mouth to prevent him from making things worse.

Cussing is punishable by getting our phones taken away for a week. Insulting Hope is punishable by being grounded for a week. I don’t know what happens when you combine the two, but I’m not eager to find out.

Hope giggles and skips out of the room. Amias and I turn to each other and question how we’re going to get out of this one. I don’t know that there is a way to avoid what will probably be the worst summer vacation ever, but I don’t voice that concern.

Amias walks into my closet to get changed while I change next to my dresser. When he comes out, we both sit on my bed and wait. He spends a few minutes trying to draw before giving up. Neither of us are feeling very creative at the moment.

He pulls out his phone and starts smiling at something. I look over to see a picture of my painting. What was only a few hours ago now feels like a lifetime ago. Amias gets out his sketchbook again and starts sketching my painting.

“What’re you up to?” I ask him.

“Oh, nothing,” he replies, “just sketching.”

We sit in silence for the next 40 minutes. We both know what’s going to happen as soon as we head downstairs for breakfast, but neither of us acknowledge it. I type out a message explaining how the night went and send it to Nox and Everett. It’s a Sunday, so Everett won’t be awake until around eight, but I’m not sure when Nox is going to wake up.

With ten minutes until breakfast, Amias and I start getting ready. We all have to be fully dressed and ready for the day before we come down for breakfast. Since we’re already in trouble, Amias and I decide to wear whatever we want and face the consequences together.

We start heading down the stairs, and I’m starting to realize where I got the inspiration for my painting. Hearing Hope’s sickeningly sweet voice doesn’t help.

“We are so dead,” Amias says.

I nod my head and continue walking into the dining room. Seeing my sister with a bright smile on her face and my parent’s fuming makes me picture my face in place of randomly mentally generated one I used in my painting. Mentally, I’m bloody, bruised, and crying, but I’m smiling through the pain.

Word count: 3,093

#Ember's Story #Chapter 3 #oc story #writing #original story #my writing #tw cursing #tw blood mention #tw bruises #tw crying #tw bullying #tw transphobia #tw transfobia #let me know if i missed any tags

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