#but its way more empty than eliza so really here we can just make the biggest assumption

[paintexe]

My head is filled with thoughts of Eliza RDR II, and what could have been.

If you don't know, originally, allegedly, Eliza – Arthur's dead baby's mother in canon – was supposed to be alive and part of the gang during the game (a model for her, a few dialogues, and mission marker were found in the files), and Roger Clark (Arthur’s actor) confirmed that Isaac was supposed to die during the first chapter when the gang arrive in Colter.

So, I can't stop thinking about what she could have been – who was she ? Would she have still been a waitress the gang had picked up earlier and ended up sleeping with Arthur ? Or would she have joined the gang after getting pregnant ? What would have been the context of her and Arthur sleeping together ? Would she have been a rebound for Mary, just a one night stand, something more ? Were they still planning to make her nineteen ? It would have made the fact that Arthur, thirty-six, had slept with her iffy.

ELZ1's mission marker show she would have been a bit farther away from Colter, Abigail seems to the be one starting the mission by asking Arthur to go look for Eliza. She likely ran off after her baby's death – maybe to kill herself from exposure the same way Isaac died. I don't know if Arthur’s voiceline of "Well, there's easier way." is related to the first bit of dialogue but if it is, it sound almost dismissive and callous like I take it as him saying there's easier way to kill yourself. But maybe I'm just misunderstanding the tone. Or I'm assuming too much.

But the tone make me think Arthur could have been similarly dismissive of her as John is with Abigail. I mean, he wasn't a stellar dad by canon already.

Arthur's voiceline "You look at me like the devil himself" could either imply she resented Arthur – maybe blaming him for having slept with her or maybe she joined the gang specifically after getting pregnant so she blame him and the gang for her baby's death – or it's just Arthur antagonizing people as usual.

The fact she appears in 1907 (ELZ5 and the voicelines) means she would have survived the gang (good for her!). John not recognizing her make me think either she changed physically, or she was maybe newer to the gang before the downfall so John doesn't have that clear memory of her.

I know she was very likely not that developed, cut quite early if we take Roger Clark's words into account, but it doesn't stop the few bit and pieces we can find being so interesting. Cut content always fascinate me, even if we can never be sure if we're just making too many assumptions or if we're right.

[perfectpaperbluebirds]

@sicktember​ Prompt # 8: Contagious

Title: Unexpected Developments 

Fandom: Pride and Prejudice

Prompt inspired by @chezsnez ​. The prompt: “What if in P&P when Jane gets sick at Netherfield, the other guests catch her cold and Lizzie ends up having to take care of Darcy. Kinda like enemies to lovers but with enemies to caretaker.” Thank you as always for the wonderful ideas, my friend!

Jane Bennett’s cold has spread to all the guests at Netherfield, hitting some worse than others. How will Lizzie respond when she finds proud, arrogant Mr. Darcy sneezing miserably and running a fever?

Elizabeth stepped out into the hall, closing the door on Jane's sickroom behind her. Jane was lying down to rest, so Lizzie was left to her own devices for the next hour or two. With no obligation to visit with the rest of the guests today, she had decided to wander a bit to stretch her legs and familiarize herself with more of Netherfield. As she walked, she let her mind wander as idly as her feet.

"We're certain to never be asked back here again," Lizzie sighed to herself after a bit. While Lizzie herself didn't much care, Jane and her mother would be devastated.

The cold Jane had caught on her ill-fated horseback ride to Netherfield had proved to be very contagious. Charles and Caroline Bingley had succumbed to it quickly. At luncheon the day after Elizabeth arrived to care for her sister, the siblings were seen to have dark circles under their eyes, with nostrils tinged a raw-looking pink. Caroline was forced to press a handkerchief to her dripping nose more than once through the course of the meal, while Charles kept painfully coughing into his. Caroline retired immediately after the meal, complaining of a headache and did not return. Charles sent his apologies down just before supper, saying he too had taken ill and would be staying in his room. Walking past Caroline's door later while checking on Jane, Lizzie heard her sneezing so miserably that  Eliza felt a touch of sympathy for the unpleasant woman.

Mr. Darcy had been the one to carry the news of Bingley's illness to the rest of the party, but Elizabeth had hardly seen him since. She gathered he was either passing the time in his own room or else keeping Charles company. It seemed his immune system was hearty, for he hadn't seemed ill when she had last spoken to him. 

Several days had now elapsed since the onset of Jane's illness, and the eldest Bennett sister was doing much better, and in fact really had no need of a caregiver anymore, though she had said more than once that she was glad Elizabeth was there for the company. With any luck, the sisters would be able to go home in a few days, as long as the others had recovered as well. Elizabeth found this thought encouraging as she continued to explore. 

Eventually she came to a hallway at the far side of the house that she was sure would be a dead end and likely empty, but she preferred to look at it anyway, for perhaps it would have a nice view out the window. The hallway was in fact a dead end, but was far from empty.

Coming around the corner, she stopped short, for at the end of the hallway and facing the window was Mr. Darcy. With some amusement she realized he was about to sneeze, for he was hunched over with his handkerchief pressed to his face and his breath hitching desperately.

"Heh-ZZZIIIH'shieww! HIIHHK'choo!" He did his best to muffle the sound into his handkerchief, but was mostly unsuccessful. The sneezes were wet and miserable-sounding, and while Elizabeth couldn't see his face, she could imagine his equally miserable expression, for he sneezed like someone with a thick, burgeoning head cold.

She had a choice to make. She could very easily walk away and pretend she had seen nothing, leaving him and his cold to their own devices. After all, the fact that he had hidden away in this corner indicated that he didn't want to be discovered, and while he had been overall civil to her since she had come to stay here, his haughty pride and past treatment of her were not quickly forgotten. Or, she could offer him aid.

"Hih'GEHH'shuuh!" This 3rd sneeze, whether part of the trio or on its own (it was hard to be sure) was the most desperate and miserable sounding of them all. His shoulders slumped wearily as he tended to his nose in the aftermath, and she thought she heard him say something like "ick" as he did so as well.

"Bless you, sir," said Elizabeth boldly, coming fully into the hallway. He leapt around as if he'd been shot, his face reddening. She could see him frantically trying to think of a way to explain himself.

"My apologies," he muttered at last, gruffly. "That was most undignified."

"You have no need to apologize, for you didn't know I was here. It is I who should apologize for startling you. However, I wanted to ask after your health, for you sound most unwell."

"I am fine," he muttered, clearly uncomfortable. Looking closer at him, Lizzie saw the flush over his face might not be due entirely to embarrassment, but perhaps also to fever, for his eyes had the same unhealthy cast she had seen in Jane's eyes only a few days before. He was also swaying slightly where he stood, and had a dampness of sweat along his hairline.

"Might I offer to accompany you to your room, sir? You look as if you needed to lie down for a spell."

"That is… unnecessary. I can…." He cut himself off with a rough cough. She could tell he was desperately trying to think of an excuse as to why she shouldn't be the one assisting him. However, they both knew that Charles was sick (quite sick, if the murmurs she'd heard from the staff were to be believed), and that all the servants were overworked as it was with taking care of their master and his sister. 

"I'm sure you're quite busy with your sister. You need not concern yourself with me," he finally rasped. 

"On the contrary, she is resting peacefully, while you are positively trembling and look to be on the verge of collapse from fever. Take my arm and we shall see you to your quarters."

Mr. Darcy hesitated another moment, still casting around for some excuse. Knowing what needed to be done, Elizabeth moved to his side and gently linked her arm around his. She felt her heart flutter as their hands made brief contact. The fleeting thought crossed her mind that this was the first time they had touched. She had certainly imagined it occurring under different circumstances. Shaking away such thoughts, she started to walk, leading the much taller man toward his quarters. Mr. Darcy was enough of a gentleman to follow without further protest. 

As they walked, both of Mr. Darcy's arms were occupied, for the hand that wasn't linked with Elizabeth's was busy pressing his handkerchief to his face. Every few steps his shoulders would twitch, either from a stifled cough or a thick sniffle. She could sense he was desperately trying not to sneeze again. Between that and the fact that his large form was positively radiating heat, Elizabeth found herself quite distracted by him, and watched him intently out of the corner of her eye. The walk was a quiet one, for Elizabeth didn’t want to burden him with conversation when he was clearly otherwise engaged, not to mention ill.

They made it to his room without interruption, sneezing or otherwise. She allowed him to open the door, then she ushered them both in, with more than a little awkwardness on all sides. Mr. Darcy went immediately to sit on his bed, sinking down as if compelled by gravity, leaning his head into his hands as he continued to tremble.

"A headache troubles you as well, then?" she asked after observing his motionless form for a moment.

He nodded pathetically, not looking up. Out of nowhere, and startling them both, his breath hitched violently before a pair of sneezes erupted out of him. Thankfully they were directed at the floor. He pressed his damp handkerchief to his nose hastily, glancing at her and looking embarrassed.

"Forgive me," he muttered thickly, which was followed up with a cough.

"You need not waste your breath asking forgiveness every time you sneeze when you have a cold, for you have precious little breath to spare as it is. However, I must ask, why did you not alert someone of your illness? You are quite unwell, Mr. Darcy. Anyone can see it plainly."

"I did not want to be a bother, as everyone else was also ill. I thought it best to tend to myself."

"Whether or not you alerted someone, you shouldn't have gotten out of bed today. You've certainly made yourself worse by doing so."

He only groaned softly.

Elizabeth sighed to herself. "Please, if I may, let me help you feel more comfortable. You need to rest."

Hesitantly she approached him as he looked up to finally meet her eyes. With a gentle touch she guided him to sit up straighter, then deftly removed his cravat. She sensed more than heard his sigh of relief once it was off, and found herself letting her hand rest on his hot cheek under the pretense of checking his fever. He seemed to enjoy the touch immensely. Her eyes lingered on his face as he sat with his eyes closed, and many thoughts and feelings competed for space in her mind. She did her best to suppress them all.

 After a moment though, she broke the spell, and continued to help him remove his jacket, waistcoat, boots and stockings. He assisted as best he could with these attentions, but said nothing, merely following her every move with his guarded, intense gaze. Once the garments were set aside and he was looking much more loose and comfortable, if also embarrassed to be seen in such an undressed state, she pressed a glass of water into his hands and watched as he drank it down.

She took the glass from him, and setting it down, took up a cold, wet rag. She placed it against the back of his neck and was rewarded with a relieved sigh. From there she bathed the rest of his neck and the bit of chest that was visible, ensuring her gaze stayed far from his, but unable to help a bit of a blush creeping over her cheeks at such acts of intimacy with such a person. With continued gentleness, she pressed him back against the pillows. The movement of course made him cough pitifully. Soaking the cloth once more, she laid it on his forehead and left it there as she straightened the pillows around him.

That done, they simply surveyed each other for a moment. Mr. Darcy looked ill and altogether unimposing, lying in bed as he was, with tired circles under his eyes, a hacking cough, and a dripping nose.

"Are you feeling any better?" she asked hesitantly.

"Some," he grunted. "Now that I'm lying down."

"Excellent. Are you hungry at all? I think perhaps you should eat something."

His intense stare and large, warm presence were making her nervous all over again and causing her to seek escape from the small room.

"I suppose I could eat," he murmured.

"Yes, good. Then let me go fetch you some soup. I'll be back soon." She bustled out of the room immediately, a blush rising to her face, of uncertain cause. She did her best to quiet her racing thoughts as she sped toward the kitchen.

Mr. Darcy, for his part, was totally smitten with her. He was now convinced her fine eyes were the centerpiece of her completely wonderful countenance and figure. He watched the space where the corner of her skirt had disappeared intently, waiting for her return and recalling again and again the feel of her cool hand on his face.

(Part 1 of 2)

[wittykitty21]

Falling Together

//Shanexfarmer HarveyxFarmer Sebastianxfarmer??

TW !! Talk of self harm, suicide, drinking, abuse, death!!

Chapter Two; Warm and Cold Welcomes

As I walked into the Stardrop Saloon, Emily immediately ran over and hugged me. 

“You’re here!! You’re really back! I knew it was you the second I felt your energy hit the earth here.” She beamed. I hugged her back, I felt so accepted and warm here. She began introducing me to everyone, including a hot lean alternative guy with black swooped over hair, grey eyes and dressed all up in black along with a girl with purple hair and dressed in a black shirt with a frog printed on it. I assumed he was Robin’s son she had previously told me about. 

“Heyyyyy Guns n Roses, nice taste. I’m Sebastian and this is Abigail. Abigail smiled and  waved a little shyly  at me. Sebastian continued,“ Sure mom’s told you about me. What’s your name?” he looked flirtatious towards me, but before I could tell him, a flash of blonde hair ran over to me and i was immediately lifted at least two feet off the ground into a hug. 

“EVIEEEEE!!!!! I can’t believe its you!! We have so much catching up to do since we last made mud pies together. ” He smiled and put me back down. Me being slightly startled from his energetic golden retriever personality. Sebastian was laughing at the startled expression I had. 

“Awww Sam, missed me pushing you over and you crying when I beat you in video games? “ I smirked. 

“You know it! I’ve gotten pretty good over the years, you owe me unlimited rematches. And - Hey, I don’t think you’ll be able to push me over anymore, short stack. “ Sam was around 6′0 ft, and I had stayed at a measly 5′3 and a HALF since I was 13. I was happy Sam was the same overly optimistic ray of sunshine he had been since a kid. 

“Jeezzzz Sam give her some breathing room. Sorry about him, he’s always like this” Abigail chuckled. 

Sebastian slid back into the conversation, “So, Evie, is that your real name or is that your nickname?”

“Oh, yeah. I just go by Evie. My full name is Evangeline Eliza Jones-Destriu. I hate how long my name is.... and the fact my parents chose to hyphenate my last name.”  I smiled weakly. 

“Well a cute name to match a super cute girl with awesome fashion sense! “, exclaimed Abigail. “You have to show me where you get your clothes from.”

“As long as you show me where you got that frog shirt from, frogs are like one of my favorite animals.” I said excitedly.

After playing a little bit of pool with my new friend group, everyone else from the town started pouring in. I went up to Marnie, who was talking to Lewis. As I approached she immediately recognized me and hugged me. 

“Evangeline!!!! Oh my goodness. You’ve become quite the beautiful young woman. You look so much like your grandpa. I’m sure hes so proud of you for taking over the farm. I’ll be here to help you as much as you need getting started. When Shane gets here you should say hello to him.”

“Shane? “ I squinted a little, confused. 

“My nephew, you two were best friends whenever you spent the summers here.” she said a little worried. She noticed the bruise too, I tried to hide it behind my hair but I was starting to think it was inevitable. 

“I’m sorry Marnie, I have memory problems. I’ll talk to you more about it in private when we catch up, but if you point him out to me I’m sure I’ll remember his face. I’m just not good with names. “

Marnie seemed a little sad that I hinted at the fact life hadn’t been very easy for me. “He’ll be here in a bit, he’s almost always at the saloon after work. He’s usually over there near the fireplace and bar. If you want you can come over for dinner on Sunday, I’m sure you havent had a good home cooked meal in a while since living in the city.”

I smiled widely “I’d absolutely love that. I was just telling Lewis today about how much I missed your cooking.”

As I said that, a man in a tattered up hoodie, dark black-purple hair, who was quite broad shouldered and had a dad body walked inside the saloon. He looked void of emotion and tired. Emily wasn’t phased by this, she smiled and treated him like everyone else in the warm happy way she did. He looked almost angry at her for her being nice to him. That’s when Marnie said “Well there he is, that’s my Shane.” 

Maybe he just had a bad day, I thought. I thought about getting him something to eat to maybe cheer him up a bit. After all, I knew all about having bad days. So I walked over to Emily, and he peeked up at me, seeming annoyed. This built up anxiety in me, but my therapist said I needed to overcome my fear of upsetting people after all I’d been through. So I asked Emily, 

“Hey what’s Shane’s favorite food?”

“Oh, he loves pepper poppers. Um.... Evie, hes a little..... rough around the edges.” she smiled “but he has a good heart. He has a goddaughter named Jas, and he took her in.”

I nodded, and she handed me a plate of the spicy food. I walked over cautiously to him, he smelled like beer and whiskey. I slid the food beside him and he looked up at me kind of dazed, probably from the alcohol.

“Hey, I’m new in town, I don’t know if you remember me but I’m-”

“What the fuck do you want? I don’t fucking know you, so piss off and leave me alone.” He spat at me and didn’t even look me in the eyes. I stood back shocked, feeling tears well up. Emily went pale, Marnie, Sam and Sebastian saw the look of hurt on my face. I immediately turned around and went back to Emily. 

“Hey you okay? I’m sorry, he’s not normally that harsh. Here,” She said as she handed me a bottle of wine. “its on the house. I should’ve told you he’s uh, an angry person.”

I couldn’t speak, the feeling of panic and tears welled up in my throat and I knew it was visible on my face. I just looked at her and nodded. “I’ll be alright, thanks Emily. I just wasn’t expecting that. I’m gonna head home.” 

I took the wine and Marnie tried to stop me and talk to me, she saw the tears starting to come down and gave me a quick hug. As I turned to leave I felt like i was being watched, and I locked eyes with him. A sudden wash of recognition and regret hit his face. He saw he made me cry and i knew now he knew who I was. He put down his beer and looked like he was about to walk over. I almost ran out the door, and started sprinting towards the forest with the wine in hand. As soon as I knew I was out of earshot, I broke down. I looked for the pond my grandfather used to take me to when I was sad. 

---Back at the Saloon while Evie is in the woods, Shane POV--

Marnie walked over to Shane. “What has gotten into you? You grew up with that girl!!!! You made her cry after she wsa just trying to be nice to you.”

“I-I didn’t recognize who she was until she left. I’m going to find her and apologize, I’m sorry Marnie. I’m just--” he sighed. God. I always fuck up. He thought.

Marnie patted him on the shoulder “I know Shane. Just-- try to remember you’re not the only one who’s been through a lot. Okay?”

He nodded and left the Saloon to find and apologize to Evie. 

--Back to Evie in the woods, Shane POV--

I sat down at the edge of the pier and downed the entire bottle of wine. I hadn’t imagined something so small would make me relapse. The alcohol made me feel warm so i took off my long sleeve shirt and kept on my large band tee. The bandages and stitches itched with my mistakes. So I took them off. They probably needed a little air anyways. The vertical cuts that were held together with thread still looked pretty bad and they bled a little as I unraveled the wrapping, but they were at least mostly closed up with scabs. Around the wounds were bruises from Daniel, my ex -fiance. I could still see the finger marks were he had grabbed me on my arm. I cried somewhat loudly and just laid and looked up at the stars for a while. I started feeling dizzy, and tired. And the comforting numbness washed over me as everything faded into darkness. I thought I heard someone walking towards me but I didn’t care. They could kill me and I’d die happy right there. 

--Shane’s POV finding Evie--

I knew where she was going, the same place she went when she snuck out of her gradfathers when she missed her dad. I heard loud crying, like someone was in pain. It had to be her, I was already tipsy and quickened my pace towards the loud cries. Suddenly it stopped. Oh Yoba. Oh no. Why did it stop? 

I didn’t want to frighten her, so I tried to walk a little loudly. I saw a figure laid out on the pier, close to the edge of the side, she was about to roll off into the pond. “Evie? Hey.”

No response. Oh fuck. As i got closer I saw the empty wine bottle, and i felt a pang of guilt and worry. 

Wait. What the hell? I turned on my phones light and shined it on her, she passed out from drinking. But- what was...... 

I saw cuts on both her wrists that were obviously a previous suicide attempt, they were stitched together, but she also had dark bruises of all colors on her arms, and she had cried off her makeup, revealing a darkened eye as well.

I felt like I had just walked in on a crime scene. I never thought I’d meet someone more messed up than me, much less a childhood friend. What the hell happened to her? I tried shaking her awake and calling her name but she didn’t wake up. More panic and anxiety came over me. I picked her up gingerly in my arms to bring her to the clinic, she was so small and soft. She smelled like strawberries and vanilla. Shane studied her features. She had the same freckles, same button nose, same long eyelashes and dark hair as he remembered her having as she had when they were little. She was gorgeous too. How could anyone hurt such a beautiful fragile girl? What the hell is wrong with me? Why am I thinking this way? Get a grip Shane. 

I called Harvey, “Hello?” A groggy mans voice answered. 

“Hey uh Harvey, the new farmer girl, she’s actually a childhood friend of mine. I found her passed out drunk on a pier and she looks like she’s already been in bad shape. I can’t wake her up, I’m bringing her as we speak. She already has stitches and-- She’s just in a really bad way.” Shane’s voice quaked a bit at the end of his sentence.

“Okay, oh Yoba, thats not good. Hurry here as fast as you can okay? I’ll get things ready for her so I can immediately work on her. Is she breathing? “ The words Harvey said made me panic more. Fuck. I didn’t even check to see if she was fucking breathing. I looked down and she was breathing gently and normally.

“Yeah she is, I think she’s just really drunk. I’m not sure.” I said back.

I carried her in, set her down on the hospital bed. Holy fuck. I hadn’t noticed how bad she really was hurt. She hid all of it with clothes and her long hair. She looked like she had been beaten over and over again over the past month. Even her eye and jaw had small bruises that had healed. Who did this to her? Then I saw the cuts. They were worse in the florescent lighting. Those were definitely on purpose. 

Harvey looked pale at the sight of her. “Okay, here, see if she has any emergency contacts on her phone. I’m going to get fluids into her. Aside from that, looks like all of this was from previous incidents.” and he closed the curtain leaving shane in the little area next to the room. She didn’t have but a few contacts saved. One of them was Daniel, as I selected his contact I noticed the number had been blocked. The picture of him was a guy with blonde hair and blue eyes, the athletic type. Looked like a general douchebag. A text came in from a random number.

“What the fuck? You think you can just run away from me? Restraining order is just a piece of paper. I’ll find you. I know you’re probably shacked up with some scumbag, you whore. Not even your father wanted you, your mom died and its your fault. You’ll never find anyone better than me.” It read. That had to be him. The whiskey helped fill me with rage, I typed the number into my phone and left to the lobby to call it. 

It rang a couple of times before a condescending voice answered,

“Come crawling back already psycho? You should’ve done a better job at trying to off yourself bitc-”

I cut him off, “Don’t contact her ever again. Or I’ll fucking kill you.” I hung up. And blocked the number. Why was I doing this? She was practically a stranger to me now.

I shook my head and left her phone with Harvey. I needed to sleep. I’d have Marnie call Harvey tomorrow to check on her. I looked at her one last time before I left, I remembered we’d have sleep overs, and she still slept curled up on her side. 

I went home and told Marnie, she shook her head.

“I’m sorry, Shane. I should’ve told you. Her father deserted her, he mother fell into drinking and killed herself. Evie found her when she was 18. Her grandfather died the same year. She has no one. I don’t know why she has bruises, but I suspect thats why she came here so far away from the city. Please be kind to her. ” She looked worried. 

“I-I...... yoba. I had no idea. She hadn’t-” I said then Marnie interuppted me.

“She didn’t come here probably because I wanted to run away from whoever hurt her that bad.”

I hardly slept that night, I got up for work in the morning and looked at the clinic on my way. 

I’m so sorry Evie. I need a fucking drink. 

[razorblade180]

Twin Snowflakes 27:Hill climbing preparations

Part 26 here!<-

Rehearsals were going well. With Darren out of mind and no further incidents, students had gotten back into a steady blow of progress. The band was a little shaky at first but Summer had learned that Nick had a point about her being a bit strict in the beginning. With that hurdle jumped, Summer felt comfortable enough to take a short break. Her feet swung from over the stage's edge like a kid on a swing while she took a moment to call Oscar. It had been a few days since their last check in date. The fact that he didn’t blow her fun up meant his own hands were full. Fortunately, two rings was all it took before his face popped up on her screen, covered in what was hopefully seawater.

“Hi Oscar! Ummm sea life treating you will? You look a little…”

“Wet? Sigh, I can’t believe I’m saying this but I miss the cold of the tundra. All the storms and aquatic grimm yanking me off the boat is getting annoying. Anyways, Penny told me you had a little scare recently? Everything okay?”

“Yes, I think.” Summer rubbed her face. “Well…as okay as things usually get. I do feel better than usual. I’ve gotten to perform quite a bit the last couple days.”

“Really? Did you take my advice by any chance?”

A guilty smile found its way on Summer’s face. She couldn’t help but chuckle. “Nah. I’ve just been singing a couple of covers and a few originals that anyone with a radio has heard. The lyrics in the journal are just that, in the journal. I actually wanted to talk to you about a trick Nick got me to try. You’ve actually mentioned it once before early on.”

“Is that so- woah!” Oscar yelped, nearly falling from the rock of the ship crashing through a wave. “Hehe. Sorry about that!”

“Everything okay over there? I can call later?”

“No it’s fine; just rough seas. That’s good though. Challenging waves and other harsh weather factors have been swelling for quite some time. You’re too young to remember this but Atlas was actually a bit warmer. Hot places were cooler and sailing wasn’t as wild.”

“I’ve heard about that in class. Don’t scientists think it might have something to do with magic being back?”

“Or the gods roaming through Remnant.” He smirked, confident about the latter theory. “Harsh conditions mean it’s difficult to press forward. As if the world itself is trying to keep things away. With a little luck, passing these hurdles are all the answers we need.”

Answers. Summer couldn’t begin to imagine having those. It was more terrifying than reliving if she had to be honest. She wouldn’t know what to do if the gods themselves didn’t know what to do. The only thing worse is them saying she couldn’t do anything.

“Let’s cross our fingers you aren’t on a boat for nothing. Speaking of Shiva, Nick talked me into entering my headspace willingly. I was even able to manifest a shovel in it!”

“A shovel?” Oscar quirked his head.

“Yeah it wasn’t the usual blue empty space. It waslake; the lake as a matter of fact. I chucked a shovel at Shiva and told her to start digging her grave.”

“Nick told you to do that!?”

“Weeeeeeell… he only told me to confront her with unwavering resolve in a way Veronica would. I’m pretty sure that meant being cut throat but I may have defaulted to cock intimidation. Pretty sure I stoked the flames of war. But it felt good!”

The cheerfulness in her tone was genuine. While manifesting and confrontation was something Oscar had tried to get her to do early on, there are ways to go about it. Headspace or not, poking at a beast was always risky. “I’m glad you’re feeling good, but exercise caution. I wouldn’t try that alone. There’s a lot we don’t know about that space. I doubt you can actually die there but if that really is your mind you're traversing then serious backlash might happen if things go wrong. Remember, Shiva has an edge. Don’t let her play you in your own head.”

“Believe me, that’s the last thing I want. I’ll be careful Oscar. Thanks for worrying about me. Couldn’t ask for a better therapist”

“I wouldn’t go that far. Ruby and your dad give some pretty solid motivational speeches.”

Hehe, don’t sell yourself short. I should probably get going. Good luck! Watch the gods tell you to perform an exorcism or drown me in sacred water.”

Oh if only it was that easy. “If she had any signs of a soul I would’ve tried that already. Take care Summer. Call me when you need me”

“You know I will.” She hung up and looked over at Nick. A few of the girls had taken the opportunity to strike up a conversation with him. In typical fashion, Nick just let them fawn in vain. “Geez, take a hint ladies.” She mumbled.

“Oh my gods! I wasn’t aware you could sing!”

“So talented!”

“Can you sing for my birthday!?”

All the back chatter and compliments made it hard to focus on one person. Nick did his best to calm them all, giving a faux laugh and smile. “Hehe, thanks. I can hold a note, I’m not as good as my sister, and I’m way too sheepish to sing at a birthday. Now we should probably get back to working maybe? Practice is almost-” his eyes caught the door entrance before he finished. Valerie had walked in.

As if by will, her head automatically turned to meet his eyes. Valerie couldn’t help but give some kind of disarming smile, giving a small wave that was quickly rejected when Nick went back talking to the people around him. Not even Valerie could deny that burn. She put her hand down before she felt anymore like an edit, walking over to Eliza to get what she had to do over with.

“Hey soldier.”

“Huh? Well look who finally decided to show! I expect more from a representative of this school.”

“Oh brother…” Val couldn’t help but roll her eyes. “I’m not even gonna pretend that I’m sorry like I usually do. Look, at least I did what was asked of me. Boiler is fixed for now and there should be no problem getting hot water when the big day arrives.”

“Keep a keen eye on it just in case. I don’t have any time to deal with tiny problems during the tournament.”

“Yeah you and everyone else in this room. Now if you excuse me.” Valerie pointed both thumbs back and tried backing up slowly.

“Hold on…”

“Uuugh. Yes? I got plenty of practice to work on. Make this quick.”

Eliza narrowed her eyes. “Wow, someone is more aggressive than usual. If that’s how you’re going to be then I’ll spare you the lecture. Just know you better be careful or I might pull the rug out from under you this year.”

“Hmph, bold words. You gotta make it to the top of the hill before challenging the ruler. Though you’re more than welcome to kick Nick around and take his spot for all I care. See ya. Just text me the meeting information. Got things to do.” Valerie turned around and headed off. On the way out she saw Summer staring at her with a raised eyebrow from afar. To make matters worse, the cheerleaders moved by the exit. Veronica being among them. Valerie was ready for some kind of sly comment but to her surprise Veronica briefly acknowledged her, nodded, and then went back to what she was doing.

Eliza looked at the time and figured everyone made enough progress for one day. “Alright everyone! You can all start wrapping things up. I’m sure all of you have things to-” the sound of everyone packing their belongings overpowered her voice. “Do.” She finished. At least she could trust everyone to clean up on time. “Nicholas, get your butt in gear.”

“Oh thank goodness!” Nick wasted no time squeezing his way through the girls that lingered around him. “Sorry! The VP calls! Let’s go Summer!”

“Right behind you.” She turned towards the band. “It would be a good idea for you all to practice a little longer. Not because you may or may not need it but because I’ll finally give you room to experiment. Just no funny ideas about adding drum solos.” Summer hopped off stage and headed off, quickly catching up to Nick, Eliza, and Veronica. “Well aren’t we an interesting looking bunch?”

“An idol, witch, heir, and fashion designer. This is the beginning of a bad joke I’d say.”

“Bold of you to call someone a witch when they’ve agreed to help you train.”

“Would you prefer magical girl, or maybe sorceress?” Nick nudged her.

“I prefer my name. However…sorceress is endearing, I suppose.”

“I could call you that while you teach me?”

“Don’t be ridiculous!” She said in a shrill voice. “I’m already regretting this.”

“Well while you two train to death, I’m finally going to get some real shut eye. I can hear my bed calling my name already.”

“Not so fast.” Veronica interjected. “Since we ended up being free at the same time and I have to work a little more diligently…”

Summer didn’t like where this was headed. “Veronica, my hot headed designer, I’m well aware of what it’s like to be a perfectionist. However, please don’t rope me into this.”

All three of them looked at her at once. “It’s your dress!”

“I know that! No need to remind me! I am tired though. It’s Monday, the weekend was crazy, and I just put in a full day of school with extra curricular activities. Allow me two hours at least!?”

“Ugh, ever the whiner. Fine but I don’t want to hear any complaints about design. Most would be thrilled to be heavily involved with their clothing.”

“Well consider this a show of good faith towards your skills.”

The four of them continued to talk all the way to the manor. Eliza tried to stay on important topics while Nick did his best to keep things casual. It never really worked out considering Summer's insistence to not help her dear brother and Veronica’s curiosity about events to come. It was only when the girl’s feline ears twitched by the gate did she begin to quiet down.

“Hmmm?” She stopped immediately.

“Huh? What’s wrong Vee-”

“ACHOO!!!” The girl yelled. The sneeze was so strong Veronica lifted off the ground slightly. “Phew…sorry about that.” She sniffled her loss and continued walking like nothing happened, leaving everyone confused. Veronica was the first to enter with everyone lagging a bit behind. Her eyes looked around until they spotted her mother, Blake, coming down the stairs in casual clothes and wet hair.

“Hey everyone! Finally home I see? And with a friend?”

“Uh classmate. I wouldn’t exac…ummm that’s not important. Hehe, I’m Eliza Marigold.” She stammered. It didn’t really dawn on her that she’d be meeting Mrs. Belladonna herself today. “You look lovely. Though…you look a little red? Are you sick?”

“Oh it’s nothing! Just umm got out of the shower is all.”

Veronica’s eyes narrowed. “Where’s ma?”

“Out back with Jaune.”

“Really?”

“One hundred perfect!” Blake said, unusually preppy. “Well I don’t keep you kids held up. I’ll be in the living room. Nick, Summer, I think your mother is in the garden.”

“Cool. She must be setting up the candle test already. Follow me Eliza.” Nick took her hand and guided her.

“Think I’ll get lost or something?”

“No, I just don’t need you judging every inch of this place until you find something to criticize.”

“……It’s too bright in here.” She heard Nick snicker at her attempt. “You suck.”

With those two out of the way it was time for Summer to mosey to her room. “Finally, nap time!”

“Don’t you wanna practice too?”

“What they’re doing is something I already know. Besides, Nick and I do most of our practices separate. He’ll get me when he needs me. Wake me up if you need anything.”

Veronica waited for the girl to get out of sight before giving her mom a look meant to inspire shame and embarrassment. “Really? We’ve been out all day ya know? You had plenty of time.”

Blake put her hand over Veronica’s face. “Shush your face. It happens sometimes. Thank you for the heads up.”

“Y’all are gross but that’s nothing new. I won’t mention it again if you could bring dinner up to my room. I’m gonna be spending quite some time in there.”

“Even across the world I guess some habits don’t change. Deal.”

xxxxx

In the garden, Weiss stood on the balcony with a cup of coffee. The sound of footsteps behind her caught her ear. She was more than a little surprised to learn that they belonged to not just Nick. “Eliza?”

“Mrs. Schnee. Thank you for allowing me in your home.” Eliza gave a curtsy.

“How’s your father?”

“Oh you know him, always up to something.”

Weiss wasn’t sure if that was good or bad considering his track record. “I see. Well make yourself comfortable. Nick, everything is already set up. Never would’ve thought this is how you’d try to get this done. Don’t push yourself.”

“Heh, push myself? Me?”

Weiss playfully rolled her eyes and left the balcony, ruffling Nick’s hair on the way out. Nick looked at Eliza confused. “You know you don’t have to be so formal around her, right?”

“Let’s not focus on my speech and pay attention to why we’re here. Anyways, how does this training work exactly?”

Nick walked to the railing to point at the fifteen candles spread throughout the garden. “The goal is to light all the candles at once without burning anything. It’s harder than it looks. It requires timing, speed, accuracy, and control above all.”

“Never took you for one who cares much for traditional methods of fighting. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you use your glyphs to manipulate the elements.”

“Yeah, because I suck. Summer on the other hand…” He hunched over in defeat. “Not so much.”

Eliza couldn’t help but scan the area multiple times. This couldn’t be all there was to it. Could it? The five candles in the actual hedge maze looked a little challenging, but Nick was…Nick! Despite her reservations about his attitude, he was smart and knew how to work.

“Do you increase the candle amount as you go?”

He nodded. “That’s the natural progression. Summer can do thirty without thinking much about it.”

“Meanwhile you can’t even do half that amount. You sure you’re the older twin?”

“I don’t see how that’s relevant.” He pouted. Nick grabbed his sword and got into his low stance.

“So I’m just supposed to observe you?”

“No. I’m going to need help with the fires too.”

That’s not something she wanted to hear. “Tsk, alright. But first, let me see if I’m able to do it. Wouldn’t be that good of a teacher if I couldn’t.”

She climbed on top of the railing to get a better look. She raised her right hand to the sky and took a breath. Five flames ignited her fingertips as she thought of the best approach. Moments later, Eliza launched all five with a downward swing, another five swing left, then the final five to the right. Each flame danced on the winds below them before finding their targets.

Amazed, Nick’s jaw dropped for a second before saying anything. “First try!?”

“Not exactly. You did say all at once so that may have been cheating. Let me try again.” She wrapped both arms around herself then swung them out, causing a gust of wind that blew out the candles.

Nick watched closely. Breathing, posture, line of sight; anything he could to gain knowledge. Eliza cuffed her hands together. A small flame flickered into existence and grew slowly until it was the size of a baseball. Eliza threw it over the garden underhanded. The moment it reached max height she pushed her hands downwards like if she closed a lid. This made the flame split apart into embers that fell quick enough to reach each candle. Nick couldn’t believe she was two for two.

“Seems I got the hang of it.” Eliza blew the candles out and hopped off the railing. “I’d do it while off the railing but I’m positive we know the results.”

“Yeah no kidding. While I’m lucky I picked the right person to help me, doing that so easily kinda stings. Not gonna lie. You really are a sorceress.”

“Tsk, flattery gets you nowhere. Assume your stance.” She ordered. Eliza kept a close eye on Nick. He opted to square his feet with his shoulders, a sturdy stance for sure. “So far so good.” His blade pointed up and outwards. A red glyph began to form at its tip, conjuring a ball of intense flame that was as big as a softball. Eliza’s eyes narrowed. She could not believe what she was watching. “You’ll miss.”

“Huh?” Nick said, trying to focus.

“If you shoot the fireball then you are going to miss.” Eliza channeled a silver orb in her palm that bursted into shimmering light. Nick’s glyph suddenly vanished and took the fireball along with it.

“Hey! Don’t just negate my semblance out of the blue! I didn’t even shoot it yet!”

Eliza wasn’t sure what she had expected from this training. It was clear now why a talented person like Nick was fumbling. Frankly, it was annoying. Down right inexcusable. Eliza folded both her arms. “You’re so idiotic in the strangest ways possible, you know that right? To think you’re stronger than me?”

Nick huffed. This wasn’t constructive at all. “You gonna actually help, or continue to insult me? If I knew how to do this on my own then I wouldn’t ask for help.”

Nick ran his hand through his tangled hair and let out a sigh. Eliza could tell he genuinely had no idea what was wrong. It kinda got to her. “Sorry, I shouldn’t be picking on you like that. You weren’t wrong to ask for help.”

“Normally I have an inkling of how to progress but I’m hitting a wall. All of this is just…”

“Too much?” Eliza leaned over and thumped his head. “Because it is. That’s exactly your problem. You are doing far too much at once. Why are you trying to do so many steps at the exact same time?”

“What do you mean at the exact same time? All I did was make a fireball.”

Eliza could feel her eye try to twitch. “Okay. I should’ve expected that from you. Guess I’ll teach by showing.” She stood beside Nick and made a flame. “See? Now this is as basic as it gets, just straight up fire. A fireball requires controlling the shape of the flame;maintaining its heat as well.” The flame swirled around itself to make just that.

“Okay? I’m following you so far.”

“If a fireball was all you were making then no big deal. However, I just saw you attempt to make a fireball that has to keep its shape, burn hot enough, long enough, and must be aimed at multiple targets at once. No mind can do all that on a dime. It’s simply too much.”

Nick watched Eliza move behind him, putting her arms right on top of his, guiding his movements as if she was holding his blade. Her chin rested on his shoulder to get a clear line of sight. Nick was no stranger to being led through an attack, but man was it weird to have Eliza this close!

“Ummm…”

“Bear with it and focus.” She uttered, trying not to yell in his ear. “Make a flame. Just a flame. Let it heat swell and dissipate in sync with my breathing.”

“Shouldn’t it be with my own?”

“Not when your heart is beating like a drum. To think Nicholas Schnee would lose composure from a girl touching him?”

“Can’t hear you, focusing.” He was trying anyway. Eventually he managed to slow his heartbeat. He could tell Eliza was taking deep breaths on purpose to help. In sync, he made another fire glyph as she ordered.

“Good, now make it as hot as you want, then make it into a ball.” The flame shaped into the size of a baseball this time. Eliza smiled. “See how easy it is to control the size after you’ve completed the previous steps? You’ll save dust this way.”

“What’s next?”

“Aiming. You already know where your targets are but you also aren’t in a rush. If you need time to make a shot then all you have to do is make the time.” Eliza raised Nick’s sword higher in the air. “Launch it into the air, confirm where you need the fire to hit, then guide the flames to it.”

Nick took a deep breath and launched the fireball ball in an arch over the garden. He waited for it to reach the middle and fall briefly before making it burst into smaller flames that hit the candles. Eliza finally let go so he could pump his fist into the air.

“Woohoo!”

“Don’t celebrate yet, but good job. A moving target would be harder but not impossible. Repetition will allow you to eventually group certain steps together without having to think about it. You’ll get used to making fireballs that are a certain size and speed as long as you allow yourself to process each step as you are now. I noticed you let the fireball fall. Why?”

“I always end up not lighting them all because the fire dies too quickly. I realized the flame wasn’t hot enough the moment I shot it, so I let it get closer to the candles before having to split it up. Good thing you told me to aim higher or I may not have noticed.

“He can process things like that but not realize breaking the steps up will make things easier? How does his brain work!?”

Another gust of wind blew the candles out. “I’m willing to help you further but I think it’s time you held up your end of this bargain.”

“Antsy, aren’t we? Fair enough.” Nick put his sword down and sat on the railing. “What I’m about to tell you is going to make your tournament life a hundred times simpler. This is your second King of The Hill. Remember the rules?”

“Of course I do.” She followed his lead and sat down as well. “All previous tournament and combat skills leading up to the tournament are calculated so they can rank you compared to the other contestants. In order to progress higher you must defeat the person directly above you in the rank to switch places. Those who win are rewarded a reprieve from being challenged immediately to decrease rematches, but the loser can be challenged by whoever is directly below them. Conversely, if you challenge a person and lose, then you have to wait a set period before trying again while defending your current spot. The entire tournament is on a time limit that tests endurance, strategy, and the skills you’ve used all year. The winner is whoever is ranked number one by the end; the king of the hill.”

“Correct! It’s pure chaos. However, you forgot an important thing. You’ve participated once and managed to get third, so that’s automatically where you start.”

Eliza’s eyes lit up. “That’s a rule!?”

“Yep. As long as you still participated in prior tournaments this year, which you have. Congratulations on skipping the taxing part. Now you’re in the grueling section. The only way you go up is through me and Valerie. A slip up could cause you to waste too much energy and that could drag you out of third if you lose or even win against me immediately, because if I get challenged and win, then I can challenge you again before you challenge Valerie or after you hypothetically lose to her. Let that sink in for a moment.”

Eliza could feel her heart drop to her stomach. If she were to beat Nick and lose to Valerie then at best she’s at a third of her strength for a rematch she doesn’t want. Beating Nick was a goal but she didn’t need to do it twice in a day! The worst part is she is at his mercy in this scenario; getting a reprieve only if he needs one. He could very well best her and then she’s even more tired defending third place.

“Is it sinking in? Third place is its own special hell. Let’s knock Valerie into it.” He smiled.

“And how do we manage that exactly?”

“By knocking me into it! I want to take a dive in our match. A good one. The two of us will put on a spectacle to show our might that ends with me losing. This will throw everyone off into thinking you are exceptionally strong and-”

“Are you saying I’m not!” She folded her arms.

Nick chuckled nervously. “Let me finish before you get upset. Yes, you're strong, but will think you’re stronger than me by a decent margin. This is where the mind games kick in because the two of us haven’t actually used that much energy, but the other contestants don’t know that.”

Eliza rubbed her chin. “You…want them to fight you?”

“Exactly. No one's gonna pass up the opportunity to get a leg up on me. You know that better than anyone. Unfortunately for them, I’ll actually be trying against them and I fully intend to go end them quickly. This does multiple things. It makes the gap between the top three look bigger, allows me to stir the lower ranks rotation, keeps you rested, and makes Valerie anxious because you will not immediately challenge her. We are going to burn time until it gets to a point that once she’s knocked out of first, getting back up will be nearly impossible.”

“I fail to see how that’s possible. If she’s rested-”

“That’s just it, she won’t be. You can challenge her freely and not worry about me for most of the tournament. Use the time to learn how to fight her then I’ll challenge you again and win, then immediately go fight her. You’ll briefly be back in third place but fourth place holders will be exhausted and think twice about challenging you, Eliza Marigold; the person who beat Nicholas Schnee.”

“You made a safety net for third”

“I made a safety net for you! I will beat Valerie so she’ll fall to second place and that’s where you jump in to knock her to third. By that point she’ll have to wait and losing twice in a row is gonna give people ideas. Even if she beats them it’ll be a race against the clock and you can challenge me to avoid fighting her if it comes down to that. Boom, guaranteed second place for you with a potential at first place.”

The plan was insane, daring, and yet clearly thought of. “This is…a lot. Not to mention not full proof. What if I actually don’t need you to weaken Valerie and can take first place for myself?”

“Then by all means take it. I’ll knock Valerie to third myself and then fight you. Careful though. If I win you’re stuck with her and plenty of time you have to stall.”

She didn’t like the sound of that. “What if I refuse this off altogether?”

“That’s fine. We’ll just all have to do our best.”

“Your entire plan hinges on you beating Valerie. What if-”

“I’ll win.” He deadpanned. “I can take her this year. No questions about it.”

He started giving that same exact look he did a few days ago. “Not that I’m not interested but this feels a little unlike you.”

“Is that bad? People are always saying I’m too soft around Valerie. This is a tournament and there’s no rules against teamwork. You in?”

He hopped down and extended his hand. Nick did his best to seem casual about all of this but it was clear to Eliza he was pretty frustrated at Valerie. It wasn’t her place to pry. If he was willing to go this far then she might as well keep an eye on the entire thing. A chance to progress, and a good event. As long as those two things happened without incident then she had no reason to object. Then there was the other problem. She already helped him train…Eliza shook his hand.

“Glad to do business with you. I guess it’s only fair now that I give you the choice to stop training me. Wouldn’t want this to feel like I’ve gained so much tangible progress while yours relies on-”

Eliza tossed him his sword. “Quit with the chivalrous act. If I don’t train you to my standards then I’m positive your plan is bound to fall apart. Helping you here can only benefit me, or did you already forget I could teach you a thousand ways to improve your glyphs and still even the playing field?” She made another silver orb.

Nick gulped. He actually did forget how big of a pain in the ass it was gonna be fighting her. Semblance training doesn’t mean much if you can’t use it. “Have I ever told you that you can be terrifying and comforting at the same time?”

“Nobility should be just that. It’s why people like your face so much whenever you look like you beat the crap out of somebody.”

“People like my face because I’m handsome!!!”

“Less chitchat. More candle lighting.”

Nick hunched over in defeat. Marigolds, what can you do with them?

[anystalker707]

the famous living dead

Pairing: Gerard x Reader Genre: Fluff/Angst Word count: +- 4 000 Summary: [Corpse Bride AU] Gerard is suddenly married to a corpse Requested on Wattpad

[3rd person pov]

Gerard sighed in frustration as walking between the trees. If anything, the melancholic vibe of the woods matched his feelings exactly. Apart from needing to deal with the annoying bride, Eliza – who didn't do anything apart from complaining since they met each other earlier that day –, he couldn't memorize the vows, what increased his stress.

Running a hand through his hair, he tried repeating the vows just to mess up with it once more. Another frustrated breath escaped his lips.

The repeated fails left him in the verge of giving up, but Gerard was determined to get it right. A few crows rested on the old oak tree he stopped next to, pausing. Gerard took a deep breath before he started talking.

"With this candle, I will..." He trailed off, suddenly met with a blank in his mind that he wasn't ready for. Shaking his head, he sighed. "I will set your mother on fine," he finished in frustration, facepalming, and sat down on the fallen trunk that laid not too far from him.

Gerard took the wedding ring from the coat's pocket and stared at it for a moment. It didn't bring him any happiness and shared no differences with a chain, in his perspective. Remembering how annoying the bride demonstrated gave him great stress, certain desperation even, since it was clear he was going to be stuck in a predictably deplorable marriage for most likely the rest of his life.

Well, if that was going to happen anyways, he better do it properly.

He took a deep breath as standing up, the ring between his fingers like if he was to slip it in the bride's finger already. "With this hand," the words left his lips with confidence, in a way it even looked like he was in the ceremony already, "I'll lift your sorrows. Your cup will never empty, for I will be your wine."

As Gerard spoke, he gradually gained more security, moving his hands and turning on his place dramatically. Saying it correctly brought him a momentary pleased feeling as he tossed the ring in the air before catching it again with a smile. He raised his eyebrows, nodding at himself with approval, looking around as the imaginary people – who were actually just the trees – praised him.

He leaned down as breaking a stick from a fallen trunk's branch.

"With this candle," Gerard said, pretending the stick was a candle and 'lighting it', throwing it aside right next. "I will light your way in the darkness. With this ring," he held up the wedding band, kneeling down in front of what seemed to be more dry branches, though in the shape of a hand. "I ask you to be mine." He slipped the ring on the dry wood, smiling with another wave of pride hitting him.

Reality suddenly hit Gerard again and he was slightly startled by the wind suddenly howling and the crows growing agitated. Worry started filling his chest with the birds weirdly observing him. Birds didn't act like that... did they?

His attention was held enough for him to not notice the 'dry branch' moving, but also enough to almost give him a heart attack when it wrapped itself around his wrist and started pulling him down.

Gerard gasped as trying to pull away from the grasp, not knowing if he should be more worried about it or the birds starting to fly around. In panic, he started trying pulling his arm out of the hole it had been stuck in and, when he finally did so, a terrified scream escaped his lips seeing how the hand gripped around his wrist, noticing it wasn't wood at all.

He shook his arm until the hand let go and Gerard's attention was suddenly snatched by the place where the hand had originally been in. The dirt moved like if there was something under it, making him freeze, terrified in anticipation.

[Your pov]

I struggle a bit to bring myself out of the hole, even more without half an arm, but the excitement motivates me into doing it. My eyes land on the guy who said the vows with certain anxiety and I contain a smile as looking down at his scared form.

"I do," I say, making him gasp and start backing away as I reach down a hand to help him up. Unfortunately, he continues too scared; he quickly stands up and starts running away. Well, it's not like he'll get out of here easily, so I follow him calmly, grabbing my hand back in the way.

The guy ends up tripping when going down a rock, his head hitting against the gravestone, but he doesn't seem to mind the pain, sitting up with his back against it. His wide eyes observe me walking after him with fear. He continues with the scared gasps as clumsily backing away until he's up to his feet again.

He runs. And hits a tree.

Seeing me approaching, he tries to run just to hit it again. Great job.

Our chase continues until he reaches the bridge, probably thinking I ended up losing him. The crows continue cawing behind him, more of showing me where he went before returning to the woods. His terrified face gains relief as he leans back against the wall of the bridge, looking around frantically.

A last sigh comes from him, calming down with thinking I really stopped chasing him. The look on his face, however, when he notices me right behind him is hilarious, but I say nothing, setting my hands on his shoulders and leaning in for a kiss.

.

"A new arrival," Frank says in amusement as Gerard's eyes open; a drink in hand as Frank stands beside me, observing the other intently just like me, Ray and Bert. Or maybe everyone else in the bar.

"He must've fainted," I add, like if Gerard was still out. Carefully, I reach a hand under his neck – his eyes go wide at my exposed bones. "Are you all right?" I question, worried.

"What-? What happened?" He asks, still looking around in panic.

"Oh, looks like we've got ourselves a breather." Frank comments in amusement. "He's still soft," he said. The poking on Gerard's chest scares him, sending the living man backing away once again, struggling up to his feet.

"A toast, then," Ray says with a lazy grin, raising his glass lightly in the air. A clinking sound comes from it as it touches Bert's, both grinning. "To the newlyweds."

"Newlyweds...?" Gerard asks in confusion.

"In the woods," I tell him, placing a hand on his shoulder, "you said your vows so perfectly." A smile curls my lips up as I show him the wedding band around my boney finger.

"I did?" He asks hesitantly before a wave of realization – or is it defeat? – hits him. "I did!" With a sudden motion, his hands hold onto the counter. "Wake up!" He tells himself repeatedly, slamming his head against the wooden surface.

From this, things just turn into a momentary chaos; Gerard starts walking around, bumping into the others, more gasps coming from him as he jumps like a scared cat. It earns him a few concerned glares.

"K-Keep away!" He stutters and, in certain desperation, tries to get the sword lodged across Frank's torso. Not being able to remove it makes him a bit nervous, but it holds it towards everyone the same way. "I've got a- I've got a... dwarf. And I'm not afraid to use him." He tries to point the sword to towards the people next to him, sending Frank stumbling. "I want some questions. Now!"

Frank's face goes from confused to annoyed with Gerard's words. "I'm not that short, y'know? And you actually want answers, you dumb fuck, not questions." He rolled his eyes, playing lightly with the stitches starting in the corner of his mouth and following up his cheek. He's got a weird habit of playing with the stitches.

Gerard rolls his eyes. "Yeah, whatever. Where am I? Who are you?" The last question is directed to me.

"Eh," I twist my mouth lightly, shrugging a shoulder. "It's kind of a long story."

"Yeah, a good story, tho," Frank nods, looking back at Gerard, showing him thumbs up. With a yelp, he immediately lets go of the sword.

~

"Gerard? Where are you?" I ask as walking around the city, looking for him among the dead walking around. "Gerard?" I ask again, sighing, but a smile makes its way to my lips when I notice him in the corner.

Gerard runs around frantically and, though he can hide, there's the advantage that I obviously know the city better than him. It's also easy following his scared gasps and cries. I chuckle and, noticing him climbing to the cliff, I already wait for him there. He gasps when noticing he grabbed my ankle.

"You could've used the stairs," I tell him with a chuckle, reaching down to help Gerard up. "It's beautiful up here," I say, extending a hand towards the city below us. "It always takes my breath away. Or would, if I had one." A laugh escapes my lips. "Come on," I take his hand in mine, pulling him along with me to sit down on a bench.

"Look," Gerard says hesitantly once we sit down on the wooden bench, still seeming disturbed. "I'm terribly sorry about what's happened to you and I'd like to help, but I really need to get home."

"This is your home now!" I tell him, stating the obvious.

"But I don't even know your name," he throws his hands in the air lightly, furrowing his eyebrows. The scared air continues over Gerard's features and in the way he jumps lightly whenever I do something.

"It's (y/n)." I say with a smile; he repeats it slowly, almost absentmindedly, while looking at me, like if finally taking in all the details of my face. It does make me a bit flustered. We're stuck there for a long moment with our gazes locked, until reality hits me again.

"Oh, I've got something for you!" I say with a smile, grabbing a box I've brought and handing it to him. "Consider it a wedding gift," I wink, not minding how tense he still seems to be.

Gerard hesitantly takes the box in hand and undoes the ribbon before opening the box. He grabs the pen, that's shaped like a bone, but probably doesn't understand what's it. "Erm," an awkward glance is thrown my way, "thank you...?"

I roll my eyes, "I found out you liked drawing and I got you this." Opening the box properly, I show him the sketchbook and the ink he ignored. "It's some sort of special ink and paper. You'll find out later when you use it." I smile, scanning Gerard's face to see if he liked it. There's a hint of happiness under all the confusion.

He took the ink flask in hand, removing the cork to take a look at it and smell the liquid briefly before returning it to the box. Then, Gerard grabs the sketchbook, rubbing one of the pages between two fingers as analyzing the texture – he lets out an interested hum. The items are certainly nothing like whatever he's ever seen. Well, in that state, actually.

"Mother never approved me drawing..." Gerard trails off, sadly. "But then again, she never approved of anything." His lips press together in a sad smile.

"Oh?" I raise an eyebrow, unconsciously mirroring his smile. "Do you think she would've approved me?"

"Heh," he shoots me a side grin as closing the box again. "You're lucky you'll never have to meet her." There's a pause and he hums thoughtfully, setting the box aside. "Well, actually..."

~

"Okay, so," Ray raises a hand to scratch his head, consequently getting a few of his curls messy – he looks at the strands with a frustrated frown, trying to fix them, but gives up and looks at the book in his hand again. "Are you sure you want to get up there? I mean-" He pauses hearing the sound of a pile of books falling, "Frank, I already told you to stop!" A grumbling comes in response from the same direction, but all Ray does is to roll his eyes.

"Ah, yeah, it's important for me," Gerard says with certain anxiety. "Us." He adds after seeing me looking at him, pressing his lips together in a smile.

Ray slowly nodded, shrugging a bit though he clearly seems to not understand the purpose of this yet. "Well, I've got something here. You just need to say hopscotch if you want to return."

.

"I spent so long in the darkness," I say with a smile as looking up with a smile, "I'd almost forgot how beautiful the moonlight is." A relieved sigh escapes my lips as I look around the place; well, it's not exactly that I missed the land of the living, but it's a nice place. Grinning, I take Gerard's hand in mine and start walking, but I'm forced to stop noticing he hadn't moved.

"Erm, hold on," he placed a hand on my shoulder, pushing me gently to sit down on the trunk of a fallen tree. His hand goes from my shoulder to my face, cupping it lightly, making me a bit flustered and kinda happy with it. "I guess I should prepare mother and father for the news. I'm going ahead and you wait here, okay?"

"Well, okay." I smile again, raising my eyebrows lightly. I've gotta admit it does make me a bit anxious.

"I won't be long," Gerard reassures me, observing me for a few seconds and starting to run off after I nod in comprehension.

And I wait. Wait. Wait.

Maybe... something happened? – The though crosses my mind as I look around, seeking for a sign that he's coming back, but I'm met with nothing. I guess I should check on him and it won't be that difficult with all the footprints.

Eventually, I find Gerard. He stands outside the door of a house, seeming to listen to what's going on in there before he goes to climb up the balcony. It takes me a bit of struggling, but I eventually do the same, a bit confused and kind of angry for being left there for so long.

Well, maybe I shouldn't be so angry. Gerard talks with two other people – his parents? – and doesn't seem to notice me just yet. However, my feelings return when I hear his faint voice coming from the inside.

"I- I don't really know what the fuck happened. It was unexpected, accidental, I swear," Gerard said in obvious desperation, tugging lightly on his own hair then throwing his hands in the air. "Suddenly, I'm married to a corpse." The tone he says it in isn't very... pleased; it makes my heart sink. "I- Damn, I don't know how the fuck I get rid of-" He freezes his eyes widening once landing on me.

Gerard obviously notices my angry gaze, what brings a worried air to his features. A few terrified cries echo in the room once I suddenly walk in, marching towards Gerard. He tries to stutter a few excuses, but hopscotch leaves my lips before he's actually able to do anything.

Suddenly, we're back to Ray's place, with the usual bickering in the background, of Ray telling Frank and Bert to not touch his things and more books falling to the floor.

"You lied to me!" I tell Gerard, throwing him away from me; he loses his balance, taking a few steps back. "You were trying to get away from me!" I say indignantly, sighing sharply as turning my back to him. Trying to not let my tears escape my eyes, I wipe them away before they can even fall, but it sends one of my eyes to the floor. Damn, I waited for so long and when I finally find someone, they try to get away from me.

A sigh comes from Gerard, followed by a few footsteps before he's right behind me. "You don't understand," he says softly, touching my shoulder, "this just can't work. The circumstances we're under..." He trails off, gazing at me expectantly, but I do nothing asides from taking my eye back. "We're different!"

"And?" I raise an eyebrow at him, "you should've fucking thought about that before you asked me!" I shoot him a glare, raising my left hand momentarily.

"Can't you fucking understand?" He snaps in disbelief, eyeing me amused. "It was an accident! I wouldn't ever marry you!"

His words are like a bucket of ice throw on me. I freeze, not knowing what to say nor wanting to say anything. Sighing, I just turn around to walk out of there, with my heart heavy in my chest.

"Look, I'm sorry for earlier." Gerard says regretfully, sitting down beside me. His voice is quiet under the piano notes as I continue to play the instrument, not wanting to hear whatever he's got to say, not even looking up from the black and white keys. A sigh comes from Gerard.

"I'm really sorry, I said that without thinking, I don't mean it," he insists. "I don't even know you properly and, by what I've seen, you're an amazing person." By the corner of my eyes, I'm able to see him smiling at me, his eyes flickering over my face, searching for a response to his words, as minimum as it may be. There's none.

Apparently, Gerard gives up on trying to apologize, his attention averting to the piano. He takes in a deep breath before starting to play with me. The new notes are like a perfect complement to the ones I play. I even let myself appreciate the combination of both for a moment before starting to play faster, trying to cut him off.

Gerard is surprisingly able to keep up with me, looking at me with a smile that I have to hold myself back to not mirror. At some point, my forearm ends up detaching from me, it goes down the piano, playing the notes I'm not able to reach from my place and crawls up Gerard's arm. He doesn't seem bothered by it, smiling as seeing my arm go the way up to his shoulder.

"Sorry," I say, kinda embarrassed, "I got a little bit too excited."

"It's fine," he chuckles, taking the part of my arm and putting it back on place. His hand goes down my forearm until meeting mine and holding it. "I like your excitement."

Again, Gerard's eyes lock mine in a strong gaze, though now he tries more of transmitting comfort than analyzing me this time. His gaze is kind of shy, like if finally allowing himself to act normally around me and know me; what I highly appreciate. It seems like he's about to say something, but someone shouting by the other side of the bar startles us, breaking the mood we're set in. Both of us chuckle lightly as moving away, our eyes lingering over each other before we look away.

"So..." Gerard starts, looking at me again with a smile. "Tell me about yourself..."

.

"And then he asked me to tell him about myself, we spent a long time talking and... Now here I am." I flash a small smile to the three, glancing at them before my eyes fall back to watching my hands on my lap.

We're sitting on the ground in the kind of alley behind the bar, talking with each other while having a few drinks. It's quite pleasing and calming, after all the stress.

"Things seem to be going on very well, that's amazing!" Ray smiles at me, looking up from his book for a second. "And to think he was throwing all that tantrum some hours ago..." He raises his eyebrows lightly.

"Damn, true, what the fuck." Frank says in an indignant tone, furrowing his eyebrows at the nothing as he thinks. "Though he was mostly scared and surprised earlier. It's a good thing he stopped to think and all, tho. He'll see you're an amazing person," he grins and I smile shyly as thanking him.

"Whatever goes through the living's heads, huh," Bert says, his voice distant as most of his attention seems to be focused on balancing a glass over his knee.

"Not like you weren't alive at some point," I reply, rolling my eyes with a chuckle.

"Eh, it's been so long," he furrows his eyebrows in frustration, turning to me. His intention of continuing to speak is ruined when the neglected glass falls from his knee, cracking as hitting the ground – all of us laugh at his pout.

"Happy ever after," Frank tells me after a few silent seconds. "Until death do you apart... Or something like this." His words make both of us laugh and, as the laughter dies, reality hits me.

"Well, until death do us apart..." I say thoughtfully and it takes a moment, but he understands it too.

"Ah, yeah, exactly this point that I wanted to discuss with you," Ray speaks up, adjusting his position as looking at me. "Well, you know the vows and since you're already dead, so... it kind of doesn't count, y'know...?" He says carefully, a bit awkwardly, like if afraid of my reaction.

A gasp escapes me after I reason it. "Oh, fuck, true." I curse, suddenly growing a bit desperate. "And how-"

"But," Ray cuts me off, "there's a way to fix it. To repeat the vows. The only problem is that... he would need to be dead." He raises his eyebrows with certain worry, though I think most of it is about my response.

"Eh, but- No, hell." I stutter, stumbling over my own words while trying to process it all.

"Oh, murder? Sign me in!" Bert says, not even paying proper attention to the conversation again. The comment earns him a slap on the back of his head coming from Frank – I would've laughed at them if my worry wasn't so overwhelming.

"That's too much, I wouldn't ask him to do it to himself..." I sigh, holding my head in my hands as looking down, my fingers tangling with my hair in stress. "He wasn't even happy with marrying me, I don't think he'd take it to this level..."

"Then I guess I'd like to surprise you." An awkward, new voice reaches my ears, making me tense up a bit. "I'm up to doing it. I'm up to marrying you, whatever it takes."

In the brief moment of silence, Ray, Frank and I look between each other – both of them shoot me rather happy, encouraging looks. Still a bit insecure, I look back to Gerard. He's about to continue, but pauses seeing Frank and Ray standing up to leave, dragging Bert along with them.

Gerard sighs before he carefully sitting down beside me. He takes my hand in his, playing with my fingers, until he starts talking again.

"I believe I should give you a chance because you're a wonderful person," he says, his eyes still not meeting mine. "Not to mention, I believe it's much better to stay here with you than anything else. My bride... Eh, not anymore. Eliza seems to be batshit crazy and no one I know understands me as well as you do, even if we haven't known each other for long." He smiles genuinely.

"You make me feel well, to a point I didn't even know to be possible, so..." Gerard trails off, finally looking up at me, though there's clear insecurity behind his eyes. "I'm staying. With you."

Knowing this makes me extremely happy, though I'm still a bit afraid it might not be the right choice. Before I'm able to question anything, I'm surprised – once more – by Gerard's lips being pressed to mine in a loving kiss that reassures me he's certain about his choice. I try to kiss back with the same feeling. I'm usually not able to feel cold and heat, but I'm able to feel how warm his lips are against mine.

"Thank you," I mutter as pulling away, grinning stupidly.

"You don't need to thank me," Gerard furrows his eyebrows lightly at me. He smiles before pulling me to another kiss.

[missallsundayyy]

Bandit and A School Girl

For today's fic its gon be bout my BIGGEST crush EVER. CHROLLO FUCKING LUCILFER. So I actually wrote more for this fic I think this is part 5 or sumn but I decide that this is my favourite part to post on this blog so here u go. Something bout Chrollo being a sugar fucking daddy turns me on so hard ON GOD. YES Im a Chrollo Stan and I'll always be ~~~ I actually have this fit posted somewhere as well and IF you guys want more parts just tell me & I'll post it here. Oh and also I don't really write with OC's I guess its just my preference I would usually come out with my own name but in this case I am borrowing a haracter from Seven Deadly Sins......Elizabeth Liones simply because she's the perfect character to portray my fic vision.

"I know that stare and look. Don't. There's something wrong about her. Elizabeth is one of the hottest girls on our campus but boys that goes on a date with her never want to talk to her or even look at her again. Despite that.......she's very smart and also one of the top students here." a boy her age said to Chrollo while he was waiting for Elizabeth to end her class.

He found this interesting, he was getting to know more about her without her telling him. He had already seen first hand that she can be erratic but this was from another pov of the girl.

"Do you think I'm compatible with her then?" Chrollo's demeanor changed to one of those cheeky school boys that had a crush on a ridiculously pretty highschool girl. The brown haired boy laughed and scratched his head "You look much older than Elizabeth and you're probably not from this school. Judging by your appearance and body posture, you're probably a very determined person and also a confident man." the random guy briefly summarised him. Chrollo laughed "Your observation explanations must be a mandatory skill here I guess" he said .

"To be honest, most of us are just trying. God seemed to gift some students here with high IQ and abilities to absorb every knowledge given to them in a heartbeat and Elizabeth is one of them. I'm quite jealous" he joked. "Well don't say I didn't warn you, Elizabeth is very attractive but she's suspicious at the same time and I don't mean it in a good way" Chrollo nodded at the guy's departure with a smile before returning his gaze to Elizabeth "You might be a serpent in disguise " he mentally thought.

"You're not some ordinary guy with a crush yourself" the random student muttered to himself, looking back to Chrollo giving him one last suspicious glance.

Chrollo of course felt the hostile glance, he might be just trying to pursue someone he likes but he will never let his guard down, He smiled to himself

"Elite school indeed."

TIME SKIP

"You know you didn't have to fetch me from class, my dorm is on this campus." Elizabeth said sweetly to Chrollo.

They were walking towards the campus café. "Well there's nothing wrong about wanting to see the girl I like isn't it" he flirted playfully. To anyone that knew Chrollo will find his current behaviour mystifying, he never showed such emotions with anyone but was able to with Elizabeth.

"If you like me so much why don't we go on dates like girlfriend and boyfriends" she joked cutely. He smiled at her not so subtle hint. "If you want me to take you on date you should have just asked. I would love nothing more to go out with you, afterall how can I turn down such a request when a young attractive schoolgirl wants to go out with an old man like me" he teased and Elizabeth burst out laughing. "Oh! so you agree I'm an old man then" he raised his brows down at her. She shook her head still laughing, "You know I don't think that way and I think you're a very very handsome man Chrollo" she said shyly, her face tinted with a slight blush.

"Do you like this school Elizabeth? Are you enjoying yourself?'' They sat down on a bench on the campus grounds and Elizabeth leaned on Chrollo's shoulder. "Oh god that was such a long lecture, I am mentally tired" she whined softly but continued "I love studying in this school but I know and feel there's more that I can learn. It's not enough for me here." she said whilst playing with the sleeves of his buttoned up shirt.

He looked so handsome Elizabeth felt like jumping onto him right now. She was zoning out on him , her mind went dirty and she suddenly had a brilliant idea, thrilling if she would say so herself.

"I want to show you something, Chrollo! Come!"

She abruptly stood up and took his hand and dragged him with her towards the campus. Chrollo smiled, she was tiredly whining one second and dragging him around the next.

Elizabeth dragged Chrollo into her Constitutional classroom that was now empty.

"I hate this class the most, it's repetitive and the hours are ridiculous" Elizabeth complained.

Chrollo took the classroom layout into mind "So you want me to burn this class for you my dear?" he asked seriously. Elizabeth turned to him and laughed at his words "You're funny you know that, we're not here for public vandalism" she said softly walking towards him innocently.

Elizabeth grabbed Chrollo's collar and kissed him roughly. His hands instantly grabbed her waists and her small hands roamed and slowly crept its way under his white shirt. Her palms greedily roamed his hard abs, even if she didn't have a view of him, touching him made her see his glory in her mind. She had already memorized him mentally and there is no way she could forget. Her lips left his and she planted small kisses down his throat and her tongue gilded back up teasingly against his Adam's apple. Her lips planted small kisses and she went towards his right right ear.

"We're here so I can suck you off"

She whispered and her right hand palmed his hardening cock through his pants, her voice filled with lust she couldn't contain herself, everytime she thought of him in class she got so god damn fucking wet. Just by the thought of him. He grunt at her vulgar words, he became harder just by her words. "You're very naughty Elizabeth, the classroom is not locked. What if a lecturer comes in then?" he was struggling to finish his sentence because her hand movements were getting too much for him. "Then I'll be in trouble danchou......" moaned in his ear. That was the last straw for him. He grabbed her silver hair roughly and yanked her down in front of his crotch.

"You better stop talking like that and put me in that sweet mouth of yours." he growled at her. Elizabeth giggled at his request, her small hands hurriedly fumble with his pants and in a second she had him down her throat. "fuckkkkk..el..elizabet..th yo..you're such a good fucking girl" he moaned and encouraged her actions. His fingers run through her silky smooth hair, appreciating her feminine features greatly. The look she gave sucking his cock like that, the lewd sounds from her doing the deed. The sloppy wet sound echoing throughout her classroom accompanied by her soft moans of enjoyment made him want to stop her and ram her against one of these school desks. He decided against the idea because he loved how determined the sexy young girl was in giving him pleasure like this. Her head bobbed up and down, coating his very large member with her saliva, it was as if she was in her own world.

Elizabeth was truly enjoying what she was doing, she didn't feel forced or obligated to suck him, doing this felt like an honour and she was going to show him that nobody was as good as her. "mhhmmm....." she took his cock out of her mouth with a soft 'plop' sound and licked viciously bottom to top "you're so fuc..mmmm..king big Chrollo, can...have this in my mouth everyddayy??..." he almost came to her dirty talks. "This will be...uhh..the only fucking...cock in that pretty mouth of yours Elizabeth.." she nodded at his words, giving herself 100% to him.

"You're the only one that I will pleasure, no other man will feel my lips, mouth, body but you..." she said, locking her eyes with his. The eye contact was a promise for the both of them, no one will ever touch them in such a way. "Good...show me how good you are for me and make me cum Elizabeth." he said yanking her head roughly making her take him wholly once again.

"mmmmhhh!" the soft noises she was making and the view of her body on her knees with her skirt riding up her thighs flashing him a generous amount of her thick and soft thighs.

Her tongue licked the tip of his head in a teasing manner before roughly sucking his cock again. His large hands had her hair in a ponytail "yes...yes fuck that cock with your mouth.." he urged her, he was almost there and it took Elizabeth to withdraw his cock from her mouth and spitting on it seductively before taking him all the way down again.

"shit! ah..... fucck! fuck Elizabeth!" he grunted and release his seed into her pretty mouth and he made sure to empty everything he got into her mouth. He still had a tight grip on her hair and she was moaning at his orgasm, it was such a godly sight for her.

"mmmmmm that's so much cum down my throat Chrollo.." her voice was soft and innocent, she could feel how sore her throat was becoming. He let go of her hair and closed his eyes, processing the euphoric feeling he just felt because of her efforts. "How many boys have you practiced on, the way your mouth worked was wonders" he complimented her. She giggled and stood up "Well I have dated a few boys in this campus and i have done things occasionally with them."

He had already adjusted himself and his pants was back on, he then remembered what the guy said to him when he was waiting for Elizabeth just now. "You've had boyfriends before you, I don't like it. Shall I kill your past lovers?" he said bluntly. Elizabeth laughed, he could be so cute yet so horrific at the same time

"All the boys in this campus combined could never be as handsome as you" she said.

"Take me to my room and lets have fun" she said innocently but already was walking out of the classroom. He laughed and trailed behind her shaking his head.

"Anything you want Elizabeth"

[flowesona]

The Fool - Yandere! Jungkook x reader

The Tarot Series

“Here, kitty cat.” Jungkook clicked his tongue, holding out his hand to the small creature curled up by the wall. The animal hissed, shrinking away.

The young boy huffed in frustration. If only the cat would come a bit closer he would be able to see the name-tag and find its phone number. But as soon as he had given up he got a new idea and rushed inside.

“Can I have some tuna?” He tugged at his mother’s skirt eagerly.

“Now, you shouldn’t eat between meals.” She frowned, ruffling his hair with one hand as she thumbed her book in the other.

“No, it’s for the cat! In the garden! He must be hungry!” Jungkook whined.

“Is it a stray? You shouldn’t play with it sweetie, it might be infested with fleas or-”

“No! I...I want to take care of h-him… he must be so scared…” Jungkook blubbered, eyes tearing up. His mother tutted in pity, wiping his eyes before walking over to one of the cupboards too high for Jungkook’s chubby hands to reach and finding the tin.

With a delightful treat for the cat Jungkook approaches it once more, holding the bowl out in front of him with his mother’s caution in mind. The cat was perfectly receptive of his offering and tucked in right away, giving Jungkook the slim opportunity to twist its collar around and peak at the name-tag. The series of numbers imprinted into the metal were just what he needed, yet there was no way a seven-year-old could remember such a pattern when he could barely count to 100.

Once the animal had finished its meal and was licking its lips, Jungkook lifted it up in his arms. There was a slight bit of hissing and some struggling but it was soon docile enough to be carried into their house.

“Jungkook, put that thing down!” His mother scolded, but he looked at her with such an intense stubbornness she didn’t try to snatch it away.

“There’s a phone number.” He showed her, still clutching the animal tightly to his chest. 

Jungkook’s mother sighed before complacently picking up the phone.

*.·:·.☽✧    ✦    ✧☾.·:·.*

“Eliza!” The young boy cringed at the shrill voice, as the cat he had rescued was scooped up into the arms of a girl of a similar age. 

“Eliza? That’s his name?” Jungkook butted in the the sentimental moment.

“Don’t be silly. Eliza’s a girl.” The girl smiled, nuzzling her nose into the beloved pet’s head. In the background, an adult woman was feverishly thanking Jungkook’s mother.

“(Y/N) has been completely distraught. I thought after one day it would return, but after three I just told her that Eliza had passed on and we would buy her another, but she refused.” She explained, watching her daughter’s delighted expression.

“We owe really owe you. Anything we could possibly give you, please just say the word. Now come on, (Y/N).” 

Jungkook sniffled as the happy family left. He felt empty, dragging his heels as he went to his bedroom. He wanted the happiness, the companionship that (Y/N) had with her cat. He was tired of being lonely. And with that in mind, he knew what he wanted.

*.·:·.☽✧    ✦    ✧☾.·:·.*

The toy mouse was made out of felt and had no kind of embellishments but it was enough to keep Eliza entertained as Jungkook dangled it above her.

“Kids? I have some snacks!” (Y/N)’s mother placed the tray of milk and cookies next to the rug. Jungkook nodded politely but didn’t touch them, just watching Eliza. But he quickly grew bored, throwing the toy across the room as Eliza scarpered after it.

“It’s your turn to play now.” He said abruptly before picking up a cookie. Seeing her grumble and search for the discarded toy before fussing over her cat, Jungkook realised that observing was far more entertaining. Seeing the happiness on (Y/N)’s face, the mewls of Eliza was what delighted him. As if they were a happy family, like in one of his books.

“(Y/N)...” Jungkook started, shuffling closer on the carpet. “Do you think we can be friends?”

“As long as you stay clean.” (Y/N) wiped at the crumbs on the corner of his mouth with an embroidered handkerchief, tutting. “You can’t be my friend if you get crumbs all over the floor.”

“But we can be friends? And take care of each other and get married and live together?!” The excitement was uncontainable. Suddenly, Jungkook knew what he wanted to do in his future, and he couldn’t wait to grow up and live the perfect life.

(Y/N) paused, overwhelmed by his forwardness and all the foreign concepts but she nodded.

“Sure. Can I have the last cookie?” Jungkook eagerly nodded, pushing the plate towards her. He would always give her what she deserved.

*.·:·.☽✧    ✦    ✧☾.·:·.*

“What do you think about him?” A fifteen-year-old (Y/N) sighed, flipping her screen around so her best friend could peer at the picture.

Jungkook wrinkled his nose.

“He’s ugly and probably riddled with diseases.” He said, lightly easing the phone out of her hands. “I’ll get him to back off for you.”

“No, don’t do that. I like him, he’s cute.” (Y/N) tried to steal her phone back, but he used his height advantage to hold it far above her head. Her teenage hormones and desire for a boyfriend spurred (Y/N) to jump up on her tiptoes trying desperately to salvage her change of a date, but she was no match for Jungkook, who was already typing a scathing reply with one hand, the other pushing (Y/N)’s head down.

Once he’d sent it, he dropped the phone in (Y/N)’s hands apathetically.

“I swear why do you always get in the way of me getting a boyfriend? You’re so annoying Jungkookie.” She pouted, scanning the message of rejection he’d sent.

“You don’t need a boyfriend. You have me.” Jungkook couldn’t help but be irritated at her attitude. After he’d put aside his desires to maintain their relationship, to hold up on his promise to stay clean and care for each other, the way that (Y/N) disregarded his feelings and commitment stung.

“That doesn’t count.” (Y/N) groaned, flopping onto the bed with one hand outstretched to stroke a disgruntled elderly Eliza. “I need a real boyfriend.”

“Why do you want a boyfriend when you have a husband?” Jungkook muttered rhetorically under his breath, a renewed sense of confidence building up in the fight to win his girl.

*.·:·.☽✧    ✦    ✧☾.·:·.*

The old cat was happy enough chowing down on some sardines Jungkook had picked up from the convenience store, giving a happy purr as he ran a hand down her back. Despite the fight that the stubborn cat had put up in the first place, once food had been offered she was happy to stay with Jungkook for a while.

Finally, his phone started ringing. Once, and he let it go to voicemail. Then again, and after a few rings he picked up.

“Please, you have to help Jungkook, she’s gone missing, I don’t know where she’s wandered off to but it’s not safe, she could be hit by a car or worse-”

“Calm down, (Y/N). What happened?” Knowing full well that his plan was going just right, Jungkook was practically beaming.

“Eliza is gone, she’s not in any of her hiding spots, she’s not in our neighbour’s garden. Please, have you seen her?” (Y/N) wept, her heart pouring out over the phone line.

“I haven’t.” Jungkook answered simply, running a hand down Eliza’s tail as she stalked away from him to explore the rest of his bedroom.

“Can you help me find her? No matter the state she’s in, I just need to see her again.” (Y/N) begged. Jungkook could imagine the tears leaking from her beautiful eyes, yet he was silent for a moment, drawing out what he wanted from his girl. “I’ll owe you one. I swear, I’ll do anything if you can find her.”

Jungkook had to suppress his grin, standing up and reaching for the doorknob with one hand blocking Eliza from creeping out and blowing his cover.

“I’ll be there in two minutes.”

*.·:·.☽✧    ✦    ✧☾.·:·.*

The search for (Y/N)’s cat had been, unsurprisingly, unsuccessful. After an hour of relentless calling and knocking on doors, they had retired to (Y/N)’s kitchen, with her mother providing the forlorn teenagers with a tray of home baked cookies.

(Y/N) didn’t even touch them, staring glumly ahead with her head resting on her arms. Meanwhile, her companion graciously reached out to accept the sugar boost.

“How’d you get that nasty scratch Jungkookie?” (Y/N) asked suddenly, as he followed her eyes to stare at the thin line running up his wrist. He cursed silently before an excuse popped into his head.

“I-I was moving some weeds to see if Eliza was hiding in my garden so I-I guess they scratched me.” The slight stutter panicked Jungkook, as he was now convinced it was only a matter of time before she found out his secret plan. “I need to go home, Mom is probably worried about me. I’ll try looking again later.” 

With barely a farewell exchanged he had left the house and was walking back to his own, fear bubbling in his stomach. What if his mother had gone into his room and found Eliza, what if the cat had scratched all his belongings into oblivion, what if Eliza had actually died and he was going to break (Y/N)’s spirit rather than elate her?

With all the pondering in his head his pace quickened until he was at his home, dashing inside without greeting his mother and clambering up the stairs to burst into his room and find Eliza curled up on his bed, perfectly content.  He breathed a deep sigh of relief before taking a seat next to the old animal on his bed.

“Are you ready to make (Y/N) the second happiest person in the world?” He asked rhetorically, scratching Eliza’s head affectionately. “I am.” 

*.·:·.☽✧    ✦    ✧☾.·:·.*

(Y/N) had been sat at her desk, staring at the wall instead of doing her homework, when her mother called her down, saying she had a visitor. She didn’t budge for a second.

“It’s someone you’ll want to see!” Her mother yelled, but (Y/N) still refused to leave her lethargic state. 

There was some hushed whispering and the thump of clothed feet jogging up the stairs, before someone knocked at her door.

“Go away.” She groaned.

“(Y/N) I’m coming in.” Jungkook’s voice called out, before the door swung open.

“I’m not in the-” As she turned to face him, the sight of a bundle of fur in his arms elated her beyond belief.

“Oh my, oh, Eliza!” She instantly took the cat out of Jungkook’s arms and started cradling her in her own, despite the senior animal’s grunts. “Thank you so much Jungkookie, where on earth was she?” 

“Hiding in a corner of my garden. I guess I missed her on my first look.” (Y/N) didn’t question his story for one second, instead choosing to cuddle her beloved companion to her chest.

“Eliza you must be starving! Here, you can get some food from Mommy.” She placed her cat on the ground for the first time since they’d been reunited, letting Eliza plod to the kitchen.

“Jungkookie I don’t know how I could ever repay you-”

“I do.” The fifteen-year-old had a cheeky grin on his face as he spoke all too quickly, his eyes sparkling. “I want a kiss.”

“A-a kiss? B-but it’ll be my first time!” Jungkook was jumping up and down with joy internally knowing that he would be her first.

“You said you would give me anything?” He pressed, and (Y/N) nodded courageously.

“O-okay.” She didn’t protest as he tilted her head so she could meet his lips, nor when he finally did the deed. He noted with delight that her lips were soft and tasted faintly of the comfort chocolate she kept stashed away in the bottom of her drawer. She was addictive, but he soon drew away. No doubt there would be more opportunities to kiss her than just this once; they had their whole life ahead of them, together.

“T-that was…” (Y/N) was at a loss for words.“Nice?” 

Jungkook was a blushing mess when reality hit, that he had finally kissed the girl he was in love with, and that she liked it.

“C-Call me anytime you want to do it again.” He managed to say with some confidence to mask his giddy excitement. 

All kinds of new plans were starting to unfold. He’d happily kidnap someone else close to her, even torture them, just to make her more grateful when they return. Eliza wouldn’t be around for much longer, but he had plenty of ideas on how to keep (Y/N) close to him, to reap her rewards until finally she could love him as his final reward.

[olimpias]

THE JUGGLERS OF VENICE - A SHORT STORY BY ELIZA ORMANDY

words: 2k

warnings: death and i can’t be too explicit here, otherwise it would spoil some things, but ill say this: it’ll be very, very disturbing

general taglist: @stuff-lucie-wrote @buster-keaton @bookphobe @write-gallagher

tjov taglist: @withered-rose-unbreakable-lotus

persons of the mystery

Geronimo - a young Venetian gentleman 

Erasmo - his friend, the Marquese di Giglia

the old woman - a ticket seller

the man with the Gnaga - a fire-eater

Gaspare - a woodcarver

Floriana - the daughter of Erasmo’s cousin

When autumn arrives and the days begin to be shorter and darker than before, it happens every October that the jugglers come, in their colourful little wagons and their funny fringed costumes, to lure the already rather dusty population of Venice out of their incipient winter torpor and to tell them about foreign lands and people. Here, in the city of the arts, these vagabonds are quite highly regarded and, even though the Venetian way of life cannot exactly be described as colourless, they are seen as a welcome distraction in view of the approaching winter. There are a lot of rumours about the jugglers and a few years ago a child disappeared there whom I even knew (she was the daughter of a distant cousin of my friend Erasmo, the Marquese di Giglia), but even after an extensive search little Floriana could not be found and so her disappearance was explained that she must have fallen into a nearby canal and the jugglers were not further associated with it.

And so it happened that on the very day that the curious folk came to Venice, I was staying at Erasmo’s' palazzo and we passed the time excellently at his expense. "Listen, Geronimo," he said, when we had just emptied our second bottle of wine, "don't you remember that the jugglers are to come to town today?" "How right you are, Erasmo!" exclaimed I. "Let us leave at once, for it will soon be dark!" Briskly we got up, threw on our masks and cloaks and set off.

Never before had I seen the jugglers with my own eyes. Their reputation undoubtedly preceded them and it was said that they were godless, unbridled creatures who knew how to make others laugh but remained as cold as ice themselves. They had set up their quarters near a small square on the outskirts of the city. As dusk had already fallen, most of the visitors had left, and the cold wind was getting into our limbs, so that we wrapped ourselves even more tightly in our coats, but there was a wonderful glow from the little stalls and the most pleasurable music was playing, which made us soon forget all the dark stories about the jugglers.

A stooped old woman stood in front of the stalls selling tickets. She wore a blue and gold half mask, a large tricorn with a cock's feather and her lips were painted a rather quaint red. "Come in, come in!" she cried in a croaky voice. "Two tickets for the young gentlemen? Here you are, here you are, always come in, just don't hesitate! Let us whisk you away into another world! But be warned: no one who goes in comes out as he was!" At this she burst into cackling laughter and Erasmo grabbed my arm in fright.

We left the strange old woman behind and looked at the various stalls. There was the most artificial candy that could even move, daintily built little houses with tiny figures in them, there was a tent where a fortune teller was supposed to be and of course the jugglers, fire-eaters, acrobats and girls with apple-red cheeks offering candied fruit. Every now and then a stately white horse was brought in, with a feathered headdress and a lady in red on its back, wearing a red mask and a red veil.

Suddenly, from behind the stalls, a puppet with a large key in its back appeared and performed a wild dance before our eyes. It threw itself into the air, hit the ground, jumped up again, spun in circles, flailed its arms and shook itself before falling lifeless to the ground. Then a man dressed in black and red and wearing a Gnaga mask leapt into the circle that had formed around the doll and shouted, "Good evening, dear friends! What you have just seen here was one of the dolls of the famous Gaspare, known as the best woodcarver who ever set foot in Italy!" With these words he beckoned a small man of slight stature, dressed all in white, even his face was painted white, but his lips were ghastly red. Gaspare bowed awkwardly and grinned as if possessed. Hesitantly everyone applauded and he spoke in a squeaky voice: "I suppose if the gentlemen would like to take a look at my humble tent, I can show them some more of these amazing puppets."

Everyone entered the tent and Gaspare spread his arms. The walls were covered all over with dolls of all kinds, big, small, men, women, children and mythical creatures, but they all had one thing in common: their ugly, almost devilish laughter, which made me think of Gaspare himself.

But another, smaller area of the tent was separated by a cloth. "What might be behind this, Geronimo?" said Erasmo quietly to me, but Gaspare, who must have heard us, moved around and stared at us. "In this part are the particularly valuable dolls, those that are only brought out on special occasions." All the while he squinted his eyes. I felt uncomfortable in the face of this madman and wanted to urge Erasmo to leave, but Gaspare approached us again. "Would the young gentleman agree if I took his portrait?" he asked with another hypocritical grin, stroking Erasmo's cheek with his pale, bony finger. It is true, Erasmo is significantly more handsome than me and not infrequently I, who looks quite normal and unassuming, have envied him his thick, dark hair, which is entirely without a wig, and his noble, light brown skin, not to mention his flawless features, which immediately make everyone suspect his aristocratic origins. "Well, why not?" he replied politely, even managing a smile, which I give him credit for, knowing how much he hates it when other people touch him. "Don't do that!", I whispered in his ear. "Something is not right here!" But he squeezed my hand tenderly and followed the old man to a moth-eaten velvet armchair where Gaspare told him to settle down. Then he took out some paper and began to draw magically fine lines on it with ink, which joined together to form a face with incredible speed. It was unmistakably Erasmo's, albeit strangely distorted, with huge eyes, a tiny nose and a small, pointed mouth. When he had finished, Erasmo reached out to take the drawing, but the old man snatched it away. "I still need it," he cawed. "You can have it - later. That is, if you still need them then." With these words he slipped through the curtain into the hidden section and came out again a short time later, but without the drawing. "I have work to do now. Out, out!" He suddenly seemed very upset and really shooed us out of the tent.

When we got outside, it was dark and I noticed that we were the only visitors left. "Let's go," I said, pulling Erasmo with me. He allowed it, although reluctantly. The old woman laughed as we passed her.

We hadn't gone far when Erasmo stopped abruptly. "Let's go back!" he said, and I saw in his dark eyes the dangerous mixture of adventurousness and folly that was well known to me. Ever since we were children, I had tried to stop him from doing something stupid, but usually without success. This time was no exception. He looked at me pleadingly and I gave in. "All right," I said with a sigh. "But what do you intend to do anyway?" "I want to get my drawing," he replied, but I knew very well that he was merely using this pretext to get into the hidden area of Gaspare's tent.

So we crept back, under the cover of night. Fortunately, we were both dressed in dark clothes, so we didn't have to be afraid of any passers-by. We arrived at the stalls, but there was no one to be seen. The lights were no longer shining and the cheerful music had stopped. When everything looked so deserted and uninviting, I felt a bit queasy, but I took heart and followed Erasmo, who was walking carefully but purposefully towards Gaspares' tent. He too was nowhere to be seen, neither inside nor outside the tent. We peeked behind the curtain that divided the room into two halves. At first glance we saw nothing unusual. To our right was a workbench with some tools and a candle on it. It was burning. Opposite was a chest and before I could hold it back Erasmo had already opened it. I stepped closer.There were dolls in the chest too, but these ones looked different, more alive in a frightening way. Their eyes seemed to look straight into my heart and their red mouths seemed as if they wanted to say to me: "Listen, Geronimo, what are you doing here? You have meddled in something evil, you can believe us!" I suddenly became so scared that my throat tightened and I turned to Erasmo to ask him to get out of here once and for all, but he had stepped to the other side of the small room and was looking thoughtfully at a cloaked figure leaning in the corner. It reached about to his waist and was strangely slumped. "What do you think this is?" he asked, and even in the dim light of the single candle I could see his eyes shining with excitement.

Slowly he lifted the cloth, but when he saw what was hidden underneath, he stumbled back, startled. "Just look," he whispered with fear in his voice. I walked over and was also struck with fright. The doll looked exactly like little Floriana! Her light brown frizzy hair was twisted up into two elaborate curls, her wide brown eyes stared up at us trustingly and even her cute rosy mouth looked as if it might start talking at any moment.While we were still standing there, barely able to contain ourselves, the curtain was pulled aside behind us. We wheeled around. There stood Gaspare, trembling and gasping. He staggered towards us, yet it was not It was not his sudden appearance or his indistinct muttering that frightened me, but his face, in which the bright madness glowed.I believed he was about to attack us and for a moment I thought my number was up, but he paid us little heed. "Did the young gentlemen discover my masterpiece, eh?" he asked in a trembling voice. "I knew they would come back. You only have to take a look at their inquisitive noses!" He knelt down in front of the doll and clasped it with both arms. "My dearest Floriana," he whispered. "Just look!" He palmed her. "It's her hair and her clothes!" He opened her mouth. "And her teeth!" He jumped up, the doll in his arms. "Never will she grow up, never! She will always be my little daughter. And you," with these words he came up to Erasmo, "you will be my son, and I will delight in your beauty as I make you and Floriana dance, just for me!" His ghastly laughter shook the tent walls. Then at last I awoke from my rigidity of terror, seized Erasmo's arm, and, dragging him behind me, ran as fast as I could out of the tent and past the stalls, not stopping until we had reached the canal on which Erasmo's palazzo is situated. There we leaned against the parapet, breathing heavily. "Poor, poor Floriana," sobbed Erasmo. "And my poor, poor cousin!" I wanted to say something comforting, but I couldn't think of anything.

The next day we heard that the jugglers had left, much earlier than usual, and they were never heard of again, either in Venice or in all Italy. Erasmo and I quietly agreed that we would take that terrible experience to our graves. It is probably better that way, even if I am pained by the grieving face of his cousin who comes to visit now and then. I can only hope and pray that the jugglers have given up their terrible ways, but I cannot imagine it. Surely they will travel around for all eternity until perhaps someone comes along who has enough courage to put a stop to them. But that someone will not be me, that is certain. 

[senadimell]

Characters I like AKA ‘hurt face’ master post

The characters I like in movies and books are distinctly different. With books, I have all sorts of favorite characters, and I love that I know what they’re thinking. I just love a good deep third or first person. 

In contrast to books, there’s just something different about movies. We’re watching actors, and the visual component really dictates how I interact with film. I can get over a bad storyline if the emotional journey I’m watching looks real. 

When I’m watching a movie, I will almost always fall for lonely characters played by actors who can clearly express pain and sadness. Bonus points for guilt, insecurity, and a history of rejection. I will like them even if they’re not likable, or kind, or nice, or even good. They are visually compelling. Of course, I’ll love them even more if the backstory actually backs up why they’re in pain, and gives me a reason I shouldn’t dislike them beyond “they emote so pretty.” Experience with high school theatre productions has taught me there’s so much more to anger than volume, and so much more to sadness than tears; I’m in awe of actors who can communicate those emotions with subtlety and/or clarity.

So in real life, most of us aren’t that good at communicating with our faces, are we? For me, anyways, it’s hard to distinguish between tired, angry, or annoyed. When someone’s in pain or hurting, they rarely just look sad. Life’s not like a movie, when a good actor can show you exactly how a character feels without saying anything at all. I’m not so good at telling what people are thinking and often assume that that people are mad (and that they’re mad at me), when in reality I think pain must be more common. Most peole think of actors as imitating real people. I think they have to do more: they have to be expressive, and yet have it come off as genuine, so that we don’t even see the face but the character. 

I only just figured out why it was that when Frozen came out, I was obsessed with it. The story itself leaves a lot to be desired, but I was willing to excuse that. My phone was full of pictures of Elsa,  but most of them were stills from the movie rather than fan art. I had pictures of almost every face Elsa makes in Let it Go, when she just looks exhilarated and like she can’t believe how happy she feels. I also had every frame from when she hugs frozen Anna (pictured below). It was the first time I’d really seen an animated character visibly express insecurity, loneliness, self-rejection, guilt, and anxiety.*

This whole “visibly expressing negative emotions” thing is also one of the main why I’m obsessed with the first four seasons of Doctor Who. The Time War plot checks off every box, and Eccleston and Tennant are just brilliant about letting that emotion show through. 

Same thing goes for musical theatre. With cast recordings, the best is when you can just hear everything they’re saying in the way they sing things. Pretty Funny from Dogfight (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=64-HBOsY50s) is just brilliant. Some other favorites: Track Down This Murder/Down Once More from Phantom, Empty Chairs at Empty Tables (see: all of Les Miserables, actually), I’m Not That Girl as well as its reprise and No Good Deed from Wicked, Satisfied and Burn from Hamilton**

There are these characters who are...awful. They have objectively done awful things. I don’t think their actions are excusable. Yet the visual part of my just loves to watch them because they’re in pain and it’s written all over their face. (Loki and Kylo Ren fall into this category for me). I want to make all of these excuses for them, and am not repulsed, and spend all of this time analyzing them because what the actors can do with their faces just sucks me in. 

Now that I think about it, this is probably why I hate Elijah Wood’s performance of Frodo. The boy had exactly four faces: happy, sad, sick, and demented

A warning: this is a rough collection of GIFs that don’t all match in shape and format. 

 I will take the ring to Mordor. 

Rose. 

In the most loving way possible, David Tennant as the 10th Doctor is rather melodramatic and constantly aggrieved, so I’m going to leave it at these two scenes even though I could probably mine a gifset from almost every episode he appears in post-Rose. 

Everything I am dies

Loki: 

Massacre your entire species to prove your worth and please your father

It’s just rocks and dust.

There was a war, and we lost. 

(I love just about every face Christopher Eccleston makes as the Ninth doctor, but will save that for another post.)

I actually didn’t care one way or the other for Alan Rickman’s Snape until this scene. After watching that, I was moved and reevaluated my whole take on the character. I don’t personally see Snape’s relationship with Lily as romantic like I once did, but I don’t think I would have gone back and evaluated the character as deeply as I did without first watching Rickman in that scene. I’m now firmly in the Snapedom. 

Frozen: 

Then leave.

AKA Viggo Mortensen breaks a toe.

This jerkface. 

Samantha Barks was amazing to watch and hear. 

Eddie Redmayne is a gift.

Anne Hathaway was phenomenal.

Les Mis was actually really hard to watch in movie theatres because there were so many closeups of the actors’ faces during intense emotional moments. It was a little overwhelming. 

Pearl Mackie is a gift.

Some concluding observations:  

This is a very white list. It was also feeling pretty male until I added Doctor Who companions and musicals. 

This was harder than I was expecting, emotionally. Here’s some more Bill Potts to lighten things up.

*Actually, one of the reasons I couldn’t stand Anna is because she comes off as completely ignorant when Elsa’s every expression is plainly written all over her face, even though narratively she has every reason to be in the dark. If Elsa wore the regular, confusing expressions most of us wear, Anna wouldn’t come off as so silly. (Also if she would stop talking for a few seconds and listen). If Elsa’s animations weren't so expressive, I probably would cut Anna a lot more slack naturally **After I had the privilege of seeing Hamilton, Quiet Uptown joins this list possibly the best bit of acting I have ever seen without a single word being said. You can’t completely hear it in the recordings, but Eliza’s face goes through about 50 emotions without even opening her mouth moving, and I was sobbing as I watched. 

[hysterialevi]

His Name Was Isaac - Ch. 15

Fanfic summary: During a mission to avenge his mother’s death, Isaac hunts down the men responsible for her murder and kills them off one-by-one, only to discover that his last target is taking refuge among the Van der Linde gang. In an attempt to kill them, Isaac attacks the gang and unknowingly becomes enemies with his own father, who is in the process of fighting his own battle for redemption.

Point of view: third-person

Previous chapter | Next chapter

This story is also on AO3

THE NEXT DAY

GRIZZLIES WEST

Resting a hand on the journal’s worn pages, Dutch hesitated to turn to the next chapter as he thought back on the things he’d just read, wondering where everything went wrong.

Just this morning, he finally took the time to sit down and skim through some of Arthur’s private thoughts, only to end up discovering that they were much worse than he expected.

It was evident from the entries that Arthur lost his faith in their gang years ago. His words had no motivation behind them. No hope. No purpose.

They were all just so... bleak, and so full of finality.

It only made Dutch wonder if things were always meant to end this way. If, perhaps, Arthur was meant to turn on him from the start.

He knew the man wouldn’t be able to stick around forever. No one would. Not even Hosea. But the fact that he lost Arthur so quickly and so easily made Dutch question if there was ever a true relationship between them.

If there was, he would’ve given anything to get it back.

“Boss!” Micah’s voice suddenly barked from behind, leading Dutch to look up from the journal.

“What is it?” He asked, still somewhat preoccupied.

The other man sniffed, strolling in his direction through thick snow.

“...We got a problem, Dutch. It’s Bill.” Micah stepped next to him, letting out a disappointed sigh. “I think... he’s cut loose.”

Dutch snapped his head towards Micah in surprise, furrowing his brow.

“What? What do you mean he’s cut loose?”

Micah gestured towards the horizon, casually explaining his thought process.

“I saw some tracks leadin’ to the south from where I sent Bill to investigate last night. His horse is gone too. You ask me, I think he made a run for it. Probably decided to make his way back to New Austin. Try to survive on his own in the desert. He certainly talked about it a lot.”

“You sure it wasn’t somebody else’s tracks?”

The outlaw chuckled. “Who else could it have been? The Pinkertons? They’re mean bastards, I’ll give you that, but I reckon we’re the only ones crazy enough to actually come out here, Dutch. No... I’m pretty sure it was Bill.”

Dutch firmly shut the journal closed, storming off into the distance. “Dammit...! That goddamn coward.”

Micah gazed after him, shrugging in confusion. “You wanna try findin’ him?”

The older man coughed before waving a dismissive hand. “No. We’re here for Arthur and Isaac. No one else. If Bill wants to leave us behind and freeze to death in these mountains, then so be it.”

“Of course, of course. But you should know, Dutch... it’s gonna be trickier, now that it’s just the two of us. ‘Cause as much as I hate Arthur and his lil’ brat, I can’t deny that them boys know how to fight. I mean, look at what they did to my goddamn eye.”

Dutch glanced down at the journal, mindlessly tightening his grip on it. “...I’ll fight Arthur myself if need be. I raised him ever since he was a boy. I know how he thinks.”

The man coughed a few more times, his strength wavering with every jagged breath as the wind howled loudly around them.

“...Listen, son,” Dutch continued, his tone much softer now, “I don’t know how all this is gonna end. I don’t know if... Arthur will kill me, or if the tuberculosis will, but... whatever happens, I appreciate you stayin’ by my side this whole time. You’ve always had my back ever since you joined us, and I won’t forget it.”

Micah grinned, his eyes dark with insincerity. “Of course, Dutch. You’re practically family to me now. There ain’t much I wouldn’t do for you.”

Dutch nodded in reassurance. “I know, son. I know.” 

Slipping the journal back into his satchel, Dutch walked over to his horse and began mounting up, eager to continue his search for Arthur while the day was still young.

“C’mon, Micah.” He beckoned. “We’ve got one last score to settle.”

~~~~~~~~~~

MEANWHILE

NEAR LAKE ISABELLA

“Here,” Isaac said, handing a warm mug to Arthur as the campfire crackled between them. “Drink this.”

The man took the cup in hand, curiously examining the dark liquid inside. “What is it?”

“It’s... medicine, I guess you could say,” Isaac answered. “I made it from some herbs I picked. I was gonna brew it when we got done fishing yesterday, but I never had the chance. It should calm your cough down a bit.”

Arthur raised the mug in appreciation, beaming at the boy. “Thanks, kiddo.”

Isaac held up a hand just before his father could consume the drink, giving him a last-minute warning.

“Oh, um, just so you know -- it’s probably gonna taste like shit.”

Arthur chuckled, bringing the mug to his lips. “Yeah, I figured as much. That tends to be the case with most medicines. Though, it can’t be worse than salted offal.”

He took a sip, immediately grimacing from the bizarre taste. “Jesus Christ, you wasn’t kidding. What kinda herbs did you make this with?”

Isaac smirked at his father’s disgusted expression. “English Mace and Alaskan Ginseng. They’re pretty hard to find in Ambarino, but they’re a common mixture when it comes to curing illnesses. I remember mom always used to make this when I got sick.”

Arthur cocked a brow in interest. “Did she?”

The boy smiled fondly at the memory. “Yeah. I’d always get nervous whenever I saw her makin’ it in the kitchen ‘cause I knew it would taste horrible. But... I can’t really complain. It did its job, after all.”

The older man nodded in a nostalgic manner. “Yep. Eliza always had a knack for takin’ care of people. I remember she’d fret over me every single time I came home, lookin’ to see if I had any stray bullets stuck in me and whatnot.” A sigh escaped Arthur. “Your mother was such a sweet woman. She didn’t deserve the stress I put her through.”

Isaac gave Arthur a gentle look, reminiscing about his times with Eliza. “...She loved you, you know.”

Arthur cupped the warm mug in his hands, setting it down for a moment. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Mom always talked about you whenever you was away. She could never say much since she didn’t want me to know about your work, but I could tell she missed you. She was never angry, though. She understood why you couldn’t be around.”

Arthur felt a tinge of guilt. “...Did you?”

“Not at the time,” Isaac admitted. “But I do now. You had people to look after. A gang to protect. You couldn’t just abandon them.”

The older man glanced at the ground in remorse. “I guess that’s true. But I still wish I could’ve protected you and Eliza. You were in danger, and I wasn’t there when you needed me.”

Isaac shook his head in disagreement. “It was four men against a woman and her child. Even if you had been there, you probably just would’ve gotten shot with her. And trust me, that’s not what mom woulda wanted. For either of us.”

Arthur found some peace in those words. “...Maybe you’re right.”

Falling into silence for a moment, the two of them quietly enjoyed each other’s company as snowflakes gently fluttered down from the sky, painting the ground around them with a new layer of snow.

The weather was getting colder in this region, or so it felt. It was probably due to the fact that they were further up north than before, but the sun seemed to appear less often these days, and Isaac couldn’t remember the last time he saw anything apart from dying grass and naked trees.

It just made the boy wonder how much longer they had until they���d reach Canada’s border. He had never been anywhere outside of the United States, so the idea of finding freedom in a different country was admittedly daunting for him... but he knew they had to do it.

There was nothing left for them in America. Both of their gangs had scattered to the winds, and it was more than obvious that the age of outlaws was finally dying out. 

Civilization was moving on without them, and if they didn’t catch up, they wouldn’t survive. It was a sad truth about their lives, but one they had to accept.

“Hey, Dad,” Isaac said. “I gotta ask. Did you... hear what Bill said last night? About Dutch bein’ sick with TB?”

Arthur nodded, his tone more serious now. “Yep. It would explain why we’ve both been coughin’ so much.”

The boy sighed. “...I’m sorry. I wish there was somethin’ I could do.”

The older man coughed into his elbow a few times. “You’ve done more than enough, Isaac. Don’t go blamin’ yourself, now. We talked about this.”

“I know,” Isaac replied. “It’s just... hard to accept, you know?”

Arthur took another sip of his drink. “I understand.”

Finishing the rest of his medicine, Arthur put the empty mug down and stood up from his seat, stretching out his arms as he began gathering their stuff.

“Hey, Isaac, why don’t you go make sure the horses are ready? I think it’s time we get movin’ again. We’ve been stuck here long enough.”

The boy followed his father’s actions and headed over to the hitching posts, helping to pack up their camp.

“Okay. You think this weather will hold up? It got pretty bad last night. I just hope there won’t be another storm blowin’ through here before we can... we can...”

Stopping mid-sentence, Isaac’s voice suddenly trailed off into silence as the young man noticed something in the distance, leading Arthur to follow his gaze.

“Isaac?” He called out. “Everything okay?”

The man glanced at Arthur, his tone now low with caution. “Dad, I think I see Pinkertons.”

Taking hold of his gun, the older man instantly strode over to Isaac’s side and stepped protectively in front of him, looking to see who it was approaching them from the horizon.

Their uniforms certainly resembled that of the Pinkertons, but unlike before, it wasn’t just Edgar Ross and Agent Fordham. This time, it looked like they had an entire group of men riding with them, ready to take Arthur and Isaac in at a moment’s notice.

Arthur whispered quietly to the young man as the Pinkertons rode in their direction, making sure to keep his movements subtle.

“Keep your gun close, boy. And be ready to ride when I say so.”

Isaac nodded, taking position near the horses. “Got it.”

Standing his ground, Arthur readied his pistol as the Pinkertons got closer to their camp, causing a trail of snow to wildly spray behind their mounts.

So far, no one was shooting at them, so Arthur took that as a sign that the Pinkertons wanted them alive. But based on the heavy amount of security Ross had brought with him this time, he assumed that lethal force was no longer out of the question.

Arthur would have to do his best to keep things peaceful. There weren’t a lot of places for them to hide out here, and if anyone started firing, he and Isaac would be caught dead in the open.

It was unlikely that they’d be able to run away from this without a fight, but for the sake of not getting Isaac killed, Arthur was sure as hell going to try.

He just had to trust that the boy would do the same.

“Mr. Morgan.” Agent Ross greeted upon reaching the camp, remaining mounted on his horse. The rest of the Pinkertons lined up beside him, keeping their rifles at the ready.

“I’m surprised to see you all the way out here,” Edgar confessed. “I didn’t think you’d risk trying to survive out in this cold, but it seems Mr. Bell was correct.”

That caught Arthur off-guard. “You spoke with Micah?”

The Pinkerton casually adjusted his sleeves, straightening the cuffs. “Regrettably, yes. Not too long ago, actually. He was quite the informant. Said he didn’t know exactly where to find you, but that he suspected you were wandering somewhere in Grizzlies West. Looks like he knew what he was talking about. For once.”

Arthur grunted at that. “I’m sure he did.” He coughed a number of times, trying to stifle it as he spoke. “Look, what d’you want? It’s clear you ain’t just here to chat.”

Edgar’s eyes narrowed. “No, I’m not. We’re done giving second chances, I’m afraid. Though, I’ve given you far more than that, haven’t I?”

The agent took a few steps forward, signaling the other Pinkertons to brace themselves.

“Look, Mr. Morgan, I know we’re both tired of having this same conversation over and over again. Lord knows I am. But I need you to listen to me. Ideally, we would like to capture you alive and have you face full justice, but I think it’s safe to assume by now that you’re not the type to cooperate with the law. Or with anyone, really.”

Ross held up a cautionary finger. “This is why I’m only giving you one last opportunity to comply. Surrender your weapons, and come with us peacefully. Do this, and you have my word that you and your son will not be harmed. Not for now, anyway. Once we return to civilization though, your lives will be in the hands of the law. You will both face a trial, and a judge will sentence you. What happens after that is up to them. If you refuse to surrender, however...”

The Pinkertons prepared their weapons, causing Isaac to grow restless in his position. Arthur threw a side-glance at him, reminding him to stay calm.

“...well,” Edgar continued, “I think you know what’ll come next.”

The outlaw scoffed at the meager offer, glaring at Ross in disbelief. “So, my only options are to either die right here, or let you drag me and my son all the way to Blackwater where you can parade us around before havin’ us swing? You really think that I’ll--” a cough interrupted him, “--that I’ll--”

Another series of coughs came bursting from Arthur’s throat, causing the man to keel over slightly as the Pinkertons watched him from their mounts, waiting for a response.

Meanwhile, Isaac stared at his father in concern and felt the need to rush over to him, but restrained himself out of fear of alarming the Pinkertons.

“...That’s quite a cough.” Edgar remarked plainly.

Arthur spat some blood onto the snow, wiping his mouth. “TB will do that to you. I got it from Dutch himself, apparently.”

“That’s a tough disease.”

“Sure. But it makes your job easier, I suppose.”

Edgar rested his arms on the saddle’s horn. “I know you see us as the bad guys, Mr. Morgan. We’re the ones threatening your livelihood, after all. But what’ll it take for you to see that you’re also threatening the livelihood of others? You people are all about violence, and living in the wild. Your code revolves entirely around one man and his gun versus another man. It’s survival of the fittest, put simply. It’s a living hell.”

Arthur shook his head. “You’re talkin’ philosophy with the wrong man, agent. I done some bad things in my time -- that, I won’t deny -- but I don’t care about any of that no more. Right now, only concern is my son. And as much as you and I may disagree, you are right about one thing. You are a threat to my son’s safety, and there ain’t nothin’ you can do that’ll convince me to let you lay your hands on him.”

The agent sighed in disappointment. “Well, unfortunately for you, there’s nothing that can stop us.”

Realizing that it was pointless trying to dissuade Arthur from the inevitable, Edgar decided to put an end to this chase and reached for his gun, swiftly pulling it out so that he could shoot the man.

Just before he could properly aim however, Arthur quickly caught wind of his intentions and hastily fired a stray bullet, shooting Edgar’s horse in the neck. The creature reared in panic and collapsed to the ground, causing the agent to be trapped under its massive body. 

Though, that didn’t stop the man from pulling the trigger. Despite the unexpected turn of events, Edgar still attempted to take a shot at the outlaw, and before Arthur even had time to react, he suddenly felt a sharp pain hitting him in the abdomen.

It didn’t take long for him to figure out what just happened.

“Father!” Isaac shouted in horror, hurrying to Arthur’s side. He fired two bullets into the line of Pinkertons, taking down an agent with each of them. 

Letting out a strained groan, the boy desperately dragged Arthur over to his horse as the agents continued to fire back at him, only to end up shooting a large tree that stood between them.

“Stay with me, Dad...!” Isaac urged, helping his father onto his horse.

Climbing onto the saddle in front of Arthur, the young man let loose another bullet in the Pinkertons’ direction before bolting off in the other, causing Agent Ross to yell after them.

“Goddammit!” He barked. “Don’t let them escape! And somebody help me out from under this horse!”

~~~~~~~~~~

A FEW MINUTES LATER

NORTHEAST OF LAKE ISABELLA, COLTER

Galloping frantically through the snow as the Pinkertons fervently chased after him, Isaac found himself riding into what looked an abandoned settlement not too far away from Lake Isabella, leading him to come to a halt.

The last thing he wanted to do right now was give the Pinkertons a chance to catch up to him, but with the state that Arthur was currently in, he needed someone to look after his wounds. 

There was already a worrying amount of blood staining the fabric of his shirt, and judging by the roughness of the man’s breathing, Isaac assumed the horse’s sporadic movement wasn’t helping him much either.

He hopped off of Aldo’s saddle, quickly bringing Arthur into his arms.

“I got you, Dad.” Isaac whispered, letting the older man lean on him as he headed inside one of the cabins. “Just hold on.”

Arthur groaned sharply at the pain piercing through him, struggling to keep up with the boy’s pace.

“...What the hell’re you doing...?” He wheezed, pressing a hand on his stomach where the bullet had hit him. “You need... to run...! The Pinkertons--”

“--I’ll worry about the goddamn Pinkertons later!” Isaac dismissed. “I ain’t lettin’ you die. Not like this.”

Kicking the cabin’s flimsy door open, Isaac practically hurled Arthur inside before shutting the entrance again, giving the older man some time to rest on the floor. They couldn’t hear any of the Pinkertons’ voices at the moment, but Isaac knew it wouldn’t be long before they picked up their trail again.

He crouched down next to Arthur, taking a closer look at his injury.

“Shit...” Isaac muttered under his breath, unsure of what to do. He fumbled through his pockets for a minute, desperately searching for anything that could’ve helped. “I... I have some bandages left. Here.”

Stretching the bandages into one long strip, Isaac tightly wrapped them around Arthur’s waist as the man hissed in pain, trying not to make too much noise lest the Pinkertons hear them. 

Blood was already starting to seep through the thin layers of white cloth, and with every agonizing second that slipped by, the more Arthur could feel his energy escaping him.

No, Arthur thought to himself. Not now. Not like this. He couldn’t give up. He just couldn’t. Not after fighting for so long. Not after finding his son after all these years.

He had to stay strong. For Isaac’s sake. The boy was counting on him to survive. He couldn’t die now. He refused to.

“...Dammit...!” Arthur cursed through clenched teeth as Isaac pulled on the bandages. “That son-of-a-bitch got me good...!” 

The outlaw’s body shook with another series of coughs, causing even more blood to gush from the open wound.

Isaac immediately placed his hands on top of the injury and pressed down, doing whatever he could to stop the bleeding. But it was no use.

The red liquid only ended up leaking through the cracks between his fingers, and by now, Arthur’s skin had transformed into an alarmingly pale color. 

His eye sockets were almost purple, and judging by how the man could barely walk right now, Isaac knew there wasn’t much of a chance of him getting out of this alive. But that didn’t mean he was willing to quit.

“Hold on, Dad...” the boy pleaded, “...please. Just hold on.”

“...Isaac...” Arthur groaned out, his voice grating against his throat. 

“You’re gonna be fine.” The boy insisted. “Don’t you give up on me now.”

The outlaw coughed weakly, struggling to get his next words out. “...Isaac, listen to me.”

“You’re gonna be fine.” He repeated, but Arthur knew what was coming. “We just... we just need to...”

“Isaac...!” He said more firmly, gripping the boy’s arm this time. “Listen to me.”

The young man fell silent, his eyes glossy with tears. He looked up at his father, fully aware of what the future held. 

“I’m... I’m dying, son.” Arthur said softly, almost sounding apologetic. “I can feel it. I know... this ain’t how we wanted things to end, but it’s what we’ve come to. It’s what we gotta deal with. You hear me...? I need you... to be strong, Isaac.”

The boy gazed downwards, unable to hide his true emotions. 

“I...I don’t know if I can, Dad. First mom, and now you? I can’t lose both of you. Not after we just found each other again.”

Arthur placed a hand on Isaac’s shoulder, urging the man to keep his composure. “I know it’s difficult, Isaac, but...” a cough rattled his chest, decimating what little energy he had left, “...I know you can still survive this. You’re strong. Much stronger than you realize. You just... have to keep pushing. Just for a little longer.”

Isaac shut his eyes, shaking his head in refusal. “...I ain’t goin’ to Canada without you, Dad. You’re outta your mind if you think I’m gonna leave you behind--”

“--You have to, Isaac...!” Arthur reiterated. “I wish things was different. I do. But look at me. I’m sick, I’m dying... I ain’t much use to anyone in this state. But you... you can still make it. You can still reach the border. You’ll be a free man. You’ll have the chance to start a new life for yourself. One that isn’t full of death, and violence, and fear. It’s the life your mother and I wanted for you.”

“But you said it yourself,” Isaac recalled. “What’s the point of survivin’ if you’ve got no one to care for?”

Arthur’s hand began to slide down Isaac’s shoulder, his exhaustion finally being reflected in his movement.

“You will find other people, Isaac. And besides, life don’t end just ‘cause you’re alone. I’m sure you’ll find someone you love. Someone who... you can start a family with.” A quiet chuckle escaped Arthur. “...Heh. Who knows...? You might even have a son of your own, someday. But whatever happens... you need to get out of Ambarino alive, first. You can’t stay here. You can’t... let me hold you back. You understand?”

Interrupted by the sound of men yelling at each other from outside, Isaac glanced out of one of the windows and suddenly noticed the large presence of Pinkertons closing in on the area, causing Arthur to reach for the boy’s hand.

“Isaac...!” He whispered urgently. “Tell me you understand.”

The young man gazed down at his father, still reluctant to leave him behind. The idea of leaving Arthur alone in the middle of these mountains tore Isaac apart with guilt, but deep down, he knew it had to be done if he wanted to live.

There were far too many Pinkertons for him to fight alone, and if they managed to corner him in this cabin, they’d both be finished.

Isaac would be shipped off to Blackwater to be executed, and all of Arthur’s efforts would’ve been in vain.

He couldn’t let that happen.

“...O-Okay.” The boy finally agreed, his voice trembling softly. “I’ll... I’ll go.”

Arthur appeared content with that and let out a relieved breath, his shoulders now slouching due to the fatigue quickly overtaking his body.

“...Thank you, Isaac.” he murmured weakly. 

Reaching for his satchel’s strap, Arthur slowly pulled the bag off and reached for his gun before handing both of them to Isaac, ensuring that the boy would have some supplies in the wilderness.

“It ain’t much...” Arthur said with a cough, “...but there’re some provisions left in here. They should keep you goin’ for a few more days. And take my pistol, too. You’ll need the extra firepower.”

Isaac cradled the last-minute gifts in his palms, staying quiet as his father lived out his final moments.

“Oh,” the older man remembered, “and there’s one last thing... I want you to take...”

Lifting a shaky hand up, Arthur gently gripped the dented crown of his hat and gave the accessory to Isaac, placing it so that it sat proudly on top of his head.

The hat looked like it was made for the young man, and for just a split second, Arthur almost felt like he was looking at a reflection of his younger self. Isaac had the same ruffled hair, the same blue eyes, and if he looked closely enough, Arthur could’ve sworn he saw some of Eliza’s features hiding behind his expression.

It was the perfect fit, just like when Arthur took the hat from his own father.

“You look just like me when I was younger,” the outlaw reminisced with a faint smile. “...Eliza would’ve been so proud of you. You’ve grown so much.”

Isaac’s sharp gaze softened a bit at the remark. “You think?”

“Well, I know I am.”

Letting his head lean back against the wall, Arthur finally decided to rest and and gazed up at the cabin’s decrepit ceiling, sighing in peace as Isaac stood up from the floor.

This wasn’t quite the death he imagined he would experience, but no matter how cold these mountains were, or how desolate their environment remained, Arthur still considered himself lucky for being able to be with his son in his final moments.

Part of him wished he could simply ignore the pain and follow Isaac out of these woods, but as the edges of his vision started to go black, the more reality began to sink in... and the more Arthur came to accept the fate that had been given to him.

His job in this world was done. His time with Dutch’s gang was over, and his responsibility as a father had been fulfilled. 

Isaac was his own man now. The boy still had much to learn about life and the people around him, but from now on, Arthur would have to trust that he would do the right thing in the future.

It was his journey to lead from this point, and Arthur could only hope that the kid had a better chance at life than he ever did.

It was the only thing he ever wanted for the boy. The only thing he and Dutch ever dreamed of.

Freedom.

“...Isaac...” Arthur whispered, his breath faltering with every syllable, “...if you see Dutch again.... tell him I never hated him. And I’m sorry I weren’t there when he needed me.”

The young man nodded in an assuring manner, trying his best not to break down in front of his father. “I will.”

“...Thank you, son...” The older man said quietly, letting his head tilt to the side. “Thank you.”

On the outside, he might’ve looked miserable to the boy, but on the inside, he was surprisingly content. Arthur found himself flipping through all his memories like an old photo album and recalled the days from when Dutch first met him, all the way to when he finally reunited with Isaac in Tall Trees.

There were so many emotions flowing through him. So many what ifs. So many things he wished he could’ve said when he still had the chance to say them.

He thought about his parents. He thought about Dutch and Hosea -- about their gang. He remembered the days they’d spend riding freely through the open deserts of New Austin, and the nights where they’d share stories around the campfire.

He thought about the years he spent falling in love with Mary. About the life he wished he could’ve had with her.

He remembered the pain of her absence when she decided to marry another man, and the happiness that quickly replaced it when he ran into Eliza a few years later.

But most importantly, Arthur remembered the day Isaac was born. He remembered the feeling of holding him for the first time, and wondering how on earth he was going to raise a family.

The boy was so innocent back then. So pure. He was completely untouched by the troubles of the world, and every time Arthur came home to visit, he’d feel at peace seeing his son’s face again... only to be forced to leave a few days later.

In the beginning, Arthur thought he’d never see Isaac again. He thought that Shay and his men had finished the kid off for good, and that he was condemned to be alone for the rest of his life.

And yet, here he was -- fifteen years later -- a full grown man, and fighting against the world entirely on his own, stronger than ever.

He carried a lifetime of sorrow and remorse with him, but Arthur knew that Isaac was still good at heart. The young man had the same compassion that Eliza held for others, and Arthur couldn’t have been prouder of the boy if he tried.

He loved him more than life itself, but now... he had to leave him behind. One last time.

Finally reaching the end of the road, Arthur welcomed the cold sensation that embraced him and calmly shut his eyes, falling still as one final breath escaped him.

His body was completely motionless now. Completely devoid of life. And the longer Isaac stared at the corpse of his father, the more he could feel warm tears welling up in his eyes. 

He was alone again. After all those years of seeking vengeance for Eliza’s death and finding the strength to move on from it, the process of mourning had reset itself.

It felt like the world around him had stopped turning, and despite the urgent threat of the Pinkertons lurking close by, Isaac couldn’t help but feel nothing except emptiness.

But he knew there was no time to grieve. Not right now. Arthur would’ve wanted him to get out of here safely, and he wouldn’t have wanted him to look back.

So, with one last farewell, Isaac said a brief goodbye to his father before heading for the cabin’s exit, and taking his leave from the abandoned town.

He felt like the same scared, little boy that watched Eliza die again, but this time, he wasn’t going to let others determine his fate for him.

He wasn’t going to allow anyone to control him like Shay or his gang did, and he wasn’t going to lose himself to vengeance.

The only thing he was going to do was reach the border, and he’d be damned if he let anyone stop him.

~~~~~~~~~~

OUTSIDE COLTER

Stepping back out into the unforgiving weather of Ambarino, Isaac removed himself from the confines of the cabin and began making his way back to Aldo, only to stop in his tracks when he noticed a man waiting for him outside.

The man was clearly a Pinkerton based on his uniform, but unlike his fellow lawmen, he seemed to display no hostility towards Isaac. His gun was resting in its holster, and even though the boy was obviously alone now, the agent showed no intentions of taking advantage of the situation.

In fact, his temperament suggested quite the opposite. The man wore a sympathetic expression on his face, and when his eyes landed on the signature hat sitting on Isaac’s head, a proverbial light bulb seemed to illuminate in his mind.

Isaac tentatively walked towards the man, analyzing his face.

It was Agent Fordham.

“There you are.” The Pinkerton said as he leaned against a wall, keeping his arms crossed. 

The boy kept a hand close to his gun, admittedly suspicious of the lawman’s motives.

“Archer Fordham...? What are... what are you doin’ here? You knew I was in there?”

The man nodded. “Yes. I saw you and your father go inside earlier, but I didn’t have the heart to interrupt.”

Archer sighed morosely, gazing at the snow-covered ground. “I’m sorry for your loss, Mr. Morgan. Your father and I may have been on opposite sides of the law, but it sounds like he was a good man.”

Isaac replied halfheartedly, still somewhat shocked by the sudden death.

“He was.”

The Pinkerton steadily approached Isaac, careful not to alarm him.

“Listen, Mr. Morgan, I know this is a traumatic time for you, but you need to understand your current position. If Edgar finds you, you’ll be a dead man. After that little shootout he had with your father back at camp, he’s fully intent on taking you back to Blackwater as a corpse. He won’t let you walk out of here alive.”

Isaac picked up on the man’s tone. “...But you will?”

Fordham let out a conflicted breath, furrowing his brow in thought. “I believe in a world of law, Isaac, but I don’t believe that a world built on order has to be one without mercy. I’ve read your files. I know you’re only twenty-one years old. And I know that if I alert my superiors of your presence here, they’ll take away everything you’ve worked for. They’ll have you killed.”

The agent stepped closer to Isaac, looking around to make sure no one else was nearby.

“...I know Edgar disagrees with me on this, but I think you deserve a chance at life. It may be the unlawful thing to do -- letting you go -- but I believe it’s the right thing to do. After all, how much is civilization really worth if we reflect the same savagery we fight?”

Taken aback by Archer’s compassion, Isaac found himself at a loss for words and simply stared at the man incredulously, unable to believe his stroke of luck.

“You-- you’re--” Isaac stuttered, “...thank you, Fordham. I doubt your friends would’ve done the same.”

The Pinkerton maintained a stoic demeanor, but Isaac could tell he felt empathy for the young man.

“Just don’t mistake my mercy as a pardon. You’ll still be a wanted man in the United States, and the Pinkertons will take you in if they find you again -- myself included. So, if you have any plans to get out of the country, I’d use them now. This will be the only chance you get.”

Isaac nodded despondently, his mind still preoccupied with Arthur’s final words. “Of course. I understand.”

Archer turned on his heel and walked back to his horse, promptly ending the conversation there.

“Good. Then I think it’s best if you and I pretend we never had this talk.”

Mounting up, Agent Fordham took hold of the reins and clicked his tongue, urging the horse to begin trotting away.

“It’s a shame that it had to end this way, Mr. Morgan, but I wish you luck. For both our sakes, I hope we never cross paths again.”

Isaac watched the man slowly vanish into the distance, holding onto Arthur’s gun as if his father were still around. He was fully aware that the man wasn’t coming back, and yet, part of him couldn’t help but hope.

Strangely enough though, that just seemed to make it even worse.

“Yeah...” Isaac whispered solemnly, his tone burdened with loneliness. 

“...Me too.”

[coffeeandcalligraphy]

Witness State & Coup de Grâce | Feeding Habits Update #3

Hey People of Earth!

Before we get into this update, TRIGGER WARNING that this chapter discusses attempted suicide, mental health issues, animal cruelty, toxic relationships, and some nods to starvation, so if these are topics you’re sensitive about, I would skip out on this update!

This chapter was a slight nightmare to draft as it went through many, many iterations due to a real struggle to attain the desired emotional arc, and also because of a few logistical problems. In total, it’s about two and a half months of work as it combines some scenes from the old chapter two while also patching areas I cut with new content. Despite the difficulties, I am so happy I pushed through because the final product is quite strong. Here’s a scene breakdown:

Scene A:

We start at the “beautiful place” AKA the cove Lonan and Eliza frequently visit. The last time we’ve seen Lonan was at the end of chapter two, when he had his mild “public freakout moment” on the steps of a cathedral. 

On the beach, he rests on the shoreline while reflecting on all the things he’s been tormented by since chapter two (wicked children, fathers, parenthood etc).

He sees an illusion of his father who is obviously not there (he’s very dead!) which propels him to converse about him with Eliza (remembering that Eliza and Lonan’s father were once romantically involved).

This conversation goes south as Lonan is able to unpiece some of Eliza’s mistruths until Lonan finally admits he wants to see his father again, insisting he’s still “alive” through the darkroom abandoned in Oregon him and Harrison failed to destroy in ch. 1 of Moth Work.

Scene B:

Lonan watches a moth through the window (that moth motif tho). Here he recounts what occurred at the hospital in ch. 2--the mother and her three kids taking him there, and then eventually being whisked away by Eliza.

Lonan heads to the kitchen to drink an acetaminophen but quickly realizes he’s not alone in the main apartment. His father sits on the couch looking over photo albums, each leaf holding the same photo: the postcard of Eliza that Harrison initially finds in chapter one of Moth Work. This vision obviously does not exist and is prompted by sleep deprivation but he doesn't know that lol.

Seeing this photo and his father prompt him to believe that he can only get away from this feeling of being haunted without Eliza in his life and further bad decisions ensue which I won’t get into!

I explained the meaning of the title HERE.

Excerpts:

Here’s the opening bit which is the most recent addition to the chapter:

The water is never murky, but today it doesn’t sparkle. Like it’s taken a low dose of cyan, it foams pale against the shore, an offering that wets the tips of Lonan’s shoes. He sits under the cove with one hand pressed into the current, each singular wave like a finger tottering over his veins. Today, their beautiful place is only an arched wall of stones and roily ocean.

Eliza is sunbathing. She lies on her back in the centre of the cove, where its mouth opens to a ceiling of sun. On the drive from the hospital, they both remained silent, Eliza’s hands taut like leather around the steering wheel, and Lonan’s head soldered to the cool window. Even when she pulled into the lot of a diner, named after a vague Canadian city or perennial flower, she said nothing, exiting the car to return to it with two crayon-coloured slushies, his red, hers orange. By the time she pulled up to the beach, her drink was half empty, his fully melted, urging against the brim of the cup. He followed her when she exited the car, parked against a row of pebbles, and placed his hand palm-first against the water the moment she lay against the sand and closed her eyes. Now, water puckers over the shoreline and between each of his fingers, a sort of absent massage. The water is a dull, vitamin-like blue. Warmer than he’s expected for the middle of February, pleasantly pruning his fingertips.

This is a direct continuation of that:

The sun has started to set. It flares against the horizon, its orange singeing the water’s blue. Like in front of the church, it fills him, its heat a comfortable grip around his throat. Though it should remind him to keep awake, its warmth lulls him closer to the sand until he rests his head just where the water laps. He knows it says nothing. He knows he has not slept in days. But to him, its rays nurse his skin like the loop of a nursery rhyme, and when he is parallel to the sky, he closes his eyes and welcomes the sun like it’s an infection. As colours pulse underneath his eyelids, water soaks the crown of his head, and it truly is like being buried at sea, just him, the sun, and the water at his perimeter.

The next chapter in this update is chapter four, aka Coup de Grace. This chapter was an absolute joy to write after struggling to get a handle on chapters two and three, and I’d consider writing this chapter to be, by far, the best writing sessions of my life. In this chapter I feel I really figured out the “crux” of Lonan’s character/his darkest secret, and that’s essentially that he believes all children are the wicked stems of adults, a belief he actually doesn't want to have, and actively combats until he sort of becomes absorbed by it. I learned a lot about my boy in this chapter and learning such important details about a character I’ve been writing for five years feels like a gift!

This chapter plays with form/the timeline a bit because we jump around on the timeline, almost like a movie that begins at the end. This was difficult to do in fiction, but I think I pulled it off, and am really happy with the chapter. Bear with me tho as this breakdown may be confusing:

Scene A:

We start with Lonan rapidly making his way to his father’s darkroom which sits in the middle of a forest. He’s brought supplies with him to destroy it.

The first line of this chapter mimics the first line of Moth Work, which you’ll see below.

Scene B:

We jump back in the fictive past to the morning that would’ve occurred right after the end of chapter three. Lonan goes about his morning routine but is disrupted by a loud thud from outside. Anya, the woman he’s befriended from chapter two, has jumped from the roof of the apartment complex. This attempt is unsuccessful.

His first reaction is to run to Anya’s apartment to see if her son, Joey, is okay. 

Scene C:

Less of a scene and more of an internal monologue of Lonan reflecting on Anya’s attempted suicide, and that he feels in some ways, she’s administered her own “death blow”.

Scene D:

Eliza takes Lonan to his father’s cabin to “get him away” from what’s happening at the apartment since he’s really taking the news badly.

Eliza tries to get Lonan to eat something because he hasn’t eaten much since Anya’s news, and they have a conversation about Eliza’s motives in volunteering Lonan to help Anya in the first place.

Scene E:

A flashback where 14-year-old Lonan and his father are at the cabin, about to kill a fish using the ikejime method. His father has informed him the fish is dead, but Lonan knows this is very much a lie.

Scene F:

The fictive present, where Lonan lies on a couch inside the cabin, Eliza tending to a fire. He has a bad feeling (he’s right about that lol)

Scene A2:

We continue the events from scene A as Lonan enters the darkroom, only to find out it’s been cleared out save for three pictures hanging that tell a story and reveals a lot of Eliza’s secrets.

All you need to know about these photos is that it makes their romance feel somewhat like a lie lol.

Eliza finds him at the darkroom despite telling him not to go alone, and Lonan tries to process the new info/secrets revealed.

Scene G:

In the fictive present, Eliza cuts off Lonan’s hair and together they burn each weft. They discuss a few things (his father, the women he’s befriended, future children, mating habits of the praying mantis)

Scene E2:

Back to the flashback where Lonan and his father have killed, cleaned, and eaten the fish. They rinse their hands off in the lake before his father knocks them both into the water.

Excerpts:

This is the opening, ft. the mirroring first line which makes me a lil too giddy:

The darkroom isn’t haunted, but a dead man owns it—and he knows exactly where to find him. Through the woods, Lonan brushes past bushes of gooseberries and wild rhubarb, a gas can sloshing rhythmically in his hands. In his teeth, he holds his flashlight so its beam brightens the pathway. It is not yet dawn.

This is a description of the darkroom that leads to the end of the scene:

He shouldn’t know where he’s going. The forest is so dense and unanimous, a duplication of itself, nothing more than repetitions of the same tree, same flower, same stream. But he doesn’t need to see to know where his feet take him—he doesn’t even need the flashlight. He’s memorized the direction to the darkroom like the pattern of veins on his own arm.

He is not surprised to see it still stands. As if protected from rain, thunderstorms, the fallen trees that crisscross at the walkway; it’s always been a divine place. The air is damp, and particles of mist cling to his throat.

He sets the gas can in front of the steel panelling that makes the door with urgency. He does not need to rush but cannot take his time.

Wildflowers burst from in between the cracks of concrete the shed sits on and he knows each species like they’ve been bred in his blood. Wax flowers, thistles, clusters of asters he’d sometimes gather as a boy and leave as offerings in the heart of the forest’s most prominent clearings, like an offering, or a ransom.

Lonan kneels once the first thread of sunlight leaks between the whisper of trees. He is familiar with this forest, the cabin not too far away, the messages the water speaks to him when he sits at its edge most nights, why the darkroom was his father’s favourite place and why it always will be. So when sunlight hits his eyes, he presses his fingertips against his lips, and looks to the sky for mercy.

Lonan watching his fave TV show that leads into Anya’s jump:

He turned the television onto its usual program while on his last three mandarin segments and looked on as a herd of caribou dotted a waterway. They moved like the current, pattering along the prairie, worriless. He should have heard the part where a wolf caught up to the herd, the same wolf that would later go on to single out a young fawn and silence it with two teeth in its throat like bullet wounds. He should have seen the part where the prey was consumed, its flesh a desperate shade of red. But the thud distracted him. Maybe not even a thud, more like a crash. A sound he felt in his temples, a ringing in his ear, like a chickadee. Lonan set the skin of the mandarin onto the coffee table and stood slowly. It’s his body that moved him, no force of the mind, toward the balcony. In one movement, he unlocked and shoved open the glass sliding door, rucking it forward with his body weight when it stuck. On his lip, he tasted citrus and salt, a mixture of fruit and sweat.

He heard death before he saw it. The way each identical sliding door of the apartment units around him shook open, just like his. What a woman on the sidewalk declared, her tone so shrill, he couldn’t tell if she was delighted or horrified, something like, “I thought she was a bird—I thought she was a gift from heaven.” The garbled sound of an infant, confused by the sound concrete makes when a human batters it.

We get Lonan’s first response and some Joey and *that stunning motif tho*:

Lonan did not deescalate the stairs to the ground floor to join the growing crowd. He did not call an ambulance or rush to perform CPR. He ran upward, scaling flights of stairs as if airborne, with little effort. Once he reached her unit, it was the tin of madeleines he noticed first, sitting unopened, untouched, dare he thought, neglected on her welcome mat. It’s this that lulled him, freezing him in place for a moment. He recollected nothing of bringing the madeleines to her the evening previous, of leaving them neatly tucked against her straw welcome mat. Innocently idle there, his gift unrecognized.

Joey sat on the couch. The television was on, projecting technicolor polygons onto the boy’s face. Lonan did not register what it was he watched, which animated shapes pounced and danced on screen. Joey did not cry at first. He sat, staring wondrously at the screen like it was a trap door to a different dimension. The socks secured around his miniature feet looked freshly ironed, and his hair smelled like his mother did when Lonan first met her—like coconuts.

The buzzing of onlookers and neighbours sounded like the caribou running. A constant drumming of a snare, a guttural kind of ambience. He thought of Anya the day previous, her desperate excitement to paint over the wall, the way she mixed that orange juice drink, incredulous, experienced. He thought of the sourdough he never picked up, and there on the counter they sat, one torn down the middle like it was ripped bare-handed, the other skewered with a chef’s knife. He thought of Anya’s hospitality, her coy excuses to help them both avoid embarrassment, the way each part of her apartment transformed into gold. He thought of their conversation, Anya’s initial instruction when she left him alone with her son. So when Joey cried, Lonan knew exactly to reach for the remote and tick the volume up until his sobbing quieted, like the last few minutes of a rainstorm, passionately loud, then stunningly silent.

Here we briefly reference 2 Kings 21:6: “And he burned his son as an offering and used fortune-telling and omens and dealt with mediums and with necromancers. He did much evil in the sight of the Lord, provoking him to anger.”

Anya will never be the mother she once was, in the capacity she longed to be. Joey will grow up without a father and with a mother who cannot mother him in the ways she’d always hoped; he’ll have no one to recreate. That is the real loss—what could have been. Anya burned herself into an offering, administered her own kill shot, provoked her own fate; either life or death, and her fate chose neither.

The following mirrors something Lonan’s sister, Reeve, says in Houses With Teeth about hunger:

The day Anya jumped from her balcony onto the sidewalk below, Eliza took Lonan to his father’s cabin. In a daze, he watched her pack a bag with enough things to tide them over for a month, and in that same daze, they reached the cabin before sunset. That night, Eliza rifled through the cabinets to put together a meal, and her findings assembled as a can of tuna topped with crumbles of saltines—cheap take on a deconstructed pâté.

She served him his dinner on a set of plates he vaguely recognized—terrazzo with a scalloped edge, maybe held a scrambled egg or halved tomato when he was a child. He stared through the French doors, down to the water that padded below. Even when she tried some for herself, putting on her enjoyment in exclamations like “It’s a culinary masterpiece. Refined. Daring. A little spectacular,” she couldn’t convince him to eat. His appetite disappeared when Anya fell from the sky; there would be no hunger as penance.

This is the fish flashback:

Lonan knows the fish is not dead. He is fourteen but not naïve. Sun warms the back of his neck; maggots shimmer over the gummy slick of the water’s surface. Today is what someone would describe as the perfect day. Trees whisper secrets amongst the spines of their leaves. Birds teeter on the neck of birch trees. A butterfly dusts its wings of the shore’s sand and nips at his childish knuckles.

The fish is not dead. This is fact. In his palm, it expands, its gills like the crescent cut of the moon. The fish is not dead. Its mouth kisses the air like it’s a divine thing, each blip of its lips greedy, like the air tastes of gold. The fish is not dead. Its scales grate against Lonan’s palms, shimmering, its prettiness its last defense mechanism. The fish is not dead.

More with this fish memory:

“It’s dead. It does not even know the taste of life. Why save it?”

“I don’t want to save it,” Lonan says. His father’s wedding band digs into his forehead. To an onlooker, it may look like he’s about to dip him forward into the water, not a drowning, but a baptism.

“What do you want to do with it?”

Mourn it, he wants to say. Pity it. Sacrifice it.

The water whistles ahead of them, all the uncaught sunfish gloriously slashing naively in the water. They are unaware of their future demise, and the current demise of their loved ones, bodies all piled into the net as if on display. Lonan’s eyes sting with lake water, a streak of it dripping onto his lip so when his father reaches over him and secures his hand like a marionette around the screwdriver, he tastes salt and doesn’t stop tasting it.

And the end of part A of the fish memory that gets a little gory:

“It dies for us,” his father says, his voice dampened, like the distant blip of the lake. “So we give it mercy in return.”

As the screwdriver’s tip lowers closer to the fish, Lonan licks his top lip and asks, “Why do we need to show it mercy if it’s already dead?”

“Le coup de grâce. A death blow. To end the suffering of the wounded.”

“But it’s already dead.”

“Even the dead still suffer.”

Lonan does not register when the screwdriver impales the fish’s brain. He does not register when his father uses both their hands to slit the fish’s gills with a hunting knife or register the warm spurting of its blood up their knuckles. He stares at the fish’s glasslike eye, and as he and his father gut and scale the fish, puppet and puppeteer, he imagines the way he’ll feel with its head in his mouth.

Here’s a section from the fictive present:

Seven days after Anya jumps off her apartment’s balcony, Lonan lies on a pig’s leather couch his father once towed in from the city, a damp washcloth doused in eucalyptus essential oil pressed to his forehead.

At first, he fears the blinking comes from stars and that the cabin’s roof has been removed. But as he comes to, he smells it, the earthy crack of wood, the wisp of smoke, and he knows the light that pulses is a fire.

Lonan opens his eyes. As he’s thought, he lies on his father’s couch, essenced water dribbling down his temples from the washcloth. Eliza sits hunched on the stone of the fireplace’s ledge, her shoulders ripening under the orange heat. She’s burning something. The scent of scorched film is not unfamiliar to him. Like his mouth, it is dry and acrid, like the lick of a battery.

“You promised,” she says, as if sensing he’s awoken. Lonan does not move, even as the eucalyptus soak drizzles into his eyes.

Eliza no longer wears the parka. She’s stripped to a pearl-coloured camisole, her feet bare and propped flush against the brick. Glossy red lacquer colours her toenails, reflects the light in ovular patterns along its surface.

“A false witness shall be punished, and a liar shall be caught,” she says. “Proverbs.”

Going to leave this tea here casually:

The darkroom was misplaced. This was Lonan’s first thought when he yanked open its steel panel door and entered to reveal its contents. He did not need the glimmer of a flashlight to confirm his instinct. This was not the same darkroom he’d known as a child, or the darkroom he found his sister in, or the darkroom him and Harrison tried to destroy. Everything was slotted away, puzzled back into a configuration so unknown to him, so wrong to him, that the organization felt more like war.

Unlike when he and Harrison had last stepped foot inside of the darkroom, lugging the gas can along with them, not unlike what he did then, the photos that used to string clothespinned in no justifiable order were now taken down. The bricks of photo paper forming a maze around the developing tables, the amber bottles of chemicals—all of it, meticulously put back in places Lonan knew they never had. Under his boots, he did not feel the crunch of glass or slip of forgotten negatives. The darkroom had been swept clean.

Lonan dropped the gas can at the darkroom’s entrance, and removed the flashlight from between his teeth, thumbing it off. He worked his way around the shed like he’d been wounded, staggering, stopping to hold himself upright. Nothing was in its rightful chaos. Expired film lay stacked in a waste bin he’d never seen before. Bad paper cuts had been shredded. The photos he’d been so accustomed to not looking at, all gone, except for three, evenly clipped on the last three lines.

In the distance, an eagle cawed. The stream trilled. Tadpoles cricketed along the embankment.

Lonan approached the remaining photographs like they’d electrocute him. They were displayed one after the other, each on its own line. The first, a picture not unfamiliar to him. Eliza standing in front of a colourful street of vendors. Her loopy signature on the back a jagged indication of where she signed it, most likely wobbling on a train, or in the back of a taxi. He picked it off its clothespin and held it up to a hole in the roof where sun bled through. Nothing had changed from the photo since he’d taken it last year, and he was almost grateful she’d left it fossilized when she took it from his pocket. His gratitude did not last by the time he saw the second photo, so unexpected, he had to glance twice.

His father stood arced slightly behind him, his hands not visible. Lonan knew where they were—one secured around his forehead, the next urging a screwdriver up a stone. Sun scalded the water’s surface, wrinkled it with light. He remembered the song his father whistled as he fried the sunfish on a birch branch, truly less of a song and more of a reminder as he hummed up and down each minor scale, not once stopping to check his work, like he knew better than any instrument.

Lonan plucked the photograph off the line and held it closer. Though he was shaded mostly by his father’s back, he knew they were both in it. He shouldn’t have been surprised when he turned it over to find that same looping signature inked onto the back, smudged, like she’d forgotten to let the ink dry before handling.

It would’ve been easier to think about the second photo’s implications had he not seen the third. He could’ve excused it—a shot taken by a neighbour, though the cabin was remote. A shot that fired itself, the camera discarded on the ground, though it was taken at eye level. A shot signed with familiar initials E.L.K, as if those letters could stand for anything but Eliza Louise Kiang. It would’ve been easier to excuse her presence. To excuse her knowledge of him, to forget she’d ever told him she didn’t know his father had children, that she swore she’d never have been with him had someone informed her. It would’ve been so much easier.

The last photo was not a photo at all, not in the same capacity at least. The ink had gone purplish from the elements but swirled, almost horror-like around the photo’s frame. He could have pretended the white swishes of colour were strands of lace, or the awkward scratch of photo blur. He could’ve pretended to not understand. But there it was. The light funnelling down on the black and white shape so he understood it was not a photograph he looked at, but a child.

I have already shared this line a few times, but it’s my favourite thing I’ve ever written oops!:

When she looked at him, she grinned, and he turned his face to the ceiling where a hole in the roof caved around a branch. The sun’s eye disappeared behind the bullet of the wood, leaving only its outer edges to skirt the sky, a veiling that felt less like an eclipse, and more like evidence of an exit wound. 

Obligatory “I’m the grass” shoutout:

“All people are like grass, and all their faithfulness is like the flowers of the field,” he says without once reading what’s actually written on the page. “Isaiah.”

“Isaiah was onto something, don’t you think? Poor grass, poor flowers—they all die in the end, but they have their God. They have their saviour. Everything dying except for God and his word.”

Eliza cuts another clump of hair. The fire welcomes its feed with haste.

“What does this have to do with children?”

“Do you feel you’re the God of these women, Lonan? Are you their saviour?”

Lonan shakes his head. “I’m the grass.”

And to finish:

After they eat the fish, Lonan and his father rinse their hands in the lake. This is respect. This is self-ordinance. This is a holy act.

His father stoops farther into the stream than he does, water nipping his knees. The sun has disappeared beyond the horizon, the sky now coloured periwinkle, silvering his hair. The taste of sunfish coddles Lonan’s tongue, oiled and briny with saltwater. They share a bar of orange glycerin soap, its scent cloying, like a rotting fruit basket. His father peels the bar between his palms, scrubbing until his fingers disappear under suds.

That’s it for this update! Hope y’all enjoyed! :) I’ll be back soon to update on chapter 5!

--Rachel

[grapenamjams]

Tavern Nights

Genre: Fluff, slight NSFW

Characters: Julian from the arcana and my apprentice Eliza

A/N: i really wanted to write about my favorite dumb doctor but I am not super proud of this one but I still figured I post it because maybe someone will enjoy it? 

a little bit about my MC

Her name is Eliza (she/her. Female.) She is 5′2 has brown wavy hair, brown eyes (with specks of green) she also has adorable freckles across her nose. she just wants her red haired doctor to be able to get some rest lol 

Tonight was a rare night indeed. After weeks of telling Julian that he needed a vacation Eliza was finally able to negotiate with the doctor to take the weekend off, although she had hoped to get more days off, at this point she would take any number to see him not worry about work, and one of the ways that makes Julian forget and not worry is by looking at the bottom of a couple of tankards. 

The Scarlett haired doctor slams the wooden cup down onto the table breathing out a loud Satisfied sigh. “Ah! DRINKS ON ME!” He yells, a eruption of ‘cheers’ and Hollers sound out inside the the rowdy raven. The sound dies down transforming into the usual chatter that bounces off the walls of the small warmly lit tavern. Eliza looks to Julian who has a huge smile, warming her heart to see the happiness on his handsome face. “Julian, honey you already said that... after every drink in fact” she giggles, the alcohol going through her body making her Susceptible to laughing more than usual. ”It has to be said after every drink dear! it makes The experience more authentic!” He grins at her before accepting another pint from the server. Good thing that the tavern owner knows Julian and does not put those words on their tab. 

Eliza sipped on her glass, letting the bitter liquid make its way down her throat, she wasn’t much of a drinker like Julian was a soft buzz through her veins was enough for her. She heard a few distinct shuffling in the corner and then a upbeat tune starts to play. “Oh ho the band is finally here!” Julian brightens up. Eliza sees people start pushing tables aside creating their own dance space in the middle of the tavern. Before she knows it a crowd already formed, stomps and cheers ringing out through the small space into the night outside. Neighbors already turning over in their beds hugging their pillows to their face to block out the lively music. 

Julian slides out of their booth and stretches a bare hand towards her, his gloves and coat discarded the moment they walked in. “May I take this stunning women out to dance?” He grins. without missing a heart beat Eliza laughs “you certainly may!” she takes his hand and Julian pulls her out of the booth and into his arms. “Wonderful, lets dance!” He laughs and takes her to the crowd of people. 

The music that was playing had a group dance to it, Julian leaves Eliza on one side of the line as he goes to the other one in front of her. Both lines skip side to side in the beginning and Then her line starts forward having a little skip to the step until they are face to face with the other line, Julian smiles at her and then she skips back. Julian’s line repeats the step, when Julian is close to her he leans down and gives a quick peck to her lips before he’s pulled away, Eliza’s heart skips a beat. her line then goes Forwards again but this time they duck under the other lines raised arms trading place, a ‘woooo’ is let out when they do this, Then another as Eliza raises her arms for Julian to duck through going on her tippy toes for his large frame.

 Both lines face towards the band and start clapping on beat as people from the two lines meet each other at the start and dance their way down the open middle, then the next pair went and another until she was met with Julian. He grabs her left hand and spins her around showing her off to the crowd a cheer is heard for them and Eliza blushes. He then puts his left arm around her waist and begins to lead her down the clapping line. When they reach the end he still holds her close, moving side to side with her. Then as the last people paired up the music changed, this one faster with the violin going full out. An even wider smile breaks across Julian’s face he looks at her and raises his eyebrows “ready?” but before she could say anything, Julian leads her forwards his feet skipping at a faster past almost hopping at times, Eliza had no choice but to try to keep up with his pace at first making her stumble on her feet at the fast movements, hearing Julian's laugh above her gave her brain a different type of buzz as they danced around the tavern.

 Forwards, backwards, to the sides Julian moved Eliza all through out the space. Spinning her and him around to the sway of the music. He loved seeing her tilt her head back and laugh still holding on to him letting him lead her. She brought her head back up keeping the smile on her face all the way through the song. Once it ended, the crowed clapped and cheered for the band. In a matter of seconds a new song ringed out over them. It was a much calmer pace but still upbeat tempo it was a chance for the participants to catch their breath. 

Julian spines Eliza out in front of him taking a good look at her figure, feeling something hot come over him. He pulls her back to his chest and very much like her own is moving up and down trying to catch their breaths. Julian's hands travel down her body and land on her hips, making a shiver pass through Eliza’s spine. she wraps her arms around his neck and he pulls her towards him making their hips move together. 

Julian bends down to whisper in her ear. “You look absolutely ravishing tonight my dear” his voice husky and low, breath fanning over her heated neck. Eliza hums “hm you think so?” Julian lifts his head a bit his lips ghosting over her jaw “absolutely, the thoughts that I’m having right now would get any man in trouble” Eliza smirks up at him “well lets see how much trouble those thoughts will get you in” Julian's eyes flicker to hers, darkening with desire before he crashes his lips to hers. He kisses her softly at first but then he feels her hands go through his hair , pushing him against her deepening the kiss. he has to suppress a groan that comes from his throat by tightening his hold on her hips. Julian then parts from her lips to kiss her neck. He kisses her twice before both of them hear a mans voice come up next to them 

“Julian you lovesick man treat your women to a room!” The pair snap their heads towards a man dancing with his partner. Julian and Eliza turn bright red at being caught. Eliza hides her face in Julian's chest smiling and shaking her head from embarrassment. Julian recovers and laughs at the man with confidence although in the inside he’s a flustered mess. “will do! thank you for the suggestion my good man” the man laughs and takes his partner away. Julian looks down at Eliza who still has her faces hidden in his chest holding the lapels of his Semi open shirt to cover her face. 

“That was embarrassing” she says against his skin, Julian chuckles and puts a finger to her chin making her look up at him. “It shouldn’t, what’s wrong with two people that love each other show a little bit of affection, huh?” Eliza bites her lip trying to Suppress a smile. Julian sees and tugs her bottom lip away from her teeth. “I want the whole world to know your mine and I am yours” he gives her a kiss and pulls back again. “If anyone has a problem with that then...send them my way I’ll give them something to talk about.” he smiles making Eliza shake her head at him, the embarrassment leaving her. “You’re so dramatic” she wraps her arms around his neck again as the next song picks up. “Darling, aren't I always?” He grins and begins to lead her through the next dance.

* * * 

 After a few more dances and after a few more Emptied tankards Eliza thought it was time to start heading home. She finished her last drink, the lightness she felt throughout her body still let her be aware of what was around her so she could get herself and Julian safely home.

 “Another round, please!” Julian says to the server who is picking up their plates and many cups. “A-actually I think we’re done, can you round our tab please?” The server smiles and nodes before walking away. “Awww why so soon?” Julian pouts at her. Eliza lets out a giggle “because if I don’t get you out of here, you’re gonna start dancing on the tables and once that happens there’s no getting you out of bed the next morning” she pushes his chest lightly, Julian laughs at that

 “aaand I want to do things tomorrow with you, so I can’t have you laying in bed all day” Julian smirks and grabs her wrist that stayed on his chest, pulling her towards him looking her up and down “but my dear we can also do ‘things’ while laying in bed all day, right?” he leans closer and Eliza matches his smirk but leans away from him raising An eyebrow “with a pounding headache? I don’t think so” Julian smiles and lets out a breath “you’re right” he wraps his arms around her in a tight hug and mumbles “I want to spend the whole day with you with a clear mind, yeah?.... ‘cuz I love youuu” he says squeezing her tight against him squishing her. “Ilya....can’t...breath” she says laughter bubbling inside her. he slackens his hold on her and she looks up at him to see a worried expression on his face “I’m sorry Eliza, are you alright?? Can you breath now?” His hands are on her face checking her like as if she in fact was having trouble breathing from his hug. She places her hands on his “Im fine Julian” his face shows that he is relived “oh good” but a smirk comes just as quick “but are you sure? If you need mouth to mouth, I’ll gladly provide” she pulls his hands away from her face, knowing that this walk home was gonna be a interesting one. “I know you would” smiling, she leans in and kisses him, Julian lets out a satisfied sigh but pouts when she pulls away. “Now come on let’s go home”

 When they stepped out of the tavern Eliza didn’t realize how hot it was inside of it. The night air hit her like a wave of cold water, she shivered a bit and fixed her coat around her. The position of the moon overhead as they walked home told her it was well past midnight. Julian was staggering next to her half humming and singing a song from the band that played, he was hunched down with an arm over her shoulder, she insisted on him putting some of his Weight on her so he wouldn't fall on the uneven cobblestones that the lanterns barley helped light.

 Julian lays his head on top of hers and breaths in “You always smell like a field of flowers my dear.” He slurs, Eliza lets out a amused laugh “really? I just danced and was inside a smelly tavern for the last few hours, I Smell far from a field of flowers” she feels Julian shake his head into her hair “not trueeee, you smell of roses and your hair is so soft like..like soft angel wings!” His voice coming out slow and deep. He pokes her cheek “Your skin is also so soft like...” he pauses trying to find something to compare it too. “Ah! Like a baby’s-“ “don’t you dare finish that sentence” Eliza cuts him off. Julian barks out a laugh rocking both of them, Eliza tries to quickly steady them both. 

 “What I’m trying to tell you is that your beautiful, my love” his arms go around hugging her “I love you, you know that? I’ll never know how I got so lucky” He nuzzles his head on top of hers. Then sucks in a breath “I-I truly do love you Eliza! Its the truth! It’s not just the alcohol ‘talkin, I mean it! I really do. With all my heart” he sounds desperate for her to understand his feelings,  his pout being heard in his voice. Eliza’s heart warms at his words and actions.  she can’t help but to smile and puff out a laugh. She places her hands on top of his around her making him stop his rambling and she squeezes them reassuring him. “I know Ilya, I love you too” she tilts her head up to him and he gives her a kiss.

* * * 

 Once they entered through the door Eliza let out a relived sigh to be finally back home. The shops incense filling her head. Something wooden landed on the floor with a thud, quickly followed by a sluggish voice “s-sorry my bad” doing a spell to turn on the lights Eliza sees Julian trying to pick up the table he had crashed into but he was swaying forward in the processes missing it, clearly dizzy from drinking. She chuckled, going over and steading the table. She grabbed Julian again “Let’s get you upstairs and into the shower, hm?” Julian nodes but the movement makes his head swell. with a bit of a struggle trying not to fall back down the pair make it upstairs. Eliza helps shed Julian's coat, gloves and boots while he tries to do the same to her but Eliza laughed as she moved away from his grasps making Julian whine in protest.

“Alright, go take a shower” she tugs him towards the bathroom but Julian doesn't go inside, instead He looks at the bathroom and then her with a smug look “you know. I’ve heard that Vesuvias water source is getting low...” he leans in closer “shouldn’t we do our part in saving it?” 

‘Gosh why is he an adorable idiot?’ Eliza thinks as she rolls her eyes amused. but As much as she loves the idea she wants him to relax so he could rest thoroughly tonight and be fresh for tomorrow and also.... she  liked teasing him “we can save vesuiva’s water problem” she smirks and leans up to kiss him but pauses “later, for now go get in the shower you smell” she goes back down to her feet and pushes him gently towards the bathroom.

the doctor frowns but then his eyebrows shoot up “is that a promise?”

“It’s a maybe” she replies

“I’ll take it!” And without saying anything else he goes into the bathroom.

* * * 

Julian comes out of the shower looking refreshed. his wet hair still dripping on to the towel around his neck. After telling him to drink some water Eliza goes inside the bathroom to take a quick shower as well. It felt good standing under the warm water, letting her body Wind down from today’s activities. She steps out of the shower and changes into her night clothes. When she enters the bedroom again Julian is sitting on the edge of the bed waiting for her, the glass of water she put for him empty. his hair still wet and dripping into the towel. She places her used one on a chair, “why is your hair still wet?” She asks

“I was waiting for you.” She turns to him an eyebrow raised in question “for me?” Julian's cheeks get a tint of pink on them “I...wanted you to dry my hair...” he averts his eyes. A smile makes its way across Eliza’s face “so you waited this whole time for me, so I could dry your hair?” Julian nodes his head looking up at her walk over to him trying not to laugh.

 “Julian you could get a cold” she says, sitting on his lap her legs on either side of him, his hands instinctively going to her hips. He looks up at her and gives her one of his grins “good thing I’m a doctor that has a lovely nurse to take care of him” Eliza laughs ‘what an adorable idiot’ she cant help but think again.  she takes the towel around his neck and puts it over his head. “Mmhmm sure, a nurse that will spend the entire day hearing the complains of a doctor that got a cold more like” she says and shakes the towel against his hair. Julian chuckles at her response, closing his eyes.

 Once his hair was deemed dry by Eliza she starts to run her fingers through his scarlet hair making Julian lean into her touch, resting his head on her shoulder. With the feeling of her surrounding him and with the calming silence of the shop, even maybe due to the salty bitters in his system. Julian’s tired mind couldn’t help but to wander, thinking of all the moments that he had missed with her because of his work. 

How many breakfasts ,lunches, dinners  had he missed with her? How many of her smiles and laughs had he not seen or heard? How many nights like the one they had tonight could have happened? A guilt came over him as he heard Eliza’s voice. “all done” he lifted his head to look at her, even though she had said she was finished her fingers still ran through his hair slowly, making curls with her finger.

“Thank you”

Eliza hummed “No need, I don’t mind”

He moved her closer “I mean, thank you for everything.  thank you for putting up with me, for being by my side for being here.” He pauses and sighs, he starts to rub her sides “I know.... I haven't been with you as of late. I’ve been so busy with work that I haven't been giving you the attention that you deserve... a-and for that I’m truly sorry, I certainly don’t deserve-“ Julian gets caught off by Eliza kissing him, when she pulls back he stares at her wide eyed. She places a finger to his lips and shakes her head “none of that kind of talk anymore, understand?” 

Knowing if she didn’t stop him he would go on a talk that would only lead to a dark place. Julian goes red “but its true I-“ she kisses him again and he smiles against her “understood” he says and kisses her again. Eliza pulls back, she puts one hand on his shoulder while the other one swipes away a already formed curl from his face. “Ilya. I love you and with that I understand that you love the work that you do which in turn makes me proud and happy. You don’t have to be sorry, we get moments like these don’t we? And I appreciate them even more when we do.” she kisses him again and he sighs happily “Thank you” . Eliza traces a finger down his cheek and following his sharp jaw “besides, I have you all to myself for three days and I plan to use that time wisely” Eliza insides do a somersault at what she just said, this confidence definitely coming from the alcohol in her system. She tries to not blush but fails as she sees Julian also redden but gives her a smirk.

“My love, you can’t say those types of things to me right now, I will not be able to sleep” he shifts under her, making her cheeks warm up, he captures her lips in his kissing her softly she kisses him back just the same. after a moment Eliza reluctantly pulls away looking at his hooded eyes. “But sleep we must. If we want energy for tomorrow’s activities” she says rubbing his shoulders.  the doctors eyes flicker with interest before falling back onto the bed bringing Eliza down with him. She lets out a startled laugh on top of him and fixes herself on the bed. “Then sleep we shall, so tomorrow’s festivities come faster” Julian says letting out a soft chuckle, wrapping an arm around her waist putting his head close to her chest wanting to be held by her, she complies his silent request. “Someone’s eager” she teases him stroking his head again, “can’t blame me” he mumbles heavy eyes starting to close “goodnight my love” he gives her a small squeeze Eliza smiles into his hair giving him a kiss “goodnight Ilya”

[kangaracha]

prompt: zed, addison and fire?

It’s the bonfire that gets him.

It’s a great, blazing thing, built in the middle of some guy from school’s backyard, a pile of old garbage and tree cuttings set alight to warm them against the cold night air. He can feel the heat of it even from where he sits on the back steps of the house, prickling at his skin, the smoke burning at his lungs as he’s forced to breathe it in and out. The light of it hurts his eyes, burning silhouettes of the humans that stand around it into his retinas so that even when he tries to look away, it’s all that he can see.

He doesn’t understand the appeal of it, their need to gather around a fire and hold their hands out to it. The urge to throw their empty cans into its flaming depths and watch them curl and pop and melt into the wood as it burns. He’d ignore it and go back inside with the other zombies, if he could, but Addison is out here by the fire, and he came here to be with her, and he’s not-

He’s not scared of fire.

He’s not.

(He’s lying.)

Eliza says it’s something buried deep inside their genetics or something, a side effect of the mutation that makes them zombies in the first place. Some intrinsic, deep-born fear of flames, an instinct that tells them that fire will kill them without the need for first-hand experience. 

Zed thinks it might be more about how humans used to use it to fend them off, before the wall, before they became what they are today. Or maybe it’s because every now and then, someone comes into Zombietown and sets a building on fire just to watch them scream and run.

Either way, Eliza had laughed at him when he’d told her he was going to a bonfire. “Do you even know what a bonfire is?” she’d asked mockingly. 

“It has ‘fire’ in its name, Eliza,” he’d replied peevishly, and glanced apologetically at Bonzo as he flinched. “I know what it is.”

“Then why are you going?” she’s said, like he was stupid.

“I’m not scared of fire,” he’d claimed, bold as the day is long (and he’s not scared, he’s just…cautious). “There’s other zombies going too. It’ll be fine.”

“Well, I’m not going anywhere near a bonfire.”

“You’re not invited anyway,” and then they’d descended into an argument about whether or not an invite to this part was an indication of social status, and if Zed was invited because of football or because of Addison.

Addison. 

He has his eyes on her, over on the other side of the yard, warming her hands by the roaring blaze. She’s found a group of other cheerleaders to talk to and they’ve been embroiled in a very serious discussion for fifteen or so minutes now (or has it been longer? He hasn’t been keeping track, too busy trying to look casual while he hides back here on the steps). 

She’s beautiful like that, silhouetted between the half-light of the fire and the soft glow that spills from the verandah of the house. It reminds him of how she’d looked in the light garden, the night of their first Zombie Mash, the first time he’d come so close to kissing her…

He’d kiss her now, but she’s over there by that pile of blazing logs, and he’s over here, glued to a set of stairs.

“Why don’t you join the party, bro?” someone asks, and then three members of the football team barrel past him down the stairs like a pack of wild animals. It’s Brock that’s speaking to him, a big lump of a guy that Zed’s kind of come to like, even if he had been anti-zombie when they’d first started playing together. Brock’s cool now – he even appears at Mash every now and then, though he can’t bust a move or hold a note to save his life.

“Some people givin’ you some trouble, Z?” he asks, and jerks a thumb at the small crowd gathered around the bonfire. “Wanna come rough ‘em up?”

“No,” Zed says before Brock can start any fights. “I’m just waiting for someone.”

“Waitin’ for who?” Brock asks, and then one of the other boys, Cody, elbows him in the ribs, so hard they both almost fall over.

“Bro,” Cody says between giggles, his words slurred and his eyes ever so slightly unfocused. A can of something sloshes in his other hand – Zed wonders just how many he’s had before that one. “Bro. Bro.”

“What?” Brock snaps, shoving the drunk so hard that he staggers back a couple steps.

“He’s waiting for his girlfriend,” Cody says, pointing at Addison, and then he laughs so hard he drops his drink, the contents bubbling away into the lawn. Brock grabs him in a headlock and they go down together in a pile of drunken limbs, wrestling on the wet grass.

“Want some?” asks Skip, their other companion, and offers Zed a mostly-empty beer bottle.

“I think you need it more than me,” Zed replies with a wry grin, and watches as Skip shrugs and chugs it down.

“Can zombies even drink?” Cody asks from the ground, his head trapped under Brock’s arm.

“Who cares,” says the other boy as he gets up, giving Cody one last shove as he does so. “Why’s the zombie hangin’ out over here when his girlfriend’s over there?”

Their eyes all turn towards Zed. He shifts uncomfortably.

“No reason,” he says, and tries to play it off as cool. “It’s just a bit…hot. Felt like sitting over here.”

The two drunks glance at each other uncertainly, like they’re not sure whether to believe him or not. Brock rolls his eyes and grabs Zed by the shoulder, hauling him up off the steps and onto his feet.

“What are you doing?” Zed squawks as his feet hit the soft turf of the lawn.

“Savin’ your relationship,” Brock replies with a meaty grin and shoves him towards the fire.

Terror does not stab at his gut as he stumbles the two steps forward to keep his balance.

(He’s still lying.)

He looks back at the football players, his clueless, drunk, human friends, and realises with a sinking feeling that they are blocking any chance of escape, all staring at him expectantly. He turns back to the fire and his fate.

Relax, he tells himself, and then he walks, one step at a time, across the yard ad over to the edge of the fire, just three steps from the flickering flames. It’s not even the bravest thing you’ve ever done, he tells himself firmly (lie), and stops his hands from shaking by snaking one around Addison’s waist instead, pulling her close.

“Zed!” she exclaims happily at his sudden appearance, and turns to press a kiss to his cheek. “Where have you been?”

“Here and there,” he says dismissively, like his random disappearance wasn’t totally planned. “You know me, life of the party. Can’t let you keep all the fun to yourself.”

“You’re not going to turn Nicky’s party into a Zombie Mash, are you?” she asks, but she’s laughing, like she wouldn’t really mind if he did such a thing.

“I make no promises,” he replies and gives her a grin, trying to pretend that he’s relaxed, that he’s not fixed entirely on the crackling of the flames to his right, the heat that rolls off the blaze and beats at his cold skin, dry and angry and filled with the same smell of smoke that invades every corner of Zombietown all too often.

Addison frowns at him, the corners of her eyes crinkling in concern. “What’s wrong, Zed?” she asks.

“Hm?” he replies, like he wasn’t listening, and then, “Nothing. Nothing’s wrong. I’m fine.”

She shakes her head. “You’re being weird,” she says and he shrugs and turns away, feigning confusion. The fire catches at his eyes, bright and angry, drawing him in. Beside him, Addison’s breath catches in her throat.

“Oh,” she says, and pulls him back a few steps, waving her friends away as they turn to see where she is going. “Is it the fire? I’m sorry, Zed, I didn’t even think-”

“No,” he interrupts, before she can get too far into her apology for something she didn’t do. “I’m not afraid of fire, Ads. That’s just a stupid...zombie...thing.” He feels like a liar, his mouth bitter, his tongue bitten. He ignores the sensation.

She’s silent for several seconds, looking at him with just the faintest hint of a frown on her face. He doesn’t like the expression she wears, the way her eyes dig into his skin, trying to see past the front he’s definitely not putting on. He wants to kiss her, or to change the topic, to distract her somehow before she can become properly convinced that he is afraid of a little fire, but he doesn’t. She will only call him out on it, and then he will be in even bigger trouble.

He thinks she might say something about the zombies comment, might press the issue further until he has to argue with her or walk away, but she is not Eliza and she knows him well enough not to push the topic. “Do you want to go inside?” she asks instead, motioning towards the house, where the other zombies hide.

“No,” he insists. “Stay out here with your friends. We always hang out in Zombietown, I want to spend time with your people too.”

She eyes him skeptically. “Are you sure? Zed, I really don’t mind going inside, it’s kind of hot out here anyway-”

“No, come on, I want to go talk about cheer or whatever.” He loops his arm through hers and pulls her back towards the fire, swallowing down the lump that forms in his throat at the sight of the flames, focusing instead on Addison beside him, her hand in his hand, her lips pressed quickly against his cheek as they walk, filled with all the things he won’t let her say; comfort, understanding, acceptance of the things she cannot change.

He stands by the fire and he holds her hand and he pretends it doesn’t bother him when a log cracks and splits down the middle and sparks shower into the air above them, because he’s not afraid.

He’s not.

(He’s lying.)

[fuckingthefictional]

Cross my heart - part 1

Warnings: the extensive use of the word fuck, war, (probably) historical inaccuracies.

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Fenton!OFC, platonic!John Shelby x OFC.

Read Part 2 here

The station was practically empty, only a few stray people lingered around the grimy platforms. Ready to escape the hellish streets of Birmingham, although no major city was any better. London was just as much if not more of a shithole, as was Liverpool now that Eliza thought about it.

But Birmingham was the worst. It was dirty and crime-riddled and unless you had the money (which most did not) you were almost entirely fucked.

Eliza Fenton grew up with her brother in Small Heath. Harry, was a good few years older than she was and he was always supportive of the actions and plans in her life.

He was there right by her side when she was accepted into aviation school, he knew about her dream to become a pilot. Harry was always there, always there to support you.

Well - most of the time. Enlisting in the war as a pilot was the only time Harry had been completely against an idea of hers.

The fact that she, a young woman, had even been allowed to enlist was enough of a reason for Eliza to sign up. She knew she was a damn good pilot and she never turned down an opportunity to prove herself.

So on the 7th of August 1914, Eliza Fenton enlisted into the 35th RFC squadron. At first, when she arrived at the base it was strange- it was foreign and new. A lot of the other pilots didn’t understand why there was a woman on site.

Eventually, they understood why- Eliza was the best at routine checks, mechanics and overall fighting skills.

Little Tigress they’d call her- Small but feisty.

When Eliza came back to Small Heath, it was nice to see that not much had changed. The streets were still stained with ash, and the people were still absolutely fucking horrible.

It may look the same, but Eliza knew better than that- she knew that everything had changed.

That the men were all struggling to keep up their jobs because of the trauma from the battlefield. That the wives and widows were struggling to keep their heads above the water as the financial weight kept pressing down onto them.That the children would cry out to their fathers and brothers, not knowing they would never get a response. As much as everyone didn’t want to admit, the war had changed the people and not for the better either.

//

Opening the door to the garrison, Eliza allowed herself to become familiar with the loud chatter and smoky atmosphere. She didn’t know how much she had missed the pub before- how much of a comfort the rowdy crowds were.

She walked up to the bar, watching as a young blonde-haired woman served up drinks.

‘She’s new’ Eliza thought to herself. But to her left, she could see the back of her brother’s head, Harry was making small talk through the hatch to the private room.

That could only mean one thing. At least one of the Shelby’s were here.

As much as Eliza hated to remember, the memories kept flooding back in ongoing waves. But she pushed it into the back of her mind.

Instead, the brown-haired beauty walked behind the bar, she had always been allowed behind it- considering she was the sibling of the owner. But as soon as Eliza stepped foot in the area that was off-limits to the patrons, she felt a strong grip on her arm.

“You can’t be back here, Miss.”

Eliza looked up to see the blonde barmaid, she stared coldly at the woman. There was something about her that made Eliza’s body tingle with mistrust.

Ripping her arm away, she continued her walk to her brother. Eliza found herself picking up a bottle of whiskey from under the counter and unscrewing the cap, she took a large swig. The liquid burned her throat but warmed her insides.

The Irish voice spoke again, “Look if you don’t get out from behind the counter. I’ll be forced to ask you to leave.”

Eliza just chuckled, “Aye, good luck trying love.”

The small argument had obviously caught the attention of a few of the drinkers of the Garrison. It slowly fell hushed and the men at the end of the bar turned to face the two women.

Eliza smirked at her brother, “Afternoon, you ugly bastard.”

“Liza?”, Harry paced over and embraced his younger sister in his arms. They swayed gently and soon broke apart. The barman held the young woman at arm's length checking her over for injuries. “You’re back for good, Aye?”

“Aye- I’m back for good.”

//

“Why’d it take you so long to come back?”

They were sat in the private room, it had been left empty after the oldest Shelby left to conduct “business”. It was now occupied by the two Fenton siblings.

“Bloody war office.” Eliza inhaled deeply, the cigarette smoke-filled her lungs, “They said they couldn’t give me a Victoria Cross- said it’d cause too much controversy, ‘cos I’m a bloody woman.”

A look of anger washed across her brother's face, “Bloody bastards, half of ‘em didn’t even go through what you an’ our boys did. Bloody cowards the lot of ‘em.”

Eliza nodded her head in agreement and silently took out a small stack of letters from her purse, she handed them to Harry and motioned for him to read them.

She watched as his eyes skimmed through the writing, his face contorted in anger as he read the contents.

“Fucking, bloody bastards!”

Eliza just replied with a simple shrug, as she watched her older brother rant.

“What do they think their playing at ‘ay? Bloody bastards know what you did for our fuckin’ country for fuck's sake and they can’t even publically acknowledge it.”

Harry was pacing at this point, his hands flailing wildly in anger, “What horseshit! ‘We regret to inform you that your services on March 7th, 1917 must stay within your person.’ They make you sound like a fucking whore- not a bloody soldier.”

“Who sounds like a whore Harry?” A cold voice came from the doorway. Thomas fucking Shelby.

“Ah sorry Mr Shelby, I was just off on one. It’s a family matter you see, government are being bastards.”

Eliza snorted, “When are they not being bloody bastards Haz?”

Her soft voice caught the attention of the middle Shelby. He smirked slightly, “I like her.”

He walked into the room as Eliza began to put away her things, the opening of the door indicated the appearances of the other Shelby brothers.

“Eliza bloody Fenton!”

Eliza’s head shot up at the sound of the familiar voice.

“Y’alright Johnny boy? Still a pompous prick I see.”

The two other brothers looked at the woman incredulously, ready to come to their youngest brothers defense.

John just barked out a laugh, “and you’re still a frigid bitch.” Eliza laughed softly as John wrapped an arm around his old friend, “I say we need a bottle of whiskey and a catch-up.”

Tommy, knocked on the hatch, only for it to be opened by the blonde-haired girl. She glared at Eliza, jealousy radiated off of her face.

“Aye up Grace, can we get some whiskeys in here?”

‘Grace’ nodded silently a flirty smile working its way to her lips. Eliza just rolled her eyes.

John’s voice pulled her back to the room, “So how’ve you been El?”

Eliza let herself laugh, “Oh brilliant,” she said sarcastically, “The post-trauma just really makes my life amazing.”

“That’s what you get when ya’ sleep with our John.”

The youngest Shelby glared at his brother and a low rumbling of laughter momentarily shook the room, as the two older siblings looked back at the young woman sat next to John

“And how do you know our John ‘ay?”

This time it was Eliza and John who shared a look.

Eliza cleared her throat, “We were stationed together for a bit, in France. I saved good old Johnny’s arse on the field.”

Arthur and Tommy just turned to look at John, seeking the truth from their brother. John just gave them a nod- rendering your story to be true.

“Eliza Fenton, flight Seargent and lieutenant of the 35th squadron of the RFC.” She introduced herself and saluted jokingly.

“Some of her squadron were pulled in for ground support in the Somme, Eliza shot down a most of the German artillery men who were shooting at us.” John expanded on his friend’s wartime legacy, “Saved my arse on several occasions.” He clarified.

The room was silent for a moment before Tommy spoke up, “Well I suppose we owe you one Miss Fenton, We’re forever grateful for you actions and saving our John.”

“It’s no problem really. He’d of done it for me.” The sentiment was cut short when Harry knocked on the door and returned with the remaining letters, he was angrily muttering to himself.

“Harry!”

The older brother was red in the face, “I’ll fucking kill them- I swear it!” He slammed the letters on the table.

“You need to calm down.” Eliza chastised her brother, “There’s nothing we can do- believe me I’ve bloody tried.”

She took another deep inhale from the cigarette between her fingers, “there’s no point getting into a piss when you can’t change their minds- just let it go for now, aye?”

Harry just turned and exited the room mumbling profanities under his breath.

“The fuck was that about?”

The pilot turned to her friend, “Read these. They’ll explain everything.”

//

John had the same reaction as Harry.

“What a fuckin’ pisstake.”

Eliza rubbed her temples- it was like deja vu.

“They won’t award you a Victoria cross because you’re a fuckin’ woman.”

She just sighed again, “I always found it funny though- they didn’t even want to give me my fuckin’ ranks when I was over there. Even though I worked hard for the fucking things.” Eliza found herself reaching for the crystal glass once more, “the fuckin’ polish artillery squadron gave a bloody bear a rank with no issue.” The liquid burnt her throat, “but me? It might’ve caused controversy so they took their bloody time deciding.”

“It’s fuckin’ ridiculous.”

Eliza laughed shortly, “you’re tellin’ me. And after all the shit I went through too.”

The girl took a short breath, “look there's absolutely no point in getting annoyed over something out of our control- we’d just be wasting time on something other than getting piss drunk.”

Arthur sent a smirk over in her direction, “I like the way this one thinks.”

//

The rest of the night consisted of the Shelby boys and Fenton girl, knocking back countless bottles of alcohol. It was a nice feeling, to be carefree and not have to worry about the past or future.

Although Eliza had a high alcohol tolerance- she could safely admit that the Shelby brothers were several levels higher than her on the drinking scale.

And if there was one thing that Eliza Fenton knew- it was never to try and outdrink a Shelby.

She knew her limits, and after the 8th round of drinks, Eliza decided to settle instead for her hand-rolled cigarettes.

She and John caught up over the course of the evening- Christ, even Arthur was engaging in conversation.

But the one thing Eliza couldn’t shake off was the cool and calculating gaze from the middle brother. Thomas had barely spoken two words since they’d started drinking.

Any other girl would have been put off by that fact, but Eliza was different. She wasn't there to impress the men of the garrison, she wasn’t beckoning for the attention either.

And yet here she was with Tommy’s full attention and gaze on her frame. Watching her like a meal, or how a predator would look at their prey. Eliza was aware of their past meetings together, even if Tommy didn’t.

[frosty-talks]

Feast of the Winter Star

Hey y’all! I finally dusted off my laptop and got to writing again! Though this time it’s with a twist as I wrote my first proper fanfic in years. With Christmas and other holidays upon us I got into the mood to combine two favorite fandoms of mine: Stardew Valley and Miraculous Ladybug. Thank you @medic-eliza for editing this for me, it couldn’t have been done without your help!

Coat. Hat. Scarf. Gloves. Boots. Yup, everything needed to face the cold winter air. She tightened the scarf once more before glancing over at a wrapped box on her kitchen table — small, wrapped in festive paper, and topped off with a simple green bow. Her gift for the Feast of the Winter Star.

Every year in Pelican Town, the citizens got together to enjoy food and give presents to a randomly assigned person. This was Marinette’s first year in the Valley, her first year to participate. She sighed and plucked the box from its place, tucking it under her arm before opening the door with a shiver. The cold December air creeped in and cooled her warm cabin down.

The door was quickly closed on her exit and she looked out on her empty field. In the summer, it was filled with all sorts of crops: melons, blueberries, corn, and tomatoes. However, in winter, she had to get by without those precious crops and get by she did thanks to making enough money to last until spring’s harvest. Marinette walked through the barren field and trudged through the snow in front of her cabin, past the still broken down bus stop, and paused at the town’s entrance.

Once she arrived, she’d be in the middle of the festivities  and she most likely wouldn’t be able to get away until late at night. She felt nervous. She’d skipped the other festivals the town had held. This one she decided to go to as she didn’t want to disappoint whoever she's got for her secret gift-receiver. But at the same time, there was the slight chance that they wouldn’t like her present and the thought made her involuntarily step back…

‘Snap out of it, Marinette! You can do this!’

The mental kick was just what she needed, and she confidently entered the town’s center. She marveled at the giant tree in the middle of everything, its long branches decorated with ornaments, lights, and tinsel. Children ran around without a care with an occasional snowball being thrown. Despite everything being outside, she couldn’t help but feel warmth all around.

“Hey, girl!” A voice called out to Marinette’s left. “Come join us!”

It was Alya! One of the first people to welcome her to the Valley, she had become a best friend of sorts to the newcomer. “Oh, hey Alya! You don’t mind?”

“Why would I ask you to join if I did?” The brunette grabbed Marinette’s arm, tugging her to her family’s table. “Just get over here!”

Currently only Alya’s father was seated, his attention being entirely focused on Alya’s younger twin sisters, but Marinette could see her mother setting out food nearby. “We’re so happy you could make it. We were worried you’d stay home.” 

“Ah, well… I thought about it.” Her face turned red a bit as she held up her gift. “But I didn’t want to leave someone without a gift.”

She could see the faintest bit of disappointment in her friend’s face though it was quickly replaced with a smile. “Doesn’t matter, you’re here and that’s all I care about! So who did you get?”

Marinette sighed and revealed the tag. “Chloe.”

“Oh good luck with that.” 

Chloe. The mayor’s daughter and the spoiled brat of the town. Hard to please and easy to annoy, and of course she was Marinette’s secret gift-receiver for the year. Chloe was a high end shopper with all clothes being designer, ate only the best food, and never lifted a finger to help unless it benefited her. Marinette was dumbfounded when she got the letter, how was she supposed to give Chloe a present when she was a farmer? All her money went to making sure she’d survive the winter with almost none left over to spend on personal items, much less items of a more expensive taste.

“Well, hey, maybe she’ll be in a good mood?” Her friend offered.

“When was the last time Chloe was in a good mood?”

“I’m only trying to help.”

A huff and the present was set aside, quickly forgotten as the friends chattered on about how the day could go. Soon enough the call for everyone to grab their food went out. Everyone rushed over and clambered to get the best bites, despite being assured by the cooks that there was plenty for everyone. With the townsfolk settled, the mayor of the town himself, Mayor Bourgeois, stood up with his glass raised in a toast. 

“Another year is almost done and now we celebrate everything that has changed in our lovely community. The biggest one being that the farm down the road has finally been cleaned up and is now in use once again, thanks to our new farmer: Marinette Dupain-Cheng.”

The small claps from the gathered townsfolk caused a blush to creep up Marinette’s face, and the farmer to duck down to avoid all the attention.

“With that out of the way I declare that the Feast of the Winter Star may now begin!”

The food was delicious, unlike anything Marinette had tried before. From the honeyed ham to the sticky toffee pudding, the farmer couldn’t help but devour everything she could until she was full. A look around even proved others had the same thoughts on it, Nino shoveling more onto his plate, Ivan looking like he was going to pass out from eating too much. 

The mayor watched the trays of food slowly dwindle away until he was sure everyone had gotten their fill. Another success for the holiday. Now onto the best part. “With the feast itself out of the way, it is time to move onto the next part!” Mayor Bourgeois stood with a present held above him. “Secret gift givers, it is time to exchange!”

A whistle and everyone was awake and alert. People rushed to be the first to give their gift away while others waited until things had calmed down. Marinette instead went right up to the mayor’s table where Chloe waited, bundled up in a stylish but thick, yellow coat, white sunglasses still atop her head despite the cloudy weather.

“Ugh,” The compact mirror snapped shut, disdain evident in Chloe’s voice. “What do you want, Dupain-Cheng?”

She took in a breath before holding out her present. “I’m your secret gift giver! I hope you like it.” Fat chance she’d admit to liking it. 

The blonde considered the present for a moment before snatching it away. 

“Fine I guess I’ll see what you got me.” First the bow, and then the paper, finally leaving the box to open. With a flourish of her hand, the lid was off and a moment of silence surrounded the two girls. “Uh, what is this?”

“A scarf? It’s winter and I’ve never seen you wear one so I thou-”

“Well you thought wrong!’ The box was unceremoniously dropped on the table. “Ridiculous! Utterly ridiculous! I don’t need a scarf!”

Just what she thought. Marinette turned and trudged back to Alya’s table with a sigh. Even though she knew Chloe wouldn’t like the gift, she had hoped there would’ve been some appreciation for it But no, just ridicule. She plopped herself back in her seat with her head slamming down on the table.

“Didn’t go well?” Alya had come back, a new phone case replacing her old one.

“As well as you’d expect.”

“Well get back up because I have something that will bring that smile back!” Marinette gasped as Alya grabbed her arm, pulling her out of her seat and around the decorated tree. Her friend then skidded to a stop and covered the farmer’s eyes with her hands. “Okay, don’t peak.”

“Alya, what’s going on?!”

“Marinette?” 

She stiffened at the new voice. No way. She had to be dreaming. Could her gift giver really be…?

She took Alya’s hands and lowered them down. In front of her stood none other than Adrien, a somewhat nervous smile on his face and a tiny box in hand. He took a step closer and coughed to hide his steadily reddening cheeks while handing over the box. “Surprise, I guess, I got your name in the mail. I had a hard time deciding what to get you so I… Well, it’d be better if you opened it.”

She took the box with a shaky hand. In all the time she’d wondered who got her she had briefly considered Adrien, but threw the notion out as it would be a miracle if he just so happened to get her. Yet, here she was facing that slim possibility. All she had to do was open it… 

There wasn’t much, the box itself had a festive pattern to it, the lid following the same pattern, and a tiny bow taped in the center. A slight tug pulled the lid off to reveal a small handmade bracelet inside.

“It’s a friendship bracelet.” The blond explained. “You’ve been mostly keeping to yourself So I thought maybe I could give you something to show we’re friends. Look-” 

Adrien rolled up his coat sleeve, another bracelet having been hidden from sight; this one’s colors being a slight variation on the one just gifted to her. “I have one too.”

She couldn’t think of any words to say. She had been distant from most everyone, wanting to focus on her work and not ruin another friendship like when she’d been in the city. Holding the bracelet in her hands, seeing Adrien and Alya’s hopeful expressions, maybe it was time to consider a different approach to her new home.

Marinette couldn’t help the small tears that creeped up as she pulled both of her friends into a hug. “Thank you. I love it. And I’ll do better to get away from the farm more.”

The other two joined in the hug while the Winter Star itself shone down on Pelican Town’s residents, another festival coming to a close.

[theburninghuntress]

Destcember Day 9: Blooming Gardens

"Give it up, El. She's not going to notice you. We're just normal people. Guardians don't notice us like that." The mechanic added as he tightened the bolts on the engines of the ship they worked on, "It's not like you'd work out anyway. They're immortal, right? She'd outlive you."

"You're as big of a jerk as ever, Dom. You know, most friends would cheer me on." The woman frowned back at him, setting down her solder and pushing up her goggles.

The large man looked back at Eliza, then his gaze seemed to shift behind her. Dom gave the girl a thoughtful smirk and looking back at his work. "It seems you've got someone waiting for you, El. I can finish this old girl up if you want to break for the day."

She spun her head to get a look at what her coworker meant, only to see the object of her affection approaching the two with a warm smile. In an almost immediate flurry of flustered emotions, Eliza stood and tried to clean off her apron. The Hunter, the Guardian she'd admired for so long, was approaching her, and she had no clue what to say or do.

"Eliza, right? I um- I just wanted to come by. I remembered you normally get off around this time and thought maybe you'd want to go get a drink or something." The Huntress broke the awkward silence as they stood near one another.

"Hey, Midnight! Y-yes- I actually just got off for the day." The girl's nervous stutter began to kick in. "A drink sounds nice... Let me just go put away my tools, and I'll meet you at the Hangar entrance."

"Sounds good; No rush!" Midnight waved and left, heading back towards the entryway to the main hangar.

Once she'd had put away her things, the pair were off to a bar in the City proper. Eliza swore that she'd never once seen a guardian wearing a casual outfit, but here Midnight was doing precisely that. The Hunter almost looked more tangible in a way, like this. The mechanic only had experience talking more technically with Guardians before, so she hoped she could still make a good impression without talking shop.

Midnight seemed primed to start the conversation. She'd relaxed in the booth and had really turned on her charm. Or at least, that's what Eliza thought. "So- uh. Sorry if me asking you out seemed kind of out of the blue. I just figured it'd be better to ask than to just leave it be. We just see each other in the Tower a lot, and I always enjoy your cute jokes when you check on my ship."

Eliza thought she saw a blush cross the Huntress's cheeks. But maybe it was just a trick of the lights. The girl delighted in the fact that she had given the Huntress some amount of enjoyment. "I do love my puns... I'm glad you enjoy them too! Sometimes I spend maybe just a little too much time on coming up with them." The human laughed with the Huntress across from her.

For all accounts, it was a great date. And Eliza hoped it was only the first of many to come. Midnight seemed to agree with that and walked her home. Just before she left, she spoke, "Um, Eliza. You have a garden, right? I uh- remembered you mentioning it a while back. When I was on patrol, I found something I thought you would enjoy. My Ghost helped me bring it back here if you want it."

The Hunter extended her empty hands, and into them, a small potted plant transmatted. The girl was immediately taken back by its beauty. She gently took it into her own hands to admire it. It was like an almost purely white cup flower, she knew it somewhere and then suddenly eureka, "I know this flower! It's a Traveler's Lily. They're extremely rare. I- Thank you so much, Midnight! I'll be sure to take excellent care of it."

Eliza lowered the plant and leaned in to give the Guardian a kiss on the cheek. "Would you be interested in doing something like this more often?..."

Midnight gently caressed her own cheek, a clear blush now showing across them before she nodded, "I'd love that a lot. How about after work on Friday? I can swing by to pick you up."

"Yes, that sounds great! I would love that..."