#(there was a reason i was consistently covered in dirt as a child)

[lucifer-kane]

my mom called about 20 minutes ago and i wasn't around my phone to see it come through. saw the notification when i got back to my room + a voicemail, and i just knew something happened bc she is never awake this early. my pap died last night. he made it to 90 and i think if the pandemic didn't happen since it really restricted what he could do and he was ALWAYS active. always on the move whenever he could have been, i think he would have been around at least a little bit longer and not in a care facility (luckily it was a good one). but god. losing two family members within two months? fuck man.

[seb-reads31]

Request - Guess what- my brainn

Cautions - Fem pronouns, using "Faith", no real descriptions of Faith cause I can't remember how GBA described her 😔

Genre - Fluff, slight angst?

Type - head canons

Comments - Remember Dream World? Wellll, I decided to go more in depth with Faithful's past life with Kerano as well. (I will be referring to Faithful as "Faith" for this since that's technically her name according to GBA, and I wanna stick with this but I can make a Y/N version if anyone wants <3) I'm also gonna make a part two for Albus and Devlin for their past in dream world, then possibly a 3rd part about something idk (probably multiple lol)

If life could be a dream~

Faith is an artist, and always has been. Her early days consisted of her doodling on everything she got her hands on.

And as she grew, so did her talents. Her parents encouraged it, as well as her brother Joshua, who ended up raising little Faith when they were growing up due to their parents being absent for work reasons.

Faith was around 17 when she got her first serious commission from a bakery who felt like the place was getting a bit plain for both the owner and the customers

And boy, it was a SUCCESS >:DD

Faith was given so many compliments when it was done, and several offers for a portrait or 3 🤭

And that had her set for a good while lol, she both bought and made paints for her craft, some canvases while trading her art, and brushes from the market

She's 21 now, and living away from her brother in a different village. Not too far away, but enough so for her to remake her name in the town

It even helped that there were a few people who had traveled to her original village because they had heard of her amazing abilities!

Either way, Faith was set in her little cottage, painting away

She was there for about a year, aged 22

She's made plenty of friends while in the village and made quite the profit!

But one rainy night, as she mulled over her newest piece, a knock came from her front door

Which was.. odd, to say the least

But because she was up, she went to go see who it was even though she was covered in paint

She carefully cracked open the door, prepared with a greeting when she was met with the outdoors, not a single person to be seen

That's what she thought at least until she heard the cries of a small child at her feet, her eyes immediately darting to a small bundle in a basket, crying loudly from the cold rain hitting it

"Goodness.. a child??" Faith thought to herself, immediately grabbing the poor babe and bringing it inside

Her instincts led her, going to the fireplace and holding the small child close to her body to warm it up

As the child felt warmer, safer, it calmed down, cooing softly at the young woman

Faith sighed, feeling relieved when she finally saw the note attached to the basket the baby was in

It read as followed:

"Her name is Kerano, she was born on XX/XX/XX (idk when Kerano was born but assume the note is saying that she's at least 1.) Please, take care of her kind stranger."

There was no signature, or names aside from the name of the child. Kerano

It was a pretty name, one matching the sweet girl with the bright and curious eyes

"Kerano.. you'll be okay, I promise."

And Faith kept that promise for the next 6 years, Kerano turning 7 and Faith turning 28

Kerano has grown up to be a very outgoing, curious, and brave child

She was always outside hunting for bugs and such, and always returning home covered in dirt and scrapes here and there

But Faith never cared, always tending to her scrapes and bathing her thoroughly before they had dinner

They were living the best life ever, and Faith never once regretted keeping Kerano. She was an absolute joy, brightening up the atmosphere whenever she spoke

But, Faith was ready for a new look, a new area to explore and to refresh her inspiration. And so, Faith and Kerano packed up and prepared to move to another village just a few days travel from this one

They had visited before for a commission, and it was a gorgeous town. Bigger than either were used too, but a lot more people there would love to buy her art, and Kerano would be able to explore the new place with other children

Along the way, Faith stopped to paint the scenery, and allowed Kerano to adventure a little, but not too far

This time Faith had the intense need to paint this stream in a small meadow, surrounded by a lightly wooded area

And Kerano was doing her normal adventuring, but this time, she was following a super pretty butterfly and travelled a bit too far

As she was chasing the bug, she failed to see the tree root in the path and tripped on it, but twisted her ankle in the process

It was painful, and she let out a scream proving it

Faith was oblivious of where Kerano had went, and how far, too invested in capturing the beauty for the first time since they left

It startled the woman, but she immediately dropped her palette and brush, looking for her child

She called her name, but could only hear faint calls that didn't lead her anywhere

A man that was in the forest happened to be near the screaming child, and immediately ran to her

He was tall, with dark shoulder length hair partially tied back, a few light scars on his face as well as a short beard

He was in a knights uniform, although it was banged up in a few places, it still shone with the kingdom's insignia

As a knight, his first assumption was bandits, which had been getting more common around these parts

And without a second of hesitation, he drew his sword and ran towards the scream prepared for anything

.. almost

What he didn't expect was a small child clutching her ankle, tears running down her face, framed with equally dark hair

She was scared, staring up at the tall man as he held his weapon still. Which he noticed, immediately putting it away with a small apology but with a wide grin

"Sorry 'bout that, didn't mean to scare you. But I promise I'm not here to hurt you, Knight's honor." He glanced down at the little girl's ankle, already thinking of what might be wrong with it

"Did you hurt your ankle kiddo?" He had several questions in mind, but didn't want to upset the girl further

But she nodded, her tears still flowing, but at a much slower pace

"Mind if I take a look?" She hesitated, probably a good thing. She was taught stranger danger then

"Right, I haven't introduced myself, how rude. I'm Knight Captain Albus York, at your service."

He exaggerated, but it got a smile out of the little girl anyways. "K-Kerano. Nice to meet you Mr."

He chuckled, not really used to being called 'Mr' but hey, she's a nice kid

"Now then, can I take a look? I can't promise it won't hurt, but I can promise that I'll help you feel better."

And as soon as Kerano let Albus touch her ankle, she let out another scream, which helped Faith finally find her

But, Faith immediately assumed that the dark haired man was the one who made her kid scream, so we went on the attack

And damn, she has a good slap

Albus was quick to introduce himself and explain the situation after Kerano caught Faith's attention

She apologized and thanked Albus for helping Kerano :D

Notes - There will be more, but for now I'm gonna leave it here (I hate this ending but it'll hopefully make sense?)

[mushroommortem]

👀 :D

Prologue

A Hubris Version of Oneself.

A lone child, cradling onto it’s false fur, sitting at the open meadow as the sky dresses herself in maroon. Yellow strands dyed with orange, fading in terracotta spots to reach her figure.

But they never could.

All they do is lightly brush against her.

She sees the small mammal. Covered in soot, dirt, and iron. The grip staining it’s very hands. Noticing the way it tries to dig just a bit further into its’ own skin. Droplets running down its’ cheeks were meet with hushed whimpers.

Her voice attempts to soothe the cries, gust chiming against grass so she can be heard.

All it does is sink it’s body further into itself.

However.

It looks up regardless.

“Why did you do this?”

The pup said, it’s speech coated of dried herbs sticking onto it’s waxed throat.

“Why make this decision? Why did you left me this. Th-this thing?”

Clenching the soft, warm wool with shaken paws. Burying the fabric close to the chest.

The sky whistled back. Quietly, so that only the child could understand her words. A simple murmur. One filled with sorrow and confusion, sounding high pitch towards the end.

“I didn’t want this! I didn’t want any of this! A-and now-- you…”

The horizon slowly shift alongside the pup’s demeanor. No longer holding on with the same strength, or reasoning. Lowering to the ground, it’s puffy eyes began to wore itself down.

“I’m… I’m sorry. I’m so very sorry. I-i didn’t mean to shout.”

Pink was now grasping her hue. Her seams lost in the mash of color and emotion. She knew what it meant, yet it was not time. Not for a little while.

Scattered clouds move at an absence of an explanation, a lack of comfort that couldn’t be provided. Inching their way together with all their might from the sheer will of her very being.

Another attempt.

The small, hairy beast watched from afar. Squinting as it barely is able to make out the shape.

Standing to confirm it’s suspicions.

And once it was seen, it couldn’t be undone.

It’s pupils widen as hitches reverberate from it’s lungs,

“It looks just like you.”

A sudden fit of laughter burst from the creature, several more steams followed right with it.

“Well. That’s stupid of me to say. Any cloud would look just like you.”

There was a roar carried by the winds. A sense of gratification. Accomplishment over easing the tension at hand. So much so the child had to hug the cloth as tightly as it could.

Claws poking at the fresh leather lining.

It couldn’t bare to lose the gift she had parted.

Even if the pup preferred it wasn’t seen as such.

The sky starts to settle her excitement as the veil was thinning, finding the mammal staring at the wool intensely.

A stilling silence between the two.

Continuously while time folds into the next second, then minute. Hour.

Until it shifts with the horizon once again.

It takes an inhale, before wrapping the lamb over itself.

The metallic scent consuming the pup’s nasals. Slight gags barely able to contain themselves as flesh laid across the back of its charcoal fur, ridges and lumps to remind the wolf that there used to be bones. Outlining and holding up shape for meat. For limbs. For a face.

There used to be a person, and now it occupies her empty space.

A weary smile plastered the expression.

Uncertain if this is what’s to become.

The sky is no longer certain either.

What she saw was something and nothing at all.

A warped, uncanny body was now looking up at her. A constant shifting shape that only distorted itself the more you tried to find consistency. A jagged and chewed up puzzle piece in a gaping hole. One that didn’t fit her. One that didn’t fit it.

A shadow within a shadow within a shadow within a gash.

Greens and blues were creeping into her. Spreading to the center of the sky as she’s no longer apart of the scene. Reds that once wore her were now melting into the sunset. The clouds lose their composure as they dissipate, breaking into little section of themselves.

Becoming smaller. Insignificant.

“I… should get going. Can’t stay here forever, right?”

It says as it sniffles it’s snout, sliding the gutted head over its ears, folding the cartilage.

It pivots away from her.

Tears slowly evaporating under the heat of it’s blemishes.

The day is moving on, and there is little room for regret.

She knows this.

She tries anyways, a whisper desperately hurries to the flowers that surround the wolf.

Pushing through debris and dust filling the condensed air.

Carrying the intent further, closer.

A hand reaching out.

Fingertips extended.

Nails at eye level.

Yet her words do not reach.

“I’ll see you around, Ray.”

They never could.

Strips of scarlet pull away from her pores. Curling and breaking the pigment that had tasted of sweet, plumped pomegranate. Now only the overbearing scent of burning citrus remained. Only remembered in her last moments in the gold. Only the trickling stars in place where she once stood.

And a gentle, cold breeze of her goodbyes.

[greateggcult]

if I didn’t have original stories to be working on there would be a chapter to the DSMP TMA AU Where it dives into the tragedy of Spiral! Wilbur acting on the surface as comedic relief during the threading of the spider’s web.

 Yeah all of them have baggage but the key difference is that Wilbur doesn’t admit it and tries covering with a mask of cheerful optimism. In the timeline of events there would be a moment where it finally dawns on Tommy that Wilbur is out of his goddamn mind and is more of a risk than he had assumed previously. Ranboo tried to warn Tommy but that wasn’t enough to convince him to distance himself.

Which it should be stated again for clarity, Wilbur is just some shaggy guy that these teens encountered during their delusion of being protagonists in a YA magic adventure. The only reason they kept him around is that Tommy believed that Wilbur might be one of the few people to show them the ropes and how fear magic works. While Wilbur isn’t an enemy for the time being, he is highly unstable due to the prolonged influence of the distortion, impulsive, and impatient to the point of murder if he sees it as the quickest solution to a problem. Wil has lost everything including his mind and some could argue his humanity. He is essentially a walking time-bomb while others maintain some level of consistency. From the surface he seems like a silly guy unaffected by the woes of humanity.

on a different note, Techno dual wields swords and owns a pawnshop where he takes in weapons, fixes them, then sells them to people. The guns are in no way cursed or anything, he’s just a really good judge of character and intentionally sells to the wrong people knowing that the energy will make it’s way back to him.

Schlatt is slowly filling the roll of Jeirgan Leightener for most damage caused unknowingly as a consequence of his actions that he will never see punishment for. The list of his crimes is growing.

George got buried alive under tons of dirt while being young and stupid at a construction site, which lead him to his enlightenment towards the buried. This of course would not have happened had Schlatt not forced the workers into breaking OSHA protocol to get them to build faster for less money than real work would be.

You would almost think Dream would be the one to cause the most suffering given the spider god thing, but in actuality the build up to him ruling the universe is more like the Tom Leiher song about nuclear war. The lead up is scary but if everybody is dead it’s not really anyone’s problem anymore. Like you won’t have to worry about selling a kidney for drugs or anything. 

yes the kidney thing was also Schlatt but also partly Quackity and on the bright side it did not result in the creation of a fear avatar like the other bullshit did.

I still have yet to get an answer to the past question of what cocaine would do to a person made of slime mold if they ate a full brick of it. Quackity is probably going to have to put child locks and water sealing on all the store room doors if Charlie develops a drug problem. Charlie is clever but not human, and it’s kind of important to figure out if these chemicals would kill him or not. I am certain that he will eat some drugs at some point due to his slime habit of putting everything in his mouth on sight, I just haven’t figured out if this should turn story relevant or not. I’m not going to use it to incapacitate him in the story or anything like that, but if it has an effect on the mold and isn’t deadly to it then I might give him the drug seeking trait as a way for characters to bribe him kind of like scooby snacks for slimes. If not that then I will have to find a different way to keep him from wandering off. The character is needed but I have made the mistake of making him the most neutral character in this mess like some sort of escort quest npc needed for finishing a level. He’s there but not a single thought in that head of his until he finds something to be a problem. He is smart when he has a clear task but other than that his brain goes mostly dormant until the next one.

[history-and-consciousness]

As much as I want to put my memory of events into this journal account thing, it'll have to wait another day

I didn't get enough shitty sleep before clocking in to work. I've had one singular meal in the last 24 hours, and it was the same meal as the last: two spicy chicken sandwiches from McDonalds, fries, and soda. It feels like I'm incapable of action at times (though the adderall has been helping with that) and incompetent of house chores. So why do I cruise right through work doing everything and more so easily? I yawned through two rushes with half my station down for maintenance and stayed late 3 hours to cover a call-in. Then I changed a dude's tire.

I'm half bragging and half stating the positives to counter the negative focus we started with.

Why can't I be like that all the time? Where's the spark of action when I'm not being paid per hour? I can accept the financial failures were not entirely within my control, but domestic life (as in housekeeping and such. R and I are rock solid, don't worry) has little excuse for mishandling when I know I can sweep and mop and wipe down areas and so on. It's as if my brain completely disengages from house chores, doesn't even register the thought unless I have an immediate need or see something egregious.

I mean, sweeping up loose food debris is one thing. I don't even think of ambient dirt unless my sole turns black and gross feeling. I do try to maintain as I go. Clean up my dishes when I'm done with them and throw away trash and haul away trashbags and put stuff up. I swear I try to find time for laundry but inevitably when I do I I'll end up forgetting about the washer time and the whole process takes longer than necessary. Fuhgeddaboudit if the dryer didn't dry the clothes all the way to toasty. I once spent 100 minutes on the timer (never even mind the wasted minutes between) to dry a load and they still weren't fucking done enough to pass muster.

Tangent. Caught myself.

So, I guess establishing goals would be a healthy thing to do. I do know the steps.

Something I've done: I've gotten employment with enough hours that even at $3.50 pay cut from the job that laid me off (through no fault of my own) I'm making more money consistently than I have in a while. Bonus, the job is actually satisfying and I haven't hit "I don't wanna go to work."

Something I want to improve on: helping out around the house.

Something I'm looking forward to: finding something to look forward to? I'm being cheeky, but honestly I still can't really think of a future beyond the daydreams R and I have. The idea of it being concrete just seems...so far away?

I don't think I remember ever being actively excited about something. At least I don't remember the last time. I'm not counting my wedding. No, I very much remember my heart pounding through my chest as the moment approached.

Sure, as a child I remember being giddy with excitement after buying a new video game and being unable to play it immediately. I accidentally made 3rd in an essay contest in my preteen years and I seem to recall being excited when I found out.

I've done cool things since then. Honest to thumbs, I should have been excited about 'em. I'll digress

Something I'd like to make progress in: College? Depends on how we wrangle putting a college dropout back into college when bills still have to be paid.

Something that worries me: It didn't go well last time. Like, at all. And I'm definitely not as sharp as I used to be

Why is it gonna be better than last time: It's a reasonable fear, but the circumstances are much different. R would be able to support me, I've restarted ADHD treatment, I'm aware of the weight of alternatives to help motivate myself. Figured out what really appeals to me

[takuyakistall]

romeo!

Chapter 1

Synopsis: Ace Trappola from the Trappola Kingdom, there was no doubt that he was a great man that was destined to achieve glory in a few years' time. But, there was one tiny problem. Being a prince from his own country meant that he needed to marry a lady from a prominent household. With much reluctance, he ended up choosing a princess from a neighbouring country—only to find out that the Prince of the Spade Kingdom has his eyes set on her as well. Is this... Competition?

Tags: Fem!Reader, Royalty AU, mentions of death, kidnapping, anything else you would find in a romance manhwa

Note: This piece is purely self indulgent and I plan on writing more for it! But I decided to share the first chapter here. There's no action yet so this is just some build-up.

Ace Trappola was never one to abide by the silly little rules of etiquette, he always thought that they were too nitpicky and stiff ever since he was a little boy. He thought that it was useless to keep up appearances for the sake of his reputation—until he experienced firsthand how cruel high society could be to a mere child who had made a single mistake. Of course, they would never dare to utter a single word in fear that their tongues would be cut off by his Highness, the king. But he would never ever forget the cold gazes that laid upon him as soon as he turned his back.

Which is why he donned a mask. He wore it all day and night as a child, hoping that it would be indestructible as he grew up but that brought him nothing but more of the empty and hollow feeling he hated. Despite already being so well-mannered, so educated, and so charming—he was nothing more than the second prince of the country who always seemed to be overshadowed by his older brother, the first prince. He was the definition of Ace's "perfect".

"Hey uncle," little Ace referred to his butler as such as he closed the storybook he was reading. A spark of curiosity sparkling in his eyes as he continued, "how do I become as amazing as my big brother?"

A childlike innocence could easily be tainted by those with such intentions—the old butler could easily plant the wrong ideas in his head and nurture the seeds of jealousy he planted within him. He stared at him for a second before letting out a sigh, strengthening his resolve when he saw Ace's eyes full of wonder.

"His Highness does not have to do anything, you are already a wonderful child just like your brother."

"Really!?"

"Of course, I wouldn't dare lie to you. If you continue to stay on the right path, I have no doubt that you will be as great as your brother in the future." He patted Ace's head, relieved that the second prince seemed to be satisfied with the answer.

"Yeah... I will!" He declared, staring right back at his butler with an uncontrollably big grin taking over his face.

That was the last time he saw that butler.

The palace staff told him he died because of heart failure during his day off. This devastated poor little Ace Trappola greatly—demanding to be allowed to attend his funeral but was stopped by his father, saying that there was no need for someone like him to attend a servant's funeral. The hand-picked white lilies Ace took that day in hopes of paying his respects, withered inside his room as he cried his heart out.

The next day, they had already found a replacement for his butler. Someone who was far younger than his previous one and was definitely less warm—he went by the name "Rowen" and insisted that the young prince should call him that. At first, Ace put up a fight as he tried to resist everything Rowen tried to do—even if it was just a menial task such as him trying to tie Ace's necktie for him.

But, nonetheless, Ace was still a child and children, more often than not, don't know how to deal with grief. You could easily spot him crying in places he shouldn't be yet no one had the heart to tell him that, even more when Rowen asked the palace staff specifically to not approach the prince if they ever spot him like that and instead, call for him immediately.

Stuck inside the garden, Ace was barely trying to keep his sobs in as he rubbed his eyes with his sleeves.

"I miss uncle…" He cried out, perhaps getting a little bit tired of how colder the palace seemed to be towards him. A pair of footsteps suddenly approached him, Ace quickly stood up and patted away all the dirt from his clothes so it seemed like he didn't cry but his swollen eyes were a dead giveaway.

"Your Highness, I was looking for you."

"Oh, Rowen. It's you…" A dejected look took over his face, was he expecting his old butler to appear? He silently crushed his hopes as he raised a question for his new companion.

"Can I ask you a question…?"

"Of course."

"D-Do you think I can still be as amazing as my big brother?" A few seconds of silence passed by as Rowen crossed his arms.

"Forgive me for my bluntness. However, at this rate, you will never amount to what your brother will be in the future."

"E-Eh? But uncle said that—"

"Your 'uncle' was foolish, perhaps that was why he died." Rowen crouched down, his green irises staring right into Ace's eyes—there was something in his eyes that Ace couldn't put a finger on but one thing is for sure, he thought Rowen was scary during this very moment.

"What you need right now is power," Rowen pressed a finger against his lips. "And that's exactly what I can give you."

"Power? Don't I already have plenty of that, I'm a prince!"

"What you need," he pushed Ace back with his index finger, "is enough power to take the throne."

"But big brother is the only one who can take that!" Ace shouted, trying to overpower the nonsense he was hearing from his new butler.

"Heed my words and I can make it happen." Rowen's lips tugged up into a small smirk before delivering his final words.

"After all, you want to be as great as your brother, the first prince."

Ace felt confused. He clutched his chest as he thought about his words—he did want to be as great as his brother but he couldn't help but be a little wary of what Rowen might ask of him. Ace had to slap himself back to reality, there was no reason for him to think about this so seriously! There was no way he could take the throne for himself and why would he even want to do that…? Isn't he happy the way he is right now?

Ace stepped out from the garden with Rowen following him shortly behind. He stared at the castle building, the maids and butlers working about, and a few noble visitors roaming around.

That was when a little devil's voice started whispering in his ear.

Deuce Spade had been anything but happy upon growing up inside the Royal Palace. Being the sole crown prince of the Spade Kingdom, his life never consisted of flowers and rainbows contrary to what many think. If you asked young Deuce himself about his position, he would simply give you a blank stare before properly processing your question. Once he does, he’ll give you a half-hearted smile before answering with: “It’s a duty I must fulfill.”

He’d never been too fond of the fact that his life was already planned ahead of him the moment the royal palace discovered his existence in his mother’s womb. He would undergo proper education fitting for the crown prince, he would be assigned with tasks that were meant for the crown prince, and he would soon rise to the throne once his father was no longer able to rule.

Rather than inheriting the throne, he yearned for something else. Being the heir to the throne meant that there was almost nothing he couldn’t obtain but he found himself dumbfounded when his elders aggressively denied him of his desire for the first time.

His desire to become a knight.

Deuce was said to be excellent with the art of the sword, easily surpassing other kids his age. But that was not the reason why Deuce had the desire to become a knight.

One of the first things they taught Deuce was the fact that he was in a dangerous position and that there might be cases wherein other people might make an attempt on his life. He thought that it was ridiculous because, after all, who would dare try to kill the crown prince? It would be treason!

And because of that, he was too lax.

One night, the prince got kidnapped and threw the whole palace in an uproar. Little Deuce could barely open his eyes when he tried assessing his surroundings, his eyes were blurry and he couldn’t move a muscle as no voice came out from his mouth. He was beyond terrified, he thought he was going to die that night. He pleaded inside his head, begging someone to come and find him. But for days, he was yet to be found.

He thought that perhaps the Royal Palace had decided to give up on him as he lost hope himself, his eyes growing dull and duller. He had to endure the harsh treatment given to him during his abduction, the only thing keeping him sane was the single ray of hope that someone was going to rescue him.

Just as he felt as if the thread was about to snap, he saw a cloaked man barge into the place where he was held hostage with a sword in hand. Ruthlessly, he cut down the perpetrators without so much as a blink. Deuce could only stare at the scene unfolding in front of him weakly. ‘Am I… being saved?’

It took him every ounce of his strength to stay conscious. And even more when he forced himself to ask the mysterious cloaked man. He wasn’t wearing anything that could discern his homeland, Deuce couldn’t figure out where he came from. His face was covered by the hood of the cloak, he couldn’t see his features very well. Deuce was afraid that there would be no way of him figuring out his identity before he passes out, so he forced a voice out of his throat.

“Who… are you?” His voice was hoarse. The man stayed silent, sheathing his sword before walking closer to the prince and unlocking the rope binding his hands together. Deuce could slowly feel himself losing consciousness but just before he could pass out, the man finally answered his question.

“...A knight.” He muttered.

The next time Deuce opened his eyes, he was no longer in a dark place but instead, in an unfamiliar yet extravagant room. He could tell that it was not the palace in his kingdom, he felt himself panic once again as he remembered the past events. When he heard a knock on his door, Deuce flinched as he hesitantly told them to come in.

A small girl around Deuce’s age entered the room with a plushie in her arms. He told himself to calm down upon seeing her, reassuring himself that the probability of this girl doing the same thing as the ones who kidnapped him were very low.

“Are you feeling better now, Your Highness?” She asked, concern lacing her voice. Deuce clutched his arm.

“Better than before… at least. But before that, who are you?” It was only normal for Deuce to become extremely wary considering what he just went through. The young girl understood that and merely gave him a small grin.

She introduced herself as the first princess of the kingdom he was residing in. Deuce was shocked, it wasn’t his own kingdom that found him but another! Did that mean that all this time he was in a foreign country? Was that the reason why no one had found him for days? Countless questions were swirling inside his head.

The princess was the only one who was let into his room, seeing as how Deuce was more comfortable seeing someone around his own age rather than adults. She was as clumsy as she was kind, Deuce found himself being comforted by her even if most of their meetings consisted of him being gloomy.

A few days later, an envoy was sent to Deuce’s kingdom to inform them that he was safe in their palace. During that period of time, Deuce was cooped up inside his room—thinking about a lot of stuff and refused to come out for hours. When it was time for him to go, he visited the princess one last time.

“Is it possible for me to visit you in the future?” Gratitude? Attraction? Personal interest? The reason behind his words was blurred.

When he returned home, he almost gave the whole Royal Court a heart attack when he declared that he wanted to become a knight. Nobody could tell what Deuce was thinking after he was abducted, it was as if he turned into an entirely different person. But he was thoroughly denied of his desire to become a knight, in which he was highly disappointed in. But, somehow, he found a way to secretly train without anyone finding out.

Using the princess as the shield, he went in and out of your kingdom to train under the pretense of meeting her. But she was more than happy to assist him as they became partners in crime. Deuce couldn’t forget the mysterious knight that saved him and so he idolized him ever since, saying how he wanted to be someone who protected people.

“Princess!” He called out, waving his hand as he grinned at her. This was the start of their relationship with each other. Only time can tell if this was to end happily ever after or otherwise.

[ethanesimp]

THE OAK TREE // ZERO E.T. 

Pairing: Ethan Torchio x GN! Reader

Summary: Everyone at the Oakes Academy is aware of the rivalry that exists between two of the school’s best students, Ethan Torchio and Y/N L/N. What nobody knows is what a brilliant team they are when they’re at risk of their reputations being damaged and a killer’s on the loose.

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: Just Ethan and Y/N behaving like children, mentions of killing someone (as a joke), swearing.

Masterlist // Taglist link in bio

TEASER

A/N: This is the first chapter of The Oak Tree! I hope you guys enjoy :) Huge thanks to @night-girl-301​ for proofreading this and cheering me on! I was like... scared as shit to post it so yeah.

Taglist (strike means it won’t let me tag you):  @oro-e-diamanti @gretavanfleetlove @victoriadeangeliswifey @cheese-toastie-11 @selenophiliaxx @superchrystaldrug @petit-poussin @bidet-and-legolas @fallingforyou123 @ethaneskin @soft-boy-ethan @teenyweenynightghost @reputationdamiano @cantaraiilmionome @tabi-toast @queen-of-brokenhearts @geklutst-ei @juststalking @cruz-ata @ohtorchio​ @ethan-torchio-angelo​ @unitermoonshine​ @everythingisdefinitelynotfine​

It was only a few minutes past two-thirty when you managed to open the door that led to the greenhouse. The key, more often than not, would get stuck in the lock, and you’d have to spend a few minutes trying to yank it free, but this time around luck seemed to be on your side.

You placed your large black backpack on the stool that was always by the door before closing the entrance again. Mr. Murphy was still watering the plants, completely oblivious to your presence thanks to the loud music coming from the small stereo he kept near the gardening tools. You tapped his shoulder gently not to startle him; it wouldn’t be the first time you’d come into the place unannounced and you didn’t want to be the reason why he had to walk around with a cast on his arm again. 

He smiled fondly at you and adjusted his large glasses that were starting to slide down his nose. Mr. Murphy was an old man with long white hair and kind blue eyes, he’d been in charge of the greenhouse at the Oakes Academy for almost twenty years and had been the first person to show you kindness after you first arrived at the place years back.

“I thought I told you to take the afternoon free, Y/N,” He shook his head disapprovingly and you could only shrug. You had to work at the greenhouse at least three hours a week to maintain your scholarship per the Academy’s rules and it’d been long since it stopped being a task and instead became your favorite part of each day. 

“We were let out of Philosophy earlier so I thought I’d come by before I go study. Can I help with anything?” The older man sighed but nodded. He adjusted his glasses once again and wiped the dirt from his jeans.

He pointed at the corner where all the pink anthuriums were kept, shielded from direct sunlight, “Please water those, put a bit of fertilizer on the ones that arrived on Wednesday, and if you’ve got time, can you please feed the worms?” 

“Sure thing, anything else?”

“Just those three things. I’ve got to go help unload the groceries so please lock up both doors once you’re done,” He asked with a smile on his face as he buttoned his coat and grabbed his walking cane from where he’d dumped it on the floor right next to him. Back when you’d only known him for a few days, you’d always rushed to his side to pick up his cane and help him, but quickly realized it was a thing that annoyed him because of how independent and stubborn he was. “Oh and, before I forget, the kid’s outside. I don't want to come back and see you two trying to tear each other's heads off."

A laugh escaped past your lips and you shook your head as you tilted your head to the side so you could look through the hole in one of the windows. Just like he’d said, the boy with the long hair was sitting outside by the oak tree reading a book. You looked back at Mr. Murphy and shrugged, "No promises."

"I'm serious. You're smart Y/N, and I'm pretty sure you could easily find something you've got in common. That much hatred isn't good for either of you." Those were Mr. Murphy's last words before he walked out of the room.

You stood by the plants for a few minutes as you played around with the headphones that hung around your neck. You’d already sort of been startled by the topic you’d seen during Philosophy that day and you hoped that being at the greenhouse would serve as a little distraction but Mr. Murphy’s words hadn’t helped much.

You huffed and looked around for the hose to water the pretty anthuriums to get your mind off of everything that had gone down that day.

-

Hours later, you were still unable to shake Mr. Murphy’s words off. It wasn’t the first time he’d insisted on voicing his thoughts against that rivalry you had going on with the person standing between you and your biggest dream coming true. The thing that pissed you off though, was that his words had reminded you of what your best friend, Rory, had told you just the previous night while you did your usual hate rant. According to them, it was a good way to destress yourself.

You scoffed at the thought alone and let your chin rest on your palm as a frown appeared on your forehead. There was not a thing you could name that made you even remotely similar to the person sitting only a few feet away from you at the quiet school library. Ethan Torchio, a.k.a. Your archnemesis, the person you disliked the most in the face of the earth, was biting on the tip of his pencil as he concentrated hard on the thin black book he was holding up. Those dark eyes that shone honey whenever light hit them just right and those long strands of hair that graciously fell down his back accompanied by his signature turtlenecks and pretty smile were enough to make someone’s knees weak, but they only made you gag. 

You were sure he felt your eyes bore holes into the dark depths of his soul because it didn’t take long for him to look over his shoulder and meet your stare. Ethan smirked and his eyebrows shot up as he sent you a wink and a small wave. You knew that expression of his, he was teasing you, riling you up, hell, maybe he was trying to intimidate you. As crazy —and maybe a bit pathetic— as it made you sound, a simple smirk wasn’t just that when it came to him, never had been. Those dark eyes of his communicated his devilish intentions to you while he looked like an innocent child who’d never break a plate to anyone else.

You held his stare and mirrored his expression, which made him chuckle softly. It was nothing more than a silly game you’d play with one another to see who’d get tired of it first. The stare-off didn’t last too long that time around because his attention was stolen by one of his friends, Thomas. You simply shrugged and went back annotating on your copy of the black book. It was nothing more than one of those books written for the sole purpose of boring people to death. You loved reading, but when it came to those school-issued books that took around three pages to describe the sky-blue sofas in the main character’s living room, you couldn’t read more than a few pages before wanting to aggressively chuck it out the window. 

In a desperate attempt to distract yourself from the book that did nothing other than make you feel miserable, you stood up. You walked over to the large window that went from floor to ceiling. To your delight, the curtains were drawn back, which allowed sunlight to illuminate the otherwise dark library with its beautiful hues of orange and yellow. The librarian was a grumpy woman that loved when the curtains covered all the windows and blocked any source of light that wasn’t the soft glow of the lamps placed all over the dark room. You were almost convinced this woman had never felt the warmth of the sun against her pale and ashy skin, sometimes you even thought of her as a vampire that’d burn to death if she dared to stand outside for a few minutes. 

You looked out the window and admired the green gardens that adorned the front yard of the Academy’s largest building. The Oakes Academy was old and had been around since 1057. However, unlike most ancient schools like this one, the school board hadn’t been too interested in renovating the place outside of simply reinforcing the structure enough to fulfill the basic safety guidelines and the installation of optical fiber wires for a better internet connection. Even then, it was still considered to be one of the most prestigious schools to study at, and if it hadn’t been for the generous scholarship you were offered, you wouldn’t have been able to afford it anyway.

“Still plotting that little plan of yours to end the human race?” You bit down on your bottom lip to stop the colorful curse words from spilling as you turned sideways to look at Ethan. He’d decided to wear one of those annoyingly tight black turtlenecks of his and a pair of plaid trousers that made him look taller than he already was.

“Yes, and I’ll start with you first,” You smiled sarcastically at him, “In fact, I’ll swing by your dorm and murder you in your sleep,” You added while you choked the air for dramatic effect.

Ethan laughed and rolled his eyes. He had that spark of hate in his eyes that was always present when he was talking to you. That look alone told you that all that hatred and disgust you felt towards him was returned in the same magnitude. This rivalry of yours that consisted of dirty looks and constant arguments had been going on since eighth grade and it just seemed to get progressively worse as graduation approached. 

Everyone at Oakes knew how much Ethan and you despised each other, it wasn’t a secret. Even the Head Professor had been a witness of plenty of your many petty fights and you didn’t doubt that the people in charge of the Student Welfare department were sick of the many reports you’d filed against each other for breaking the ‘student rules of politeness’. No one remotely important cared much about your reports anyways because they were far from serious and, more often than not, childish.

“How cute. Although I don’t think that’d work too well for you, would it amore? If something were to happen to me they’d know it was you,” He commented. You shrugged and bit your lip in anger at the nickname he knew very well you detested. 

You casually leaned against the window, “Meh, it’d be worth it if I knew I wouldn’t have to see your face again. Now please get away before someone starts getting the sick idea that we’re friends.”

Ethan rolled his eyes but backed up a few steps either way, “God forbid someone would think such a horrific thing," He scoffed and raised his hand only to show you his middle finger when he knew the librarian wasn’t looking.

Before either of you could utter out another word, Damiano, one of Ethan’s closest friends, walked up to where you two were standing, effectively ending the conversation between you.

He waved at you and offered you a kind smile, which you immediately returned. Unlike his best friend, Damiano was a delight to be around. He was one of the kindest and nicest people you had ever met. You were quite close thanks to the fact that he’d been dating Rory for a while and you got used to spending long nights with the two of them doing silly things like playing board games or watching films. You were basically their third wheel, but neither of you minded much, if at all. 

“Hey, what’s up?” Damiano smacked Ethan on the shoulder as he started a conversation with him. You took it as your chance to leave and just awkwardly walked away after mumbling something about having to find Rory. They had told you something about eating dinner together, and while you’d initially refused because you were supposed to finish the book and start on your report, you were tempted to accept their offer and forget about the stupid book for a little bit more.

Just as you were about to leave the library, your phone vibrated inside the pocket of your warm cardigan. You took it out and chuckled when you read Rory’s message about their new phone but groaned when you realized they wanted to see you after curfew. You sighed and left the library as you tried to think of a great excuse to tell your roommate Emilia so she’d cover for you while you snuck out.

Ethan had his eyes focused on your figure as you left the library but turned back to look at Damiano when he spoke up, “If you’d only talk to them Ethan, I-” He sighed and interrupted his best friend, already irritated by the conversation he’d had with you.

“No, I will not talk to them, okay? Not like we can even talk because we start arguing like two toddlers,” Ethan mumbled out the last part and took a deep breath in. Truth be told, no part of him wanted to talk to you. You were annoying, rude, and didn’t seem to have more than one brain cell in his eyes, so why lose his time talking to you? Not like there’d be anything to talk about.

“They’re just so exasperating!” He spoke up and Damiano rolled his eyes as he saw his hate rant start approaching. They were both aware that once he started, he wouldn’t be able to stop, “I just- They try so hard and it’s annoying. Like I swear they’re also a huge hypocrite. I know you don’t see it but I do, I’ve never met anyone mo-”

Before he could end his last sentence, he felt a body slam into his and arms snake around his waist. Ethan huffed at the impact but wrapped his arms around her frame once he noticed it was Adeline Rossi, or Addie as everyone liked to call her. 

She pulled back and looked at both Damiano and Ethan excitedly, “You will never believe this but the craziest thing just happened… Hey, where’s Vic?” She trailed off as she started looking around for her friend.

Ethan chuckled lightly when he saw Thomas quietly approach Addie while she was distracted. They all knew she was the easiest person to scare, so it didn’t take more than a slight push and a soft boo for her green eyes to go wide and for her to jump. She was quick to turn to where Thomas was standing and didn’t think twice before smacking his shoulder with the heavy book she was carrying.

Thomas put his hands up in defeat as he took a step back and rubbed his shoulder, “Okay, okay shit. Stop, that actually hurts,” He whined and Addie only shrugged as Damiano and Ethan watched the whole interaction with amusement. 

“Right, so, ignoring all that,” Addie spoke up once again and shifted her attention back to Ethan, “Since she is nowhere to be seen, could you please help me with some stuff? It’s just this little interview for one class of mine and I’ve already interviewed Damià and Thomas but I need just one more.”

He nodded and said a quick goodbye to his two best friends before following the shorter girl out of the library. However, while he was walking, he felt his phone vibrate inside the pocket of his jeans. He fished it out and frowned as he read the text that had just been sent to him but laughed once he noticed it was only his girlfriend Emilia from her new phone. 

Then he sighed and rolled his eyes once he realized she wanted to see him past curfew again and he knew Will would ask him for money in exchange for not ratting him out. He quickly texted her back and slipped his phone back into his pocket as he followed Addie to her dorm.

Next

GOOGLE DRIVE 

[absolute-flaming-trash-archive]

Hurt Part 3 - Damaged Goods

This is officially turning into a long fic series. Thank you a million times to @my-child-gaara for beta reading this.

Pairing: Illumi x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2′811

Warnings: Implied abuse/toxic relationship, Yandere behaviour, Manipulation, Graphic description of injury, Mentions of assault/noncon.

Part One, Part Two

-----

The longer the days went on, the more they began to blur together. That tended to happen when there was a lot of repetition. A constant repeat of routine that you would follow almost mindlessly.

To be fair, the daily regime was only a small part of what made the days fade into one another.

What was mostly the cause of it was the dissociation you were beginning to fall into to cope with the ever increasing visits from Hisoka.

You genuinely didn’t know how to act around the man anymore. What had started off as a relationship of supposed mutual respect had fallen apart over the course of a single evening, which he would remind you of and repeat frequently.

It wouldn’t happen every time he came to you. Sometimes it would be as it used to, where you would patch him up, albeit now with a heavy tension in the air, and he would leave. Other times it would be like that night all over again. You kept fighting him, of course, still unwilling to submit to a man who made it his goal to violently remind you that, in his mind, you belonged to him.

It was seemingly random. The only consistent indication of his possessive behaviour was that when you mentioned a friend or a coworker that you were getting close to, they would mysteriously disappear within several days.

It made you feel alone. Isolated.

Yet you still didn’t hate him… did you?

You’d think you would after all of that time. After what he had done. Everyone had their breaking point.

You honestly didn’t know if you had reached it, but were too numb to notice, or if you were truly that forgiving.

It was an endless cycle you would think about every night as you stared up at the ceiling, body still aching from how Hisoka had treated you.

Every cycle was eventually broken, though.

The clattering of books followed by the sound of something smashing broke you from your thoughts, making you instantly freeze.

Someone was in your house, and it wasn’t who you thought it was.

You had only one weapon in your room, a bat you saved for emergencies .

It would never do against someone like Hisoka, but for a burglar? You’d take your chances.

You threw the covers off of you, grabbing the bat and holding it above your head, approaching the source of the noise with caution; your breathing coming in quiet, shaky breaths the closer you got to your living room. 

When you rounded the corner, it was like time froze.

Like you thought, it wasn’t Hisoka.

Instead a man with the darkest eyes you had ever seen stood amongst the remnants of your fallen bookshelf, the shade of his clothes contrasting greatly against the paleness of his skin.

“Hey,” he greeted, his voice shockingly casual - as if he hadn’t broken into your home and ruined your bookcase. You adjusted your grip on the bat, narrowing your eyes at the man before you.

“What do you want?”

Your eyes flickered over the dress-like blue outfit he wore. It was in tatters, blood and dirt deeply staining the fabric. The gloves covering his arms were shredded, hanging over his arms like streamers.

“I’m in need of your services, it would seem.” Your eyes snapped back up to his lightning fast, knuckles white from your grip on the bat. The man sighed heavily at your reaction.

“Hisoka did say you were skittish, there’s no reason to be alarmed.”

The bark of dry laughter that left you at his comment surprised you both. “If you’re with Hisoka, that gives you less reason to be here, and if you touch me I’ll more than alarm you.”

“On the contrary, I believe it gives me all the reason.”

Awkward tension hung heavy in the air as the two of you stared at each other, both unwilling to move from your positions. His orb-like eyes shifted over to the now trivial seeming weapon in your hands.

Like hell you’d go down without it though.

“Put down the bat.”

“Will you leave?”

“No, I still need your services.”

“Then I’m not putting down the bat.”

The slightest twitch of his eye was the only indicator of the annoyance that had begun to creep through his system.

“If I offered you my name, would that calm you enough to treat me?”

You paused, mulling the thought over with caution. It would certainly make things a little smoother, in any case.

“I still don’t trust you, but perhaps.”

“Excellent, I’m Illumi Zoldyck.” The robotic cheeriness to his voice was anything but soothing as you watched him seat himself on your couch. “I’d like you to get whatever supplies you have on hand, as I believe you’ll need them all.”

His words went over your head as you processed the name given to you.

Zoldyck. There was an assassin in your house.

“Are you going to kill me?” The words slipping out before you could stop them, making Illumi tilt his head, his eyelids drooping slightly in boredom.

“If I were to kill you, you would be long dead already.”

His tone did nothing to soothe your nerves, despite the implication that the words were meant to be reassuring.

Another few beats of silence passed as you continued to examine each other. It seemed that you were at an impasse, and you had a feeling that between the two of you the assassin was the least likely to back down from his stance.

“Are you going to get your kit?”

You lowered the bat begrudgingly, the discomfort and confliction written heavily across your face.

Just this once, you decided, turning on your heel and walking away briskly.

You hurried into the kitchen, grabbing what you needed with shaking hands, taking deep breaths in order to calm yourself as much as you could. The deja vu you were feeling was horrible, and you’d be damned if you let history repeat itself, but you had been taught harshly and repeatedly that you were not as strong as you had initially thought yourself to be.

That certainly didn’t mean you were willing to give up just yet though.

You returned to Illumi with a bowl of warm water and your kit, kneeling to assess the damage. There were lacerations all up and down his right arm, shards of glass deeply embedded into the cuts along with bits of debris. The bruising that you could see wasn’t horrendous, but it wasn’t good either. You shoved your state of unease into the back of your mind as you tried to focus primarily on the injuries presented.

“What happened?”

“My initial attack missed and my target became aware of my presence. Extremely annoying, really, as my aim was not the issue and it was due to him tripping over an uneven surface. We fought.”

Illumi watched with unblinking eyes as you experimentally touched around his multitude of cuts before you nodded to yourself, standing up and walking back into your kitchen.

“I’m going to remove the glass from your arms before I assess the rest of you.” You returned with a small empty bowl and a chair in hand.

The deja vu was becoming more intense by the minute.

“I do have to ask though, what made you come to me?” - you sat down, grabbing the cloth from the bowl and gesturing for Illumi to give you his arm - “I’d imagine your family has their own collection of doctors due to your profession.”

“We do, however now that I now know about you, you were a closer and more convenient option.”

“Deep breath, this is going to sting.”

Your warning was acknowledged with a slight nod, and you pressed the cloth to his skin as gently as you could. Illumi made no motion to pull away as you carefully cleaned the area as best as you could.

“To be quite honest, I’m a little surprised that Hisoka mentioned me to you.” you murmured, lightly dragging the cloth over the wounds, removing as much of the debris as you could and tossing it to the side once you were finished. A few beats of silence passed while you pulled out a pair of tweezers and began sanitizing them with rubbing alcohol.

“Not hard to believe, Hisoka feels the need to overshare the details of his missions with me for some odd reason.” His voice unwavering even as you had begun to pull the shards of glass from his skin. “Each of them would end with the common theme of him coming to you for assessment of his injuries.”

You huffed, the sound of the glass hitting the aluminum bowl filling the gaps of the conversation. “I'm not surprised at that, just the fact that he gave you permission to see me. At least that's what I meant before.”

“He did not, I found you on my own.”

It felt like all the air in the room had been sucked out at his words, your wide eyes slowly making their way up to his face as adrenaline shot through your veins, mouth instantly going dry.

“What did you say?” 

“At any attempt on my part to find out where you lived, should I need to acquire your services, he would become very proprietorial and would not disclose any further information. Quite inconvenient, we’ve always had a give and take relationship, but apparently he does not wish to share you with me.”

You couldn’t help but flinch at his particular choice of words.

“He uhm” -you swallowed thickly, clearing your throat as you gathered your words- “he doesn’t know you’re here?”

“No.”

That knowledge was simultaneously relieving and terrifying. Relieving in the sense that Hisoka wasn’t sending the people who he worked with to you to patch up, or...sharing you with others.

It was terrifying because you had no idea how he would react if he caught you with Illumi in your home when he clearly didn’t want him there.

And he could come through your door at any moment.

You ran your eyes over his arms, weighing your options quietly while trying to steady your breathing. You had nearly removed all the glass, after that you just needed to put on an antibacterial ointment and wrap the wounds in gauze and derma wrap, and he would be set.

Anything that you missed would have to be treated at his home, you couldn’t risk it here.

“This knowledge appears to be disconcerting, is Hisoka an exclusive client?”

An airy, humourless chuckle passed your lips. If only he knew.

“I’m going to do what I can for your arms, however the rest I’m going to have to leave to you since I’m not well equipped for anything worse than this. Hisoka used up the majority of my heavy duty medical gear some time ago, and I haven’t had the time or the funds to go get more.”

Illumi blinked owlishly at you as you continued to work, your movements noticeably faster as you treated him.

Odd, but your reasoning was sound enough.

The minutes flew by as you removed the remaining glass, antibiotic cream covered gauze placed over each wound as you gingerly wrapped the derma wrap around his arms.

“Okay, I think you should be good now.” You breathed, shoulders relaxing as he stood, examining your handiwork blankly while you hurriedly began to pack your supplies up.

“I don’t think you have much to worry about otherwise, and once again I’m sorry for not being able to do-”

Your eyes widened as he began to peel off his clothing, your arms automatically rising in defense; cowering behind the little protection they provided.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to, don’t hurt me please!”

The automatic words were barely understandable, leaving you in a fast, jumbled mess. Illumi stared at you in confusion, his tattered shirt still in his hands.

“Is this not your form of payment?”

Your shoulders relaxed slightly as you peeked out, your own confusion knitting across your brow at his statement, “Payment?”

“Yes,” Illumi confirmed, retaking his seat on your couch, “whenever Hisoka comes to you, you treat him, and once you are finished you two engage in sexual activities, from what I have gathered from what has been retold to me.” - the casualness of his tone made you flinch - “So I believed that was your form of payment for your services.”

The way he said it was so… detached. Like what he was saying was simply a matter of business being conducted, and nothing more.

To be frank, it horrified you.

“No,” you responded, fully lowering your arms to your side, shaking your head at his claim. “No, Hisoka and I have no such arrangement. He doesn’t pay me anything.”

“Eh?” Illumi tilted his head, bits of his dark locks falling in front of his face. “Well this will not do at all, how much do you normally charge for your services?”

You didn’t know what it was about that sentence that made you chuckle, but it bloomed into a full bodied laugh; tears springing to your eyes as you clutched your sides. Illumi continued to stare at you through your little fits until your laughter had died down, now only coming in short bursts of giggles.

“Mr. Zoldyck,” -you wiped a stray tear from your eye, giving him a small broken smile- “I don’t charge anything. I never have. I’m not a medically trained professional, my skills are only the result of a few first aid courses I took for my own safety and for previous jobs.”

“Illumi is fine.” He responded, pulling out his phone, beginning to type with one hand, “I shall send you compensation for the inconvenience I have caused you as well as of the damage to your home. What is your number?”

“It’s just a fallen bookshelf, Illumi, it’s fine-”

“I believe 30 million jenny is reasonable, is that sufficient?”

Your jaw hit the floor as you gaped at him.

You were stunned to say the least.

You stuttered out the number to your cell phone, still in a state of shock, “I… I don’t know what to say, sir, thank you.”

“Your gratitude is unnecessary, and once again it’s Illumi,” -he said simply, pocketing the phone in his pants- “you should receive the transfer shortly.”

All you could do was nod as you processed all of what just happened, the rustling of Illumi’s clothing as he redressed himself becoming background noise.

You ran a hand down your face, pausing over your mouth as you tried to figure out just exactly what to do next.

30 million. That was a lot of money, more than what you could properly explain away without finding some kind of excuse. The lottery was always a good go-to, but if you claimed that and word got out, then you’d have “friends” and “family” coming out of the woodwork, and you didn’t need that kind of hassle added to your already complicated life.

You could say that it was inheritance, after all you did have a fairly large extended family…

Only problem with that route was that Hisoka more than likely kept tabs on everyone connected to you.

Panic shot through your system at the reminder of the man, frantic eyes snapping back to reality and searching the living room for Illumi.

He was gone. Shit.

“Illumi?!” you nearly tripped over your own feet as you ran out of the living room, looking up and down the halls of your house desperately before landing on him, his hand hovering over the doorknob to your front door. You stopped a few feet short of him, heart still pounding in your ears from your initial anxiety.

“He can’t know you were here. Hisoka, I mean.” You fidgeted with your hands, unsure how to properly word the thoughts in your head. “If… if you ever need to see me again, you need to warn me you’re coming. No matter how serious your injuries are.”

You laughed nervously, offering the assassin a small hopeful smile.

Illumi blinked, studying you for a moment. Why you would be so worried about his associate was completely unknown to him. Well not entirely true, it was obvious he had mistreated you in some way, but that was no concern of his. Your request of him informing you as to when he would be coming could eventually prove inconvenient, however the subtle invitation that you were willing to treat him in the future would more than make up for it. If necessary, he could use the leverage of Hisoka’s ignorance against you if that were to change.

He hummed lightly, satisfied with his own reasoning as his lips twitching up slightly in a microscopic smile, meeting your own misguided one. 

“Of course.”

-----

Please tell me if you find Illumi ooc, as well as your thoughts. Yes there will be more parts in the future. 💛

Tag List: @prettycutebunny, @my-child-gaara, @yep-seeyalaterbranflakes, @shorkbrian, @mynameseri, @trash-writings, @biby-24k, @ao-writes-filth

[hotdogct]

blooms in adversity ||| n.jm

pairing: na jaemin x reader genre: angst-ish, fluff. words: 1.8k a/n: you ever get rejected from a job and have a complete meltdown over your future hahahahahhaaa just asking for a friend :) title is an obvious nod to ‘mulan’, i listened to way too much hippo campus while writing this. enjoy!!!

network tags: @czennienet​

At this time we have decided to move forward with other candidates in the hiring process. Thank you for your interest and we wish you the best of luck in the future.

The rejection email might’ve landed in your inbox late in the afternoon, but you had been anticipating its arrival all day long - the thought of it lingering, stagnant, weighing heavily on your brain like a storm cloud that refused to pass. 

Jaemin knew this, anticipated it. It’s why the two of you were outside, taking full advantage of the warmth the sun was providing this late spring day. After noticing the neglected planter on your balcony in the early days of your relationship, Jaemin wouldn’t stop nagging you about his ‘legendary’ green thumb. As soon as winter began to fade to spring he began to wax poetic,  explaining the overwhelming benefits plant ownership has on a person and pretty please can-he-take-you-to-the-nursery and-

It’s not that you didn’t appreciate flowers. Some of your fondest memories of the early stages of your relationship were the bouquets Jaemin would spoil you with at each date - how you used to keep them on display prominently in the kitchen, a silent reminder of his newly blooming affection towards you. Even after they wilted, lost their petals, there was seldom time to mourn. A new bouquet would always take its place, and the absentminded cycle could continue.

Absentminded. That was your whole problem, the reason for the sad remains of dead flowers residing in the neglected planter. You had started off with the brightest of intentions when moving into your first apartment - wanting to establish routine and create the perfect place to unwind at the end of the day.

Nervously you had browsed the outdoor section of the nearest hardware store, shaky hands brushing over begonias and marigolds, before settling on a flat of dusty pink petunias to take home. None of these names meant anything to you, no terms familiar. Equipped with extra gardening tools courtesy of your mother, you spent that afternoon carefully digging into the soil. Gently sitting each starter petunia into place and covering their roots as if tucking in a child for the night. For the next few days, you’d make sure to have your daily nightcap of wine out on the balcony, watch the sunset and water the planter. 

But one day you forgot. The next you were tired. Then you went out of town for the weekend. And at that point, shame left you frozen. Rather than attempting to salvage your petunias, you passively let the entire idea and label of “plant mom” slip from your brain.  A pattern that followed you your entire life - never quite being able to follow through, see something to completion. Sometimes you almost feel as wilted as the abandoned petunias themselves.

This was why Jaemin, with his prince-like features, his romantic gestures and bouquets, swept you off your feet almost instantly. Rather than nagging you about a drawer being left open in the kitchen, a light left on in the living room, the messy dining room table after a night of arts and crafts, he would simply take care of whatever chaos you had left in your wake. You might’ve been a storm, tremendous and unpredictable. Yet Jaemin thought there was nothing more beautiful, and decided he was up for the thrill of the chase. 

So it was only fair to humor him, to try again at the “plant mom” thing. After his consistent nagging reached a crescendo that rivaled only the oncoming cicada brood in terms of volume, you found yourselves strolling through the nearby nursery bright and early on a weekend morning. 

“You’ve put this off all Spring long,” Jaemin lamented, gesturing wildly with his hand at the expanse of greenhouses before the two of you. “And look! Now there’s nothing pretty left!”

“What are you talking about, Na?” You could easily spot at least three to four different flats of colorful starters that had already caught your eye, and started to walk tentatively over in their direction. Before you could get too far, Jaemin’s firm grasp on your wrist prevented you from moving much further, a pout apparent upon his features. Instead he pivoted you both in the opposite direction, towards the more complex greenery and shrubs. You shot Jaemin a confused glance, which only led to a small laugh escaping his lips, followed by words that left your cheeks as crimson as the nearby roses:

“Those flowers weren’t nearly pretty enough for the balcony, let alone pretty enough for you.” 

It had been Jaemin who had pushed you to apply for this job. You were blinded by the familiarity of the stressful retail gig you held long before the two of you even met. The ever changing schedule, along with the grueling work and constant understaffing was your unshifting reality. But you had health benefits and a small, but earnest 401K started - what could you really complain about?

Turns out, quite a bit. It wasn’t until one late night in bed, where Jaemin was massaging your back and shoulders wordlessly after a brutal shift - doing his best to water and tend to you, his most beautiful flower. Silently pressing his hands firmly on, around, all over your shoulder blades in a busy pattern, he tried his best to keep his anger contained to the intensity of his movements. How could they neglect you so? A flower of your caliber needed full sun - and Jaemin didn’t need to feel the tight knots your muscles had twisted themselves into to know that you were wilted. While he was especially gifted at keeping his mouth shut, a brief look at your pained, exhausted expression was all it took for him to slip, speak up.

“You deserve better than this.”

Immediately wide eyed despite how tired you were seconds before, Jaemin realized the vagueness of the previous thought, and clarified, pulling away from your body so that you could roll over, sit up. “N-not like that. This job is going to kill you.” 

Your face softened. While stubborn to a fault, even you could admit Jaemin’s argument was sound. When was enough enough?

And then, doubt. Before you could even begin to imagine the possibilities, the blue sky ideas that could await you. Instead, you immediately hone in on the skills you don’t possess, requirements you don’t meet. The idea of not running on automatic, the thought of having to try, of doing something new. The overwhelming fear of rejection. Pulse racing now, each shallow breath in only made the thorns that had grown around your ego constrict themselves further, pressing in uncomfortably.

Jaemin’s arms find their way around your trembling body seconds later, his added weight bringing you back down to earth. You periodically feel his lips leaving gentle kisses, pressed with the utmost care along the back of your neck, the curve of your shoulder. In between, ghost whispers of comfort land reassuringly in your ear.

“You have so much to offer the world.” 

“You deserve to be somewhere where you can shine.”

“Let's get you blooming again, yeah?”

The smile that graced Jaemin’s face when you told him you had a second interview scheduled was so bright it could probably be seen from outer space. True to his word, over the last month he helped revise your resume, hunt for job listings, prepare for interviews late into the night. There was gradually less and less tension in your muscles when Jaemin would massage almost nightly. Buds slowly began to appear on your stems, where rot had once been. 

The second interview went great - or so you had thought. Then the hours after turned into a day, then two, then the week passed without hearing back. Your expectations had plummeted like a sagging helium balloon, days past its prime. The subject went unmentioned by both you and Jaemin, the silence instead speaking volumes.

The two of you were out on the balcony, music blaring. You’re sitting on an uncomfortable stool watching Jaemin below you, donned in a gardening visor and bright pink gloves. He was planting the flowers you were absolutely frightened to take care of, when the rejection email arrived, unceremoniously. 

You blink once, twice, comprehending the words on your phone screen individually. Move forward - are you now set back? Other candidates - no, that’s you, you feel like the “other”, luck - you’ll need it, alright-

Deep breath. 

You look over and down. Jaemin is so heavily invested in covering a starter daisy just right with soil that he missed your initial reaction, your brief show of raw emotion.  Sensing your eyes on him, he looks up at you, squinting into the sun, smiles bright. If autopilot didn’t fail you now, the small smile on your face would convince him you’re fine, everything was fine. 

But Jaemin was intuitive, he was smart, and he knew better. The speaker was playing some cheerful pop song, the weather was cooperating and tolerable. His nail beds were caked with dirt and soil, a favorite feeling of his from childhood that comes with the satisfaction of gardening. His wide eyes were still studying you. There you were, his radiant flower, sitting in the fullest and brightest of sun, and he had nurtured you back to growth.

So why weren’t you blooming?

“Are you okay?”

A small chuckle leaves your lips, knowing the truth and the inevitability of it all. This time when you blink once, twice, in an attempt to avoid Jaemin’s overwhelming gaze, you can feel hot liquid streaming down your cheeks, taste the saltiness of the tears once they hit your lips. You can hear the clatter of gardening tools being abandoned, plastic flats of flowers being shoved aside, and you can feel Jaemin’s broad frame envelop you seconds later, almost knocking both of you off the stool. 

You lose track of the time, sobbing into Jaemin’s chest. An exaltation of the saddest manner, but necessary when coming from someone as normally stoic as you. His tight grip around you never wavered, the softest of rocking motions to settle you down, his familiar hands massaging at your weary frame. Loving words on loop from his lips.

“This is just a minor setback...it’s alright...”

“They don’t know what they’re missing.”

“We’ll get you back out there tomorrow.”

Eventually your brain stops screaming, though a headache remains. Your breath steadies into a slow rhythm. As quickly as it had arrived, the overwhelming anxiety courtesy of the rejection email disappeared.  The once raging storm had subsided.

And still, Jaemin thought, there was nothing more beautiful.

[angelanimedesaray]

Wings in the Dark Chapter 6:  Stories From the Dark

AN:  I feel like this chapter should have been posted around Halloween, but there was NO WAY I was waiting that long XD  Also its a bit short, I think, to me, it goes a little quick, partially because I didn’t want to have to write Levi wandering around this little town this whole time having all this meaningless chit-chat meant to fish information, I decided summarizing was best with detail where it counted XD

Characters:  Levi, Fem!Vampire!Reader (Mentioned), Erwin, Various OCs and BG Characters

Pairing:  (Eventual)  Levi x Fem!Vampire!Reader

Warnings:  Descriptions of Violence, Descriptions of Murder Aftermath, Description of Fatal Injuries, Description of Buried Alive, Descriptions of Injuries, Language

Word Count:  5188

<----Previous Chapter    Masterlist    Next Chapter---->

*Levi's POV*

While taking such a sudden few days off might have caused a couple bumps in the way things were developing around HQ, but he knew Erwin would be able to handle it and smooth things over, so he stayed focused on the task at hand.

Stripped of any signia, symbol, or uniform resembling clothes that could suggest that he was part of the military, Levi was dressed in plainclothes, having taken a carriage out to L/N’s supposed hometown early in the morning.  He still arrived with plenty of time in the day to investigate the town and see what he could find on-site, taking in the small, easily overlooked town that was more of a loose collection of homes bordered by farms, with a central farmer’s market to keep some local trade and business going.  Any serious buying and selling probably consisted in a day’s trip to one of the larger towns within Wall Rose, but it seemed they had basic foodstuffs here.  He managed to find a blacksmith tucked away in a corner between a small grouping of houses, as well as an old, empty building that had a weathered carpentry sign in front of it.  So there had been more trade smiths around here, before the town gradually lost those businesses.

Talking casually with the blacksmith informed Levi that a ways past the farms, there was a home that was the reason for most of their outside visitors--people who could afford to would put their elderly loved ones in the care center, and there was a separate building for the mentally ill to live comfortably and get the care they needed as well.  Visitors to the town usually consisted of relatives visiting their loved ones in the homes, or they were descendants that had moved away but came back for the occasional hometown or family visit.

Which meant Levi, having no ties himself and not knowing about the homes, stuck out a bit despite his best efforts.  The communities of small towns were tightly knit and they knew their own, so it couldn’t be helped, and he would have to deal with the fact everyone was going to be curious why he was here.

While talking with the blacksmith, he also heard that the carpentry shop had been the family trade for the Frazier family--the family who lost the daughter sharing L/N’s first name.  With the murder of their only child, there was no one to take on the family business, and the building had fallen into disrepair after the parents had gone to the home outside town.

That had caught Levi’s interest.  They’d been in the home for years judging from the sign alone, and the impression he’d received was that only the well off could supply their own stay at the home, or their family members paid for it.  If there were no children to pay for them, and they’d only been a small carpentry business in a no-name town, how could they afford to be in the home?  He doubted it was by the grace of the community, though it was a possibility considering the tragedy that had happened here.

Moving on from the blacksmith so he didn’t ask too many questions in one place, Levi made a mental note to make his way up to the homes to investigate the still-living parents of the original Y/N.  Making his way to the farmer’s market, Levi perused for any small town hidden treasures and struck up conversations, looking for a town gossip to get talking about the town’s history so that he could eventually hear the more personal tale of the double homicide than the technical report Erwin had scrounged up for him.

While trying to get the man selling the baked goods to be a little more forthcoming, Levi overheard a small group of children, three or four gathered around each other as one of the older children attempted to scare the smallest of the group with a surprisingly gristly tale.

“...clawed at the wood of the coffin, screaming for someone to hear her, too afraid to realize her screams took up what little air she had.  Her fingernails broke and blood coated the coffin, her elbow busted open as she pounded and shrieked for help, but no one could hear her so far beneath the dirt.  Some say she did manage to break the wood, but halfway through the dirt falling on her she couldn’t breathe, and body’s still frozen in her silent scream, so close to freedom, no one above ground aware of the terror she felt before she truly died.  Now, so she doesn’t feel so alone, Screaming Sally’s ghost crawls out of her grave and drags children like you from their beds and drags them into her coffin below ground.”

The poor youngest was visibly trembling, tears of fright in their eyes before one of the other kids shouted and grabbed them, making the youngest shriek and cry as they laughed and continued to pick on them.

“Tch.”  Levi turned to them, a glare in his eyes that he pinned on the older kids who should have known better.  “Oi!  Cut it out.”

Spooked by the scary voice, and even more so by the scary man they saw glaring at them, the older kids bolted, with the youngest running away once they were free of the older kids, most likely to run home and find comfort from a parent.

Levi turned his attention back to the stall in front of him, a woman beside him buying a basket of rolls as he scowled over the childishly cruel display he’d just seen.

“That’s one messed up horror story for kids to be telling each other,” he muttered, paying for a loaf of bread and waiting for the man to finish wrapping it for him.  The woman beside him turned with a small shrug.

“All the children around here know about that stupid story about Screaming Sally.  It’s been around for decades, and at this point, it’s almost a rite of passage to hear it eventually.”

Levi looked at her, sensing he might have someone who would be willing to share if he asked the right questions.  “How did it start?”

The woman sighed, shaking her head.  “Some poor caretaker for the graveyard by the woods about forty years back snapped after that double homicide and started trying to tell people one of the girls crawled out of her grave.  Everyone knows it’s impossible, not to mention the grave was undisturbed when folks checked in the morning after seeing how sincere he was.  They had to put him in the home because he kept insisting he saw it, and eventually the story turned into the Screaming Sally legend the kids are always sharing to scare each other.”

Levi’s head tilted slightly to the side, eyes widening momentarily in surprise as the unsuspected connection jumped out at him.

For the briefest moment, he was looking back up at Kenny years ago as Kenny shared some outlandish story to try and scare him.  When Levi had called out it’s legitimacy and accused him of spewing a nonsense legend that wasn’t even possible, he’d suddenly appeared a little serious, a small frown appearing beneath the brim of that signature hat of his as he gave Levi the reply that now rang in his ears.

“There’s always a little truth to every legend.”

Pretending his surprise was over something else the woman had said, Levi took the chance to try and pry the local story from her.

“Double homicide?  Out here?” Levi asked, suggesting that kind of thing never happened in places like this.

In his opinion, they were more likely to happen out here, since it was so damn isolated.

As Levi took his wrapped loaf, the two started to walk together, just a little further down the path as she indulged his curiosity.

“I know--it’s the darkest stain on this town’s history.  Still unsolved, too--one of those locked room murders I think they call them.  Y/N Frazier and Victoria Schultz.  The Fraziers’ daughter had been out late the night before and came to her parent’s home to rest instead of going back to her own home.  She was sick the entire next day, and her best friend Victoria came to visit her.  Sometime between the moment Victoria and Y/N were in the room together to the time the Fraziers checked in on them a few hours later, some psychopath managed to find their way into the room, tore Victoria apart beyond recognition, and disappeared with the Frazier girl.  Without the Fraziers hearing anything amiss!  The police thought it might have been the Frazier girl, because it was the only possible explanation considering the bedroom door was locked and any attacker would have had to come in through the window, and neither girl made a sound, so perhaps Victoria knew her attacker--but Y/N’s body showed up on the edge of the woods a few days later, poor girl.  They never found out who did it, or what exactly happened.  It still haunts the people in the town who are old enough to remember it.”

As the woman spun the more personal version of the tale, Levi’s mind filled in the gristly details that had been in the report he’d read.  How there had been hardly any blood left in the mutilated girl left behind lying on the bed, but far less in the room than there should have been, how L/N’s namesake had been found lying just within the forest’s edge, neck bruised and broken, as well as several bones, covered in bruises and lacerations.  It was a closed-casket funeral for both.  They had no leads, no one with a motive, no mysterious footprint or shadowy figure seen leaving the crime scene.  They’d just been murdered out of nowhere, and nothing like it had happened anywhere near the town ever since.  It was a sudden, violent anomaly in their history, and one that was going to leave a mark that would never disappear.

Levi said goodbye to the woman with the bread roll basket, standing in the middle of the road with his gaze turned towards the homes he’d been told about, a thoughtful frown on his face.

It seemed he had two reasons to visit this place:  the Fraziers and the caretaker.

Once there, as curious as he was, Levi decided against visiting the Fraziers and asking about the events of forty years ago.  From what he’d been able to dig up, it was likely something that still haunted them to this day, and he wasn’t here to terrorize the elderly.

He did, however, pry into who was paying for their stay at the home.  Once at the front desk, he suggested that he wanted to pay for their stay, asking after the amount it would take and how often, before insisting whatever payments they were making themselves stop so they wouldn’t have to pay out of their own pockets.  At that point, he’d been politely turned down, the secretary informing him that the Fraziers already had an angel donor who was paying regularly for their stay at the home.

“Can I get a name so I can talk to them about splitting the payments?” Levi asked, leaning forward slightly in anticipation.

“I’m sorry, but...angel donors are what we call anonymous donors who don’t have any ties to the family but still pay for their care.  We don’t know who makes the payments, only that they’re made regularly and on time, so Mr. and Ms. Frazier can spend the rest of their days here.  I have no name to give you, not that I could, considering that would be sensitive information,” the secretary said politely, though there was a bit of a chill in her voice brought about by Levi’s questioning.  He ignored it, busy mulling over this new detail.

He had no evidence to support it, no reason to suspect it, but what if the angel donor was L/N?  He knew she was looking for ways to cut costs with how she spent her money, it was one of the reasons she had the tea garden at HQ--it would save her money in the future by cutting costs she spent on things like tea.  And her lack of personal belongings could also be from a lack of money to buy nice things for herself.  What if the money she saved from her salary was going towards the Fraziers’ well-being?

Again, he had no evidence.  It was just a thought, a far-fetched theory, but it was something to take note of and consider, just in case it wasn’t far off the mark.

Getting the hint from the secretary and knowing he was at a dead end as to who was taking care of the Fraziers, at least for what he would find here in town, Levi moved on to the next objective.

“All right, well, I also came to talk to someone in the psychiatric home.  He used to be a cemetery caretaker about forty years ago.”

Recognition immediately sparked in her eyes, as well as a bit of apprehension.  “We’ll need you to sign in, as well as put down a reason for visiting.”

“Fine,” Levi replied, taking the paper she slid over and writing Jacob, no last name--not that he’d have one to give even if he was using his actual name--and then wrote down social visit before handing it over.  Her eyebrows rose slightly and her gaze flickered up to him from the paper, and Levi gazed back at her calmly, waiting patiently for her to at least direct him the proper way.

“Room seventeen.  Follow me,” she said, leading them out the door--since they’d been in the home for the elderly--and a little ways away to the other building that acted as the psychiatric home.  Once inside she led Levi up two flights of stairs and down a fairly long hall to let Levi into the room marked seventeen in white paint.  “Mr. Briarton, you have a visitor,” she said after opening the door, allowing Levi to step into the room and take in a man in his late fifties, early sixties, suspicious pale green eyes narrowed at Levi as he stepped inside.

“I don’t knows you,” the man rasped.

“Jacob,” Levi said bluntly, stepping deeper into the room and staying conscious of the fact the secretary was temporarily lingering to make sure everything was going to be all right.  “I came to hear your story.”

“Hah?  Here to mock an old man?”  Briarton sneered.

“No.  Just to listen,” Levi responded simply.  Briarton sized Levi up for a moment, then looked at the secretary still standing in the doorway and gave a small wave.

“We’re fine, Janice, you can leave now.  I’s knows the rest of you’s is tired of hearin’ my tale.”

“Are you sure, Mr. Briarton.”

“Eh,” he grumbled, and Janice sighed and shut the door, leaving the two of them behind.  “Why exactly are you’s interested in hearin’ my story?  Everyone else says I’m’s crazy.  Locked me up for it, too!”

“I’ve heard the town legends.  Someone I knew used to say there’s always a bit of truth to the legends.  So I’m here looking for the truth,” Levi answered, leaning up against the wall with arms folded over his chest.

“Hmm…” Briarton hummed, contemplating Levi’s reason before he sighed.  “I’s guessin’ you’s already heard ‘bout the murders, if you’s here.”

At Levi’s nod, Briarton skipped over the events that came before, and went right to talking about the burial.  “Closed caskets they’s were.  Victoria had a pine box, Mr. Frazier insisteds on makin’ Y/N’s hisself, out of willow.  We’s buried them midday, six feets down in the grounds, six feets dried earth on those boxes.  I’s told they’s were both dead for sures, no comin’ back--specially poor Victoria.  Schultz’s weren’t allowed to sees hers it was so bad.  Course we’s all thoughts abouts it, we’s all hoped back then the killer’d get caught.  People kept comin’ by till it gots too dark and I’s closed the cemetery for the’s night.  My’s job was to make sure no ones messed with the graves, and I’s was patrollin’ like usual, and for the’s longest time, I didn’t hear nut-thin.  But sometime in the wee hours of the mornin’, as I’s was comin’ up on the girls’s graves, I saw somethin’ movin on the ground on tops of one.  I’s went to yells at them, to tell ‘em kids to scram, cause that’s what I’s thoughts they were.  But when I’s got close enough to see a bit better, I’s realized they’s was comin’ up from the ground--outta the ground.  I’s was frozen in place, watchin’ them’s drag themselves out of the dirt, clawin’ across the ground likes a wounded animal.  I’s was tryin’ to scream, but I’s couldn’t makes a sound.”

Briarton stopped, his wide eyes turned towards Levi.  “Do you’s know how heavy the dirts is on a coffin?  How hard it is to break open a coffin?  Impossible’s what it is!  My’s brother once locked me’s in one to scares me, and my’s mother lost it whens she found out.  I’s was kickin’ and screamin’ for what’s felt like hours tryin’ to break out, but all I’s got from it was bloody hands and elbows.  Ands that was without the dirts on tops of it.  But I’s swears this girl busted out and crawled outta hers grave.  Even if she’s managed to breaks the coffin, she’d’da been crushed bys the dirts.  But she’s still crawled outta hers grave.  She’s stood up, covered in fresh bloods and dirts, and she’s shoved dirt backs into the hole she’s crawled outta like a drunkard, gaspin’ and wheezin’ and wailin’ like a banshee, an’ then she’s disappears into the night.  An’ I’s ran for help, jus’ to get calleds crazy and locked up in here.”

Levi listened to Briarton’s tale in silence, studying the man’s face closely as he spoke to see if the man truly believed every word he was saying.  The terror in the man’s eyes was real, though, as he spoke of the impossibility of the haunting image, and there was no trace of insincerity in his face as he spoke.  He truly believed in the tale he was telling.  Considering the impossibility of it all, Levi also doubted, but he wasn’t going to call him out on in--enough people already believed this man crazy, Levi wasn’t going to add himself to the mix.

He only had one question.

“Who was the woman who crawled out of her grave?” Levi asked steadily, though the crawl of his skin as he said it told him he already knew the answer.  He just wanted to hear Briarton say it.

“Y/N Frazier.”

The day had cooled--in fact, it was starting to feel chillier, the sun frequently hidden by clouds that seemed to be gathering across the sky, hinting at fouler weather on the horizon.  After taking his leave of Briarton at the home, Levi went looking for the now infamous cemetery--infamous in his mind, at least--and had made his way to the grave of one Y/N Frazier, where he now stood in silent contemplation, staring intently at the headstone that had engraved upon its surface the girl’s name, a birthday and date of death that showed she had barely been in her twenties, and a brief, “Beloved Daughter.”

He wasn’t really seeing the grave anymore, though.  His mind was a flurry of thoughts, theories, memories, information...none of the connections he’d made here made any kind of sense to him, but there were far too many to be ignored.  There was something here, something that seemed to be staring him in the face, but he couldn’t see what it was, so he couldn’t use it.  Not yet, anyway.

Maybe Briarton really was crazy, maybe he hadn’t seen Y/N Frazier crawl out of that grave that night and he’d simply snapped like everyone suggested he had.  But there was nothing to have caused him to snap, no trigger.  Not to mention, the sheer coincidence was far too strong to be a coincidence.

So, he entertained the possibility that the bizarre and impossible happened, that Y/N Frazier somehow survived, a mistake had been made somewhere and she was buried alive, and managed to crawl out of this very grave.  Ignoring the impossibility of that scenario still didn’t give him many answers.  If Y/N Frazier was still alive, she would have been sixty, seventy years old by now.  L/N back at the Scout Headquarters was in her early twenties, and very clearly /not dead/.  So, L/N definitely wasn’t this Y/N Frazier.

But that didn’t mean she couldn’t be related somehow.  If the original girl did survive, it would be possible for L/N to be Frazier’s daughter, maybe even grand-daughter, though that was starting to push the theory beyond what he was willing to suspend believing as impossible.

One thing the Screaming Sally horror story had made him remember, and that Briarton’s recounting had brought to the front of his mind to offer him another connection, was the conversation the other day between the rest of his Squad and L/N.

He remembered the tremble in her hand, the stillness in her posture, the flash of soul-deep fear, trauma, and pain in her eyes as L/N had softly stated that her biggest fear was being buried alive.

He had something big here, but he wasn’t sure where it fit in this messed up puzzle he was trying to solve, and was missing some key piece that connected it to something else.  He needed more than ever to see what she was doing in the Underground when she snuck out at night--whatever it was, he was convinced at this point it was the missing piece he needed to make sense of all of this.

But first, he needed to do something that would give him a definitive answer amongst all these legends and tall tales.

It was a new low for him, he knew that.  The entire ordeal felt wrong and filthy on an entirely new level, but it was something he had to do.  No one else had thought to look, to disturb the grave of one of the murdered girls to see if there was any validity to Briarton’s claims, to the stories of Screaming Sally.  Everyone brushed it off as nonsense and went about their day, probably because it was so certain, and it was easier to believe the horror stories were nonsense.

Levi didn’t have that luxury.  He didn’t have the certainty, and the easier route was not the one he was going to take.  He needed answers.  So, he’d returned briefly to Headquarters in order to enlist Erwin’s help to give him the opportunity late that very same night to dig up the grave and settle once and for all whether Y/N Frazier had died.  It would help clear up some of the questions and theories when he found her body in the coffin, and it might put them back at square one in figuring out why this place and this name had been chosen by Y/N, but it would help bring them back to a world that made some sense, and it would help weed out a few questions that these legends and stories had brought up.

He didn’t want to think of the implications if the grave was empty.  He doubted it would be, but if it was...then this entire mess went far deeper than he could ever imagine.

Perhaps that was why Erwin agreed to help him, why he’d paid off the caretaker to make sure the grave was empty but leave the section Levi was going to be in undisturbed until Levi left.  Erwin clearly hadn’t approved of disturbing a gravesite, especially the gravesite of a murder victim, but Levi had strongly believed it was necessary despite his own misgivings, so Erwin had relented.

Now, Levi was in a hole that passed his head, digging the last few inches to the willow coffin Y/N Frazier had been buried in, filthy and tired but determined to get to the bottom.  Just a little further, and he would have his answer.  He would see the bones in an undisturbed grave, fill in the grave once more, go home, wash up, hate himself for a while for doing this to confirm what he already knew, and then go back to trying to figure out why L/N seemed so deeply connected to this place.

He hadn’t found any bodies frozen on its way to the surface, so he could already rule out the legitimacy of the children’s scary story about Screaming Sally, at least.

The shovel Levi was using scraped against something solid, and Levi paused.  Here it was.  He’d found it.

Kneeling down, Levi started brushing away at dirt so he could find the coffin lid, fingers brushing against wood, hand brushing a little harder to smooth away dirt--

He had to pull his hand back as he unexpectedly came into contact with splintered wood sticking up into the dirt, piercing his hand and drawing blood as he jerked in surprise, breath catching.

No…

A few more careful brushes with his hand, and he was staring at a coffin lid that had been busted open, shards of wood buried in dirt, but the hole clearly enough for a person to crawl out of.  He froze where he was as he stared at the sight before him, the odd, irrational fear that a hand was going to burst out of the hole and grasp his wrist strangely flashing through his mind before he pushed it aside.  He wasn’t breathing anymore, an admittedly trembling hand reaching out to pull back the lid, just to double check and confirm what he was seeing.

The grave was, in fact, empty.  The coffin was busted open with gouges that had old red stains upon them, as if it had been punched and clawed through from the inside.

His blood running cold and his breaths shallow, Levi had to fight not to think of the haunting image Briarton had described, the fear in L/N’s eyes, and the mental image of a woman trapped in this grave screaming and crying for help, having to tear apart her own body and defy all odds to crawl her way to the surface, tried not to imagine the terror of being buried alive like this.

Kenny had been right.  There was always a bit of truth to the legend.  He never imagined it would be this much truth, though.

When Levi returned to HQ, the first thing he did was clean himself up and get changed.  Then, he made himself some of the tea L/N had gifted him, choosing one of the blends meant to calm in the hopes that it would help settle his nerves after what he’d seen.

Outside, he might still appear stoic, but inside, he was shaken.

Once he was clean, he had his tea, and he felt he had a better grip on himself internally and he was ready for the conversation, he went to Erwin’s office and very solemnly relayed his findings to the man, who looked no less disturbed by this unexpected turn of events than Levi had been.  They’d expected some kind of secret while digging into the truth about L/N, they hadn’t been expecting a full blown conspiracy on this level.

Once Erwin was up to speed on Levi’s findings, they started to hash out some theories and details, both of them well aware that they were still missing something crucial as they attempted to make a broader picture with the pieces they were currently in possession of.

The running theory they were working with was that Y/N Frazier was L/N’s mother.  It was the most logical connection they could come up with, even though it dumped a whole new slew of questions into this mess.

Why did Frazier run after she crawled out of her grave?  Why not return to her home and family, alive and well?  Why leave the town behind and everyone in it believing she’d died so terribly?  Why never come back to tell who had attacked her and her friend Victoria?  What happened that night forty years ago?  How had she managed to crawl her way out of a grave?  Why had she instead disappeared somewhere inside the walls never to be discovered or heard from again, hiding her true identity remarkably well?  Or more importantly, how had she been alive?  How did she survive those injuries?  Had a mistake been made and she’d been assumed dead?  Was the report faked?

How was the Underground supposed to come into play in all of this, and what part did L/N have in it as well?  If Frazier was indeed L/N’s mother, was Frazier still alive and living in the Underground?  Was that why L/N went down there every now and then?  Why not bring her mother to the surface with her?  Why, when she came to the surface, did L/N take Frazier’s first name and not use her last name?  Why not use her real name?  How did the events of forty years ago play into now, and how had it had an affect on L/N?

As always, whenever they uncovered something about L/N, it always came with a thousand more questions.  They could theorize all they wanted, but it wouldn’t bring them closer to finding the answers that they craved at this point.

And still, despite the shock and the...unease he had felt to find the empty grave and realize the reality of what happened in that town--or at least part of it--Levi still felt like there was another reality altering twist in this dark tale that was unraveling in front of them that would be far worse.  He still felt like they were far off the mark, that the still failed to understand the reality of what they were stepping into.  More than ever, Levi felt there was something dark behind this, and he began to feel the first hints of malice surrounding these secrets.

Whatever L/N was hiding, at this point, Levi knew it had to be dangerous.

Erwin’s concerned eyes probed Levi’s expression as Levi gazed at the empty teacup in front of him, well aware that despite his feeble attempt to calm his nerves and thoughts, he wasn’t going to be able to sleep tonight.

“Levi--” Erwin started to say in a grave tone of voice, but Levi cut him off.  He knew what Erwin was about to say, and he already knew what he had to do next.

“I know.  All I’m waiting for now is for her to make the next move.  This time, she won’t shake me.”

Next Chapter---->

Levi Tags:  @clary-quinn @humanitys-hottestsoldier@whalerus @sunny-flo @thirstyforsometea​

Wings in the Dark Tags:  @regalillegal @animeluver23 @theshylittleelfgirl @queenthorin1 @dilucs-thighs @sociallyanxiousmouse

[delimeful]

the end of being alone (3)

Ch 1 | Ch 2 |

warning: mentions of fear, crocodiles, discussion of teeth

-

Logan found himself grateful that he’d made arrangements to postpone their other jobs for a bit, because it looked as though they’d be staying firmly on this planet’s surface for a while.

There had been all of one attempt to bring Virgil aboard the Mindscape, and it had resulted in a significant amount of crying from both the child and Patton. Whatever circumstances had led the Human to this planet, it had left them deeply fearful of any sort of spacefaring vessel.

… This did not annul Logan’s suspicions about smuggling, though he was careful not to say as much in front of Virgil. The child was keen, and any time the fact that they were a Human was mentioned, they withdrew and began displaying body language that Logan believed indicated a desire to flee. Checking that exits were still there, putting space between themself and any of the Mindscape’s crew, anxious tics, and so forth.

Needless to say, they avoided the topic.

However, to Logan’s surprise, the child didn’t seem at all adverse to basic questions about themself. Understanding their responses was rare, of course, but the kid was picking up on Common with a shocking quickness, and Roman had turned out to be rather talented at interpreting their gestures when they didn’t have the right words.

The data that Logan had collected from these inquiries was both strange and intriguing. He’d carefully woven a mental list of it all.

1. Virgil seemed to identify by he/him, though whether that was an actual gender preference or simply a child wanting to be called the same pronouns as the three of them was up for debate. Either way, Logan seriously doubted that there was any way to convey the nebulous concept of gender through a language barrier, so he let the matter lie.

2. After eating too fast, Virgil would convulse slightly in a semi-rhythmic pattern for a short period. He didn’t seem alarmed or pained by this, only slightly irritated when it would interrupt him mid-sentence. The condition of ‘hiccups’ was thankfully temporary, since it made Roman quite jumpy. For their tiny, squeaking nature, Patton had called them ‘hicchirps’, which was ridiculous, but Virgil seemed to enjoy any and all wordplay that made it through his grasp of the language, so Logan stowed his complaints.

3. Virgil was terrified of the locals. Despite being plainly evident, this observation didn’t make sense at first, seeing as the nearby town consisted primarily of native Hiiynal and a few offplanet transfers, none of which could be described as particularly dangerous or violent. After a few days of gentle questioning and no reprimands for not answering, Virgil finally told them that the locals would ‘chase monsters far away’ and so he couldn’t risk getting near. Questioning was temporarily halted in favor of showing the Human the art of shadow symmetry, for purely scientific reasons, of course. 

(Supposition: Human children enjoyed movement games.)

4. While the synthetic meat from the ration kits was accepted by Virgil, he showed a surprising preference for sweeter food items, such as fruit and sugar crystals. Seeing as Humans were rumored to be obligate carnivores or even raw flesh-eaters, this was a strange discrepancy. Virgil had even eaten some of the leafy vegetables Logan had brought, face pinched up in disgust but insisting that eating ‘greens’ would make one tall. It was unclear to Logan what color had to do with nutrients or growth. He was also slightly alarmed at the implication of Virgil being short for his age.

5. Virgil seemed, for all intents and purposes, fixated on Roman.

The latest data point was a work in progress. Logan hadn’t mentioned it to Roman himself, because the Cravon was already fairly worked up over everything the Human did as it was. Nobody seemed sure if this jumpiness was because of the Human child, or on behalf of it.

Still, it was present in little ways. For example, even as he answered Logan’s latest series of questions, his gaze would occasionally flicker up from his hands to Roman, who sat at the mouth of the little cave, carefully peeling more fruit. It wasn’t about the food; Patton had taken it upon himself to make sure the child knew he only had to ask to get something to eat. No, this  ‘almost-staring’ was a frequent occurrence, no matter what Roman preoccupied himself with.

“You were saying you met… Susan… when another predator was attacking it?”

Virgil nodded, hurriedly looking back to his hands. “It was a big bite monster, and Susan was loud crying, so I did, uh,” he lifted his arms up, hands spread wide, “this, and I was loud at it until it ran away. Like raccoons back on Dirt.”

Dirt was apparently Virgil’s name for his home. Logan hadn’t heard of ‘raccoons’ before. He decided not to get sidetracked. “I’d estimate the creature you saw was a Lifel. They are the natural predators of Humlilts.”

“Natural?” Virgil mimicked.

“It means ‘of nature’,” Logan attempted to clarify, gesturing around them. “In the wild.”

Virgil only grew more confused with the wide, encompassing gesture. “Sky? Was not flying.”

Logan glanced at Roman, checking that he was still preoccupied. Patton was back at the ship, contacting a friend for advice. There seemed no better opportunity if he wanted to avoid overwhelming Virgil.

“Virgil, would you like to try something new?” he asked, carefully neutral. It wouldn’t do to put any pressure on the child.

The Human squinted at him slightly, quick to use his most common phrase. “Will it hurt?”

“It will not hurt,” Logan replied, ignoring the tightening in his core with careful practice. It always felt so wrong, that a mere pupa would be so familiar with hurt. “I will always tell you if something might hurt.”

“Mmm.” The Human hummed, the way he always did when they told him such things. Like he wasn’t sure if he could believe it. “What’s it?”

“What is it,” Logan corrected automatically. “It is something I can do, to show you new words. Want to try a little bit, first?” That was the phrase they used for new foods, but it applied well enough to mindsharing.

Virgil clenched and unclenched his hands for a moment longer before nodding, going a little tense like he expected something unpleasant. Logan held a hand out to him, waiting until he’d reached out in return to start sharing.

Small, simple flashes of images and sensations. Quiet forests, shallow oceans, clean air. Plants, bugs, animals, humanoids, living and dying and living again. Nature.

Virgil had pinched his eyes closed immediately at the start of the low-level telepathy, and Logan only had a moment to worry that maybe it had hurt him in some manner.

Then, there was a feeling of recognition. Without a moment to spare, Virgil had grasped the nature of the Vidi and was projecting his own thoughts. Walking on a crunchy leaf-covered trail with other Human young, a winged insect emerging from a cocoon, the crack of thunder and heavy rain on a windowsill. Nature.

“Wow!” Virgil whispered, imprint thoughts flickering like flames, too quick for Logan to really see. “You see into heads!”

Logan pulled back slightly, offering a bit of content-smug in return to the Human’s awe. “That is one way of framing it, yes. So, you understand what I mean, about the Lifel being a natural predator?”

“Carnivore,” Virgil mumbled, and then offered image-thoughts of several creatures that Logan could only assume were from the deathworlder’s home planet. He watched with morbid curiosity as Virgil remembered a clip from a screen, displaying large ungulates with twisting horns crossing a river, and then being dragged underwater by a dark, writhing shape.

“That’s a crocodile,” Virgil told him, his eyes still closed tight in concentration. “They’ve got big teeth and they do death rolls. They look like alligators, but I know they aren’t because gators live in Florida.”

“Florida?” Logan asked. He wondered if perhaps ‘gators’ were kept in captivity for species preservation. Or perhaps they were too dangerous left in the wild?

Virgil showed him a memory of a long, reptilian form with a narrow, tooth-filled jaw. It was wading steadily through a swimming pool, not paying any mind to Virgil, who was sitting with his legs dipped in the pool, watching in fascination. “I lived there!”

“Oh,” Logan managed, his ears going numb with fear at the idea of a child being so near a creature like that. “So it would seem.”

The Human patted him carefully, a gesture of comfort. “It’s okay. The bad guys didn’t take any gators or crocodiles from Dirt. Just people.”

Virgil’s words trailed off, a sense of melancholy overwhelming him. Rather than find out more about the Human’s past, Logan felt an unreasonably strong urge to stop that sadness. “Could you perhaps tell me more about these… ‘crocodiles’? You seem to be quite informed on them.”

“I had a book about them,” Virgil managed, slowly dragging his thoughts away from his abduction. “Did you know some crocodiles have a… a ‘biting force’ of five thousand pounds?”

He had lapsed into English, the sentence sounding well-recited, but Logan still got the general idea of what he meant, and a strong image of a picture book, covered in writing he couldn’t read but still understood. If Logan was right about the measurement conversions, the fact was terrifying.

“That’s very interesting,” he mused, because terrifying and interesting often went hand in hand. “Are there any other predators that can bite like that?”

Virgil scrunched his face up in thought. “Maybe sharks. Oh, but for sure a T. Rex!”

Logan saw a very concerning glimpse of a large fish with too many teeth before Virgil’s mind switched to a cartoon depiction of a larger creature with also too many teeth. He was beginning to see a trend in deathworlder species. “I… see.”

“They’re all dead, though,” Virgil told him sadly, projecting a memory of a huge display of bones. He then seemed to perk up, glancing over at Roman again. “Except for in space!”

Logan narrowly avoided laughing out loud, covering his throat before the vibrating chirps could get far. So, this was the truth behind the Human’s interest!

“Roman is not a ‘dinosaur’,” he clarified, once he felt composed enough to do so. “In fact, I believe he rarely even eats meat.”

Virgil squinted at him. “Are you sure? Maybe he’s a secret dinosaur.”

Logan wiggled his fingers thoughtfully. “I suppose we’ll just have to check.”

---

“Roman, would you come here for a moment?”  

Roman looked up from his task, immediately suspicious. Logan sounded strangely amused, like he was on the brink of laughing at him. That was never a good sign.

Still, the Human was looking over at him with those wide, strange eyes, and he wasn’t about to run away. He got to his feet, leaving his pile of dana peels behind as he crossed the cave floor. “What is it, dear esteemed companion who would never take advantage of me?”

“I need you to show us your teeth,” Logan said, very much not being a dear esteemed companion who would never take advantage of him. Roman resisted the urge to hang his head in resignation. He should have expected this. The Ulgorii was shameless when it came to exploiting his friends for science.

“How about absolutely not?” he replied, because there were actually limits to his tolerance for shenanigans, and one of those limits was threat-displaying at a baby Human.

“Hold on, look,” Logan said, and then bared his own ridged teeth with a click.

The Human did his small grimace-smile back, entirely unphased. They both looked to him expectantly. Roman felt as though he was being ganged up on.

“Um,” Virgil said, painfully tentative, “please?”  

Roman felt extremely ganged up on.

He squatted, tail keeping him perfectly balanced, and pulled at the corner of his mouth to show some of his teeth.

“Woah,” Virgil breathed.

“See how the back teeth are narrow but dull? They’re designed to crack bones and get to the marrow at the center,” Logan narrated, like the nerd he was. “Roman doesn’t have the small incisors or sharp molars required for proper full-time carnivores.”

Roman almost reminded his crewmate to use small words, but Virgil seemed to get the idea, leaning uncomfortably close to stare. He then opened his own mouth, like he was planning to take a bite out of something, displaying a shocking number of tiny little bone-teeth crammed inside. Some of them were uncomfortably sharp.

Rather than attack anyone, though, Virgil touched his own teeth, carefully inspecting the shape of them. Roman resisted the urge to get him to sanitize his hands. Kits would be kits, he supposed.

Logan was patiently watching as Virgil pointed to each tooth in turn, and he obligingly recited the name of each type of tooth for the kit. His two lower arms took frantic notes on Human jaw structure, probably to prepare more elaborate meal plans better suited to a deathworlder diet. The kid soaked every bit of information in like a sponge.

Finally, after a long moment of thought, he announced, “My ‘lower canine’ is going to fall out in close time!”

“Soon,” Logan offered, always quick to interpret the Human’s occasional nonsense Common. “'My lower canine is going to fall out soon.'” And then, after a moment’s pause. “Wait, it’s going to what?”

And then, because Roman’s day needed more nightmare fuel, the kit bared his tiny fangs at them and poked one with his tongue, revealing that it did indeed seem to be sickeningly loose. In fact, Roman could see a few other gaps in the curved row of teeth, some with little bits of bone peeking out.

“Stars above,” Roman said, feeling a little faint. Logan was already interrogating a very confused Virgil on whether or not losing teeth was indicative of an illness or not.

“They’re just my little teeth,” Virgil told them, seemingly unconcerned with holes in his mouth. “I get big ones later.”

“There are plenty of species that have milk teeth, but to have their adult set not fully-formed by the time the milk teeth are ready to fall out…,” Logan quickly devolved into muttering, hands flicking.

“Doesn’t that hurt?” Roman asked despite himself, eyeing the kit just in case he was going to burst into tears all of the sudden. Roman himself had lost one or two front teeth before his next set had fully formed, and each time it had felt like biting on hot metal.

“Nuh-uh.” Virgil seemed to have moved from confused to amused, still not entirely sure what the fuss was all about. “Not unless I,” he mimed pulling on the tooth, and Roman made a click-click-click of parental don’t-do-that chiding before he’d even fully registered the alarm he’d felt at the motion.

Virgil clicked back at him curiously, sounding exactly like a tiny version of an exasperated parent. Roman tucked his face against his shoulder, unsure if he should laugh or despair.

This Human was really going to be the death of him.

[belleta]

The Forest - Part One

Consists: Supernatural, SKZ as different SN creatures, adventure, romance, drama, action, ......still trying to figure out all the details....lol XD

"Come on Y/N!", I was racing around the house. Trying to make sure I had everything for this trip. "Omg Y/N, let's GO~!" I swear to the universe she's going to thank me later. " I'm coming child!" I screamed back. Alrighty I just need my retainer. I bounded up the stairs and glided down the hallway with my cotton socks. Bursting into my room, I quickly scanned it for the sparkly emerald case. I caught sight of it out of the corner of my eye, "Boom!" I ran forward and snatched it off my windowsill. While leaping for my door, I paused and turned back to what I call my sanctuary. Call me paranoid but I'm kinda afraid of camping in the middle of the woods. Ever since I watched "The Blair Witch Project", I've been creeped.

It doesn't help that Jazzy forced us to watch the film, previous to this morning. I was drifting in the fairy floss clouds of my mind when a loud honk poured water on them. I sucked in a breath, blowing raspberries. Padding back over to my bedside, I grabbed my Ice Bear plushie. Giving it a quick squeeze and finally deciding that he's coming with me. Galloping back through the house, I made it out, locked the door and hopped in the back seat like a spring rabbit. "What took you so long?" I gazed up through my fringe at my girl bestie Jazmine. She had long beautiful honey blonde hair, and a mousy nose. Her blue eyes were alike with pebbles under a lake, with cheeks connected by a dash of light freckles. "I swear I just aged waiting for you" and Danny, our guy bestie. I've been best friends with Danny, since 3rd grade. Jazzy moved over during the 5th grade. All three of us have been with each other through thick and thin. Daniel was Hawaiian Japanese descent, had perfect colorful nails and absolutely gorgeous eye makeup. We were all dressed in casual, comfy clothes for the trip. Jazmine, or Jazzy as people call her, as the oldest. She was driving Danny's dad's truck. It was spacious and definitely was fit for the environment. Danny, second eldest was in shotgun and I, being the "baby", was in the back. "I was just making sure I have everything." The two rolled their eyes. Danny looked back at me "Girl, you need to chill. We've got everything and more" the boy stated. "I know, I know.....I'm just paranoid, you know.....being in the woods for a week" I looked down at my feet and played with my fingers to cover my embarressedness. "Awww, is the baby scared", Jazzy giggled, imitating a child. I swatted at her, "Let's just...finally go" I grumbled, reaching inside my bag to pull out my headphones. "Fine" they answered teasingly. While Jazzy was pulling out, I fastened myself and slid my headphones on. Bluetoothing them and unlocking my phone, I scrolled through my YouTube Music playlist finding the one named 'Bell Mix'. After that, I went back to the truffula trees and fairy floss. Just listening to my music and thinking about things. There were a couple times, where I thought I might get sick, but I had remembered my motion sickness bracelets. In your face! It's better to set out a little later, rather than having our vehicle reeking of my insides. 2 or 3 hours went by, or something. I'm not really sure, my brain doesn't really have a sense of time when I'm inside of it. We stopped to use the bathroom, get food and fuel at a gas station, maybe 2 hours away from the forest. "Can I, can I, can I, can I PLEASE?!?" I had been begging Jazzy to let me buy a bag of Haribo for 10 minutes now, and she was starting to break. I'm very persuasive as you find out, and I happen to be a very prominent weakness to many throughout my life. She finally gave in and I bounced away to the candy isle with glee and happily picked out a bag, promising to share. Jazzy just rolled her eyes and paid for our things. We trotted back to the car and continued our journey. It was nearing the end of 2pm when we finally arrived at the edge of the forest. It's lushes were absolutely perfectly splendid. The road continued for a hot minute, until it gave away to dirt and rocks. We didn't want to stray too far from the dirt road, so we slowly kept moving in until I suddenly exclaimed at the sight of a pretty little clearing. It had a few little bushes marking the edges, thick but soft looking grass, and a little dirt patch at one side that should be perfect for a firepit. We pulled over to take a look around, flattening a few bushes in the process. As soon as the truck came to a stop I shoved the door open and sprung down onto the flourishing forest floor. The first thing I did was take a deep breath to soak in the sweet scent of the untouched earth. I reached up, stretching and cracking a few of my bones in the process. Then I raced through the trees and undergrowth, toward the beautiful glade. It felt so nice to get away from civilization, I had always loved

getting away like this. Being able to recharge away from annoying people and sounds, my fears of the night were long forgotten. I was two steps away from the grass when I suddenly tripped over something. Tumbling forward and scratching my cheek. I landed on my face, but on the bright side it was luckily with no rocks around. The dirt however spared me at nothing, crawling into my fresh scrapes, was a sharp and quick stinging as I grabbed my face. "Seriously Y/N, we haven't even completely left the car yet and you've already managed to hurt yourself" Jazzy declared. Danny chimed in, "Did you hurt yourself at all?". Quickly inspecting myself, I responded "Yes, a tiny bit on my cheek, hands and knees", I could hear them muttering to themselves about how reckless I was sometimes. They started toward me and as I waited for them to catch up, I decided to look around and figure out where to put things for these next few days. While ogling the decently wide stretch that was conveniently shielded by a mighty sugar maple. I thought I saw something in the undergrowth a few meters away from me. I grabbed my glasses and narrowed my eyes, but right when I thought I saw whatever it was, two flashes shot in the opposite direction between the ferns and disappeared. They were kinda hidden but I could sorta make out one of the shapes was darker and slightly bigger. The other was a little bit easier but still was difficult, it was kinda brown, or maybe reddish? At that moment I felt two hands on my shoulders, "Let me see", it was Jazzy. She inspected my injury. "It'll be fine, just wash it off", "Okie-Dokie-Artichokie", she laughed and ruffled my hair. I gazed back at where I saw the two shapes but not even the bushes were still moving. "Hey!" I cocked my head back to the voice "Can you help me?" Danny was struggling to unpack from the back. "Sure thing Danny-O" I quickly stood up, maybe a little too quick. My vision went funny and I almost stumbled. "Oh my god Y/N! Be careful!" Jazzy scolded, "My bad!" I was a little all over the place at the moment. Finally we were on this trip! I mean, I waited 6 months for this and it's finally here! I'm not all childish, I'm actually very 4D. I'm just really excited okay? I more carefully walked back to the truck, where Danny was struggling to keep ahold of what appeared to be the tent. Over the course of the next hour and a half we set up everything. Goofing around and laughing. Danny had been pulling too hard on our sleeping bags, to wedge them out of the trunk. And had accidentally fallen onto the slightly wet dirt, causing a very prominent brown streak across his gray sweatpants and sky blue tie dye hoodie. I was currently on my way to find the stream that is supposably close by, with a screenshot of google maps and a compass. Service wasn't exactly a 5 star out here, but I didn't mind too much. I brought a portable WiFi router with me, so if Jason Vorhees just decided to pull one, we could call for help. Every so often I would hang a wooden heart ornament on one of the tree's branches, so if this was the correct way then we would never get lost. Also so that I didn't get lost right now. I had been making these last night, for these exact reasons. I swear only dumb people don't mark their surroundings, this is one of the main reasons why people disappear and are never found or get lost. There are no traces of where they've been, like these fruit loops really-...... After about another 20 meters I started hearing the sounds of water. It became louder and louder really quickly. Is there a waterfall here? I pondered, while quickening my pace with curiosity. 35 seconds later I came across a thinning in the trees and beyond a clear water stream. I finally broke out of the shelter provided from the thick leaves, the sun kissed my skin with it's warm touch. I looked around and sure enough, there was a small waterfall that looked straight out of a fairytale. It had multiple uneven levels, with smoothed boulders everywhere. And to top it all off, it had little water plants scattered around it. Absolutely

beautiful.... I scanned around and spotted a few giant boulders poking into the stream. I carefully picked my way over to them, clutching onto Danny's muddy clothes. Hopping onto the sunlight warmed stones, I positioned myself perfectly so that I could reach the water but wouldn't fall in. I reached into my pocket for my zip lock of natural soap, of course I didn't want to hurt this literally untouched land. I leaned down to dunk the fabric into the stream's crystal-like water and kneaded the brown smudge. It was decently cold, just perfect for a stream. I turned back to the small bag with a green bar wrapped with brown paper and a little herb decoration. I unzipped it and reached for a tiny hand towel I brought with me so that I would have a better grip on the soap, even if I got wet. After dunking the clothes in I took the bar of soap and swiped it all over. I dipped it into the water once to help the bubble come, then I started aggressively rubbing it. Once the outfit was foaming with suds, I slapped it into the brook. Holding onto the sleeve I rub it harshly all over to get the stains out. It was relatively still easy because the events of cause were only moments before. I was starting to disappear into my thoughts, getting deeper and deeper and deeper....... And just then a crash and from the trees, followed by snarls and barks. I was so lost in my thought that this jolted me into the canal. The water suddenly became ice cold, my scream had been washed away. A surge of water filled my lungs from the way my mouth was open to yelp. I could still hear the sounds of fighting every so often, when I would surface. My head was hurting, my skin was stinging and my lungs were screaming. Someone.....please help..... It was hurting so much, I was trying not to panic. So I could find the surface and get back to shore. I would break through it's crisp arctic clutches every so often and would cry out for help but then get cut off by the now frosty darkness. I was giving up to the stream and submitting to the coldness. Letting it swallow me whole. I was numb, I couldn't feel my body being thrown around anymore, Is this how my story ends? No! I don't want to! I still have things to do! I need to graduate, and find my passion! I need to find a man who will love me as much as I do! I need to birth young and care for them! I want to grow old with my partner happily! I can't die yet! I just can't! But it was just so cold. I had stopped moving violently, so I guess I had been poured into a lake or something. I didn't care anymore. My blood felt frozen, I couldn't even bend a finger. That's when I felt a force near me, it parted the waters. Moving me in a different direction with its power. Then not long after I felt something grab hold of me in an awkward way. I was starting to be pulled into another direction, as the water streamed around, parting to let me and whatever that was saving me through. Then I broke through the surface and that was the last thing I felt before slipping into a comfy unconsciousness.

[soggy-platee]

What Do We Do Now?- Chp. 1

Rating: E for now, explicit in later chapters

Pairing: Din x fem!Reader

Summary: A certain Mandalorian picks up your bounty.

Read on ao3 here!

You were really regretting your decision to not cut your hair this morning, as it was the sole reason you were currently face down in some dusty cantina with both of your wrists in a bruising grip behind your back.

In the spare moment you have in the time it takes for the Mandalorian to slap a pair of cuffs onto your wrists, you think back to the events earlier that day.

…

Tatooine was hot, and you hated it. You had been hiding on the dusty little planet for a little over 3 months. With a bounty looming over your head, you knew you needed to find a planet where the Guild no longer operated. Tatooine wasn’t the best option, still filled to the brim with Outer Rim scum, but it would work.

At least, you thought it would.

You stared at yourself in the small mirror, in the small refresher, within the even smaller flat you managed to rent out with your limited supply of credits. Tired eyes stared back at you, this whole “fugitive of the law” was getting to you. You took to the role pretty well, however. You knew you weren’t notable, and that’s the way you liked it. Average height, average build, average everything. You knew standing out would get you into trouble, so you did your best to avoid it at all costs. The only reprieve from this normality you allowed yourself was your hair. It was exceptionally long for a blazing planet like the one you currently resided on. When braided, how you normally wore it, in one long rope down your back, it easily reached the curve of your ass.

Today, like every day, you thought about cutting it off at the nape of your neck. You knew it would be better for you in the long run.

It would at least cool me off, you thought sourly.

Despite the logic in it, you could never bring yourself to do it. Maybe it had to do with your mother and the often horrific haircuts she managed to give you consistently as a child. You shivered at the thought of your mother finding out about the bounty on your head. She would kill you herself.

You didn’t mean to end up like this. Parents dead, no family left, and most importantly, no credits had left you in a tight spot as a young woman in the Outer Rim. You knew there were only two options for someone in your position, and you certainly were not pretty enough to make money off the most common option, so you became a thief. Petty at first, only stealing from those you deemed deserving. As you grew older, however, so did your crimes. Larger values, higher-profile targets, until you stole from the wrong person. Well, not stole per se. More like freed. Some high-profile dignitary from the Empire who still had influence. You had only planned to take the typical valuables, credits, and such. It was only by coincidence that you happened to free what you assumed was a typical house slave.

She had found you mid-job, begged you to get her out. She had looked so broken. So innocent. You cursed to yourself and hauled her out of the mansion with you.

Apparently, that “house slave” had really been “Mrs. Important Dignitary”, so essentially, you stole the guy’s wife. Great. If only you hadn’t been so soft. You knew it would get you in trouble. You knew-

You were shaken out of your thoughts by voices outside your window.

One soft, speaking so quickly they were almost tripping over their words. You creaked the door to the fresher and peaked your head out just enough to see though the small window in the side of your flat and into the alley beyond. You saw the quiet figure, but couldn’t exactly make out what they were saying. A young man you realized now was a local of the area, you had seen him around. But why did he look so scared? You craned your neck in an attempt to see who was frightening this man so, but you couldn’t do it without being directly in the mystery man’s eyeline. So you waited for a response as the other man trailed off. However, one never came. You simply saw a wild reflection of the light of the suns dance over the ally as you assumed the other person turned to walk away.

Armor, your stomach dropped as your mind supplied the explanation. Whether or not this person was here for you was still up for debate, but you knew they were dangerous. Only dangerous people still wore armor in the face of the blazing heat of Tatooine.

Once you were sure the armor-wearer had left, you snuck out of the fresher, grabbed your blaster, and vaulted quietly out the window to tail the other man. You fell into step behind him as he exited the ally and entered the busy street. You followed him through the crowd, staying enough paces behind him that he didn’t notice. You followed him for a good five minutes before he took an abrupt turn down another deserted alley. It was at this point he noticed you following him and tried to break into a sprint.

You were on him before he could even let the first beat land, pressing him up against a building lining the way with your arm at his sternum. He was taller than you, so you pointed your blaster up and dug it under his chin.

“Who the hell were you talking to?” you demanded, dropping your voice to the most intimidating octave you could muster.

The man in front of you sputtered, eyes wide with fear. You needed an answer.

You dug your blaster harder into the soft flesh under his jaw, presumably making it harder to breathe.

“Who?!” you practically growled at him, hoping it would do the trick

The man opened his mouth as if to answer you before the words died in his mouth. His eyes went even wider than before, if that was possible, and fixed on something above and behind your head. Your eyes remained on the man, but something behind him distracted you just as equally.

The same dancing lights you had just seen outside your flat made their way across the building behind the two of you. Your head whipped around to see a wall of armor standing at the mouth of the ally.

That bastard sent a Mandalorian? You were dead. That’s it, game over. Dead.

Even though your brain knew you were dead, your instincts still kicked in enough to release the man and shove him toward the entrance of the ally in one swift motion before taking off in the opposite direction. You fought the urge to turn back as you ran harder than you ever had in your life.

He knew I saw him question that man, he knew I would follow him to get answers.

At least you would get taken down by a clever bounty hunter.

More pressingly, you were coming to the end of the ally, closed off by a large gate. No way over it, you thought, too high. Sides? Pressed flush against the building, no getting through there. Bottom? Now there’s an option. The bottom was just high enough off the ground for you to shimmy through. Even though you only caught a glimpse of the Mandalorian, you knew he was too bulky to ever follow.

You might actually get away with this.

You dared yourself a glance back and the Mandalorian was nearly on you.

How is he so fast with all that shit on him?

You were only a few paces from the fence, it was now or never. You dove. Your upper body sparked in pain as you impacted the rough dirt. You slid smoothly until your ass hit the fence. Dammit. You desperately shimmied the rest of the way under the fence. You were almost there. You were going to make it.

Then you felt a grip on your boot, the only part of you not under the fence. You yelped loudly as you were ruthlessly pulled back, the majority of your calf returning to the other side. Your fingers clawed at the ground and your other leg kicked desperately at the gloved hand that held you.

Maker, he’s too strong

With another tug, you were almost up to your knees on the other side of the fence. While you were grunting and panting hard, the helmet behind you was absolutely silent, unnervingly so.

You knew you had to come up with something now. He still only managed to have you around your left ankle, so you brought your other foot up and pushed at the top of your left boot, hard. It slid free of your foot, and with one more push, your socked foot came out and pushed off the ground for leverage. He grabbed only a moment late as the last bits of you slipped under the fence. You kicked desperately at the ground and ran, only pausing when you were sure there was an absence of footsteps behind you.

You turned briefly and saw the Mandalorian standing there. A thrill ran through you.

What?

This man was trying to kill you, and yet the sight of him just standing there, glowering, still gripping your boot in his hand sent fire to the pit of your stomach. He was tall, taller than you first realized. Even in the alley far apart he seemed to crowd over you with his presence alone. You met where you assumed his eyes would be behind the t-shaped visor.

You could only imagine what he saw. Your eyes wide, mouth open, covered in dirt and wearing only one shoe.

This image of yourself roused you from your frankly insane thoughts, and you turned and ran.

…

After getting over what little pride you had garnered from managing to escape a Mandalorian, you realized how absolutely fucked you were.

Where were you supposed to go?

You couldn’t go back to your flat, that was out of the question. You couldn’t shack up with anyone you knew and liked in town, that would automatically put them in danger. You couldn’t shack up with anyone you knew and disliked because they would never let you in the front door, probably try to deliver you to the Mandalorian themselves.

So you end in the only place in which you knew you could get passage of the planet, the cantina. Thankfully it was busy tonight, so you could blend in well enough. You waited well late in the night, hiding close enough to see the entry and exit. No armor in sight. After your anxiety had built to a crescendo, you pushed yourself out of your hiding place and, on shaky legs, made your way to the front door. You entered with your hood pushed up over your head and your braid tucked into your cloak, trying to move as inconspicuously as possible. That was, until you heard your name shouted as loudly as possible.

You winced as your name echoed throughout the room and heads turned, yours slowly moving to face the voice that gave you away.

Ali. You love her to death, but she wasn’t the brightest one in the galaxy. She beamed at you from behind the bar, surrounded by patrons and their wandering eyes as usual. Ali was beautiful and she loved the attention, something you very much did not need right now.

You quickly made your way over to her at the bar, the serious look on your face made her cheerful expression drop at once.

“What’s wrong? Are you okay?” she questioned, still in a too-loud voice.

“I’m fine, just hiding” you gritted out from behind clenched teeth.

Ali seemed to get with the program then, lowering her voice and body to match your crunched position over the counter.

“Someone’s collecting on your bounty?” she whispered intently, with a trace of concern for you in her voice that softened your previous anger at her.

You had told her about your bounty about a month after being in town, you trusted her, she was good. That is why you very much did not want her caught up in this mess.

“Yes”, you replied, “A Mandalorian”

You saw the same realization hit her as had hit you.

“You’re dead” she said with wide eyes.

Great.

“I know, I’m trying to get off-planet. Are there any ships passing through tonight?”

“Not that I’ve heard, I’m sorry”

She really was.

You gave her a tight smile and turned to leave when you heard your name for a second time that day.

This time, it came from a gruff, older voice, and it came from a man pointing right at you from across the cantina.

The man was standing next to a solid wall of armor, with a familiar visor pointed straight at you.

Shit.

He made for you before you could make for the door, crossing the floor in seconds and grabbing your cloak. The same trick worked twice apparently, as you reached up and released the clasp around your throat and pushed yourself to a sprint toward the door.

You were going to make it, you were so close, you-

The next thing you knew, a blinding pain erupted from the back of your head and the world tilted around you until your shoulders smashed into the rough floor.

He grabbed your braid.

That was low.

One hand still wrapped tight around your hair, his other hand was used to flip you onto your stomach and wrench your wrists behind your back. Cuffs were slapped on and hummed to life as his knees caged your back. You bucked, trying to get him off you, or at least make him move, but he was solid.

The lost chance of cutting your hair this morning flashed in your mind, you grimaced with regret.

You kept thrashing, and in return, he wound your braid around his hand and yanked, earning a yelp from you as your head and chest were lifted from their place smashed into the ground and his helmet lowered so it was level with your face.

“I can bring you in warm, or I can bring you in cold”

You stilled. It was the first time you heard his voice, and it sent a thrill through your spine. Maker, what was wrong with you.

The slight arousal was quickly tamped down and replaced with overwhelming fear as he wrenched you from your position on the ground and to your feet.

The entire cantina had gone quiet with your brawl, all eyes on you both. As he pulled you into a standing position, he cast a glance, or at least you thought he did, at the other patrons, who all quickly averted their eyes and continued their conversations in hushed whispers.

He began to pull you to the door and you made final, desperate eye contact with Ali who looked devastated. You gave her a small smile as a goodbye and the door to the cantina slammed shut behind the two of you.

...

[theskywaslookingback]

2020 is almost over and I just wanted to share some of my favorite lines from fics that I’ve worked on this year. No particular order because I’m bad about remembering when I started and finished a piece.

Jon’s flat is cold and musty. It’s obvious from the moment they step inside that it hasn’t been occupied in some time. The curtains are pulled tight over the windows, the light from the street peeking around the edges with a hazy yellow hue. Dishes have been left in the dry rack, a mug on the counter containing something that might have once been tea. It’s stifling in its bareness, empty walls and heavy bookshelves. The only point of warmth comes from two hands clasped together in desperation. - doubt, these are the ways that i love you series

Jon wants to pull him closer, let Martin crawl into the skin of him until they are not two but one and Martin never feels lonely again. - doubt, these are the ways that i love you series

“It’s just Daisy,” Jon says, “she’s not- she won’t hurt us.” The end lilts upward like a question. Light roves under his clothes, the cloth wrapped snugly around his face. All of his eyes flickering back and forth between hunter and lover. Each time they land on her it feels like a blade. It feels like a kiss. - home and safety, apocalypse now series

“Love you,” Gerry breathes, because he can. He’s too full of it to hold it inside of himself anymore. He always has been. - 3AM, visible world series

“If I step on your foot,” Martin says tightly. “I’ll step on yours back, Blackwood.” Laughter crashes out of him like a battering ram and Martin presses closer, pulls Gerry in tighter and lets himself be guided around the kitchen in clumsy circles. - Summer Air, visible world series

“You know, you could just go to a salon.” Jon says, but he’s already standing and reaching for the box. “This is cheaper.” “I know. You can tell.” “Hey--” -6PM, Saturday Night, visible world series

“Jon, no person’s desires are consistent from day to day. You’re always allowed to change your mind.” “But even I don’t always know,” Jon says thickly, “that’s-- you’ll get tired of it. Or Gerry will. And I’ll be--” “Stop that.” Martin says, but it doesn’t feel like an admonishment. Like everything about Martin it sounds kind and measured. “You are so, so hard on yourself, you know that?” Jon knows. “Yes.” “Love is not easy,” Martin says, “especially for people like us. We’ve had to work for this, all three of us, every day of our lives. I’m not going to get tired of you. I’m not going to be upset if boundaries change. I’m just going to learn the new rules, over and over, as many times as are needed.” Martin drops down to press their foreheads together and Jon feels his eyes close involuntarily. “I love you. I choose to love you, and I will continue choosing to love you every day for the rest of my life. Okay?” - Abrupt, visible world series

There is something between Gerry and Martin that Jon doesn’t understand, though not for lack of trying. He can see it now, in the tremble of Martin’s jaw and sudden sober wakefulness on Gerry’s face. He tries not to feel that familiar awkward ache in his chest that reminds him there will always be things about his partners that he doesn’t understand. - Intimacy, visible world series

“Why?” Jon asks. It sounds startled out of him, like the abrupt firing of a gun. The tape crackles in Jon’s hand, growling like an aching, hungry stomach. “I mean, why do you care?” He doesn’t sound accusatory or angry, just curious. ‘ I don’t ,’ is what Tim wants to say. It’s what he means to say. But instead his stomach swoops and the words tumble from his mouth, unwanted and unbidden but true, “You’re all I have left.” Jon’s mouth does something funny, trembling into an ‘o’. He fumbles for words, though nothing comes out but vague stammering noises. Tim snarls and grabs him by the shirt, twisting his hand in the fabric and pulling hard until Jon meets him chest to chest. “Do not do that to me ever again.” “I-I didn’t mean to--” “ Don’t. ” - litany (in which certain things are crossed out)

She’d gone out for lunch an hour ago on her own. It felt like a test, the gnawing hunger in her blood versus her will to make it be still, no one there to hold her accountable except for her own desire to be better. It was alright, fine. She’d gotten a sandwich at the cafe and impulsively ordered a salad to take back to the Institute for Sims. God knew he’d never remember to eat if she didn’t remind him. - Days Before; Unwinding, chaper one

She can feel his mouth against her neck, lips wet as he tries to speak. She holds him tighter, feels his fingers dig into the fabric of her shirt. “Shhh,” she rumbles and feels him sigh. “I know. Be still.” She slides a hand into his hair, rubbing fingers against his scalp the way her mother did for her after nightmares as a child. His breath hitches and she knows he’s crying, silently in a way that makes her wonder when he’d learned to quiet his own sadness. “I’ve got it, I’ve got you.” - Days Before; Unwinding, chapter one

Tim gestures at the piles of research vaguely, almost spilling coffee over his hand. Jon takes his mug. “Is that not why I’m here?” “Is it?” Tim gins, raising an eyebrow. “Sure there’s no other reason? A little Netflix and chill?” He’s joking, of course, he knows Jon has never expressed any interest in him in that way. Just a harmless flirtation, meant only to bring a little bit of heat to Jon’s face and neck. And that it does, the tips of his ears burning a ruddy red at the implication. “Tim-” - Days Before; Unwinding, chapter two

Gerry traces a finger over the constellation of freckles along Martin’s shoulder, up the side of his neck, almost light enough to tickle. He’s named some of the constellations before, called them things like Orpheus or Ariadne, pressing kissing into the bare skin until Martin giggles and presses him gently away. - Lazy Sunday Morning, visible world series

“I’m taking you to the doctor. Is the oven already off?” “Yeah, it– yes.” “Okay, just hang on to my shoulders.” “If you drop me–” “I can carry Martin,” Gerry says, hoisting Jon up from the ground, “you think I’m going to drop you?” Jon grumbles but presses his face into Gerry’s shoulder. - prompts, visible world series

Helen…is. At least it thinks so. Any state of being is complicated, as they were never meant to be a being. Helen was, and then very quickly and unceremoniously and all at once Helen was not. And they were Helen, and Helen was them. So, Helen was, and Helen is. The Archivist is, certainly. He’s pretending not to see, keeping his two front eyes shut in her hallways but all the rest of them creak open with curiosity. He follows her with his eyes closed, his hand outstretched to feel the bend and pulse of the wall. The way it shrinks and expands, undulating like an intestine. She wonders if he knows it is feeding on him. Not much. Not enough. But it is, it does. She does. [...] (The thing they were before was never any of that, because it never had to be. It was twisting lines, curving shadows, spirals and fractals. Being hurt. Becoming hurt. And it had turned that hurt on Michael, who had not always been anger and fear and sharp stark lines. And it would turn that hurt on Helen. But not yet. Not yet.) - prompts

When Jon makes his way back into the sitting room Martin is crouched in front of the radiator and frowning, the sleeves of his button down shirt rolled up to show the light brown skin of his forearm. He has a birthmark on his left arm, nestled next to the crease where his arm bends, a dark spot like a smudge of dirt that Jon wants to press his mouth to. - hands, unfinished

Martin appears a minute later from the bedroom  and takes his tea with a grateful little thanks before taking a sip and making a face.  “Tea is tea.” Jon mumbles.  “I’m not sure this still qualifies.” Martin says but drinks it anyway. - hands, unfinished

Martin’s hands are large and strong and lovely. Jon’s breath catches when Martin’s arm curls around his waist and he’s pulled back against Martin’s chest. He can feel Martin’s heart beating against his back, thudding almost as loud and hard as his own. Martin’s fingers settle over his stomach, splaying out. Jon thinks his hand could almost cover it completely and it sets off another round of shivering in him that has nothing at all to do with the cold. “Alright?” Martin whispers. “Yes.” “You’re shaking.” “I’m-- it’s cold, Martin.” Martin hums thoughtfully and lets go of Jon for just a moment, long enough to pull the duvet up higher around them before settling his hand back against Jon’s stomach. Jon curls his own hands in front of his face and grabs the blanket so hard his knuckles ache. - hands, unfinished

Jon hums in agreement, closing his book without bothering to mark the page. He starts to stand and has a sudden thought, freezing half in place, “Do I— do you want me to—?” He gestures vaguely at the hall, where the single bed lies unmade, and then down at the settee. Last night had been...well, wonderful; but it had mostly been a necessity. Now, with the radiator half-working, warming the bones of the cottage, they could theoretically get through the night alone without freezing half to death. He sits back down on the settee rather heavily and it knocks their legs together, though Martin doesn’t seem to notice.  Martin’s brows scrunch together and Jon has to fight the urge to smooth the skin back down with his thumbs. “Do I want what?” Me, Jon thought. He huffed out a sharp breath through his nose. “Do you want— do you want to sleep alone?” - hands, unfinished

“Thank you,” Jon says, his throat and eyes burning with unshed tears, “for having loved me.” Martin’s eyebrows furrow down and his hand comes up to brush Jon’s cheek. His fingers come away wet and Jon knows he’s lost. “Jon?” “It’s okay,” Jon says, even though it’s not. Even though his chest is painfully tight and he no longer knows how to breathe. “It’s okay.” “Jon what- oh. Oh…” Martin’s hands are so lovely and warm and real, one pressed to his face, his chest, his neck. “I did love you,” he says and Jon’s eyes close. There are lips, chapped from the cold and wind, pressed to his forehead. “I did,” Martin murmurs, “I still do.” “How?” Jon breathes out, ragged, his hands reaching for Martin’s wrists with desperate strength.  “How could I not?” - hands, unfinished

[baoshan-sanren]

Chapter 42

of the wwx emperor au that’s back to being called Emperor Wei WuXian And His Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Birthday

Prologue | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 Part 1 | Chapter 8 Part 2 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14 | Chapter 15 Part 1 | Chapter 15 Part 2 | Chapter 16 | Chapter 17 | Chapter 18 | Chapter 19 | Chapter 20 | Chapter 21 | Chapter 22 Part 1 | Chapter 22 Part 2 | Chapter 23 | Chapter 24 | Chapter 25 | Chapter 26 | Chapter 27 | Chapter 28 | Chapter 29 | Chapter 30 | Chapter 31 | Chapter 32 | Chapter 33 | Chapter 34 | Chapter 35 | Chapter 36 | Chapter 37 | Chapter 38 | Chapter 39 | Chapter 40 | Chapter 41

The summons come while the sky is still dark.

WangJi had woken with a tight sense of foreboding lodged in his chest, alert and on guard the moment his eyes had opened in the pre-dawn gloom. The events of the day before had certainly disturbed his equilibrium to such an extent that the anxiety and the trepidation do not seem out of the ordinary. The air is heavy in the Imperial guest chambers, weighed down with uncle’s disappointment and XiChen’s silent misery; in such an environment, it is difficult to trust one’s own instincts.

WangJi does not try. He moves though his morning routine as unobtrusively as possible, refraining from any unsolicited observations.

XiChen had not slept. If uncle had managed to sleep, no such thing can be garnered from the deep shadows under his eyes.

The small flame of joy in WangJi’s chest, so bright and unrestrained the day before, is now layered with bitter guilt. He has always experienced all of his happiness and misery with XiChen. They have always shared their burdens equally. It feels a betrayal, that this is a burden WangJi cannot make lighter for his brother, that he is powerless over the way their paths have diverged.

It is almost a relief, to have the heavy silence interrupted, to have something else to focus on for the time being.

The Imperial summons are for WangJi alone. Wei Ying is unpredictable in this respect; it is difficult to tell if he intends to sneak out of the Immortal Mountain again, propose for the second time, or if he simply wishes to have company with his morning tea. Nie ZongHui does not offer a reason for the summons, and WangJi does not ask. Still, the moment he steps out into the hall, his sense of foreboding increases.

The Imperial guest chambers have been heavily guarded from the moment the Lan Sect had taken up residence. However, the number of the guards had increased throughout the night, unnoticed by those within. Now, dozens of them stand shoulder to shoulder, forming an impenetrable wall outside the receiving hall.

Even more alarming is the fact that WangJi’s escort consists of thirty men, a mix of Nie Sect members and Imperial guards, all personally headed by the Lieutenant General of the Emperor’s army. The Emperor himself is rarely ever seen with such an excessive escort, especially within his own palace halls. It is slightly absurd, being surrounded by so many armed men, that they can barely fit through the palace halls without tangling in each other’s scabbards. The size of such an escort would suggest that their destination is some distance away, but hardly any time passes at all before he finds himself back in front of the doors to the Emperor’s personal study.

Immediately, he is both concerned and frustrated. If Wei Ying has summoned him before sunrise, with such an obnoxious escort, only to propose again, after he had promised to give WangJi time--

“Lan Zhan!”

The exasperation bleeds away in a hurry. Although it is difficult to pay attention to anything with Wei Ying’s bright smile turned his way, there are other people present in the Emperor’s personal study, each one a sharp reminder of WangJi’s current ambiguity of position.  

He is not yet betrothed. Even if he were, the level of familiarity he has displayed when alone with the Emperor will certainly not be seen as appropriate. He knows that kneeling will make Wei Ying unhappy, so he settles for a compromise; a bow, and a polite greeting.

“Your Majesty.”

He does not quite manage to complete the bow before Wei Ying has his forearms in a tight grip, and is tugging him forward.

“Do not address me so Lan Zhan, everyone present is family. You have met my uncle XingChen and Song Lan.”

Being pulled into the circle of people he hardly knows is more than a little discomforting. Song Lan is coldly polite, but the Rogue Prince, the person WangJi had actually offended, smiles in a warm greeting, for the first time displaying some physical resemblance to his nephew.  

“I know you have met Jiang Cheng and my Royal Companion as well.”

Jiang WanYin looks distinctly unhappy to see him.

Nie HuaiSang does not. He looks... half-asleep, and at best, disinterested in WangJi’s presence.

“I do not believe you have officially met Wen Qing.”

The day they were supposed to meet, the day WangJi had come upon Wei Ying covered in dirt, with a child on his hip, seems to have occurred decades ago.

WangJi bows, “Lady Wen.”

It is difficult to tell from her expression whether she approves or disapproves of him being present among the people Wei Ying had claimed as family, but WangJi has a clear impression that her approval is not something which can be easily obtained.

“Shijie should be here,” Wei Ying says, “but she had pressing business to attend to in the dungeons.”

Jiang WanYin snorts at that, but no one bothers to elaborate on the subject.

“Can we get on with this?” Nie HuaiSang says, “I would like to nap before the Gifting Ceremony.”

“You mean, you would like an opportunity to riffle through all the gifts before they are presented,” Jiang WanYin says.

He sounds irritable and cross. There is something defensive about his posture, the folded arms, the tightness around his mouth. WangJi does not know Jiang WanYin well, and cannot discern if this defensiveness is an ordinary occurrence, or a specific response to his own presence.

“I have already done so, yesterday,” Nie HuaiSang says, “so the joke is on you. By the way,” he turns to Wei Ying, “the set of jade hair ornaments from the LaoLing Qin are mine. They would look terrible with your complexion.”

Wen Qing and Jiang WanYin both roll their eyes at the same time. They do not seem aware that they have done so, as they appear to be taking particular care not to look in each other’s direction.

“We have the same complexion,” Wei Ying says.

Nie HuaiSang snorts, “Not even on your best day.”

“I have work to do today,” Wen Qing snaps, “can we focus on why we are here?”

A silence falls, one in which WangJi feels uncomfortably out of place. He is the only person who does not know why they are all gathered in the Emperor’s personal study, and he cannot help but wonder if he will ever feel a sense of belonging among the people Wei Ying considers his family. It is discouraging to think that he may always remain an unwelcome stranger, even once the marriage takes place.

“Second Young Master,” the Rogue Prince finally says, “You were perfectly correct in your assumption two days ago, and more than justified in your reproof. The man we are hunting is in the Immortal Mountain, and likely has been, all along.”

WangJi is not surprised. The thirty guards provided as an escort, just so WangJi could cross the length of the Jade Sword Palace, already implied the existence of some imminent threat.

It is somewhat of a relief, however, to have a rational explanation for his lingering sense of foreboding.

“The two servants connected with your attempted poisoning were killed by the same man,” Song Lan adds, “and it is possible that the attempt on the Emperor’s life, two days later, was also his work.”

“You are certain it is a man,” WangJi asks.

“We think it is a Jin Sect disciple,” Nie HuaiSang says, “Specifically one of these three Jin Sect disciples.”

The small piece of paper he passes to WangJi looks to have been folded up tightly, numerous times, by numerous hands. The three names appear unfamiliar at the first glance. Two carry the Jin name, but the third does not.

“Jin ZiXun,” he says, “is the Jin disciple who accused my brother of poisoning the Fan Sect Leader.”

“Jin ZiXun is not the one we want,” Nie HuaiSang says dismissively.

“You cannot be sure of that,” Jiang WanYin says, his tone quarrelsome.

“Jin ZiXun is clearly too stupid to commit mass murder, and not be caught in the process,” Nie HuaiSang counters.

“He must be an accomplice, at the very least.”

“He is too stupid to be an accomplice.”

“Okay!” Wei Ying says, “You have both had this argument three times now. Let us just-- move on.”

“We do not think that the Emperor is his target,” Song Lan says, as if Nie HuaiSang and Jiang WanYin had not spoken, “We believe that he is at the Immortal Mountain specifically because it provides him an easy access to a Sect that is fully removed from the public presence at all other times of the year.”

This does come as a surprise.

It had not been so difficult to believe that a hired assassin, or a random cultivator with a grudge, may be targeting the Lan Sect. But to be a target of a person who has collected the resentful energy from more than three hundred corpses seems preposterous in both theory, and in practice. WangJi cannot begin to guess what would motivate such a man to specifically attack the Lan Sect over any other.

“What none of them are brave enough to ask,” Wen Qing says impatiently, “is the Lan Sect’s history when it comes to the use of resentful energy.”

WangJi feels himself stiffen at the implication. Perhaps she did not mean to sound accusing, but it is difficult to hear the words in any other context.

Before he can respond, Wei Ying’s fingers are wrapping around his wrist, his body shifting slightly so his shoulder is in front of WangJi’s own. It is a small movement, barely half of a step. And yet, the intention is clear, and the result indisputable.

Wei Ying is shielding him. From those he had, only moments ago, referred to as his family.

The defensive armor that WangJi dons so easily, as familiar as his own skin, melts away at the gesture. It leaves behind a hot, dry lump in his throat, one he cannot seem to properly breathe around.

“We have had this argument three times as well,” Wei Ying says, his voice hard, “The Lan Sect is clearly a victim.”

“Yes, but why,” Nie HuaiSang says, seemingly unbothered by Wei Ying’s gesture and tone, “Why focus on the Lan Sect?”

“A madman does not need a reason,” Jiang WanYin says.

WangJi wonders if Jiang WanYin would resort to explicitly defending the Lan Sect for no other reason than to be as contrary as possible.

“I do not believe that we can assume him to be a madman,” XingChen says gently, “His actions so far, the way his victims are chosen, his behavior here at the Immortal Mountain, it all points to a highly organized individual, one who carefully plans each step before execution.”

“A madman cannot be organized?” Wei Ying says, and Nie HuaiSang shoots him a look which seems to imply that Wei Ying is being intentionally dense.

“The point is,” Nie HuaiSang says slowly, “he has not chosen the Lan Sect on a whim. There is a purpose in his focus.”

“A member of the Lan Sect murdered the rightful ruler of the Shan Empire, and her Consort, all because her distant relative, long dead, had used resentful energy,” Jiang WanYin says impatiently, “I would think, out of all the Sects, they would be the least likely to meddle in this type of cultivation.”

He may be right, but his defense somehow sounds both like censure and an accusation.

In the next moment, Nie HuaiSang’s fan meets Jiang WanYin’s shoulder hard enough to make him wince.

“Do not be crass,” the boy says coldly, “Frustration is no excuse for incivility.”

“The Lan Sect is particularly skilled in dispelling resentful energy,” the Rogue Prince says, “I suppose it is possible that this individual sees them as a threat to his plans.”

“The Lan Sect also has a few hundred cultivators and disciples, all in possession of this particular skill,” Wen Qing counters, “Killing three of them would hardly make a difference.”

“But it is unlikely that any three together could equal the power and skill of the current Sect Leader and his two top disciples,” Song Lan says.

All eyes now turn on WangJi, as if expecting him to deny or confirm the assertion.

Still reeling from the fact that Jiang WanYin, of all people, had felt the need to come to his defense, WangJi needs a few moments to consider the question.

“I am less skilled than my uncle or my brother,” he finally says, “Among the rest, only my father, two of the Sect Elders, and Lan HanLi have an equal, or greater ability. None of those we brought to the Immortal Mountain can be considered particularly proficient or powerful.”

Everyone seems to consider this in silence, forming their own conclusions.

Wei Ying’s hand is still wrapped around WangJi’s wrist. The gesture should be awkward in front of so many witnesses, but instead, it is a soothing, grounding contact that WangJi does not want to relinquish.

He wonders at the power of Wei Ying’s touch, to instill in him a sense of comfort even among strangers.

“I still do not see why we cannot simply arrest all three of them, stuff them into the dungeon, and get a confession through torture,” Jiang WanYin says irritably.

“Because two of them could be completely innocent,” Wen Qing retorts, sounding equally as irritable.

“Is anyone really innocent?” Nie HuaiSang says.

“Certainly not you,” Wei Ying quips.

“You were never innocent,” Wen Qing says.

Nie HuaiSang’s smile, hidden behind the fan, is only evident by a slight crinkling in the corners of his eyes.

Song Lan sighs, rubbing his forehead, “XingChen and I believe that this individual’s last attempt to eliminate the Lan Sect must be tonight. The sects and clans are all due to depart tomorrow, and despite the recent... development,” his eyes slide off WangJi, “there has been no indication that the Lan Sect plans to remain at the Immortal Mountain. The seventh day banquet is traditionally a much more... unrestrained event than any of the others, likely to result in drunken fights and unseemly indiscretions. We think the individual will try and use the revelry as a cover.”

“We want you to be the bait,” Jiang WanYin cuts in bluntly.

“No,” Wei Ying says, his voice hard, “We have discussed this already, and the answer is no.”

“It is not up to you,” XingChen says kindly, “This person has repeatedly attacked the Lan Sect. Whether they have a hand in his capture is entirely their choice.”

Wei Ying does not seem to realize that his hand around WangJi’s wrist has tightened to the point of pain.  

“Wei Ying,” he says, fighting the urge to pull his hand back, “I am willing.”

“I will not put your family at risk again.”

“We will not be at risk. You will protect us.”

Wei Ying flinches, whirling to face WangJi, his eyes wide and lost, “How can you say that? I have done a terrible job protecting you.”

It is absurd, that he can be so sweetly endearing, and at the same time, so utterly maddening. WangJi is not sure if he would like to kiss him, or kick him. Perhaps both.

“All three of us are alive and unharmed. You have done nothing but protect us from the moment we had arrived at the Immortal Mountain. I trust you.”

Wonder of all wonders, he seems to have found a combination of words that will render Wei Ying speechless. His mouth is still moving, because he is Wei Ying, and apparently incapable of being speechless with his mouth shut, but no sounds are forthcoming.

Everyone else, however, is beginning to look noticeably uncomfortable in their presence.

Jiang WanYin, his expression sour, is the first to break the silence, “Ugh. Are we done?”

Nie HuaiSang smacks him on the shoulder again, “Why do you have to ruin the moment?”

“I do not want to see any moments. I want to finish this discussion, then leave.”

“I second that,” Wen Qing says.

“I will be the bait,” WangJi says firmly, ignoring the fact that his face feels uncomfortably hot, “Along with my uncle and brother.”

“Excellent,” Song Lan says, “We will meet again after the Gifting Ceremony to discuss the particulars.”

Apparently, he is in a hurry to leave as well, because he does not waste time tugging the Rogue Prince towards the exit. Jiang WanYin practically tramples Song Lan’s heels, and Wen Qing is only a step behind him. 

Nie HuaiSang is the only one who feels the need to take his time, and although his grin is wide and knowing, WangJi feels little resentment.

He does not know how to erase this silly, speechless expression from Wei Ying’s face, but he will start his attempt with kissing, and decide the rest depending on the progress he makes.

[undercoverwizardfanfiction]

Mud is Thicker Than Blood:

Sick Day

Summary: I said i’d put all the little shorts I have about the Mud Dogs and Donnie in one story, so here it is!

Gift for: @void-inked-pen birthday a while back. They are a amazing friend and a source of inspiration for me

Characters: Donatello, Loathsome Leonard, Mickey, Dastardly Danny, Myra, April O’Neil

Pairings: You’re in luck! all the pairings for this fic are just past this door [gestures to wall that has a badly painted door under it and the laundry basket above it that’s suppose to be some sort of trap]

“What is this supposed to be?”

Even though Len had been using as polite of a tone as possible, Danny still gives him a heated glare. He uses his spatula to scrape the blackened flat pastry off his frying pan and onto Len’s plate with the consistency of a dried brick. ”They’re called crespelle’s. My Dads used to make them for me and my siblings all the time.”

“Are they supposed to be…” Mickey pokes it with his flipper, “rocks?”

Danny lets out another angry huff. “I couldn’t remember the ingredients, alright??” he says, flipping another burnt disc onto a plate. Len uses his chopstick to poke at the burnt food. For someone who had known the sting of hunger many times and learned to not be picky, he finds himself wondering if he can sneak out back and compare the taste of the burnt disk to dirt.

The sounds of footsteps tells him the last member of their little family was coming down to join them. “Morning,” Danny calls. ”I got a nice big breakfast for my only grateful family member with taste!” Danny says as he starts stacking another plate.

Donnie is pulling on his hooded cardigan as he reaches the bottom step, eyeing the breakfast with a concerned eye. “Doooo I want to know?” he asks before looking to Len with a look that clearly says ‘remember how I never forget ‘best parents day’? you owe me’. It takes more than a little willpower to keep from laughing but manages to duck his head to hide his grin before turning to Danny.

“How about we spare my kid this time? He’ll never hit his height goals if he eats this.”

Danny unties his apron and stomps over and pours himself a cup of coffee all while grumbling about ‘uncultured swine.’ This time Len can't stop the snort that escapes him this time but when Donnie takes his spot at the table his smile falters as Donnie pours himself a cup of hot coffee. Leaning over the mug with a sigh, his normally dark jade complexion feels a shade lighter than usual and more than Len’s comfortable with. “You feeling ok?” he asks, moving his chair to Don’s side of the table. He puts an arm around Don's shoulders and without waiting for an answer he presses the back of his hand to Don’s cheek. The teen squirms at the contact but was unable to pull out of his grip.

“Dad, Dad, I'm fine I just didn’t sleep well. I had a bad dream again.”

“Why didn’t you come get me? You could have slept in my bed.”

“You got home late last night, I didn’t want to wake you,” Don says, still trying to twist his head away from Len’s hand.

“I’m the Dad here, Donnie. I’m supposed to worry about you, not the other way around.” But when he’s unable to find anything close to a fever he pulls away. He looks to Danny hoping he’d see something Len missed but the rat shrugs at him.

“Is it still ok to go tutor April today? Please? I’ve been cooped up here all winter.”

Len wants to say no, but sighs at the pleading look Donnie gives him. It had been a longer winter then usual, he didn’t blame his son for needing some space. He was no longer a five year old but he still had a hard time telling him no for no good reason. “Yeah, but if you start feeling sick you come home ok? Or ask Myra to help you home.”

“Yeah, yeah I know.” As Donnie downs his last bit of coffee he stands back up. Len had turned to poke at his breakfast again when he feels Don's arms wrap around his collar bone and rest his cheek on Len’s head. “I love you Dad. Thanks for being obnoxious and worried.”

“Aw. Love you too, silly gecko.” Len pats his arm in reciprocated affection. Donnie grabs his shoulder back and hurries out the front door. “Have fun!” Len calls after him. Only then did he look back to Danny. “He looked pale right?”

“Yeah but honestly it could have been the breakfast,” Mickey says, picking up a disc, “I even felt sick when I saw it.”

“First of all screw you,” Danny points at Mickey with his spatula, “Second of all, if he’s not feeling well he’ll come home. And third of all, next time you all can make your own crespelles.” Danny drops his last disk onto a plate when the shattering of ceramic fills the air. The three thieves blink at each other for a sec before Danny raises up the food slowly to show the plate underneath had been cracked in half from the sheer force of the crepe. With a defeated sigh, Danny drops his spatula. “Ok whose all for throwing these at trees and seeing if they shatter??”

Len and Mickey both raise their hands with a grin.

(#)(#)\/(#)(#)

“Donnie?”

Despite the softness of April’s voice Don jumps so hard his elbow hits the stack of April’s school books. It’s only by his reflexes that they don’t join the rest of April’s dirty clothes on the floor. It takes him a few moments to regather his scattered thoughts before looking to April. ”Did you say something?”

“Yeah, your name, like five times.” His oldest friend peers at him from over her glasses. “Are you sure you’re feeling ok?”

Donnie would have rolled his eyes if he wasn’t painfully aware of the migraine that would return if he did. Unfortunately, it had been haunting him ever since he woke up that morning. “For the last time yes. Uncle Danny made breakfast and it's just hurting my stomach. Now, the compound would be 23.6% more effective if you set the witch fire to exactly 129 degrees cinder.” He scribbles on the paper for a few moments before sliding it over to her. April casts him a suspicious look before looking over the paper again.

“If you ever convince your Dad to let you go to school, my Alchemy teacher would cry tears of joy. Again.” She pauses “They cry a lot.”

Don tries to smile but his aching head only allows him a half grin. As April starts adding his notes to hers he reaches for his yunomi of tea, not thirsty so much as needing the warmth for a subtle cold that clings to his skin.

There’s the sound of a door opening downstairs followed by the sound of a woman shrieking and dozens of items hitting the ground. ”A-April dear!!! I could use some help!” calls the unmistakable voice of the Mayor of witch town.

April was already out of her seat. “Coming Mom!” she calls hurrying for the door. “Don’t do my homework Dee!” she calls behind him.

“I would never!” Donnie says [even though he had already been reaching for her note book]. A few years ago he had the brilliant business idea, in lieu of being able to go to school himself, to do students' homework for them for a small [not so small] fee.

Of course before he could even launch his venture his Dad had found out and outright forbade it.

This time he’s unable to stop himself from rolling his eyes. The effect is instantaneous as the lights in the room become painfully saturated. He tries to cover his eyes but his world is already spinning.

It’s the last thing he feels before he blacks out

(#)#(#)

“I’m not angry, I’m just disappointed,” Len says in a tone that can only come from nine years of parenting experience. It does its job on Mickey who’s shoulders bunch up to the sides of his head, and even though Danny is trying to pull off ‘I don’t know how you think you can guilt trip me’ by leaning back in his seat. But it's hard to look innocent when the two of them are covered in mud.

“IT WAS DANNY’S FAULT!!” Mickey shrieks pointing at the rat. “After we knocked over a tree with one of his crepy things he told me that he knew alchemy that would make mud into chocolate and-and-“

Danny’s ‘calm bad boy’ dis option went out the window (which was also broken because of a wayward flying crepelle). “Who the hell raised you to be a snitch?!” the rat hisses.

“You did!! I learned it from watching you!”

The rat opens his mouth to argue before thinking. “Ok fine but I always taught you to get paid first.”

Len slaps a hand down his face. Normally he and Danny have reversed roles but he should have recognized that wild look in the rats eyes when Mickey was using one of the leftover crepelles as a tool sharpener. But Len, forgetting they were not in fact grown men but children pretending to be adults, had left them to their own devices.

There is a knocking on the door that makes Len sigh again. ”I have a fourteen year old and he has more common sense than you two.” He says in a way that is probably supposed to make them feel ashamed, but Mickey snorts loudly with his flippers over his mouth.

He opens the door to a flash of light that forces him to cover his eyes for a moment before his eyes adjust to the familiar form of the mayor of Witch Town. “Myrah?” He rubs at his eyes. “What’s going on?”

“I need you to come get Doniel, he has a fever and passed out while tutoring April.”

Len felt as though a cold chill had passed through his body, it was the only reason he hesitated. “Y-yeah just give me a sec.” He ducks back into the house, where Danny is already waiting.

”Len what’s-“

“Donnie passed out, I need you to come with me,” already the air of lighthearted teasing and jabs went out the window. Len is back down the stairs with a quilt from Donnie’s bed as Danny is grabbing his coat and tossing Len his. He almost feels bad for Mickey who can only watch on as the two exit. Myra waves her wand, the bright light from earlier returns, creating a portal in front of them. Len barely waits for the portal to form before stepping through. A moment later he is standing in the familiar oversized living room. He had been to the witch family house many times and each time was always surprised how disproportionate all the furniture was, (which made sense considering how tall Amaranth was).

The child in question was lying on the bright pink sofa under a thick blanket. There was a washcloth hovering over his head, every few seconds wiping at his brow. April looks at them when they enter with panic in her eyes. “I don’t know what happened Lenny, I went to help mom with groceries and-and when I came back-“

“Its ok April, it's not your fault.” Len takes her place by Donnie. His son's brow is furrowed underneath a layer of perspiration. Even though he already knows the answer, he presses the back of his hand on Don’s brow. His already racing heart is now beating so fast it almost hurts in his chest. He replaces the blanket Myra had given him with the one he had brought, wrapping him up in it before scooping him up into his arms.

“I’m sorry Len, if Amaranth had been here she could help but...” her fingers tap together anxiously as she watches the child in his arms. Len was always touched by how much Myra and Amaranth cared for Donnie. He never felt the need to have a partner (though he and Donnie both made enough ‘mom’ jokes about Danny to last a lifetime) it warmed his heart to know someone outside his family loved Donnie almost as much as he did.

“I know, thank you.” He moves past the mayor to where the portal was and in another flash he's back in front of his house where Danny is waiting. The rat reaches out and takes him around the shoulders and herds him inside. “He’s burning up Danny, I-I don’t know what happened, I felt his forehead his morning and he was fine, you saw me do it.”

“I know, I know.” Even though Danny claimed that he didn’t remember any of his medical training he’s already looking over Donnie. Trained eyes looking for anything that could tell him what was wrong. After a few moments Danny says to Len, “Get him into bed I’ll be there in a sec-“

“Ah-shouldn’t we put in him some ice?”

“No, the last time we tried that he almost went into shock before I stepped in. He’s a turtle, he can’t handle it.”

“I-I know.” Len unconsciously cradles Donnie closer to his chest protectively. He could still remember the terror of the time when Donnie got the Fall Flu and had a fever that burned his hand. They had gotten so desolate they had put him in a tub of ice to combat it. They had thought it was working until Don had fallen into a deathlike stillness. It was only then Danny had realized Donnie was going into shock and pulled him out so quickly they had knocked over their makeshift tub.

Now Len couldn’t tell if the shivers he was feeling were from Donnie’s sleeping form or from his own fear. Not until Danny put a hand on his shoulder and forced him to look into his eyes. “Can you get him to bed please? I’m going to mix together some medicine that Amaranth taught me and I’ll be right there, ok?”

Len nods “Ok, ok.” He lowers his cheek onto Don’s scalp as he carries him upstairs. It's only when the parent and child are out of sight does Danny let out a shaky sigh, running a hand over his scalp under his hat and forcing himself to calm down. He had never realized how much he depended on Len keeping a calm head. He hadn’t realized just how much he depended on that til they brought Donnie in. During missions Len had an eerie calm about him that he thrived off of. But it was moments when anything threatened the health or happiness of his child that threw Len in the deep end and forced Danny to step in.

“Mickey,” he says without looking behind him, knowing the poor eel was fluttering around not knowing what to do. “Will you please go upstairs and keep Len calm? Help him how you can til I get there.”

“Y-yeah ok.” The eel hurried to do as he was told. In that moment Danny allowed himself one more sigh before reaching under the cabinet and pulling up an old beaten box, filled with herbs and remedies he had swiped from houses over the years. He pulls out a notebook he had filled with some of Amaranth's recipients and pulls out a mortar bowl and pestle. Picking through a few jars of tiny shards and grinding them together before taking out an empty incense holder and pouring it inside. He made sure to secure the lid and take up the glass bottle under his arm before hurrying up the stairs.

A part of him had been scared that Len’s own fears would drive him to ignore his warning about the ice, but he entered Don's room just as Len was pulling a blanket over him. “Good job.” Danny moves past him to kneel by the bed, turning and handing the incense to Mickey. “Can you light this please? It’ll help clear the bacteria out of his lungs.” As he was twisting open the glass bottle he heard Mickey spark behind him before the smell of lavender filled the air (he ignored Mickey gagging behind him). He tips the tip of the bottle to test how much liquid was inside. Luckily, they still had enough for Donnie (he’d have to steal more later). He dabs his thumb with the light pink liquid before running it across Don’s burning forehead. ”There.”

“Is he ok?”

Danny had to commend Len on not asking him a million questions. He reaches back and pats his old friend on the knee. “The Willow Extract should help take his fever down, but if It doesn’t help in a few hours we’ll go to witch town.” He doesn’t get a response, but when he turns to look at him, he sees Len staring at his son. His dark eyes full of concern and fear that only a father could have. Danny stands up and steps back. “Len why don’t you sit with him for a bit, and I’ll make you some tea.” He makes eye contact with Mickey and jerks his head towards the door. After taking a moment to pat Len on the shoulder he follows him out the door.

Len finally lets his face drop into his hands with a shaky breath before the sound of a weak cough reaches him. When he looks up again he was filled with relief to be looking into Donnie’s feverish dark pink eyes. “Hey,” says a weak voice.

“Hey baby boy,” Len sits up on the edge of his bed. “How are you feeling?”

“Like someone tried to kill me with one of Uncle Danny’s devil pancakes.” He barely has enough wind to finish his sentence before he has to gasp for air. “Will you sit with me please?”

Len can't help but smile, holding the side of Don’s face with his hand for a moment before climbing over him and laying on his other side. Don turns his head and tucks his head underneath Lens chin. “I’m s’rry,” Don mumbles, “I-I didn’t know I was sick.”

“I know you didn’t, you’re not a good liar remember?” Len lowers his cheek onto his scalp. “You get that from your Uncle Mickey.”

“And you?”

“Nah, I’m a great liar,” he smirks down at Donnie, “I’m not going to teach you how to lie though until you turn eighteen,” he pauses, “Hundred.”

Donnie lets out a laugh that sounds more like a raspy balloon, but Len can tell he’s trying not to fall asleep again. He rubs Don’s arm over his blanket. “Get some sleep, I’ll be here when you wake up.” The teen gives a nod of acknowledgement before rolling towards him. A few moments later he's fast asleep again, breathing easier than he had been a few minutes ago.