#and they hunt ghosts by simply scaring them off through their chaos

[peeballz69]

I WASNT ACTIVE THIS WEEK BUT IM BACK🔥🔥🔥🔥 I was in diss knee world and now I’m home so TAKE THIS ART OF A CHARACTER FROM A SHOW AND BOOK IM CREATING!!!! HIS NAME IS PEPPER COLLINS (PEP FOR SHORT) AND HES SILLY!!!! I drew this on my phone vertically on an airplane so if there’s any mistakes that’s prob why

[a-winchester-fairytale]

Happy Halloween

Summary: Watching movies with your best friend leads to a surprise ending

A/N: I meant to post this for Halloween, but the weekend kind of got away from me.  Since there were no trick or treats here, I didn’t have any candy for Halloween in the house and I wanted something sweet.....so I wrote a little fluff piece.  Enjoy!

“What are you doing down here?”  Dean asked from the doorway of the Dean Cave.  You jumped a little at the sound of his voice and glanced back at him over your shoulder.

“Nothing.”  You replied, trying to hide the candied popcorn in your lap.  He chuckled as his eyes settled on the container of mixed chocolates on the small table set between the two recliners.

“I see.”  He teased.  “Hey, is that the Charlie Brown Halloween?”  Dean asked, focusing on the TV.

“Yes.”  You admitted.  “It’s a Great Pumpkin Charlie Brown.  It’s kind of a tradition in my family and I didn’t want you guys to make fun of me for watching a cartoon.”

“I think you are forgetting who you are talking to.”  Dean reminded you, walking into the room and settling down in the other chair.  “You’ve seen me watch Snobby Doo and who knows what else.”

You chuckled as you rolled your eyes a little.  “That’s fair.”  You told him, handing the popcorn out so he could take a handful.

You met the Winchesters at The Roadhouse and it wasn’t long after that you started hunting with them on and off.  Through the years, the three of you had been through a lot together and Dean had fast become your closest friend.  

“This was always playing at the motels we stayed at as kids..”  Dean said, gesturing to the TV and pulling you out of your memories. “Sam and I watched it every year, until I got more interested in Halloween parties.  The more Sam found out about the life, the more he hated Halloween so …” Dean explained, shrugging his shoulders.

“Yeah, it does kind of lose its magic when you know what’s really going on out there.”  You admitted.  “Did you ever dress up and go trick or treating?”

“Sure, once or twice when I thought we could get away with it.  We went as a couple of ghosts using the bed sheets one year.”  He said, chuckling a little.  “One year I swiped super hero costumes from the Halloween store, then Sam ended up breaking his arm jumping off the roof.”

“I think he told me about that one.”  

“Yeah, I think that is the last time we did the whole costume thing.”  Dean confessed.  “I figured you would be watching scary movies for Halloween anyway.”  He added, changing the subject.

“Nah, they are all on my laptop and I didn’t feel like watching them by myself.”  You replied.

“I’ll watch them with you.” He said simply.

“Really?  I thought you said they were boring.  You never get scared watching them.”

“No, but you do.”  He teased.  “It’s kind of adorable to watch someone who is a fearless badass at fighting monsters get scared at those silly movies.”

“Thanks a lot.”  You scoffed, a little embarrassed and threw a small handful of popcorn at him.

“Hey!”  He shouted playfully, and you both started laughing. “So, what do you say?”  He asked, picking up the popcorn and throwing a couple of pieces back at you.

“Alright, you’re on.” You answered.  “My room in 20 min?  I’m going to put this stuff back up in the kitchen.”

“You got it, but this candy is coming with me.”  Dean replied, picking up the small container of chocolates and holding it close to his chest.  You shook you head as he grinned and headed back down the hall.

When you walked into your room, Dean was already leaning against the headboard of your bed with the laptop set up next to him.  You grinned and hopped up next to him and started the movie.  You loved watching scary movies and often ended up leaning forward, completely tense during the scariest parts.

Half way through the movie, you jumped and you could hear Dean snickering quietly.  You glared at him over your shoulder and playfully shoved his knee, but that only made him laugh harder.  He reached out and pulled you back to him and wrapped an arm around you as you rested your head on his chest.

“I’m sorry.  It’s just cute.”  He teased, squeezing you harder when you tried to pull back, your cheeks turning red.  

You moved away, but he moved with you and for a moment both of you froze, only inches apart.  You didn’t know who moved first, or even what you were thinking, but your lips met his and suddenly everything changed.  You felt his hand slide down your back and you leaned into him, kissing him deeper.

Dean pulled back, ducking his head and squeezing his eyes closed tight.  He took a couple of deep breaths and you waited, afraid to even move. “I’m sorry.  That shouldn’t have happened.”  He said, trying to catch his breath.  

“Maybe not.”  You whispered.  You had never thought of Dean as anything more than a friend, but now that you had, all you could think about was how every part of you wanted to be more. “But since it did….can we do it again?”

He glanced up at you, surprised.  You simply raised an eyebrow at him and brushed your lips lightly against his. You stayed close, letting your fingers trace the outline of his jaw and looking up as his eyes danced.  

“Are you sure about that?” He asked, studying your reaction. You smiled

“If you are.”  You answered.  “You’re my best friend.  I don’t want you to do something you don’t want to…”

“Oh, I want to.”  He replied, a mischievous smirk on his lips. “I just know it could really mess things up.”

“Not if we don’t let it.”

ToBeContinued......

**Thank you to @talesmaniac89 for the beautiful divider**  

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[chaoticevilbean]

Darkness.

As humans, we have a lot of opinions. A lot of varying, conflicting opinions that we either will change on a whim, don't care enough to defend, or will defend with our lives, and every level in-between. After all, there's so many of us, and creativity is how we became sapient.

But even when we're so different and contradicting with one another, we still have general agreements. For example, there's a general agreement that murder is wrong. Those who don't agree are considered outliers, and in this case are commonly considered mentally ill or criminal. Another example is the agreement to not play bumper cars while on the roads in our giant steel cans.

So what's the main consensus on darkness?

It's scary. It's dangerous. It's where monsters come from. Demons and ghouls and ghosts and trolls. We agree that the dark has to be pushed away, fought off with lights and lanterns. The night is avoided, hidden from under blankets and covers and little nightlights shaped like stars and trains.

But, at the very same time we hide from the darkness, we seek it out like moths to the moon.

We sit on roofs and gaze at stars. We search the vast beyond of space for others who languages we can learn, whose cultures we can espy. We play games within the shadows, hide in the veiled crevices of houses and trees while our companions hunt for us. We use the darkness to keep our secrets, to protect us.

It would be better to say that we, as humans and of diverging minds, see the darkness as strong. And as with everything strong, some see danger and some see protection. And sometimes people see both.

I have always wondered why we fear the darkness. I asked myself tonight, as I drove home from work after the sun had set, why do I fear the dark? Why do I turn on every light as I pass through rooms at night, even when only a few give me enough illumination to see? I figured it out a bit faster, and I think that perhaps I've thought of this before.

I don't fear the dark. Not really. I don't fear the lack of light. Yes, I could trip, but I'm not scared of tripping. Yes, I could bump against something and hurt myself, but I'm not scared of bumping against things and hurting myself.

I'm scared of the unknown.

It makes sense. I'm thalassophobic. I can't handle not being able to see the bottom of wherever I am, or not knowing if I'm supported. I'm acrophobic for a similar reason.

I'm scared of the monsters that could be lurking in the darkness, that would be willing to travel through the dim light of the porchlight to grab me as I'm walking to the car. I'm scared of closing my eyes and something terrible happening that I can't stop or defend against. I'm scared of what I don't know, what I can't sense, what is completely hidden from me.

Perhaps this is true of everyone. Perhaps it is only me and whatever outliers there are spread in the world.

After realizing the truth of my own fear, I began to think some more about the dark.

In Star Wars, the Dark Side is bad. It's rage, hatred, grief, fear. It's death and destruction, fire and war and lightning strikes that destroy forests from the sparks. It's a pit that drags you down should you slip one foot into the water.

In Harry Potter, there's dark magic. The students of Hogwarts take a Defense Against the Dark Arts class. The Unforgivable Curses are considered dark magic, and all three are things that most agree are bad, wrong, evil. Controlling one's free will. Subjecting one to indescribable pain. Murder (see above examples).

In so many stories, in so many books and fan works and shows and movies, the dark is bad. Dark has become synonymous with evil, with forbidden knowledge. "Dark" secrets, "dark" thoughts, "dark" humor.

But darkness isn't bad. It's not. How can it be?

Darkness is chaos. Lightness is peace.

The dark is what we don't know. Space, the oceans, caves, abysses, even the inner working's of the human body are dark, as we cannot see within them. The light is what we do know, what we can sense and what we've learned through the tools we made.

Telescopes show the stars. Submarines and sensors give us views of fish that bring their own light, of creatures big enough to swallow someone whole and not realize it. Flashlights and ropes and radios let us travel through chasms and caverns and discover just how deep they go. We have entire fields of science dedicated to figuring out how our physical selves work.

As humans, we see many things. As humans, we want to know. We want to learn, and so we search. We make opinions about things, try to discuss and dispute and change what is believed. As humans, we fear what we don't know.

But we also cherish it. Because once you learn something, you can't unlearn it. Cursed knowledge makes us want to sometimes, that information we want to forget but it keeps coming back. (On a side-note, the reason you can't forget it is because you had such strong repulsion, so not your brian has kept it forever.)

I would love to see more stories that explore the difference between "good and evil" and "light and dark". Darkness is chaos. You never know what'll happen next. Lightness is peace. It's what is known, what is calm.

But peace isn't always good. A tyrant makes peace within their ruling, but is it good? Is it right? The subjects of the tyrant know what's going to happen in their lives. They know the rules, know the way things will play out day-to-day. It's Lightness. But it's not Good.

Chaos isn't always bad. When children play in the streets, is it bad? Is it wrong? The children don't know if they'll get called back home, or if it'll rain. They don't know if they'll trip and skin their knees, or if they'll have to move aside so a car can pass. It's Darkness. But it's not Bad.

Perhaps the Dark Side within Star Wars is the same. Not Bad, just Chaos. But a war is much more noticeable than some children playing Tag.

Perhaps the Dark Arts are simply spells that are unknown to most, or that aren't considered possible. But one person can ruin it for the rest, and if a law forbids knowledge, often the only ones to find it are the ones that don't care about the law.

I really don't know, but then again, who does?

Sincerely,

ChaoticEvilBean

🌚🌞

[dsmroleplay]

#DetoxHorrors #DSM #SPN Part One

Written by @TridentHunting & @bigbadethan 

Sienna: -The bar was a little warm from all the bodies crammed together in the small space so she ordered a glass of tea. Putting one foot under her and grabbed a scrunchy gathering up her long blonde hair and putting it up in a bun. Catching a headline on one of the news outlet’s she’d marked. The headline read “Recovering Addict Goes Missing.” and while it didn’t scream at her as supernatural she was compelled to read on. Wallas Wren and Brent Hayslip had both been at the brand new facility for Church of Christ starting their lives over when Wallas went missing as the two had been out exploring the area. Brent was being held without bail under suspicion of murder. His pastor Jack Reeves had stood up for him but no one was listening. Reeves believes that something was out there with them. “I’ve known Brent all his life and while he has had addiction problems he’s always been open and honest. He’s /scared/ and believes someone grabbed Wallas." The running theory was that the two had slipped off from everyone to get a little high struggling with coming down off their vices.

Local police found a bloody shoe that facility counselor Mark Hamby confirmed was one of Wallas’ shoes. Local Sheriff "Longmire” said that is office was working around the clock to find Wallas and that blood tests were being done on the evidence as well as on Brent to see if he’d ingested anything that might explain his claims of seeing dark shadows. Local doctor Randy Callowhand had weighed in that with addiction issues these men had hallucinations were totally plausible and sometimes a side effect of the medications used to help bring them off the substances they abused. Scrolling down she’d read through the comments from the public on the article. It wasn’t to kind. “Two addicts, who cares.” and so on even some theories they’d been messing with “bathsalts” and Brent had killed Wallus in his high. Si sipped her water Tapping her pen to her lips she laid it down and looked up Leesburg Idaho. The first pictures to come up were of a retro picture of miners. Reading on “Gold was discovered at Leesburg, Idaho in 1866 by a party of men led by F.B. Sharkey. The town took its name from Confederate General Robert E. Lee. As with much of the territories of Idaho and Montana, Leesburg contained many Confederate sympathizers.

Supporters of the Union started the settlement of Grantsville directly adjacent to the camp, but eventually the larger community came to be known as just Leesburg." Reading on she saw the actual mining site had been vacated and was secluded. The Church of Christ had bought the property and turned it into a new addiction get away center for long term addicts. It had only been open about six months when Wallus disappeared. Looking at the history of the place, there could be a lot things to grab Wallas out there including wild animals but it was a perfect breeding ground for a Wendigo as well. She’d have to see if she could round up a hunting partner for this excursion so she saved the information. to her computer and forwarded it to several hunters emails. Now she’d prepare while waiting for a partner.-

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Ethan: -Ethan walked around the stark home that looked out to the ocean. It’s always the oceans and seas that comfort him. Maybe it’s the sound of the waves or the vastness of it all. On the surface, the sea is calm and peaceful but he knows in its depths there is turmoil and chaos. He laughs, not a happy laugh, but the irony doesn’t escape him. Setting down the empty glass that once held bourbon, he then walks over to his office and takes a seat. The smell of leather hitting his nostrils like an old friend. Hitting the tab for emails, he takes his time and sifts through them. One, in particular, catches his eye. The name instantly brings a smile to his lips, his hand running down his beard as he reads it. Not once. Not twice, but three times. Typing out a reply for the email, he answers simply. <You need me, I’ll always be there. Send me the coordinates and I’ll be there in the morning.> He hits send then sits back in his chair. Yes, calm and peaceful on the outside, turmoil and chaos on the inside.-

::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Sienna: -She was rereading the article just to see if anything stuck out when an email notification popped up on her computer screen. Clicking on it her eyes widened, it was E. She read his reply, how long had it been since she’d seen him? Years she was sure. They’d kept a wide birth, especially on her end. There was a time she couldn’t even be in the same room with him. God she hated Colt because of E. Colt was a hard reminder of things. But like all things pain fades, she still didn’t like how Colt was but she’d seen him suffer on more than a few occasions so even her hatred towards him had dwindled. Hell she worked for Blackwater. Typing back.- “I appreciate that mister if you have time. But don’t put yourself out on my account. 45°13′26″N 114°6′50″W . It’s good to hear from you either way. Hope you’re doing good. -Si

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Ethan: -The sound of email notifications brought him out of his daydreaming. He read the email, but didn’t reply this time. He did however memorize the coordinates then shut off his computer. He was going, that’s all there was to it. Maybe, she didn’t expect he’d answer her first email. Hell, it caught him off guard too. Rising from the leather chair, he goes to his vault. The scanner there scanning his eye and the prints on his hand. Was it too much, maybe but the time he spent with the SEALS taught him many lessons and preparation was key. The heavy titanium door swung open and Ethan walks inside. Oh, the weapons cache he has would give the staunchiest hardcore terrorist or service man a hard-on. Grabbing his old duffel bag, he begins to load it with what he thinks he might need, and maybe a few toys just for a little fun. He just hopes Sienna will be happy to see him.-

::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Sienna: -From lack of response she figured he’d thought better of it. What made her reach out who knew. She wasn’t to far out from Leesburg and she wasn’t going to get any sleep anyway so she grabbed a hamburger to go and got back into her truck. Maybe she just needed to know he was okay and that was enough for her. Turning up the stereo she pulled out of the parking lot and got on the freeway setting the cruise control.-

::::::::::::::::::

Ethan: -Bag packed, Ethan stands out on the balcony, watching the sun go down. The yellow and oranges streaking the sky in brilliant hues. He’s in no rush, he knows he can be where she asked him to be in the blink of an eye. He’s nervous. He tries to shake it off, but he can’t. He didn’t like the way things ended the last time he saw Si. Maybe she can forgive him and they can start again. Clean and fresh. Maybe it’s just a pipe dream but he truly wants to. The thought brings a sincere smile.-

::::::::::::::::::

Sienna: -She'd managed a few hours of shut eye in the backseat of the truck. Rubbing eyes she sat up and looked around before opening the truck door and getting out to stretch. Pulling on a camo long sleeve over the white tank top she strapped a gun holster to leg and grabbed her jacket slipping it on. Grabbing her backpack putting it on and then shouldering the AR-15 she pulled the GPS from the front console and put on her hat. Normally she would not hunt alone but she wasn't even sure if this was a legit hunt so she'd scout first. Running through a list of possibilities as she checked the GPS. Once she got it up and going she put a sat phone in the left pocket of the BDU's she was wearing and took off in the direction that lead to the mine.-

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Ethan: -Ethan stands just inside the mines entrance. He hadn’t gone in, he was waiting for Si. This is her case, he’s just there to have her back. Okay, maybe that’s not the only reason, but it’s all he can handle until she either a) shoots him or b) she gives him a hug and a smile putting him at ease. He prays, literally for the later. Hearing her approach, he steps out of the shadows and waits for her reaction.-

:::::::::::::::::

Sienna: -Looking round to see if anything stood out but nothing had so far but as she came on up around the trail she smelt a cologne that only one person wore that she knew. It stood out from the pine tree scent, swallowing hard she came rounded a tree and there he stood. She had to to catch her breath and it had nothing to do with the elevation.- I'd ask if your lost but since I sent you the coordinates I know you're not... -She couldn't but help but smile and walk over to give him a hug fighting tears. They'd been friends along time and she couldn't help but just be thankful to see him again.- You big asshole, I think I should shoot you just because.

:::::::::::::::::::

Ethan: -When he saw her, he couldn’t help but to walk towards her, his arms wrapping around her small frame. He is a giant next to her. When she pulled away from the hug, he instantly felt a loss.- I can live with asshole, but I can’t live with you wasting ammo. -With a shrug, he turns towards the dark mine entrance.- What are you thinking? Ghost of a pissed-off miner? Demon? Please don’t say windigo. Those things are butt ugly

:::::::::::::::

Sienna: The angel makes jokes now, I like it. -smiles- It can wait, look at me. How are you? And it's not a waste of ammo if it makes me feel better.

:::::::::::::::::

Ethan: Jokes and sarcasm are part of my charming personality. -He gives a light shrug, pondering her question.- I’m okay. Hanging in there. Doing the angel thing. I try and keep busy. How about you? You look great. -big smile and an innocent wink-

::::::::::::::

Sienna: -Hands-on hips she rolls her eyes.- Okay charming, I'm gonna shoot soon. -Laughs- It's good to see you, I hope you stick around. So... I had thought to scout the mine before night hits but what do you think? Might be better to check the area around for anything out of place... only thing is they had a bunch of rangers, sheriff's and search parties up in here if there was any clues they probably disturbed it.

::::::::::::::::

Ethan: That is a big 10/4 on the destruction of any clues. Let’s just go in and see what we find. -E stops and cants his head just slightly and inhales deeply.- I...can smell it.

::::::::::::::

Sienna: My own extra-large blood hound. -Teasing smile.- Well can you tell what it is by the smell?

[spacalicious]

coffee-chaos I feel you so much about the fear of the darkness. It's cool you could overcome it, are there any practices you're comfortable to share about the case? I'm like still sleeping with the lights on hehe and it's weird... Also your Halloween plans sound amazing ✨

I’ll be completely honest with you, I still get a random bout of anxiety that hits me when I’m in a pitch black room. It doesn’t last, not these days, but I’m still caught off guard once in a while. I tend to leave the light over the stove on at all times and both my husband’s and my computer are set up in our bed which give off little hints of light when we shut the monitors off for bed. (And I have a RGB mouse that spills light across part of the bedroom wall my computer sits against.) Growing up I was pretty much ridiculed for being afraid of the dark because ‘monsters aren’t real’, ‘there’s nothing there’, ‘stop being so dramatic and go to bed’. But there were monsters, just not the inhuman kind. Even then no one had much sympathy for my terror so I had to figure out ways to cope so I could not only get some rest but work through my trauma without relying on other people for help. How I did that was...basically immersing myself into the wonderfully gory world of horror.

I’ll admit that at first I did it simply because horror movies weren’t real but they depicted things that were very much real: murder, mutilation, experimentation, hallucinations, creepers, etc etc. It gave me an outlet for my terror and let me experience unease and a watcher’s anxiety in a safe environment. Of course I didn’t actually know that’s what I was experiencing because I was very much a child, not even in double digits yet, but it gave me a sense of comfort to know that though it was kinda gruesome it was fake, that these atrocities were meant to be spectacular, and often over the top, but were ultimately grown ups playing pretend and that we (the audience) were meant to get spooped or grossed out or both but it was for fun. Now, I was still scared of the dark. I still had to have a nightlight or flashlight near my bed, and I would get really, really shaky if my bedroom door was left open. (I didn’t acquire a lock on my bedroom door until I was twelve.) But I started to identify that the things I was scared of lurking in the dark wasn’t ghosts or ghouls or demonic entities because even if they were out there they had to play by certain rules (or so I was being convinced by bullshit sermons and overly religious relatives that sipped to heavily from Jesus camp koolaid). And those rules were meant to protect us, right? So I wanted to learn more about them.

Little Spacecat dove headfirst into the occult and learned all about the nasties that were supposedly out there and had a light bulb moment: every evil in the world can be fought against and LOSE. 

I started making comfort items like beaded bracelets that supposedly protected me from possession/bad energies, collected crystals and odd rocks/stones that I would feed positive energy into to protect me and my room/home from bad things. I even had stuffed animals that I imbued with fierce personalities and imagined protectiveness radiating from them - I’d leave one on ‘guard duty’ by the door and had the rest on my bed or watching over me from a shelf or from my dresser.

These little things I did started to help me understand that the dark wasn’t really the problem for me because the things inside the darkness were only there because I put them there, and since I put them there then the things I was doing to protect myself were working. I kept them up and though I don’t really leave stuffed animals around the room to be my nighttime protectors I still collect them here and there, still give them names and personalities. I even still wear the bracelets I made and make new ones on occasion (and necklaces because I’m really into having rings and stuff dangling down low enough I can fiddle with them while I’m doing stuff, and I really like chewing on the chains). They remind me that even if it’s all bunk I still managed to make things to protect myself and that they worked.

However, it was a long road to travel to get to the point where the dark and the things lurking in the dark don’t bother me much anymore. The twenty years wasn’t an exaggeration. And I know that no matter that my fear isn’t crippling anymore that it’s still there. I still occasionally need a nightlight or a timed light - I used my monitor’s power timer sometimes to gradually let me get used to the idea my room’s going to be dark to settle my mind - but the dark doesn’t hold as much power over me anymore.

It also helps that my husband is a big ol’ scaredycat city boy and I was put into a position of power as a protector from all things horror and spoopy when he got frightened by my horror movies or yt ‘real ghost stories/creature hunts’ spirals. It pretty much reinforced what my childhood protection charms and imaginary bodyguards started: that I was stronger than my fears.

The fear and anxiety are still there, I don’t ever think they’re going to be completely erased, but I’m stronger than them now. I worked very hard to be and I’m glad it’s paid off but I know that when I’m not, when I get anxious and shake, I’ve got my beads, crystals (which, admittedly I don’t have a lot of anymore), my weird little rocks, my flashlight and candles, and my husband to remind me that I’ve got tools to combat them.

Let me just say this, though: Everyone copes differently and sometimes the only way to cope is to just embrace not being able to “overcome/get over” what some people might consider an irrational/childish fear. It’s not irrational or childish, it just is.

So if sleeping with a nightlight helps you don’t give them up. It doesn’t matter what anyone else says or does, it’s about your comfort and peace of mind. So keep those nightlights. Decorate your room in fairy lights. Hell, go out and get some camping lights and space them throughout your house if want. Those are your protection charms, your nighttime guardians. Those are your weapons against whatever is in the darkness that you’re worried about. It’s not silly or clingy or childish: it’s protection. There’s nothing silly about protection and there’s absolutely nothing childish about wanting to feel safe.

❤️🧡💛💚💙💜🖤🤍

[ugly-crying-over-bucky-barnes]

Roguish Women Part 7

Summary: Kate Rosseau is an American who fled to Paris to escape her past life. Now she's dancing and playing the part of a courtesan at the Moulin Rouge. There she meets Tommy Shelby who thinks she can be useful in expanding his empire. But has he been blinded?

Part 7: Some light is shed on why Kate is constantly on the run. 

           Grace was hunched over a ledger when Kate burst in through the doors. “You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.” She remarked.

“I don’t have much time.” Kate glanced over her shoulder; afraid someone had followed her to the pub. “But I wanted to say my goodbyes to you in person and hoped that you would pass them along to the rest of the family.”

“Goodbyes? What on Earth are you talking about?” Grace looked alarmed.

“Really, I did quite enjoy our talks together. You helped the time pass by faster in this…wonderful city. And I wanted to warn you. Warn you that, Tommy.” Kate shook her head. “That isn’t a path you want to go down. Trust me I know what getting into this life entails. Once you’re in, you never get out of it. So, I’d run while you still have both legs.”

“Kate, sit down and talk to me, you’re about to faint!” Grace stood and pulled up a chair for her.

“I can’t stay, really I-”

The doors opened and Kate reacted instinctually. She pulled out her gun and pointed it at the doors.

Tommy put his hands up defensively. “I can’t walk into me own pub without getting shot?” He joked half-heartedly.

“Tommy, talk to her, she’s run in here talking nonsense.” Grace waved him over, her brow furrowed.

“What’s going on?” Tommy went to walk over but paused. He locked the doors behind him just in case there really was danger lurking around the corner.

“I need to leave,” Kate explained cryptically.

“Why?”

“Because I just do!” She huffed anxiously. “You take the information I gave you, free of charge. Forget about me and let me go on my way.” Her mind was racing. Where on Earth would she go? There were very few hiding spots she had left unless she ventured even further East. She wondered if Australia was far enough.

“Kate. What happened? Are you in danger?”

“Sit down.” Grace urged and placed a hand on Kate’s shoulder.

She hoped she wasn’t wasting precious time by sitting down. “I received a letter from an old-I don’t know how you would describe our relationship. Maybe an enemy, who cares. I received a letter from him and I know what he’s after.”

“What is he after?” Grace sat back down beside Kate.

“Me.” She swallowed and looked at her hands. “My father was in so deep in Boston. He had nothing left and the people he had taken money from were closing in on our family. So, he made a deal with them. Six months to get the money back in full, plus interest. If that failed, then I would be betrothed to the head of the family, Santo Leoni.”

“I’m guessing you skipped town before those six months were up,” Tommy said.

Kate nodded with a grim expression. “There was no point waiting around for my father to fail. Figures he wouldn’t put his own life on the line, rather he’d use his daughter as a bargaining chip. That’s the kind of man he was. I knew he’d never get the money so I left for France. Now Santo’s found out where I am.”

“How?” Grace looked to Tommy as if he’d have any answers.

She shook her head. “I haven’t the faintest. I thought I was in the clear a long time ago but I guess I’ve let my guard down too soon. I should’ve known he would catch up to my one of these days.”

“Well even if he knows where you are, it doesn’t matter.” Grace insisted. “He can’t force you to marry him.”

“Santo always gets his way,” Kate replied with a bitter smile. “So, I should be on my way before he catches up.”

“You can’t just run the rest of your life,” Grace argued. “Tommy, you have to do something.”

The Blinder paused, considering the consequences of pissing off an American mafia leader. He was chomping at the bit to claim his kingdom. Map out the territory that he could rule with an iron fist. But was he willing to go to bat for a young woman who had been promised to someone with more power than him? “No, Grace is right.” He spoke without really thinking. The war had subdued his good nature, the romantic in him that still believed in knights in shining armor. Men who saved the day, helping damsels in distress. But that part of him hadn’t been snuffed out completely. “You’re under the protection of the Peaky Blinders.” He said steadily.

Kate got a very bad feeling that started in the pit of her stomach and bubbled up to her throat. A sour taste spread across her tongue. She didn’t want to run across the globe for the rest of her life. Constantly looking over her shoulder in case there were enemies near. But would she risk the lives of people she knew very little of? People who had, in their own way, taken care of her? Putting them up as collateral when she was the one to blame for her circumstances. “If anyone was to get hurt because of me-”

“I think you’ll find that we’re very resilient.” Tommy interrupted. “As long as you live in Birmingham, no one will harm you.”

“Your confidence could be the end of you, Tommy Shelby,” Kate warned.

The man just shrugged.

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

Two men stood outside of Kate’s apartment that night and the night after. Still, it didn’t feel like enough protection. She was grateful, but she knew that Santo didn’t like when people stood in his way. He had a tendency of thinking very little about human life. Those who didn’t matter to him were like gnats. Easily swatted down without a second glance.

The night after receiving the letter, Kate suffered a horrible nightmare. One she thought she’d escaped a long time ago.

Back in the alleyways of Boston. She carried only the bare essentials in a small bag. Nothing to weigh her down. She was only half a block from her flat when she heard a loud explosion. Fear told her to keep moving but she couldn’t help but look back. Her building was engulfed in flames. Other tenants started to scream as they became trapped in the inferno.

Over the chaos of shrieks and glass shattering, Kate heard his voice.

“Micina. Don’t make me come and hunt you down.” He called out into the night. “You can run to the ends of the Earth and I’ll still find you.”

Kate tasted ash on her tongue as she jerked awake. The echoing sounds of crying and his taunts flooded her. She hunched over her knees and rocked herself to try and comfort her anxious mind. Maybe Birmingham was the end of the Earth. And Santo had kept his promise.

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

“You don’t look well,” Grace commented gently.

Kate spent her time either in the betting shop or in the Garrison after getting the letter. That way, she always had a watchful eye over her. Tommy had his hands full with Kimber but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t keep his promise. Especially since Grace insisted that he step up and make sure the woman was kept safe.

“I didn’t sleep much last night,” Kate admitted.

“It’s alright to feel scared.”

She simply nodded and tried to put on a smile.

Grace yawned and went back to her ledger.

Kate propped up her feet on a nearby chair and leaned back a bit. “You don’t seem too well rested either.” She noted. "You've been yawning all day."

A hint of a smile crossed Grace’s face. “I suppose I didn't get much sleep either.”

Kate caught onto her coy nature. “Well, out with it. What were you up doing last night?” She coaxed.

The blonde woman laughed and shook her head, keeping her eyes down sheepishly. “I spent the night with Tommy.” She confessed.

Kate’s eyebrows raised in surprise. “Yeah?” She nudged her friend’s shoulder playfully. “He wasn’t cold to the touch, was he? Still has a beating heart?” She teased.

“No, no, he was very…warm.” Grace’s fair cheeks began to blush at the memory of the night before. The way Tommy held her so tenderly. It was a far cry from the man he was on the streets.

“I’ve seen the way he looks at you.” She noted. “It’s about time, don’t you think? What’s next, then?”

“Oh, I dunno.” Grace tucked a piece of hair behind her ear and tried to keep her eyes on her handwriting but couldn’t concentrate.

“Well, you’ll end up together don’t you think?”

The smile was torn from Grace’s lips. Her eyes stared blankly at the ledger beneath her hand. “No, no, I don’t think so.” She whispered somberly.

“Why?”

Grace stood up suddenly. “They’ll be here soon.”

Kate turned around in her chair. “For what?”

“They’re taking out Billy Kimber today.”

Italian: 

Micina: Little Kitty

Permanent Tag: @papa-geralt-of-cirilla​ @giftofdreams​

Masterlist

[suffering-and-happy-about-it]

Pieces of the People We Love, Part 6. (The Borderlands Series)

Description: Not many people had the chance to see a vault or to mean anything in the world of Pandora. Will a hardly built relationship in the loneliness of the desert have the potential to change anything in the world of anarchy and chaos - or will the friends try to murder each other?

Chapter description: The journey is destined to be - or at least, so it seems. Alongside Scooter and your two favorite bandits, you had to leave the Hells Cauldron behind your back.

Warnings: A lot of guns, violence, reader is a tough badass - not a vault hunter tho. They’re badass and don’t give a fuck. And Scooter is a dumb bitch, as always. All Psychos and Fanatics are various Vine references - oh, what luck that reader can understand them since she is friends with Bandits.

Word count: 2.1 K

Tagging: @notaliteraltoad​, @nemodoren​

Series master list:  H E R E

Shortly after what Walrus had told you, the Bandits lead you to their monstrous truck. At least he made Blindy and Rayray go with you and not some random idiots.

As Peter promised, they even packed you some food, money, and munition to go with. But there was something weirdly odd about Peter being so nice - if you would come alone, he would never help you. You were one hundred percent sure of that.

"What you're after, Walrus?" - You asked him quietly, aside from the boys, just before you were set to go on your journey. - "You don't do any of this just to warm your heart, do you? You're not such a good person. I know you, my man."

"Vaults are rumored to hold treasures with enormous value. Be a dear and grab me some while you'll be at it, will you?" - Walrus patted your shoulder with a fatherly smile. Of course. That motherfucker. He was a sly one - not caring that much about Scooter, his well being and meeting with his friends. All he cared about was the vault. And its treasures.

"I am not a VH, how many times I'm going to tell you? Scooter isn't one either, he's just... A local mechanic. That's what he truly is." - You tried to talk him down to let you just take your hands off the whole deal. But you knew how much could Peter be persistent.

"But you were aspiring to be one when you listened to all the podcasts on your ECHO from that guy named Tyron or what... Or am I wrong? Correct me." - The midget looked you right in the eyes. You could just murder him, take the car and then leave Scooter alone to continue his journey.

"I was ten, Peter. Vault Hunters aren't nothing but a bunch of posers. And you know that. How anyone like me ever got the chance to at least get closer to a thing like a vault?" - You mumbled, moving your metal arm uncomfortably. Vault hunters were a great part of the reason why did you had your metal arm in the first place. Damn monster hunting.

"Come on. It's an adventure, it's fun and you have a hell of debt in my bank. You have to do this. And if you'll be a naughty girl, Cowboy, my boys will drag you back to me." - He smiled and with his guards, four extra-armed psychos turned back to The Throne Room. You wanted to yell, shout, shot and kill something. Or somebody.

But you kept it all in and turned to crawl into their truck, to sit on one of the benches. You looked at Rayray who seemed to be extremely happy. Was there a reason for that?

"What? You reached the fourth quarter or what's your problem?" - You mumbled while Blindy and Scooter were settling down in the front of the car. Scooter seemed to be overly fascinated by their car type, so you just rolled your eyes and let him be.

"Back at it at Krispy Kreme." - He answered simply and you closed your eyes, laid down on the bench and prepared yourself for some sleep. It was only proper since it was already around midnight.

"Oh yeah, this is going to be a hell of a road trip, I tell you that." - You answered ironically and closed your eyes.

The next four days were a hell of a time to think. You were changing on the steering wheel pretty periodically - you were driving from the morning to midday, Scooter took the wheel after lunch to evening, Rayray was driving until midnight and Blindy himself was driving until you woke up.

You had... Fun. That was as unnatural as it seemed, but you had some fun. Sometimes, they randomly stopped from the quest to find Janey Springs, the most famous rocket engineer on Pandora, when they saw an interesting lookout. One night, you even took a short break in a local pub to have some beer and small talk. Rayray wasn't too happy about that since he had to stay sober.

To your surprise, these guys were fun. They were telling you stories and answered every question you had - you played poker with them one night. And Scooter himself wasn't too bad. He even snatched your playlist from the car you drove into Ham's Creek, so you could jam around to Rapture while driving.

You drove through deserts, forests, mountains which were snowy and even through the miles and miles of Eridium-cracked lands, where Eridium was in huge rocks around the way. And then you drove through even more deserts. It got repetitive over the week, yeah, but as you checked, the COV was still preparing to set to Athenas. Wherever Scooter's vault hunters were, they still didn't have the chance to kill them. Which was good.

After a whole week in their car, you finally reached the destination. It was a town in a cave, very far away from where you started your journey. Its name was Hollow Point and your rocket engineer was supposed to be there.

"Okay man, I will take ya to ma old workshop which I owned with Janey before I, you know, died. Be nice to them, okay?" - Scooter looked especially at you and you rolled your eyes. You weren't about to chew their heads away or anything. You just wanted that damn rocket.

"Fine. I won't try to kill her if she looks at me. Happy?" - You rolled your eyes like a professional and Scooter sighed at your behavior. You were now allies - you weren't friends, but wouldn't get him killed either. It was a thin ice situation, but at least it was something.

"Ya can try, but her girlfriend won't approve that and maybe cuts ya skull opened up with her shield. She's like scary-scary shit. Be aware. Ya shotgun won't help ya against Athena." - He warned you and your small party slowly went down the hill to Hollow Point. It was a silent town - there was a human being here and there, but overall, nothing was happening.

It was almost a ghost town. There was a small pub which you walked as far away from as you possibly could because of its stink and exterior. There was a doctor's office and a gun shop - but it was people you never heard of. Some sister Nina and Mrs. Gunslinger.

Suddenly, everyone stopped in front of a closed mechanic's garage. There was Scooter's name on it, but the light wasn't shining. The shop looked to be closed for a long time now, full of boxes and webs. You didn't like that feeling that anyone's home.

"Is Janey totally supposed to be here?" - You looked inside and made sure that the hat won't fall off your head. There was no one. - "Scooter, did you just dragged us through the whole Pandora to look at your old, abandoned workshop?"

"No, no, no, I swear to God! She's here, man. I'm super duper sure." - Scooter looked scared at you because he knew that you're furious at that moment.

"You think I'm gonna believe you such bullshit? Oh, you're so in trouble now. I thought we're allies!" - You rose your eyebrows and demanded the explanation with the way you stood.

"We are! Janey is here, we just need to find her. Be patient, Cowboy." - He was still walking backward, and now, you for him in a tight corner. An ideal place to kill him. And you were about to.

"Imma about to kill you, Scooterboy, Imma about to kill you so hard." - You rose your hand to pick up the shotgun on your back, clenching your jaws together. Just as you loaded the gun, something flew next to your head, you were barely able to somehow jump to the side.

"What are you two doing here? We don't kill people here since three years ago." - A robotic voice spoke to you from the darkness. You tried to search for the source, but that someone was hidden in the shadows. - "The mayor doesn't have enough money to rent the Hyperion machines. What are you doing in front of my garage?" - The person put their hand high and a red light started to shine on her forearm. The thing flew directly back and clicked silently at that moment.

"See? I told ya that Janey and Athena would still be here, man." - Scooter got up from the corner and ran away from you as possible. - "Thanks for savin' ma life, Athena. Nice to see ya, ya still kissin' a lot with Janey?" - He disappeared to the darkness to greet someone. When he came back to your small group again, a woman was standing next to him.

She looked dangerous in some way. Let's face it - she was terrifying. But staying in your character, you just pressed your lips together and furrowed at her.

The woman, whom Scooterboy was calling Athena, had violet hair and a cute face. But the cute face and big eyes weren't making her any less not dangerous looking. She may be thin, but those thighs were enough to snap your neck instantly. You took a few steps back and fused the shotgun again.

"Is it you, Scooter?" - She snapped the next moment and wondered. Then Athena put a hand on his shoulder and carefully scanned his face with her eyes. - "We thought you're dead, oh my lord?" - She mumbled unbelievably and hugged him. She truly knew him, but no way she had something with Scooter. Athena was out of his league.

"And no way I'm going to answer your question. And don't ever touch me again, please." - She mumbled and turned at you, Blindy and Rayray standing in the background. You were pretty taken away by the way Athena embraced Scooter. - "Who that?"

"Ma new friends, Athena, say hi. That's Cowboy and she has a few temper issues and a hothead. Those men, they are Bandits, but like... Cool ones, ya get it? One name's Rayray and the other one's Blindy. They saved me and help me to find you two." - Scooter pointed all of you proudly and you nodded to Athena, clipping the shotgun back on your back. Boys were clearly too scared of her, so they just acknowledged her person.

"Nice to meet y'all. I suppose you're searching for Janey?" - Athena walked to one of the building's door and opened up the door. There was some music playing inside while Scooter and Athena were chatting. Athena seemed to be in a good mood just because Scooter showed up.

Your deal with Walrus suddenly came upon your mind - maybe Scooter was a truly close friend of the vault hunters and could get you close, after all? That would be nice. Janey and Athena could ride back home just like that. That would be incredible.

Janey was in the back dancing in a rhythm of some rock song, not paying attention that someone entered the building. She had a messy garage, you needed to say that - oil was everywhere, just as her stuff tossed around like wrenches and shit. Janey was a genius at her worst - genius, but messy as fuck.

"I bring you a surprise, dear." - Athena sighed and trailed off to the next door, leaving you there with Janey.

From under the car, a blonde woman rolled on a small skateboard or whatever it was. You noticed the scars on her uncovered belly, neck and arm; she was probably set on fire or some other shit. That was freaking you out a bit. Janey was apparently a strong woman.

But when she stood up to look at you, she looked like a little loving pure ball of smile and energy.

"Hey, what can I do for ya?" - Janey cleaned up her fingers with a cloth thrown over her shoulder. Her stare almost ended up on you, but then she noticed Scooter standing there. She was amazed and wonderstruck since she stopped and looked only at him. - "Have I fell asleep again?"

Then they also went into a tight hug so Janey would definitely know that he's real-real. It was a nice, friendly moment. The last thing you needed to do was to convince Janey - to build you a rocket.

[darks-ink]

Disinterred CH.4

Chapter 4: And There Will Be Nowhere I Can Run

Even if (if!) his parents accepted him… What then? Even if the police wouldn’t kick him out because Phantom hadn’t kicked him out, they still saw him as a ghost! And ghosts… ghosts didn’t go to school. They didn’t get jobs. They didn’t get to live.

(the full summary, previous chapters, author notes, content warning, and the links to AO3 and FFnet can be found here)

The ride back to FentonWorks was quite possibly the worst car ride Danny had ever experienced. The driving itself was fine, nothing like the driving he was used to.

No, it was the knowledge of what was to come that tainted the drive over.

He felt like he was heading towards the gallows, ice-cold dread pooling inside him. And the slowly rising guilt he felt over lying to the cops wasn’t helping, either.

It had been for their own sake, mostly. The truth was just so… so unbelievable, so ridiculous. He doubted that they would have believed him if he had told them the truth. No, it was better to play along. And clearly Sam and Tucker agreed, as they had followed along with the lies as well. He just hoped that it wouldn’t come back to bite him.

Which, more than likely, it would. He wasn’t sure how, yet, but he knew how these things tended to go. Ever since the Accident things just kept going wrong.

And, honestly. Everything about this situation was begging for things to go wrong. There was no positive outcome to this whole mess, not really. Even if, from here on out, everything went perfectly… It still wouldn’t be good. His parents would know, at least partly.

And the police thought him dead. Even if (if!) his parents accepted him… What then? Even if the police wouldn’t kick him out because Phantom hadn’t kicked him out, they still saw him as a ghost! And ghosts… ghosts didn’t go to school. They didn’t get jobs.

They didn’t get to live.

So Danny didn’t think it likely that the police would let him carry on with his life, either. Unless he admitted the truth to them.

Which probably would just get him in even more of a mess.

So, yeah. The combined force of his dread and his guilt was starting to get overwhelming.

Danny tried to focus on calming himself down. He took a deep, if somewhat shaky, breath. Tried to clear his thoughts, to stay in the present.

Calm down Fenton, he bit at himself. You’ve faced off against ghosts like Pariah Dark, but you’re scared of your own parents? They love you, they’ll accept you, and it’ll be fine. They don’t even know you’re Phantom! They have no reason to hate you!

Despite his own assurances, and those of the cops accompanying him, Danny still felt danger loom over him. He was sure his parents would accept him, ghost or not. They had done so before, in other timelines. When his dark alternate future attacked, and with Freakshow. Hell, even his weird alternate-timeline parents that didn’t even know him accepted him!

But… His parents were volatile. Quick to react to danger. The upcoming conversation had to be handled carefully, the news broken gently. If he had been given more time, he would have called Jazz, so she could try to disarm their parents. At the very least, she could have acted like a protective barrier.

Unfortunately everything had happened so quickly that he hadn’t had a chance to contact her. The whole thing at the police station had been so overwhelming that he hadn’t really thought of what was going to happen, not until he sat down in the car. Well, not until they started driving and he finally got a chance to work through everything that had happened.

And that had allowed the reality of the upcoming conversation to settle in, which had led to his current situation of… well, everything. He just hoped that the officers knew what they were doing. The Fentons and their hostile reactions to ghosts were known throughout all of Amity Park, so surely detective Payton would know to handle the conversation with care. Right?

He was broken out of his introspection when the bright neon sign of FentonWorks came into sight. They had reached his home, simultaneously all too soon, and not soon enough.

Danny followed the cops to the front door, still trying to cork up his overworked emotions. He was so occupied that he didn’t even listen to the conversation between the police and his parents. Didn’t think about how this must look to them; him being led inside by two cops.

If he had, he would’ve seen their expressions. Their worry, their fear, their uncertainty. But he didn’t.

When they were allowed in Danny simply trailed after them, into the living room, where he slumped into a chair.

He heard detective Payton clear his throat and snapped out of his thoughts, cringing slightly at the worried expressions on his parents’ faces. Luckily he was saved from trying to explain himself by detective Payton, who drew the attention back to himself by starting to talk.

“So, Mr. and Mrs. Fenton. As you know, we recently found the body of a dead teenager in the woods near Amity Park.”

His mom frowned, glancing between the officer and Danny. “Yes. But how is this related to Danny?”

“Well, we successfully identified the body-” Oh no, nope. Too brash. They needed to break this to his parents with more care. “-and we’ve received statements confirming it,” the man just kept talking, completely oblivious to Danny’s panicking. He tried to catch Payton’s attention, but only succeeded in catching officer Carver’s before Payton uttered the damning words.

“The body belongs to your son, Daniel Fenton.”

Danny froze up. His fingers dug into the armrests of the chair with almost enough force to tear them, as he anxiously gazed at his parents. His mental cursing fell silent, the overwhelming dread finally washing away, taking all his other emotions with it until he just felt numb.

The expressions on his parents’ faces hardened. Their hands shifted to reach towards the anti-ghost weapons they carried, and yep, this was going exactly as he feared. But he stayed still, frozen in place. He could see, from the corner of his eye, that the two cops were silently communicating. But he ignored it in favor of watching his parents.

The moment was broken when his mother swung up an ecto-gun, which was swiftly knocked aside by officer Carver.

The shot just barely missed Danny, so close that he could feel the pulsing energy whiz by. He panicked and went intangible on instinct, driven by years of ghost hunting, and fell through the chair.

He hadn’t intended to show off his ghost powers, not yet… But he guessed that he had no choice anymore.

“A dirty ghost replaced our son! Some filthy piece of ectoplasm killed our Danny and replaced him!”

He hit the floor behind the chair, crouching to use it as cover. The roaring voice of his dad was loud, but Danny barely heard it. The sound of his blood rushing muted everything else. The thudding of his heart was overpowering.

“Please calm down! We assure you that no ghost killed your son-”

He ignored the shouting match between the cops and his parents momentarily to focus on himself. He could feel adrenaline bubbling up. His core released ghostly energy into his body in answer, and he was struggling to stop himself from transforming. Could barely stop the brilliant white sparks from forming.

“And how can you be so sure?! It’s been pretending to be our son for lord knows how long, how do you know it didn’t lie about-”

He blocked out the rest of his mom’s yelling as he pulled the energy back into himself as much as possible. He managed to restrain the urge to transform, but he was fairly sure that his eyes were glowing green nonetheless. If the cops saw they would probably ask him about it… but it was better than a full-out shift.

Finally, he allowed himself to focus back on the events happening. His parents were still shouting, but he had heard them slinging insults at Phantom enough to tune it out. A rather sad thought, really. But he would work with whatever he had, at least for the moment.

Danny hesitated, uncertain of what he should do next. He knew that if he had come on his own, he would have fled, but the cops likely wouldn’t take that well. They might have believed him, and Sam and Tucker, when they told the story about his accident, but still. Ghosts were suspicious, and a ghost that ran from police intervention… That was just asking for trouble, really.

He bit his lip, uncertain, before deciding that he had to somehow inform the cops that he wasn’t sticking around for this any longer. Surely they would understand that he wouldn’t stay? The situation had become too volatile, and he didn’t want to get shot. That was okay, right?

Glancing around the chair, Danny managed to catch the eye of detective Payton. He jerked his head towards the door and blinked out of sight for a short moment, trying to communicate his intentions to the man without alerting his parents.

Thankfully, Payton understood what Danny meant. Or well, Danny thought he did, because the man nodded almost imperceptibly. He did seem a little thrown off, but Danny wasn’t sure what had caught the man off-guard; the volatile reaction from his parents, the sudden change in eye-color, or the display of his ghost powers?

That last one, probably. Almost everyone who knew about his ghostly abilities was thrown off when he used them in human form. Apparently it was unnerving to see someone so human do things only ghosts could do. He never really thought about it like that. From the start, the lines had been blurred. He couldn’t count how many times he had almost gotten caught because his powers activated in human form.

Danny took Payton’s nod as the dismissal it probably was and turned himself invisible. He lingered for another moment, watching the chaos in the living room.

His parents and the police were in the middle of a heated discussion. Neither side could convince the other, or so it seemed. Danny knew with certainty that the police wouldn’t be able to convince his parents. Jazz would have to take care of it when she came home.

He turned himself intangible and launched himself at the nearest wall, phasing through it.

Once outside, Danny looked around to make sure no one could see him, before releasing his invisibility and intangibility. He leaned back against the wall, closing his eyes and taking deep breaths to calm down again. He had to stop and think for a moment, figure out what to do next.

Feeling marginally calmer, he checked if he still had his phone on him. Thankfully he did, and he shot a quick text in his group chat with Sam and Tucker, asking if he could stay over at one of their houses. He was sure that they would accept, if they could. They had been there during the conversation at the police station, after all, and knew that Danny was going to reveal (part of) his secret to his parents.

He stuffed his phone back into his pocket before either of his friends could answer, though. He could feel his emotions threatening to overwhelm him again. To some degree he was used to his parents talking bad about ghosts, about Phantom. But now they were talking about him. Actual Danny Fenton him.

And it hurt. Even if they meant well. If they only wanted to protect him. It still hurt.

His core released even more ghostly energy in response to his fluctuating emotions, and Danny groaned.

No, it was better if he went on patrol first. He had to blow off some steam, vent away some of this adrenaline and energy.

He let go of the reins on his ghostly core, letting the cold power flood over him. The crackling blue-white energy circled him, and once it faded away, Danny Phantom was left standing where Danny Fenton had been.

Danny glanced back at the house, his house, before shaking his head to clear his thoughts. Instead he turned himself invisible once more, then launched off into the air. He regained his visibility again somewhere in the clouds, speeding away from the alley where he had been.

After a short bout of flying and an unusually vicious fight against the Box Ghost, Danny settled on a random rooftop. He pulled out his phone, grimacing at the mass of messages from both of his friends. Apparently they had gotten worried.

Maybe he shouldn’t have send a message asking to stay over at their places before going quiet. Whoops.

He sat down on the edge of the roof, legs hanging down. Then he texted back an apology, explaining that he had to go relieve some tension.

As always, his friends were more than understanding. Within moments, Sam offered up her place for Danny to stay.

‘my parents hate yours,’ she texted. ‘no way that the Fentons will come looking for you’

He had to admit that her reasoning was sound. Unfortunately, there was a bigger problem with that idea.

‘true,’ he send back. ‘but your parents also hate me.’

Sam started typing something back, but Tucker interfered before she got her message done. ‘besides, he’s always welcome to come over for dinner at my place. my mom would love to have him.’

‘fine’ was what Sam ended up texting back. She must’ve deleted her previous text when she received Tucker’s. ‘but i’m coming over too.’

Danny was glad to hear it. He still wasn’t feeling great, even after venting some of his emotions on the Box Ghost. But his friends… They always found a way to make things better.

And he could really use that right now.

‘tuck, can you let your parents know that i’ll stay for dinner? i don’t think that it’ll be safe to come home by dinnertime.’ A sad message to send, but the sad truth. He wasn’t sure when Jazz would come home, but he highly doubted that she could get his parents to change their mind that quickly.

‘will do,’ Tucker replied. ‘come over soon, ok?’

‘i’ll fly another lap around amity and then i’ll be there.’ Danny waited another moment as Sam finished up her message.

‘i’m on my way now. see you soon danny.’

He smiled at the support of his friends, even if he wasn’t quite feeling it. Not yet. But that would come, once he got over there. He was sure of it.

First he needed to release some more frustration. And flying… Flying had always been his favorite power. There was something freeing about being up in the sky.

Danny stuffed his phone back into one of the pockets of his jumpsuit and got up. He balanced on the edge of the building for a moment before letting himself fall.

His flight took over before he hit the ground and he zipped away.

Not much later, Danny rung the bell of the Foley household. Mrs. Foley let him in with a smile, and he quickly made his way over to Tucker’s room, where both of his friends were already waiting.

Danny listlessly dragged himself over to a nearby beanbag. He sunk into the seat with a groan, burying his head in his hands. The dread he had been feeling ever since leaving the police station had not only returned, but had also smoothly transitioned back into panic. He was starting to feel worn out from the emotionally heavy day.

“So, what happened? Because we just kind of assumed that things went wrong, but you haven’t told us anything yet.”

Danny groaned again, acknowledging that Sam had spoken but delaying his need to answer for a moment longer. Eventually he dragged his hands off of his face, however, so he could properly answer her question.

“Well, long story short, that’s pretty much what happened. Payton and Carver came with me, they decided to tell my parents themselves, but my parents flipped out. And since they were trying to shoot me I left.” He shrugged, trying to somehow wordlessly express the mess of emotions he was feeling.

Thankfully his friends were adept both at reading his emotional state and at dealing with said emotional state. Tucker rolled over on his bed to look at him, and Sam moved her chair closer to him so she could lay a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“Danny, calm down. Things might seem like a mess right now, but everything will be fine,” Sam assured him. Danny felt his warring emotions settle down, and he smiled hesitantly at Sam.

“Yeah dude, you’ve got the police on your side and everything! And even if they can’t get through to your parents, Jazz can deal with them when she gets home.”

“I guess so.” Danny sighed. “I’m just worried about this whole thing. Even if things get figured out with my parents, I can’t just go back to how things were. I mean, the police think that I’m dead.”

“Danny, we’ll figure something out, I promise. We can always tell them about you being Phantom, that should warm them up to you a little more.” Sam smiled at him, a warm and comforting gesture that didn’t suit her goth nature.

“But-”

“Dude, don’t,” Tucker interrupted. “You’ve done so much for this city. You’re allowed to benefit from it for once.”

“I- I guess.” Danny offered them an apologetic smile. “Sorry for freaking out so much on you guys, it’s just...”

“It’s been a long few days, we know,” Sam soothed him, now rubbing his shoulder with the hand that still laid there. “We’ll deal with it, like we deal with everything.”

Tucker rolled to the side of the bed, slinging his feet down to settle them on the floor. “And you know what you need? A hearty Foley family dinner!”

Danny laughed, eyes crinkling with amusement. “Yeah, alright. Are we still on for patrol afterwards?”

“Please, can’t you just not worry for like, a second?” Seeing that Danny was about to protest, Sam continued speaking. “We’ll go on patrol, like always. But the city won’t burn down just because you’re taking an evening for yourself, okay?”

He sighed but didn’t protest. If Sam had her mind made up about something, it was almost impossible to go against her, and he didn’t have the energy for it right now. Instead he dropped his head backwards, flattening himself into the beanbag, and pressed his hands against his eyes.

Everything will be fine, he mentally reprimanded himself. Don’t worry so much. You’ve dealt with things way worse than this, and you’ve always come out on top. This is no different.

But for some reason, the assurances felt hollow, and did little to hold back the ever-present dread.

[phantomphangphucker]

One Lonely Star

⚠️warning: analysis of the human condition, angst, depression, violence, mass global death, murder, major character death, suicide, torture, cannibalism, body horror, dissection, animal death⚠️

When all the stars fell down, 

there was nothing I could do.

For all my power and heroism,

 there was nothing I could do.

-a phantom of the past-

Chap. 1 - Star Fall Down

I don’t know how long it’s been since I last saw the light of day, I walk pushing and shoving rubble out of my way. I’m not sure what they belong to anymore. I used to be able to tell which brick belonged to which building, which siding was from the school or what piece of neon lighting was from the nasty burger. Now it’s all just a blend of grays and browns, there’s the occasional splash of something else but it’s fleeting and eventually becomes muddied too. The odd living or sentient thing I see, is best avoided I’ve found. Societal collapse relieves most folks of their inhibitions and it gives them newfound urgency. Urgency which always trumps whatever morals and mental high roads they have or once had. It’s different for me, I knew this urgency before the fall; had my morals tested before everything crashed. 

So I guess I was a step ahead, I’m still unsure if that’s for the best or not. Sure it made it easier to adjust to all of this but others noticed my ease; and people, humans especially, are easily paranoid. It doesn’t help that the young, quick to fight, and those seeking to take advantage of things were the first to succumb to this harsh reality. Those were the ones who trusted me and believed in me most. I mean sure my parents are still around but they never really knew me, trusted me or even really liked me. Well, at least that’s how they were about half of me, though if I’m honest they didn’t know either half of me. Before everything fell I had suspected they were starting to realize how far from them I had become but that doesn’t matter now. Survival and trying to protect what’s left is what matters now. At least my parents can agree with me on that. Though if at any point they had begun to trust or like all of me, that time had since past. My ease with suffering, destruction and sudden mass disaster made them blame me. Because of course, since I was used to everything going to hell then I must be the cause! I guess if I hadn’t reacted with jokes or may be shown a facial expression other then resignation, they may have viewed me differently. 

I visibly sigh, giving my current surroundings another once over; just in case. I need more, always more. Yet there’s never really enough. There isn’t enough for anyone and there are not enough people to need things either. Sure there’s an abundance of many things, picking up a discarded poker chip, but those things aren’t good for much. Flicking the chip across the floor it manages to break off some glass from one of the few somewhat intact windows. Chuckling, it’s not like windows do any good down here anymore. Deciding that there’s nothing here worth the effort I elect to head back to my overpass, not that it really counts as an “overpass” anymore. Looking back I’d honestly rather just jump out one of the real windows. One that can actually see the outside air and sky. But I know that’s a fools game today, a gamble not worth much thought. Even if I did find a way out to the above from that building, who knows how far a drop the ground is; and it’s not like I can fly. Chuckling dryly, it’s been longer than I’d like. Turning back, using both memory and the glow of my eyes to guide me “home”. 

“Home” is a funny word now, it really doesn’t mean what it used to mean. All it means now is that I can rest, stop, breathe; for a while. When I’m out I never breathe, I just hold abated breath. Can’t risk anything or one hearing. Before I could breathe, I did breathe, all the time actually. That seems dangerous and absurd now. Back then dangers came and went, they were boisterous, flashy and wanted to be noticed. Now danger is a constant, it never leaves, and it doesn’t care about making itself known. Before I could fight back, I could spar, I could joke; I can’t do that now. Not with this danger. 

Humans can be ruthless things, sure ghosts have naturally equipped weapons but they seldom have a true drive to just end you. Ghost can be content with returning to the same game of hunt and chase, over and over again. Humans want finality and when they really truly want it, they never take breaks. Maybe that’s why I’m still here, why I still keep doing this again and again. I’m not content to succumb to accepting the finality of this situation but I’m also not willing to just try again later. I won’t accept finality and I won’t take breaks. So that’s why I went looking today and why I’ll go again tomorrow. Till I have what I need, what they need. 

Ghosts gave up on this place years ago, I don’t think I’ve even sensed a single one in months. I guess humans are no fun to scare when they’ve gotten past all their senses. And I guess cities aren’t so fun when nothing works. Sadder thing yet, it’s not just here; it’s everywhere. They’re everywhere. 

I used to love the stars, there were my everything when I had nothing else. They were a safe haven I could have fled to if everything went to hell. Well, guess what? Everything did go to hell, but the stars were the hell. Yet I can’t bring myself to ever hate the stars, even if they’re on earth now rather than the sky. Everything’s better in the sky, including me; I would know. That’s the great irony of this all, my one love stole my other love. The two things in the world that gave me mental safe haven, apparently unable to coexist. On top of that, I’m basically the definition of two things that technically can’t coexist, coexisting. That’s another reason why really, because dammit, if I can make life and death coexist then I damn well will do the same to the sky and stars. Though that’s not something that’s really a desire of mine much anymore, these stars, our stars, need to be destroyed. 

As I sit here, legs crossed, tinkering away on what little I’ve managed to find over time; I can’t help but look back. That’s always how it is, get in the zone of simply making something, anything, and the mind goes to pleasanter times. Before all of this mess I was a pretty happy kid, all things considered. I can’t really say if I’m still happy. I think I am, but it’s not the same kind of happy. Maybe it’s closer to hope than happiness. I remember the day with odd clarity but I’m sure much has gotten muddled in the years since. I can’t really say how long it’s actually been, times a funny thing like that. 

Just a day with ordinary classes, ordinary teachers and extraordinary friends.

At first, I thought it was nothing more than another ghost attack, we all did; how could we not? We all lived in Amity Park after all. 

One look outside changed everyone’s mood though, the sky was alight with a great many blazes.

As if someone had set every single cloud on fire, turns out that was pretty close to the truth. 

Emergency broadcasts erupted over every phone and every speaker. 

Screaming to stay indoors, away from the windows and to not under any circumstances look at the sky. 

Being kids, we did what kids do, we looked to the skies. 

Light danced across the sky in massive arches, I knew it immediately as lighting. 

Far more massive than anything I’d ever seen and very much not right. 

I foolishly assumed it must be that weather ghost again and looked for a way to leave; to change. I wish I had been right. 

The teachers had herded us all up, packed and watched closely. There was nowhere I could run and no one who could hide me. So I waited, just like everyone else. 

Not knowing was the worst part, I’ve learned over the years before this time and since this time that the worst thing I can do, is to do nothing. Both for my own sake and others. If I didn’t believe that before the day the stars fell I would have after. 

In movies, people like to say the crash came without a warning but that’s not true. We had a warning, the buzzing, the popping, the air becoming brutal just to breathe in. 

Instinctively I just stopped breathing, I had known no one would notice. That was something I had been right about. 

Everyone had gone to the ground, I had gone into a fighting stance originally but I got pulled down by the chaos of the others. 

The roof shook for only a second before it all came down, massive flashes of blinding electricity shooting everywhere and at everything. 

It hadn’t taken me long to notice that it wasn’t just things it had struck and was still striking, but rather beings. 

They say this is when fight or flight kicks in, when you see a person's true colours. That saying is true and I had long since lost my flight response. Fighting was all I knew, had been all I’d known for so long. But this, this was something I couldn’t fight. I hadn't even known where to start.  

So I did what I knew, I protected. I wore my colours, my true colours. Secrets be damned, secrets don’t matter in the face of death. In the face of people dying while you’re just, there. 

Turns out I needn’t worry about my secret, there wasn’t anyone left to tell.  

That day I learned something, something about intangibility. Something I wish I hadn’t. 

There’s a big difference between a regular human being made intangible and me becoming intangible. Raw electricity will go through me, it won’t go through them. But that wasn’t for a lack of me trying, anyone who was there wouldn’t dare disagree; if they had lived. 

I screamed, I cried, I wailed, I begged. All while struggling to hold onto, grab onto, and cover as many as I could. They flocked to me too, understanding that I always had and would play protector. But it didn’t matter, the electricity went through each one, most I didn’t even get to see die. 

They were gone too fast and eventually I was left to cradle the last one. I’ve seen so many others go like this since, had so many others go because my protection just wasn’t good enough; that I can’t say who I was cradling that day. Things blur, it’s all a matter of time. 

Stepping out of the destroyed school I had been soaked in blood, none of it my own, and tears, all of it my own. And I looked to the skies. 

And everything was coming down, crash and burn. Every building, every plane, every person unable to hide. This was on such a level that for seconds all I could do was stare, eventually I made some unremembered joke. I’m sure it was either really stupid or unbridled genius. 

Then I got to work, I did the one other thing I knew. I tried to exchange witty banter and a few blows. Turns out that doesn’t work on a gigantic ball of electricity and exploding gas. And that was when I knew, I remember looking up and seeing the empty night sky. Not a single star. Then staring around me, massive balls destroying everything. 

I had no time then to think about, really think about it, now I do. Back then I had simply fallen into trying to get people inside shelters, away from the nightmare from the skies. Others did the same too, even my parents. But they as always didn’t recognise me as their son and I guess I was acting to calm, too collected. In short, I had gotten too good at lying and playing a facade. 

They shouted and yelled at me, assumed it must be my fault. Some plan to make myself look like a hero. My mom has always been good at fear-mongering and being a ghost expert everyone assumed she was right about me, who to them was just a ghost. And like that, they turned on me, now that they had something to blame, something that had a consciousness. I quickly learned that my human allies were all dead or gone. 

I hid, I had to, if not for my own safety then for theirs. Humans, in their chance to seek revenge on those they deem responsible, will put themselves in harm's way. I couldn’t have that. And if they managed to destroy me, in their fear, then I wouldn’t be here to protect them. I couldn’t have that either. So I ran. 

And that’s how I discovered that flying was bad, very bad. The stars electricity was drawn to movement and the higher up the movement was the more attractive it was, and I move both fast and high. This caused the electricity to target me, and this show caused the humans to be even more sure that I was somehow controlling or responsible for this. While my intangibility could protect me, I could only hold it for so long and the blinding light really was blinding. 

Eventually, everything caught up with me, emotional and physical exhaustion, I just stopped. Stopped all of it, the flying, the intangibility and my colours. In some way, I wanted the pain of electricity, felt I deserved it. Why wouldn’t I? I had failed to save everyone. My ghost healing is all that saved me then. 

The only other like me was not so lucky, it turned out. Shortly after this catastrophe started he, being the frootloop he was, tried to bend the arm of the world. Tried to offer his “protection” for a price. He didn’t know what I had already learned and I’m not sure he would have listened if I had been able to get a hold of him. Intangibility wouldn’t work. He tried his plan and it killed him. I know it did, I’d heard it over the radio. 

Eventually, I think I’m done with my tinkering; this one might actually do something. What exactly? I don’t know but anything is better than what currently is. I’ve given up on testing things, on making sure it’s just right; I guess I realised I don’t have time for that anymore. I don’t have time for much at all anymore. But that’s ok, my time was never really mine was it? No, it always belonged to everyone else. To their safety, their future, their survival. It always was and always will be. And that’s ok. It really is. 

Look I know you can’t always save everyone, but that’s always been my plan. At the very least I’ll save some of them, a part, something that can exist on. I’ve had to come to terms with the fact that I have been, and will continue to be, saving more parts than wholes. A leg here, an eye there, even a patch of hair will just have to do. I can’t afford to be choosy with anything, not a single scrap. And every single scrap has seen me bleed and cry, that’s what doesn’t get easier. Mourning still happens even if I don’t have the time, even if no one does. I know a lot of people walking around are permanently mourning, unable to just carry on. They’re the ones waiting to just be taken out. I wish they wouldn’t do that, they’ll become another person I can only save part of. And everyone, every single one, is worth being save in the whole. I don’t care what hardships they’ve seen or who they lost, dammit! They have inherent worth! They deserve the right to survive! I always want to shout at them when I do spot one of the wanderers. If you can’t bare to survive for your own sake then find someone or thing else to survive for! Someone or something needs you! Wants you! I promise! But I know shouting does no good, I’ve tried; oh how I’ve tried. They’ll either learn it on their own or well.............or they just won’t. But I’ll be there to pick up the pieces, always. Put back together what I can and hope the rest forgives me for not rescuing it too. I like to think they all do but I know some don’t, they’ve told me so. 

Picking up my new trinket I begin the walk to the surface, breathing stalled and eyes always scanning. Looking for stars or looking for people, I no longer know which I’d really prefer. The first time a saw some eat another person was when I knew this really was hell. As I pass one of the many haphazardly built concrete caves, I do wind up spotting a person; and they spot me. 

I never take off my colours now, I can’t afford to. I need to be able to fly, fight, fire, or become intangible at a moments notice. I must not die. Sometimes that’s a problem and right now is one of those times. This person is clearly one that blames me, I know that immediately, as the fling anything they can get their hands on. A second runs out and attempts to fire what is a now empty ecto gun, old habits die hard. I shake my head and sigh at them, my parents. They look worse for the ware, with them being so close to where I’ve been resting and tinkering; they must be tracking me. This knowledge just makes me sigh deeper and longer, I know talking to them is no use. They’ve lost everything, believing both their kids dead and gone. And they blame me, a parents desire to kill who they believe is their children’s killer is unmatched. It can’t be faltered or bent. I know that and I know that to tell them now would break them to dust. They need something to blame and if they knew they’d eventually blame themselves, that’s yet another thing I just can’t have happening. So let them blame me, I’ll gladly take the fall. It’s what I do. 

It doesn’t take much to get away from them, they’re weakened and without usable weapons. Though they’d rip me to shreds with their bare hands if they could, and I know they’d think they were doing it for their kids; for me. Which is touching and I choose to hold on to the warm feeling that brings. Warm feelings don’t come often, so they have to be cherished. 

The time comes when I get to where and when I need to be. This star is the biggest I’ve spotted, so it’s always the one I pick to try and destroy. Take out the biggest, baddest foe and the rest will fall like flies, that’s how it works right? Well, I sure hope so. 

I stick my fists inside and charge up the blasters with my own ghostly energy. They look something like giant balls attached to tubes encasing my arms. Balls to defeat balls, I find some humour in that really. Once they’re all charged I ram them inside the star with an angry growl. 

It doesn’t work. 

I know I can’t go back to the same place as before, I know my parents will be waiting for me. I’m used to this though, just move on. Keep going. You’ll get it. Eventually.

to be continued.....

[starswornoaths]

5. Show of Hands

By default, Merlwyb was not a morning person.

As those directly under her command could attest, the Admiral was not to be approached for anything short of full scale war before she consumed, at the bare minimum, two cups of black coffee. Any fool who dared attempt approaching before that, unless it was to offer her more coffee would be met with a glare dark enough to engulf the Mother crystal Herself.

So when Slafyrsyn brought her a missive from one of the ships away on a cargo route, his heart might have given out for the sheer animosity in her tired gaze were he of a lesser constitution. As it stood, he simply gave a polite bow and presented the missive as though it were her breakfast.

“I presume this is urgent.” She said, her voice still gravelly from disuse and a lack of coffee both.

“Aye, Admiral,” Slafyrsyn affirmed. She took the report and began reading, though her severe expression did not soften. “It does not, on the surface, appear urgent, but I assure you—”

“Ghosts, Slafyrsyn?” The Admiral snarled, tossing the report onto her desk and redirecting her ire back at him. “Am I now meant to fight a ghost?”

Well aware that were she more awake, she would be cackling in delight at the mere thought of swashbuckling a specter, Slafyrsyn cleared his throat to hide an amused chuckle; it had been enough years serving under her that he knew where the line was between plucky friendship and the plank.

“Not...fighting a ghost, Admiral.” He gently corrected. “And...and not technically a ghost, either.” He gestured to the discarded paper. “Please, read the entire missive, I promise all is explained within.”

Merlwyb narrowed her eyes but returned her attention to the report. Her frown turned thoughtful as she continued, the coffee oiling the gears of her mind to work for the day.

Still...Slafyrsyn could tell the moment she read the end by the way her eyebrows met her hairline.

“Why is Captain Arcbane referenced in this report?” Merlwyb asked. “How did this cargo vessel run into her in the open waters? She’s currently on vacation— I signed off on it.” She narrowed her eyes. “She took two months off— she made for Ishgard the second I approved it!” She straightened in her seat a moment, her expression suggesting that a thought suddenly and violently occurred to her. “...Get me Flame General Pipin and Lord Commander Aymeric on the line. Now.”

Less than an hour later, she stood looming over her desk, various reports strewn out for her to scan over. The linkpearl in her ear let out two soft ding noises, one after the other to signal that two people were entering the call line she had opened. She tapped it, her focus still honed in on four reports in particular.

“If this is anyone but General Pipin and Ser Aymeric, kindly sod off.” She said gruffly.

“Good morning, Admiral,” she heard the Lord Commander say diplomatically.

“Well, won’t this be an interesting conversation.” Pipin said, sighing.

“I will be brief,” Merlwyb said, her hand reaching out for one of the reports— the earliest dated one she had suspicions was related to this ghost. “Ser Aymeric, can you confirm that Storm Captain Serella Arcbane arrived to Ishgard following her approved leave?” She offered him the start date, and she could her him confirm on his calendar.

“She arrived here that same day,” Aymeric answered. “Though given you are looking for her now, I will tell you that she left after staying a week.” The sound of a book being shut was faintly heard. “She mentioned a fishing trip with her brother, and that she would return here when it was done.”

A fishing trip. Merlwyb would have laughed if she was not so furious.

“Uthengentle mentioned much the same, actually.” Pipin spoke up. “He’s on leave, too, come to mention it—”

“Did either of them happen to mention where they were going ‘fishing?’ Or what it was they were trying to catch?”

“Storm Captain Arcbane gave no indication.” Aymeric answered, ever the diplomat.

“Flame Lieutenant Arcbane didn’t say much either,” Pipin replied. “Just that he was looking forward to his fishing trip with his sister.”

“Did either of them,” Merlwyb began slowly. “Ever mention that they were going to create a mythical ghost to ‘catch’ Imperial slavers?” She only barely fought down the urge to shriek the more she thought about it. “Was that mentioned by any chance?”

“...Forgive me,” Aymeric said, and even through the faint static of the linkpearl, the Admiral could hear his bafflement. “Perhaps my reception is poor— did you say they created a ghost story to scare Imperial slavers?”

“Sounds more like they made themselves the ghosts.” Pipin said, though sounded infuriatingly unsurprised.

“General Pipin has the right of it,” Merlwyb snarled. “We just received a boat full of people— of captured people that have been missing for months— with no captain, no crew, but a letter with the Maelstrom Captain’s seal requesting that these people be cared for.” She snarled. “And from the way the rescued people talk, a wraith descended upon the Imperial ship in fog and slaughtered their captives.”

“And given an officer of the Eorzean Alliance is involved, that might complicate things.” Aymeric supplied.

“Two. I can confirm Ul’Dah has received a similar boat of missing people with the Flame Lieutenant’s seal on a letter requesting these people be returned to their homes.” Spoke Pipin.

“That this is how those two fools use their vacation time astounds me.” Merlwyb grumbled, rubbing at her temples to try and stave off the migraine she was already beginning to feel press against her eyelids. “I intend to hail Storm Captain Arcbane and bring her into the call.”

“Shall I step out, then?” Aymeric asked. “I fear there is little more I can assist with—”

“Oh, no,” Merlwyb said in the same way one chastises a child for misbehaving. “You stay. I would confirm the use of an appropriated Dragonkiller on top of everything else.”

“Forgive me, a WHAT—”

Merlwyb ignored Aymeric’s baffled sputtering and dialed her Captain’s personal line. After a few tense moments, there was a soft ding.

“Hello?” Serella’s voice called out through the heavy static on her end— she must be rather far out to sea, then.

“Storm Captain,” Merlwyb snarled. “Where are you at this very moment?”

“...Fishing.” She said after a pregnant pause.

“Oh, ‘fishing?’ And what exactly are you trying to catch, Captain?” Merlwyb pressed.

“Oh, you know,” Serella did not immediately answer. “Things one tends to find out on the open sea—”

“You mean Imperial slavers, Captain?” The Admiral demanded.

“...In my defense, you do find them out on the open sea.” Serella countered. “I didn’t lie about it.”

“You are on vacation,” Merlwyb began. “Hunting slavers with your brother using a modified Dragonkiller as the figurehead of your ship—” she cut off her own rant as another thought occurred to her. “Is that ship a part of the Maelstrom fleet? Is it even a registered ship?”

“Technically registered— but only by the Knights of the Barracuda.” Serella admitted like her arm was being twisted. “We rebuilt Da’s ship— the Serpent’s Sting? Is that...is that a famous ship? I dunno, now that I’m thinking on it—” it was Serella’s turn to cut herself off. “Wait— did you say a modified Dragonkiller?”

“I will admit, this part interests me, as well, Storm Captain.” Aymeric spoke up in his most unamused tone.

“Oh, you’re here, too?” Serella asked. “Hello! I’m still on that fishing trip!”

“Clearly.” Aymeric drawled. “How did you manage to steal a Dragonkiller?”

“You wound me!” Serella gasped. “I’ve stolen nothing! I went to the exhibit on the history of weaponry— that exhibit they did following the Dragonsong War on different styles of weapons used—”

“Get to the point, Captain.” Merlwyb snarled.

“Sorry, sorry.” Serella hastily apologized. “They had a blueprint of an older model of Dragonkiller— and I sketched it out, but then I compared it to newer models, made some adjustments. Handed it to Uthengentle— have I mentioned he’s brilliant with weapon modification? — And he had the idea to change the lance at the head of it into a battering ram that opens into a claw! Now it’s a Hullkiller!”

“At what point,” Merlwyb asked slowly, her patience utterly spent. “Did you decide that a ghost ship was how you were going to fight slavers?”

“The beginning, if I’m being honest.” Serella said, and the Admiral could see her shrug. “We wanted to build something that wasn’t about ‘the Warriors of Light’ or anything. We wanted a boogeyman to kind of cover our bases.”

“So you took a two month vacation to have a costume party on your dead father’s ship?!” Merlwyb screeched.

“Listen,” Serella said, clearly unmoved by the Admiral’s outburst. “If I want to become a sea cryptid on my own time, that’s my business, Admiral.” Distantly, they heard shouting on her side of the call. “Ooohh, an Imperial Galleon—”

“Captain Arcbane, so help me—”

“The fish are biting, Admiral! I’ll write soon!” Before anyone could demand that she explain herself, her line cut off.

“...Well.” Aymeric spoke up in the tense silence. “At least they are not using stolen Alliance equipment.”

“And not technically done anything illegal to boot.” Pipin added. “Though I doubt that will mean the end of paperwork for us, at least it’s all above board...I think?”

“We will have to determine that at the time of their return.” Merlwyb said, fighting the urge to roll her eyes.

“I’m not even attempting to contact Flame Lieutenant Arcbane until they’re ashore.” Pipin admitted, sighing. “...He tends to just hang up on me anyway.”

“This discussion is over.” Merlwyb said. She could feel her eye twitching. “I thank you both for your time.”

“Pray do not outright murder the Warriors of Light, Admiral.” Aymeric entreated her with a sigh of resignation. “I imagine a great deal of chaos would only come from their demise.”

“I’ll take that into consideration.” She snarled.

“Have a drink, Admiral.” Pipin said, defeated. “Gods know I’m opening a bottle of brandy over this.”

The call ended without preamble, which was well— Merlwyb had one more thing she needed done before resuming her duties.

Taking the lift to the Drowning Wench, she felt the eyes of every patron and worker in the bar fall upon her— good, she thought. Less shouting for their attention.

“Show of hands,” she called out, and she must have looked as near-insane as she felt, if the way the crowd seemed to jump. “Who among you aided the Arcbane siblings in supplying and manning a ship?”

Nearly every hand in the bar went up.

“Not manning, though.” Baderon reluctantly spoke up from the back. “They were insistent no one else join...but we supplied ‘em.”

“And you all kept quiet because…?” Merlwyb demanded.

“...They traded us barrels of personal stock liquor for the trouble?” Baderon said with a shrug. “And it was good?”

Deciding she had spoken to enough fools for one day, Merlwyb threw her hands up in the air in exasperation, did an about face, and just went back to her office. Slafyrsyn, knowing the oncoming storm, was already brewing coffee upon her return. If she felt as though she could trust her staff not to rebuild a two decades old ship just to harass slavers under the radar, she might have considered giving him a vacation for his efforts.

[calamity-chaos]

Walking After You

Pairings: Gabriel x Reader

Tags/Warnings: Angst, fluff

Song: Walking After You by Foo Fighters

Word Count: 2082

You had first seen him at the edge of a street corner.

It was mid-July, on one of your earliest cases. The suit you were wearing was hot and uncomfortable, and it was exacerbating your already sour mood. What had seemed like a simple salt and burn at the surface, was growing far more complicated the more you dug. You were in a hurry to get to your motel room to get out of the heat and change into something more comfortable when you felt a prickle on the back of your neck.  The feeling of being watched.

You paused mid-stride, instincts kicking in as you scanned your surroundings. There. He was leaning against a sweet shop shamelessly staring at you. When your eyes met, he gave a nod and the smallest of smiles.

For some reason, you shivered. You immediately looked away, ducking your head down and continuing to your motel room.

You weren’t scared per say. That wasn’t what made you turn your head. There was something off about the man, something in the tilt of his head, the curve of his smile, the way his eyes seemed to glow golden despite the bright July sunshine.

You had casually asked the locals about him, during your investigation but discovered very little. He had come into town two days before you had, which had taken him off the suspect list since the phenomena had been going on for at least two weeks. He had introduced himself as Locke, and that was all anyone knew about him.

You would see Him around now and again. Always at distance, and always just…watching. You had tried several times to talk to Him, but He always seemed to disappear before you got close enough.

Until that one night. Alone in a house that was invested with angry spirits, you were way out of your depth. You had come expecting two spirits worst case scenario. There turned out to be around nine of them total. You had barricaded yourself into a room and was desperately trying to finish a salt circle when one of them appeared right in front of you. You screamed, jumping back. You threw the last tiny bit of the salt at it and it hissed but did not vanish. It advanced on you, and you scrabbled around trying to find anything to ward it off.

And then in the midst of all that chaos, you heard a snap, and the spirit was gone. The cacophony from all the others had ceased and the only sound you were left was your own ragged breathing. And He was there, leaning on the wall opposite radiating smug satisfaction.

“You alright there, Cupcake?”

You gaped at him, still trying to catch your breath. “What-how-who are you?!” You picked up the empty salt container and held it out in a pitiful attempt to look threatening.

Locke rolled his eyes. “Relax sweetheart, if I had wanted to hurt you, I would’ve left you to Casper the unfriendly ghost.”

“You’re welcome, by the way” He added when you didn’t respond.

You stared at him, not letting your guard down for a minute. “Why?” you demanded.

Locke shrugged. “I was in the neighborhood” You gave him a flat stare.  “I was bored,” He said, a hint of defensiveness in his tone.

“Who-what are you?”

He only grinned, waggled his eyebrows, and vanished.

 The next time you saw him, was at a café in some small town in Nowhere USA. You had just finished a job and was avoiding the stares of the other patrons by reading.

“Good book?”

You jumped, spilling your drink. “Jesus Christ” you hissed earning a glare from the elderly lady at a nearby table

“Not quite,” Locke said dryly. You reached for a napkin to mop up the mess but found the table dry and your drink sitting upright.

“What are you doing here?” you whispered, glancing around at the other customers in the café, but none of them had seemed to notice Locke’s sudden appearance. “You can’t-go away”

Locke raised his hand to his chest in mock hurt “But I only just got here” You ignored him, opening your book, and hoped that the lack of attention would send him back to wherever he came from.

Half and hour and two cups of coffee later, it became abundantly clear that Locke was not going to leave. You put down your book with a sigh. “I didn’t catch your name,” You remarked, watching in horrified fascination as he downed his sixth cup of hot cocoa.

“Didn’t throw it, sugar?” He said casually.

You rolled your eyes. “Y/N,” you said “My name is Y/N L/N”

“Well,” He said with exaggerated grandness “It is a pleasure to meet you Y/N L/N” Locke smiled, his eyes twinkling as he took your hand and pressed his lips to your knuckles. You felt heat rising in your cheeks and prayed that it wasn’t visible.

“Oh please,” you said with a coy smile, matching his tone “The pleasure is all mine, Mr…?”

 “Just Locke will do,” He said, his grin growing wider.

“Well then,” you said “Just Locke. Is there anything I can do for you? There is a significant lack of angry ghosts so I can’t imagine you’re here to save me again.”

Locke shrugged nonchalantly. “Just passing through?”

You raised a skeptical eyebrow at him “Really?” you said, drawing out the word. “So, you aren’t stalking me then?”

“I would never!”

“So, all those times I caught you watching me…that was just a coincidence?”

Locke winced “Had to make sure you weren’t hunting me. Just a safety precaution, nothing personal.”

“Should I be hunting you?” you said, leaning forward and resting your hand on the knife tucked into your jeans.

The question hung in the air, and the voices in the café seemed suddenly muted and distant. Locke leaned forward. “You’re welcome to try,” he said softly, his eyes burning into yours, and you were once again struck with the feeling of off-ness. This…being radiated power and otherworldliness, and you felt very, very small.

You leaned back slowly, bringing your hand off your knife, to rest on the table and Locke relaxed. The moment had passed, the noises of the café returning.

“What are you?” you asked quietly.

Locke smiled “Just passing through” was all he said, and then he was gone.

 He would return at random intervals, sometimes giving you helpful tips, or pointing you in the right direction on a case, other times appearing simply to pester you into talking to him. At first, mouths could pass before you would see him again, but as time wore on his visits became more and more frequent. You never could figure out what he was, though you had several guesses. You attempted to spring the question on him, but he always had some witty line ready.

It was after a particularly nasty fight with a werewolf. You were leaning against a tree, trying to catch your breath and grinning at some stupid story Locke was telling when you winced in pain. Lifting your pant leg, you found three claw marks. You grimaced, certain that it was going to leave a scar when you felt a hand on your shoulder and the pain and marks vanished.

You looked up to see Locke standing beside you, frowning. Your eyes met, and he brushed his hand against your cheek, and this time you felt something ghost across your face, healing up little cuts and nicks you had accumulated over the years.

“What are you?” you whispered

Locke’s mouth curved up “A friend” he answered before vanishing into the night.

You stopped asking after that.

And then the Angels came.

And Locke was gone.

At first, you were worried, wondering if something had happened to him. You brushed that aside, Locke was too powerful, too clever. You decided painfully that he had finally grown bored and had simply moved on. You weren’t bitter of course. Not at all.

Things just won't do without you, matter of fact Oh oh ooh I'm on your back I'm on your back

And so, when he appeared months later, sitting across from you, leaning back casually as if nothing had happened, you weren’t the least bit angry.

“Been a long time?” You said after a while, keeping your eyes glued to the book you had been reading “Thought you forgot about me”

“Been busy” Locke said shortly. You snuck the briefest glance up at him and was startled to find his usual calm, nonchalance had been replaced by a distracted, almost nervous air. Locke was on edge, and that meant nothing good.

Still, that was none of your business.

“So have I,” You said, flicking your eyes back to your book. “Angels and demons and all sorts of biblical shit. Don’t know if you noticed.”

Locke ignored you, continuing to flick his eyes around the room as if watching for something. “I can’t stay here” He muttered, almost to himself

You swallowed down a wave of bitterness. “Well, don’t let me keep you.” You said with false cheer.

“Come with me”

Your head snapped up. “Uh..what?”

“Run away with me,” Locke said stronger this time, his eye meeting yours.

“Where?” You asked bemused

“Anywhere you like,” Locke said, spreading his arms in a grand gesture. “Anywhere in the universe.”

“I can’t just leave” you spluttered “Demons…the seals…Lucifer!”

“I hate to break it to you, sweetheart, but it’s already too late,”  Locke said.

“No-we can still stop it” you argued

“Trust me,” Locke said “You can’t” And for the first time, you noticed the pain in his eyes.  You opened your mouth to speak, but he cut you off. “Please.” He said, his voice growing soft. “I missed you”

For one shining second, you considered saying yes. Leaving behind all the stress of the imminent apocalypse, hunting, everything.  

“I can’t,” you said “I’m sorry”

Locke’s face tightened in frustration. “You’ll die.” He said, desperation coloring his voice. “If you stay you’ll die”

“Not neces-”

“You will” he interrupted “No listen, the apocalypse…Lucifer…you can’t win”  

“We can try,” You said with growing irritation “My friends need me.”

“I need you”

The words hung in the air, and the both of you froze. You swallowed, heart-pounding “Locke-” But he was already gone.

I cannot be without you, matter of fact Oh oh ooh I'm on your back

Music played in the bar, and patrons chattered and laughed. A golden-haired man sat alone at a table, eyes staring into his untouched drink.

“You’re a hard man to find”

Locke jumped up, knocking his drink over. His eyes snapped up to meet yours and widened with recognition.

“Wait!” You pleaded before he could vanish once again “Please, I have to say something before you go, you owe me that much”

Locke stilled, his expression neutral. You walked over to him, throat dry. You opened your mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Weeks of searching and planning exactly what to say and you couldn’t find the words.

 You leaned your hand against his cheek and kissed him chastely. “Stay with me” You whispered as you pulled away.

Locke stared at you, his expression torn before he pulled you in closer and kissed you.

 If you walk out on me I'm walking after you

If you walk out on me I'm walking after you

 The last time you saw him, was in an old library, mid case. Dusk was falling and you had been going on about the possibility of vampires when you trailed off realizing Locke had been usually silent. His face was lined with worry and he was looking distractedly out the window.

“Hey,” You said walking over to him “What it is, what’s wrong?”

He swallowed looking old and tired. “The Winchesters have managed to get themselves into even more trouble.”

“Yeah, they have a remarkable talent for that,” You said dryly “I suppose we’ve got to save them then”

Locke shook his head. “Not we”

“Nice try, but you’re not leaving me behind. Not again”

Locke shook his head “This isn’t your fight, sweetheart”

“It isn’t yours either” You argued. Locke looked away and didn’t respond. “Locke, what’s going on, what aren’t you telling me!?”

Silence

“What are you?!”

This time Locke looked up and smiled sadly. “I’m yours,” he said and kissed you before vanishing for the last time.

Another heart is cracked in two           I'm on your back

Gabriel: @luciferseclipse @hankypranky

[celebrate-the-clone-wars]

10/17 Writing Wednesday Submit

Story: Tallying Scars Chapter: A Fading Echo (48 of ??) Published: Wattpad (https://my.w.tt/tLMf7qqYZQ)

CONTENT:

“Fives? Are you- do you- wanna talk about it?” Tup asked quietly, his voice small and unsure. Fives, lying face down on Echo’s bunk in the barracks, turned his head slightly so that he was facing the wall.

“Okay, maybe later then.” Tup sighed, shoulders sagging in defeat as he turned away. They were much narrower in breadth, Rex suddenly realized, than either his or his other brothers of same age, and he wondered if he had ever looked that young and vulnerable.

Glancing about the barracks he noticed for the first time that the younger recruits were slimmer in build and slightly shorter than the Old Guard were, and it made his breath catch in his throat. They were all just so… young. Echo had only been ten years old and four months when he’d- and most of the newest troops were still nine. Rex himself was just shy of eleven and a half and aside from Jesse, Brye, and Kix he was the oldest there. Ailen and Denal had both only just turned eleven.

The door opened and they all started sharply as General Kenobi halted in the entrance, wary of stepping fully in and crossing some sort of unspoken line that they were all aware existed. To invade the personal space of those who had never had nor never would have anything else left to call their own without prior consent was a serious matter.

“Any news?” Rex asked. His voice was hoarse. Obi-wan shook his head ‘no,’ eyes dark with defeat. The room, only seconds before full of hope, seemed to have the light sucked out of it.

“No. They still haven’t found her yet.”

“First we lose-” Brye swallowed heavily as everyone turned to look at him. His eyes were dark and shimmering with suppressed tears. “And now Ahsoka’s gone missing. Are we cursed or something?”

“Or are we making up for lost time?” a Shiny asked sourly. “We’ve had the lowest casualty to difficulty of assignment ratio in the entire frontlines GAR since the war started. Are we catching up with everyone else?”

“You weren’t on Teth,” Ailen snapped, eyes blazing hot with anger. “Don’t ever say we’ve had it lucky with our numbers.” Obi-wan managed to catch Rex’s eye as the entire barracks erupted into loud and angry argument, and the two slipped out into the hall.

“Anakin won’t leave the Temple,” Kenobi explained quietly. It was easy for Rex to see, after having spent extended time with the man, that he was upset. “He won’t even leave the tactical room. Nothing I say seems to make a difference.”

“I’ll have a word with him,” Rex assured. Obi-wan gave an appreciative nod, hesitated before laying a comforting hand briefly on the Captain’s shoulder, and then departed. Rex braced himself before walking back in to the chaos.

“ALL RIGHT THAT’S ENOUGH!” He shouted. The entire barracks froze, all eyes wide and shocked. Rex never yelled at them when he could more effectively issue commands with quiet authority. He cleared his throat and then continued on with soft disappointed firmness, which scared them more. When he sounded disappointed it meant he was so angry that he was physically restraining himself from throttling someone (usually Hardcase or Brye).

“This is a difficult time for the entire Company. If we’re gonna get through this we need to stick together. We’re not cursed, and we’re not lucky. We’re skilled, and we use smart tactics. You can’t expect the newcomers to understand what it was like at the beginning, and the newcomers can’t expect the veterans to understand the pressure they have since their training ended before it was completed. But we can all understand just fine that we’re scared, and that we’re hurting. Focus on what you do know and put aside what you don’t, because I promise you this: if we can’t come together now then this will tear us apart. And the next time we gear up to fight it’s likely most of us won’t be coming back.” He fixed them with a tired look.

“I’m going to the Temple to check in with Skywalker,” he continued in a normal tone and stress of voice. “I expect you to have figured it out by the time I get back. Fives, with me. Better wear your formal fatigues.”

\•!•!•!•!•!•!•!•/

Rex hadn’t actually been sure that Fives would obey, but a few minutes later they had left the Coruscant GAR barracks and were headed for the Jedi Temple in their smart formal uniforms. As usual, people stopped what they were doing long enough to stare; it was rare that they ever got to see a clone trooper out of armor or even simply with their helmets off.

“They look so young,” someone whispered. To anyone else it would have been impossible to catch the words, but they had been trained to utilize all their senses to their utmost and optimum efficiency, and it carried easily. Rex’s step faltered slightly, breaking perfect and subconscious rhythm with Fives.

“Sir?” He murmured uncertainly.

“I’m fine. Just… it’s been a hard few days.” Fives nodded in understanding, swallowing hard to stop himself from crying in a public venue. “The Temple’s not far. Come on.”

They had been raised to suppress their feelings. Emotions were messy and inconvenient, so unlike the machine efficiency the Kaminoans wanted and so incredibly sentient that they had no place in the perfect slave army. If you had a problem, you dealt with it rationally and compartmentalized. Above all, the issue was not to interfere with one’s work.

It meant that they had a hard time properly expressing grief or trauma, and it was leading to a lot of problems with PTS and ghosting. There was no counseling in the GAR because they didn’t require it. Truth was, they probably required it just for the problem that they didn’t.

Rex shook his head slightly. He was confusing himself now. But one thing struck him as something of note, and that had been his knee-jerk reaction to immediately label himself and his brothers as part of a slave army. Did he really think that?

They passed by a group of civilians protesting the war and the use of the clone army and was surprised to find that he actually did.

They’d had no choice but to go out and fight. To serve and take orders unquestioningly. They’d been born for it, and it was all they knew how to do. They had no pay, no leave. Just the endless toil until they eventually died or the war ended, whichever came first.

If given the choice, Echo would probably have become a teacher to a young group of children instead of fight.

“Why did you take me with you, sir?” Fives asked quietly as they ascended the Temple’s steps.

“You needed a change of scenery, and you’ve never been.”

“I didn’t need a-”

“Fives.”

“…Thanks.” He was looking anywhere except into Rex’s eyes. “I’m not taking this well.”

“You just lost your last Squad Brother. I wouldn’t expect you to.” Fives hesitated before speaking again.

“Ever had it happen to you?”

“No.”

“Really?” He registered surprise. “I thought, because it’s just you and Brye…”

“Most do.” Rex’s smile was dark. “Teri, Aeric, and Chester. Our other squad mates. We were too good at what we did, unfortunately. They separated us for specialized training in different respective fields right before Geo I. That was the last time we fought together, and I got split from the rest early into the battle. Haven’t seen them since, and I don’t know where they’re stationed so I can’t call. Don’t have the time to look either, the way you guys keep me running about putting out fires.”

“I think that’s worse than knowing they’re gone,” Fives murmured sympathetically. “The not knowing.” They were walking through the ornate halls with the vaulted ceilings now. Rex considered for a moment.

“I suppose. But I wouldn’t wish either on anyone for the world.”

“No.”

They went to talk to General Skywalker in the Tactical Room, and while they couldn’t get him to leave or sleep they did succeed in persuading him to eat something, which was a small victory that they were willing to accept. Afterward, Rex made a detour accompanied by a confused Fives to the Room of a Thousand Fountains.

Rex was pretty sure they weren’t supposed to just roam the Temple without supervision when the area wasn’t designated as military for the duration of the war, but no one seemed to care that they were there. In fact, they passed several Jedi both too old and too young to do any field fighting as they moved through the little pools and rivers to sit in the soft, thick grass next to the waterfall.

The holographic ceiling portrayed a synthetic view of the stars visible in the Coruscant night sky above them, and they laid out on their backs side by side and just soaked in the peace and calm for a while.

After a little bit Fives hesitantly tapped Rex on the top of his hand. He was asking. Rex responded in like kind to let him know it was okay, and they entwined their fingers together. Just laid there, looking at the stars and missing their brothers, quietly grieving for Echo. Rex didn’t need to look over to see that Fives was crying.

Things had quieted down by the time they got back to barracks; everyone was heaped together in a mess of blankets and pillows on the floor. Legs and arms were tangled hopelessly together, everyone needing the reassurance of the warmth of their brothers beside them that night. Fives and Rex exchanged a glance before changing into their fatigues and worming their way into the group.

\•!•!•!•!•!•!•!•/

When Ahsoka got back from her ordeal as Trandoshan ceremonial hunting prey she was pretty shaken, and she was admitted immediately into the Temple’s med wing with the other Padawans. While she was in there she had terrible nightmares, so when she was released Obi-wan and Anakin decided to camp out in front of her quarters for the first night or so to let her know that she was safe and that she wasn’t alone.

They had a hard time even getting close to the door because they had to step over 150 sleeping troopers who had already beaten them to it, but eventually they fell asleep against the wall with Obi-wan’s head resting against Anakin’s shoulder and Anakin’s chin resting on his forehead. Fives was curled into a tight ball against Rex’s side a few feet away surrounded by the rest of the Old Guard.

Everyone needed companionship every now and again, even troopers and Jedi.

[magictaverntranscripts]

Episode 1 - Hello From the Magic Tavern

[static]

Mysterious Man: Warning…the following podcast is not real, but it is really sponsored by JackBox Games. Get five hilarious party games in the JackBox Party Pack, from the creators of You Don’t Know Jack. Now on Xbox One, PS3, PS4, Steam and more. Go to JackBoxGames.com for more info.

[static]

[theme song]

Arnie: Hello From the Magic Tavern!

[trill]

Arnie: Before we get started, there’s a little bit of an expositional road bump that we have to get over. I’m Arnie Niekamp, I’m from Chicago, and I guess it’s worth mentioning that Chicago is on the planet Earth. A couple of days ago, I fell through a magical rift behind a Burger King, into a magical land called Foon. Luckily, I happen to have my podcasting equipment with me, and I’m still getting a slight WiFi signal from the Burger King, through the magical portal, so I’ve decided to host a weekly podcast here in the tavern, the Vermilion Minotaur. And this week I’m joined by a couple of guests, would you guys mind introducing yourselves?

Chunt: Hey, this is Chunt.

Usidore: Hello, I am Usidore, Wizard of the Twelfth Realm of Ephisious, Grand Master of Light and Shadow, Persuader of Magical Delights, Devourer of Chaos, Champion of the Great Halls of Ter'a'kus. The Elves know me as Fi'yang Y'aluk, the Dwarves know me as Zonanen Hoongstanges, and I am also known throughout the realm as Gasmuneus Maestar.

Arnie: [pause, amused] What was that name again?

Usidore: I am Usidore, Wizard of the Twelfth Realm of Ephisious, Grand Master of Light and Shadow, I’m - you know, I’ve been debating Persuader or Manipulator of Magical Delights? Tell me what you think about that. Devourer of Chaos, Champion of the Great Halls of Ter'a'kus. The Elves know me as Fi'yang Y'aluk, the Dwarves know me as Zonanen Hoongstanges, and I am also known throughout the realm as Gasmuneus Maestar.

Chunt: And I’m Chunt.

Arnie: So Usidore, I hear you’ve got a really interesting quest that you’re going on-

Usidore: Yes.

Arnie: But before we get to that, I’d like to talk to Chunt a little bit.

Usidore: Uh, okay.

Chunt: Mm-hmm?

Arnie: Just to sort of-

Usidore: The very future of our realm depends on the outcome of my quest, but let’s talk to Chunt.

Arnie: That’s great, we’re gonna tease that out, we’re gonna talk about that in the second segment of the podcast-

Usidore: Terrific.

Chunt: We all have things going on.

Arnie: Yeah, exactly, we all have stuff going on.

Usidore: Of course.

Arnie: So when I first appeared in this magical land, and it’s called Foon, is that right?

Chunt: Foon, yeah, Foon.

Arnie: And, Chunt you were one of the first people I met, you are a badger?

Chunt: Y-es, and no. I did sort-of stumble upon you while I was hunting.

Arnie: Mm-hmm.

Chunt: I am a badger currently, but I’m sort-of a changeling? See my mom was a manticore and my father was a hunger ghost.

Arnie: A hunger ghost?

Chunt: Mm-hmm. It’s a - it’s the ghost of someone who died while they were famished?

Arnie: [slight laughter] Uh-huh.

Chunt: While they were starving.

Arnie: So it’s a-

Usidore: Oh lo, beware a hunger ghost, if you ever meet a hunger ghost it shall haunt you for all of your days. Yea, and eat not - not a pretzel around it, nor a creamed cheese, for they shall chase you to the ends of Foon!

Chunt: My dad’s pretty cool. But I basically can, y'know, change into different animals.

Arnie: You can – Oh, I didn’t realize that!

Chunt: Mm-hmm.

Arnie: You know, actually, you’re the first person I met here, and you were so kind to let me shack up with you for a couple of days.

Chunt: Uh-huh.

Arnie: and I just thought you were a talking badger…but you’re, you can change into other things?

Chunt: Yeah, it’s not at will, but I can uh, eventually change into different animals.

Arnie: Like, what kind of animals have you been in the past?

Chunt: Been a goat before, several – goat several times. Uh…a bear…eagle…spider…

Arnie: A spider? [laughing] How does this changing process work?

Chunt: It’s basically whatever creature I sleep with, I then become in a fortnight.

Usidore: So it’s not limited simply to animals.

Chunt: No, it could be –

Usidore: For if you can become a spider, that’s an arachnid, and not an animal.

Chunt: I mean…I don’t know.

Arnie: When you say ‘sleep with’ you’re, you’re, are you sugg-

Chunt: Sex.

Arnie: Sex.

Chunt: Mm-hmm.

Usidore: Yes, of course!

Arnie: I’ve got a lot of questions. Spider, though?

Chunt: Mm-hmm.

Arnie: How do you have sex with a spider?

Chunt: Well at the time I was a cricket.

Arnie: Okay…follow-up question…

Chunt: Before the cricket, I was a bird…before the bird, I was a cat.

Arnie: So you were just…sexing your way slowly down the food chain?

Chunt: And then back up, yep.

Arnie: And then back up.

Chunt: I have a tapestry that explains the whole thing, it has my whole history-

Arnie: I did see that tapestry in your hovel and I did not realize that it was a sexual tapestry.

Chunt: Yeah, each animal is sort-of…grasping the one in front of it?

Arnie: Uh-huh…

Chunt: So, that’s my path. That’s my journey.

Arnie: I should have looked more closely at what was going on in that tapestry.

Chunt: [sighing] Yep, that’s my journey.

Usidore: Your gifts may help us on the great quest to save all of Foon.

Arnie: I’m excited to get to your quest-

Usidore: Yes. Okay.

Arnie: We’ll get to that in the second segment-

Usidore: Sorry about that.

Arnie: So…where I come from, having sex with animals is a little bit frowned upon-

Chunt: O…kay…

Arnie: Is that not the case here? Like, Usidore, what is the general thought on having sex with animals in Foon?

Usidore: I think we’ve all fingered a spider.

Arnie: [laughing] No…

Usidore: It’s just a, uh…when you’re a young wizard, learning your way about the world, you encounter certain animals out in the wild as you become one with nature, and commune with the powers that be in the universe, and sometimes that happens in a sexual manner, I see nothing strange about this at all.

Arnie: How…how do you even…how would you…I don’t think I want an answer, but I don’t know how you could physically finger a spider?

Usidore: …Consent?

Arnie: Okay, well that’s good, that’s a good start. So Chunt, how long have you been a badger?

Chunt: Uh, going on about two weeks now.

Arnie: Two weeks?

Chunt: Mm-hmm.

Arnie: How often-

Usidore: Not getting any.

Chunt: Yeah, badgers- I mean, I’ve been scaring off any potential next body.

Arnie: Uh-huh. Okay…

Chunt: Badgers are terrifying, look at me!

Arnie: Y-, I mean, I thought you were kind-of this adorable talking animal. And I’m not, I mean, and please-

Chunt: No, I’m flattered, I’m flattered, no it’s fine-

Arnie: Don’t take this as an insult, I’m not like, personally interested in having sex with you, I’m just not into having sex with animals.

Usidore: If you were to become one of the Great Blue Tigers, you could help me on my quest. Yea, to save all of Foon, AND WE MUST SAVE FOON!

Arnie: We’re gonna’ get to that.

Usidore: We’re gonna’ get to that.

Arnie: We’re gonna’ get to that quest in just a little bit.

Usidore: I apologize.

Arnie: Okay, so I guess I don’t want to dwell on bestiality so much right out of the gate. The listeners aren’t familiar with this world at all, and they don’t know much – I’d like to talk a little bit about the town that this tavern is based in. It’s called Hogface?

Chunt: Mm-hmm. And it’s mostly like, vacation destination.

Arnie: Oh!

Usidore: It’s a tiny hamlet.

Arnie: Huh.

Usidore: There’s a wonderful bed & breakfast.

Chunt: A lot of people come from Foon to escape, you know, The Dark Lord, or just get away from work for a few days…

Usidore: Yea, but they cannot escape The Dark Lord, for his power is ever-reaching and ever-growing, and it is up to us, to TAKE ON THIS QUEST AND DEFEAT THE DARK LORD!

Arnie: Who is the Dark Lord?

Usidore: I, hm…Speak not his name.

Chunt: Not supposed to say his name.

Usidore: The Master, he is often called, or The Dark One, and if you say his name, great ruin shall come unto you and your family.

Arnie: Okay.

Usidore: So speak not this name.

Arnie: I don’t know his name.

Usidore: Do not speak it, for words have great power.

Chunt: Don’t say it. Don’t say his name.

Arnie: I won’t say it, I can’t say it.

Usidore: Do not spell his name.

Arnie: If I say it, it’s an accident.

Chunt: Well, learn the name, so you don’t accidentally say it.

Usidore: Do not learn the name! Learning shall bring great ruin upon ye.

Chunt: Think about what a Dark Lord might be named, like think of like, ten possible names, and don’t say any of those.

Usidore: Yes, exactly.

Chunt: You know-

Arnie: K..ring…

Chunt: If you thought about it-

Usidore: Don’t say them, just think them!

Arnie: Was that ri-?

Usidore: That was not correct.

Arnie: So, if I think of a name that I think [laughing] could be a Dark Lord’s name-

Chunt: Mm-hmm.

Arnie: Straight up don’t say it?

Chunt: Yeah.

Usidore: Don’t even say it. We’ll make a list later, and we’ll write it down, and then we’ll burn the list.

Arnie: Will it be a list of names and one of them will be the actual name, but you won’t say which one it is?

Usidore: Yeah, I will not write the name, for writing the name, giving it shape, will give him more power. You will write names that you think may be it, and then we shall burn the list. Yes, that’s the only way.

Arnie: That seems like a waste of time.

Usidore: And we’ll keep making lists until you get it right.

Arnie: I’m not gonna to do that.

Usidore: Ten lists, every week.

Arnie: I’m gonna opt-out on that.

Chunt: It’s worth doing, it really is.

Arnie: [chuckles]

Chunt: For the safety of Foon, it’s worth doing.

Usidore: Knowledge of the name will bring ruin onto you, but with knowledge there is also great power, [whispers] and if you accept this power then you can help me in my quest and [unintelligible]

Arnie: We’re going to get to this, I swear we’re going to get to this quest.

Usidore: I apologize.

Arnie: You mention that Hogface is a vacation destination-

Chunt: Mm-hmm.

Usidore: It’s lovely here.

Arnie: I noticed there’s this big road, there do seem to be a lot of travelers that kind-of come through Hogface on their way from one part of the-

Chunt: Sure.

Arnie: -kingdom, if that’s what it’s called, to another. It’s this big road, what is it, the North road?

Chunt: It goes by many names. It’s called the People’s Road, the Youth’s Folly, the Fool’s Errand, the Questioning Way

Usidore: I’ve always known it as the Steward’s Path.

Chunt: Blistering Trail, Steward’s Path, yeah…Ladyface…

Arnie: Ladyface?

Chunt: Yeah, “Just go down, take a left on Ladyface and-” y'know.

Arnie: Is it confusing that it has so many different names?

Chunt: People know what you’re talking about.

Usidore: [whispering] For names have great power and if you accept this power into your heart then you can help me in my quest and we can control and [unclear] The Dark Lord.

Arnie: And feed the Dark Lord?

Usidore: [whispering] I said defeat, defeat, not-

Chunt: Why would you feed the Dark Lord?

Usidore: I didn’t say that.

Arnie: It sounds like he said, did you hear feed the Dark Lord?

Chunt: [enunciating] Defeat the Dark Lord

Usidore: [whispering] Defeat the Dark Lord

Chunt: Don’t feed the Dark Lord

Arnie: Why are you whispering?

Usidore: [whispering at the edge of hearing] If you believe in yourself and your power I know that you can help control and defeat the Dark Lord.

Arnie: [laughs]

Usidore: [whispering at the edge of hearing] I know that only you can do it. You have been sent to me, to help [unintelligible]

Arnie: I’m not convinced you’re saying full words. I can’t-

Chunt: He’s in his wizard state.

Usidore: [whispering nonsense syllables]

Arnie: Wizard state?

Chunt: Yes. The most power-shh! The most powerful wizards in the land, when they concentrate will start-

Usidore: [suddenly yelling] AND THEN WE WILL ALL BE FREE!

Arnie: Stop! You know, that kind of level change, that fast, is hard-

Usidore: I’m sorry, I was in the wizard state

Chunt: See?

Arnie: Okay, maybe [sighs] maybe it’s a good idea for us to maybe segue into what is this quest?

Usidore: No, no, no, let’s talk about Hogsface.

Chunt: We’re basically known for, we’re a culinary destination-

Arnie: Oh!

Chunt: Some of the best food you’re gonna find in Foon. We’re also known for our coastal beaches, and for our gambling. We have a lot of competitions, a lot of gambling, a lot of tournaments going on.

Usidore: Yes.

Arnie: Wow.

Chunt: Hotspot, it’s a hotspot.

Arnie: So people love the Foon food here?

Chunt: Yes.

Usidore: Rich, delicious desserts that shall churn your heart into such a blistering, explosive thing, aye, your very soul will reach out of your body if you taste these wonderous delights, and then you shall weep a single tear for you think of the future of Foon and you know that the Dark Lord is growing in power, and that we must do something to defeat him immediately. If only to not gather our forces and take some action to defeat him, we shall all-

Chunt: Here we go, he’s going into the wizard state. See?

Usidore: [whispering nonsense]

Arnie: Oh.

Chunt: Do you notice the change?

Arnie: I do! It’s tough, I have to be honest, I’m having trouble following Usidore, the things he says, all the way through.

Usidore: [takes an audible breath in]

Arnie: Like, even before he starts talking quietly, I find that I’m not really listening anymore.

Usidore: [lets an audible breath out, silence]

Arnie: [whispering] He’s not breathing.

Chunt: Nope, that’s just part of the wizard’s state.

Usidore: [normally] So we have terrific food here.

Chunt: See?

Arnie: Oh! [laughs] Great!

Usidore: Really wonderful culinary delights.

Arnie: So if I’m a visitor - so, most of the people listening are going to be from my world, so - if I’m a visitor from my world to Foon-

Chunt: Again, that was called…?

Arnie: Chicago. Well Earth, well, there’s a lot of names.

Chunt: Chicago, okay.

Usidore: [drawing out the word] Chi-caa-goooo

Arnie: Chicago.

Chunt: How did, can we ask, ‘cause we told you the story of Hogface, it seems tit for tat is in order.

Arnie: Sure

Usidore: Yes, aye, tell us more of your world and the great powers that exist there.

Chunt: How did Chicago get its name?

Arnie: How did Chicago get its name? [giggles] I don’t know! I don’t know, I’m just-

Usidore: Shh, shh! Let me channel my thoughts and focus. Ah, I see here on your device, you have…dots…let me connect to this device and I shall see…yes…ahh…[whispering nonsense]…the Wiiiindy…Ciiiity…[nonsense]

Chunt: This is not the wizard’s state, I don’t know what this is.

Arnie: This is- [laughs]

Usidore: I tapped into his weefee, and I did see the great story of Chicago, and a great fire did burn. Aye, and like a very phoenix, it did rise out of those flames, even grander than before! Spires like you have never seen, great glistening gods pointing to the very heavens! This is an evil place.

Arnie: And that’s how Chicago got it’s name.

Chunt: Oh, well…

[trill]

Arnie: Usidore, I’m so sorry, I don’t think we have time this week to talk about your quest - I’ve been reading, I’ve been wanting to start a podcast, and I’ve been reading that they shouldn’t go too long. A good way to start an-

Chunt: Oh, okay.

Arnie: -an initial listenership is to now overstay your welcome on the first couple of episodes.

Usidore: Well, perhaps I could return on a future…I don’t know, a future…what did you call it?

Arnie: Guys, every week I’m going to be recording here in the Vermillion Minotaur, you’re welcome to come back as oft-

Usidore: Every week? AYE, THEN I SHALL RETURN UNTIL I HAVE GATHERED THE FORCES THAT SHALL DEFEAT THE GREAT EVIL MASTER AND YEA, THE VERMILLION MINOTAUR SHALL BE SAVED, AND ALL OF HOGSFACE, AND ALL OF FOON! Yes, [whispers] yes I shall return, and then I shall be here every week until you know that it will be safe for you to [continues inaudibly under Arnie]

Arnie: While he’s whispering in the wizard’s state, I’m gonna remind you to please look up Hello From the Magic Tavern on iTunes, give us a good rating, maybe write us a review, maybe that way people can-

Usidore: [whispering]…delicious crumpet…

Arnie: Find the podcast and get the word out that not only that this is an entertaining podcast-

Usidore: [whispering] …whipping cream…

Arnie: -but more importantly, there is another world connected to our world, and that I’m sort-of trying to get the word out about it.

Chunt: Can people look up Chunt?

Arnie: People…I would recommend people DO NOT look up Chunt.

Usidore: [whispering]…pulled pork…

Arnie: Where I’m coming from, I don’t know for a fact that it means anything, but I would not Google image search Chunt. I feel like- I know that you don’t know what that is-

Chunt: No offense, no offense taken.

Arnie: But, I feel like it’s not…it’s not a good thing to look up.

Chunt: Okay.

Arnie: So thank you everybody, so much, and join us next week from the Magic Tavern.

Usidore: [normally]…a delicious ale to wash it down.

[theme song]

[static]

Mysterious Man: Well, what a fanciful bit of imagining that was! But remember, it’s all pretend. Arnie Niekamp plays himself. Usidore the Wizard is played by Matt Young. Chunt the Talking Badger is Adal Rifai. All three of them perform with World News Tonight at the iO Theater. This pretend experience is produced by Evan Jacover and Ryan DiGiorgi, and edited by Ryan DiGiorgi. With music by Andy Poland, and extra audio assistance from Jason Knox. You can find out more about how the show isn’t real by visiting www.hellofromthemagictavern.com, or learn more on Twitter, @magictavern. This entire fanciful situation, ha ha, was sponsored by JackBox Games with help from the Chicago Podcast Cooperative. Learn more about JackBox Games at jackboxgames.com, and the Chicago Podcast Cooperative at chicagopodcastcoop.com

[static]

[theme song end]

[netherwar-rpg-blog]

Welcome to the Wardens, Nikki! Your application for a THE SEEKER has been accepted with a Caitlin Stasey FC.

The application can be found under the cut. You have 48 hours to create a roleplay account (cannot be a sideblog) for your character and we will be updating our opening date soon!

O O C - I N F O

Name: Nikki

Age: 20

Timezone: PT (Soon to change, will be traveling during the summer but this is my ‘main’ one!)

Activity Level: In the coming week or two, things will be a bit hectic because I’ll be traveling to visit relatives overseas but I will most likely be on every few days. If any longer absences come up, I will definitely notify the masterlist or the OOC chat.

Extra: – (Sorry if the app is a mess, I got excited when I started thinking of things and now here we are.)

S K E L E T O N - I N F O

T H E - B A S I C S

Skeleton Title: THE SEEKER

Name: Tuilelaith Rinne

Gender: Female

Age: 25

Class: Ranger

Faceclaim: Caitlin Stasey

C H A R A C T E R - D E T A I L S

Nationality: Crywrenian

Appearance: Her brown hair falls in thick waves to her mid-back. Often, it is let down, allowed to spill over her shoulders, though sometimes it is pulled back or adorned with a simple band of flowers. With a height of 5'1" and features, star-touched eyes and restless lips, hinting at naivety and youthfulness, Tuilelaith is often brushed aside. She is summed up as a pretty thing of pleasant presence. Riling at her unearned dismissal, she tries to command attention by emulating a confidence and courage that she does not feel she possesses. She may stand as a tree or a rock, noble and immovable, but on occasion she may waver. The times she wilts are not too apparent. One may notice a flash of uncertainty, a shameful timidness before she excuses herself or squares her shoulders and lifts her head again.

Personality:

(-) Single-Minded;; With the pained cries of the Balance sounding so clear to her, Tuilelaith can not help but doggedly chase after any hint of a cure. Her inability to fix it pains her. There are spans of time when all she does is hunt for a solution, disappearing from others and submerging herself in research. She can only work on one problem at a time, or rather this problem has haunted her for far too long that she can no longer ignore it.

(-) Stubborn;; Tuilelaith feels as if she must prove herself. She needs others to believe that she is capable and strong. To do this, she stays her ground on things and in competitions that she would be better of letting go. Once she has made up her mind, it is nearly impossible to get her to change it.

(-) Judgmental;; She is wary of others and this wariness causes her to draw quick conclusions about the people around her. She has strong feelings about both crooks and people who show off their fortune. Having history with both, however, her opinions are rather muddled. Depending on her judgement of someone’s character, she may try to avoid them.

(+) Appreciative;; Though cautious of others, Tuilelaith can be won over by shows of sincerity. She is grateful to any act of kindness and isn’t one to let herself stay indebted to someone. She remembers what others have done to and for her.

(+) Brave;; She has learned how to wear confidence through imitation and so courage almost seems easy. Tuilelaith can be shaken. She is not one for fights but feels a duty to aid in combat. She is aware of death and of how quickly her mission could end if she falls. She is scared but her mother urged her to be brave. It is a command that echoes during times of weakness.

(+) Earnest;; There is too much happening, too much chaos, to worry about someone else’s feelings about her. Her words will be sincere, perhaps not too blunt, but should she dislike someone it’ll show. She will not hide her feelings and, if she can help it, her thoughts.

C H A R A C T E R - B A C K G R O U N D

History:

   Tuilelaith had lived, for a short time, in a town. At most, she can recall the looming mountains and the shadows of surrounding woods but that is all. The only faces she can remember are those of the shopkeeps her mother and her visited but their names escape her. Most of her childhood was spent in a cottage in a small valley hugged by the mountains of the Fydheim Highlands. Her mother, Muirgen, and her older brother, Fintan, would hunt for their meals and for hides and furs to sell. Her father, after they had gathered and prepared enough for a cart, would journey for days to a distant town to sell them. Tuilelaith, being only five then, did not think of their living as anything other than normal. It was lonely. There were days when she would only have herself to fill the silence. She would go out to walk among the flowers, raise her voice in song or hold imaginary conversations with the animals around her. Fintan later told her, when their mother had gone to gather wood, that their father had been run out of town.

    Lachtna, Tuilelaith’s father, did not know how to fight but he knew how to talk. He knew how to weedle his way to higher profit and he knew how to cheat customers for small amounts of money. When one of his regular customers found out, the word spread. He was to be brought to trial and then to justice. Muirgen, having known some of her husband’s tendencies, had prepared an old family cottage of hers for them to run to, to live in. They became a family that not only cheated but refused to face justice. Theirs was a family without honor. She did not know what to think of this.

    When she was seven, she dreamt of a tree. And it sang to her.

   Tuilelaith woke to the murmurs of life. She could feel the nature around her, the Balance, singing. It was a song that she could not replicate but she tried. When her family left her alone and she could walk out into the valley, she tried to join the singing. She would talk to flowers, ask if she was doing her part correctly, then listen to see if they would reply. They did not answer her, not directly, but she did learn from them. Coming across a flower stem broken in half, Tuilelaith felt the weakening hum of it, and willed it to get better. Putting her hands gently around the stem, the two halves connected once again. She ran to tell her family.

    Becoming a Ranger was a difficult task. As she grew, Tuilelaith experimented with her gift to the best of her ability but she lacked experience and training. She needed knowledge. The Balance was like an ever-present friend to her, a guardian, and, over the years, she could hear it weakening. She did not know what to do but she knew that something had to be done. She needed to leave and to learn. Her family would not let her.

    Lachtna warned her of his enemies and told her how dangerous others were. He, himself, was a person who lied and cheated and those who weren’t called for blood far too eagerly for his liking. Stay where you are safe, he said because they would not follow her. Their home was here and if she was leaving the nest she would be doing it on her own. He was angry, not so much at her, but of the people outside and of his own mistakes. He had lost his fortune and lost the home he had claimed for himself. The Rifting will come, Lachtna knew that, but he was a bitter man that did not want to see his family raise a hand to help those that didn’t deserve it.

    What can you do? He asked her, telling her to leave adventures and fighting to people who were more capable and more suited to die.

   Fintan raged then sulked. He was a fire that would blaze then cool to ash. He was older by six years and, still, he hadn’t left their family for any longer than a journey to town. You don’t do anything. He had been the one to care for their mother when she had gotten sick. He had been the one hunting for their family, travelling and trading for their family. She was young and he was burdened. And their family was something to be held above all because of how they lived and how they had run. They only had each other and she was leaving. It was a betrayal.

    You know nothing but your own needs. He said nothing else.

   Muirgen was quiet and still. After Tuilelaith announced her decision to leave, Muirgen had simply turned to silence. This lasted for days and broke only when Lachtna and Fintan left to sell their goods and to escape the tension. She packed Tuilelaith’s things and spoke to her softly about how to be brave. She told her of how stars are small but burning things and of how she, too, could be that. How she, too, must be that.

    And, love, pursue good and believe you are strong enough to grasp it.

Reason for joining the Wardens:

 After arriving in Siften, Tuilelaith searched for the Druids of the Fenarious Faith to learn from them. There was a rising urgency in her development as a Ranger. Everyday, she took notice of the dwindling magic, the disturbances in the Balance’s song. But she did not know how else to help. She could help nurture plants and animals back to health but the progress was slow and the effect unnoticeable. Her efforts did nothing. When she heard of the Wardens, Tuilelaith found that she could finally breathe. This was something. They had to be something.

    For all her will and fire, she knew nothing. The Wardens, however, might.

R O L E P L A Y - S A M P L E

(Please provide a sample of your writing to one of the prompts below or use another setting which fits with your character’s background and story.)

   Three hours down the Spine Mountains, the chilling winds cut less at one’s skin in favor of taking ice-brushed nibbles. The path through the mountains and into the Targun Forest was marked with rocks frosted over white from dropped temperatures and storms turned to cold. Tuilelaith strode in expert silence, shoulders dusted with snow, in a thick fur-lined dress that seemed warm enough but unusual wear for a mountain traveler. She had no horse or any weapons that one could see. If it were not for the backpack she carried, almost bursting with its burden, she would have seemed to be a ghost, a lady of the mountain that was all but a dream.

    But she was real and her dress seemed a fine thing and she, herself, appeared as if a doll. To the shadows around her, the grinning squinting gloom, she was a target of opportunity. A lady alone, seemingly rich. It was luck.

    Tuilelaith walked to the side of the road and rested her hand on a tree trunk. To the bandits laying in wait, she seemed nothing more than tired. But, she had heard them. They were clumsy fellows, loud fellows. Their footfalls, rushed in their hunger and carelessness, had been like distant thunderclaps beneath the nipping winds. As she concentrated on the nature around her, the tree roots in her mind extending in pulsating green, she caught glimpses of where the bandits were. She pressed her forehead to the bark and whispered her thanks.

    Turning, she put her back to the tree and lifted her dress by a few inches. Tuilelaith bent down and took off her slippers, placing them neatly beside her. After shrugging off her pack, she stretched her hands in front of her. She stood still, relaxed. Closed her eyes. Felt the sharp air frost over her lungs. Then she lifted her chin, eyes open and challenging.

    "You’ll be given five seconds to leave. After that, I will try not to kill you but I will also be trying not to die. Please consider this, I do not like fighting.“

    Four cloaked figures broke from their cover. One, a lanky fellow that seemed all elongated bones beneath a darkened face, grinned. His eyes were the black beads of crows but without the bird’s innate wisdom, only the glazed brightness of malice. "Tell ya what, lass,” The voice that came from him was the scratching of stone against stone.He shrugged, the movement traveling up his spine to his shoulders. “we like gifts. Leave yer gold-”

    With one quick stamp of her foot, four tree roots shot out of the earth to knock the bandits down. The man, surprised at the interruption, was shoved prone to the ground, the root then snaked over him and dug back into the earth. One root clamped around one bandit’s leg while another wrapped around one’s torso. There was a single bandit that managed to leap back. With a flick of his hands, two knives sliced towards her.

    Tuilelaith moved with a nimble grace that appeared almost as if she were dancing. The knives hit the tree behind her, embedding themselves deep into the wood. As Tuile finished her spin towards the bandit, she traced the tips of her toes in an arc on the earth. Dirt kicked up as another root broke the surface, jetting towards the bandit in a smooth curve. It curled around the bandit’s chest, immobilizing him.

    Without a glance towards any of the other bandits, she hurried to dig out the daggers from the tree’s bark. “Thank you for the aid.” With a pat, Tuile healed the tree’s wounds. “As for all of you…” She turned to the bandits and looked over the one who had spoken to her. “Fighting is a mess and I do hope you stop this because if I do see you a next time attempting thievery I will have to hurt you.” Then, with a hefty kick (sometimes multiple), she knocked each of the bandits out.

    She left them with their clothes and their rations, hiding away all their weapons save for a single knife they could use to hunt. The roots sank back into the earth when she walked off carrying, still, her pack, her gold, and her shoes.

[sending-the-message]

Cold feet by TheColdPeople

When I was ten, my dad moved our family from Colorado to California. It was the middle of the school year, so I struggled to make friends in my new town. By then, my peers had already secured themselves a group to hang with at lunch, and all of the cliques were sealed shut.

Then I met Max.

We fast became friends dueling Pokémon before class, and eventually spent our weekends hunting ghosts. He became my first real friend in California – and so I was crushed when he drearily informed me one afternoon that he was moving away. Max’s mom struggled with alcohol and had finally lost her job because of it. She went off to rehab and consigned her only child to his father, who lived thousands of miles away in rural Pennsylvania. Max wouldn’t even be able to finish out the school year.

We kept in touch well enough by phone and snail mail, but life just wasn’t the same anymore. At school, I spent my lunches in the library, the accursed retreat for social lepers. I walked home alone. My weekends were solitary. And my Pokémon went untested in battle.

Then one day in late summer, a letter arrived from Max, inviting me to visit him at his “haunted” house in the Pennsylvanian woods. I was ecstatic. I begged my parents for weeks, but they were hesitant to allow the journey. Eventually, Mr. Ashton, Max’s father, cajoled them into submission over a few lengthy phone calls.

Five hours of flying left me terminally bored, but the drive to Max’s house quickly resuscitated me. Miles of endless woods rushed past the car, the greens and browns and golds of its leaves shivering at gusts of wind that rolled over the landscape. In all its glittering splendor, the forest almost looked like an emerald sea. I couldn’t wait for morning, when Max and I could sail into it and explore its darkest reaches.

Now and again, townsfolk waved at the car as we passed. The orange glow of sunset died away to deep purples, and the trees gave way to little houses. Eventually, we pulled up to a sprawling estate. It looked eerie in the twilight. Creeping vines had conquered many of its walls, and the darkness that emanated from the windows of the upper floor seemed…full, as if concealing the presence of terrible things that watched us approach the house. An old sign hung from a rusty chain near the driveway: Ashton Family Mortuary.

After we lugged my bags inside, Mr. Ashton sat me down and laid out a few ground rules. He explained that he was a retired medical examiner and now ran a funeral home. As such, Max and I were to be silent and invisible during services. He also told us that the basement was completely off-limits, and that whenever the “big, weird-looking cars” drove to the back of the house to unload, we were to remain inside. Max already knew the drill and rolled his eyes throughout the lecture, but Mr. Ashton was insistent that I repeat his rules back to him. I did.

It wasn’t until later that night, over a box of pizza and some video games in Max’s room, that I realized the gravity of what went on it this house.

“There’s really dead bodies in here?” I asked.

“Yep,” Max replied, not tearing his eyes from the TV screen.

“Right now?”

“Yes.”

“How many?”

“Dunno,” he said. “We can ask my stepbrother when he gets home. He works for my dad.”

Max’s stepbrother was a nice guy, but like Mr. Ashton, there was something off about him. His name was Jared and he looked about eighteen years old. In the few days since I’d arrived, he never smiled – not out of some ill-concealed malice, but rather from a reserved piety. The guy wore a cross around his neck and stayed up late in the night reading an old Bible at the kitchen table. He read it with enthusiasm. With real faith. And when I expressed my fascination with the Ashton family business over breakfast one morning, his eyes lit up, and he asked me dozens of questions about my thoughts on God and death and what makes someone a “good person.”

Even though my answers were scant and unlettered, Jared seemed engaged by my curiosity. He told me that death had been turned into a sort of pornography by the media, and that it was nothing like how it’s portrayed on TV. He told me that it is a sobering experience to walk among the dead, to know them, and that if everyone could do it, our culture would be different, “the way it used to be.”

After a long moment of studying me with his eyes, Jared said simply,

“Would you like to meet them?”

Max looked up at me from a bowl of Reese’s Puffs. Milk dribbled down his chubby chin. He shook his head slightly.

“Who?” I asked.

Jared answered with a smile – the first one I’d ever seen him wear.

“You mean…” I said.

“Max is too scared,” he replied.

“Am not,” Max piped up. “It’s against dad’s rules.”

Jared nodded.

“It is,” he said. “But if for the right reasons, your dad would understand. Felix, if you want to, I’ll take you to them.”

“Right now?” I asked.

“Tonight. When everyone’s asleep. I’ll come wake you up.”

My heart fluttered with terrified excitement. Max shook his head again and continued shoveling cereal into his mouth. Jared returned to taking notes quietly.

Later that evening, Max tried to talk me out of my arrangement with his stepbrother. He said that Jared wasn’t as nice as everyone thought, and that he sometimes came home drunk when Mr. Ashton wasn’t around. As night fell and Max piled on the discouragement, I broke, and agreed to call off the “meeting.” But Jared wasn’t home yet, so I had no way of backing out.

It was after 1 AM when Jared came for me. I’d already fallen asleep, and had nearly forgotten about the whole thing. But when the bedroom door creaked open and Jared’s shadowy form loomed over me, I couldn’t get the words out.

“Follow me,” he said. His voice was barely above a whisper, but it was a command. Too afraid to protest, I obeyed, and followed Jared down a long hallway. We made our way through the dark house and went down to the first floor, then descended an even longer staircase to the basement.

At the bottom of the staircase, Jared flicked on a dim light. Painted above a set of ornate doors was a quote:

Your dead will live; their corpses will rise. You who lie in the dust, awake and shout for joy, for your dew is as the dew of the dawn, and the earth will give birth to the departed spirits. Isaiah 26:19

Jared looked down at me inquisitively, probably wondering if I could make sense of the passage. When he realized it was Greek to me, he pushed open one of the doors and ushered me inside.

The linoleum floor was cold beneath my bare feet. My footsteps echoed on forever through a soupy darkness. I couldn’t see a thing, and yet I was compelled forward by a warm hand on my back.

“I…I don’t think I wanna do this,” I finally muttered.

“It’s no big deal,” Jared whispered. “Relax.”

We rounded a corner, and another, guided only by an occasional flicker of Jared’s flashlight. He kept it off, not wanting to be discovered by Mr. Ashton. We finally arrived at a door whose edges were outlined from inside by a faint blue light. Jared unlocked it and pushed it open.

Before me lay some kind of preparation room. It was illuminated only by the faint glow of a pair of blue lights. A large table sat in the room’s center, resting beneath a cluster of medical lenses and lights that reminded me of something from my eye doctor’s office. Jumbles of equipment and tubes hung from metal racks on either side of the table. Against the far wall was a row of smaller tables that attached to deep sinks at the headrest.

“That’s where we drain them,” Jared said. His mouth was so close to my ear that I could smell his breath. The reek of booze assailed my nose and made me dizzy.

“What about the lights?” I asked, trying to stall the inevitable. I didn’t want to see the bodies anymore.

“Helps you clean up easier,” he replied. “Makes the blood glow.”

Suddenly, the lights popped on, chasing away the dark scenes that played out in my mind. We both jumped and whirled around. There stood Mr. Ashton, dressed as though he were ready to deliver a eulogy. He had a Bible tucked beneath his arm, and a look of carefully restrained fury on his face. His large frame blocked the door and any chance for escape.

Jared scrambled to explain himself to his father, but Mr. Ashton silenced him with a hand and grumbled, “Get out.” As his son vanished down the dark hallway, the frost in Mr. Ashton’s expression melted away to fatherly concern.

“He put you up to this?” he asked.

I told Mr. Ashton that it wasn’t Jared’s fault, and that I’d asked to see the bodies – but then changed my mind. When he asked me why, I said I was afraid they’d move. Mr. Ashton let a chuckle slip out, then caught himself and took a step toward me.

“Do you know about the Last Judgment?” he asked, retrieving the book from beneath his arm.

I shook my head.

“What we do here is very serious,” he explained, “and Jared sometimes forgets that. Did he tell you what we do, exactly?”

“Prepare….bodies…for the funeral?” I guessed, trying not to seem any dumber than I’d already made myself out to be.

“No,” Mr. Ashton said. “It’s more important than that. You see, when you put a body in the earth, you’re preparing it to be reunited with the soul of its owner.”

My confused gaze did not discourage Mr. Ashton. He dropped a big palm onto my shoulder.

“We will all be judged on the Last Day. On that day, the Devil will run amok over all the lands of the earth. Famine, war, false prophets, you name it. And then, over the chaos, a sound will ring out – the final trumpet blast of the angels, heralding the return of Christ. His kingdom will come. And those who sleep in the dust of the ground will awake. The dead shall rise. Your soul will return to your body, and you and I and everyone will stand before the white throne, where the true content of our hearts will be laid bare. Some of us will go on to everlasting life in His kingdom, and for others, to disgrace and torment. They go to the fire, Felix.”

I’d heard the apocalyptic prattle of the deeply religious before, but only in movies and out of the mouths of people on street corners. In this place – deep in the basement of a mortuary and surrounded by corpses in the dead of night – his words terrified me.

“That’s what we do,” Mr. Ashton said, squeezing my shoulder and then brushing past me. “Come see them. They’re not so scary. Although they do move, from time to time.”

We rounded a thin wall toward the back corner of the room. On the other side was a matrix of small metal doors, only big enough to crawl into. The moment I laid eyes on them, I knew what they were. My fear morphed into a surreal and ineffable sensation that rippled across my skin; death in its physical form was right here in the same room, right next to me, separated from me only by a tiny piece of metal.

And then Mr. Ashton opened one.

He slid out a metal panel from the darkness inside. The sound reverberated across the labyrinthine halls of the basement. Atop the panel was the shape of a big man, covered in a pale blue sheet.

“Don’t be afraid,” he said, and pulled the sheet down.

The bright light made the cadaver look hyperreal, as if rendered in a video game rather than existing in our world. My brain crumpled as it tried to rectify the sight of a human body with the knowledge that no one was in there anymore.

“Heart attack,” Mr. Ashton said, barely above a whisper. “Died with the phone in his hand.”

As I looked over the man’s pallid skin, Mr. Ashton opened another door.

“Do you think if they got to him in time, they could have saved him?” I asked.

“Wasn’t calling 911,” he replied. “He was ordering a pizza when it happened. Some poor kid had to listen while he died.”

I looked over and saw a woman lying beneath Mr. Ashton. She was much more gruesome; black marks pocked her arms, and her dry lips curled back to reveal rotting gums and missing teeth. Bits of her hair had fallen out. Her nails were brittle and yellowed.

“Mrs. Edelman,” he said, motioning me to approach. “She was the only dance teacher within fifty miles. Taught my wife and I to ballroom, long time ago. But she fell into drugs. Lost her business, and eventually her husband. And here she is.”

I couldn’t even look at her. Her appearance was so revolting I had to turn away, back to the fat man. But his visage was haunting in a different way: he looked so much nearer, so much closer to the life he’d lost.

One last door opened, and one more body slid out. The smallest of the three.

My heart nearly died in my chest. The air went cold, and the room seemed to shrink around me. It was a boy, right about my age. He even looked a bit like me. But his skin was drained of all its color, spare a horrid purple that accented his lips and fingers.

“Martha Shaw’s boy,” Mr. Ashton said, a wave of pity breaking in his voice. “Ran away from home after an argument. Hunter found his body out there in the woods. Froze to death. He’s a mystery, though…it hasn’t been below 60 at night out here for months. Bone-dry when they found him. No water in his lungs.”

A tingly sweat washed over me – the kind that precedes vomiting. My skin went clammy. In my mind, death came for the old and the sick, those far away and unknown to me. It didn’t come for little kids. And yet lying before me was the rancid proof that I was wrong.

“What do you think?” he asked. I could tell he was hoping for a specific answer, like he was testing me.

I looked over the three bodies, then back up at him.

“They all died because of their own bad mistakes,” I said. “They were stupid. Right?”

Mr. Ashton regarded the bodies with a fatherly expression: disappointed, but compassionate.

“We’re none of us perfect,” he replied, “and so it’s not our place to judge. That’s the province of the Lord alone. Pity the dead, Felix. And hope that someday, someone pities you.”

I nodded, still lost in the verbosity of his preachments.

“You said they move…Do they really?”

“Oh yes,” he laughed. “Different gasses manifest inside ‘em. A natural part of decomposition. They wheeze and sigh. Sound like they’re breathing. Sometimes they even moan. The mouth moves.”

I shuddered. I watched the boy’s lips, half-expecting them to whisper my name.

“Sometimes the muscles tremor right after death. The fingers and toes wiggle. I once saw a cadaver that looked like it was trying to tap-dance.”

My eyes shot to the dance teacher, and I took a step away from her.

“The dead shall rise,” Mr. Ashton said, sliding the woman back into her metal container and locking the door.

I don’t know why I did it – perhaps the morbid fascination compelled me – but I reached out and grabbed the tag dangling from the boy’s big toe.

Shaw, Trevor. #904. DOD: 8/2. Exposure.

I watched my fingers wrap around the foot. It was ice-cold. Too cold even for the storage container. I ripped my hand back and shoved it into my pocket, but the warmth didn’t return to it for a long while.

My dreams were filled with terrible things that night. In them, I found myself at the top of the stairs at night, looking down on a shadowy figure. It was Trevor, and he was beckoning me down into the dark with a silent gesture. I woke up in fright, and forced my eyes to remain open until the morning light seeped into Max’s bedroom.

The day came and went. Max and I wandered the trails near the house, but I couldn’t shake the images of drained human husks that swirled in my mind. They were just empty vessels now, abandoned by their former pilots and left to spoil like old meat. And yet, standing beside them, they felt so alive. I ruminated on these strange fantasies to the point that I barely heard anything Max said as we hiked.

We returned to his house just as the daylight died away. Mr. Ashton was on his way out the door, fully dressed in work attire, and told us that Jared was in charge for a few hours.

“He’s hosting his Bible Study group tonight,” Max’s father said. “Stay upstairs and don’t get into any trouble, boys.”

As the night carried on, members of Jared’s group began to arrive. Two by two they came, and the more I watched them from the staircase, the more I realized that these teenagers shared none of Jared’s enthusiasm for the word of God. He tried to marshal a legitimate study session, but more people kept showing up, and the effort collapsed into laughter and loud chatting. Music was blared and drinks were poured, and eventually, the ground floor of the house was a lively party.

I left the solace of Max’s room to forage for cookies in the pantry, and my presence attracted the attention of a drunken couple.

“Hey kid!” one of them yelled from the nearby couch. “You ever tried whiskey?”

I tried to ignore him and head back upstairs, but I was intercepted by Jared.

“Hey buddy,” he mumbled. The reek of his boozy breath singed my nose. He wrapped an arm around me and jerked me in the opposite direction I headed, guiding me toward the creepy basement staircase at the other end of the room. “We never got to finish our little chat in the prep room!”

“Fuck off, Jared,” I snapped. I tried to slither out of his grip, but he clutched me with threatening strength.

“You said you wanted to meet them,” he replied, ushering me down the stairs. He kicked the double doors open and shoved me into the darkness beyond them. Then he dragged the doors shut. I heard them lock behind me.

“No!” I screamed, pounding my fists against the doors. “You asshole! Let me out! Max! Maaax!”

“Hey you guys ever heard of postmortem priapism?” Jared yelled to his friends. They yelled something back that I couldn’t make out. “Well sometimes dead bodies get boners! Big ones!”

Muffled laughter and hooting echoed from the living room.

“Don’t drop your cookies in there!” he cackled. I heard his footsteps move up the stairs and vanish.

I tried for several minutes to get someone’s attention by slamming into the doors. When nobody came to my rescue, I tried to conjure a mental map of the basement, but couldn’t remember anything. I was too scared. I couldn’t remember if there was another way out.

Suddenly, a murmur arose far off in the dark. It echoed down the corridor toward me, and sounded like “Christ.” Goosebumps rippled down my arms. I fell silent.

Something rattled up ahead. Muffled banging and clanking sounds floated on the cold air. An image appeared in my mind: the metal container doors shuddering from inside, pale limbs bashing against them. I sunk to the floor and shoved myself against the wall, trying to disappear into it. But then, something scraped against the linoleum – the smacking of bare feet. They rose in volume, approaching me from far off in a meandering way. The person walked as if lost or drunk, occasionally bumping into things and rattling door knobs.

I instinctively leaped to my feet and trotted around the perimeter of the room, guiding myself with one hand on the wall. The entire basement was pitch black. The darkness had no depth to it at all; it was as if I wore a black bag over my head.

”Ughhh- hnggg,” the person groaned. It was a man’s voice, taut with pain and shoved through gritting teeth. I could sense him thrashing and flailing around only a few feet away from me now. I cowered behind what felt like a file cabinet, praying he’d stumble right past me. The man howled and tripped over something, then crashed into the cabinet. The force of it knocked me flat on my back, but the man didn’t seem to notice me. He flapped around on the tile like a fish in a boat, then fell still. A long, gurgling sigh issued from his mouth, then vanished to silence.

Pure adrenaline coursed through me. I leaped over the spot on the floor where I knew the man would be, and made my way down the hall he’d come from. I kept my head low and my arms out in a protective block just in case I bumped into anything – or anyone.

I rounded a corner, then another, searching the walls for unlocked doors. I found one and pushed it open. There was no echo in here, so I knew I was in a small room, perhaps an office. I stumbled through the murky black before me until my hands fell upon a large desk. I circled it and sat in the chair, rifling through drawers in search of a flashlight, matches, anything.

Another set of footprints scampered down the hallway I’d just been in. They bolted past the office door, paused at the end of the hall, and then doubled back. Someone was running back and forth out there, panting and wheezing as they went.

“Oh they’ll come for it,” a woman muttered, grinding her teeth between words. “They’ll come and take it all away, you give ‘em half the chance. Sons of bitches, sons of bitches. Where is it?!”

I froze in place. My shallow breathing caused the rickety chair I sat in to squeak. The woman ceased her ramblings and slowly approached the office. I held my breath. I’d left the door slightly open for fear of locking myself in, but now I wished I’d done the opposite. It groaned as the woman pushed on it, and raspy breathing filled the room, carrying with it the burning stench of formaldehyde. Mrs. Edelman’s ghoulish face appeared in my mind: those rotting teeth and papery lips, the bald patches, the pallid eyes. Even if I’d found a flashlight, I’d not have turned it on.

The door frame crackled, and I realized the woman was leaning into the room, holding herself with those bony, meatless arms. She took a huge whiff of the air and let out a dry giggle.

”I KNOW YOU’RE IN HERE!” she shrieked. I yelped in horror, but the sound was drowned out by the door slamming.

“One, two, three, one, two, three, one, two, three, one, two, three,” the woman spoke. Her voice was muffled now. She had returned to the hall. I sunk beneath the desk and hid, listening and hoping that she’d go away.

After a few minutes of silence, I risked cracking the door open and poking my head outside. Something moved at the end of the hall where I’d escaped the man.

Tap, tap, shhhhk, tap, tap, shhhhk, tap, tap, shhhhk…

It sounded like footsteps, but the movements were to rhythmic. Only after hearing the woman gently humming did I realize that she was dancing. I imagined her wretched figure poised with arms wrapped around an invisible lover, whirling and lunging up and down the hall in a macabre ballroom performance. She hummed an off-key tune with glee, and the thought of a gruesome smile plastered across her decaying face sent me flying down the hall in the opposite direction.

I tried so desperately to get away from her that I didn’t feel for where I was going, and smashed full-force into a wall. I sat down, trying to regain my balance. The dancing stopped, and for a moment, I had no idea where the woman was. I couldn’t remember which direction I’d come from. I tried to follow the wall but found a dead end, so I doubled back.

Something metal clattered up ahead, and at the same time, that horrid wheezing erupted behind me. I locked up, hoping that the darkness would cloak me, and soon the wheezing vanished. I prayed the woman had wandered off again.

Hot breath rolled over my neck, flooding my nostrils.

“Are you interested in lessons?” she hissed into my hear.

A primal scream exploded from my mouth, and my feet propelled me forward as fast as they could go. They carried me far away from the cackling of that awful woman, and I turned corner after corner, hoping that the basement was big enough to hide from her. Tears flowed down my face and would have blinded me, had there been any light at all. But I was sightless as a mole, fumbling around in the endless dark of a corpse-filled labyrinth.

I tripped over something soft and toppled to the floor. The instant I connected with the object, I knew what it was – the body of a fat man. I was back in the same place I’d started. I tried to hold back my pitiful sobbing and crawled toward where I thought the double doors were.

My hands landed on a pair of feet. They were little things, no bigger than my own, and their iciness felt like an electric shock. A pair of small hands cupped my face, sucking the warmth from my body. They trembled, and soon I became aware of a figure before me, shivering and whimpering.

“Please don’t hurt me,” I begged.

“It’s so cold,” it said in the voice of a young boy. He grabbed my wrist and wrenched me to my feet. The boy tugged at my arm, trying to lead me somewhere, but I resisted.

“Let me go!” I shouted.

Two voices erupted from behind me.

“Well I’ll be damned,” a man said nearby. His voice was sad and monotoned.

“Did you find it?!” screamed the woman from farther off. Her anxious footfalls thumped toward me.

“I’ll take you where it’s warm,” the boy whispered. “Hurry!”

The boy dragged me down a corridor with unnatural strength. Screams and moans echoed all around us, and the smacking of feet on tile haunted our every move. I could hear the two other beings in hot pursuit. My legs nearly gave out as my terror overloaded my brain – but then I saw a light. A faint, blue light at the end of the hall.

It was the preparation room – the one Jared had showed me. As we entered, I tried to get a look at the boy who led me, but the light popped and darkness washed over the room. He dragged me around a corner and shoved me against a metal panel.

“Go,” the boy whispered. His teeth chattered so hard he could barely speak. “It’s the only place that’s warm.” He slammed me down onto the panel. Before I could protest, he slid the panel forward several feet. A small metal door slammed shut behind me, and I suddenly got the sensation of being trapped in a tiny space. I reached out and felt metal walls encasing me, and knew I was inside one of the storage containers for cadavers.

I went to scream for help, but a cacophony of shrieks and crashes silenced me from just outside the metal door. Hands pounded on it, this time from outside, as the wretched creatures howled for my flesh. There was no escape this time.

After a considerable struggle, the metal door finally ripped open, and blinding light flooded the container I lay in.

“What in God’s name is going on?” a familiar voice boomed. Warm hands gently pulled me from my tomb, and soon I was in Mr. Ashton’s arms.

“What happened, Felix?” he demanded. “What did they do to you?” He carried me away from the containers toward the preparation room. I looked over his shoulder and saw three cadavers on the floor – the man and woman heaped in a pile, the boy propped up in a sitting position against the wall.

“Don’t look,” Mr. Ashton whispered, “don’t look.”

When my father found out what had happened, he was on the next plane to Pennsylvania. Mr. Ashton tried to explain that his oldest son had played a terrible prank on me. Jared’s friends had acted the roles of corpses stored in the morgue, and worst of all, Max had been blackmailed into pretending he was Trevor Shaw. The two boys sat quietly in the living room with their heads hung low as my father shouted and lectured the entire family, and Jared apologized several times – but Max never said a word or looked me in the eye.

Many years have passed since I’ve spoken with Max. I was forbidden to ever contact him again, and I didn’t really want to anyway. But I have always wondered if Max was hiding his face from me because he was ashamed of what he’d done – or because he was terrified of the fact that his father was a liar.

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