#and worst comes to worst i could claim i was cat sitting or s/t

[queenerdloser]

i am on the CUSP of getting another cat. the random thought to look at craigslist cats occurred to me and i found like three different ads where i was like LOOK AT THAT CUTE CAT and now i'm talking myself into getting cat no 3.

[munstysmind]

HAIR - SEBASTIAN STAN

WARNING/S: Angst, mentions of nausea, cancer, hair loss, surgery, implied smut, shaving of hair, possible infertility… I think that’s it

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT GIVE PERMISSION FOR MY WORK TO BE USED IN ANY CAPACITY

Divider by @firefly-graphics

MASTERLIST

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"Mia, I'm back" Sebastian calls as he walks through the door of the apartment you share carrying a half dozen grocery bags, not realising you're on the couch and not in bed where you were when he left just over an hour ago. He quickly goes about pulling things out of bags and putting them in away in the correct spots in the cupboards, fridge and freezer.

"So I know you just wanted the chicken soup but I got you some of that honey chicken you love too. I thought it might help with your nausea to have something more solid in your stomach" he says to you loudly, still thinking you’re upstairs in the loft bedroom

"I also got you some more Gatorade. I know the purple one's your favourite but they only..."

He stops talking as soon as he sees you curled up in the corner of the sectional, hugging your legs to your chest, wiping the tears from your face.

"Baby, what's wrong?" he asks, completely forgetting about the groceries he was putting away as he quickly walks over to you, concern all over his face. As he sits on the couch in front of you, his hands resting on your knees, you take your beanie off. Well it was actually one of Sebastian's but you had claimed it as your own when you stole it last week after you had first noticed your hair loss.

"It keeps coming out" you whisper, holding your hands out and showing him the chunk of the long curly hair you were grasping tightly.

"Come here" he says, wrapping his arms around you. You bury your head in his chest and start to cry again as he rubs circles on your back, his heart aching that you're going through this. Chemotherapy was hitting you hard, harder that you had expected. You had just finished your first round and were already suffering with some major side effects. You though you had had a rough recovery from surgery but that was nothing compared to what you were feeling now. You were nauseous, tired and achy all over. You were having some of the worst mood swings you have ever suffered, even worse than when you were on your period. One minute you were fine, perfectly happy, and the next you were screaming at Sebastian over leaving the toilet seat up or crying in the corner because your apartment was too small for you to get dog and you couldn’t get a cat because Sebastian was allergic to them. You were also horny as hell, an unexpected side effect which normally would have been amazing if it weren't for the fact that you were feeling like death 24/7. But the brain fog, that was defiantly the worst side effect so far. You couldn't string a sentence together half the time and even when you could it took you twice as long to find the words you wanted to say. All that you could deal with, but the hair loss, that was on a whole other level. Nothing had prepared you for how confronting it would be. Now you looked sick.

"I don't know why I'm crying, I mean, I knew this was coming. And it's just hair, it grows back" you sob into his chest

"Oh Iubirea mea" he said softly, leaning back and gently taking your face in his hands. You love it when Sebastian reverts back to speaking Romanian. You had decided to learn it when the two of you first started dating, three and a half years ago. Surprisingly, you had picked it up fairly quickly. That being said, you're not the greatest, you don't know everything but you know enough to fill in the gaps when the two of you talk in his native language. You do it mostly in public, when you want to talk each other but you don't want people to know what you're saying. Like the little dirty exchange two of you had on the carpet at the Endgame premiere as a result of the tight, figure hugging dress you were wearing, it showed all your curves perfectly and drove him crazy.

*****

"Abia aștept să smulg rochia asta" he growled, gently squeezing one of you butt cheeks while you both looked out at the sea of photographers calling your names

"Chiar așa?" you asked, raising your brows at him

"O să te distrug în seara asta" he whispered in your ear as he placed a kiss on your temple

"Tu mai bine" you told him, knowing full well that he would

*****

"Baby you're sick, really sick. And this" he says as he takes the hair from your hands "it's just another reminder of that. It's OK to be upset about it, I know I would be"

You bury your face back into his chest, wanting to disappear from everything. You still had five more rounds to do over the next five months. At this very moment you didn't know how you were going to manage. The very thought of it completely overwhelmed you.

"Can I ask you something?" you mumble into his chest

"Of course you can. You can ask me anything, you know that"

You pull back from the warmth of his hug and look directly into the beautiful blue eyes that you adore

"Can you shave my head?"

"Mia"

"Then it can't fall out"

"Baby…"

"Please?"

"…OK"

"Can we do it now?"

"If that's what you want"

"It is"

"OK, come on"

Sebastian stands up and holds his hands out to you. Once you place your hands in his, he pulls you up off the couch and the two of you make your way upstairs to the bathroom. You close the lid on the toilet and sit on it while you watch Sebastian get out his electric razor and find the correct attachment.

"Come here" he says softly, reaching out to you once everything is set up. You go to him and he stands behind you, your eyes meeting each other's in the mirror.

"Baby, are you sure you want me to do this?"

"I'm sure"

"OK... you ready?"

You take a deep breath and nod, not trusting your voice. You weren't ready but you would much rather do this than constantly loose chunks of hair over the next few weeks. Shaving your head was one of the very few things you had control over in your life right now. Sebastian can sense how your feeling, of course he can, he knows you better than anyone. He presses a gentle kiss on the top of your head as he turns the razor on. The noise causes your breath to catch in your throat.

"Breathe" he tells you, inhaling and exhaling along with you while you take some deep breaths to help calm your anxiety. Once you have relaxed as much as you can he passes you the razor before putting his hand over yours. Very carefully, he guides you as you bring it to your head and make the first pass through your hair. There's no going back now. You let out a very shaky breath as he takes the razor from your hand and takes over. You feel tears well in your eyes as you watch him in the mirror, removing more of your hair with each pass of the razor. You close your eyes as the tears spill over and start to roll down your cheeks. Seeing your tears he pauses shaving your head and gently kisses them away, pulling a tiny smile from you.

"I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere"

"I know"

"Mi-aș dori să putem schimba locuri. Că am fost bolnav, nu tu"

He kisses your forehead and continues to remove your hair, one pass of the razor at a time. After a few more minutes you hear him turn off the razor. That's it, it's done. All your hair is gone. You feel his hands on your shoulders, giving them a gentle reassuring squeeze

"Open your eyes baby" he says, kissing your temple. You hold your breath and very slowly open your eyes. You let out a small gasp as you look into the mirror, taking in your reflection. You reach up and run your hands over your bare head, more silent tears spilling from your eyes

"It's gonna be OK" he says, wrapping his arms around from behind. You sigh as you lean back into him, he rests his chin on the top of your head, your height difference makes it so the top of your head is the perfect level. After a few minutes you hear the razor turn back on and just assume he's spotted a bit on your head that he missed. He then does something you weren't prepared for. He brings the razor up to his hair and starts to shave his own head, one arm still wrapped around you

"SEB!" you gasp in shock, covering your mouth with both hands and just stare at his reflection as he runs the razor through his beautiful hair. You know exactly why he's doing it too.

Sebastian had been your rock these past few months. When you first noticed the lump under your jaw, you had brushed it off, thinking it was just a swollen gland. Sebastian had pushed you to get it checked out and thank god he did. You were so anxious the day of the biopsy that you had almost had a panic attack and you probably would have to if it weren't for him. He was there, by your side the entire time, his hand in yours in a vice grip. When the results came back, you both knew it was bad just by the look on your doctor's face. The lump you thought was just a swollen gland was actually a malignant tumour, Hodgkin's Lymphoma, Cancer. When you got the diagnosis you had given him an out, the chance to walk away with zero judgement, but he refused to take it. Through tears he told you he was never going to leave you, that he loved you too much. He had vowed to stay by your side, no matter what. And he had, putting his career on hold to be there through your treatment. He had taken charge of everything. Taking way too many notes at every appointment, scheduling every one of your treatments, researching for days on end for every little thing that might make your symptoms just that little bit easier to tolerate. He had even gone as far as advocating for you when an ancient as fuck misogynistic oncologist didn't want to treat you because he couldn't or wouldn't understand why you would delay treatment for a month to freeze your eggs. Sebastian had been the one to suggest it to you in the first place. He knew how much you wanted kids, possibly even more than he did, and there was a chance that the treatments to save your life could leave you infertile. He had been there every step of the way, this included.

You loosen his grip around you and turn to face him. He smiles at you, kissing your forehead as he continues shaving his head. When he's done he turns the razor off and places it in the sink before looking at you.

"How do I look?" he asks, a stupid grin spreading across his face as he brushes hair off the both of you

"Ridiculous" you tell him, laughing as you run your hands over his head

"Wow Mia, way to make a guy feel good about his new do"

"I'm sorry dragă"

"It isn't that bad is it?"

"No, it's not. But I'm telling you right now, you shave this" you say, your fingertips running through his beard "and you're sleeping on the couch until it grows back. Understood?"

"Yes ma'am"

He runs his hands over your freshly shaved head before bringing them to rest on either side of your face, pulling you in and pressing his lips to yours

"Te iubesc" he whispers, resting his forehead against yours

"I love you too" you reply, wrapping your arms around his torso and resting your head against his chest. You could hear his heart beating against your ear, you found it comforting. You never wanted to let go.

[ditch-witches]

asa butterfield x reader

request: wasn’t requested, but we wrote this in march and decided to post. we’re opening our inbox to other actors and characters, so feel free to send us a request :)

warnings: mentions of sex (slight), crude language, a family gathering

word count: ~2000

Your grandmother threw open her front door, hair in curlers to match her fuzzy pink slippers. Her face brightened at the sight of you, yet once her eyes fell to Asa it was like you were last year's ham. She nearly hooted in excitement before throwing her arms around him and dragging him inside, Asa’s face furrowing as he looked back at you. You smirked slightly, hanging your jacket on the already full coat tree by the door and kicking off your shoes before meandering through her gigantic house in search of your boyfriend. There were various cousins sprawled out around her living room and hanging out of the archway to the kitchen while watching whatever sport was on TV. 

You furrowed your brows at the group and half of them pointed down the hallway where a round of hollering and an old crackly radio was sounding off. You nodded and moved in the direction they sent you, turning a few corners before going through the sliding glass door in the back, spotting Asa being shown off to several of your uncles from different generations and your older cousins by your small grandmother. You sighed, coming out from behind them and capturing the attention of the group who greeted you with smiles and a few pinches on the arm. The stereotypical conversation questions were thrown around briefly: How is school? How’s the job? Are you hungry? 

Some of the guys were talking to Asa and shaking his hand a ridiculous amount until you finally had enough. “Oma, maybe you should go get ready?” You suggested, finally taking hold of Asa’s arm to pull him from her grasp. She inhaled sharply as if forgetting she was walking around in a housecoat while her guests continued to fill her house. You were sure Asa would already be overwhelmed, him being whisked off was not what you had expected, but he remained smiling, talking to whoever started conversations with him. You couldn’t really believe it but Asa was prospering. 

Before you knew it, the two of you were sat beside each other at a long table of most of your cousins, separate from the massive group of adults, passing food amongst yourself and talking over the polka music that seemed to always be playing from the radio in the living room. You leaned over to Asa as he passed you a basket of rolls. “Are you all right?” You whispered, passing the food again. 

He smiled at you slightly, his icy blue eyes seemingly lighting up even more. “Never better. Relax, okay?” He mumbled, sending you a wink. You hadn’t realized how tensed up you were as you dropped your shoulders at his words. If you weren’t surrounded by family members, you would have kissed him. The meal went on without ripples, listening to how people were doing in school and sitting through several of the members of the family closer to your age tell embarrassing stories about yourself to Asa like it had happened last week, not when you were three and still wearing Garanimals. 

“You’re Asa, right?” One of your middle school aged cousins asked from across the table. She put her chin in her hand, her makeup more intricate than you ever could master. He shook his head hesitantly. “You’re probably so good you don’t use protection. Am I right?” Her almost seductive glance and question made you choke on your water and Asa’s mouth dropped open a bit as the man beside her cackled heavily. 

“Oh, my God,” you breathed. “You can’t say that,” you hissed and she shrugged. 

Her eyes trailed him from across the table. “I don’t hear a ‘no’.” 

You groaned, telling Asa to ignore her through gritted teeth. “You should always use protection,” he answered instead, attempting to hold back his own laugh as you kicked him under the table, sending the man next to her into even greater fits of laughter. 

“Are you staying at oma’s tonight?” Another asked, thankfully one that hadn’t heard the previous topic. 

You chewed on the inside of your cheek, debating if it was too late to get a hotel. “No, I haven’t drawn a card yet…” You mumbled, trying not to alert Asa beside you. 

Your actions were for nothing as he piped up. “What is drawing a card?” 

At his question, several of the cousins attempted to answer at once, urging you to let him be the one to draw this time and you shook your head. “My grandmother has a deck of cards that have locations written on them and whenever there’s a family gathering, you draw a card to figure out where you’re staying. It’s because my dad’s generation all fought over who was staying with Uncle Mike,” you answered, closer to his ear to combat the several voices. “But we should just get a hotel room-” 

“That’s breaking the rules and you know it!” Another cousin yelled, pointing his fork at you. 

You shook your head. “You’re a grown ass man and you still want a shot at staying with Uncle Mike?” You almost snapped, making him shrug. 

“You’re just pissed because you never get it!” He snapped back. 

You shook your head almost dramatically. “What if I didn’t want to stay with Uncle Mike?” 

“Liar!” 

“I like staying with oma!” 

He sent you a sarcastic smile as if to call your bullshit. “Fine then, we’re taking bets on who has to sleep in the tent.” 

You had almost forgotten Asa was there until he piped up. “I have ten on you then,” he quipped and your heart slightly fluttered at him as your cousin pointed to him, leaning over the table aggressively to shake Asa’s hand as the other cousins began saying it was other people. One got up to grab an old pad of paper to take down the bets and you pinched the bridge of your nose between your index finger and thumb. Asa was loving every minute of this. 

After dinner, half of your great uncles were passed out on the couch and your grandmother was shuffling her beat up deck of cards, long past the date it should have been retired. Your heart began to beat slightly, the adrenaline rushing through you as you thought about the bets that were made and the possibility of having to sleep outdoors. You sat on the couch, watching closely as the deck was brought around, shuffled and fanned out for each of the kids. Meanwhile Asa leaned his elbows on his knees, playing Cat’s Cradle with one of your younger cousins. Your leg rested against his as you focused on the cards, maybe it wasn’t the chance that you would have to sleep in a beat up old tent, but rather the rush of competition. So far, most of the spaces in the upper level of your grandma’s house had been taken as well as the spots in your cousin’s. Uncle Mike’s had yet to be completely claimed and the tent still hung in the air. 

The deck came towards you, your grandmother swooping down slightly for the cousin that was entranced by the string game. She drew a card: the top bunk of one of many stacked beds at Uncle Mike’s. Her older brother cheered, knowing that you now had an even bigger chance of getting the tent. The deck was offered to Asa, your grandmother raising an eyebrow. “No, I don’t trust him,” you quickly stated, ignoring his sarcastically hurt expression. The deck was turned to you. “I love you, but you have some of the worst luck.” Your mind raced at what was left and then you realized that Asa would be sleeping with you. Then you prayed to whatever higher being could help you to not give you an upper floor. “We have a lot riding on this,” you muttered as she fanned the cards for you. You drew your card, quickly turning it over and snapping it around towards your cousins who all groaned at the fluent, swirling writing your grandma was known for. 

“Are you kidding!” 

“How?” 

“Fuck! I could have bought a ton of M&M’s with that money.” 

Your grandma whipped around to the last cousin to speak, yanking on his ear quickly and hissing, “Halt deinen Mund!” He put his hands up in defense looking at her with wide eyes and you smirked. 

“Yeah, Halt deinen Mund,” you mocked and she snapped her fingers at you, making you close your mouth quickly before she moved on. You all broke out into a fit of giggles silently, relieved that no one had the tent yet. The one who made the bet with Asa was who you hoped would get it, in all honesty. You finally let out a breath, relaxing completely. 

You snuggled into your seat, crossing your legs and throwing an arm around the section of the back of the couch where Asa was sitting. He leaned back, tucking under your arm slightly, raising an eyebrow in your direction. “And where did we get?” 

You handed him the card. “Oma’s back basement room. There’s a waterbed, but other than that, it’s a win.” 

He chuckled, flipping the card between his long fingers. “That could be fun,” he whispered slightly and you pushed his face away with your hand as he laughed. As the party died down enough that people were heading to their designated spots or out back to set piles of leaves on fire, you and Asa grabbed your bags and headed through the maze of a house to your room for the night and possibly the next. It really depended on how much Asa could actually take of your family. 

Your room was just off the retro bar that was always used around the winter holidays. You thanked whoever was looking out for you up above as you threw your bags down on one of the dated couches and peaked into the newly renovated bathroom. “So, how are you feeling?” You asked, putting your hands on your hips as he slipped his sweater over his head and readjusting his t-shirt. 

“I’m exhausted,” he stated, biting back a wide grin before plopping down into the middle of the bed, it sloshed around under his movements and he giggled slightly before laying back. You perked an eyebrow. “I’m ready. Fuck me on a waterbed,” he jeered, smirking up at you. 

He tucked his arms beneath his head, and you sent him a tilted expression. “You are so strange.”

[lettrespromises]

LettresPromises informs you : you have one notification. 

> Letter object : ‘La fable du crocodile et du flamant rose.’

@theastroooooworld​ sent a letter :  ❝Hi, I hope I'm not bothering you! I really liked what you did for Mihawk and I would like to ask for a scenario in which Sir Crocodile fell in love (if it's possible with this man) with a woman s/o pirate who also has a crush on him, whom he often sees in meetings of the shichibukais. Only, the evil Doflamingo also wishes to have the reader by his side. Et sincèrement, j'ai adoré la lettre que tu m'as remise 🤭💙, 𝙥𝙧𝙚𝙣𝙙𝙨 𝙨𝙤𝙞𝙣 𝙙𝙚 𝙩𝙤𝙞 𝙚𝙩 𝙢𝙚𝙧𝙘𝙞 𝙗𝙖𝙗𝙚 🤪❤❞ author’s letter :  ❝hello, you lovely human being! cam, you already know how sorry i am for being so late, and i apologize once more for taking so long. i do hope that this letter will make you crack a smile because i absolutely loved writing it!! sealed with a kiss, nikki. P.S: merci pour tout, t’es un ange, prends soin de toi aussi!!❞

Warnings : None, not even cursing, nothing. Genre : Fluff. Word count : 2.6K.

The aura emanating from each protagonist in this room was undoubtedly intoxicating— meaning that if a poor soul belonging to a rookie of the Marine were to step foot in the forbidden room, they would instantly bend under the invisible pressure created by the alliance of Shichibukais. In another context, and under different circumstances, the household names present in the vicinity could, metaphorically speaking, be considered as the embodiment of a guaranteed promotion if they were to be caught by the Marine all together. Unfortunately (or fortunately according to your point of view), the relationship between each Shichibukai and the Marine prevented anyone from daring to even nourish their hushed fantasies about capturing any of them for their own profit— they were pirates, they were fueled by the seven deadly sins, they had stains of blood on their hands and above all : they were untouchable. What a sweet, sweet paradox.

Some enjoyed this privileged status more than others, but amongst this group, all of them would think of the Marine each time they committed a crime— apparently, having the epitome of justice on their mind whilst accomplishing the dirtiest deeds humanity could think of made said deeds even more enjoyable as it was motivated by the impossibility of being reprimanded and thus, live a life filled by crime and sins.

But amongst their rarely mundane occupations, the Shichibukais still had to bend under the measures which came with their status, one of them being that their presence was mandatory to meetings to the top organized by the finest names of the high hierarchy of the Marine : Sengoku, Kizaru, hell, even Akainu despite his boiling hatred for pirates, the scum of Earth in his opinion.

The moments leading to the meetings were always the same — each protagonist would silently defy another one, the deafening silence squeezed between them would often hold interrogations or statements such as « what else have you accomplished since last time? », « I see I’m still superior. » or « My reputation shines the most between the two of us. » communicated through hushed laughters, a raised eyebrow or a smirk plastered upon someone’s facial expression. These moments were always both stuck in time, because of how heavy they felt, because the pressure emanating from each Shichibukai reached its apex, because the oxygen became almost rare due to the toxins lacing each word longing in the air, because of who these people were. And yet, they were your favorite moments because they were the most intriguing— an irresistible mix of passion and curiosity.

You were sitting between two of the biggest producers of this vivid aura of intimidation— Sir Crocodile on your right, and Donquixote Doflamingo on your left, in all, you cursed and blessed yourself at once for having chosen this spot. Truth be told, ‘chosen’ was an exaggeration. Allow me to tell you about this tale.

Each time a Shichibukai would enter the room, naturally, all eyes would be set on them. Judging stares, sometimes, glances which translated to « How come they are still alive? » or « Why are they still alive? » But when you stepped foot inside the meeting room, a new kind of tension spread through the room, and the two protagonists to blame both wore extravagant coats and had a sordid fascination for torture. They were gazes of envy, jealousy in its most vivid form, and silent questions hung in the air : « How come they aren’t mine yet? » Or statements like « I refuse to let this excuse of a man claim them, they are mine, and mine only. » (A statement, which, by the way, worked both in Crocodile and Doflamingo’s way.)

« My, my, my! Look at what the cat dragged in, ‘can’t say I’m complaining though, fufu. » The laughter itself was the signature of a maniac, which, needless to say, belonged to Doflamingo whose eyes were following your every move from his chair, his legs spread apart.

« Did you miss me that much since last time, Doflamingo? » You asked, as a form of rhetorical question, a fainted smile crept its way onto your face once the last syllables left your lips.

« I would be a liar if I said you didn’t occupy my mind these last few days, Y/N, and you should know how much I despise liars. » As the word ‘liar’ rolled off his tongue, his smirk faded away and instead, the emergence of a vein on his forehead was noticed as he reminisced the betrayals which stained his past.

You knew better than to interfere when Doflamingo dangerously crossed the line between moral and immoral, instead, you scanned the room to find a vacant seat to occupy. Perhaps next to Hancock? At least, you wouldn’t be bothered by the men here. Oh, but she was bound to drown you with stories regarding the man of her life, not the smartest choice. The seat next to Mihawk seemed like a good option as well, but he was not one for conversation and you would end up talking to yourself. Another choice would b—… « Y/N, I could not help but notice you were desperately looking for a seat to occupy. How convenient, the seat next to mine happens to be free. Of course, the choice is yours, I only took it upon myself to offer you the best option. » Oh, such a suave voice you could have recognized amongst a thousand voices.

This statement caused a chain reaction : your orbs were now focused on the beholder of these daring words, an amused grin stuck across your face; Doflamingo’s vein grew bigger as he caught the audacity coating Crocodile’s every word; Hancock’s palm hid a hushed laughter at the reaction of the blonde Shichibukai, Mihawk silently wished he could disappear. Enticed by his words, you start walking in his direction until a warm touch stops you in your tracks : upon closer inspection, it was a harsh grip on your wrist which belonged to Doflamingo who (now) combined both the raging vein on his forehead and his signature smirk, a duo made in hell. « Don’t be ridiculous, Crocodile-Man, Y/N knows, deep down, that I will take a way better care of them than you ever could, don’t you, lovebird? Fufufu. » And that, precisely, was the definition of ‘taunt’, a presentation of mankind’s most provoking aspects showed by Doflamingo.

Crocodile hushed his response, judging that entering Doflamingo’s mind games would the equivalent of handing him a victory he categorically refused to give him. A fit of smoke was blown, perhaps as a sign of exasperation, Crocodile was not keen on dragging this pseudo fight any longer— his hook circled around Doflamingo’s arm, and in a swift motion, your wrist was no longer the martyr of his tight hold. You couldn’t even gather enough time to bring your wrist to your chest that Crocodile’s large palm snaked around the same wrist and yanked it in his direction.

The aftermath of this motion was everything Doflamingo had once dreamt of, or rather feared in his most vivid nightmares— the sight of you, sitting on someone else’s lap. After all, wasn’t his lap welcoming? What did Crocodile have that he did not? It was infuriating, even more so because he could not seem to find the answer to this riddle, perhaps, in the worst case scenario, there was no answer in his favor and he was doomed to observe you sitting on your newfound throne. A vision of horror which made him frown and turn his smirk upside down, on the other one hand, Crocodile offered him his most victorious grin on a silver plate, a silent way to state his undisputed victory.

Crocodile’s hook was pointed in Doflamingo’s direction whilst his hand encompassed your waist— a clear and distinct switch in body language if you will : on one hand, the palm resting on your waist echoed to protection and desire to keep you closer to him, on the other one hand, the hook facing Doflamingo translated to a clear case of threat and perhaps even a way to dissuade him from tempting anything he might regret in a very soon future.

« It appears that victory is mine, wouldn’t you agree with me, Y/N? » Although Crocodile’s interrogation contained your name, it was directly targeted towards Doflamingo. « Don’t be fooled, the only person who won here is me. You’re bickering like kids while I’m getting all the attention, I can’t say I hate it. » You replied, the playful tone lacing your words matched with the grin spread across your face.

This not only signed Crocodile’s victory but also the beginning of the Shichibukai meeting, and almost every protagonist in this room had forgotten about the oh so important reunion—  the distraction brought by the quarrel of hearts between Crocodile and Doflamingo seemed to have hogged all the attention of the spectators of this scene.

Sengoku made his way into the room, an intrigued expression on his face which was as clear as daylight, « Sir Crocodile, Y/N, you do realize there are other seats in this room? » he questioned, although he was wondering how the situation escalated until reaching this point. « I’m afraid it will not be necessary, Y/N has already claimed their seat themselves. » Crocodile stated, with the same ill intention to send toxic jabs in Doflamingo’s way whose vein grew bigger under the more-than-obvious indirect verbal blow. « He’s right, this isn’t too shabby. » Sengoku showed no sign of surprise whatsoever at your response, he was in a room full of the most dangerous human beings alive, what else could he expect from them?

And so the meeting went on, and on, and on. But Crocodile’s position remained still— his digits brushed against the bare skin of your arm, and from time to time, his glance would switch between your from Doflamingo’s enraged figure (who was clearly not listening one bit to anything Sengoku was saying) and yours. But whenever his orbs landed on you, Crocodile could not help but drink in your presence and admire each detail crafted by the Gods until he could remember each inch of your body with closed eyes. You were torn between paying attention to Sengoku’s formulas and battle tactics, because it was a part of your job as a Shichibukai, and let your subconsciousness take the lead and allow yourself to melt into Crocodile’s warm and intoxicating touch. Each time the brushing motions would cease, it felt like the aftermath provoked by drugs— you craved for it, you needed it, and he quickly understood the underlying orders to continue through your pleading eyes half-hidden by your lashes.

« … Thank you for attending this reunion, you’re all free to go now. » Sengoku announced to a semi-attentive crowd before leaving the room, followed by Mihawk, Jinbei, Hancock (who did not miss to send a wink your way upon leaving), Kuma and Moria. Isn’t luck a wonderful thing? Now it was only the three of us in the room.

Doflamingo stood up, to your surprise, as if he was ready to leave the room too. He dangerously reduced the space between the two of you as Crocodile brought you closer to his chest to balance the cruel lack of distance. For a few seconds, which seemed eternal, Doflamingo allowed his orbs to roam free on your figure, drinking your stance in for future memories. His genetically given long finger traced the edge of your jaw, malice fueling his every move : « I can assure you that I will see you very soon, lovebird, and this time, I won’t lose and you will be mine. Have fun while you still can, crocodile-man, fufufu! » His maniac laughter signed the end of his presence in this room, now it was only you and Crocodile.

Silence lingered for a bit, as a way to let the both of you soak in the glory or the horror, depending on your sense of perception, of the events which had taken place earlier on. You were now the sole holder of all of his attention, and being the two only protagonists in the room offered the privacy Crocodile had secretly begged for since the arrival of Doflamingo. « Say, Y/N, would you really want to be his? » He asked although he was not really asking sincerely, taking another drag of his cigar as he awaited for your answer.

You brought your thumb and index right underneath your chin to fake a sense of interrogation, but the answer had already been stuck on your mind since you laid your eyes on Crocodile : « Mhm, I wonder… I mean, Doflamingo is pretty handsome if you ask me. What do I win if I choose you? » The faked innocent tone of your voice drew a harsh contrast with the importance of the question, but oh well, he had already noticed that. « Well, first of all, he will never kiss you quite like I do. »

If it was even possible, Crocodile reduced even more the space between the two of you until your respective chests were touching, his hook was delicately applying the pressure needed on the small of your back to keep you steady. Before respecting the rules of performative language, he admired once more the traits adorning your face and that’s when he realized that none of the paintings he owned could ever compared to the masterpiece of details and panorama of shades that were your face, he just hit jackpot.

His finger lingered just where Doflamingo’s digits used to be a few seconds ago, as a way to re-claim his territory and leave his imprints for good. Amused, Crocodile concluded his journey of touches by letting his palm rest right on your cheek in a way that his fingers could meddle with your hair behind your ear. Your lids shut close in response to his touch, already anticipating the explosions of sensations which was bound to come. And there, at this very moment, the explosions were set free and turnt into a myriad of fireworks— his lips crashed against yours and everything around you felt hot : your lips, his intoxicating touch, the sparks in your belly, you felt like a living volcano caught in eruption. His lips were perfectly molding against yours, as if they were made to melt against yours, like poetry in motion, if you will. Crocodile wasted no time and deepened the kiss, tilting his head in the process, you were breathless but you were willing to give up on air if it meant you could rest your lips on his until being persuaded of seeing stars.

To your surprise, he was the one who broke the kiss— don’t be fooled, his lungs hadn’t failed him yet, he was just dying to see your face contorted under the desire for more lingering touches and kisses. He couldn’t help but allow a chuckle to break free from his lips at the sight he was waiting for, or rather, the sight which confirmed his thoughts. « I shall take it as you belong to me now, and I’m positive you do not see anything wrong with this, my treasure. » And he concluded his sentence with yet another kiss planted on your lips, he was finally at peace with his feelings, knowing he had you now.

Moral of the story : never linger on an uncharted territory for too long while claiming loud and proud that you want to make this territory yours, the crocodile will always strike first.

[mallowstep]

the nature of folklore

today, i want to talk about the nature of folklore.

we're not divorced from it in the modern day by any means: the nature of folklore is that it is always there.

after all, how many times have you heard that if your roommate dies, you get an a? or listened eagerly to someone's tale of an impossible encounter with an impossible stranger?

folklore is omnipresent. it is woven into us.

that said, we don't have a ton of folklore via stories, oral history, and songs anymore. if i could singlehandedly change that, i would. i grew up telling stories, keeping the history of my family in vignettes i taught to my brother, making up comforting fables for my younger cousins when they couldn't sleep.

my mother sang me lullabies, amazing grace, you are my sunshine, tula tula, melodies i can no longer name but would recognize in a heartbeat.

i went to a summer camp where you were never too old for a bedtime story, where the greatest reward, even for a pack of sixteen year olds, desperately vieing for independence, was to hear another story. i can still tell you the story of the invisible prince, of how such and such and so and so met and married, recount the little prince or hatchet or my side of the mountain in impeccable detail.

unfortunately, i am but one voice, and i don't think i really want to change us back. let culture progress, it is the way of the world.

but i have so many stories for cats. trust me, i have about 20 drafts sitting of stories for these murder cats. but i want to take a moment to talk about how folklore works, what it does, and why it's important.

[3.7k words. 20 minute read. section headers, minimal formatting changes.]

oral history: a written explanation

i'm feeling a bit punny.

anyway, i'm not qualified to talk about oral history. what i am qualfied to do is talk about the broadest sense of it.

oral history is not an accurate way of keeping records. stories change, people forget things, the tales become exaggerated and tweaked.

but...it's not the worst way. it's a real, sincere, history.

for example, in my full moon, it's unlikely that one individual really mastermined this plan. especially not the same individual who sorted out some other important part of skyclan business, which in it of itself is a tall-tale.

realistically, the clans realized they had an error, decided on when they would meet, and just went with it.

but briarleap is one of skyclan's heroes. she's not the only one: rushfoot and dovestar are also important heroes. she fills a particular type of archetype: she's the young hero, who sees the world more clearly than those around her and comes up with a solution.

so it makes sense to assign her to the problems which are clever and had no obvious solution. she's not really a trickster archetype, but she is clever, young, and has no real power within the clan.

in other words, she's a ya novel protagonist.

likewise, the yet-unwritten story of briarleap and swallowpaw definitely didn't happen as it's told. that's just a nice box to put it in, a nice cover for an important lesson: mark unstable branches.

all the clans probably have a similar version of briarleap's story. i can't tell you for sure who the equivalent is, because i don't know, but it's worth remembering that almost none of these cats existed.

i think riverclan's will be a cat named briarstream.

you see what i mean, they're both named briar- because briarleap belongs to no cat. they just have a suffix that corresponds with common clan names.

now, i can't speak for anyone else, but in come back to you one by one, by solacefruit, there's a cautionary tale about catching koi. we get this line:

The koi were left alone because the tall folk loved them. That was the truth of the story. The real truth, not Linnetleaf’s version.

that confirms it, the story is a warning that's been polished into something kinder and more forgiving. (i highly recommend come back to you one by one btw.)

that's how oral history works.

it's not good for having a factual understanding of historical events, but...that's not really the point.

shared stories

another thing is, a lot of clans share the same stories.

i already talked about briarleap/stream/??? for the other clans, but it's more than just that.

every clan is going to claim that they have the right, correct story, that the other clans don't tell it well, etc., but with the exception of clan specific stories, that's not generally true.

okay this is hard to explain bc i'm still drafting/editing a lot of what i'm talking about right now and full moon is kind of a boring story for this. so i'm going to use the story of the long night, because that's the closest to finished and most likely to have been published by the time i finish this.

cw: the long night is a story that involves infanticide and cannibalism. i'm not graphic about it, but it's featured very heavily. we move into discussion at "STORY COMPLETE," and i move on entirely at "SAFE"

okay, so to summarize very briefly, the long night is a story about the seasons and about queen madness. it's one piece of clan creation mythos.

basically, before there were seasons, the night and day just took turns. during the night, everyone slept, but during the day, everything woke. one night, the night doesn't end. i'm telling the thunderclan version, because that's the version i'm working on, but this is a tale from before there were clans, so while every clan says their version is universal, it's definitely not.

there's a queen, slateflower, who has six kits (pigeonkit, harekit, fallowkit, dewkit, ripplekit, and muddykit), who are very young. her mate, silvershadow, has been hunting for her, because there was no clan to provide.

he's able to catch a small amount of prey, but as the night goes on, slateflower just doesn't have enough milk. she knows her kits are going to starve, so she picks the weakest one, kills it, and eats it. when silvershadow returns and asks what happens, she says that muddykit died and she buried her. this repeats itself until only pigeonkit and harekit are left.

silvershadow fails to catch anything, so he comes back, and sees slateflower try to decide who's weaker. he realizes what's happening, takes harekit from slateflower so she doesn't have to decide, and brings the kit into a clearing. he begs the moon to end the night so he can feed his family again.

it takes him a couple times, and he also is searching for another nursing queen. he finds a queen named flamepuddle, who also had a litter of six kits (silentkit, webkit, wildkit, dustykit, beetlekit, and talonkit), as well as taking in the kits of her sister, echofur, (heatherkit, redkit, goldkit, leafkit, cricketkit, and graykit), and right now, only redkit, leafkit, talonkit, goldkit, and cricketkit had survived. (the rest, and her sister, died of starvation.)

flamepuddle agrees to take in harekit, and the night eventually ends.

silvershadow decides that he, flamepuddle, and slateflower will live together. this isn't a thunderclan origin story, mind, just the beginning of collective cat behavior. but one of the reasons it is a distinctly thunderclan edition is because the implication is that later on, the other clans are all splinter groups.

there's also an implication that such large litters used to be more common, à la how in the bible, people used to be more fertile.

so anyway, because all cats are said to be descendents of these nine cats (silvershadow, flamepuddle, slateflower, redkit, talonkit, goldkit, cricketkit, harekit, and pigeonkit — leafkit dies later on), it's said they all carry the trauma of the long night and queens, feeling unsafe, will choose the strongest of their litter.

STORY COMPLETE

so.

in thunderclan's telling, flamepuddle and silvershadow are made to be the heroes, and slateflower is the villain. notice that slate is a windclan name, and the kits who die don't have very thunderclan prefixes. the implication is that this is because the other clans are weaker.

in a riverclan telling, instead of flamepuddle and slateflower, we might have puddlefeather and tallsong, and the kits who survive might be fallowkit and dewkit.

in skyclan, we might have mothpetal and nightstep, with surviving kits echokit and maplekit.

and so on. silvershadow usually keeps his name, tho. or at least half of it.

the 10th cat who dies is also variable. in thunderclan, it's another kit. slateflower is understood to not have intended her actions. in shadowclan, it's the slateflower analogy who dies. in riverclan, silvershadow dies and puddlefeather and tallsong have to work together.

so we always have the same story, but the details of it change, and there's a lot about the clan in that.

it might even be that the reason puddlefeather is able to keep five out of twelve kits alive is because she can fish for herself. tallsong can't.

and this is a story that's supposed to be universal, before the time of clans.

imagine how differnt briarleap and briarstream are. no, seriously, i don't have it in me to do five versions of every folk tale i write, so y'all have to live with one.

anyway, i could go on here, but wow, this section is...much longer than i meant as it is whoops.

SAFE

morals, protagonists, and antagonists

i'm not going to lie, i'm somewhat exhausted from the last section.

basically, the "protagonists" are often the ones who make mistakes. this is because that's a common theme for parables. you want the protagonist, who listeners relate to, to understand the mistakes and learn from them.

there's almost always a moral in these stories. they're not told just to entertain. they're ritualistic, nigh religious, tied in deeply with their culture.

finally, when an opposing clan is needed, (a) the clan telling the story is nearly always in the right, and (b) it tends to shift to whoever the clan is most antagonistic with.

a lot of my stories are shadowclan v skyclan because they have the strongest story-telling development and i don't have any aus planned for shadowclan and (old) skyclan, but i really like what i've developed for them.

in the case a friendly clan is needed, that also tends to shift, but it's less likely to change. it's significantly more likely to change if they're fighting with the clan in the tale.

for this reason, clans tend to be allies with cross territory clans in stories. you're just less likely to fight with someone who's territory you're across from, and you get fun flanking if you gang up on someone in the middle.

characters and archetypes

so i mentioned how briarleap is a certain kind of archetype, and that's pretty common in folklore. you've got your tricksters, witches, wise elders, w/e. i could do a bunch of research into folklore and find a canonized list but i'm approximately 90% sure it's going to tell me it varies by culture so. instead of doing that, i'm going to talk through some of the character archetypes i've been using.

please keep in mind that this is highly suspect to change. also, i'm referring to a lot of cats in my lore posts, so i'm sorry, because if you don't keep up with that, you might be a little bit lost. if you want to check out my folklore, it's here. maybe one day i'll make a kit simulation list that gives them to you in the order a kit would be told them.

the young warrior — characters like briarleap. smart, creative, and willing to speak up when something is wrong. they're who young kits should aspire to be. they're the most common protagonist in stories for young kits, and they're one of the only protagonists for stories with a "good" lead.

cassandra — prophetic characters who struggle to act on their prophecies. goosefeather types. they're cautionary tales, warnings about who not to be, because these are true seers who failed. sometimes, it is framed as the clan being wrong (e.g., berrymoon's main story is about this), but usually it's because the character said too much/too little, at the wrong time, etc.

impulsive apprentice — another warning. characters like swallowpaw. their actions are usually not actually wrong, but they end up being wrong with hindsight. they're tragic characters, and their warnings are usually about the rules established because of them, rather than not being like them.

wise leader/deputy — it's exactly what it sounds like lmao. usually, this is going to be the deputy more than the leader, because the deputy is a far more relatable position than the leader. these are your rushfoots and lilytails, deputies who make quick decisions on the behalf of their clan.

foolish/selfish warrior — warriors who take actions selfishly, which wrap back around to hurt themselves. these are the "protagonists" of the tales about feeding elders and kits first, and so on. they're actually the most common protagonist in stories over all. it's kind of a wide category, including everything from slateflower from "the long night" to lightningcall from "full moon." you know, a queen who only escaped the dark forest because it didn't exist, and a tom whose "mistake" was not showing up to a deputy meeting he was physically unable to attend.

there are, naturally, many more archetypes. there are archetypes for every role in the clan, often many. there's probably some amount of symbolism in the names — perhaps "-leap" is a skyclan indicator of a young warrior, etc., but at least right now, i'm not interested in that. i have more fun naming characters than worrying about the symbolism behind it, because i'm trying to also provide an understanding of clanlife, and that requires bending the rules.

(i mean, for what it's worth, this is true of many things. "the long night" as thrushpelt tells it is not the full version. usually, you wouldn't separate it from "the four seasons," but also, he glazes over the infanticide and cannibalism because he's talking to, like, four-year-olds, explaining how their mother had inherited a trait from slateflower.)

overall, though, i think these five are enough to give you an idea of what the archetypes look like.

interestingly, i also want to call attention to the fact that there's no specific trickster archetype. i mean, there is, because it's (a) one of the most common, and (b) it needs to exist for what i'm about to say, but it doesn't properly count.

see, cats are good at being sneaky and smart and clever. you know this if you have a cat.

clan cats also have to be good at following rules.

so basically every protagonist and antagonist in a story is some permutation of the trickster. the young warrior is the trickster but with less pointless trickery. the impulsive apprentice is probably the closest to straight-up trickster, but there's usually no associated deception. etc.

but in general, all cats should be clever and smart and finding new solutions, so there isn't a specific trickster.

names and times

on a related note, one that's significantly harder to demonstrate, the names of cats get repeated a lot.

in the real world, this is because the names are approximately 75% generated and 25% tweaked, and i have a bias towards certain names.

in the context of lore and worldbuilding, and why i'm not doublechecking against my database of every cat i've ever mentioned, this is because, well, it should make sense for certain elders to tell multiple stories, or, logically, for a kit to grow into a warrior grow into an elder and tell a story.

i mean, dovestar's nine lives are a huge part of skyclan, because each life is supposed to demonstrate some fundamental principle, and they're told over the nine moons of a kit's life (again, cats count kits' lives from the season before they're born for the purpose of holy nine, and from their actual birth for every other purpose, which is how brokenstar got around the warrior code fun fact), so yeah, i'll probably have some repetition in there.

likewise, there's no timeline for these. we don't know what happens when at all, except that the cats telling a story are younger than the cats in the story, and any "book cats" are younger than any other mentioned cat.

(that last point is because exactly one story is told by thrushpelt.)

so anyway, really hazy times and names because...that's how things go m8.

impact of the great journey

so as you can imagine, the great journey is a pretty big deal.

first of all, we're running out of cats who can remember the forest. in thunderclan, according to moonkitti, who i trust in this, birchfall is the youngest cat who can remember it. so considering birchfall could have great grandchildren in the next book or two, i'd say that we're pretty much done with cats who lived there.

even among the other cats, squirrelflight was an apprentice, and she went on the first journey, so there's that. cloudtail and brightheart won't be around for much longer, and graystripe might be immortal, but if he isn't, he'll be gone soon too.

i mean, i know there are non-thunderclan cats, but do you know their names? do you?

yeah. that's what i thought.

anyway, my point is, right now, in canon time, all of the stories are set in the forest. but like, that's kind of not helpful.

who knows, there's probably a story about sunningrocks that just doesn't make sense anymore.

i don't know for sure how the great journey impacts the folklore. this is because there's not an easy way for me to write it. my elders' den stuff is specifically set before tbp, so i don't have to think about adding in the villains of tbp.

why only tbp? because we have 3 wonderful, fantastic, folklore worthy villains. in tnp, we have the journey, in po3, we have interpersonal drama, in oots, we have rehashings of old villains, in dotc nothing matters, in avos, we have weird fuzziness i don't really remember what happened after darktail tbh, and tbc is ongoing. but wait! i hear you saying, what about hawkfrost? and darktail himself? and... no. shut up. they don't matter. just. they're not. they don't. they're not lore villains is what i'm saying very poorly. they're not the kind of villains who inspire lore. maaaaybe darktail? but he was far too recent for folklore.

anyway.

i'm sure in all of the po3 stuff i have on the horizon, i'll explore this more. dovefeather lore is in the awkward middle ground — everything is from the perspective of cats who never knew the old forest, but pretty much everyone older than them does, so it's unlikely anything substantive has changed.

but i have a lot of po3 extended universe plans that might dip in to this?

but for spitballing purposes, what probably happens is that most stories are just reskinned.

things like stories about sunningrocks are going to be repurposed. maybe about that weird strip of territory that they fought over? i'm not sure.

some stories will get to stay in the old forest, like the battle with bloodclan. and some stories will fade out, just as they always do. but for the most part, once the elders didn't live in the forest, they're just going to start plopping stories in the lake.

also, the great journey itself is 100% already folklore. i don't have to do that part, canon actually does it for me. kits are constantly being told about the great journey, or apprentices are telling us they were told about it, or someone is having a weird dream sequence that involves it.

the great journey is a major part of folklore, and that's cool. maybe if i run out of old stories, i'll do some post-canon elders' den stuff. we'll see, i'm definitely not feeling it right now, but that could change.

speaking of great...

this is a minor thing, but like, what's up with all the greats?

the great journey, okay, yeah, sure, makes sense.

and then we have the great battle.

also legit. it had been a while.

and then...the great storm?

look, i understand the storm in bramblestar's storm was a big deal. i have a lot of thoughts about bramblestar's storm as a book and this isn't that. but...

can we compare how many cats died in the great journey and the great battle? and we lost, like, three cats in the great storm

don't get me wrong, i sobbed like a baby when briarlight died.

oh hold on i lied that wasn't this book. never mind never mind.

i just, like, it's very strange IMO to have this great being a thing. or at least, i don't now, i guess it's evolution of culutre?

bluh okay i'm hungry and i do not focus well so i'm going to finish up but just. great. interesting.

conclusion

folklore is a topic i'm really interested in, and i try really hard to think through the consequences of, well, everything i can.

i'm definitely missing a lot of details — specifically, i scratched out my plans for a specific creation myth — but i like the general shape of the lore i'm building up.

[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #460

“i let it fall - my heart  /  and as it fell, you rose to claim it”

When you were younger, did your mother or father ever let you open a few presents before Christmas or your birthday even arrived? We have a tradition of opening one of the smaller presents on Christmas Eve. If you could receive a 100 dollar gift card for either blouses, pants, dresses, shoes or purses, which would you chose? PANTS. I need new pants BADLY. What is your favorite thing to do after crying? Ex: Sleep, listen to music, have some alone time, talk to someone, etc? It really depends on why I was crying and how hard. Do you think Trump will be assassinated, or will he survive his term? Old survey. I really thought he'd be assassinated more than any other president, honestly. Last time you felt suicidal? A couple weeks ago, but they were only passive thoughts. Last time you had butterflies? Sometime today, thinking about things. Biggest asshole you know? Some relative of my sister's in-laws' is so fucking rude. Literally no one likes him, but because he's family, he comes to events, anyway. Did you ever leave someone because you know you’d hurt them? No. What song did you last listen to? I'm listening to No Resolve's cover of "Set Fire to the Rain" by Adele. I have seriously been into rock/metal covers lately. Ever ridden in a police car? Yes. That's how they transport you from the ER to psych hospitals here. Ever witnessed a murder? JESUS, no. Have you ever lied under oath? No. Have you ever failed a subject before? I failed Algebra I during my last college attempt. Have you ever had a deadly animal as a pet? Noooo. I wouldn't. I want tarantulas, which are venomous (the potency ranging from what side of the world they come from), but even the worst of their venoms isn't fatal. Have you ever kissed someone of the same gender? Yes. Have you ever been in a hot tub before? Yeah. Have you ever been to a movie that sold out? It's possible, idk. What movie last made you too scared to go to sleep? None, I think? When you’re on a laptop, do you hook up a mouse or use the touchpad? I use a mouse. What’s your mom’s mom’s name? Cecelia. Would it be hard seeing someone else kiss the person you like? BOY THAT WOULD SUCK Have you ever been tempted to steal? No. What is the main character’s name in the book you’re reading? Moonwatcher. Do you have a favorite local band? Who are they? No. Who’s the last person you saw naked, aside from yourself? Mom, walking to her bedroom after a shower. Who’s your favorite horror monster/killer? Pyramid Head from the Silent Hill franchise. What kind of music do you prefer to listen to when driving? When I'm driving, no music. I can't focus. Would you ever own a hairless rat, cat or dog? I'd LOVE a sphinx. I doubt I'm ever getting rats or dogs again, but I do think they're cute. Females, anyway. I'm sorry but hairless male animals are just laksdjfk;lajdwkl;wj for obvious reasons. All the people you’ve kissed, what did their names start with? J, T, D, S. What did you and your ex fight about most? "The" ex, uhhhh... I don't really know. We didn't fight a lot. Don’t you love long hugs? YEAH especially if I'm crying or just in general need comfort. And long kisses? If we're serious and the timing is right, yeah. Have you ever purchased condoms? No. Have you ever gone on vacation with your boyfriend/girlfriend? No previous ones, no. Have you ever trashed your ex’s car after an argument? No. Even I wasn't THAT low. Would you leave a note on a car claiming responsibility if you damaged it? Yes. My guilty conscience would eat me alive otherwise. Have you ever used someone's handicapped parking pass to get a parking spot? No, and you're fucking garbage if you have. Are you embarrassed to tell people your job? I'm humiliated to tell people I don't HAVE a job. If you ran over an animal would you keep driving? omfg NO. I would absolutely pull over sobbing, move the animal to the side of the road, and hopefully there will be some wildflowers nearby to rest on it. I'd call whoever picks up roadkill, too. Where’s the best place to eat a romantic dinner? Take me out to Olive Garden like a basic white bitch & feed me spicy shrimp fritas and u have approximately a 90% chance of getting laid. :eyes emoji: What hobby would you get into if time and money weren’t an issue? Ohhhh I know there's one, but I'm blanking. What would be the most amazing adventure to go on? That is like an impossible question. There are so many possible, epic adventures. When people come to you for help, what do they usually want help with? Writing stuff. Has anybody criticized the way your significant other looked like? Yup, in the past. Like shut the fuck up, are you the one dating them???? Have you written or drawn anything for somebody else? I've done this many, many times. Who has impressed you most with what they’ve accomplished? Idk, there's a lot of people I know like that. What is something you think everyone should do at least once in their lives? Fall in love. Nothing matches that feeling to me. What would you rate 10/10? markerplayer What do you hope never changes? My resilience. I never want to give up when something knocks me down. Would you ever have sex with the last person you texted? UM THAT IS MY MOTHER Is there anyone that you’d love to just spill your guts to? Girt. Like. Now. But I'm waiting until I actually see him again. This needs to be said to his face. Where is the person you have feelings at right now? He's maybe asleep or just waking up? I don't actually know his exact hours and I know they alternate, but I think he primarily works the night shift at his job? Are you happy with your relationship status? I'm not anymore. I want to be with ^ like very badly. When did you last cry? What for? Today. I'm terrified of loving someone again in the fear of getting very hurt or plain traumatized again. Do you think you’re wasting your time on the person you love? No. When’s the next time you’ll kiss someone? I usually hate questions that assume I can see the future, but I can tell you I plan to whenever I see He Who I've Mentioned a Gazillion Times In Today's Survey Spam. Were you ever scared to death of anyone you knew? Or are you currently? My dad, in the past. Not currently. What’s the longest you’ve been away from home by yourself? If you wanna count hospital stays, like... a month? Have you ever been made fun of, because of what you look like? I've been made fun of online once because of my weight. The insult never left me. Have you ever made fun of others, because of what they look like? No. It's awful. Do you think it’s cute when you’re leaving a place, and a guy says “no hug?” What a dick move. Some people don't like hugs. Do you wear short shorts (if you’re a girl)? I didn't know short shorts were specific to females. Anyway, no. I hate my legs WAY too much. Who are you the most uncomfortable around? My sister's in-laws and her husband. Who has your heart? I'm never giving that to another person again. I've got it. But to answer the general question that's being asked, I've fallen like head over heels for Girt. Should cloning ever be allowed to happen? I think it's pretty... I don't know the right word. It just seems immoral to me? Especially when you start cloning things with an actual conscience. I can see a lot of problems arising from it. Are you impatient with really shy people? Well no, given I'm one of 'em. Does your house have air conditioning throughout, or do you have one that sits in your window? Throughout. What is the most ridiculous band name you’ve heard recently? Recently? Idk. Would you ever get a fashion mullet? NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO mullets are so ugly alsdkfj;aljdl;jwe Do you believe that Jesus lived and is returning? Isn't it historical, documented fact he was a living person? Even if that is true though, I don't believe in his "miracles." Do you believe in spiritual gifts? No. Do you believe in callings? No. If you were rich, would you get a professional photoshoot done? UM hell yeah. Pls take pictures of me that help me believe I'm even just 0.001% pretty.

[shirtlesssammy]

15x09: The Trap

The Road So Far:

PURGAYTORY

Now:

Sam and Eileen are trussed up at Chuck’s casino. (Sam, if you tried hard enough, you could slip those zip ties.) Chuck admits to Sam and Eileen that he’s been manipulating her this whole time to get close to Sam again. He couldn’t watch his favorite show and it was killing him (LOL, CATCH ME IN JUNE.) 

Sam and Chuck are connected and it needs to stop. Chuck pulls out a scalpel. And then utters the eight scariest words of a Supernatural fan: “All good things must come to an end.”

Meanwhile, in the bunker, the bickering exes continue on their line of bullshit. Cas is expertly making Borax bullets while Dean tries to reach Sam, with no luck. Dean’s worried that there’s something wrong.

Chuck wants to cut out whatever festers in Sam that won’t allow their wounds to heal. Eileen surreptitiously calls Dean. Chucks senses it and ends the call before it really gets going. Dean knows that they’re in trouble though and wants to save them. Cas calls Dean “stupid” (will the bickering ever end?!) and tells him they have to find the blossom in purgatory to trap Chuck.

Sam notices Chuck’s hesitancy to torture him and mocks him a bit. Um, maybe now’s not the best time to bring out Sam Fucking Winchester, okay buddy? Eileen joins in the mockery (#soulmates) and in retaliation, Chuck gets Eileen to do the scalpel digging for him. He likes to watch. The scalpel digging is very squishy. A+ work sound effects. 

Dean and Cas are in purgatory and there’s still very much a rift in their relationship. 

Dean wants to split up but Cas makes it clear that that also is a stupid idea. Dean brings up possibly running into Benny while there in Purgatory….and I just want to sit a little and think about that was practically Dean’s first thought. He thinks of Benny, and the friendship they had. I am sad. 

With a simple “C’mon”, Cas wins the argument and they start walking together. Something tracks them from the shadows. 

Eileen continues to be forced into digging into Sam’s wound. Through the pain, he tells her he knows it isn’t her that’s doing it. He’s bleeding out though and things aren’t looking good. Chuck sits back and plays on his guitar. What a nice douchey touch that is. 

Sam talks reason to Chuck, and while that pisses him off, he also heals Sam’s wound as much as he can. Chuck can’t understand how Sam can continue to be so defiant. He realizes that Sam still has hope --hope that Cas and Dean will save them, hope that they can still defeat God. 

*Coordinated Domestic Dispute to Draw Out the Monster Alert*

Dean notices a corpse that he swears he’s seen before. Cas tell him he’s wrong. He has an excellent sense of direction. Dean gets down to look closer at the body and the leviathan makes his move. Cas hand waves him away. They interrogate the leviathan. He tells them that there’s a blossom that grows from them after they die. Dean wants to end the monster right there but he tells them it takes months for the blossoms to appear. He knows a place. 

Before they get walking, Dean asks the Leviathan about Benny. BRB STILL CRYING. Benny’s famous --and he’s dead. (Cas’s concerned look to Dean as he hears the news will haunt me forever.) 

Chuck decides to take Sam on a Christmas Carol adventure into the future, and shows him what life will be like if they win. 

April 17, 2020

Sam and Eileen are looking up cases in the bunker. Dean’s “resting his eyes” in the corner chair. Cas shows up with beers for all. Things look pretty great. They all decide on movie night and popcorn. HUZZAH! 

Well, until Sam gets a call from Jody. Claire’s dead, from a hunt gone sideways. HURMPH. 

Back at the casino, Chuck tells Sam that’s just the beginning. He pulls out the time clock of doom.

In purgatory, Cas, Dean, and the other dude, are walking. Cas expresses his condolences about Benny. Their hostilities come roiling to the surface. Cas calls Dean out on not accepting his apology about Jack. Dean is pissy that Cas just walked away. The other dude, presumably, just wants one of them to shoot him with Borax.

January 6, 2021

In the burned out wasteland of the future, Sam and Dean drive. Things are going downhill fast. They’re not saving people. Cas is gone. (CaS Is GoNe) The monsters are winning. 

Once at the leviathan blossom site, Cas quickly realizes it’s a trap. The leviathan tells him that Eve wants a piece of Cas for killing the alphas and taking the leviathan. Others attack Dean.

He comes to later. The place is scorched and Cas is gone.

November 3, 2021

Sam’s prepping for another hunt. Dean’s giving up. Sam wants to know what’s up. “Ever since..,” he starts. Dean jumps into why he’s giving up. They’ve lost everyone. HE had to bury Cas in a ma’lak box. Bobby and Jody (and Sam) all have death wishes. Sam wants to go out swinging, like Butch and Sundance. “We lost, brother, we lost.” 

Our Sam can’t believe what he’s watching. 

Chuck swans into the scene. He claims he’s “just the messenger” benevolently sharing his knowledge of the future. Sam can’t believe that Dean would ever give up, but Chuck swears he’ll tell no lie, stick a needle in his eye. 

Dean stalks through the quiet woods, calling for Cas. He’s got just under a half hour left to reach the portal. In desperation, he pauses and centers himself. “Cas,” he begins to pray. “I hope you can hear me.” Dean calls Cas his best friend and apologizes for letting him go.

And then this show gently murders me because Dean looks around warily and, seeing that the coast is clear, kneels to finish his prayer. On one knee now, he cries as he unpacks the terrible anger which he’d turned against Cas. “When things go bad, it comes out and I can’t stop it. No matter how bad I want to.” (I’m with many other viewers when I point to childhood trauma and parental neglect and abuse as one source for that deep anger.)

For I am DEAD Science:

Further pushing me deep into the grave, Dean continues, “And I forgive you. OF COURSE I forgive you.” He apologizes and sends out a desperate wish that Cas will be able to hear his prayer - wherever he is. Dean wipes his eyes, sniffs, and pushes himself up with a quiet “Okay.” It’s time to move again.

Back to the future, Dean stews morosely at a table in the bunker when Sam enters with a bag slung over his shoulder. Sam’s going to take out the vamp nest - alone, if he has to. Dean shakes his head sadly, then drags himself off to go with Sam. “I guess I don’t have a choice, do I?” They head out, two broken down, hopelessly alone men. 

“It can’t end like this,” Sam insists. So Chuck has him flash forward in time again using the magic watch. 

It stops on December 9, 2022. End of the line! 

In Purgatory, Dean has just over two minutes left before the portal closes and there’s still no sign of--- WAIT WHAT’S BEHIND THAT TREE? 

“You made it,” Cas sighs in relief as he stands to greet Dean. Dean hauls Cas in for the T I G H T E S T hug. Very good content! I approve! They check in with each other. Cas reveals that he was being marched to go see Eve when he spotted a leviathan bloom. Cas dropped the monsters guarding him, and snagged the bloom which he adorably describes as “a little smooshed.” Dean validates Cas’s achievements! It is very soft! I am emotionally compromised! (I have watched this scene at least 10 times.)

Cas reveals that he heard Dean’s prayer. They exchange soulful, meaningful looks, and then head straight outta Purgatory. I look forward to your post-episode canoodling codas, everybody.

In the future, Sam and Dean barricade the door in a ratty old hotel. They’re being hunted by……….JODY AND AU BOBBY! (Jobby? Body? Ugh, both of those are terrible.) Current Sam watches in horror as his future counterpart (and brother) fang out. They’re both vampires now! Oooo. Awkward. 

There’s a fierce fight. Dean chews Jody’s throat clean outta her body, hissing like an angry cat the whole time. It would be awful if there weren’t so many funny memes of hissy Jensen floating around right now.

Sam wakes from Chuck’s vision which was A LOT. Chuck apologizes for the terrible ending. (All these ending narratives in this season are the result of 15 years of exhausted writers room shit talking, right?) Chuck reveals a couple of things. 1) He “powered down” Eileen in a closet while he’s talking to Sam which is just….GROSS. And 2) The heroic and free ending which Sam aspires towards is actually awful. Is dying as monsters really worth locking up Chuck? 

Safely back in the bunker, Cas and Dean prepare the spell with the leviathan bloom. Dean pauses, questioning Cas’s choice to take on the Mark trapping Chuck. Cas insists that Dean can’t take on the Mark again, and that the only choice is for Cas to take on that burden. Dean agrees, remarkably not insisting on damaging himself this time, and the spell is completed. It all gets sucked up into a sphere. Since Cas will contain the Mark, Dean or Sam will have to destroy it (thus sealing Cas’s fate along with Chuck’s).

In the casino, Sam shouts at Chuck. “We will beat you. I will make it better!” Chuck sneers at Sam, and accuses him of playing fast and loose with the laws of nature and magic. There’s a whole lot the Winchesters can’t know about the universe, Chuck insists. Only he - God - can grasp it all. As one, the Supernatural audience collectively fake-coughs, “Billie!”

Chuck prompts Sam to reflect further on the visions. Was the worst thing truly the way the Winchesters died, and all their friends were decimated? Or was there something even WORSE which befell the world after Chuck got trapped? In horror, Sam realizes that monsters were taking over the world. Chuck affirms this conclusion. Without him in it, the world descends into evil. (Somewhere, on a wholesome farm, Garth is asking, “Hey, who are you calling evil?”)

While we’re all trying to unpack this latest revelation, Dean and Cas break into the casino. They free Sam from his chair. Eileen, still puppeted by Chuck, comes in swinging but Cas tackles her away. 

Dean punches Chuck. Chuck punches Dean. While they’re exchanging blows, Cas rolls the bespelled ball over to Sam to smash and trap Chuck when….

Sam falls to his knees. He can’t do it. He can’t trap Chuck knowing what he knows about the future. The ball rolls out of his fingers. 

Suddenly, light flashes in Chuck’s shoulder. The Equalizer wound in both of them is healed at last! All it took is for Sam to...lose hope. FROWNY FACE! Chuck crushes the sphere and destroys the spell. That’s two anti-God weapons down and how many to go in the next ten episodes? 

Dean confronts Chuck and he is 800% bluster at this point, cosmos bless him. He insists that Chuck won’t kill their motley band. Chuck wants his ending too much for that. After all, the “drafts” Sam saw in his visions--

Chuck interrupts that thought. All the “visions” Sam had were Chuck’s memories of other, actual worlds where Sam and Dean made those awful choices and destroyed each other. That move, in Chuck’s mind, is inevitable. “Just like you, they didn’t think they’d do it, either.”

Dean growls. “No. Not THIS Sam and not THIS Dean. So you go back to Earth II and play with your other toys. Because you will never get what you want.”

“We’ll see,” Chuck says, rather ominously, and poofs out.

Back at the bunker, Sam and Eileen bid farewell. Eileen’s been puppeted back to life and romance...and she’s not sure what’s real. (Where have I heard THAT before?) She needs to head off on her own for a bit.

Sam kisses her so sweetly. “Now that was real.” She caresses his face lovingly before walking out. (I firmly believe we’ll see her again - next time on her own terms!) 

A shaken Sam makes his way to the kitchen where Dean and Cas are decompressing.

Sam brings up the botched Chuck trap, and tells them he believes Chuck showed him the true future. Dean accepts Sam’s choice, and his calm acceptance is a balm to my fucking soul. What’s next? “We find another way,” Dean says.

Cut to Jack in the Empty. He’s taking in the non-sights when Billie appears. “It’s time,” she says, and Boris and I throw a giant party!!!

I Don’t Know Why I Get So Quotey:

I hate missing my favorite show!

Come on, Eileen

Stop being so stupid!

Chuck, you dick

“Okay let’s split up.” “WHAT?!”

You still think you’re the hero of this story. You still think you can win

The Dean who raised me, he’d never give up no matter how bad things got

I should’ve stopped you. You’re my best friend but I just let you go, ‘cause it was easier than admitting I was wrong

Sorry, kid. It’s a crappy ending. You and your brother deserve better. 

We know about your galaxy brain idea. How you think this story is gonna go

Want to read more? Check out our Recap Archive! 

[hollenka99]

The One Where More People Die

Summary: Marvin confronts Anti and learns something he wishes he hadn’t.

Warnings: Mentions of death, murder and manipulation

Marvin is apprehensive when he approaches the door. He honestly shouldn't be involving his brother in his superhero issues. Still, he was hopeful Sean would talk sense into him. The meeting proceeds as usual with coffee and chatter on the sofa. Marvin takes advantage of a natural lull in conversation.

"If I kill Anti, will you forgive me?"

He has never seen such a double take of this magnitude. "Marv, that's- fuck. You know I've always got your back as your brother but holy shit. You can't just dump that question on me."

"I know, I know. I'm sorry. I just... I've been fighting this guy for years and he won't stop. Desperate times, desperate measures, you know?"

Sean places both his hands on Marvin's shoulders. "Listen to me, you are being super irrational right now. I get that you are extremely done with him, I do. But can you even hear yourself at the moment? Please tell me you can."

"One guy to s-"

"Oh no, we are not going there. Don't you dare start bringing these morality thought experiments into the conversation. This isn't some hypothetical situation, Marvin. This is real life. You are talking about killing an actual person. An extremely shitty person but still. I obviously can't speak from experience but I don't have to when I say it will fuck you up for a very long time. I am begging you, don't get your hands dirty. Hang on."

Sean abruptly heads to a mirror to scrutinise himself. When he goes to face his brother, he looks like a bootleg version of Anti. The hair's not long enough or the right shade of green. Nor is his skin as pallid as the true killer's. Also, Anti's ears seemed to be slightly pointed at the top, which Sean is probably not aware of. Still, for someone who has never seen Anti in person before, it's a decent attempt.

"Find a way to arrest me and get me to rot in jail. After all I've done, don't you think I deserve to?"

Marvin has stopped looking at his brother. Instead, he is pressing his face into his raised knees at the corner. "Please don't change into him. Come on, pretending to be him is a shitty thing to do."

"Yeah, no, you're... you're right." He returns to the sofa as himself before swinging an arm around Marvin's shoulder to pull him in. This would have to suffice as a conclusion to the subject for now.

----

Jackie is one of the first to witness Marvin's ecstasy when he is able to prevent one of Anti's attacks. It had been a chance encounter while he had been patrolling in the park. Anti's mistake was shifting prematurely. All it took was a small distraction to allow the potential kidnapping victim a chance to escape. Cat hadn't seen where the guy had run off to but at least he was safe. The only bad outcome was Anti disappearing from sight as well. Someone's life had been saved, Jackie encouraged him to focus on that.

Jackie decides to surprise him with cupcakes for when he comes home from a shift. The gesture goes down well. Marvin brings up his recent good deed again as they sample the baked goods. Jackie is really glad to see his friend in a better mood. He's seemed so stressed lately. Marvin won't confirm it but he can tell it's linked to his work as the Magnificent Cat.

Joel drops by to hang out with his Irish friends later on in the week. He certainly does his best to act as he does normally but it is clear something's on his mind. When Jackie temporarily walks outside the building for a smoke, he is surprised to see his friend follow him. They make small talk for a couple minutes before Jackie delicately questions whether Joel was okay. He reveals there'd been a death in the family, his grandfather. And no, seriously, there's no need to apologise out of sympathy. Joel rambles a little about the man before voicing an odd request. He asks about Jackie's father. Jackie doesn't understand how that will help things but there was no harm in humouring his grieving friend so fuck it. He's slightly taken aback by the fact this causes fresh tears to appear. It gets mentally brushed off as this being a highly emotional time for Joel.

Marvin interrupts the conversation when he calls down from the balcony for them to return already.

"I feel sorry for him. At least I knew this was coming for a while. Shit's going to hit the fan hard for him soon and he has no idea."

Joel doesn't elaborate. Jackie isn't sure he wants him to.

---

Jameson had better things to do on a Tuesday night than deal with his tormenter. Yet here the asshole was, dressed in skinny jeans and a dark t-shirt, leaning against the doorframe. Under different circumstances, perhaps the glowing red light that leaked into the hallway would have been pretty to notice. It's far from it when Jameson's swaying to music with his daughter in his arms gets rudely interrupted.

"Cool, huh? I think our meetings needed a bit of jazzing up. Where's Laura, by the way?"

"None of your concern." The radio transmits.

"Oh, we're doing this via radio?"

"I am holding a baby and I don't trust you to behave long enough for me to put her down. So yes, as much as I hate it, I am using a radio."

"Right. Well, anyway, the reason I'm here is because-"

"I am not your reset button. Fix your problems on your own."

"So you'll let a woman stay dead, knowing full well you could have saved her life?"

"I am not the one who killed her."

Anti does not appear to be impressed with this response. Arms still crossed, he walks in Jameson's direction. As he passes, clearly on the way to the front door, he delivers a side eye to the performer.

"You know the cool thing about having the gene? There's always something you can refine, explore or expand upon when it comes to your abilities. I suggest you keep that in mind."

Despite Anti's absence, Jameson doesn't feel like having fun this evening anymore.

---

Anti clearly wasn't too pleased about something. The news claims it doesn't know who is responsible for bodies showing up with evident trauma to the skull. Honestly, who else could it be? If Marvin's mind wasn't so preoccupied with recent developments, he may have noticed how suspicious it was to receive correspondence from his enemy shortly after venting to Sean about the new murders.

The note delivered personally by the sender to the apartment reads:

Alright Cat, town centre at 3 tomorrow?

Oh definitely. Marvin wouldn't miss this opportunity to end things once and for all if he tried.

Anti was a trickster, he already knew that. If there was somebody he could shift into, he would. And yet Cat was still momentarily shocked to find Jameson waiting for him. It's not him though. He can't exactly tell how he instantly knows but he does. The real Jameson is likely at home right now.

"Alright Anti, what are you trying to prove? You've already made it very clear you've done your research into my personal life. Why my cousin?"

The murderer begins speaking through his hands. "I'm sorry for not telling you sooner."

"No. Jameson can't speak and definitely wouldn't use his sound manipulation to pretend he could. You've been speaking the whole time I've known you. Do your homework more thoroughly before trying to frame him."

"Alright, you got me. Not Jameson. I wanted to have a little fun with it but I guess that's not going to happen."

No, it certainly wasn't. The door bursts open. Wind rushes in. Anti is thrown to the floor. The Magnificent Cat wastes no time ensuring he remains there. Weight on the chest, hand at the throat and fist raised to potentially target the face. A moment passes as Anti processes the rapid succession of events. That's when he resorts to the worst tactic. The person Cat threatens now looks like Sean.

"How dare you." He feels the cheekbone for a second when his knuckle connects with it. "Stop looking like my brother."

"It's me!"

"He is the last person you should shift into if you want me to listen." The nose is targeted.

"Marvin please."

"Shut the fuck up."

"It's me, I swear. It's actually me." Anti is beginning to produce crocodile tears now. As if that would work on Cat.

"Why the hell should I believe you?"

Anti wriggles his fingers. They spark slightly. Cat misses this detail, preoccupied with glowering. He certainly pays attention when Anti causes his own hair to stand as he moves his hands around it. Sean loved performing that trick when they were younger. Oh shit. Marvin rapidly removes himself from his brother.

The situation de-escalated, the two brothers allow themselves to have the past few minutes catch up with them. Marvin sits with his knees up, one arm around them while the other rests on his forehead. Sean, meanwhile, remains on his back while covering his entire face with his hands. His nose is bleeding as a result of the hit. They breathe.

"Are you alright? I'm s-"

"Oh, sure." The hands are moved so they don't obstruct his mouth anymore. Now the heels of them are being pressed into his eyes. "My baby brother just punched me in the face a few times but yeah, doing grand." Arms flopping to the side, Sean turns his head to face Marvin. "But would we be brothers if we didn't have fights?"

"Don't joke about that."

"I'd honestly take being beat up over having a knife aimed at me."

"I'm so sorry. I thought he shifted into you to try get me at a disadvantage. I-"

"Stop. We'll be here all night."

Eyes still springing tears, Sean forces himself to sit upright. Marvin takes this as his cue to strongly embrace his brother. Sean reciprocates the pressure following a moment of surprise. The brothers remain in each other's hold for as long as it takes for tonight's events to truly sink in.

"I want to go home."

Marvin couldn't agree more with that desire. At Sean's apartment, the two of them sit quietly on the sofa. Neither seems to know how to break the silence.

"You don't have to talk. But I wouldn't mind some answers."

"No, you're right. You deserve the truth."

Sean's tale begins when he is 16. One of the other boys from school had been following him home and harassing him. That nuisance combined with the foul weather made him want to get home as soon as possible. While taking a shortcut through a field, Sean had lost his cool and whipped round to confront the kid. All it had been was a shove. Of course, poorly suppressed aggression had to be translated into something. And when you have electricity at your disposal? Those results can prove deadly.

"He was just there on the ground. And I was 16, you know? What the hell do you do when you've just committed manslaughter? Then everyone started talking about it. I had so many opportunities to turn myself in but never did."

"Why didn't you then?"

"You're going to hate me for this but uh... you. Well, you and the fact it had been rough weather that afternoon anyway. No, don't look at me like that. You were like 6 or whatever. As if I was going to leave you alone with our parents just because my powers acted out for a second."

"I kinda remember it being on the news." Marvin mutters numbly. "...You killed someone."

"It gets worse."

As it turned out, Sean had befriended a fellow student called Will Andrews while at university. The two of them had organised a drinking session together. He had gone a little too far that night and unwittingly revealed the secret he'd believed he would take to his grave. Unbeknownst to Sean at the time, Will had the gene. In Will's case, it had manifested in the form of possession. It allowed him to completely take over the individual and, in cases like Sean's, use their power to his advantage. He'd then proceeded to blackmail Sean by threatening to turn him over to the authorities if Will wasn't allowed to have his way.

As Marvin allows himself time to silently process this, he glances at the portrait hanging on the wall. It's a picture of Sean, some 10 years younger and with barely any facial hair, as well as a woman with her black hair plaited past her shoulder. They're both evidently very happy in each other's company. Marvin would hope so, since they were dating. Or, at least, had been before Emily had ended it in the worst way. All Marvin remembers from that night is Sean going out for the evening, Emily coming over with her key and them ending up hanging out until Marvin reluctantly went to bed. Then being informed the next afternoon after school that her body had been found in a nearby river. His brother had been a wreck following what she had done.

"Was Emily alone that night?"

"Don't."

"She wasn't, was she?" It's clear Sean is unable to say 'no' aloud. However, from the way this topic appears to be his breaking point, he doesn't need to.

Marvin doesn't push it. He'd never understood how she could have been so happy while chilling with him then deliberately drown hours later. However, being 13 at the time, he'd simply taken Sean's word that it was a far more complex issue than he likely could grasp.

"This Will guy's been making you kill all this time?"

"Yes." A voice crack within the whisper.

They meld into one from the force of Marvin's arms around him. "I'm so sorry. I wish you would've told me earlier so I could have helped."

"Not your responsibility." is mumbled.

"As if I'm going to let you be upset just because I'm younger. Tell your single braincell that, Zapper."

-----

A man with green hair walks into the nursery. It's a lovely room, the little girl's parents hadn't done a bad job when preparing for her arrival. The majority of the walls are light blue, white clouds dotted about. Hardly a masterpiece but he's sure the 10 month old didn't mind too much. Little Freya had been peacefully dozing in her crib until he'd approached. Ah, even while sleeping, she proved to be her father's daughter. She begins stirring as she is lifted. Anti ensures her senses give her no reason not to settle. Still, that baby monitor wasn't purchased for no reason.

As if on cue, Jameson comes cautiously speed-walking through the door. His anxiety rapidly morphs into contempt.

"Sorry to disappoint, it's just me."

"Get out of my house."

"How about... no. Or at least, not yet."

Baby in his arms, he makes himself comfortable in the armchair positioned in the corner.

"A man repeatedly breaks into your house and now is holding your child. You're awfully calm for someone in this situation."

"You are in no way a threat to her."

"Oh really? I could do it. Just a few seconds and I'll be giving you my condolences."

"We both know you're not going to."

"You're really prepared to call my bluff in this situation? Somehow, I don't think you're stupid enough to risk your daughter's life."

"I'd simply rewind a few minutes."

"What about this afternoon?"

"Oh for the love of god."

"Marvin caught me off guard and it ended with me giving him a bullshit story. Obviously, he can't know any version of the truth."

"No."

"Jamie-"

The performer holds his hand upright. "How many times must I say 'no'? If he knows any part of the truth then good. He deserves to stay safe from your deception."

"Tried to frame you today, you know. He's thankfully too smart for that trick. But could you imagine if it had worked? Dozens of counts of murder will land you a whole life order. If they found you guilty, there's no minimum term. It's not like you'll re-enter society when she's in her 20s. No, you'll be there until you keel over."

"There is no evidence. I can't be convicted."

"But Anti's been seen at countless crime scenes. By none other than the guy who frequently collaborates with the police. You'd certainly be a suspect if he chose to talk."

"Then I would explain the shapeshifting serial killer has decided to use an innocent and well loved performer as his scapegoat."

The light suspended from the ceiling flickers. The disturbance increases speed until the lightbulb can't take the abuse any longer. Jameson simply sighs, fighting the urge to roll his eyes or facepalm to emphasise his thoughts on this display. Time halts. Extracting Freya from Anti's arms is relatively easy. As soon as he touches her and wills it, she exists outside of time with her father. A safe distance from the man, his daughter safely in her crib as she should be, Jameson grants Anti the privilege of being freed from a temporal limbo.

"Grow up already." He glowers. "I am done with this little 'partnership' of ours. We both know you would never intentionally harm me or Freya. And don't you dare even consider laying a hand on Laura."

Anti puts his hands in the air so they are parallel to his head. "Alright, I get the message."

"Tell Marvin the truth. The real truth."

"Like hell I'll do something so stupid."

"Either you tell him or I will."

"We both know I would never risk him walking out of my life."

"The truth will come out eventually and it will be better if it comes from you. As for people leaving your life, well... I would have physically distanced myself long ago if there were not things keeping me rooted here."

"Really?"

This is evidently the final straw for Jameson. "You have abused my powers for your advantage, dressing it up as if I am doing justice. You have threatened the people I love so that I feel incentivised to do as you say. I struggle to sleep and I assure you it is not because I have a baby. You have made my life a misery and I have no obligation to play nice. Even when you stop looking like that, I don't want to be around you. But of course, I pretend the opposite is true to protect you. And yet, and yet, after all that stress and strife, you have the gall to act as if I owe you loyalty. I never have."

"I uh... didn't get all of that, sorry. But-"

"Then perhaps this will be a good summary." With one finger, he does indeed condense his message to something much more universally understandable.

"He won't forgive you for keeping this from him, you know." Anti remarks.

"Get the fuck out of my house."

"Whatever."

Anti begrudgingly makes his exit. The whole time he travels home, he wonders how much time he has left before the inevitable catastrophic end of all he's known.

[ofmenoetius]

✖ ▒ OH, WHAT A COINCIDENCE! i was just thinking of [ PATROCLUS SON OF MENOETIUS ]. most swear their resemblance to [ SEAN TEALE ] is unmistakable, but he has / they have been around since the [ BRONZE AGE ]. it is rumoured that the [ DEMIBOY ] was born in [ OPUS ] in the year [ 1205 BC ], even though they don’t look a day over [ THIRTY ]. what a shame, though: they were once famed for being [ HONEST ] and [ PASSIONATE ] ; yet now, they seem more and more [ RESERVED ] and [ MERCURIAL ]. but while [ PATROCLUS ] spends their days working as a [ HARPIST FOR THE LONDINIUM SYMPHONY ORCHESTRA ], they are already notorious around town for [ UNSENT LOVE LETTERS ADDRESSED TO NO ONE ; BANDAGED FINGERS AND CALLOUSED HANDS ; A BEAT UP OLD FLIP PHONE ; THE FAINT SCENT OF COFFEE AND CARDAMOM ]. when you live forever, you might as well make the most of it. 

hi, hello –– i’m bella + also the worst !! this is my baby patroclus who’s one part powerpuff girl, two parts physical embodiment of the eyeroll, and generally just has really bad frown lines from being in a Bad Mood for like thousands of years or whatever. ( will not get botox sadly, someone convince him ) anyway –– i am here for every single plot of every single kind !! just like this and / or hmu on discord @ halaldaddy#3725 !!

TASK ONE : THE RUNDOWN

▼ STATISTICS.

full name: patroclus, son of menoetius.

moniker / nickname: officially goes by patrick in 2020, and he has the fake ids to prove it. generally isn’t the biggest fan of nicknames. 

titles: tbd.

gender && pronouns: demi-boy && he / him + they / them. 

dob && age: april 24th, 1205 BC && really old –– about 3224 years old, give or take, but he’s been thirty for a really long time. 

place of birth: opus, greece. 

previous residences: opus, athens, larissa, cape town, cardiff, inverness, paris, milan, caracas, && londinium –– in that order. 

zodiac sign: taurus. 

ethnicity: white && venezuelan. 

sexual orientation: demisexual. 

romantic orientation: homoromantic. 

occupational history: perpetual soldier, squire, orange farmer, lutist, revolutionary, boxer, harpist. among others. 

▼ PHYSICAL APPEARANCE.

face claim: sean teale.

height: 185 cm && 6′2. 

physical build: mesomorph && visibly muscular && painfully straight back from years of his father’s voice still stuck in his head. ( it’s 2020, maybe he really should go to therapy for his daddy issues, but how do you tell a therapist your dad died before the trojan war ?? asking for a friend. )

eye colour and shape: dark brown && hooded, really long lashes which he does oil at night && also lines his eyes with kohl. it’s habit. 

hair colour and style: dark, cropped, usually trimmed neatly. 

usual expression: bored, reluctant smile.

accent and speech style: heavily accented english, but it’s impossible to pin down where he might be from. speaks spanish and greek with more ease than he does english.

distinguishing marks / characteristics: both ear lobes pierced, gold studs in both. a shield tattooed on his left flank. plenty of scars –– one across his right eyebrow, scarred && calloused hands, a very large scar that refused to heal right on his left shoulder. 

clothing style: anything he can find, really ; athletic for the most part, but smart button-downs ( always button-downs, never button ups ) for work. 

jewellery and accessories: a thin, gold chain around his neck ; his an engraved ring hangs from it, tucked away. a deliberate collection of rings on his fingers: a curved edge, yellow gold signet ring from a third-generation foundry in greece ; a classic medusa ring picked up in florence during the renaissance ; a turquoise inlaid silver signet ring ; a silver plated band, worn on his left thumb.

▼ FAMILY.

father: menoetius, deceased ( thank fuck ). 

mother: philomela, deceased. 

siblings, if any: myrto, his sister. 

extended relations: none that he knows. 

significant other(s): achilles && only achilles. it could only ever be achilles.

children: none, except his –– 

household pet(s): he has two tabby cats named menelaus and ajax ( just a little fun joke for himself, okay –– don’t @ him. ) 

▼ FAVOURITES.

colour: gold ; every shade. 

weather: storms –– it reminds him of mornings spent inside, the air sticky and humid, sweat on his upper lip and a laugh on his tongue. 

food item: he’s a vegetarian –– he always has been, especially since he didn’t always have food, especially during the 1100s. so yeah, patroclus isn’t exactly picky –– anything veg and vaguely edible’s fine –– but he does love a vegan burger ( normal cheese, please ). the perks of the 21st century. okay, and he loves green olives. 

beverage: he’s a stereotype, he loves red wine. ( fine, he hates wine –– he likes tequila. )

time of day: late at night, late enough that the streets are quiet and the air feels thin and he can breathe deeply. 

television genre: not that patroclus has time to watch tv –– plus he’s got one of those old picture tube tvs from the dinosaur era –– but he loves a good underwater documentary. and shark week. and the history channel –– he likes to catch what they got wrong. 

favourite era lived: he’d do anything to go back to the day before he died –– anything. to say a proper goodbye, to say all the very many things he’d never said because he thought he had all the time in the world. but also, he really loved the ‘70s in londinium.

▼ PERSONALITY.

hobbies: boxing && reading && falling asleep in the sun. 

pet peeves: people talking in circles && liars. 

phobias: patroclus doesn’t like drowning. he’s died of drowning once && come back from it, but he absolutely hated it. he’ll take anything over it. 

allergies: coffee. which is fine, because patroclus likes green tea anyway. ( well, green tea with like three whole spoonfuls of honey. )

mbti type: isfj – t.

enneagram type: 

35% the challenger.

48% the skeptic.

22% the peacemaker.

positive traits: passionate && honest && loyal && dependable.

negative traits: reserved && mercurial && blunt && pessimistic && headstrong && forlorn.

morning routine: goes for a run every morning before dawn, goes to a boxing class, has breakfast at the bookshop on the way home, and gets to work at least an hour early. it’s boring and it’s too familiar and patroclus wouldn’t change it –– he’d rather have predictable than the alternative. he’s tired of losing people and places and old routines, so he’s holding on to this one until he has to move again in another twenty years.

beauty routine: nothing really ; patroclus keeps his beard neat and his hair trimmed. he oils and curls his lashes, oils his beard. he misses baths –– big baths that you could sit in and just stay in until you pruned. but he only has a shower in his apartment now. 

sleeping habits: patroclus hasn’t slept through the night since before his first death ; nowadays, it’s a few hours of sleep at a time, and plenty of nightmares to keep him company. the good thing is, he’s very used to waking up early –– rather than tossing and turning or watching his ceiling until dawn, he’s up and out of bed. 

oldest belonging: he doesn’t have anything –– nothing. patroclus always leaves things behind, always. it’s easier that way. and sure, he regrets it sometimes. but there’s no use crying over the past, right? not when he has an endless future. 

living space && home: it’s small –– it’s really small. but it has bay windows, a shitty little terrace with doors that the wind knocks open, and plants everywhere. there’s a kingsize mattress on the ground, one set of sheets total and they’re made of cotton-silk. orange, of course.  

INTRODUCTION : tw death ; tw war .

his childhood wasn’t pretty. patroclus was born too skinny, too weak –– maybe not sickly, but he wasn’t wanted. he wasn’t loved. he was born into a war, and his war was his father. his war was his father’s shame. so when he killed another by accident –– in anger, in frustration, by mistake –– his father was more than happy to ship him off ; and somehow, that was the greatest gift his father could have ever given him. thanks, dad. 

it’s been so long, everything feels like a dream. it feels too sunlit and too warm to the touch. it feels too easy. and sure, he can’t remember all that much about it. but he remembers achilles. he remembers being so happy that he felt sick to his stomach. but he doesn’t remember hector’s knife in his stomach or dying that very first time. but he remembers waking up to hades in the underworld, and he remembers the sickening realisation that he could never go back ever again –– he was here, and he was alive, and he still had to leave everything he once knew behind. 

patroclus didn’t want money or fame ; he’d only ever wanted a love to call his own and a place to call his home. and since he’d lost both already, he was tired. so he went off to work on an orange farm, right at the edge of the world –– or well, the edge of his world. he was still in greece, news travelling to them every few months or years, and it was alright. he was away from the rest of the world, labouring under the cruel sun and sleeping into the cool night, and waking up to do it all over again. he smiled at the kids on his way into town and gave them an armful of oranges each. and then when people began to wonder whywhywhy he wasn’t aging, patroclus moved on to the next village –– and then the next, and then the next. 

it was 1465 + he was in florence when he saw a lute again –– a laugh escaping him before he could start to remember when he last laughed out loud. it reminded him of home, of a long time ago. so he began to play for money and food and a place to stay. and it took him all over the world –– meeting people who’d die before he’d reach his next destination and learning things he’d never be able to forget. 

going to war became a habit. the crusades, the gallic wars, the jacobite rising, the war of the roses, the french revolution, the seven weeks war, world war i, the russian revolution, world war ii, and so very many more –– patroclus wasn’t really fighting, but he was trying. he was trying to make sure some good came out of them, that there was some death that he could stop, some blows he could take if it meant another lived. but at some point, he just couldn’t keep doing it anymore. his heart hurt and his nightmares followed him in the daylight. 

now, well –– he’s a harpist for the londinium symphony. patroclus has been her for all of about 12 years now ; he doesn’t want to move, not yet. but throughout his many, many lifetimes, he’s perfected and loved the harp –– it’s the only thing he recognises in this brave new world, and he’s going to hang onto it for as long as he can. 

WANTED CONNECTIONS.

survival of the stubborn: a mentor, someone patroclus met after a long, long time of being immortal, but someone who taught him to stop being completely miserable and enjoy the time they have. if it wasn’t for this person, patroclus probably wouldn’t have lasted all that long.

death becomes you: immortal friends ; the gang, the squad. the ride or dies –– so to speak. they can go decades without talking or meeting, but they get together again every fifty years and know they can rely on each other. plus, they can literally whatsapp each other now –– like, what. 

orange you glad to see me: he worked on an orange farm in greece after their first death in about 1200 BC, and met this person there. maybe this person owned the farm, maybe this person was just a guest of the owners, maybe they also worked on the farm, or maybe they just met each other in the village nearby –– but they met again years and years and years later and it was a lowkey lightbulb moment of oh, so i’m not alone out here for patroclus !! 

please turn the music off: musician friends + members of the orchestra ( mortal or immortal ) + anyone who’s into music and they might have met each other over the years !! perhaps a mentor or maybe they even totally hate each other, but just about any type of music relation !!

encore, encore: patroclus worked / played in a few different courts over the years –– always the lute or harp –– so this might be someone he might have played for !! 

tequila’s my best friend: drinking buddies !! what it says on the tin. patroclus is a miserable drinker, usually ends up spilling all of his secrets, sometimes ends up breaking things. 

the war followed me back home: patroclus served in plenty of wars until 1950 –– far too many, with new names and new titles and new ranks every time. to do some good in the world. or maybe they were just chasing their first death at hector’s hands. either way –– this is someone they might have served with !! could be a commanding officer ; a fellow soldier ; or even a doctor / nurse !!

old enemies, new friends: people he just doesn’t get along with. at all. ever. they’re always hated each other, maybe they even killed each other a few times, but just some sort of enemies !!

more to be added !!

[rixxy8173571m3w1p3]

His Territory

Oh man, I missed writing Cat Rick X Reader fics. I don't know who asked for this one, but I'm going to include in my Cat Rick X Reader series. @kitten-wrath I'm tagging you cause I know how much you love that Kitty Rick. 🐱

_____________________

For the last week or so, Rick had taken up surveillance around your home which wasn't all that unusual, but what was strange was how touchy he would be if you came home through the back door instead of the front door. You had thought nothing of it for the first couple of days, but when he found a hair on your pants after the local stray cat rubbed up against you, he not only demanded that you'd burn them, but that he'd have to mark his territory again. "Rick, we've been through his before. You can't go peeing everywhere just because another cat showed up"

"Baby, I-I-I don't think you're seeing the bigger picture here."

If he meant that you didn't see how peeing and rubbing up against everything would solve everyone's problems, then yeah there was no bigger picture. "You're right, I don't see it, but I'm sure you're about to tell me."

"A cat doesn't step over into a-another cats t-territory unless they're lookin for trouble."

"Not even when they're hungry?" you teased. "Isn't that what you did fuzzy butt?"

Like any Rick, he hated to be wrong. Flattening his ears, he grumbled. "Th-that's beyond the point."

"Sure it is." you giggled. "I mean, it's not like you didn't get into a fight with the last cat that even looked at my yard. Look, I understand if you want the yard all to yourself, but what if he's hungry? The worst thing that could happen is I'd end up with another cat if I fed him."

"Which is why y-y-y-y-you wouldn't." he hissed.

"Wouldn't I?"

“Yeah, I-I don't think so. All th-that food is mine." he stated matter of factly.

"Are you sure about that? Maybe I should pull up my bank statements to confirm that."

Still indifferent, he paced back and forth; the click of his nails being but a minor distraction. "Baby, all I know is h-he better back off my turf. This place is mine."

There he was again, claiming things were his. "Technically it's mine." you interjected, "I just let you stay here."

"And my scent is all over this place," he stressed, "so he needs t-t-to get the hell away from here before I claw his eyes out."

"What if he's in need? You never know if he's searching for a forever home."

"Th-then I'll show him the way out. For good."

You heard him talk this way before, but it didn't mean you liked it. You flicked his nose, which caused him to dig his nails into the floor. "How can you be so rude? What if I had shown you the way out when you had first shown up? Then right now we wouldn't be having this conversation."

"I think y-you mean to show me off."

"No, I don't, but I can show you something alright. I swear if you weren't so…" you paused finding it ridiculous that he'd care so much about this and that you had gotten caught up in foolishness again. What was he thinking anyway? It's not like you were going to get rid of him or anything.

"I'm so what?" he bristled; taking your brief silence as frustration. "I'm s-so annoying? Geez, tell me something I-I don't know. You tell me enough as it is."

Plopping himself down on your recliner, he began to groom himself aggressively; still grumpy as ever, but if you weren't mistaken, his limp tail and downturned ears made him appear a bit melancholic. You weren't sure how to feel about it other than disappointed. Not in him, but at yourself. Could it be that he had taken to heart what you've said all the previous times you two argued as well as this time?

For your part you took a seat on the couch and glanced out the window where the curtains hadn't been destroyed yet in order to distract yourself; spotting the stray which had been coming around as of late, and rolling around without a care on the lawn. There were several things in which you thought you should do. You could chase him away yourself, feed him, or some other third thing. Knowing that Rick would freak out if you gave any indications of preference to anyone or anything other then him bothered you. So you rose and walked over to sit on the armrest of the recliner. "You don't mind if I sit here do you?"

He didn't answer, but he looked away as he continued to groom himself. You went on. "I'm sorry. I don't...I don't know or understand what goes on in that mind of yours Rick, but if at any point you thought that I'd get rid of you, then you're mistaken. I mean, how could I?"

Really, how could you? Especially since he'd brought so much joy into your life. You hated to admit it sometimes, but you really cared about him, despite how annoying, and temperamental he could be. He'd never treated badly like some of your old boyfriends; better then some friends even and if you weren't mistaken, he might've cared for you too. However, could he really when you both weren't even of the same species? Perhaps that's why you treated him as you did; as some oversized pet; afraid of what you felt deep down inside.

Stretching out your hand to scratch behind his ears, you hesitated. Is this how it should be? As an owner and a pet? Or more? You felt conflicted and losing your nerve, you tried to get up so you could chase that stray cat away, but was stopped by a soft hand on gripping your wrist. "Don't leave. If I-I bother you so damn much baby, then maybe I-I should go. I'd certainly be doing you a-a favor."

Whatever causes your heart to flutter, or to rejoice, or to feel pain sank at that moment. Is that what he thought? No, that's wrong. How were you supposed to do this? To show him that you didn't want him to go and that you cared? Well, you did the only thing you thought made sense.

Turning back around, you stretched your arms open to embrace him. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you caught him by surprise; his body having tensed up, but soon melt when you returned in kind what he would do to you; rubbing your face along the side of his face, and nuzzling his neck until you heard him purr. "If I mark you with my scent," you wondered; your words muffled by his fur. "does that mean that you belong to me? And I to you? Will it make it better?"

The arms which were wrapped around you squeezed you a bit tighter, and a chuckle erupted from his throat. For the briefest moments, he inhaled your scent, and you felt his nails bite your skin through the fabric of your blouse. You squeaked when you felt his nose against your neck, and if you were honest with yourself, you hadn't disliked it, but soon he loosened his grip about your waist and with a sigh, directed your gaze towards him; a serious, but all the more indescribable expression decorating his face. "I-I don't think you understand what you're talking about baby. Y-you can't - you shouldn't do that."

"Do what?" you wondered, trying to study his expression.

"What y-you're doing it - it doesn't mean what y-you think it means."

With your arms still about his neck, you didn't feel dissuaded to let go; feeling that this was what you were supposed to do. "If it means that I think you're adorable, and that I don't want you to go, then it doesn't matter. Isn't that okay?"

Giving you a funny look, he licked your cheek before pressing a soft kiss upon it and remaining there. "Baby," he softened. "I-I know I'm a furry piece of crap, but I - I promise I won't kill him. You don't need t-t-to do this to prove your point. I get it, but even so, at least I-I got to experience this."

"What are you talking about?"

"If only you knew." he whispered

"Knew what?"

Rising from the chair, he pulled your arms away and that melancholic expression returned. "It's nothing baby. I just… I promise I won't."

And as promised, he didn't. Though, when Rick had left your embrace, you couldn't help but feel alone and rejected. Had you caused some misunderstanding again? Had you crossed some line which there was no going back from? Well, whatever it had been, you hoped you two could move on and get over it. But if he happened to get over it, could you?

Fin

[sprigghq-blog]

SPRIGGHQ  TASK  ONE:  GETTING  TO  KNOW  YOU  !

the  first  task  is  a  simple  one,  allowing  you  to  get  more  comfortable  with  your  muse.  under  the  cut  is  a  template  and  a  few  questions  you  can  answer  to   give  the  rest  of  us  more  insight  into  your  character  -----  there  are  a  LOT  of  questions,  so  we  just  ask  that  you  answer  at  least  five.  be  sure to  tag  with  sprigg.task1  &  give  this  a  like  once  you’ve  read  it.

credit  for  the  templates  &  questions  !

basics

Full Name: Nickname(s): Age: Date of Birth: Zodiac Sign: Place of Birth: Ethnicity: Nationality: Gender: Sexual Orientation: Romantic Orientation: Religion: Occupation: Language(s) Spoken: Accent:

physical appearance

Face Claim: Hair Color: Eye Color: Height: Weight: Build: Tattoos: Piercings: Distinguishing Characteristics:

personality

Label: there are a good many to choose from here Positive Traits: Negative Traits: Goals/Desires: Fears: there are many common ones listed here Hobbies: there’s a good list here Quirks: there’s a nice list here Likes: Dislikes:

family

Father: Mother: Sibling(s): Pet(s): Financial Status:

questions:

A: Aptitude 1. what are your oc’s natural abilities, things they’ve been doing since young? 2. what activities have they participated in? 3. what abilities do they have that they’ve worked for? 4. what things are they bad at? 5. what is their most impressive talent?

B: Basics 1. what is their hair color? 2. what is their eye color? 3. how tall are they? 4. how old are they? 5. how much do they weigh?

C: Comfort 1. how do they sit in a chair? 2. in what position do they sleep? 3. what is their ideal comfort day? 4. what is their major comfort food? why? 5. who is the best at comforting them when down?

D: Decoration 1. how would they decorate a house if they had one under their name? 2. how would they decorate their child’s room? 3. how do they decorate their own room? 4. what type of clothes and accessories do they wear? 5. do they like makeup/nail/beauty trends?

E: External Personality 1. does the way they do things portray their internal personality? 2. do they do things that conform to the norm? 3. do they follow trends or do their own thing? 4. are they up-to-date on the internet fads? 5. do they portray their personality intentionally or let people figure it out on their own?

F: Fun 1. what do they do for fun? 2. what is their ideal party? 3. who would they have the most fun with? 4. can they have fun while conforming to rules? 5. do they go out a lot?

G: Gorgeous 1. what is their most attractive external feature? 2. what is the most attractive part of their personality? 3. what benefits come with being their friend? 4. what parts of them do they like and dislike? 5. what parts of others do they envy?

H: Heat 1. do they rather a hot or cold room? 2. do they prefer summer or winter? 3. do they like the snow? 4. do they have a favorite summer activity? 5. do they have a favorite winter activity?

I: In-the-closet 1. what is their sexuality? 2. have they ever questioned their sexuality? 3. have they ever questioned their gender? 4. would/was their family be okay with them being LGBT? 5. how long would/did it take for them to come out?

J: Joy 1. what makes them happy? 2. who makes them happy? 3. are there any songs that bring them joy? 4. are they happy often? 5. what brings them the most joy in the world?

K: Kill 1. have they ever thought about suicide? 2. have they ever thought about homicide? 3. if they could kill anyone without punishment, would they? who? 4. who would miss them if they died? 5. who would be happy they died, anyone?

L: Lemons 1. what is their favorite fruit? 2. what is their least favorite fruit? 3. are there any foods they hate? 4. do they have any food intolerances? 5. what is their favorite food?

M: Maternal 1. would they want a daughter or a son? 2. how many children do they want? 3. would they be a good parent? 4. what would they name a son? what would they name a daughter? 5. would they adopt?

N: Never Have I Ever 1. what would they never do? 2. what have they never done that they want to do? 3. is there anything they absolutely can’t believe people do? 4. what is the most embarrassing thing they’ve done? 5. have they done anything they thought they’d never do?

O: Optimism 1. are they optimistic or pessimistic? 2. are they openly optimistic, throwing it on others? 3. are they good at giving advice? 4. is there anyone in their life that throws optimism on them? 5. were they always optimistic?

P: Personality 1. what is their best personality trait? 2. what is their worst personality trait? 3. what of their personality do others love? 4. what of their personality do others envy? 5. do they hate anything about their personality/about other’s personalities?

Q: Questions 1. do they ask for help? 2. do they ask questions in class? 3. do they answer questions that make them a little uncomfortable? 4. do they ask weird questions? 5. are they curious?

R: Rules 1. do they follow rules? 2. would they be a strict or laid-back parent? 3. have they ever been consequenced for breaking a rule? 4. have they broken any rules they now regret breaking? 5. do they find any rules they/others follow absolutely ridiculous?

S: Streets 1. are they street-smart? 2. would they give money to someone on the streets? 3. have they ever gotten in a fight on the streets? 4. has anything happened to them on the streets? 5. are they cautious when out?

T: Truth 1. are they honest? 2. can they tell if someone is lying? 3. is it obvious when they’re lying? 4. have they lied about anything they regret lying about? 5. have they told truths that have been spread against their will?

U: Underdog 1. have they been bullied? 2. have they bullied anyone? 3. have they been physically attacked by a bully? 4. have they ever been doubted? 5. have they surprised people with being good at something?

V: Vomit 1. do they vomit often? 2. do they get lots of stomach aches? 3. are they good at comforting someone ill? 4. what do they like as far as comfort goes? 5. do they burp, cough, or hiccup most when nauseous? when vomiting?

W: Water 1. do they drink enough water? 2. have they learned to swim? 3. do they like to swim? 4. can they dive? 5. can they swim without holding their nose?

X: Xylophone 1. what is their favorite genre of music? 2. do they have a favorite song? 3. do they have a favorite band/artist/singer? 4. can they sing well? 5. can they rap?

Y: You 1. how old were you when you created them? 2. what inspired you to create them? 3. were they different when they were first created? 4. do you enjoy writing them more than other characters? 5. what’s your favorite thing about them?

Z: Zebra 1. what’s their favorite animal? 2. do they like animals? 3. cats or dogs? 4. what’s their dream pet? 5. do they have any pets at the moment?

[writingwitchly]

I’m gonna do it, anyway

Hey could I please ask for a Sirius black x Slytherin female reader fanfic based of the song Rude by Magic! References from the music video too could be added if possible? ~ @arianna-17-11

Pairing: Sirius Black x fem!reader

Word count: 2,2k 

A/N: Phew… My first reader insert since… ever? I think I sticked to the request right enough XD, just skipped the Slytherin specification.  Hope you’ll like it. PS: I need a Sirius in my life RN.

The clock shows 9:23. The night only displays darkness.

You curse.

It’s quite usual for members of the Order to- ‘get lost’, in these times, with nothing to be done to find them.

The vegetables and white plastic planch on the kitchen counter suffer your aggressive stress.

It’s been two days and… and you haven’t heard of him…

A noise reaches you from the outside. Was it a crack? Your shoulders tense.

You’ve heard several of them, this weekend. Or at least, imagined you had. Every time you got to the window, there was nobody in the street below, apart from a couple of cats or a strolling brownish dog.

You don’t dare to check now, fearing that another desillusion might break your heart for good.

What if-

The thought makes you shiver, and the knife almost escapes your grip. You lay it down, next to the halfway chopped onion. It would be stupid to wound yourself without needing an enemy for that.

The beating of your heart climbs up to your ears. If at least he’d told you where he was going… None of the boys knows, either.

If he ever comes back alive from this, you’ll sure as heck won’t let him breathe until he draws a calendar and fills it whenever he plans on disappearing.

“Y/N!”

The voice carries its amusement through the whole flat, and makes your heart jump to your throat.

It takes you a good second realize who just closed the door.

For a good hour, you were thinking that-

For Merlin’s sake.

What kind of boyfriend disappears without leaving any trace, making you suffer the worst anguish for two days, to come back and greet you as if nothing had happened?

That’s right, a boyfriend about to be told off.

You storm out of the kitchen. “Sirius Orion Black!”

If James had been here, he’d ran for cover.

But Sirius is waiting for you, his arms wide open, at the entrance of the apartment. His leather jacket does not bear any trace of battle, except the one it fought against the wind on the drive home. His boots are firmly planted on the floor.

You stop when you are barely centimeters away from his body, and hit his chest with your fist at each word you articulate. “How. Do. You. Dare. To. Fr-”

Without waiting for you to finish the reprimand, he wraps you in a tight embrace.

You burst into tears. “I- I- I was so afraid. Wh- Where- Why did you leave with- without telling me-”

One of his thumbs draws circles on your back, his other hand is lost in your hair. He murmurs some words, but so low you barely hear them. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat calms you down.

When your hiccups have considerably diminished in intensity, Sirius makes you look up at him.

“I’m safe and sound, love. Look, no new scars.”

You count the marks on his face, on the bluish skin that hints a new beard, and are quite reassured to find none you haven’t already mended. “Your arms? Your back?”

“As sane as ever, Y/N. I promise.”

Finally, you allow yourself to sigh in relief, until you remember about your anger.

“How many times,” you blurt, “Have I asked you to- Why are you smiling like an idiot? I’m being very serious!”

His wide grin stretches the blemish on his lips. Even if it has suffered attacks and injuries, his smile hasn’t lost its appeal.

Sirius shakes his head a little, as to dissipate some fog around him. His eyes then root in yours. “You’re just so fucking gorgeous.”

You trail a finger along the rough skin that borders his grin, slumping your shoulders in a sweet defeat. “Why don’t you ever let me be angry at you, uh?” You smile faintly. “I was so worried.”

The man leaves a tender kiss on your forehead, from which a burning sensation invades your cheeks. Then, he inhales deeply. “Were you- Were you cooking?”

He accompanies his questions with a playful grimace.

Vexed, you punch his shoulder. “What does that tone mean, Black?”

He snorts. “Nothing, darling. Just that- It’s very unusual. Do you only cook when I’m not around?”

“I had to release the stress. So yes, I only cook when you’re not around. Talking of which, I should probably put the pasta on.”

And you disappear in the kitchen, a bit bitter.

A furious ripping sound announces the opening of the food box, and Sirius grins again. He loves it, when you get angry. It makes you look cute.

A few minutes later, he joins you, his hair dripping water all over the floor. He abandoned his leather jacket for a crepe t-shirt.

“It’s ready in two minutes,” you claim, stirring a the red sauce. “You can set the table.”

Sirius moves toward the cupboard, but then seems to think about it. His eyes follow the spoon with which you’re tasting the flavoring. He crosses his arms, and leans against the counter.

“I went to talk to your father.”

You choke on the pasta’s sauce, and have to spit it out in the sink to avoid asphyxion. Your eyes seem to double in size as you turn to look at your boyfriend. “You did what?”

With a sideway smirk, he simply states, “That was disgusting, darling.”

You could eat the napkin instead of using it to whip your lips. “You did what now, Sirius?”

The man’s arms fall to his sides, but he doesn’t lose his amused expression. As if he wanted to avoid crossing your stare, he bends down, and grabs the plates to set the table.

“I had to ask him something,” he finally explains, as the porcelain hits the fabric of the table cloth.

“Something to ask him!” You repeat, in a strangled voice. “You know it was a stupid thing to do.” You spin the wooden spoon in little circles, pointing at him, still shocked. “This- I would have preferred a hundred times if you’d faced an Order mission.”

“Oh, come on, darling,” he says nonchalantly, as if you were talking about what kind of spice to add to the condiment. “Your father doesn’t hate me that much.”

Your raised eyebrows are the answer he didn’t even need to confirm that yes, your father does hate him that much.

A pause installs itself, troubled only by the boiling liquids on the stove.

Sirius is the reckless boy who betrayed his family, the crazy guy who joined a pack of weirdos with a very unfavorable reputation outside their group of friends, the mischievous teen who got involved in a war without knowing how to fight properly, the irresponsible man who decided to live an unstable life, and the unforgivable idiot who took his only daughter away from home. Add to this that he’s a Black, son of Death Eaters, and has long hair, and he’s the perfect hate aim for your father.

A bubble explodes in one of the pans, and you turn the fire down.

You finally start to digest the news. “And- We couldn’t have- owled him?”

Sirius shrugs, dropping the cutlery next to the plates.

“It was hard to make him listen to me in person. I s’pose he would have thrown the letter away without even opening it.”

You nod, as if it was a reasonable argument, but don’t really consider it. “And- What was so important as to take you two days of discussion with my father?”

His smirk does not foreshadow anything good. “It didn’t take me two days. The first day I- I had to do something else.”

You were about to ask what, but you don’t want him to get an occasion to flee the topic. “So what did you talk about?”

“You’re like him, you know. Very stubborn.”

Merlin, he irritates you. “Will you just tell me?”

In response, Sirius grabs you by the hips and pulls you toward him. He drags a chair, and sits you on it.

“Fine,” he says, smiling like a child. “I will tell you.” He kneels on the floor, like he does every  time he needs to tell you something important, so you have to look down at him. “I had an idea on Friday. I mean, I have been thinking about this for a long time, but on Friday it became- really clear.”

You nod, wondering what in the world can make him so serious.

“And it was- Important to tell your father about it. So on Sunday, I knock-”

“On Sunday, because you had to do something on Saturday,” you say, a mocking perplexity influencing your expression. If you weren’t so worried about the outcome of the declaration, you’d probably find the situation comical.

Sirius nods. “I love you because you’re clever, too,” he teases. “I- had to buy something on Saturday. So I knocked, and Godric, you should have seen his face when he opened the door.”

A hint of amusement lights his eyes up, and you can indeed imagine your father opening the door to one of the people he’d most want to forget in his life.

“Did he close it back immediately?”

“Well, yeah.” His embarrassed grin makes you tilt your head back in laughter. “But I knocked again, like- a thousand times, because Moony told me to do s-”

“Wait a second!” You hold your palm up. “Remus was there with you?”

Sirius’s face contracts in a I-shouldn’t-have-said-that mask, a perfect copy of Hagrid’s.

“And- The other boys too?”

Your boyfriend opens his mouth to answer, but no words come out of it.

“I worried like crazy, and their letters said they didn’t know where you were, but never mind it,” you say, creasing your brow, in a tone which clearly communicates to actually mind it. Sirius caresses your arm in apologize. “Go ahead.”

Mental note of calling them all, one by one, after that.

Sheepishly, he continues. “Your father ended up listening, after all, and he was rud- not too thrilled about it. He first told me to- go count the daisies in the prairies, or something like that. He may have thought it was all a joke. But then, he saw my serious face and he just blurted that ‘no, never’. And he told me to disappear forever from his life and from yours.”

You know your father doesn’t like him at all, but you didn’t think it was to this level.

“What the heck, Sirius? What-”

But your boyfriend is unstoppable in his speech, “I said that this was going to be difficult, that we’re madly in love, and we’d go anywhere together.” To your dark look, he corrects himself, “I mean, apart from those last two days, but that was an exception. He said that his answer was no, and would always be the same. So I said that I would do it anyway, and he told me to-”

“Sirius!” You call him back to the present. “You’re not making much sense. I don’t think I can understand unless you tell me what you talked about.”

The man closes his eyes, and nods. “Sorry… Just- just the stress, probably.”

You realize that the topic must be really important. Why would he be avoiding it so much, if not?

An army of little soldiers start marching in your stomach.

“Stress?”

He smiles, “Remember that time when you were having a family dinner and your father invited a- special guest?”

You roll your eyes, “They wanted to set me up with Avery. Too bad I was already in love with you.” You grin too, pushing one of his loose dark curls behind his ear. “But what’s the-”

“I came to your rescue, with the boys. And we brought you to the park.”

Flashes of that night dance before your eyes. The music floated between the trees, Remus shot sparkles into the air, Peter and Kingsley sang an old lullaby, completely out of tune, and Frank and Alice flirted heavily as you cried at them to get a room.

It’s one of the best moments you’ve ever lived. Lily and James’ bubbly laughter, your flower crown, Sirius’ warm lips on yours...

“What did you tell me, that night, darling?”

There is no need to dig too deep in your memories to remember. “I said you’re the man I want to live with for the rest of my life,” you whisper. The soldiers in your stomach light up a million fireworks. “Are you-”

A loud bang cuts you off, followed by loud conversation, cheers, and whistles. You both raise up, and turn toward the door of the kitchen. There’s some worry on your traits.

A second later, Marlene’s face peeps out from behind the wall. “What did she say?”

The sweet smell of the forgotten pasta sauce makes you dizzy. As all of your friends gather before your eyes, your hand looks for your boyfriend’s presence behind you to steady yourself.

When you finally get a grip on his shoulder, you slowly turn around, “Sirius-”

But Sirius silences your question with a soft kiss, while he closes your fist over something small and cold. Something circular.

Then he kneels down again.

Permanent tag list: @miss-nerd0905 @funnymrspotter @obsessionsandothersandmore @daytodayfun @electraheart-isdead @laurenslines @rochelle-the-ravenclaw @wildfire-whizbangs @beaubcxton @reggieblck

Sirius tag list: @glitteryfreakslimeegg @janhvi11

[welllpthisishappening]

This World You Must've Crossed

It makes sense. Really. Emma's made sure of it. So, it's kind of weird, this agreement she's just stumbled into. But it's a rent-free apartment, with two bedrooms and a really good Thai place next door. And, so, ok, she's not supposed to go into one of the bedrooms, but that's fine.

It is.

Until books start falling on the floor and she's maybe, sort of...seeing things.

Rated: S for spooky, but also T for swearing (because I’m nothing if not consistent) and medical-type drama.  AN: Heyooo, guess whose game got postponed yesterday (and today, thanks rain) and had some time to write 16K of not-quite-ghost rom com nonsense. This girl. I was literally falling asleep on Sunday night/Monday morning and had this idea and wrote until it was over. Unbeta’d because this all happened in like...a ten-hour marathon. Also unashamedly stealing some plot points from “Just Like Heaven,” but I didn’t do much more than try to remember how that movie went before I started slamming on keys.  Also living on Ao3 (in two chapters, only the first one is here because words)

It starts exactly the way she expects it to – with an argument.

There are cries and exclamations and Emma’s pretty certain Ruby actually stamps her foot at one point, but she tries to ignore that, also pretty certain that if she starts laughing, all of her friends are just going to dissolve into complete meltdown mode.

“I don’t know why you guys are freaking out,” she says, crossing her arms lightly and Ruby absolutely stomps her foot at that, far too acquainted with the patented Emma Swan battle pose. “It’s just an apartment.”

“It’s not an apartment,” Mary Margaret argues for the fourteenth time. She looks close to tears. Emma should have expected that too.

She hadn’t.

And, truthfully, that was kind of throwing her off.

“It is,” Emma promises. “It’s an apartment and a gig. Kind of.” “This is not opening for the Foo Fighters at the Garden, Em,” Ruby mutters, narrowing her eyes and sinking onto the arm of the couch. She ignores Elsa’s not-so-quiet huff of indignation at that, mumbling something about hurting the furniture under her breath, just keeps staring at Emma with that same glare and frustration rolling off her in almost visible waves.

Emma quirks an eyebrow, tugging at the blanket she’d draped around her shoulders just a few minutes before even tighter. “That was an oddly specific reference.” “Would we call that a reference?” Elsa asks, still in scrubs and there are bags under her eyes and for half a moment Emma feels bad that she’s just kind of dumped this decision on her friend’s doorstep.

Metaphorically.

Or whatever.

“Eh,” Mary Margaret mutters. She’s already moved into the kitchen and she’s probably baking something or making hot chocolate and Emma is the worst because she kind of wants both. “It’s more like a heavy-handed point, right? Also, why the Foo Fighters? That just seems…” “Ok, ok,” Ruby interrupts, jumping back off the couch and shaking the few frames hanging on the far wall in the living room. Elsa almost looks passably amused. Emma just wants to sink into the corner of the couch – for several days.

Until she has to leave the corner of the couch. Because she signed paperwork that afternoon and agreed to terms and conditions and maybe she should hired a lawyer.

She couldn’t afford a lawyer.

That was kind of the point of this whole conversation.

And that guy she met with looked fairly legitimate. He wore a suit. He had a card. He was a lawyer.

“It’s already done,” Emma sighs, twisting the ends of her hair around her fingers and ignoring the wide-eyed stare of all three of her friends.

Ruby stomps her foot again. “When?”

“This afternoon. After I grabbed that skip.” “You’re an incredible multi-tasker.” “I mean I wasn’t doing it at the same time,” Emma reasons and she’s willing to risk a cautious smile when Ruby doesn’t knock over anymore frames. “It was just the only time he was available and I think he’s kind of important.” “Who?” “His name is Scarlet. Will Scarlet. Wore a suit. Looked like it was expensive.” “The suit or like...this guy?” Emma rolls her eye, somehow finding another few inches of couch to slump into. “The suit,” she mumbles. “Although, I guess the guy too. I mean he basically offered to let me stay there rent-free as long as I watched the plants or something.” “What?” “You’re a crappy interviewer you know that?”

Ruby shrugs, sticking her tongue out slightly and Elsa sighs with all the drama of someone who just got off a twenty-hour double and is probably running on a few minutes of sleep that’s really more just elongated blinking. Mary Margaret is absolutely baking. “Ok, ok, wait,” Elsa says, waving her hands through the air before resting her right one on Ruby’s shoulder when she starts jumping again. “You don’t have to actually do anything? I figured there’d at least be a cat involved.” Emma shakes her head, but it’s a fair question and maybe one she’s been trying to ignore since she walked away from Will Scarlet and his very fancy suit that afternoon.

She’d seen the ad six days ago – sitting in her bug in some deserted alley because whoever she was supposed to be picking up that night was absolutely not there and not coming there and she’d blinked when she saw it.

House-Sitter Needed: 667 Congress Street

Looking for professional for six-month arrangement, at maximum, in two-bedroom apartment. Rent covered, utilities covered, non-smoker, no pets, must provide three references. Employee will stay in guest room. Interested applicants should contact Will Scarlet, (207) 718-1219.

Emma called the next morning, blinking again when she was met with a bright voice and a very distinct type of pep that she wasn’t entirely prepared for after spending another night on Ruby and Elsa’s couch.

The woman claimed her name was Ariel and she worked for Locksley and Partners and Mr. Scarlet is out now, but he should return your call as soon as possible. As soon as possible, apparently, was forty-two minutes later and Emma suddenly found herself on the phone with a slightly out of breath Mr. Scarlet.

He sounded stressed out.

They agreed to meet for coffee and she brought her references and he brought an actual floorplan of the apartment and it was huge.

Well, huge compared to the couch Emma was calling home and huge compared to the foster homes she’d been used to as a kid and, well, as much as she was loathe to admit it, huge compared to the backseat of her bug.

And there hadn’t been very many details. There had been a frightening lack of details if she was being honest, but she absolutely wasn’t being that and she really just wanted to get off Ruby and Elsa’s couch and it wasn’t like she was paying rent there, but not paying rent in a two-bedroom on Congress Street – with a Thai restaurant basically next door – was some kind of living-situation miracle.

Emma was willing to forgo the questions.

So she signed the papers and agreed to six months, at maximum, and Mr. Scarlet explained the rules of the situation. Or, as he called them, the parameters.

She’d move in on Monday – bring whatever personal belongings you want, but please don’t move anything that’s already there – and stay for as long as the contract was necessary. Those were his exact words.

This last as long as the contract is necessary because my client can’t be in town for the next six months. We just really need someone to make sure the apartment is still standing at the end of the day. There are... He waved his hands and there were bags under his eyes as well, but they were distinctly different than the ones Elsa normally sported.

No, Mr. Scarlet wasn’t just tired from working a double on the surgery floor. He was exhausted in a bone-deep type of way, the kind of tired that came from something particularly traumatic

Emma didn’t ask about that.

Free. Rent. She was swayed by free rent and thai food and that crick in her spine she was fairly positive she was never going to get rid of.

And now her three best friends in the entire world were furious at her for it.

“No cat,” Emma mutters, realizing rather belatedly that she hadn’t actually answered Elsa. “Just some plants and, I guess, stuff that can’t be moved on pain of death.” “And this guy didn’t mention why some perfect apartment in the middle of downtown was just suddenly available?” Emma shakes her head again, pushing her lips together tightly and doing her best to swallow down the host of questions she absolutely has. She hadn’t asked them, but they’re there. And this perfect apartment downtown should have been costing her nearly two grand a month.

Before utilities.

“This is weird,” Ruby announces, back on the couch and dangerously close to Emma’s toes. “You know that right? Like...the weirdest.” “Yeah,” Emma admits. “It is weird, but you know…” “No, I don’t. Enlighten me.” She’s going to run out of air to sigh. There will be a sudden lack of oxygen in the room and Emma won’t be able to huff out any noise and Mary Margaret will, maybe, sit down and not look like she’s positive this whole thing is going to end in grisly murder.

“Is it because of us?” Mary Margaret asks softly, walking back into the living room with a goddamn tray and mugs filled with what is, undoubtedly, hot chocolate. “Have we been too pushy?” The answer, of course, is yes.

They’ve all been beyond pushy – asking for years why Emma didn’t come to Portland and Boston was fine, but it wasn’t home and they were all just a few hours up I-95 and she could catch skips in Maine as easily as she could in Massachusetts.

Emma ignored all of it.

She was fine.

She was good.

She was paying her own rent.

But she also kind of wanted and some dark, lonely corner of her mind was, well, lonely. So when the job opened up in Portland, Emma took it and spent the last three weeks camped out on Ruby and Elsa’s couch.

The problem with that, however, was that none of them worked the same hours.

Emma’s job existed when it had to – she was on call and still had a goddamn beeper and Ruby made fun of that endlessly when she wasn’t working in her grandmother’s diner a few blocks away. And Elsa was, well, Elsa and saving people and trying to sleep when shewasn’t on call and Emma knew, if she didn’t get off that couch soon, they were all going to kill each other.

Mary Margaret really would have cried then.

“No,” Emma lies and Ruby scoffs under her breath. “It is not because of you. It is because if I’m going to make this work, I can’t live on the couch forever. That’s just...impractical.” “So moving into some guy’s apartment that you don’t know is so much better?” Ruby counters. “Do you even know the name of this guy?”

“It could be a girl,” Mary Margaret adds.

Emma flushes slightly, ducking her eyes and Ruby’s scoff turns into a sound that’s treading dangerously close to disbelief and even Elsa is shouting questions and concerns, pacing back and forth on the far side of the living room.

“Well, no,” she mutters, waving her hands when the wave of comments becomes almost too much to handle. “He just kept saying my client and my client’s decisions and something about his client’s plans. But. But! I looked up this Scarlet guy and he’s totally legit. Aside from the fancy suit. He’s a lawyer. An honest to God lawyer. I looked up his practice or firm or whatever. Locksley and Partners. It’s won awards.” “Can law firms win awards?” Mary Margaret asks. Ruby makes a dismissive noise in the back of her throat, but Elsa narrows her eyes again and that weird, vaguely opinionated voice in the back corner of Emma’s mind seems to start jumping around on her brain.

“What?’ she mutters warily, taking a sip of hot chocolate.

Elsa hums, but it’s not quite confusion and not quite an answer. “I don’t know,” she mumbles. “That name just sounds kind of familiar. Like I should know who that is or something.” “I mean you see a gazillion people every day and if they’re award-winning lawyers or whatever, they probably have commercials or something, right? You know with like a God awful or jingle that just gets stuck in your head all day.” “Yeah,” Elsa wavers, making another noise, but Emma can practically hear the gears working in her head. “Who did you ask for references?”

Emma nearly chokes on her hot chocolate. “Oh, uh, Regina, obviously, since she can you know, boast about my professionalism and how top-notch adult I am in Portland. And, uh, Graham so we get the Boston factor and...David.” It’s the loudest any of them have been all night and May Margaret drops her hot chocolate. Emma sighs again. “This is a good thing,” she promises, grabbing a towel off the kitchen counter and using her foot to try and clean up the hardwood floor. Ruby doesn’t look convinced. “It is. Honestly. I’ll have my own space for a while, the three of us will, probably, get some sleep and it gives me some time to save some money for my own place when my six months are up.” “At max,” Elsa corrects and Emma makes a face. “I’m just saying.” “And I’m just saying, it’s going to be fine. This makes sense.” “It makes no sense at all,” Ruby mutters, another towel in hand, but there’s the hint of a smile on her face. “But just think how fun it’ll be to take down Locksley and Partners, attorneys at law, if it actually does end up being the worst decision you’ve ever made.”

“That’s the spirit.”

She moves in on a Monday – as per Mr. Scarlet’s plan and he doesn’t look particularly surprised to see the whole lot of them carting the few boxes Emma managed to bring with her from Boston out of her bug, only whining slightly about unseasonably warm April weather.

“Ms. Swan,” he says, nodding when she walks towards him and the bags under his eyes are even deeper now.

“Emma is fine,” she promises. She’s forgotten there’s a slice of pizza in her hand. Jeez. Scarlet smiles slightly and it’s like twenty years have fallen off his face, the hint of something Emma can’t quite recognize there, but it looks a little bit like disappointment and that same exhaustion she’d practically been able to smell on him the week before.

“Emma,” Scarlet repeats, still smiling and his tie isn’t quite so much a tie anymore as a loosely knotted thing around his neck, like he’s been tugging on it all day. “I appreciate you moving in today. My client he...uh….” “Does your client have a name, Mr. Scarlet?” The smile widens just a bit and his eyebrows shoot up his forehead, as if he’s not entirely used to anyone calling him that. He tugs self consciously on his tie again, digging the toe of his shoe into the sidewalk and Emma tries to ignore the grease she can feel seeping into her fingertips.

“Will is fine,” he mutters, licking his lips quickly when he realizes it’s not the answer Emma’s looking for. “And, yeah, uh...Liam.” “Liam?” “I’m afraid those are part of those rules, I mentioned, Emma.” “I can’t know who I’m working for?” “You’re working for me.” “Those are fairly thin semantics and you know it.” Scarlet nods in agreement, lower lip jutted out slightly and Emma’s pizza is going to be frozen before she eats any of it. “Probably wouldn’t hold up in court,” he laughs softly. “But, well, we’re treading on slightly personal ice here.” “Personal?” Emma repeats, dimly aware of David’s shadow behind her and she tries to wave him off without being too obvious. It doesn’t work.

“Yeah, decidedly. Uh...basically what I can tell you is that my client’s brother is indisposed. And, well, we can’t just leave the apartment empty.”

“And the brother couldn’t watch it?” Scarlet shakes his head quickly, tugging his lips back behind his teeth and David is still lurking in literal and metaphorical shadows. Emma’s mind, meanwhile, is working overdrive, every single one of her senses firing on overdrive, including that sixth-sense she just so happens to have and Scarlet isn’t lying.

Huh.

“No,” he says. “He needed to get back to Norfolk.” “Virginia?” “Yeah.” “And you probably can’t tell me why, right?” Emma asks and Scarlet almost looks disappointed. Or maybe that’s just an even deeper level of exhaustion.

“I can’t,” he mutters. “There are…” “Rules, yeah, I got that.”

Scarlet flashes her another smile, but this one is tinged with just a bit of something that feels a hell of a lot like being placated, and he comes up with a quick excuse about leaving – cases and files and his receptionist – and they’re all lies.

Emma can tell.

It takes them most of the afternoon to move in, but that’s mostly because they spend most of the afternoon eating pizza and drinking shitty beer and Emma hasn’t actually opened more than two boxes by the time she all but pushes Mary Margaret out the door, promising she’ll be fine and she’ll call if there are any issues.

“There aren’t going to be any issues,” Emma mumbles to herself as soon as the door closes behind her and that’s not exactly comforting because she’s been alone for all of two seconds before she starts talking to herself.

She might be drunk.

She kind of hopes she’s drunk.

If she’s drunk, then there’s some sort of excuse for going through the stuff in this apartment. Her apartment? Not really.

Emma chews lightly on her lip, considering her options and she’s not really tired – far too full of adrenaline after a day of friends and a questionable amount of pizza and the less-than-truth tendencies of Will Scarlet, esquire. Plus, she reasons, she’s going to be staying in this place for the foreseeable future.

She should at least know what it looks like.

It takes less time to decide that than it did to start talking to herself.

Emma weaves her way through the space, fingers trailing lightly over bookcase shelves and frames and there are a lot of both, but alsonot a lot of both. It feels like a lot for her, someone who’s never owned a bookcase in her life, but for someone with, what appears to be, a very overprotective brother, it doesn’t seem like much.

There isn’t a blanket on the couch and the coffee table actually has one of those remote holder things, like whoever lives in this apartment can’t quite cope with the idea of anything out of place.

The kitchen is almost too bright – and Emma gets the distinct impression Scarlet must have hired someone to clean because there’s not an ounce of dust anywhere – empty cupboards that she’ll probably have to fill at some point, but there are pots and pans in one and the oven looks like something she can contend with.

There’s an ice maker in the refrigerator.

“Fancy,” Emma mumbles, continuing her quasi-quest through the apartment and into the bedroom and it’s not quite as stark there. There’s a blanket at the edge of the bed and a few frames on the wall, a closet full of crisp, white shirts and ties on actual hangers and Emma clicks her tongue when she brushes her fingertips across the fabric.

It’s softer than she expected.

She makes a noise in the back of her throat, resisting the urge to start talking to herself again, and there are more books on the nightstand. She takes a cautious step forward, not sure why she suddenly feels like she’s intruding on something, but there’s this weird pull in the pit of her stomach and every inch of her skin feels like it’s buzzing.

It’s like she can feel someone behind her or above her or maybe next to her, but there’s nothing when Emma jerks her head around and she must get, at least, five feet on her terror-filled leap when one of the books crashes onto the ground.

She bends down slowly, lip tight between her teeth and she’s not convinced she’s even breathing when she grabs the book, eyes going wide when she realizes there’s an inscription on the inside.

Little brother, Twenty bucks if you can translate it by Christmas. Don’t rip out the pages, this was expensive. Happy birthday. - Liam  

Emma’s hands are still trembling slightly when she sinks back onto the floor, legs sprawled haphazardly at her side and she’s going to bite her goddamn lip in half if she doesn’t stop tugging on it. She flips the book over, careful not to bend any of the pages and she feels her eyebrows tug at the title.

She can’t read it, but she recognizes a few words and she almost remembers learning about Persephone in middle school. Or maybe elementary school? She dimly remembers something about spring and maybe pomegranates? It doesn’t matter.

Emma puts the book back on table, wiping her suddenly clammy hands on the front of her jeans and resolving not to go in rooms that, technically, aren’t hers again.

It takes just about a full week before her curiosity gets the better of her.

She’s just caught her latest skip – a real piece of work who was willing to walk, run,  away from his family if he didn’t have to face a trial – and her head is pounding and there’s a bruise on her right arm from where the guy grabbed her.

The thought’s been tugging at the back of her mind since the book incident and Emma huffs when she drops onto the couch, swinging her feet onto the coffee table and balancing her laptop on her knees.

It doesn’t take nearly as long as she thought it would.

She’s very good at her job.

And she has a hunch.

There is a Captain Liam Jones, currently, stationed on the USS Monterey in Norfolk, Virginia, the pride of, apparently, the entire goddamn United States Navy and the recipient of several awards that are, probably, more legitimate than whatever Emma found for Will Scarlet, esquire.

He graduated from Annapolis with honors or distinction or whatever and had been stationed in Norfolk for the last six years, after doing a tour in the Adriatic and winning more awards and, now, he’s some kind of public figure in Virginia who, per some blog post Emma found from a few months before, could probably run for president if he wanted to.

It’s that blog post that ends up changing everything.

There’s a picture – almost exactly the same as one hanging on the wall in the bedroom she’s not supposed to be in.

“Oh shit,” Emma mumbles and she really should have figured that out before. Maybe she’s not quite as good at her job as she assumed.

She nearly throws her laptop on the floor in her effort to move, sliding on socked feet into the room and her shoulders are heaving by the time she comes to a stop.

Captain Liam Jones is staring right back at her, dress whites almost blinding even in photo form and there’s sunlight reflecting off just a questionable amount of medals and the smile on his face is nearly as big as the one of the man next to him.

He’s attractive, absurdly attractive her mind is quick to point out, with dark hair and blue eyes and pride practically radiating off him.

Emma twists her lip again, huffing when she realizes she can’t actually name the second guy, but he must be the client and little brother and she doesn’t realize she’s holding her breath until it all rushes out of her as soon as something crashes in the kitchen.

“Hello?” Emma calls with far more confidence than she’s feeling. The book falls off the nightstand again. “Oh my God,” she sighs, still not entirely sure who she’s talking to. “Really?”

She’s not sure when her curiosity and terror evolve into something closer to just general frustration, but Emma suddenly finds herself stalking down the hallway, shoulders set in a straight line and determination settling into the pit of her stomach.

She realizes, half a second too late, that her gun is still in her room.

“Who the hell are you?,” she demands, rounding the corner of the counter and she’s not sure who startles more at the other, her or the dark-haired guy rooting through her cabinets and mumbling about junk food under his breath.

He stands up slowly, like he’s settling his weight between his feet and she recognizes the tie around his neck, the pattern similar to one hanging in the closet. In the end, it’s the eyes though.

His eyes aren’t quite as blue as the man in the photograph, dimmer, like he’s staring at her through a thin veil of mist or haze or something decidedly spookier than whatever it is that’s actually happening. They’re just similar enough though, the way his skin crinkles slightly at the corners when he keeps staring at her and he blinks twice when his gaze lands on her face.

Emma can feel her breath catch in her throat, mouth going dry when he quirks one eyebrow at her and crosses his arms over his chest. “I think,” he says slowly. “I could be asking you the same question, love.”

She bristles at the endearment, rolling her shoulders and she really should have gotten her gun. Although...she can tell he’s not lying and something feels off about him, the same way his eyes aren’t quite right.

It isn’t until he takes a step towards her that she notices. He’s kind of...translucent.

“What the fuck,” Emma breathes, stumbling backwards and there’s not enough oxygen in the entire world to actually fill up her lungs. “What kind of sick joke is this?” The man tilts his head slightly, like he’s examining her and Emma ignores the flush she can feel rising in her cheeks. “Why are you in my apartment?’ he asks and that’s the last question she expects.

“Excuse me?”

“My apartment. We’ve circled back around, love. See, I’m asking you the same question.” She’s gone insane.

That’s the only explanation.

And, honestly, it’s kind of disappointing. Emma was fairly certain she’d avoided all those mental miscues that seemed like a product of growing up in the system – unless you counted that weird, lonely voice in the corner of her mind, but she absolutely wasn’t counting that – and this feels like some sort of psychotic break, slash failure.

“This is my apartment,” Emma argues and the man’s lips quirk, like he’s trying not to smile at her. “Well...kind of.” “Kind of in that it’s absolutely not?” “Kind of in that I’m watching it for the next few months.”

That seems to catch him by surprise and he moves his head again, a piece of hair falling across his forehead as Emma tries, desperately, to take stock of the situation. She hasn’t had any alcohol. She’s gotten, almost, enough sleep in the last week. She’s fairly positive she hasn’t been drugged in the last twenty-four hours.

Maybe it’s a gas leak. Or carbon dioxide? Monoxide? Which one is poisonous? She can’t remember. She thinks there was an episode of ER about it, though.

“You look as if you’re trying to come with all the answers to the world’s great questions,” the man in front of her muses, leaning forward slightly and the light catches on the curve of his shoulder. Or, rather, passes through the curve of his shoulder.

“Who the hell are you?” Emma asks, voice picking up quickly and the man takes a step back.

He eyes her carefully, tapping his finger on his forearm and she feels some of her frustration ebb. She’s not sure why. “Killian Jones,” he says softly and it’s an actual miracle Emma stays upright.

“No, no, no,” she mumbles, shaking her head like that’ll make a difference. She’s already snapped. There’s no going back now.

The man – Killian – just keeps staring at her. “No?” he asks. “That’s news to me.” “You’re incapacitated!”

“Excuse me?” “That’s what Scarlet told me. He said there were rules and schedules and brothers who couldn't be here and the only thing I could get out of him was that you were incapacitated. You’re not supposed to be here. How did you get here? Where did you come from?” Something flashes in his eyes, confusion or maybe just a bit of fear and Emma finds herself moving before she even considers what that will do to her mental state. Killian flinches. “I…” he murmurs, shaking his head slightly. “I’ve always been here.” “What?” Emma balks. “No you haven’t. I’ve been here for a week and...oh shit, was that you too?” “Was what me?” “The book thing! Was that some kind of ghost test?” Killian laughs, but there’s not much humor to it and Emma can’t quite suppress the shiver that runs down her spine. “I hope not, love,” he says. “Did you say Scarlet? And my brother?”

“Not your love,” Emma mutters and he laughs again, softer and warmer and she’s having an argument with a ghost. Maybe. No one actually said he was dead.

“I’ll take your name, though.” She glances up at the tone of his voice, the obvious curiosity there and it’s as surprising as it is terrifying and slightly comforting. “Emma,” she says. “Emma Swan.” “Swan,” Killian echoes, as if he’s testing out the name on his tongue and Emma finds she doesn’t mind that nearly as much. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“Oh, uh, yeah, yeah. Scarlet, uh...Will whatever, he hired me last week to stay here and, well, watch the apartment and live in it and everything.” Killian doesn’t say anything, just lowers his eyebrows slightly until there’s a crinkle in between them as well. “I, well…” she continues. “I just moved her, kind of, and I needed a place to stay that wasn’t my friend’s couch and I don’t have to pay rent. So here I am.” It’s silent for a few moments, the only sound Emma’s socks squeaking slightly on the linoleum of the kitchen floor. “Here you are,” Killian says eventually.  “And Scarlet didn’t mention anything else?” “Should he have? Do you know Scarlet?” “What happened to your arm?” It’s another question she’s not entirely ready for and Emma glances down and the bruise has grown or just gotten even more purple and she winces when she realizes it actually hurts like hell. “Work,” she explains and Killian clicks his tongue. “I’m a...bail bondsperson.” “Person?” “You’re asking a lot of questions, you know. What are you, a reporter?” The silence that time is even worse. It’s like it’s actually fallen on top of them and is trying to suffocate both of them and everyone of her muscles suddenly feels far too heavy for her body. “I don’t…” Killian starts, but he cuts himself off when he follows her gaze, landing at the end of his left arm and the distinct lack of anything there.

She can’t quite see the muscles in his throat move when he swallows, isn’t sure that a ghost would have muscles still, but she’s not entirely convinced all of this isn’t some kind of dream.

“Killian,” Emma whispers, taking another step towards him and he doesn’t move. “What...what happened to you?” He exhales and Emma can feel it, the slight shift in the air and it’s not quite cold, but it isn’t quite warm either and she has the sudden urge to do sixty-seven jumping jacks, like she’s just eaten too many candy bars and is riding some kind of impossible sugar high.

She doesn’t move.

She waits.

And she doesn’t get an answer.

“Swan,” Killian says and she barely even registers her own name before he’s gone.

She lasts all of fourteen hours before she calls Elsa. And really, maybe, she should have done more research, but finding out your not-quite-actual apartment might be haunted by the maybe-ghost of an absurdly good looking guy does a number on Emma’s ability to keep her eyes open the night before.

That metaphorical sugar rush hadn’t really lasted all that long.

She’s sitting in her bug now, the driver’s side window rolled down and it’s warm again, some kind of sign Emma isn’t sure she appreciates.

Elsa answers on the fourth ring.

“Hello?” she mumbles blearily and Emma hisses when she realizes she’s probably called at the worst possible time.

“Ah, damn,” Emma sighs. “Just...ok, ignore me. Go back to sleep. This is like...not even important at all.”

There’s a telltale mattress creak on the other end of the line and Emma scrunches her nose. “No, no, it’s fine,” Elsa promises, sleep still clinging to her voice. “Are you ok?” “I think I’m going insane.”

Elsa doesn’t say anything for a beat, likely narrowing her eyes at the wall and trying to find the lie in Emma’s voice. She sighs when she doesn’t. “What do you mean?” “I’m...seeing things. Are hallucinations a side effect of carbon stuff? The bad one, obviously.” “I’m sorry, what?” “I’m seeing stuff. Things. Or, well, one thing. A guy.” “A guy?” “The guy who lived in my apartment. Or lives? What tense do you think you use for ghosts?” “Hold on, hold on, hold on,” Elsa says quickly and she’s absolutely waving her hands through the air, Emma’s sure. “The guy whose apartment you’re watching? I thought you didn’t know who it was.” “I don’t,” Emma admits. “Not technically. I asked the lawyer, but he said there were rules and something about a brother and Virginia and I think I found the brother. He’s a captain. In the Navy.” Elsa makes some kind of understanding noise that Emma appreciates since she’s not sure she understands anything that’s happened since she moved into that apartment. “Ok…” she says, drawing out the word until it sounds impossibly long. “And that’s not the guy now?” “No. It’s his brother. Younger. I think. Based on the inscription in his book.” “What?” “The book. The one he knocked off the table when I moved in.” “Well, yeah, of course.”

Emma groans, sliding down the seat until her knee is practically in the steering wheel. “He told me his name is Killian Jones.” “The ghost?” “I don’t know that he’s dead.” “Yuh huh,” Elsa mutters and the bed creaks again when she moves. “Wait, what did you say?” “I don’t know that he’s dead?” “No, no, before that.” Emma purses her lips, glancing out the window when when a car alarm starts to blare and she’s probably going to lose her guy because she’s worried about some ghost. Although if she really is being haunted, that should probably take priority, right? Absolutely.

“Em,” Elsa snaps and Emma yelps when she slams her thigh into the steering wheel. “What did you say this guy’s name is?” “Oh, uh...Killian Jones. Why?” Elsa actually gasps, the phone presumably falling out of her hands when there’s a muffled sound on the other end and Emma can hear footsteps. She’s started pacing. “So that’s...important, then?”

“You’re absolutely sure that’s what his name is?” “I mean that’s what he told me. I’m not supposed to go through his stuff. Those were part of the rules. Why?” “Have you not looked at a newspaper in the last few weeks?” Emma shrugs, well aware no one can see her except those few pigeons sitting on the power lines across the street. “I mean, obviously not, journalism is a dying industry.” “Killian Jones,” Elsa says, in a tone that sounds frighteningly similar to Mary Margaret, “is one of the biggest lawyers in this city. I knew that name sounded familiar! The law firm he’s working for doesn’t have a jingle, but it’s super fancy and super profitable and he’s not dead, Em.” She stops breathing, she’s sure of it, hands gripping the steering wheel until her knuckles are white, if only to prove that she’s still part of the normal, regular Earth she’s been used to for the last three decades or so.

“I don’t understand,” Emma admits and Elsa sighs again, a note of disappointment and far-too-obvious concern in the sound.

“Killian Jones, super fancy lawyer, is currently, laying in a bed on the seventh floor with just...a questionable number of machines hooked up to him. He...he got hit, weeks ago. A car and a police investigation and there’s supposedly foul play or whatever the term is.”

Emma still can’t breathe. Or speak. And Elsa isn’t done. “Em,” she adds. “He’s been in a coma for the last week. Medically induced.”

She’s not sure how fast she drives to get home or how she manages to hit so many green lights, but Emma just assumes it part of whatever she’s dealing with now. She takes the stairs two at at time, panting by the time she swings open the front door.

“Killian,” she yells, barely pausing to close the door let alone acknowledge the fact that she’s screaming for a ghost. Maybe. “Killian! Shit, God, if you’re here I, well, I really need to talk to you!”

Emma spins on the spot, like that’ll somehow help her summon whatever term they’re using to describe whatever it might be that Killian is. There isn’t anything. There’s no ghost or falling books or even a flash of blue eyes that she absolutely hasn’t been thinking about all day.

She sighs, disappointment shooting all the way into her toes when she drops onto the couch, letting her feet rest on the edge of the coffee table.

She should have known.

“Get your feet off my table, Swan.” Emma jumps up, eyes wide and breath gone, again, and Killian is just a few feet away, that stupid half smile still on his face. “God, you scared me,” she breathes and he laughs lightly, the sound settling in the air between them. “Where...where were you?” The laughter seems to almost evaporate in front of her eyes. Killian rocks back on his heels, rubbing the end of his blunted arm almost self consciously. “That’s the million dollar question isn’t it?” he asks.

“Yeah, I think I know.” He doesn’t respond, just lifts his eyebrows and Emma grabs her laptop off the table, sitting back down and nodding to the seat next to her. “Can you...I don’t know how this works? You opened the cabinets, so...”

Killian scoffs, but he doesn’t actually argue, just takes a step forward and sinks down slowly. There’s an indent in the cushion, but it’s only just there, like he’s only just there and Emma tries not to ask the, approximately, forty-two thousand questions she’s come up with on her race home.

And that’s the second time she’s called it that.

“What do you think you know, Swan?” he mutters, eyes intent on her laptop.

“I uh...well, I thought I was going crazy honestly,” Emma says, fingers moving across her keyboard, and she’s fairly certain she sees his lips move. “So I called one of my friends and she’s a surgeon and she knows you. Or knows of you.” “My reputation proceeds me, huh?”

“Not for the law thing,” Emma continues and Killian arches an eyebrow at that. “Yeah, I know about that too. You can go ahead and admit you’re impressed.” “I am, love,” he says softly, the honesty in his voice making Emma’s sixth sense as silent as it’s ever been. She doesn’t correct him on the endearment.

Emma nods quickly, trying to wade through feelings and whatever her face keeps doing when he glances her direction. She clicks on a few links and groans when she hits a newspaper paywall, mumbling something about dying industry under her breath. It, at least, gets Killian to laugh again.

“What...what do you remember about the last few weeks?” Emma asks cautiously.

Killian reaches up to move his fingers behind his ear, tugging lightly on the hair that curls slightly there. He takes a deep breath before he starts talking. “I was...driving. I think? It was dark and late and raining? Was it raining?” “Yeah,” Emma nods, tapping on her laptop for emphasis. “At least that’s what the stories say.” “Stories?” “Also yeah. Um...according to the vaunted Portland Press-Herald you were riding a motorcycle on Baxter?” “That’s Back Cove,” Killian explains. “There’s...well, we liked to go over there. It’s quiet.” “We?”

“My….” He blinks a few times and Emma’s not sure if a not-quite-ghost can cry, but it looks like he’s just on the edge of it, eyes even duller than usual when his shoulders heave. “Milah,” he finishes. “But I wasn’t with her. Right?” “Girlfriend?” He hums, licking his lips and his eyes keep darting back towards the story. “Kind of. It’s, uh...complicated.”

“Yeah, well, you’re here, so we started with complicated. What else do you remember?”

“Not much,” he says. “I was driving and the roads were a mess, but that wasn’t...I didn’t skid out. There was a car?” “Maybe. It’s called a hit and run in the story, but that seems too simple. Elsa told me that there’s a police investigation and that kind of adds up with Scarlet and the rules and why I’m here, but in the dark.” “You’re not making any sense, love,” Killian grumbles and she can’t really fault him his frustration.

“Where do you go when you’re not here?” Emma asks instead. That probably doesn’t help.

Killian freezes for a moment, blinking once and then again and his lips part slightly. He doesn’t actually say anything for what feels like an eternity. “It’s not...quite sleeping, is it?” Emma shakes her head, disappointment returning in waves. “It’s kind of in between. Like I just...stop.” “Stop?” “It’s as if the world just kind of...stops.” He sighs softly, fingers back in his hair and eyes on the wrong side of desperate. Emma doesn’t blink. “I can feel you leaving, you know. There’s this sort of pull, as soon as the door closes and those couple of seconds are the worst. Because I know it’s coming. This...nothing’ness.” Emma tries to look away or breathe or do anything except stare at Killian and the look on his face, the longing and she can kind of see through him, but he looks just a bit more corporeal than he did the night before. “Have you been here the whole time?” she asks, voice cracking traitorously. “Since I moved in?” “I can’t really remember much before then, but my memories are, admittedly, a bit jumbled.”

She’s fairly positive he’s trying to make a joke on her behalf, but she’s still having a hard time ignoring the burning in her lungs from a distinct lack of oxygen, so maybe she’s really hallucinating that time.

“You’re not actually dead,” Emma says and his eyebrows jump. “That’s...that’s what Elsa said. Just a coma.” “Ah, just.”

Killian shifts slightly, tongue pressed into the corner of his lips and Emma’s eyes fall on his fingers when he moves. She’s not sure what she’s waiting for, but him touching her was probably somewhere at the very bottom of the list and she hisses in as much air as she possibly can as soon as his fingers brush over the back of her palm.

“Huh,” he says, sounding vaguely fascinated that his experiment worked. “Can you feel that?” Emma nods dumbly, the dull buzz just under her skin feeling like a live wire or several hundred sparks and her tongue feels far too big for her mouth. “Can you?’ she asks.

“Yeah. That’s the first thing I remember. Feeling that buzz. And then knocking the book over.” “I knew that was some kind of ghost test! Can you actually read that? God, that terrified me. That was a jerk move.” Killian flashes a grin at her, all quiet and ease and confidence and Emma’s heart beats so loudly she’s certain they’ll be able to hear it in the middle of the goddamn Atlantic Ocean. “Why were you going through my stuff, Swan?”

“Curiosity.” “Ah, of course,” he laughs, tracing a vein on her skin. He doesn’t stop moving for what feels like several hours and maybe it is, Emma’s phone ringing more than once. She ignores it.

They talk instead.

He tells her about the law practice and meeting Robin Locksley and how he gave two kids a chance to help him build something.

She tells him about moving to Portland and how nervous she was and what it’d mean to have all that support there all the time.

He hates the junk food she’s bought in the last week. She thinks his remote holder is the peak of stupidity. They both like cheesy 80’s movies.

They test out a few other things.

He can move things, but only when he’s really thinking about it. Otherwise he just kind of...passes through them and, truth be told, that freaks Emma out a little bit.

He has no idea why he’s in the apartment and not with his actual body in the hospital, but that’s a hurdle they’ll get to eventually.

He can’t actually eat anything, a fact he seems particularly disappointed by. He can, however, smell it and Emma makes chocolate-covered popcorn, ignoring his protests at the idea and beaming when he sighs as soon as the smell wafts across the apartment.

“Told you,” she mutters, making sure to rest her feet on the coffee table when she sits back down. Killian narrows his eyes and Emma smiles until it starts to get weird, that same feeling that he’s examining her again. “What?”

“How are you not running out the door right now?” Killian asks. “This is...this isn’t exactly normal, Swan.”

Emma shrugs, putting the bowl down and ignoring his quiet protests when there aren’t, at least, twenty towels underneath to preserve the wood finish. “I honestly have no idea,” she answers, working another nervous laugh out of him. She likes that sound. “This is insane. And I’m still not sure you’re not some figment of my imagination, but, I mean...this is your apartment and I am...curious.” It must not have been the explanation he was prepared for because the look on his face is somewhere between stunned and surprised and they both look pretty damn good on Killian Jones. “Huh,” he says again, leaning forward slightly and it’s probably good the popcorn is on the table because she would have dropped it when he kissed her.

She’s not one to brag, but Emma’s had her fair share of kisses. Good kisses and bad kisses and kisses that are the start of something and the end of something and none of them were quite like kissing Killian Jones.

Who isn’t really there to begin with.

He isn’t cold – he isn’t dead – but he isn’t exactly warm either, lips pressing lightly against hers and it feels a bit like butterfly wings or what Emma imagines butterfly wings on her lips would feel like. She can feel the insistence behind his touch, that desperation she’s seen before sinking through and one of them must have made a noise because Emma can hear it, but this has been the strangest twenty-four hours of her entire life, so not much makes sense at this point.

Her whole body is tingling by the time he pulls away – or she pulls away, she’s not sure of that either – and she’s almost disappointed that nothing else has happened. His eyes almost look bluer though and there’s something that maybe, sort of looks like a flush to his cheeks, chest rising and falling quickly when he tries to catch his breath.

“Yeah, alright,” Killian says, like that settles that and there’s still a movie playing in the background and there’s still a movie playing in the background and Emma doesn’t remember falling asleep on the couch, just waking up alone.

The second chapter is up on Ao3, but the whole story is, like, 16K so it was just a bit too long for Tumblr. 

[myselfinserts]

“Stop talking. I will win.”

L sat quietly on couch, flipping through all the evidence with a calm mind. Today was the final day of the trial. She knew who the true culprit was. And their key witness was on her way over in the safety of her partner’s embrace. She knew she’d win this case. She just had to remain calm, composed, and confident. 

Her client, however, was far less calm. Pacing back and forth. Tugging at his sleeves. Shaking. She expected as much. L had seen first hand how the court reacted to seeing the defendant. 

Needless to say, looks could be deceiving. 

“Ceri, relax,” she soothed. “It’ll be okay.”

“I know,” Ceri said, voice tight with worry. “I know you will. I trust you. I just...” 

She motioned for him to sit down, giving him a gentle pat on the shoulder as she closed the files. “We have this. Your alibi is airtight now. And the other witness will have their testimony torn apart.”

Ceri clenched his fists tightly, trying to stop from crying. “I believe in you. I just...I just can’t stop worrying. If I end up with a guilty verdict I...I know I probably won’t be the one hurt most by it.”

L knew all too well what he meant. Ceri wasn’t a murderer. But if anyone else were put on the case, it would be almost certain that Ceri Aylward would be found guilty. But being behind bars wasn’t what he was afraid of. No, what Ceri was terrified of was how this would affect his husband. No doubt he was worried how this would affect his husband’s reputation. How that’d tie into the reputation of the Atelier. More importantly though, Ceri was absolutely panicking over how Étienne would feel having a convicted criminal as a husband. She could practically hear the voices in the pub owner’s head. 

He’s probably thinking something a little cheesy like, ‘This case is going to ruin him. It’s all my fault. He’ll never forgive me for this. I’m innocent, but...if in the end...dammit....Please don’t let this hurt his work. Please. Please, don’t let this hurt his heart. His beautiful, beautiful heart.‘ Something like that.

But L knew better. If Ceri’s fears were in any way possibly true, Étienne wouldn’t have asked her to take this case to begin with. If there was anything certain in this world, it was that he cared very deeply for Ceri and would do whatever it took to help him. 

“H-hey, L,” Ceri stammered. “If...if something happens. Promise me that-”

“Stop talking,” L interrupting. “I will win. We will win your freedom. So stop talking like we already lost.” She noticed the way he tensed at that, and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. “Listen. I know you have a bad habit of preparing for the worst. And understandably so. But I wouldn’t have taken you on if I wasn’t certain I could prove your innocence. And if I couldn’t do it, I’d have fought until I found someone who could.” She smiled as he started to relax again. “But...if it will make you feel a little better, I’ll hear out what you want me to promise you.”

Ceri nodded, taking a deep breath. “If...if something happens. Even when we win the case...if something happens to me, please...look after Étienne for me. I can’t...” his hands began to shake. “I can’t see this through without knowing for sure that he won’t be left alone should worst come to worst.”

L nodded, pulling him into a tight hug. “Always, Ceri. You know I would never abandon him.”

“I know,” Ceri said, managing a smile. “I just...I needed to hear it.”

“Sometimes hearing it said is the best medicine.” L looked up as the door opened, a bright and cheerful Phoenix walking in with a basket covered with a soft, teal blanket on one arm, and a giant case on the other. “Got the witness?”

“Yes I do!” Phoenix declared, holding up the basked. 

“Great. Trial reconvenes in two minutes.”

“Then let’s get to it!”

The entire court was filled with whispers. As Phoenix finished laying out all the buttons on the floor, L carried the basked to the witness stand and set it down right in front of it. Prosecutor McMiller was gobsmacked. Staring like a drowning trout as a little golden cat let out a soft yawn before crawling out of her bed. 

“And done,” Phoenix said, heading back to the defense’s side. 

“Perfect.” L looked up at the judge. “The witness is ready, your honor.”

“Hold it!” Mary looked up at the judge, seething in anger. “Your Honor, this cannot possibly be allowed!”

“On the contrary,” L argued, returning to Phoenix’s side. “This is a key witness in confirming the defendant’s claim of being home at the time of the murder. We do have evidence to support her testimony, but it would be best to hear it from her first, don’t you agree?”

The judge raised an eyebrow, but nodded in agreement. "Very well. Witness, please state your name for the record."

Honey gave a soft mew before running between the buttons on the floor, pressing every single one as fast as she could. The buttons gave out a gravelly, monotone sound.

"A-M-B-E-R-A-L-L-A-R-D. I-A-M-S-M-A-L-L-A-N-D-C-U-T-E."

"Amazing," the judge gasped. "Such an incredibly smart cat."

"Her caretakers are very proud of her intelligence, your honor," L agreed.

Honey ran over to one of the full response buttons and pressed it. "I am good kitty."

“Yes you are,” the judge agreed. “Now, Miss Allard. Please give us your testimony. Be as precise as you can with those little buttons of yours.”

Honey continued on with a nod, pressing the buttons diligently at breakneck speed. 

“Ceri. Welcome home. 5 I-N-E-V-E-N-I-N-G. Food. Food. Ceri. M-A-K-E. Food. Shrimpies. 6, 2, 0. Shrimpies. A-M-B-E-R-L-O-V-E Shrimpies. Food P-H-O-T-O-T-O Papa. I am good kitty. Food. Bath. Bath. 7, 3, 0. N-E-E-D-E-D Bath. R-E-A-D-F-O-R-A-M-B-E-R-A-T 8. Bed. Bed. Bed A-T 9, 1, 5. I am good kitty. Ceri. I love you.”

With a nod and a gentle ‘aw’ from the audience, L watched as Honey curled back into her basked, looking very pleased with herself. “As you can see, Miss Allard’s testimony lines up with the defendant’s claims.”

“Hold it!” Mary slammed her hands on the prosecutor’s bench. “You mean to tell me that incoherent mess is a testimony.”

The judge gave her a hard look. “Miss McMiller. You were the one who convinced me to give the defense a chance to find evidence and a witness. And her testimony made perfect sense. Please wait for your chance to cross-examine the witness.”

“I-i suppose I did, but. But still. Your Honor that was a jumbled mess-”

“As you can see,” L continued. “On the day of the murder, which took place around 7:30 in the evening, Ceri Aylward had been home having dinner and tending to his husband’s beloved Amber.” She proceeded to the evidence table, laying out photos to be shown to the court. “As you can see from these photos taken of the victim’s home for this trial, leftover shrimp scampi had been found in the defendant’s fridge on day one of investigation. The book in question, ‘Feline Theater: Locked Heart’s Lament’, can be found in the living room on the coffee table near the cat’s down-stair’s bed.”

Phoenix let out a chuckle. “There you have it, everyone. Ceri couldn’t possibly have been the killer.”

“Objection, Your Honor,” Mary interjected. “How do we know that the defense didn’t train this cat before hand to commit perjury? Or that the defendant's spouse didn’t train her to lie about the case?”

L held a steady gaze on her, making sure to catch Mary’s reflection in her mask. “Monseuir Allard has been out of the country for the last month for business. We have a copy of his phone logs and airline tickets showing he’s away which he willingly handed over when investigators contacted him. Also, as the defendant has been in custody and my partner and I haven’t been able to tend to the cat post-arrest, she’s been staying a one of the local cat hotels during the case, and her buttons were at home during that time, both only just recovered within the past hour.” She laid out photographs of text messages between Ceri and Étienne, with pictures of the witness and defendant included. “Just look. There’s photographic evidence of the witness being in the same place as Mr. Aylward, all timestamped around the same time as Miss Amber Allard stated. Only off by approximately one minute or so. The 7:30 timestamp clearly shows the witness covered in what appears to be spices and sauce, beside the bathtub, in this selfie with the defendant.”

Ceri stifled a chuckle. “She had landed on my plate trying to get more food. This pretty kitty sure does loves shrimp.”

“Objection overruled, McMiller” the judge ruled. “Though I do admire your attempt to accuse a cat of...purr-jury. Do you wish to cross-examine the witness?”

Mary stammered looking between the judge, the defense, and the cat frantically before sighing in defeat. “There...doesn’t seem to be any issues with her testimony. Prosecution rests, your Honor.”

L smiled sweetly, going over and collecting the basket, handing it over to Ceri as Phoenix retrieved the buttons. “Your Honor, the defense asserts that given the evidence, and an accurate eye witness account, our client Ceri Aylward could not have possibly murdered Smokey Carts. We wish to have Ross Carts come back for further questioning.”

The judge nodded understandingly. “Court will adjourn for thirty minutes while Mr. Carts is brought back in. I suggest both parties prepare for this properly.”

Ceri was holding Honey close, giving her loving pets and kisses while cooing softly. “Such a good kitty. Such a beautiful, wonderful lady. Papa’s gonna be so proud of you. So brave.”

“Don’t relax yet,” Phoenix chided. “We still need to crack the Carts.”

“Though it shouldn’t be too much of a problem,” L assured. “We have everything needed to convict him.” She shook her head. “Seriously. Brothers up in arms over a property war for a jewelry store and just happened to both be regulars at the SF. What are the odds?” 

“With my luck?” Ceri laughed. “About as high as skyscraper. Though less likely than Étienne running through that door-”

SLAM!

Everyone jumped. Honey immediately went to defensive mode, only to relax a moment later and begin purring loudly. Standing in the doorway in a long black coat, dark teal scarf haphazardly hung on his shoulders, and panting heavily, was the one and only Étienne Allard. 

Ceri set Honey in the basket, slowly getting to his feet. “Love? Is...is it really-”

“Finally managed to wrap up work,” Étienne gasped, trying to regain some air. “Got on the first flight out and just landed not long ago. Half the damn elevators in this fucking building are down for repair. Why the hell is this room on the top floor? Never mind. Did I miss the-”

Before he could finish, Ceri ran over to him and wrapped his arms tightly around his husband’s shoulders, nearly knocking him to the floor. The guards were almost ready to chase him, had Phoenix not motioned for them to stop. Étienne returned the embrace, lightly rocking and stepping a little more into the room so the doors could close. 

“I’m so sorry, love,” Ceri cried, tears falling freely now. “I didn’t do it, I swear. I didn’t. I tried to play it safe. I swear I never meant for-”

“Sshh. Ça ira, mon Ceri.” Étienne pressed a kiss to his cheek. “I know you’re innocent. It’s going to be fine. Okay?”

Ceri nodded. “I know.”

Honey hopped out of the basked and ran over, quickly crawling up to  Étienne ‘s shoulders and lightly nuzzling into the hug. Étienne looked at her in shock. “Honey,” he said. “What are you doing here?”

L giggled fondly. “Her testimony just saved your husband’s ass. We’re getting the actual culprit back in to crack him.” She looked over at Phoenix, taking her hand and snuggling up close to her. “You want the honor?”

Phoenix giggled, wrapping her arms around L’s shoulders. “Don’t mind if I do.”

“Hey, it wouldn’t be fair if I only got to rip Mary a new one.”

Étienne looked at them, trying to suppress the scowl working its way onto his face. “McMiller...I wasn’t aware she was prosecuting this case.” He looked to Ceri, his expression softening. “She didn’t try anything, did she?”

“Usual tricks,” Ceri muttered, exhausted from stress and tears. “But damn, Team Ashes sure have been on top of things.”  He pressed their foreheads together, letting out a sigh. “Once this is over, can we finally take that vacation? I need at least a week of not leaving your side.”

“I think that can be arranged.”

Phoenix and L looked at each other, nodding in silent agreement. 

After this case, they were taking a vacation too.

“And that’s where we’re stopping for the night.” Phoenix bit back a laugh at the whines coming from the children. Had it not been for the case they had in the morning, she’d have gladly continued on with the tale. It was one of her finer moments after all. But it was already eleven, and the kids had school as well. 

“Come on, Autie Phoenix!” Ena begged. “Just a few more minutes.”

“Yeah!” Kasumi agreed. “We wanna hear how you chewed out that Carts guy!”

“How about this,” Phoenix offered, kissing them both on the head. “You sleep, and I’ll tell you all about it after dinner tomorrow. Then you can also hear about this case we’re currently doing.”

The twins looked at each other before turning back to her, speaking in unison. “You promise?”

“I promise.”

“Okay. Good night, Auntie.”

The girls curled up in their beds and closed their eyes. Phoenix made sure they were secure, tucking them in and turning out the light. Once the door was closed, she quietly made her way to the main office. Unsurprisingly, L was still at the desk looking over the case files, while Aizawa and Nemuri had passed out on the couch. Aizawa had a noticeable bruise on his cheek. 

“Something happen during my kids day?” she asked, taking a seat beside her partner. 

“Mhm,” L replied. “Shouta got hurt dealing with a potential witness. Nemuri was running all over trying to get papers. Yamada’s still out gathering intel off the streets.”

“I see.” Phoenix wrapped an arm around her, burying her face in L’s long, soft hair. “Want me to make you some tea? Looks like we’ll be at this a while.”

L shook her head slightly. “No thank you. But...could you stay right there? It’s pretty chilly in here.”

Phoenix smiled, pressing a kiss to her temple. “Of course.”

[haikyuu100]

Kuroo depicted as a cat an Anoe depicted as an emotionless person like come on he is still a human. Enoshita is that guy who just stand there and do nothing much. Tanaka and noya pictured as Karasuno's loud Idiots who only have Kiyoko in there minds. and last but not least Michiyama portrayed as being the worst captain.

Ennoshita: Literally one of the most bullshit things ever. This guy reigns in Karasuno’s most reckless bunch, that’s a struggle. He’s also candidate for next year’s captain. That’s a heavy responsibility to bear (as someone who was once a captain of a team, let me tell you that it’s S T R E S S). He’s even able to reign in Tsukishima to go with Kageyama and Hinata while they’re in Tokyo. If anything, Ennoshita is more than a bench warmer and he’s apologetic for slacking.

Tanaka/Nishinoya: Well, it is confirmed that Daichi calls his main players idiots and they do love Kiyoko just as much as everyone else on the team (if you haven’t watched the stage play version of when Kiyoko makes the banner for the team, you need to watch it because literally everyone is screeching for her). They’re good seniors to the first years and all but I’ve never even seen someone who’s slammed their characters down to how simple you claim some have made them. To be fair, all of Karasuno is filled with pretty loud people as well, no matter how hard people try to ignore it.

Kuroo: Well. It’s Nekoma. Each team has an animal or some sort of trait that identifies them. Even during the Third Gym practice, his team is written on the board as Cats and Bokuto’s is Owls. There’s not much to say here because this is Furudate’s intention.

Aone: He’s just sort of got that face. He still has emotion. The whole locking on thing on his opposing aces speaks so much - he wants to challenge people, it’s not just some comic relief thing. He barely talks to strangers but he’s concerned over the fact that nobody wants to sit next to him on the train. He’s the only one on Datekou so far that properly respects Hinata - not only is this an example of how amazing Hinata is when it comes to befriending people, but it shows that Aone is capable of friendship as well.

Michimiya: She’s trained the most out of anyone on her team. She comforted them after they had lost but only cried when nobody could see them. This is so important towards the morale of your team because when the captain cracks, everyone else will soon follow. She knows that she isn’t strict enough on her team, but this itself is a good example of captainship because she knows where she needs to improve herself. She acknowledges to her team that they “could’ve done so much more” but still encourages them to “fight to the very end with all [their] might.” If anything, she’s a captain I would admire and be honoured to play with.

[netherwar-rpg-blog]

Welcome to the Wardens, Dani! Your application for a PRIEST OC has been accepted with a Elliot Knight 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: Dani

Age: 22

Timezone: Who cares? I’m always online.

Activity Level: Always. Law school doesn’t matter. I’ll become a professional rp writer. Cat, feed me when you’re famous.

Extra: ily <3

C H A R A C T E R - I N F O

T H E - B A S I C S

Name: Tahir Ibn Sa’id

Gender: Cisgender Male

Age: 59 (looks 27)

Class: Priest

Faceclaim: Elliot Knight

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

Nationality: Narfeni

Appearance:

Dark skin and deep brown eyes are quite often found in the Narfeni islands but never carried with the grace and status Tahir carries himself. The son of two Oracles, born and raised like a prince but always with a humble and calm expression despite his younger years of fun and excess. Tahir prefers his hair long, over his shoulders in messy locks that are sometimes braided to maintain away form his face. Otherwise, he keeps his hair short and neat, comfortable under his tunic’s hoods.

Loyal to his heritage, Tahir prefers bright robes with red, blue and golden colors. He keeps plenty of rings of all colors, shapes and precious stones in his fingers and a single golden ring at the end of his nose. Tahir also carries two necklaces; one with a dark blue, almost black crystal and another transparent crystal that belonged to his twin brother Siraj.

Finally, he has the tattoo of two intertwining snakes, one in black ink and another in white on the inside of his left arm.

Personality:

[ + ] Curious - Books have always been Tahir’s first love. His parents library was his sanctuary, intelligent eyes going through every word and spell and trick in them. He watched his parents work carefully, wondering when his time to practice his magic would come and the day it did was the happiest day of his life. From that day on, Tahir has never stopped experimenting on every type of magic he can get his hands on.

[ + ] Observant - Tahir is the type of man that sits back, watches carefully and takes notes. He dislikes violence and unnecessary deaths; he believes in balance in all things, and the fact that observing nature and human behavior grants all the answers they need. He often watches and listens to people with a kind, barely there smile to commit all information to memory.

[ + ] Calm - Death is silent, calm and all-powerful. Tahir aims to be the same, unbothered by simple remarks or taunts, he always has a relaxed, almost aloof attitude that bothers most of his enemies but he prefers it that way. He knows death is unavoidable and all else is temporary, so he smokes and drinks and reads. Time is, after all, endless.

[ + ] Humble - Tahir has a very particular set of skill; a luck, some might say. He knows his ability to handle the shadow element without fear of corruption is a strange thing, born of his brother’s sacrifice and protection, so he remains humble and kind. Death is to be respected, and so is the shadow element, so claiming power over it is not something Tahir would ever do.

[ - ] Obsessive - Knowledge is power, his father always said, and even though Tahir doesn’t care about power, he really cares about knowledge. His search for knowledge took him to Eldris, searching for the unknown and all the things that are foreign to him in the islands. He extends his kindness to the Wardens, but he’s set in only one goal and will do anything to achieve it.

[ - ] Self-centered - The death of Siraj marked a before an after in Tahir’s life. His brother was his partner in crime, the other half of his soul and the light to his darkness. After their souls were bound together, Tahir forgot about love, friendship and some times, even family. He only focused on himself and his mission to free his brother and release his soul, no matter how much the thought of letting him go hurts him.

[ - ] Conceited - Like the son of every Oracle, Tahir has never known need or hunger. He isn’t a prince, but was always treated like one. Both his parents were important Oracles in their tribe and gave him and his siblings years of the best life they could wish for, including every whim and excess his heart desired. Tahir is used to the good life and even though he adapts to every environment without much complain, he prefers warm sun and silky sheets any day.

[ - ] Solitary - After the death of his twin brother and the binding of their souls, Tahir became a solitary man. He believes he needs nothing and no one, that his mission is clear and nothing could take him away from his path. He went from having lots of friends to being only focused on his studies and pilgrimage.

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

History:

A blessing of the Balance, the Elders would say when they revealed that the Oracle Ibtissam Ibn Sa’id, an expert in the shadow element, was pregnant with two children. The twins were born strong and surrounded by gifts and praise; a true miracle that proved light and shadows coexisted as one in the hearts of their people. Tahir and Siraj were raised as one, a single soul split in two and their parents couldn’t be happier. Two boys to continue their legacy, it was only a matter of time until their powers manifested.

And manifest they did. Siraj was always the kinder of the two, a smart head on his shoulders that was ruled by his heart, their father would always say, while Tahir was reckless and curious, always going after every book he could get his hands on and when he wasn’t reading, he was getting his brother in trouble. There are rules that forbid hurting a spellcaster in the Narfeni islands, but those rules do not apply to Oracle’s children before their powers manifest.

It was in one of those adventures where the boys found out about their powers and respective affinities. Siraj protecting them both with a bright, glowing white shield while Tahir covered their attackers with dark, thick smoke; offense and defense, light and darkness. The perfect balance.

News of the boys abilities spread quickly and the next day they were surrounded by tutors, more books than they could imagine and their parents pleased smiles. It was also around that time that their mother announced her second pregnancy. A girl this time, that was born soon after by the name of Amira. The boys that shared everything now had something else to share, their love for their little sister.

Years passed and sharing books turned into sharing pipes, women, men and wine. Whenever Tahir went, Siraj followed and as they grew into adulthood, so did their strength and skill until one day their youth wasn’t enough to protect them and both brothers fell ill with a burning fever, a plague that killed hundreds, peasants and kings. Siraj, a healer by nature, stood stronger against the fever but his brother Tahir grew weaker with each passing day. The reckless boy with the bright smile and the challenging eyes was withering away like a flower.

That’s when Siraj summoned their father.

They were both dying, the Elders said, but if they fought it together, they would be strong enough to survive, and so Siraj begged. He begged his father to let him die, to bind his soul to his brother’s, his sacrifice giving him the last bit of strength needed to fight. His father immediately refused, tears in his eyes, but couldn’t deny the fact that his son was right. If he didn’t do it, his two boys would leave the world forever, so he called for his wife, they said their goodbyes and started the ritual.

When Tahir woke up, his brother was gone and his only reminder was the matching tattoo they had gotten together of a white and black snake on his arm.

The grief was the worst feeling Tahir had ever experienced. He respected death and cared for the shadows and the secrets they reveled to him but he can only remember darkness at the time. Tears fell from hours until they were transformed into anger, screams and the cracking sound of magic twisting up his arm in dark clouds of smoke before going back to pained cries like an endless cycle. It took the boy a week to exhaust himself and the moment he had given up on crying over his dead brother, he saw it. A white snake, a mirror of the one in his arm, twisting and turning up his arm like smoke.

Siraj.

He could not believe their parents would do that, sacrifice one of their children to save the other but he could feel his brother’s distress, the pain and love and happiness that he was alive and Tahir couldn’t blame them. Siraj had always been the kinder one, the one with light in his heart, and Tahir had to respect his last wish and keep his brother’s memory alive.

Life continued after that, the emptiness his brother had left never filling but at least he knew his soul was still with him. Tahir became obsessed with knowledge, his old reckless self completely forgotten and he closed himself off to friends and lovers, only maintaining a close relationship with his tutors, parents and sister. He needed to continue his studies, learn all he could and when he was ready, release his brother’s soul in thanks for saving his life.

Finally, the day came. The preparations were set and Tahir was ready to start his journey, his pilgrimage to obtain knowledge and experience and finally become an Oracle like his parents were and like his brother would’ve been. When the Elders sent him to Eldris, Tahir could only smile.

Siraj would’ve loved Eldris.

Reason for joining the Wardens:

Tahir joined the Wardens out of mere curiosity, he’d say. As any Oracle in training, the Elders demand a pilgrimage, which is often done through the eight Narfeni islands, meeting with other Oracles and Elders but being the son of an Oracle granted Tahir and his family enough opportunity to see their secluded paradise, and sensing the distress that’s brewing in the continent, they decided Tahir’s abilities would be put to better use in Eldris. After months of traveling the sea and a month or so riding from town to town all the way up from Varthal until Miwor Town, Tahir found himself a group of very peculiar people from all parts of the continents and every set of skills imaginable, and out of mere curiosity for them and the knowledge they could provide, he decided to stay. He doesn’t understand or care much for the rifts and the danger that’s been growing in the northern parts of the continent, but he’s a kind soul with a useful set of skills so if the price for knowledge is fighting with them, he’ll gladly pay it with his loyalty.

Desired Connections:

Tahir doesn’t know any of the Wardens since he just started his pilgrimage a month or so ago. Eldris is an unknown continent to him and so are their customs and people. As a desired connection I could only imagine his younger sister, Amira Ibn Sa’id, who can be either a priest as well (like their parents), or a mage. They both come from the Narfeni islands and suffered through Siraj’s death when they were younger. She knows of Tahir’s bond to their brother and supports him on his decision to learn Necromancy to free him. She’s a very sweet child but also fiery in her beliefs and decisions. Tahir loves her and would protect her with his own life. It’d be a surprise to see her following him to Eldris since she isn’t old enough to begin her pilgrimage yet.