#clamoring to see other peoples ocs

[jhouros]

[misc-obeyme]

Hii! Diavolo or Mephisto for flame?

Hi there, anon!

Okay so I went with Dia because I have another request for Mephisto. And since I chose my OC over him last time lol, I figured I should write him a little something this time around.

Thank you for participating!

COZY COMFORTS EVENT

GN!MC x Diavolo with prompt flame

Warnings: none

Diavolo holds fire within his soul. He would be the next Demon King, ruler of the Devildom. It is a place associated with fire in many ways and he has the burning passion to match it. His visions of a brighter future are lined with the light of the compassion he stokes within himself.

Diavolo is always focused on that goal. He has people relying on him. He doesn't have time to investigate the inner reaches of his own heart.

Until the beating of that heart becomes impossible to ignore.

When Diavolo sees your smile, something new ignites within him. It burns beside the intensity of his dreams. It fills him with a warmth unlike anything he's ever known.

Diavolo is surrounded by other demons clamoring for his attention. He has a few loyal friends who always stand by his side. He almost doesn't realize anything is missing until you fit into his life so easily, as though he was always keeping a space for you without knowing it.

As much as he wishes it, Diavolo knows he can't always be by your side. He has obligations that require him to be away from you. And while he feels confident about leaving you in the care of his trusted friends, he finds himself feeling reduced to embers without you.

He feels dull and quiet, even as he maintains his exuberant attitude for the sake of his position. Now that he's felt the fuel of your presence, he can't seem to burn as brightly without it. Anyone who looks at him still sees that radiance - the golden eyes, the bright red hair, the charming smile. He never falters. But inside it's as though his fire has burned out.

Diavolo knows the only place he wants you to be is in his arms. But the way you cling to him sometimes makes him worry. He wants only to make you happy, to make you comfortable, he wants you to tell him everything that's on your mind.

It alarms him to discover that you also feel cold without him. You feel exactly as he does - that there's something missing when he's gone. That the heat of life has cooled inside you. That when his heart feels like ice, you are frozen, too.

Reunions between you are always hot. The moment Diavolo meets your eyes again, even across a crowded room, he ignites with that eternal flame, the one that only you can spark in him. He sees those flickering lights reflected back at him, a surge of love that turns you both into a burning blaze.

Diavolo could never have predicted the way he would need you. He knows he will never be the same, now that he has had the pleasure of melting beneath your touch. Now that he has lost himself in you. Now that his flame is entwined with yours, one that he will never allow to go out.

cozy comforts | masterlist | Thank you for reading!

[bakugotrashpanda]

Tribute!Touya x Stylist!OC Word Count: 4.5k

Hunger Games AU

A/N: This was supposed to be a couple paragraphs, but here we are. No beta we die like men. Thank you @t-tomuras for the inspiration <3 I know it’s supposed to be self-ship, but I put an OC in for my comfort.

They escaped the Reaping only to be pulled back in.

The games have gotten boring. There's no shock in seeing kids fight each other in the arena any more. Sure, it serves as a reminder of the past and shows that no matter where someone is from, given the right circumstances, anyone can kill. Barbaric. But… the glamor of voyeurism, of watching kids suffer mentally and physically as entertainment, has lost its spark.

But pushing the age range for the reaping back? Giving kids more time to hope and dread, to understand what they're losing once they have a taste of a future – their future? Ripping families apart at an age where maybe someone is losing their parent rather than a sibling? Cruelly putting a decade of adults who thought they escaped the horrors of the Capital back into the running of dying? Delicious. 

At least in the jaded eyes of the Capital.

For Touya Todoroki though, it’s a chance for him to finally live up to his father’s expectations. Living in District 2 has its perks – if you’re seeking glory in death. The finest training establishments for Peacekeepers also means the finest training for careers who want to put their names in the stars or die trying. Touya wouldn’t even have to sneak into these facilities if he wanted that; he’d just need to throw his last name around and every door would open for him.

Special benefits of being a colonel’s son.

But he was never interested. He skated through life putting his name on the stupid ring out of some sense of duty and familial pressure only for it never to be drawn because some other idiot volunteers. Usually it was multiple idiots all clamoring to be first. 

He escapes his teenaged years unscathed. 

Adulthood means nothing to him. There’s no sweet relief he knows other districts must feel now that they have one less thing to worry about – for now, nor is there any bitter resentment at losing the opportunity at doing something great and having the eyes of the country on you. Life just… goes on. 

When faced with the prospect of needing a job, Touya’s options were to follow his father’s footsteps and become a low level military grunt and rise through the ranks, or join the miners in the quarries. 

It was a never-ending tirade from his father about how he ‘wasted his potential’ and ‘humiliated the family name’ by going into the quarries.

A couple years passed. Touya finally got a place of his own, left a string of broken hearts, and generally felt unsatisfied with life. There has to be more to living than just waking up, working, joining his coworkers at the bar, and then going back to his shitty apartment at the end of the day to wake up and start it all over again.

And then the rules change. It happens mid-shift. A roar rises above the normal work noise. He thinks it’s another truck rolling over – that would be the second one this week. But the angry cries work their way down the line to where he’s stationed. 

We’re back in the Reaping.

Fear. Chaos. Anger. 

Everyone around him is in a tizzy. And Touya feels numb. Back in the Reaping?

The site clears out. People panic and run home to hear it for themselves and not through the grapevine. 

Touya goes to the best source he can (unfortunately) think of; the Todoroki household.

Tensions are high.

His brother and sister sit ramrod straight around a rarely used dinner table that is more for show than anything else. Fuyumi fiddles with the locket around her neck – pictures of her new child no doubt. Natsuo’s clenched fists on the table are stark white causing the onyx band on his ring finger to stand out even more.

“It’s true,” his father says quietly. “You’re all back in the Reaping.”

Silence. 

Tears trickle down Fuyumi’s face.

As adults, there will be less bravado about volunteering. Less people will want to willingly leave their lives behind and–

“I’ll volunteer.” Shouto. Perfect fucking Shouto. Of course he would. Touya has to stop himself from rolling his eyes.

“You’ll make me proud,” their father says and fondly claps him on the shoulder. 

That’s that. Everyone disperses back to their own homes. If Shouto volunteers, then that’s the boys taken care of. If Fuyumi’s name gets picked, then she’s shit out of luck.

So why does Touya stand tall on the day of the Reaping? Why does his voice ring out loud and clear after the introductions are done? Why do his feet carrying him onto the stage?

Standing next to the announcer, his gaze flicks from his stunned brothers to his father. That’s why. Watching his father try and fail to control his bitter rage, his face turning dark shades of crimson. That’s why he did it. To rob him of what should’ve been a proud moment in his life.

There’s a mic in his face. He stares at the announcer who’s hungry for an answer.

“Your bravery,” they start again, “What motivates you?”

He looks at the screen behind him and smirks. He’s no longer the scrawny teenager internally mocking all the tributes. His years working have filled out his formerly lanky frame. 

“To show that the Todoroki name means something,” he answers condescendingly, “And that I’m not wasting my potential.”

There’s an outburst from the stands. He refuses to look. He knows who it is. It would only be the cherry on top if his old man keeled over and died from anger right here right now.

He did it. He volunteered. 

What a stupid fucking mistake. 

His goodbyes are awful and he spends most of it deflecting questions from his family. Yes, he’s aware Shouto was going to volunteer. No, he doesn’t have any remorse for what he did. Yes, he definitely is thinking of family, just not in the way they’re implying. Will he survive and win? That’s to be determined. 

His father doesn’t make an appearance.

The short train ride to the Capitol is spent silently with the mentors and the other tribute. His counterpart seems… alright. She has some training  and a determination that’ll maybe help her live past the first day. What can Touya do? Explosives. Operate heavy machinery. Swing a hammer. How much different can a skull be from a rock?

Peacekeepers escort them to a processing center with sterile white walls and bright overhead lights that give Touya a headache. How many of them were trained by his father?

The tributes from 1 arrive at the same time as them. He gets a glimpse of the duo before being whisked away to a slightly less off-putting room. A woman with matte black lipstick and electric blue hair styled in an angular bob waits inside.

He can feel her calculating brown eyes rove up and down his body. Taking stock.

“Like what you see?” Touya says sarcastically. She doesn’t respond, but walks up to him, the slightly dimmer light reflecting off the gold lining her gray suit.

The woman extends her hand. “Alex. Your stylist.”

“Great,” says Touya, ignoring her hand. “Just what I need. Fashion.”

Alex pulls out a tablet and a laser pointer of sorts and starts circling Touya. “Think of me as your personal storyteller,” she says and taps away on her tablet before returning to scanning him. “I use your body to tell the world about you.”

“I’m not one of the children you can dress up like a doll.”

“Good. No one needs another sob story in the lineup. There are enough people leaving spouses and kids behind that’ll try and use that to their advantage.” She stops in front of him and shines the laser from his left to his right shoulder. From this close he can see the layers of makeup the Capitol is renowned for. “Tell me you’re more interesting than that.”

“Got no wife, and no kids with my name.” Maybe a bastard or two, but who’s counting?

“And what do you do in 2?”

“Quarry work.”

“Which is?”

“You’re fuckin’ annoying. Rocks. Demolition.”

“Why not military? Your father is up there, right?”

“You do your homework,” Touya smirks, “I was on a train for less than two hours after I volunteered.”

“I have to in order to be good at my job.”

Touya crosses his arms over his chest. “What’s your real question?”

A smirk crinkles her supposedly flawless facade. “Why volunteer?”

“To be every bit the disappointment my father expects me to be. One final ‘fuck you’ just for him.”

Alex stands there for a moment tapping one perfectly manicured nail against her thigh. Lost in thought, she chews on her bottom lip for a second, the black lipstick coming off at the inner edge to reveal her natural lip underneath.

Fuck he wants to smear it. Take the perfection of the Capitol and ruin it any way he can. 

“I can make this work,” she says determinedly and taps furiously at her tablet. “Your first appearance isn’t for a couple days. I want something bold; something that’ll make everyone stop and stare and the first volunteer and wonder what was going through his head.”

“Don’t dress me up like a fucking gladiator,” Dabi says. He recalls that being the go-to in the past – a show of strength and closeness to the Capitol. Gaudy. 

Brown eyes meet his, and fingers that were flying fast over the screen are still for a second. “Wouldn’t dream of it.” Back to work.

“Then what, want me to show you my work uniform?” Because nothing says ‘I’m here to win’ like beige coveralls.

“I have bigger plans for you. You’re not going to be something as archaic as a gladiator, and I’m certainly not playing up to your district’s masonry export. If I wanted that I’d go to 12 and deal with the coal mines.” She turns her tablet off and tucks it away to stare up at him. There’s a small spark in eyes otherwise devoid of life. “I know about the secret export that the Capitol overlooks. We’re going military chic.”

Touya’s face crunches into a sneer. “Why don’t you raid my father’s closet, there’s nothing but uniforms in there.”

“You do a good job of looking like a stuffy asshole on your own,” she counters. “I’ll make you look good. You just need to focus on making sure you can win.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Touya says sarcastically. 

Alex goes to the door and knocks twice. “I have full confidence in you Touya — if you want it, I believe you can win it all.”

The Peacekeepers return and escort him to the training grounds. More like a prison with shiny luxuries meant to distract them from the fact that they’re going to die in a few short weeks. 

When the tributes are rounded up the following day, they’re brought back to the harshly lit facility. Alex waits for him again in their room, hands clasped behind her back. Wisps of bright blue hair purposely fall out of the two buns at her neck and barely graze the white dress covering her lightly tan skin. The loose material is cinched at her waist with a thick golden belt. 

For someone who doesn’t want to dress her tribute as a gladiator, she pulls off the toga-esque dress well.

Alex raises an eyebrow and nods to a clothing rack beside her. Touya approaches it and nearly drops the only thing hanging there on the floor when he realizes what it is.

“You can’t be serious,” Touya says.

Alex’s smile drips with overwhelming sweetness that sets Touya on edge. “Today is all about you and making you look good. That’s what you’ll wear today. I’ll step out of the room for three minutes.” Her dress flows behind her as she walks out of the room.

“You’ve got to be shitting me,” Touya mutters to himself. Regardless, he pulls the clothing off the hanger and strips.

The black, lightweight bodysuit bends easily with him. He gives a couple test jumps with no hindrance. Black boots with thick soles remind him of his work boots – but much better quality. Something the Capitol can no doubt afford. A subtle dark blue honeycomb pattern runs throughout the suit and is only noticeable in the light. Silver metal plates are seamlessly worked into the chest area, forearms, and various points in the back.

There’s a small knock at the door. Alex slips back inside, her eyes greedily roving over Touya’s body again. The corner of her gold stained lips quirks up briefly.

“Is this it?” Touya asks. He extends an arm and moves his bare wrist around. A pair of gloves would help. Immediately he drops his arm. Help? Help what? This is just for show. It won’t help him in the arena.

“I have some accessories to try out over there.” Alex points to a table Touya didn’t notice before in the opposite corner. “You’re my dress up doll today.”

“And this?” Touya gestures to his outfit.

“You’re the future of Peacekeepers.” Alex reaches a hand out and hesitates. She meets Touya’s gaze and hesitantly asks, “Can I?”

He nods and fights the heat rising up his face.

“Naturally, it’s functional,” Alex says confidently. Her nails tap against the metal plating on his forearm. “In a real fight, this would help protect you without the clunkiness the current Peacekeepers have.”

“And protect the vital organs.” Touya can’t help but notice the not so decorative metal covering certain parts of his body.

Alex smiles impishly. “Precisely. Titanium-reinforced plating protects key organs, and a strong reinforced weave body suit resists knife and other close combat weapons.”

Touya frowns. This could actually be for a Peacekeeper in the future. Is he just her toy to promote her fashion line or whatever?

He should be angry. He should tear it all off and wear a his fucking work uniform. He’s going to die, and she’s using him as a model.

But it doesn’t matter. He agreed to this. He volunteered for this. And so what if she wants to use him?

It shouldn’t sting as much as it does…

“If you’re trying to get on my father’s good side to gain his favor, you chose the wrong son to align yourself with,” Touya says bitterly.

“Why would I get on his good side?” Alex tilts her head, “You’re doing this for whatever personal vendetta you have against him.”

“And possibly outfitting the future Peacekeepers hadn’t crossed your mind?” he quips.

“Of course it did,” she snorts, “But I have other avenues for that if I really want to. For now, I enjoy the freedom I get with you tributes.”

Freedom. Tributes. How ironic.

Alex floats over to her accessory table and comes back with a pair of black gloves lined with silver. “Put these on.”

She flits back and forth between the table and Touya, holding up various tools and having him put things on and take things off. It feels like an hour of bartering for different accouterments. No, the belts are overkill. Yes, the gun and knife harnesses are fine. Yes, kneepads are bulky, but they’d be practical. No, he will absolutely not wear anything that covers his neck entirely.

He thinks it’s over and he can go – where? He doesn’t know. Anywhere but here – but Alex drags Touya over to a full length mirror. He’s startled by his own appearance. Alex wanted military chic, and she delivered in a cyber punk, dystopian way. He looks like he should wear a faceless mask and keep the masses bent through fear.

He looks like a minion trained by his father.

He looks like someone his father would be proud of.

Brilliant blue fills the lower half of his vision. Standing on her tiptoes, Alex runs her hands through his hair. Her nails scrape his scalp lightly and send shivers down his spine. This close, he can smell her perfume — an amber and rose mix. To someone who has no time for luxuries like perfume, it’s an assault on his senses, but by Capitol standards it’s rather lackluster. 

“What’re you doing?” he murmurs before clearing his throat and asking the question again in a harsher tone. 

She frowns and runs her hand through his hair again, pinning it back between her fingers. “Trying to figure out how I want your hair styled,” she says absently. 

“Wouldn’t the mirror be better for that?” He gestures at the enhanced mirror, no doubt recording his every move. 

With a huff, Alex steps back and plants her hands on her hips. “Is that what you want?”

No. 

“It’ll make this go faster.”

“Fine.” Alex taps the mirror and pulls him over. Bright lights illuminate his face. Alex taps his hair on the reflection and a menu pops up. “I was thinking about having it slicked back or parted instead of this spiky mess you leave it in.”

She swipes through a couple hairstyles, pausing on a couple to see his reaction. 

Touya turns his head on a couple and stares at his augmented reflection. Slicked back doesn’t look half bad. Parted is a no go.

“I look like my brother like this,” Touya grimaces at the near perfect Natsuo hairstyle, “But slicked is fine.”

Alex studies his reflection. With a wave of her hand everything resets. 

“One more option.” Pulling up a color wheel she drags the color selector to black. Touya watches his hair change from stark white to inky black. “Keep it styled as you have it and change the color. Then during your interview go with slicked back.”

Hair dye?

He does look sinister with it. Deadly. 

“Do it.”

It’s a whirlwind of activity before the parade. Lambs being led to the slaughter.

He’s harnessed into the chariot with the other District 2 tribute who sports a similarly designed suit. Her hair is pulled back in a low bun and her face is caked with enough makeup to be mistaken for a Capitol native.

They’re the second ones in. Cheers and roars from the audience and the warm sun slam into him. When was the last time he felt the sun? On the day of the Reaping?

A round camera flies with them, zooming in on their outfits and faces. Without thinking, Touya raises a hand and makes a finger gun. This one’s for you, old man. Pulling the ‘trigger’, he smirks and goes back to ignoring the device. The crowd’s reaction is deafening.

He ignores the other chariots coming to a rest beside them. He ignores the President and his speech. He ignores the audience. 

Calm.

Cool

Collected.

Keep a level head.

Survive. 

With a jolt, his chariot is following District 1’s out. 

He’s plunged back into darkness and artificial lighting.

Unhooking himself, he hops down and purposefully walks back to his room. Keep the facade going as long as possible.

Silence is just as bad as thousands of people cheering for him.

Amber and rose teasing his nose is the only warning he gets before warm arms wrap around his neck. “Genius! Pure genius.” Alex’s hands trail down his arms. “You made this work for you and the audience loved it.”

He lets her prattle on but doesn’t listen. Instead, his eyes follow the curve of her cheeks and the spark in her eye. There’s even flecks of gold in her irises. How much of her is actually her and how much is changed for the Capitol? Does it really matter? He drinks up her essence and commits it to memory. 

A week passes. Much like the Peacekeepers training in his district, Touya’s kept to a tight schedule. Eat. Sleep. Train. There’s more to it though – layers and layers of politics; impressing the right people, finding allies to fight alongside, measuring up threats.

Trying not to get to know the people he’ll have to kill.

It’s after a brutal day of training when Alex whirls into the room, her eyes ablaze. 

“I heard you took a beating in training today,” she says. Walking over to the wall, she pushes a panel and drags a hidden clothing rack out.

“Is that concern I hear?” Touya taunts.

“Take your shirt off.”

“Bossy,” he scoffs but lifts his shirt knowing full well that if he doesn’t do it, she’ll do it for him. He turns and tosses his shirt in a corner.

“You have your final interview tonight and I need to see if there are bruises where-” There’s a pause. Touya smirks. He knows what she’s seen. “There’s a tattoo.”

One he got as soon as he was old enough and had the money. The first thing he purchased on his own. A dragon that starts at his left shoulder and wraps around his back, crosses his abdomen, and ends below the belt. “And?”

“I didn’t know you have a tattoo,” she says bluntly. He watches her eyes follow the scales wrapping around his hip. “How… How far does it go?”

“Interested in what’s below the belt?”

“I’m interested in how I can use it.”

“In that case, find out for yourself.” Touya expects some banter – a witty retort telling him where he can shove it. But nothing comes. With a sigh he pats the end of the art. “The tail ends on my thigh.”

“Okay. Okay.” Alex says, hands clasped together tightly in front of her mouth. Even with all her makeup, Touya can see the flustered glow rising in her cheeks. “I can work with this.” A pause. “I can work with this.”

“You sound so confident,” Touya says sarcastically. That gets her attention.

“I am a professional,” she snaps back, but it seems to be more of a reminder for herself. She clears her throat and marches over to him. Her eyes pinpoint every bruise on his chest from training. “I’ll cover those up, but we’re leaving your art on display for everyone to see.”

“What, no shirt?”

“No,” she smirks, “You’ll have a shirt… of sorts.”

Turns out ‘of sorts’ means ‘mesh shirt under a leather jacket. Much to Touya’s chagrin, his verbal sparring partner remained quiet during their time together – only answering questions when he asked.

In the end, Touya ends up in leather pants and jacket with neon blue lighting at the seams. Even his boots from the parade were updated with the same strips of light. The only alteration Alex made on site was removing the zipper of the jacket and installing more lights in its place to keep it open and exposing just enough of his tattoo to pique Caesar Flickerman’s curiosity.

True to her word, Alex slicks back Touya’s hair for the interview.

And as usual, he’s impressed with her work.

They’re the first ones to gather at the studio. The other tributes trickle in with their mentors and stylists, but Touya ignores them all. The general buzz of noise around him doesn’t compare to the frustrating silence between him and Alex.

“I don’t know what they’re going to ask, but the vibe I’m going for is ‘play boy’,” Alex finally says. “Make the women want you, and the men want to be you. Confident. Charismatic. Charm the money out of their accounts.”

He lets her ramble for a minute more before sweeping up both her hands in one of his own. Wide brown eyes framed by blue hair stare at him.

She’s shaking.

“Stop,” he says in a gruff voice. “You’re worrying. Where did the confident stylist who wanted to take on supplying the Peacekeepers go?”

“This is your last chance to make a good impression before you go in the arena tomorrow. You need them to like you,” she blurts out. As if he didn’t already know that.

“Whatever happens happens,” he shrugs. “Pull yourself together.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s supposed to be my line.”

He hears his name and thunderous applause. Dropping her hands, Touya steps back.

“It’s my time.”

“Good luck,” she whispers. Was that meant for his ears? He almost stops. Almost. But she’s right, he needs all the money he can finesse out of these people.

The day of the Games is a somber affair. A bodysuit waits at the foot of his bed for him, and he wonders for a moment when that arrived. He pulls it on and waits silently in his room. No doubt his counterpart is in the main dining area with the mentors going over strategy. He should be there too. But starting this afternoon it’ll be just him.

So why not start being by himself earlier.

He even opts to wait in the arena loading zone by himself. Until Alex arrives to make last minute appearance alterations.

“No special outfit for me today?” Touya asks and gestures to his bodysuit.

“No.”

Right. And he knew that too, but damn, any conversation would be appreciated right now. “Any advice?”

“Don’t die.”

A voice booms through the intercom in the room. Two minutes, tributes.

“Alex.” Desperation rises in his gut. “Kiss me.” Don’t let the last thing I hear and see of you be misery.

“What?” Deep brown eyes filled with pain stare up at him. Fuck. It hurts to see. It’s not the first time he’s left a woman with that look on her face before, but dammit why did it have to be her?

“Just once, before I die.” He’s not pleading. Touya Todoroki doesn’t beg. “You can’t refuse a dying man’s wish.”

“Touya,” Alex smiles faintly, “You’re not going to die.”

“You don’t know that.”

“You’re going to win.”

“Alex…” 

“I know you will,” Alex says fiercely. “You have to.” He hates the way her voice starts to break and quaver. “I… I don’t want to watch you die.”

“Why?”

Say it.

“You know why.”

“You’ll regret it if you don’t say it now.”

Say it. For me.

The intercom goes off again. One minute, tributes.

“I won’t ask ag-”

Soft lips are on his. He wraps his arms around her body and pulls her close. Fuck the Peacekeepers in the room. He’s going to die, and he’s going to enjoy this last moment with Alex.

Nails rake through his hair and elicit a groan from him. He digs his nails in and deepens the kiss. One minute feels like an eternity, but Touya takes it all – her taste, her scent, her sounds – and commits it to memory. Breaking the salty kiss, he stands on the pad and watches the glass casing come down around him at the last second.

Drying her tears, Alex beams at him. Probably trying to stay strong until I’m gone. “Come back to me, Touya.”

And maybe he will.

[weaselbeaselpants]

For those curious, I don't got dirt or shit on VivziePop. As I've made clear before I followed her back in 2009 and I talked to her like on devintart and tumblr 1 or 2 times. No, I don't remember what was said between us really or exactly. The tumblr blog I remember hearing back from her is long dead so I have no receipts.

I kinda lost interest in her because her fanbase was way too intense and mean in 2014 (no idea about any of the Dollcreep drama), and because I was also in a soft antisjw phase myself then and reading BadWebcomicsWiki - I saw her being talked about all throughout the forums on that hellsite up and until 2017. I also saw the completely different forum posts made there about Hazbin at the time- which os of course how I learned about the Dollcreep fiasco, frootrollup1, and Angel Dust r@pe art someone did of Viv.

If you interested and/or curious about any personal anecdotes I can remember from the best of memory -these are NOT facts, though I'm happy if anyone else can back them up if u also have memories of this- I can list those out:

-I found Viv through her fanart first and specifically her fanart of Shane Acker's 9. I loved Viv's fanart- it was always so distinct in her own style but still recognizable. Anyone else in the 9 fandom remember that "design a beast" contest deviantart had? Yeah she took place in that. She also did artwork of the stitchpunks inspired by Kinkei's chibi-pinup style. They were not as sexy as that would have you believe. She did fanart for Rango, Adventure Time, Regular Show, Rio, and Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs. Also remember her begrudgingly liking Tangled after the fact because it wasn't 2D like Princess and the Frog was.

-The first time I saw Viv's characters in comic form it was in a comic where it was Halloween and the ZP gang (Zill, Kayla, Jack, Spam, and Vanex) were trick or treating and got stuck in some dark twisted version of their home. Isn't this the plot to the Invader Zim Halloween episode?

-Ickle!Viv was pretty skilled at drawing animals. Personally I think she still is but this was specifically the thing which stood out about her to me. I really love when she drew/draws animals. I also actually think her creatures look genuinely good, especially the dragon looking ones.

-Viv was ALWAYS so clamoring and adoring of her fandoms, especially animated stuff. Even on deviantart, animation fans are cynical and snarky so it was nice to see someone with their own established style be into movies that other people would mock you for as a teenager or god forbid an adult. Didn't make you feel so alone.

-I saw Viv's ZP gang develop in style from 2009-2013 and I gotta say I liked her og cast so much more when they were teenytiny and children. Zill just looked better then.

-Speaking of Zill, before I saw one of her posts getting mad at people who called Zill a "neopet"...I said her style reminded me of neopets. I was 12! I didn't know and also I hadn't gotten to that one doodle in her gallery at the time where Zill and 2009!Viv were cursing out this blob for calling him that.

-I also personally saw Alastor develop from out of those days, or at least the character who would become Alastor. It was the red black, buck-looking deer from 2006-2008ish who's disc Viv said was "the evilest character in all of zoophobia!!" I know she liked the directtovideo disney sequels and really liked Bambi II. I'm not convinced Alastor and Autumn don't exist souley because of Bambi II.

-I have no proof of it happening on my end because I ended up deleting a shit ton of crap on my old deviantart out of embarrassment and I think Viv deleted her posts about it. But a distinctly remember an artist in around 2011/2012 w I was really into art trades did a trade with me where they drew my 9 oc, in spite of us really not connecting in any particular way or being 'close'. They worked in traditional medium and had he/him pronouns and their art was so obviously inspired from Viv's. It wasn't traced, though- just very Viv-inspired.

I remember watching Viv and also that guy when suddenly Viv and Faustisee made a huge callout graph showing the artstyle and characters that had been stolen from her and she showed that guy's work. I also distinctly remember saying in Viv's journal abt the callout something along the lines of "this is bad, but, this guy is a friend of mine [rlly barely mutuals], he didn't mean it". To which Viv replied with something like: "then tell ur friend that what he's doing is bad >:c". So I did and that's when he told me he'd been told enough by her base how to feel and that he was leaving dA. And he left. and nuked his entire gallery, including his part of art trade, which made finding the proof of this encounter even harder to track down. Because he was no longer there, I deleted the piece I did for him as part of my mass embarrassment deletion.

-There was one other encounter I had personally' with Viv that I do remember and it's only because she was actually friendly to me and I liked that coming from my what was, at the time, a fav artist: I like the 2012 Frankenweenie remake and was really incensed back in the day that people weren't liking it because it is a ymmv-case. One of those people happened to be Viv and I def remember messaging her about how "I disagree with you, hmf" and then having INSTANT REGRET and suddenly spamming her with this way too personal "I'm sorry please don't hate me"-ventrant thing and, for all I know the Viv stans can be overly apologetic, I really do think it was my indiagnosed OCD/ADHD talking there. Anyway, what was sweet of her to do even in a passing way was she was all "it's okay. you didn't upset me but lol yeah ur not changing my take on frankenweenie either".

Viv describes herself as "being everyone's friend" and really- where there are a lot of points now that I don't think she cares if she is, most of the time I think the problem is she doesn't know how mean or backhanded she is. She really does strike me as the kind of person who never grew out of 2000s-2010s highschool and that petty thing were you get angry and lash out at others behind their backs but then sweet up after that, and where you think lovebombing = being genuinely appreciative. And yeah, that's still abusive and volatile. Because, and this is all from a decade ago and an antidote I only recall because it was Viv, but I truly didn't get the feeling that Viv thought I was beneath her or that she was trying to own me buy telling me she didn't like the movie I did. The vibe I got from her was "I don't really care about this but also I don't want you freaking out, calm down".

I rb a bunch of critical stuff (still don't like antiHazbin shit) because, and I still mean this, I do still genuinely like her style and wish I could be in her fandom w/o her stans basically gatekeeping me from being my own fan. I really am disappointed as the fan I am that Viv doesn't take better care of herself, her shows or the people working for her.

[shrinkthisviolet]

I feel like a good chunk of people would like Lucy Kenobi because she's a well rounded female character, especially during the original trilogy when we...really don't see a lot of significant female characters, but there'd also be plenty who'd hate her because of the fact she argues with Luke- or even just general sexism because I remember so-called fans not liking Rey at all (the term Mary Sue got thrown around a lot) so they wouldn't like this female Jedi either. And you've mentioned that Lucy's pretty uncompromising when it comes to people who threaten her family, takes quite a while to forgive anyone who does even if the circumstances aren't clear cut, so she'd probably get stick for that too, be seen as heartless when she really isn't.

YESSSS absolutely—I think she’d be loved, especially since Leia is, and she has a lineage of the Force in Anakin…but she’d definitely get the Mary Sue accusations flung at her.

This would especially happen she’s more connected to the Force than Luke is—I t’s instinctual to her from early on to reach for it in small ways, due to knowing about it and what it means, whereas Luke doesn’t know such a connection exists until they’re 19. Also…sometimes people are just naturally more gifted in certain aspects of a skill—Anakin wasn’t good at meditation, Obi-Wan was—which is true for Lucy.

However, certain fans would still call her a Mary Sue for this—maybe less so, since she does struggle with lightsaber combat more than Luke does (having to retrain from saberstaff to single-bladed lightsaber is an adjustment), but like you said, Rey did get the designation thrown around a lot, even when her skills were explained 💀 so who’s to say

They might also be mad that Lucy is fully-trained before Luke and finishes his training…that’s explained too (tbh more than Rey’s sudden ability to best Luke at the end of TLJ and then take on Praetorian Guards), and there are plenty of fans who clamor for Leia to be trained as a Jedi, but…even then, I feel like Lucy being the first fully-trained Skywalker would definitely piss some fans off, even tho the reason why that happens is fully explained in the AU (as much as fans claim to like Leia, I doubt it would’ve gone over well if she’d somehow gotten fully trained during the trilogy before Luke 😂)

And yeah, her arguing with Luke would get her hated on too. How dare she argue with the main male sunshine boy character! She should never do that! If she upsets him, she’s a villain and is clearly manipulating him!

(I think I’ve seen this film before 💀)

As for your last point, YEP absolutely. Fandom doesn’t like nice female characters feeling any kind of emotion except joy, and especially not any degree of stubbornness/ruthlessness (even in defense of loved ones)—especially since, unlike Leia, this doesn’t get toned down in ROTJ (something I didn’t even notice until a Tumblr post pointed it out). It would get Lucy labeled “frigid/stuck-up” among other things

(I can think of a certain upcoming event on that note that would really make fans hate Lucy if she were canon…)

Now mind you, these things are more likely to get her hated on non-Tumblr fandom. Here, the fandom tends to be more generous towards Star Wars characters…mostly, anyway (*cough* Tumblr opinion of the Jedi is way more polarizing than it ought to be). So she’d be pretty popular here I think

how would fandom treat my OCs (any of them) if they were canon?

[mischievouslittlecreature]

Part 3: A Remedy for Sorrow

Fandom: Dunkirk

Pairing: Shivering Soldier x OC

Summary: Just as Daisy starts to fear she'll never see Henry again, he steps back into her life.

Word Count: 3,697

Notes: I would recommend reading In the Heart of War first. Warnings for references to past child death and abuse, and depictions of PTSD and guilt. Henry Wilson is the name for the Shivering Soldier created by the lovely people over @henry-wilson. 

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Chapter 1: Guilt

The ladder creaked precariously under Daisy’s feet as she pulled herself up it, one hand gripping firmly to the wood while the other clutched a stack of books to her chest. Getting to the top of the ladder, she ran her fingers along the spines of the books lining the shelf, carefully sliding each novel she was holding into its proper place. Clamoring back down slowly, she scrubbed at her eyes with the back of her hand, fighting off the weary heaviness that pulled at them.

She hadn’t slept well the night before. Hadn’t been sleeping well at all, as a matter of fact. Not since Dunkirk.

Whenever she closed her eyes, it was to dream of planes diving down towards her from the sky, or the flash of fire as the oil in the water caught ablaze. The screams of men burning alive all around her. 

Heaving exhaustedly, she shook her head, wandering back to the front desk to collect another stack of books that needed to be returned to their proper place in the stacks. 

“Daisy,” mumbled old Beryl Wilkins, standing at the front desk, her purse clutched in her hands and coat already half shrugged on. “Are you sure that you’re alright closing on your own, dear?” the older woman asked, blinking at her from behind a pair of thick, round glasses.

“Yes, Mrs. Wilkins, I’m sure,” Daisy said kindly.

“You have your keys?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And you’ll remember to shut off all the lights?”

“Of course,” honestly. It wasn’t like she’d never closed before. Though it had admittedly been a little while. But still. She would have thought she’d been working at the library long enough for her to be trusted enough to not burn the place down.  

“And you’re sure that you’ll be alright, here all on your own? Oh, goodness…maybe I should just stay…”

“No, no,  ma’am, please, it’s fine. I’ll be alright. It’s just for another hour, and you know that almost no one comes in here at this time of day anyway. Go enjoy your evening.”

Beryl eyed her for a minute before nodding. “Yes, yes. Alright. Just be careful dear. Are you sure that you don’t want me to have one of the local boys walk you home?”

“I think that I can manage, Mrs. Wilkins,” Daisy said gently. “Have a good dinner with your husband.”

The little old lady looked down, suddenly bashful. Almost giddy. “Oh, I will. It’s our anniversary, you know.”

“Yes, ma’am, I remember,” she began to steer Beryl towards the door.

“Why aren’t you married yet, dear? Such a pretty young woman as you are?”

Oh, not this again. Daisy forced a smile onto her lips. “Just haven’t found the right guy, I suppose.”

“It’s too bad that you never got to meet my Harold,” Beryl said mournfully, shaking her head back and forth. “You two would have hit it off right away, I think.”

“I’m sure we would have,” Daisy said kindly, patting Beryl’s shoulder. Harold had died a few weeks into the war. She remembered. Beryl had been out for over a month, too distraught with grief to even be able to get out of bed. “You go have fun, now, okay?”

“Good-night, dear.”

“Good-night, ma’am,” she blew out a breath of quiet relief as the old woman finally hobbled out the door. She tried her best not to be too put off by Beryl’s insistent mothering. She knew that it came from a place of concern. But still, it was hard to get fully comfortable under it, having grown up with a woman who had been quite the opposite in her demeanor towards her children. Daisy prided herself on her independence and self sufficiency, and any challenges towards that just put her on edge.

Not to mention that the old woman was insistent on playing matchmaker to her younger, unmarried librarians. It had been lucky for her that Beryl had been so busy trying to find suitable matches for Ruth and Cora that she’d left her relatively alone during the time she’d been working at the library.

Apparently not anymore. Great. She would have to nip that one in the bud before it could get too far. The last thing she was interested in at the moment was Beryl shoving every last available man in town–which wasn’t actually that many anymore–at her. 

It didn’t help that she was still a bit raw from Henry having never turned up.

Really, she shouldn’t have been all that surprised. The circumstances that they’d met under hadn’t exactly been the best, and it wasn’t like he owed her anything. But still, it stung.

Sighing, she checked the watch around her wrist. Only one hour to go, and then she could close up and head home. She had some leftover casserole that she’d made two nights ago that she could warm up. And Ghost would probably be all pouty over her being away longer than usual. That was fine; Beryl deserved to have a nice night out.

Continuing to log and organize the remaining books in the return bin passed the time quickly, and by the next moment that she glanced at her watch, already thirty minutes had gone by. There was still a small group of teenagers in one of the corners, chatting amongst themselves as they studied. Hauling another pile of mostly hardcover novels, she balanced the stack carefully in her arms. Carrying them past the rows of books until turning into the one she was looking for, she began to hum, almost indistinctly, to herself, sliding the books carefully into their spots on each shelf.

It was when she turned suddenly, to move to the shelves behind her, that the book on the very top of her stack wobbled and fell with a dull thump to the floor, barely missing her toes. 

“Oh, bollocks,” clutching the remaining books to her ribs with one arm, she stooped, fingers stretching out to wrap around one edge of the novel’s hard binding. At the same time, another, larger hand swooped downwards, beating hers to the book. Daisy’s gaze snapped upwards, lips parting in stunned surprise as she was greeted with eyes as light blue as the ocean on a clear day. The small cuts that had adorned his face back on the Moonstone were healed, not even leaving a trace of a scar as evidence that they’d been there. His face was still dusted with freckles, shoulders hunched down timidly, eyes full of uncertain fearfulness. He held the book very gently in his large, calloused hand. Like he was afraid he would accidentally break it if he handled it too roughly. Swallowing, he held it out to her gingerly. Daisy didn’t even look down at the book, still staring at him in a combination of shock and awe.

“Henry?”

His eyes darted away from him, sheepish. “I, um,” he cleared his throat. “Hi. I know-I know that’s been…awhile. I’m sorry that it took me so long-oh!” he let out a little yelp as she promptly flung her arms around his middle, not caring as the books she was holding went tumbling to the ground. He staggered back a step in surprise, hand going to rest against the small of her back as he regained his footing, hugging her back, if a little awkwardly.

“I’m so glad to see you!”      

Henry made a squeaking little sound, and when she looked up she found that his cheeks had gone scarlet. “It’s-it’s good to see you too.”       

Letting him go, she beamed up at him, pushing some hair away from her eyes. “How have you been?”

“Oh. Um, alright, I guess,” but she could see the lie in his face; large, dark bags hanging at his eyes, face gaunt and exhausted. Not entirely unexpected, she supposed. Or rare. The handful of the men who had recently come home from the war looked much the same. Still, she decided that it would probably be for the best not to press.

“That’s good,” bending, she began to gather up the books she’d dropped. Henry bent down to help her.

“I wasn’t sure that you would still be here,” he admitted, handing her the books as she slipped them back into their proper spots on the shelves.

“Usually I don’t work the evening shift, but Mrs. Wilkins was going out with her husband for their anniversary tonight, so I promised that I would cover for her,” she glanced at her watch. “I only have about half an hour left until I have to close up,” sliding the last book back into place, she looked up to find him ringing his hands together anxiously. “I’d worried for a while there that they’d sent you back into combat,” she approached the subject as carefully as she could manage, unsure how he would feel about discussing his time as a soldier.

“Oh. Mm, no. I got discharged pretty much right away,” he looked down. “I was back home, for a little while. Spent some time with my mum and the like.”

“How is she?”

“Getting older,” he sighed. Daisy hummed understandably, indicating with a tilt of her head for him to follow her as she made her way back to the front desk, pulling up an extra chair for him to sit at. “I don’t want to keep you from your work-”

“Oh, no. I don’t have much else to do other than switch off the lights and chase any stragglers out before locking up. Come sit.”

He sank slowly into the seat across from her., still fiddling with his hands. “It’s nice in here. Quiet.”

“Yeah, it is.”

“Listen,” he coughed slightly. Shifted in his seat. “I’m sorry that it took me so long to show up.”

“Don’t worry about it. You don’t have to explain. It’s fine. It must be hard…coming back to everyday life after…everything.”

“It’s been a lot harder than I thought it would be.”

“I’m sure,” she reached out to pat his hands, taking note that he didn’t flinch away from her when she did so. “I still think about it all, sometimes.”

“You do?”

“Mhm. Every time I hear a plane fly overhead now, I flinch.”

“Are you still working at the docks?”

“Sometimes. I scaled back a bit. Since some of the men who were discharged after Dunkirk came back, they don’t need me as much anyway,” she shrugged. “I still see the Dawsons every once in a while, though.”

Henry looked down, thumbs twiddling together, shoulders curling in. “How are they?” he asked, voice suddenly much more quiet.

“They’re alright,” she braced for him to ask about George, realizing with a panicked skip of her heart that she had no idea how to respond if he did. She could still smell the fresh, damp scent of the upturned earth, see the coffin lowering into the ground…

To her relief, Henry didn’t ask, instead just making a small sound of acknowledgement and nodding. “‘S good.”

Looking back down at her watch, she raised from her seat smoothly. “Let me just turn off the lights, and chase those teenagers out of here. Have you eaten?”

“Oh, um, no, not yet.”

“There’s a nice little pub a few blocks from here…unless you’re tired?”

“No, that-that sounds nice.”

“Okay, one second,” she did one last walk through the library, switching off the lights as she went, checking to make sure there were no stragglers hiding out in the corners or between the stacks. “We’re closing, guys,” she told the teenagers, who grumbled but began to pack up their things, still chattering amongst themselves as they headed for the doors. Returning to behind the front desk for her bag and jacket, she smiled brightly to Henry, who was standing a little awkwardly with his hands shoved deep into his pockets. “When did you get in?” she asked once they’d stepped outside, sliding the key into the lock and testing the door to ensure that it had latched properly.

“This evening. Just a few hours ago.”

“Where are you staying?”

“Uh…the little inn right by the train station.”

“Oh, good. That’s the nice one.”

“There’s a bad one?”

“Mhm. The one by the market. Nice location, but I heard they’ve got rats,” a part of her was tempted to offer for him to stay with her, but…it seemed a little too forward. And she didn’t want to overwhelm him. “Pub is this way,” she tugged on her knitted mittens, then stuffed her hands into her pockets to try to help keep them warm. The days were still nice, but the nights often got chilly. A result of being so close to the water, probably. “Are you not cold?” she asked, eyeing the light jacket he was garbed in.

“Oh, no. I run hot,” he assured. Daisy shrugged, bundling down deeper into her coat. It was a relief once they stepped inside the bar, the warmth more than welcome. The pub was quiet, much more so than the one on the other side of town. Part of why she’d chosen it; she figured that Henry probably would prefer a place that didn’t involve loud voices and the sudden smashing of glasses. They found an open booth in one of the far corners and ordered from the waitress.

“I like your mittens,” Henry commented as he watched her tug them off. Daisy felt her cheeks heat, glancing down at the pair of soft knitted material.

“Thanks. I made them.”

“You knit?”

“Yeah. Mostly just scarves and blankets and mittens, those kinds of things,” she smiled gratefully to the waitress as she brought them their drinks. “You still into gardening?” she asked, taking a sip from her beer, recalling what he had told her on the Moonstone during the trip back to Weymouth from Dunkirk.

“Yeah. Had more plants than I knew what to do with back at home.”

“Well, I have a very sad, desolate garden that needs attending to if you’re interested,” she sighed. “I started doing pottery because I thought it would be all cute to make little pots and put my plants in them. Turns out I have a black thumb, though, so now I just have a bunch of empty pots lying around.”

Henry’s cheek dimpled a little when he smiled. “I’d be happy to give it a look.”

“How long are you in town for?”

He shrugged. “I’m not sure.”

“You don’t have a set date for when you need to get back home?”

He ran a hand through his hair, lightly brushing his fringe from his eyes. “I’m not even sure if I’m going back, actually.”

“Really?”

“Everyone there remembers what I was like…before. And now every time they look at me, I can just feel them thinking about how different I am,” his thumbs rubbed together. “Probably all wondering why I can’t just pull myself back together and be who I was before I left.”

She wanted to tell him that she was sure that no one was thinking that, but she couldn’t. Even after so many years, the memories of how everyone had looked at her back in her hometown of Wales after everything went to hell burned in her mind. People who had watched her grow up, who had all these expectations of who she was going to be, and carried indisputable disappointment in their eyes when she failed to follow through on their hopes for her.

“Sometimes it’s better just to have a fresh start,” was all she said. 

“Is that what you did, after you quit skating and your mom disowned you?”

For a moment, she blinked. She hadn’t expected him to remember that. “I suppose so, yeah.”

“Did you ever go back?”

“No,” she fought to swallow back the bubble of shame. “No, I haven’t. My father and my sister come to visit. Sometimes I meet them halfway. But I’ve never gone back to Newport. If I did, Mum would probably either ignore me or try to chase me out of town,” she picked at her cuticle. “Everyone in that part of town where I grew up knows what happened. Mum had this big plan for me and where my life was headed. A plan that she made very public to anyone who would listen. It wasn’t just her expectations that were broken when I decided to go against that; it was everyone’s. They all had this very specific image of who I was going to be and when I didn’t measure up…I couldn’t take the disappointment and judgment that I kept seeing in their eyes,” she shrugged. “So I ran away and never looked back.”

“Have you ever regretted it?”

She hesitated, thinking about it as the waitress swung by with their food. She waited until she’d left before answering. “No. I don’t think that I have,” they both started to eat in silence, silverware clinking against plates.

“I don’t really know what I’m going to do,” Henry admitted in a tired mumble, finally.

“Well, I know most people in town, and I could show you around tomorrow when it’s light, if you’d like? That way at least you’ll know your way to the market and such.”

“Thank you. That would be nice.” 

“You could come down to the docks with me sometime if you want. I’m sure that Mr. Dawson would be happy to see you again. They might even have a job opening down there if you were interested,” she kept her tone light, hoping that he wouldn’t feel as though she was putting any pressure on him. When she glanced up, Henry had gone awfully still, eyes wide and staring down at his plate. His Adam's apple bobbed when he swallowed.

“I’m not sure if that would be a good idea.”

Daisy inclined her head. “Why not?”

He put down his fork, eyes darting around. He looked like he might bolt at any second, lips pressing into a trembling line.

“Henry?”

“I’m-I-” his voice broke. “After what I-I did, um, I don’t-I don’t-” his breaths were coming in quick bursts as he started to panic, hands trembling. 

Daisy slid swiftly across the rounded booth until she was settled beside him, hand cautiously lifting to touch his shoulder, the other rubbing his back. He had buried his face in his hands, shoulders shivering as he started to cry.

“Henry, Henry, shh, love. It’s okay,” her eyes widened a fraction when his head fell into the crook of her shoulder. Stroking her fingers through his hair, she remained there, keeping utterly still as she tried to soothe him. When his tears finally subsided into just small sniffles, she parted her lips to speak, hesitating as she tried to find something to say.

“I don’t understand how you can even look at me,” Henry mumbled miserably. Her brows furrowed.

“What do you mean?”

“After-after what I did on the boat…”

“Oh, Henry, no on blames you for any-”

“But it was my fault. It was my fault that he died,” he choked on the last word like it was strangling him.

She went still. She had thought that she and the Dawsons had done a good enough job of hiding George’s death from Henry. That he didn’t know about it. “How do you know about that?”

“I saw them carrying his body off of the Moonstone.”

“Oh,” was all she said at first, processing. Henry began to pull away.

“Look, I'll leave in the morning. You don’t ever have to see me again. I just wanted to let you know that I was sorry, and um-”

“Wait, no!” she latched on his arm. “No, don’t go. It’s okay. Really. It wasn’t…it wasn’t your fault, love.”

He still looked so miserable and sad, but he ceased in his attempts to leave the booth, slumping down with his shoulders drawn inwards, hands fiddling with each other. “Yes, it was. I shouldn’t have gotten so upset or tried to take the wheel from Mr. Dawson, or-or-”

“Mr. Dawson could have turned to ship around the second he knew that George’s condition wasn’t improving. Or I could have stayed down below with him for the remainder of the time we were sailing, to keep an eye on him,” she sighed, glancing down. “There were a whole lot of things all of us could have done differently that might’ve helped him. It isn’t just on you,” she looked back up, into those big sad blue eyes.

He didn’t look at all convinced, gaze dropping away, mouth pressed into a frown. “Should I have just left you alone?” he asked finally. Daisy pressed her lips together. It was beginning to make a whole lot more sense why it had taken him so long to come find her. She wondered if that thought had been eating away at him this entire time. Did he think that she hated him? That she didn’t want to see him? That he would be doing more damage by coming back? Leaning towards him, she covered his large hands with one of her own smaller ones.

“Of course not. I wouldn’t have given you that paper with the address if I hadn’t wanted to see you again.”

His smile was weak and shaky, but it was a smile nonetheless.

After they finished their dinner, he insisted on paying despite her objections, and he walked her home, hands stuffed into his pockets and head bowed low. And her invitation for him to come inside was met with a shake of his head.

“I really shouldn’t.”

“Okay,” she shrugged, fumbling with her keys. “I’ll come pick you up at the inn at around nine o’clock? I’m off all day, so I’ll have plenty of time to show you around.”

“Alright.”

Gulping, then stealing her nerves, she stepped forwards and stretched up onto her toes, cupping the back of his neck and pressing her lips firmly to his cheek.

“Good-night, Henry.”

When she pulled back, his cheeks had flushed pink. “Good-night, Daisy.”

She fought back her smile as she watched his back disappear as he headed back down the road in the direction of the inn.

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[the-owl-tree]

as someone who has watched literally nothing about mlp but had always had an interest in it and its fandom like xenofic bugs in a jar, im living for this new pony tangent. what are your favorite and least favorite brony tropes, when it comes to the fan media they make?

you and me ngl lol i’m both surprised and not surprised at the response to my mlp posting, the mlp and warriors community feel like they’d definitely cross over lol

also good god this got long

I feel like I have to preface that the community was a huge inspiration to me and the sheer amount of creativity that people put into their pony projects is still amazing. It’s so clear that a lot of the songs, animations, literature, and general fan creations came from a place of love and a lot of that inspired me to try new things! For all the bad press “bronies” got (and let’s be real, a lot of media outlets just wanted to mock them), it’s clear that a lot of older fans were having a blast creating. I still listen to a lot of the songs from the community and watch lullaby for a princess or rise the moon from time to time because of how much they still hold up.

I guess lore is a double edged sword? Because on one hand, I love reading too deeply into media that does not call for it. I loved reading the analysis on class divisions in mlp and I really liked the critical side of the community, it helped me really develop my own skills as a kid and helped me question a lot of the stuff that I was consuming. I loved watching reviews of episodes or hearing what my favorite artists thought! I think a vocal community can definitely be a double edged sword, but it really did encourage me a lot in speaking up about my interests.

But I don’t know if that’s a trope lol so I guess…definitely the sociopolitical analysis of pony society. The ones that picked at the show and what it intentionally or unintentionally would say. I love that stuff, it’s super fun to dig into. But on the other side, lore was something a lot of people held up as the best aspect of the show, and there was this sort of clamoring for the writers to dump more and more. Which, look, a lot of the original lore was weaved within dialogue or conflicts, it wasn’t quite “dumped” on the audience as it became in the newer seasons.

But there was this sort of fascination by some on war and the military in the pony universe. This obsession with royal guards and political conflicts, and I guess in some ways I get it? But also, look, it was peddled by a lot of self-proclaimed military bronies. It does not help the show did in fact do a little pandering with one of the episodes actually featuring an alternate universe where the ponies go to war and we get to see them in full armor 😭 like there was this big fascination of the princesses killing and leading battles and it just was not for me.

Hm….maybe nextgen stuff? I always did like the idea of seeing what happened next and all the various pairings. Though sometimes that did give a lot of artists the chance to be edgy and admittedly a bit inappropriate for the pony show. Like with lore, double edged sword I suppose. Can’t complain too much, I was a pretty edgy kid and loved angst and edge and drama! Still do but I keep it for my uh older audience OC’s.

Hm let’s see….fascination with side characters. Maybe because the show indulged them a little too much. I can’t blame the fandom for everything when the writers weren’t exactly tempering expectations. But that’s the same reason why I enjoy it! I loved seeing people provide full on backstories and character to ponies who were mentioned once (someone gave the idea that Woah Nellie is an outspoken activist and i still love that).

But yeah! Honestly? The ultra violent military obsession has always just been the weird one for me. It’s fine and I get why some people would be interested in the social and politics dynamics of a pony military, but I think the people who really liked it just liked the idea of the ponies going to war with cool weapons and fancy armor and not much else (gotta show how MANLY mlp is amiright guys)

I feel like there’s others but nothing is coming to mind rn other than the insane amount of sexual content.

[astralscrivener]

do you wonder if your klance obsession will ever go away? has it dwindled over the last few years? because for me mine stopped at the end of 2020 when i found a new fandom to be interested in, but since the beginning of this year my love for those space boys came back full force it makes me worry that i'll never truly get over them. they made me read fics and join a fandom for the first time which might explain why i'm so overly attached but yea

i think like any interest or obsession it may well fade with time

my longest obsession prior to vld/kl lasted about 4 years (and was usurped by kl) so the fact that i'm going on 7 years here is very interesting, tho i think part of that is because

i got obsessed during a time in my life when i still had like. free time. lmao

i got obsessed when i was going through a lot of change and tumult and was simultaneously projecting onto and taking comfort in these characters (to the point where some may argue they have been oc-ified a bit) (if anyone sees a book out in 5-10 years that reminds them of the vld characters no u don't)

i do think i was starting to finally be "free" / lose my interest at the end of 2019 / very beginning of 2020, but rapidly regained my obsession once the pandemic began and people began turning to old favorite things for comfort

at the moment my obsession waxes and wanes, and sometimes i'm like "oh i'm never getting out of here" and then a few days later i'm like "man am i losing my attachment to them?" it comes and goes

but really, i don't think it matters too much in one direction or the other honestly?

everyone's relationship to books and movies and tv and songs and bands and characters and whatever is highly personal, so what really matters the most is youre having fun and it sparks joy, right? and i think there is also a weird push to "move on" or get over something as soon as the next best thing comes along (i think it's a very capitalistic mindset but that's a rant for another day) when the truth is people have been writing for the same fandoms for decades. for some others it is a passing hyperfixation that they enjoy while it lasts. for me i just have a growing group of characters living inside my head at all times. sometimes they yell and clamor for me to write about them but sometimes they are just vibing and that is perfectly okay

i hope this answers ur question and thank u for sharing !

[livingdescenddeadrise]

Some canon character plot ideas below! Hit me up if you have any interest. There are some of these that I would prefer to plan the canon character and others were I may prefer to write an OC against.

Alpha/omega werewolf dynamics: This could work in a lot of the fandoms, honestly. Thoughts around: Alpha Steve Rogers trying to figure out the modern era and navigate the whole potential mate thing when there are people clamoring for him. This is an alpha with little to no experience. His whole world has already been thrown on its head. Add in finding someone who he genuinely cares about and wants to do right by. Alpha Negan Smith has been around plenty of omegas, especially as leader of the Sanctuary. In the fucked up world that they live in, he never expected to find his destined mate. Alpha Michael Myers coming across an omega that he doesn't want to kill, not entirely understanding the feeling, and stalking the omega to try and figure it out. No one but him is allowed to touch said omega and lord help anyone that does.

Various soulmate aus: Again, can span most of the fandoms. Whether it be seeing how things play out with the addition of a soulmate for a particular canon character (might it save someone from the Sawyer/Hewitt family, could soulmates be drift compatible, would the Seeds provide more leniency) or if it throws the canon timeline and events out of the window. Doesn't matter to me and I'm open to all sorts of different versions of this (world in gray until soulmate brings color, first words, sharing thoughts, soulmate marks, cannot harm each other, etc)

Jim Hopper x OC: I would honestly love to write against Hopper, if someone is open to it. Willing to double. Canon events or au doesn't matter to me. I'm open to brainstorming how to add in an OC, though I do have a few developed and ready to go into the world.

Thomas Hewitt/Leatherback x OC: Again, I would love to be able to write against a Thomas. My thoughts surrounding this one would be a childhood friend, one that got bullied like Thomas did but stood up for him, was forced to leave but found her way back. How would things once the packing plant closes play out? Would she remain safe? Would she help the family? Would Hoyt let her?

Nancy Thompson x OC: Let me play Nancy against any of your OCs. Let's play things up and do crossovers. Why not traumatize the woman a little more by sending her to Crystal Lake? Or finding herself in Haddonfield on Halloween. Any sort of AU accepted as well. I would be also open to her against other horror canon characters. Or anyone who might fit into the setting.

[santisimaria]

a goofy idea i had for a one piece oc! could be considered practice writing should i ever have the urge and motivation to continue this. (crossposted in ao3) wc: 2,475

dancing toes go crazy (raise a glass to me now)

“Captain. It’s been a while.”

Her words were met with silence, but it wasn’t an uncomfortable one. Rather, it was serene; a moment akin to the calm before the storms. In her case, it might as well be something like that. After all, she was here to ask for a favor in case she never lives to see another day in her next mission. Her eyes flitted over the straw hat covering her captain’s eyes; it was another good thing that the spot she picked in this small shop was hidden from prying eyes to avoid any unwanted excursions from happening. 

“Here, read this once you get back to your ship,” her gloved hands brandished a small folded parchment, settling it near the unmoving figure. She watched as the straw hat bobbed a little, signifying that she was being acknowledged by the latter–even more so when the parchment was lifted off the table and was safely pocketed in the lapels of his jacket. Sensing their conversation had concluded, the formally-dressed woman stood from her seat and pulled her satchel over her shoulder. Her head turned sideways, looking at her companion within her peripheral vision before speaking softly that only he could hear what she said.

Her presence disappeared almost as quick, akin to a ghost vanishing within first sight. But she felt it; the relief and excitement combined with the usual joy of her captain. She could almost imagine how his lips stretched into its usual mischievous curl.

After all, she was finally coming home. And she couldn’t wait to meet all the members of her captain’s ever growing family.

__________________________

“Thank you, Sabo… But you have to leave. I got this.”

“But Teresa–!” The blonde chief tried to interject, but was immediately pushed back by an intangible force only the woman in front of him was capable of doing so. He couldn’t leave her to deal with a world-level threat–he didn’t want her to die, no! In the midst of his desperateness, his mind wandered back to their memories and the promises they made to each other. The years spent together sweeping through the ranks of the Revolutionary Army, all the missions they have accomplished side by side while fighting the worst people in the world, how they promised to each other that they will oversee the liberation across the globe. How they whispered their desires of keeping themselves alive at the end of the line. But why…  Why was she throwing it all away just to save him? It all began when a small mishap occurred halfway through their mission; a miscalculation of the recruits within the marine base. They never expected for a nuclear devil fruit user to exist in their ranks, and their power was too immense for any of Sabo’s troops to handle. Not even the chief of staff himself can attest against the magnetic energy polluting the space around him. 

Yet here she was, in all her defeated glory; his friend, his partner–with a hand poised above her head like a brilliant statue of a goddess and the same cocky quirk or her lips that told him–she had already accepted her demise. With one last look over her shoulder, he witnessed as blood trickled from her forehead and her bruised lips curled just a little to form a small smile. He tried to shout, scream and beg for her to stop–no, he wasn’t going to lose another important person in his life–he wasn’t going to let her die like Ace–!

That was the last he saw before the blast went off and everything became white.

______________________________

Dawn Island. Three days.

Luffy clutched the piece of paper in his hand anxiously as he watched the sea below him. Two days had passed since he gave orders of returning to East Blue to his crew. As expected, he was met with numerous clamors and stares in disbelief. Even Franky had asked for the reason why they have to turn back when they have already reached the New World. It was truly shocking for everyone, yet one undeterred look from his eyes sent them freezing and working straight away, albeit hesitantly. Zoro had half a mind to ask again just to clear any confusion with his captain, but he also had an inkling of his reason. One that he never bothered to explore any further knowing it wasn’t his place to reveal to the crew–that was entirely up to him… and them. The swordsman wasn’t the first mate for nothing; of course he knew some secrets that the rest didn’t. He managed to catch Luffy at random occasions talking to his Den Den Mushi, with no clue as to who was at the other end of the connection. All he knew was that Luffy regarded them as someone important; someone who was potentially a hidden member of the Strawhats that was recruited way before Zoro. He wasn’t able to catch another moment of their conversation due to Luffy’s Haki catching upon his presence. It was rather surprising to see his captain level him with a blank stare before he bid farewell to the snail transponder. Zoro can vividly remember that day; the two of them standing like statues, poised as if a fight between them was about to occur. It wasn’t until Luffy broke the tension with a huge smile and a finger to his lips, indirectly telling him to keep his mouth shut or face the consequences of being a tattle tale. It was rather amusing and worrying at the same time, but Zoro trusted Luffy’s judgment; he trusted his captain to reveal everything in the right place and at the right time.

Going back to the restless figure on top of Sunny's head, it was an odd sight for the Strawhats to see their captain looking so… worried and staring at nothing with furrowed eyebrows. Others have tried to crack the silence and offered the young man things to distract, but neither of those deterred him from his spot. He was only thinking of his friend; his crewmate that was concealed from his family, wondering what prompted her to leave the Army and join them after years of working as an secret intel officer for their crew. Millions thoughts ran through his mind at a rapid pace, only being given respite if it was time for their meals. At least the food was enough to distract him from the looming doom hovering over his shoulders regarding his crewmate.

Luffy hadn’t been able to catch any proper sleep since the second night after they departed from New World. He wasn’t able to rest easily until the ship entered the sea lines of Dawn Island. He was quick on his feet, jumping off the ship before it could even dock–to which many shouted in panic upon watching their captain do something so recklessly–and planting his two flip flops solidly on the sand. Luffy wasted no second to scan the island using his Haki for his crewmate’s aura. His heart was close to dropping in his stomach when minutes passed and he still couldn’t sense her energy, until he finally did. It was weak, beating almost inaudibly in his ears–but it was there. Northeast from the Foosha Village.

Luffy swore he had never run as fast as he did that moment–it was on par with his speed as he tried to reach Ace on top of the execution platform. Dread began to fill him inside, but he shook his head; over his dead body would he allow another repeat of the past. He swore to himself that he would get stronger, bolder, and braver to protect his friends, his family. So he pushed himself, told his legs to go faster until he felt the familiar warm sensation of Gear 5 taking over his body. His legs began to blur in the wind and trees were broken in half due to his sheer strength. On most days, he would be found with a boisterous smile and eyes as wild as the seas if he assumed this form. But in the place of his smile was a grim line hiding his clenched teeth, and the usual spark in his eyes were dimmed as anxiety filled his entire being. The strawhat captain hated–no, loathed feeling like this. He loathed knowing that his friend was out here somewhere, hurting and barely surviving. It reminded him of his failures in the past. For her to be stripped to her most vulnerable and weakest form blared alarms in his head, and he knew he wouldn’t stop until he saw the figure of his last crewmate.

After what felt like the longest five minutes of his life, Luffy reached a clearing; a large, secluded, naturally formed pit-like clearing with high rock walls and a lake in the middle of it. His inhuman speed gradually slowed down and his hair went back to its usual black state, carefully walking towards the unconscious form at the edge of the lake. Luffy swore his breathing stopped for a whole minute as he assessed the current state of his friend and the dread he felt on his way from the ship came back tenfold.

To say that her body was tattered was an understatement; dried blood covered her clothes and exposed skin from head to toe. If a person squinted enough, they would see the residue of three-degree burns on her torso, arms, and face; shallow and deep cuts littered her skin, even sporting one over her right eye. Her dress was torn apart, leaving her with bits and pieces that covered most of her body. One of her arms was badly burnt, swollen and disfigured. Luffy’s stomach twisted inside of him; there was only one reason as to why her arm was like that, and he was intimately familiar with the downsides of her devil fruit abilities. Dragging his frozen feet towards his crewmate, the strawhat captain dropped to his knees and with a delicateness he seldomly possessed, carefully brought her body into his arms. The weightlessness of the latter’s body almost threw Luffy into disorientation, but he shouldered through his panic and built enough power in his legs to shoot himself and the figure in his arms through the sky. The wind was silent over the faint heartbeat of his crewmate, urging him to fly faster back to the ship.

“Hang in there, Teresa. Don’t die on me just yet,” the pirate mumbled under his breath as flew above the forest. His heart beated anxiously in his chest, only calming by a smidge when he caught sight of his ship’s proud head. The crew was divided into two groups; the first one consisting of his navigator, sniper, doctor, and musician lingering by the deck, while the other with his swordsman, cook, helmsman, and shipwright by the docks as they prepared to follow after him. All of them halted in their tracks when their captain landed a few feet from where they were located, eliciting some confused and worried expressions from everyone as they saw that he wasn’t alone. Chopper, in particular, let out an indignant squawk as he saw the condition of the person his captain was holding which prompted him to jump off the ship, albeit stumbling as he met them halfway. The reindeer had hundreds of questions running through his mind as he reached them, starting from the identity of the unconscious woman in his captain’s arms to the cause of her injuries but just as he was about to ask them–

“Chopper, help me look after our nakama.” Came the strong order from the young captain, eyes ablaze yet the reindeer could see the underlying worry and sadness of his words. But–did he hear him right? Did Luffy just call the stranger in his arms their ‘nakama’? More questions dawned in Chopper’s mind but he knew he had to save them for later when his captain began trekking back to their ship’s direction, leaving him no choice but to follow after him.

“Oi, Luffy… who is that? Don’t tell me we’re taking in strays now,” Sanji crossed his arms, a cigarette hanging from his lips. Despite saying those words with his usual bravado, he couldn’t help but worry and wonder–especially when he heard his captain regard them as their ‘nakama’. The swordsman, who’s opinions often clash with their cook, thought the same thing as the former. But this was Luffy; a very unpredictable individual to many, yet Zoro simplified it by going along with his strange antics. However, this one completely propelled him and the entire crew in a loop.

Luffy halted. All of a sudden–the breeze around them disappeared, replaced by a heavy pressure on their shoulders. Zoro’s eye widened.

“Teresa’s not a stray. She is our nakama.” The strawhat captain’s voice hardened, proving further his point by adding another wave of his Haki that Zoro was sure would’ve reached the nearest village by then. It was tense for a moment, until Chopper broke it by ushering Luffy to the ship and into the infirmary. The crew was left dumbfounded and silent, with the remaining members slowly moving back to the ship’s deck. Similar questions ran through their heads–who was that woman? What did Luffy mean by calling her their ‘nakama’? Had Luffy recruited her without them knowing?

Moments after, the primary source of their conflict emerged from the infirmary. Eyes shadowed by a straw hat, yet nobody can mistake the grim expression beneath. Half of the crew opened their mouths to begin their string of questions but it was, once again, silenced by their captain.

“I know all of you have your questions, but until Teresa’s awake and better, you gotta hold them off because we gotta go back to the New World.” Sounds of disbelief and indignancy echoed from the group. “For now, all you have to know is that she’s been a member of this crew since the day it was formed. I met her before I knew about Zoro, so I expect her to be treated just like how you do with everyone on this ship.” Luffy raised his head to reveal the hard glare he rarely sported and was usually facing their worst and strongest enemies. “None of that suspicious crap, ya got that? If I see anyone doing somethin’ out of the line, I won’t hesitate to send ‘em flying off this damn ship.” Fear skyrocketed from a certain duo, while the rest remained apprehensive before a couple of affirmative nods were given. “Nami, set the course back to the Red Line, then to Egghead. I’ll leave the rest to you and Zoro,” replied the pirate before he disappeared back within the walls of the infirmary.

[naivesilver]

just had an evil thought but I can't help but wonder what things would be like for either some of the other thousand problems gang (or between Eliana and Blue/Geppetto/August) during the spell of shattered sight? I would love to hear your thoughts about it if you have any on the matter? 👀

You know what your evil thought deserves???? An even eviler reply 😠😠😠😠 you put this ficlet idea in my head and by God now you will suffer with me. In the show I think the fairies were in the hat while the spell went down but hey, this AU has everything happen at once already, so here they probably never went in the first place LMAO

Send me an episode/chapter/scene/ect. and I'll tell you what my OC was doing during it

"Mother," Eliana calls out, a singsong lilt to her voice. "Won't you come out and greet me, Mother?"

There is no answer, but that does not shock her excessively. She knows the nuns haven't fled - she can feel their presence, thrumming at the edge of her perception in the building before her. Either she is being ignored, or all fairies have sealed themselves inside the convent, to avoid adding their magic to the fighting that rages all across Storybrooke.

That's fine. Eliana doubts that they have been fastidious enough in laying down boundaries to keep the likes of her out - usually it's the other way around, her mother haunting her even though she refuses to talk, but it's a strange day, this one. Surely, a little change of pace won't hurt.

No more than the entire town is already hurt, at least. The people would be enough, all their frustration and fury and clashing spirits, but Eliana can feel more than that, deep into the river and out into the forest. There is magic in that place, and it throbs through her veins and up to the tips of her fingers, like the pain from a twitching nerve - her feet are planted at the entrance of the convent, but her mind is in the woods, listening to the birds shriek angrily as they clamor to fight each other.

Perhaps she should have gone to her father, first, but she does not feel the same reproach for him she has for her mother. And besides, August will likely be butting heads with old Geppetto himself - her baby brother is a grown man, now, and all his anger is justified. Part of Eliana wishes she could see the moment it spills out and bowls their Papa down, but she has more important things to do, right now.

Her bare feet patter down the tiled floor that leads to the main doors, impressively quiet compared to the noise still coming from Main Street. Bummer. She'd hoped the Blue Fairy would hear her coming, would feel the same dread Eliana used to feel, when her mother would visit when she was a child. Her teeth call for biting-tearing-drawing blood, but there's nothing wrong about instilling some fear first.

Especially, she thinks, if the fear comes from the woman who ruined her life.

She knocks gingerly, almost mockingly enthusiastic. "Come out, come out, wherever you are. We don't have all day, mommy dearest."

It irks her, to know that this stubbornness is all her father's influence, that this man who traded her for a younger, more pliable child raised her to be unflinching to such a degree. She wants to yell at him, later. She wants to sink her claws right where it hurts him the most, and then seek out Jiminy to ask if his conscience doesn't gnaw at him, knowing he allowed a boy to be sent out to his doom while a girl he'd known since she was a babe was put aside like a broken toy. She wants them to know how much it hurts.

And still, she is grateful. If she weren't this stubborn, perhaps she'd have already given up on this hunt. Instead she is here, and her father's iron will propels her forward, while her mother's blood allows her to call for help to creatures who will listen.

This boon, she'll grant to the Mother Superior: without her, Eliana would have never had this at her disposal. It's how she survived infancy, while she was growing in all the wrong ways and crying until driads came to peer into her crib. It's how she found her brother hiding in his caravan in the woods, selfish, stupid prodigal son that he is. It's how she can reach out and find who will do her bidding, even if she's tainted blood and not all magic from top to foot.

Her mother once told her that those who can sense such things should be careful of what they do with their knowledge. She said forests especially are beasts with many heads, ready to wake up and snap their jaws at whoever dares disturb them.

Eliana has no trouble believing it, now, for when she pushes the convent doors open and strides inside, the forest around Storybrooke rears its ugliest one and roars, dozens upon dozens of beaks and paws and wings and fangs seizing up to journey alongside her.

[neonreflections23]

Castlevania: Psalm of Butterflies

Chapter 1

This Castlevania Au features an entirely new story set within the universe involving a cast of Ocs who are more interconnected than they think. Alucard is there too, I guess. The artwork presented within this writing was made by me, NeonReflections.

Characters- Miguel Retamar (Oc), Alucard (Adrian Fahrenheit Tepes), Boreas Belmont (Mentioned Oc)

Word Count- 5027

Major Content Warnings- Violence, gore, and Death. Castlevania itself holds general mature themes, so please read with caution or avoid reading altogether if these things make you uncomfortable.

Chapter Summary- Being taken from his home, Miguel Retamar sets out to escape the clutches of the monsters that hold him prisoner in the strange castle he was thrown into. Escape seems impossible, but with some surprise aid, things look less bleak.

Notes/Comments- This AU was in the making many months back and it was about time I wrote it and shared it with people properly. Despite the fact I talk about it often through TikTok videos and mentioning it to friends, it is different actually writing it and sharing it with others. This AU holds a special place in my heart as it was one of the few things I put so much time, effort, AND BRAINROT into. I hope you all will enjoy Miguel's story, he means a lot to me as an oc I created, from him being rep for me as a trans man and just his journey through such a strange world he lives in.

Caged. Caged, cold, and alone with a bunch of rancid-smelling monsters in a dungeon of some castle in the middle of the woods. Where was this castle? Miguel doesn’t even know where. For all he cared, he needed to find an opening to use a spell to get out of these iron bars, but a gangly, furry beast was watching his cage with an empty stare. He couldn’t tell if it was keeping watch, or disassociating with a hundred-yard stare but he didn’t want to take any chances if it meant potentially grabbing its attention and alerting the other night creatures. He could hear his inner heartbeat while watching the scene of patrolling, mangled bodies, just waiting, watching, observing. 

A shrill, croak from one of the troops. The dutiful guard turns its head. 

An opening.

Miguel willed his hands and thrust forth with a surge of power, shooting the iron bars from their hinges and right into the monster guard’s head leaving a spray of red. The loud clanging alerted the other creatures, but Miguel was already running as fast as he could, hastily lifting his robe so he wouldn’t trip. Holding his book and robe skirt wasn’t viable, but he couldn’t care less as he was running from the horde that ensued. Monsters of all kinds were screeching and howling as they clamored and chased after the mage, reaching out and trying to collect their prey as they ran out of the musty dungeons and into the opulent halls of the castle. The mage could tell he was on a ground floor of some kind. The tall windows flew past him as he fled with the blue winter moon holding witness to his desperate escape. 

The halls were winding and confusing, expensive furniture torn to threads by the claws and maws of the encroaching captors. Miguel knew he couldn’t keep running forever. He will run out of stamina and collapse from all this physical exertion, making him mentally curse himself for never training with Boreas as often as he liked. He just had to stick his nose into books and sit on his ass all the time back home.

His legs grew weak, but his heart leaped seeing the extravagant entryway with doors seemingly made for giants. He didn’t think twice before he leaped down the stairs and started to pull on the large door handles frantically.

“Come on! Open! Open!” The mage cried as he pulled with all his might and swiveled his head to see the horde growing closer. Miguel wasn’t one for property damage, but it was either him or this unfeeling door, and he was more inclined to save himself. He threw open his book and was frantically flipping through his bookmarked pages, panic rising with each failed attempt to find the right spell. His heart was racing as he glanced at each word. Becoming a fish doesn’t open a fucking door! Fire won’t burn through the door fast enough! The monsters are about to reach him! “Fuck it! I need to do something!”

The mage threw his book aside as he stood back and started throwing random spells at the door. Candles and chairs floated and were thrown at the door, fire was shot, marble crumbled, and wind surged, but nothing even worked. He was about to throw out another last-ditch spell when his arm was yanked by a clawed hand, throwing him against the arms of a humanoid abomination. Miguel tried to fight against the harsh grip on his body as he thrashed and kicked at the fiend, but the afront to God would not let up as it and many others were now trying to right their mistake with a wizened beast coming forth chanting to form a seal on his magic. His one shot at trying to get back home and he already blew it, but he didn’t want to give in. He didn’t want to be handed over to their master! He kicked at the cloaked beast a few times, landing a good blow before another beast came to its aid by holding back Miguel’s legs. He tried screaming and shouting over the chant only for his mouth to be covered by another pair of hands.

No matter how much he tried to bite at the hands covering his mouth desperately, it did nothing. He was growing exhausted. It was the end of the line for him as he watched helplessly as the cloaked creature was finishing the seal-

FWSSSH!

The cloaked one’s top half falls with a gurgling cry leaving a mess of sticky blood on the floor.

The horde grows frenzied looking for the sudden attacker with many sniffing the air for a new scent and others taking off into the air to scout for the intruder, but it is already too late. Their fates were sealed as monsters were cut down by flashes of white and yellow left right and center. Miguel screamed against the hands that bound him as the three creatures that held him were escaping. They were going to complete their orders, even if it meant selling out their comrades, meaning whoever gave the command wanted Miguel alive and kept prisoner. Yet, as he struggled within the creatures’ grasp, he managed to get a hand free and he knew exactly what to do. The mage let out a gust of strong winds knocking the beings down and getting himself free as he had to jolt off the floor and continue running. He couldn’t go back near the entrance, that was where the fighting was. He couldn’t go behind him knowing the monsters were going to get up again, so he dove into a nearby hallway and ran like hell. He didn’t want to get involved with whatever was at that entrance! All he caught were flashes of what he could imagine was a blade back there and it made him wonder about the possibilities. In-fighting between the monsters? The ones that held him hostage did ditch the fight after all, so there must be a reward for keeping him secure, but that alone doesn’t make sense. They all were fighting as an organized group. Maybe Boreas did somehow show up?! Last Miguel saw that Belmont, he was shouting to him about how he would save him from the monsters right when the mage was captured and flown over the waters of the Caribbean Sea and through the Atlantic. However, that in itself is impossible unless he managed to find a way over to this country in the short time he was held prisoner. Puerto Rico was across the pond from wherever he was!

Even as he tried to rake his brain for potential answers, the dying cries of the monsters that followed signaled that who or what this thing was was approaching him. He didn’t want to die a cowardly death, running and getting caught by this being, but knowing it killed a whole horde of monsters said enough. It was after him, so he kept his eyes at front and willed his legs to go just a bit further. He kept telling himself over and over to keep going or else he would never see his dear friend again. Boreas would be devastated hearing his friend died in a castle all alone! He needed to make it out! He needed to survive and get back home so he could fulfill his deepest wish. He can’t die like this. He can’t die with this body he hated. He can’t die knowing that people will never see him as the person he knew he was in the deepest parts of his soul. 

Miguel knew that his magical energy needed to be replenished badly after wasting it all trying to open the door, but he mustered up what was left and dashed forth, letting wind magic carry him with tremendous speed. Whizzing down the passages, the mage flung himself and skidded to a stop into some parlor area. There was only one other passageway out that would just continue the chase, so he knew he had to hide. He turned and laid his eyes on a large, fancy couch, diving under it, and kept his breathing down. Adrenaline was in his system and it was hard to keep calm, especially with the presence’s footsteps growing louder. The aura of this being felt like a blinding light you couldn’t tear your eyes away from even when this presence took form into a man in a long black cloak with gorgeous waves of gold. Miguel could only stare in awe from his hiding place feeling that his breath was stolen by the ethereal man searching the room with his piercing gaze. He could stare at him for ages like he were a masterpiece painted by God himself. 

How could one look so beautiful, yet so terrifying?

Their eyes locked.

Miguel bristled in fear putting a palm to his mouth to withhold a scream as he cowered in place. He looked no better than a mouse hiding in a wall as he goggled on wide-eyed at the stranger approaching the couch.

“Do you plan on hiding from me forever under that couch?” The beautiful stranger casually called out. Miguel had to admit, the voice was much deeper than he envisioned. He was going to reply, but his vision was filled with those golden eyes staring back at him that made him jump in place. Seeing them up close, he could now see the unnatural hues complementing the irises, the thin pupils, and how there was a sense of lingering sleep in them.

Guess he truly did wake up looking like that.

“Um, yes?”

“That came out like a question.”

“Yes. Um. I’m sorry.” Miguel mentally facepalmed himself just knowing he did that.

There was a small pause, but the stranger continued.

“Are you that afraid?”

“Yes."

“I would be scared as well given your position, hiding under a couch after escaping from night creatures that chased you.” The stranger spoke in what Miguel could place was a sarcastic tone. This one was a wise guy.

“Says the one who cut down those monsters like some flying guillotine. Thought the French Revolution was over a century ago.”

“Touché. I suppose I am that scary to you.” The man chuckled a little which did set the mage at ease a little and chuckled with him. Another pause came, so the mage let out a sigh.

“I suppose I will come out now.” And so he did. Miguel scooted himself out his of hiding place and got up, however felt his anxiety rise seeing that the man also stood at full height, easily towering over him. 

“You are quite a tiny little mage wielding such powerful magic. It was hard to keep up with you after you rode that gust of wind.” The stranger commented, but the mage quickly noticed how this man purposely talked in a hushed tone. There was a little whistle when he talked. People don’t usually talk like that unless they want to hide their teeth. With those unnatural eyes and speaking habits, his stomach twisted inside as he looked at the stranger with newfound fear. He quickly looked around for his spellbook, but he let out a whispered meirda remembering how he chucked that thing aside earlier. Sensing the mage’s rising panic, the stranger raised a brow. The stranger opened this cloak to reveal himself further and pulled out the lost thick book. “Missing something?”

A small gasp escaped Miguel as he snatched the book back and clutched it against him with a tight grip. In that book, he learned many things from his days scouring the Belmont trove with Boreas for spells, magic history, and general information on many creatures of the night, but one always came up as a topic of discussion from scholarly texts to journaled eye witness accounts. From the days of Leon Belmont to now, vampires have been extensively researched from how to avoid encountering one to killing them. Miguel instinctively felt one of his dangling cross earrings and did what he must do. He unlatched it from its bead and held it up at the vampire as he backed up from him.

“Back! Stay back!” Miguel's voice wavers, a sign of his fear. Vampires fear crosses. It was said it was because it was a holy symbol throughout cultures long before Jesus Christ came, and it was theorized that the geometry dazes and confuses the creatures. Even then, the vampire did not react at all, only looking at the mage with confusion and annoyance.

The mage had nothing else to aid him unless he broke both his earrings and threw the beads on the floor for the vampire to count. Supposedly vampires count out of habit, but there were very few beads he had and it would only buy him very little time. He had no garlic, silver, or holy water. That was back home in Puerto Rico. He hadn’t even been outside of the castle yet to determine if there was running water either, so he was trapped. Trapped with this vampire who seemingly is immune to a cross being held up at him.

“Please, don’t bite me and drain me of my blood. Don’t make me a vampire either! I would be horrible as one!” Miguel pleaded as he kept the cross up and backed himself up to a bookcase. He was tapped out of magic, so now he just has to resort to begging like a weakling. He hated doing this, but Boreas wasn’t here to protect him like he always had. He was alone with this vampire.

Seeing the pitiful display, the vampire approached closer and bore a blank expression. Miguel quivered where he stood as the man lowered his arm staring at him with those golden eyes. At that moment, he stared into them and a morbid thought came: it wouldn’t be so bad dying to a vampire who looks this beauti-

“I am a dhampir.”

“...What?” Miguel felt stumped for a second before he gasped loudly. There was only one dhampir ever recorded throughout the Belmont family history and he was standing right in front of him. “No. It can’t be! You are Adrian Fahrenheit Tepes?!”

“You know of me?” The man looked at the mage quizzically.

“Know of you?! I read all about you back home! You aided Trevor Belmont and Sypha Belnades back in the mid to late 1400s to defeat your father, you defeated Ritcher Belmont and snapped him out of a mind control spell the dark priest Shaft had cast on him, and you have been there to stop every major vampire uprising! There were even some accounts of your meetings with Belmonts long past within the old dusty journals in their libraries.” Miguel exclaimed as he looked upon the man no longer with fear, but utter joy. “God, I wish Boreas were here now to see you! I bet he would flip his shit! I met the Alucard before he did!”

The dhampir blinked in surprise at how much this mage seemingly knew of him to his first encounter with the Belmonts. Furthermore, now that Alucard realized, this mage is friends with this generation’s Belmont?!

“Wait, wait, wait. You are friends with a Belmont? This is such a huge coincidence.”

“I know, right? I thought you were a myth or a long-dead figure! Oh my God! I have so many questions! What’s it like to sleep in a coffin for many years? Do you feel stiff and tired all the time because of it? How does being in suspended animation work for you? Why is your middle name Fahrenheit? You can turn into a wolf, a bat, and a cloud of mist, so what else can you turn into? Did you really overcome getting hurt by running water by getting an underwater talisman shaped like a snorkel? What do you do when you can’t curb your craving for blood? Do you accidentally bite your lip or tongue with your fang-”

Alucard quickly covered the mage’s mouth with his gloved hand.

“You truly are one of those bookworms that ask too many questions. Okay, I am going to get my hand off your mouth and once I do, please introduce yourself briefly and tell me what you are doing in my father’s castle.” Just hearing that they were in Dracula’s castle put Miguel into a tizzy as he was now speaking into the gloved hand, freaking out and rambling even more. It all just made Alucard quickly facepalm with his other hand. 

After a small bit, Miguel calmed down and lowered the hand from his face, adjusting his glasses and putting his cross back on the earring beads to make himself look presentable. “I am Miguel Retamar, a scholar of magic from Puerto Rico, well, not really a scholar. I can’t go to any of the schools of magic for various reasons, but I like to call myself that since I learned from-”

Alucard shot an eyebrow at Miguel.

Right. I have to keep it short.

“Lo seinto. Um, I am a friend of Boreas Belmont, who also lived in Puerto Rico, since we were eight. I got snatched by night creatures, brought to this castle’s dungeon, and thrown in a cage, but I escaped as you saw, but you saved me from those monsters!”

“I see. Transylvania is very far from Puerto Rico, so it must have been a very powerful winged beast that has brought you here. Why could someone possibly want a mage from Puerto Rico of all places? Last I checked, the island was taken over by the United States due to the recent war between the Spanish and Americans.”

“Even for a dhampir that woke up from a long sleep, you do try to keep up with current events.” Miguel’s interest further. “Ah, but yes. The island was colonized and all sorts of people came in. It was an…adjustment.” The mage had a pained expression on his face, lost in thought until he shook himself out of it and continued. “But due to that, it brought the Belmonts to my town.”

“I didn’t take for the Belmonts to come along and live as colonists.” Alucard scoffed at the mere thought of it.

“No, no, no! Don’t worry! They actually help the community and not try to take advantage of it, unlike other people who came to the island. Boreas and his family arrived when he was a boy because his parents were thinking of his future and his father grew tired of constantly fighting monsters. They thought it was a good place to settle down once and for all, so they moved the entire Belmont trove of knowledge and artifacts over as well. That’s what he could remember at least.”

“A Belmont that grew tired of fighting monsters? What next? Hell is going to freeze over and the world will collapse?” The dhampir sarcasm as he went over and sat on the fancy couch with Miguel following suit giving the man considerable space. “My question is where is this Boreas anyway? Shouldn’t he be here carrying out his family line’s destiny, or is he a lazy ass as well?"

“Um, he and I got separated. He is still back home and I am still stuck here.” The mage awkwardly stated which brought a frown to the dhampir’s face.

“Well, I was lucky enough to enter this castle because whoever took over it not only renovated it and got the bridge system around it working again, so there is no way to get in or out. We both are trapped until I find the person in charge and put an end to their plans. I do not want to deal with another possible attempt at reviving Dracula.”

“Seriously?! I don’t think I can hold out until then. You saw how those monsters were after me! They all are looking for me and ready to put me back in a cage.” Miguel uttered as he got up and started pacing around the room, stressing out the more the reality of the situation set in.

“Why are they even after you? You never truly answered that.” The dhampir inquired and yanked Miguel by his robe back over to him once the mage was about to pace past him. “They are keeping you alive for some reason if it means they want a cowardly spellcaster. Adding on, if they are still going to chase you around like rabid dogs, we both better get a move on.”

“Hey! I’ll have you know that this coward was on the right track to making the biggest breakthrough the magic scene has ever known!” He retorted as he turned to Alucard with an indignant pout. How mature for someone who claimed to have been close to making a magical phenomenon… The dhampir just rolled his eyes as he let out a groan got up and started leading the way out of the strange parlor. “Right before I got captured, I was walking out in town with Boreas to get some reading material that may aid me in making a brand new spell. I even had my research journal in my bag, but that was taken deep into the castle as soon as I got taken.”

Alucard looked back and gave yet another surprised look at the mage. Making new spells in the world of magic wasn’t unheard of, but it generally is seen as a hopeless endeavor. Making a new spell means revealing a new concept in a sense, but in this age of progress, it seems people uncovered everything from how to turn into various animals to manipulating the elements. Though, no mage in this era truly was as strong as Sypha if it meant she was the only one who was strong enough to move this entire castle before, Juste Belmont was easily second place with his mastery over the elements during his glory days, but now the question is raised. What concept did this mage want to bring forth to this modern era? 

“You do realize how impossible it is to create a new spell? What could you possibly be making that caught the attention of the person taking over this castle?”

Miguel hesitated as he looked at the dhampir warily. How could he ever explain it to someone other than Boreas? It only seemed like he gets it, but Alucard? He knew that he had to keep his cards close to him for now. “Well, it is to manipulate the soul in a sense.” Short and simple. Further context doesn’t need to be added.

“Sounds complex on its own. But why would someone want to take your notes and keep you here just for that if the spell is not made yet? I assume this mystery person had plans to make you finish them for whatever reason.” Alucard mused as the two turned a corner. He knew the paths of this gigantic castle like the back of his hand, but there also was unfamiliarity. All the old decorations and dust had been cleaned or outright replaced. New carpets and curtains were added, new paintings that depicted misery and human suffering, and dare he say the place felt live in rather than desolate.

“Maybe, but for now, I think I will tag along with you-”

“Out of the question.”

‘What?! Why?”

“Need I remind you that you are the same man who had to run away from night creatures and used up all his magic?”

“How did you-”

“You held out a cross in a desperate attempt to get me from biting you instead of wielding your magic.”

“But all I need is a bit of rest! I swear!”

“Little mage, we both are in enemy territory. We have no time to be on holiday and I cannot wait for you to keep up with me. You need to think on your feet, not what your big book says.” Alucard quickly concluded as they both turned at a fork in the passageways. Miguel couldn’t think of anything to say as he gripped his book closer to him with a bit of frustration. How could he, a small-time mage, argue with a dhampir who literally had hundreds of years of experience when it comes to combat? Yet, there was going to be no hiding place for him in this vast castle if it meant he was a wanted man. He can’t just hide in some room and pray no one would find him. He had to do something!

So, Miguel did the one thing he could do while the two walked, which was do the opposite Alucard asked him to do and open his big book. He already heard the scoff coming from the dhampir as soon as he did, but he chose to ignore it as he sifted through the pages, letting out an ‘aha’ reading through the passages.

“Well, jokes on you because this big fuck-off book has a way for me to regain my magic quickly. There are a few ways, actually. One namely being rest, but another is to drink a potion of mana!” The mage shut the book with a laugh as he turned around and started walking in the complete opposite direction of where the dhampir was going which did cause the man to turn and try to catch up with him.

“And where on earth are you going?”

“To find me a potion! If you remember at the entrance hall, there was that creature that tried to place a seal on me. Sealing magic takes a lot of energy, hell I should know as I had to practice it a couple of times, but that beast had to have a potion to keep itself from running dry. Night creatures have a naturally low mana pool compared to any regular human, sooooooooooo…..”

“You just need to loot its corpse.” Alucard begrudgingly finished Miguel’s sentence as he was now the one who had to follow.

“Exactly! I am one-hundred, no, ten-thousand percent sure that it has it in its back pocket!” He boasted as he was speedwalking ahead, past the parlor they were just in and out into the halls where he ran for his life. Now looking at it, he didn’t realize how destructive his wind magic was. The entire place was destroyed from the wallpaper to upturned hall tables... Pushing down the slight embarrassment, he pressed on, stepping over the fresh corpses of the wanna-be captors. Even though they were monsters, Miguel had to suppress a gag and rising despair seeing so many littered within the entrance hall, but his sympathy was limited. Those things tried to keep him in a cage and seal away his magic after all. 

Picking up his robe to avoid getting gore on it, he trudged through the fallen horde until he finally found the cloaked creature. It reeked of magic, blood, and what Miguel could assume was sulfur. He sucked in a breath before setting aside his book to get his hands dirty, sifting through its mangy skin with a disgusted face. He wished he had gloves like Alucard did or at least asked to use them beforehand, but he didn’t want to bother him more than he already did. Now he has to live with the consequences of searching a smelly creature’s halves for a vial or bottle of some kind, but thankfully that torture was put to an end as he forced the being’s hand open. There lay a large vial of cerulean that was unused letting the mage heave a sigh of relief as he took it, uncorked the bottle, and downed it. It was better to treat mana potions like shots or else the aftertaste would have made him gag almost uncontrollably. Potions never were meant to taste good, only bring results, and it did as he felt the sudden surge of power in his veins bringing relief to the growing fatigue he was in.

“Surprised you found it. I was ten thousand percent sure that you wouldn’t have found that bottle.” The dhampir remarked as Miguel got up with book in hand once more. 

“Just some simple logic is all it takes to turn the tide in my favor.” He bragged as he went over to the large set of doors and eyed them. “Though I will say, I am surprised you got in with such huge ass doors in the way. I tried pulling on them as best as possible, yet it didn’t open. I can only imagine how heavy they are.”

Alucard threw a deadpan stare at the mage as he came up to the door and pushed it open. Miguel’s smug attitude turned to utter disbelief and aggravation as he ran up to the door and pushed it further with some difficulty. He pulled on a push door. Seeing his realization, the dhampir broke out into a fit of laughter as Miguel just stood there looking at him with a face of betrayal.

“Hey! This was your home before you flew the coup! How was I supposed to know when there were those big handles there? I wasted my magic for nothing!” The mage retorted as he grabbed Alucard by his cloak and started shaking him, but that just made the man laugh even harder.

However, Miguel’s anger was short-lived as his eyes trailed over to the horizon within the night beyond the stone walls, and his blood ran cold. Alucard wasn’t lying. In the far distance, a ginormous wall encircled the castle grounds with a large bridge drawn, easily keeping out any more intruders from entering. The moat looked recent and there truly did seem to be no other way out. They truly were stuck in this castle.

What the hell did Miguel get himself into?

[pinkcherryblossomangel]

Away from home - chapter 2

Y/N is an actress, filming for her first lead role in the film adaptation of her favourite childhood book, produced by maximum effort.

She bonds with Ryan Reynolds over their share Love of the Korean pop band Stray Kids, and he has a surprise for her.

When she starts missing home and the darkness creeps upon her, her hotel neighbour comes to her rescue.

Trigger warnings- mentions of depression, self harm and anxiety

Stray kids fan fic

Mainly staring 3ratcha

But the other boys do make appearances it's just easy to keep to minimum of characters lol

Chan x oc

This is my first ever fan fiction so if it's shit soz.

Chapter 2 - professional

I run quickly back into the hall, trying to avoid the group approaching. I just manage it. I find Jenna and pull her into a corner.

"It's them!"

"What?" Her brow burrows with confusion.

"Stray kids. You were right, well 3 of them. The producing unit." A smile appears on her face as she revels in this only way a best friend could.

"That includes the leader doesn't it?" That's why she was smirking. She knows my phone wallpaper is a photo of him. " he's you fave isn't he? Sorry bias." The shit eating grin on her face would be funny if I wasn't shitting bricks. "You should probably change your phone background" she giggles.

I change it to a picture of my mum and me on holiday in London.

" okay breaks over, Y/N it's your solo." Jonathan calls over. I clamor off the bleachers and make my way to the centre. Jenna and I run our few lines of dialogue before the routine and then the doors to the right of me quietly open and they walk in.

I have to be professional but every fibre of my being is telling me to stop cause I'll make a fool of myself. The music starts, it's some old 70s pop song, and I'm kicking and moving just like I'm supposed to. I'm shimmying and moving my hips to the rhythm and after a few minutes the music ends. Everyone claps. I love working in such a encouraging environment.

I take a few to catch my breath and it happens. I see Ryan leading them over to me, Jenna and tash and we're trying not to freak out.

"Y/N!" He greats me with open arms which I happily hug into.

"Ryan!" I let go " and Blake! It's so good to see you in the flesh again" I say as I pull her into a hug.

"And here are the movies musical composers. Y/N I know you know of them" He says teasingly nudging me in the arm.

"Composer's? That's so cool!! My favourite band, doing the music for my favourite books film, produced by my favourite person and her husband!" Blake and the 3ratcha boys smirk whilst Ryan sarcastically laughs. " I'm Y/N" I say to the boys with an outstretched arm.

" changbin" He says as he shakes my hand

"Jisung, or Han, or Peter if you want!?" Han says almost like the words are falling out of his mouth.

"Chris!" There he is. I make eye contact as he holds my hand. I must be delusional as a feel a spark. Need to take my anti delulu meds.

" yeah I know you guys. I'm a big fan. A stay!" I say awkwardly as if I haven't been hyper fixated on them for the past 3 years.

" That's so cool!" Chan says, his Australian accent standing out amongst the sea of Americans I'm now used to hearing.

"You're not American?" Changbin asks me

"English, from near Yorkshire. But I do have an American accent in the film" I say slipping into the accent.

"That's so cool. People tell me I sound English when I speak English." Han chimes in.

"Maybe southern English, but like London not Essex or cornish." I reply.

" there's different ones?" Ryan jokes.

I'm keeping my cool, but I can't help but feel hot under Chris's gaze. Or what I think is his gaze, I haven't looked at him since I introduced myself, but I can feel his eyes on me. I shoot a look and smile in his direction. He was looking. Fuck. I'd prefer it if I was just being Deluded, but no, he's staring at me and once I make eye contact he smirks. Fuck this man.

"So they'll be spending a few weeks here on set getting to really feel the heart of the film. To really understand the characters and their relationships" Blakes words break through my spiralling.

"That sounds so fun! We'll have to show you round!" Tash suggests. She's become quite the stay in the past few minutes. What can I say, these boys have an effect on people.

"That's lunch" Jonathan yells.

The hoard of crew and cast make their way to the dining area, I trail behind trying to come to terms with the fact this is my life. Blake joins me at the tail.

"You feeling better today?" She asks. In all the excitement I'd completely forgotten the complete melt down I'd had last night. I went to bed as soon as I got in and cried myself to sleep. I wish there was a reason why, but there isn't. I should be happy. I am. I've got my dream job! Yet I still feel empty.

"Yeah" I say trying to reassure her, it doesn't really work. "I'm sorry I rang you so late last night, it must've been a pain in the arse" the apology rushes out my mouth. She stops me and looks at me in the eyes, as she places her hands on my shoulders.

"No. Stop dismissing how you feel. There is no need to apologise. I'm here for you" she says pulling me into a hug. In her arms I feel myself let go of tension I didnt realise had built up.

I wish my mum was here. She'd hold my hand through all of this. I'm too scared to tell her anything is wrong, cause she can't do anything from back home and I know she'd get on the next plan over. I can't do that to her. She has a life outside of me and I need to prove to myself I can do this on my own. Plus I'm scared I'd seem ungrateful.

Blake let's go, but loops her arm through mine.

"Now let's get lunch!"

-----------------------------------------

Chapter 1

[secretsfromthegirlnextdoor]

Pairing: JJ Maybank x female!OC

Part: 8/??

Series Masterlist

“Would you quit your bitching?!” Kie shouted over the boys clamoring and moaning about being up so early. The four Pogues elbowed their way through the crowds on Main Street, folded up lawn chairs slung over their shoulders as they searched for a decent spot to set up. “The 4th of July parade is fun!!” She demanded

“It’s for little kids, Kie” Pope grumbled, earning him a smack on the arm.

JJ took a long drag of his juul, blowing smoke towards some random Kook as John B turned his head to speak “I second what Pope said, this is lame as fuck”

“We’re here to be normal teenagers for once, and to support Sammie” Kie snapped “and there’s free candy!!” She sang in a sing-songy voice

“I dunno, my bed was pretty comfy” JJ quipped back, leaving out the part about how the bed he was in just a couple hours ago was Sam’s.

Forty minutes in the blazing sun did nothing to quell the boys complaining, and by the time the parade finally made it to where they were camped out, Kie was pretty over the whole experience too. The little kids around them started shouting and waving their hands and their tiny American flags for the free candy, and before she knew it, John B, Pope and JJ were all pushing each other around, practically shoving kids out of the way to snap up the pieces that fell on the ground.

As the parade passed them by with elaborate floats and local groups, they heard the marching band approaching and the four friends all stood up and craned their necks to find Sammie. “Clarinet” she had reminded them, “I’m right smack dab in the middle”. The baton girls passed by first, one of them winking and making a kissy face at John B, eliciting slaps on the back and teasing from the other boys, followed by the flutes and piccolos, and then finally the clarinets.

JJ spotted her first, letting out a loud woop and pointing so their friends wouldn’t miss her. She was hard to spot, everyone looked the same with their hair tucked into the stupid feathered hats, but as soon as she caught his eye he couldn’t look away.

“AYYYY THERE'S OUR GIRL!!!” He shouted

“SAMMIE I AMMIE!!!!” “WOOOOO” the four friends screamed and shouted, never failing to embarrass the youngest member of their crew. John B fished a tootsie roll out of the cup holder in his folding chair and whipped it in her direction, missing Sam all together, but thwacking a trumpet four rows back. A blush spread across her face and Sam stopped playing momentarily to mouth ‘stooooop’ with wide eyes at the rowdy group, eliciting laughs and more shouts.

Just as soon as they appeared, the band rounded the corner and headed back to the start of their parade route, while all of the spectators started gathering up their items and folding their chairs back up.

“I guess that wasn’t all bad” Pope remarked as he swung his folded chair over his back “yeah I love listening to ‘Yankee Doodle’ over and over again” John B said sarcastically as he tossed another piece of candy into his mouth. “Let’s get breakfast at that diner on First Street,” he suggested, chewing his candy enthusiastically.

“Yeah yeah, We’ve gotta scoop Sammie up from the surf shop first though bro” JJ replied, taking another hit off of his juul. “You guys get her, we’ll get a table” Kie instructed, pointing at John B and twisting around, headed in the direction of the diner.

“Dude she is so hangry” Pope said, both boys letting out a laugh as they watched Kie and JB weave their way through the mass of people before turning and making their way to the surf shop.

The boys approached the shop to see a lone marching band member sitting on the sidewalk in front. “Uh excuse me sir?” JJ teased, “which way to the loser convention?”

Sammie tilted her head back and squinted up at him with a look that could kill and uttered one single word, “rude”. JJ held his hands up in mock surrender, smirking and taking a step back as Pope reached his hand out and helped her up, then let go and wiped his hand on his pants “ew dude you’re sweaty af”

She rolled her eyes and gave him the same look she’d just given JJ, “it’s a million degrees out here and I’m in a wool suit!”

“Take that shit off, we’re going to the diner and you know we can’t be seen with a band nerd” JJ said as he pointed at her uniform, and they started meandering in the direction of breakfast. Sam unclipped the chin strap and pulled her hat off, letting her long hair tumble out and unravel. JJ’s eyes were fixated on her, mouth falling open as she shook her hair out in the breeze, before he could snap out of it she took the hat in both hands and launched it in his direction “you’re such a jerk!” Sam yelled playfully.

Before JJ had a chance to retaliate, an older man approached them with a smile, “Hey! That was great!” He said, directing his words at Sam. “Oh, uh, thanks” she said with a timid smile, eyes brushing the ground.

“Can we get a photo?” The man asked, smiling and gesturing to the person behind him to take his phone and snap a picture. “Yeah… sure” Sammie said awkwardly as JJ and Pope shuffled out of the way to allow for the photo with their friend and this random guy, keeping their eyes locked on the situation unfolding in front of them.

The man wrapped his arm around her small frame and smiled big for the photo, while Sam shrunk into her uniform, plastering on a tense smile. Pope and JJ exchanged a look, not sure if they should jump in and save her. The woman got a few pictures and then handed the phone back to the first guy, he swiped through his phone, surveying the pictures and then looking back to Sammie “thanks! we’ll see you around!” She smiled and nodded and the man took off, continuing in the direction he had been walking earlier.

“Well…. That was weird” Pope said matter of factly, “Damn girl, you have adoring fans and everything!” JJ exclaimed, bumping her shoulder with his own as they started back up walking to the diner. Sam laughed nervously, working on the clips of her uniform top, pulling it open to reveal a plain white tank top and sighing at the fresh air. Again, JJ couldn’t pull his eyes away.

“Do you know him or something?” Pope questioned, seeing the look of concern written all over her face as she nodded and replied with a ‘mhmmmm’ shrugging her uniform coat off and flinging it over her shoulder.

“Wait shit, is that one of our teachers or something?” JJ said, looking back to try and get another glimpse of the man as he set Sammie’s uniform hat on his head. Pope and Sam each shot him a questioning look, “dude, what?” Pope said

“That was my dad,” Sammie explained flatly, stopping JJ and Pope in their tracks as they stared at their friend. The girl kept walking, eventually stopping when she noticed the boys absence and turning around with a bewildered look. “Guys I’m starving!” She whined.

“That was your DAD?!” Pope yelled, making his way closer to where she was now standing. Sam shrugged her shoulders at him “did you know he was coming?” He asked, grabbing her shoulders. Sam shot a look at JJ, then dipped her head and set her eyes on the ground, nodding, “he called me this morning” she said in a small voice, then picking her head up to face the boy with tears threatening at the corners of her eyes “can we go eat now?”

Pope pulled Sam into a hug, “sure, we’ll get food now” looking over her head at JJ, mouthing ‘what the??’ As JJ shrugged and mouthed back ‘I dunno!’ The boy pulled back and wrapped his arm around Sam’s shoulders, “c’mon, let’s go”

“So that’s what your vanishing act was about this morning?” JJ whispered in her ear as the group walked through town after their breakfast, he and Sam had fallen behind, taking a slower pace than the rest. She looked up at him, then sighed, turning her eyes back to the sidewalk in front of them and nodding, “I’m sorry, I just needed time to process, I didn’t know how to explain”. JJ shrugged and held his hands up in mock surrender “hey, I get it, no worries” they walked a few more steps in silence “but like,” he stammered before continuing, “you could have told me, ya know? I just wanna be there for you”. Again Sam looked at him, grinning and nodding “I know” The two caught up with the rest of the group, falling into step behind their friends as they planned out the rest of their day.

“He wants to take me to dinner tonight,” Sammie said quietly, keeping her eyes locked on the horizon as she sat on the edge of the dock and kicked her legs in the water. JJ sat on the edge of the handrail, one leg hanging over each side while he blew a puff of smoke out of his mouth “oh really? No shit.” She nodded, turning her head to look at him. “You gonna go?” JJ asked. At first, Sam replied with a shrug, then thought for a moment and replied “I guess so, it’s a free dinner” she said casually. “Very true,” he responded “best not to pass up free food”. The dock bobbed slightly for a few more minutes as the two listened to their friends shriek and laugh as they swam in the water below.

“What do you think he wants?” JJ questioned, taking another hit from his juul. “Hmm?” She questioned wordlessly, “You think he wants something?” Sammie asked, turning back over her shoulder to look at him. “I mean you haven’t seen him in how long?” He said after blowing out the smoke “Absent parents don’t just come around for no reason, not in my experience anyway”. Sam turned her whole body to face him now, “I guess so” she said with yet another shrug, looking down and focusing her attention on the peeling nail polish on her toes. “Sorry, didn’t mean to burst your bubble or whatever” he apologized as he hopped down off the railing, noticing the change in her body language.

“No bubble to burst,” she said, pulling her legs into her chest “like I said, I’m going for the free food” he smirked, ambling to the other side of the dock shelter to look out over the water. “You want me to come?” He asked gently, avoiding eye contact. “I think I can handle it,” Sam reassured him. “I know, just figured I’d offer,” JJ replied with a shrug. “Thanks JJ” she whispered looking again at her toes. “Now get your ass in the water!!” He shouted, lunging at her and grabbing around her waist as he lifted her up and threw her over his shoulder. Sam shrieked but didn’t have enough time to fight back as JJ took one swift step and leapt into the water below.

[bonelessghoul]

Saint of the Shadows |3|

summary: when all seems to find a balance again, Estella’s world is rattled when Grisha come to Ketterdam to take her away, and her relationship with the Crows is tested.

pairing: kaz brekker x OC

word count: 7.5k

part i | part ii

The smell of fresh shave and charcoal lingered in the sheets in which Estella’s face was buried upon, her consciousness dragging her from the peaceful sleep like trying to drag a sack of a million pounds of coal. Estella couldn’t open her eyes just yet, wondering if she could still see Kaz’s face just a mere foot from her own, staring down at her like it was entirely normal.

Suddenly, Estella woke with a gasp.

“Ugh”

The audible groan disrupted in the silence of Kaz’s room from Estella who groggily rose from the sheets, the long hours she slept almost feeling like too many hours of sleep. She felt nauseous, reaching for the warm glass of water that say by the burning gaslight at the small table beside her, hair sticking out in every direction.

It was when Estella finally came to her senses, wiping away her crusted eyes that she realized where she was and her eyes widened.

With no one to be seen in Kaz’s dimmed room, the chandelier from his office basking her in a warm yellow light, Estella frantically rose to rush towards the window to see what time of day it was. Thick gray-blue clouds washed over the skies, and she was just barely able to see the last rays of light being smushed against the horizon into one flat, angry colored orange line. Beneath the window, she could hear the clamor of people roaming the streets and at this rate, Estella felt like it could be night or morning.

Had she slept that long?

Estella hurriedly fixed up her hair, washing her face in Kaz’s sink before trying to look presentable before heading downstairs.

The noise of the Crow Club obviously meant it was the following evening, the lines just beginning to start at the door. When Estella made her way down the stairs, a select few Dregs who were apart of last nights heist turned their heads to her, eyes wide and curious. It was only a minor gun shot wound, something that happened nearly every day among this crowd to at least one of them.

But, as her eyes settled on Rotty being overwhelmed behind the bar, Estella was already feeling well enough to join him. It was business as usual, and she already felt guilty for letting herself sleep in Kaz’s bed so long.

“Estella! What are you doing?!” Rotty cried out, watching her slip on the dirty white apron.

“Saving you, apparently.” she said, picking up the various coins left upon the table and noting the drinks people were trying to order.

But, as the girl jumped into work and began filling several glasses from the barrel at once, two voices cried out behind her at once.

“Estella?!”

“What?!”

Sharply turning around, she found Jesper and Inej staring at her incredulously, almost disapproving of her waltzing around with drinks in her hand like it were an ordinary day. But, she realized she may have sounded a bit too frustrated with them when they quietly sunk into the barstools.

“I’m okay, okay? I already slept so long, I feel fine.” she assured them, after dropping off a couple orders.

They looked at each other and back at her. “If you say so.” Inej sighed, eyeing her carefully.

“Inej, I’ve watched you suffer far worse and bounce back in hours.” Estella chuckled, pouring herself a drink. Saints knew she needed it. But as she eyed them, she noticed someone was missing. “Where is the Bastard of the Barrel at anyway?”

“He had just left for the evening. We told him we’d keep an eye on you but when we were upstairs ten minutes ago you were knocked out cold. Snoring, even!” Jesper teased.

Estella glared at him. “I don’t snore.” she muttered.

“He hasn’t left your side all day. He mentioned something about keeping the lights on for you? I went upstairs to turn them on.” said Inej.

Estella’s face scrunched up, but the realization hit her as she remembered the nightmare she had last night. That brief moment she woke was a groggy memory she could have easily mistaken for a dream, and she leaned upon the counter, sighing as she ran her hands over her face.

“It was nothing. I had a bad dream.”

When she noticed their faces become etched with concern again, she frowned.

“Don’t hold me hostage again, you idiot.” she pointed at Jesper.

“Get better at dodging bullets and we have a deal, sweetheart.” he retorted.

Estella laughed it off, and with ease, she slipped back into the routine of serving drinks and enjoying the little remarks her friends made while she worked. It was the only thing to keep her distracted from her sheer embarrassment. But the night ended as quick as it started and the three of them returned to the Slat together, Kaz boring on the forefront of her mind. She wondered if he had simply returned to his room here, almost just as curious to where he had gone off to for the past several hours.

After saying her goodnights, Estella tip toed up the creaky wooden stairs to the attic where she could see the faint flicker of light from underneath his door.

Holding her breath, she gently knocked, poking her head in after a moment of silence.

It was dark inside, but as her eyes adjusted, her eyes fell upon Kaz who peacefully had his head rested upon his desk, the candlelight just seconds away from burning out. She stopped and stared for a moment, tempted to grab Inej and Jesper to remember this moment to make fun of him for it in the morning, but instead, she found herself smiling at him as she stared. But she caught herself, standing up a little straighter, knowing she should let it be and leave before her heart started to melt with the candle.

Estella let the big bad Dirtyhands rest at his workspace, feeling a tinge of guilt, wondering just how long he stayed awake the previous night to make sure she was okay.

When Estella returned to her own room, it was a breath of fresh air to finally change out of her clothes and sink into her own sheets, hearing the familiar crinkle of a photograph she had tucked underneath her pillow. Before she shut off her own lights, her hand reached under it to take a look at it. It’s been a while since she lay there to truly admire it.

In the photo at the Crow Club, Estella’s hands seized Jesper’s arms while Inej glared at him. She remembered that day only roughly a year ago as she tried to keep him from sitting still. Inej was looking at him that way because he had said something crude that she couldn’t remember now, but Estella’s eyes fell on her own as her head was fully turned Kaz who stood beside her, staring at the camera with a scowl on his face. Estella had to laugh to herself at the thought of just how poorly timed the entire ordeal was.

The happy memory that sat in her hands was only a reminder of what her brother said to her in that terrible nightmare and Estella went to sleep that night, hoping this chapter wouldn’t ever end.

~

A week had passed, and the Barrel was seemingly quiet for once.

Everyone was enjoying life at their own pace and there was an odd sense of calmness that lingered over the Dregs as the days went on. Kaz was on errands for business, Inej still lurking about to keep an eye on things, and Jesper…well, Jesper was busy keeping the scammers out of Ketterdam as an excuse to sit at the tables all day.

As Estella entered the Crow Club that morning, Kaz was already sitting upon a barstool, his cane resting by his leg and one on the bar.

Seeing him at every corner left Estella jumpy after what happened last week and she wasn’t sure why, but all she knew was that a small surge of panic rushed through her as he sat there waiting.

“A little early for a drink, Kaz, don’t ya think?” Estella said, sucking in a deep breath.

Kaz regarded her with a small smirk before it washed away from his face.

“I have a job for you this morning. I have a buyer waiting for a small shipment of jurda coming into the Fifth Harbor in an hour.”

Estella paused, her apron clenched in her hands, as she looked at him.

“So, why can’t the buyer go buy his jurda?”

“Because it’s not ours nor his.”

Her brows raised and she put her apron down, leaning into her palms as they pressed against the glossy wood surface.

“So, you want me to steal a shipment of jurda from the Fifth Harbor, not to mention, in broad daylight, for our mysterious buyer?” she asked, raising a brow at him, speaking slowly just to make sure she was hearing him right.

Kaz didn’t seem to have the patience for it though.

“I want you to take a few of the Dregs and dress into more casual attire while Inej has the original crew meant to pick up this shipment tied up and gagged in an alleyway. Sooner rather than later. Time is important here.” he said, picking up a small stack of clothes that looked meant for a boy, and placing them on the surface between them.

Estella chuckled slightly. “You want me to dress like a boy?”

Kaz heaved a heavy sigh and grew fidgety in his seat, trying to contain his irritation with her, she presumed.

“Relax, I’ll gather Rotty and a few others now. I always did like dressing up to play the part.” she said cooly, picking up the clothes before sliding back out from behind the bar.

As Estella passed him to change in the bathrooms, she stopped at looked at him, his chin resting in his palm to hide the undoubtful frown hidden on his lips.

“You could at least try to look like you have some confidence in me.”

“I’ll be at the Slat by the time you return, but I expect to see it in full when I come back.”

While they seem to be returning to their usual bickering, Estella still left shaken, an uneasy feeling sitting in the pit of her stomach from the nitpicking her mind was doing without her control. This was how they normally chatted about jobs to be done, yet, she couldn’t help but feel like he was more withdrawn from her than usual.

Estella didn’t dwell on it, changing into a pair of baggy trousers and a button up shirt that felt to big. She tucked it in, sliding on the thick coat that hid her frame and tucked her hair under a hat that resembled the one he occasionally wore. Rotty was already waiting for her at the back door and she lead them to the harbor by way of the canals, Inej slipping in behind her as they walked and discussed the plan. They were to casually approach the ship that docked at the harbor, prepared with a stamped document that ensured they were there to pick up the jurda. In the hustle and bustle that would surely consume the harbor, they should expect to be in and out of this one.

By the time they made it, the fresh salty air hit her nose with the underlying scent of freshly caught fish that had been sitting out too long and burning coal.

The Fifth Harbor was one of her favorite places to idly sit by and watch as ships came and went, dropping off anything from passengers to cargo and everything in between. It was the busiest point of the coast to Ketterdam, and also the first port this town had when she first came all those years ago.

Rotty pointed out their target to them and Estella took the lead as she weaved in and out of the crown, the sails of the ships towering above them all. An old and impatient captain to a ship who dressed like he thought too highly of himself but was aged by the years traveling the seas stood there with two boys no older than her at his side.

“Papers, please.” he said, his voice deep and tired.

“Right away, sir.” Estella smiled, handing him the document that was sealed shut with the stamp.

Estella didn’t often feel nervous on simple jobs like these, almost excited from the idea of conning a man out of his jurda that seemed to be hard to come by these days. But the captain peered down at the paper, holding it inches from his face, glancing at her and the other Dregs who remained vigilant in his scrutinizing gaze. For a moment, there was a sliver of fear that he would catch onto their scheme.

“Alright, grab em’.” the man said, cocking his head of white to the boys who turned back to the ship.

Those words sent a wave of relief over her, and she had to contain her smile.

“Pleasure doing business with you, Captain.” she said playfully.

The man looked her up and down, muttering something as he turned away, but she stood there pleased nonetheless as the two little sailor boys brought off two crates of their shipment and handed them off the Dregs.

Estella stood there proudly, glancing over the other cargo being unloaded at the other piers to find Inej, standing there with a proud smile of her own and with a simple nod, they were to be on their way back to the Crow Club before anyone could even catch a whiff of their thievery.

But suddenly, a small burst of color appeared behind Inej, as three figures two docks down walked off the small plank of a ship.

Grisha.

Everything sunk in Estella, her chest growing hot as she watched a Squaller, a Tide Maker, and two Inferni walk on the dock with their faces set hard like stone as the eyed the Fifth Harbor with a hidden look of disgust to their faces.

Her limbs felt like jelly as she slowly backed away.

“I-I’ll meet you back at the Club.” Estella stammered towards Rotty who was hardly even paying attention.

Estella turned around, her shaking legs walking fast through the crowd back towards the East Stave. In through the nose, out through the mouth, she told herself as her heart began to hammer against her chest. In its irregular beating, she felt dizzy as she shoved through the crowds, nearly thrown back as her shoulder collided with others. Once in the clear, Estella took off sprinting on her trembling legs. When she ran, she could ignore the knots that formed in her stomach, running like death was on her tail and that the worst nightmare she could ever fathom was looming at her back.

But running only made her chest feel smaller, burning as she struggled to circulate enough air, and Estella thought she’d collapse if she didn’t make it the Slat as fast as she did.

Pushing through the door, the early risers of the Dregs watched as a figure whizzed by their faces as she stormed up the stairs to her room.

This couldn’t be happening.

Not now.

Estella nearly ripped open her closet doors as she grabbed as many clothes as her arms could fit and threw it on her bed. Hidden in the darkest corners of her closet was a black kefta adorned with silver embroidery. A design like this hasn’t been made since the first keftas were crafted, but she lay it on her bed, knowing she would need it if she were to escape unscathed if the Grisha were truly here for her.

For a moment though, Estella paused, her wheezing breath being the only sound she made. Tears stung her eyes as it all sunk in, the painful reality hitting her more than it did when she first lay eyes on the Grisha at the harbor.

What if she could hide? What if they weren’t here for her?

Estella shook her head, grabbing a small bag from underneath her bed to start shoving her belongings in.

She couldn’t risk it; not Kaz, nor the others and the empire they had built because the Saints knew that if they were here for her, they’d bring it all down to bring her in. Her mind raced, and she moved without thinking, but at the creak of the floorboards behind her, Estella nearly jumped out of her skin as she turned around to find Kaz staring at her from the doorway.

Stopping in the middle of the panic she was in left her looking purely manic as she stared at him with tears swelling in her eyes.

“Estella, what are you—”

Kaz’s eyes fell upon the black kefta, and something stirred within him.

If she thought her brother was her worst fear, then the look upon Kaz’s face was her literal hell.

“What is that?” he asked, his voice low, eyes still on the kefta.

Everything she thought she had here began to crumble before her eyes, a gaping hole tearing through her chest. She wanted to explain, she wanted to grab his face to look at her and tell him the painstaking truth and beg him to not think of her any other way. But all she could do was stare at him with parted lips, mere sounds coming out as she tried to find the words.

“I’m sorry.” Estella croaked out. “I have to go.”

Estella turns around, changing her heavy coat for the kefta that still felt like a glove. But his steps grew closer, and a gloved hand wrapped around her elbow to draw her back to face him, his eyes defeating the anger that was written across his face, wide with a heartbreak of his own that neither could describe.

“What are you?” he asks.

Her face fell, and her entire body could have gone limp from the single hold he had on her in that moment.

“Do you really have to ask?”

Estella shrugs out of his grip, a pain tugging at her chest like a thousand strings had yanked her away like a puppet. She threw on a cloak over her kefta and from behind, she heard his unsteady breathing.

“But why?!” Kaz shouts, the hurt in his voice sending a chill up her spine. “Why lie to us? Why lie to me?”

There was a glimmer of hope, that maybe, just maybe Kaz would look at her without utter betrayal and listen to her. But even Estella, as she slowly lost her mind, had to laugh dryly at the thought that he could understand.

“Honestly, Kaz, what would you have done?” she says darkly, her voice cracking as she turned to face him with her packed back in hand. “The last time people found out about me I was dragged to my death and they all had the same face you look at me with now!”

A single tear rolled over her cheek, her burning eyes threatening to spill more as Kaz’s face became a blur she had to blink away.

Kaz straightened in a way that made Estella wonder if he even knew that she was the Shadow Summoner from the story until now. The black kefta said enough, but it wasn’t until she said those words that he even considered the possibility that it was her all along.

“They’re here for me and I want to keep you safe—all of you. I have to leave.”

Estella shrugged the bag over her shoulder and forced to herself to walk away from him.

“Good.” Kaz said, staring at her from over the banister as she made her way down the stairs.

The breath caught in her throat. She expected his hurt, she expected his anger…but she didn’t expect him to cast her away so easily like everyone else she cared about did centuries ago.

“I hope they drag you back to Ravka and if I ever see you step foot in the Barrel, it will be your last.” Kaz said through a clenched jaw.

There was nothing left for Estella to feel anymore as she stormed out of the Slat.

Perhaps it was many years of being hurt, always left alone one way or another, but as Estella kept her head low in the streets of Ketterdam as she made her escape, she felt nothing but a hollow shell in place of the memories this place had given her.

Aleksander was right.

It seems her history was repeating itself.

Her pace quickened as she walked along the smaller canals not traveled often by the commoners, and her legs burned as they sped by, and she kept her cloak wrapped around her tightly to hide the kefta she wore underneath. If the Grisha were looking for her, then they would take the main roads until they searched every crevice of this city.

Estella felt a gust of wind, nothing more than a breeze, but suddenly, it grew stronger and as she made the mistake to push through, her body was lifted into the air and she was hurled off her feet, meeting the ground with a painful thud. She rolled up quickly though, tossing her belongings aside as she came face to face was a woman with her caramel skin and dark hair standing out against her blue kefta embroidered in silver.

Her cloak slid off her shoulders, and for the first time in ages, she desired the fear her dark fabric could instill in the face of others.

“Your brother sent us to retrieve you, Estella.” the woman said, grinning at her as her hands raised, ready to fight.

Estella shrugged slightly.

“I suppose that can only mean one thing, but certainly not a family reunion.”

Even still, Estella withdrew from her powers she hadn’t felt in so long, charging at the Squaller girl in attempt to catch her off her feet while she conjured up a gust of wind. From behind, Estella could feel the heat of the inferni, ducking at the last moment before flames engulfed her and she proceeding to fight the air with her fists, her hand successfully colliding with the narrow jaw of the Squallor.

But that was as far as Estella could make it before she was tossed around, still pretending that she could fight them off without using her power.

In the face of four skilled Etherealki, Estella still couldn’t find it in her to summon the shadows.

The Squaller sent her hurdling in the air again, her back slamming against the cobblestone. A woman with short brown hair tucked back stood over her, the light blue tracings against her kefta taunting her with the threats of a Tidemaker who stood right next to a canal.

“You’re a disgrace to all Grisha for not even putting up a fight.” the girl sneered, her hands meeting and bringing a spiral of water from the canal to hover in the air above Estella.

Her chest rose and fell as she lay on the ground, a looming darkness calling her name from the shadows of her mind behind the cobwebs that built over the years she wanted to hide it.

The words of the Tidemaker cut across Estella's attention, and for a moment, she allowed herself to lay under her demeaning and taunting glare.

It hit her now, realizing just how truly powerful she was, her centuries of practice of the most renowned Grisha power at her fingertips. Had it been her brother here, people would run away to the edges of the Earth. But they saw her as weak, as if she were merely human and every bone in her body suddenly wanted to prove that wrong.

An ancient piece of her soul seemed to creep up within her, it felt black and sickly like tar were in her blood—that’s how she used to see her shadows anyway, but now, a smile that didn’t belong to her fell on her face.

“You want to see real power?” Estella asked softly.

There was a reason Estella hid her Grisha power for so long, and they were about to find out.

Estella's foot kicked out to the knee of the Tidemaker who’s spout of water dropped as she cried out and staggered back.

“I’ll make you wish you were at the mercy of the Black Heretic himself.”

Estella stood, her hands moving as darkness engulfed them in the small alleyway where there were plenty of shadows in itself. The cut was forming at her fingertips as her hands spread like wings at her side, and the allure of the buzz that crawled up her arms was addicting.

But, as the cut had formed in a thin black line before her, almost barely visible, the shadows were overrun by flames that singed her hand, and the white murky skies returned over head.

Estella’s heart stopped in her chest as she clutched her hand closer to her, the white-hot pain becoming clearer as she eyed her blistering fingers.

“You may be powerful, but you’re out of touch. What is power when you spend so long hiding it?” the Inferni chuckled darkly.

The young blonde woman appearing before her with her mirror image of a brother beside her. Estella backed away, watching as the Squaller and Tidemaker appeared behind them, closing in on her. She thought she could maybe run, buying her enough time to focus on something else but the shuddering pain that ran from her raw hand.

“Let’s make this little journey back to Ravka a little easier.” the Tidemaker sead.

Estella continued to back away, and her legs froze as a wave of water came from over their heads and forming itself around her own. She screamed, tried to move her hands as the world became blurry around her from the ball of water wrapped around her head. But to no avail, Estella could not conjure even an announce of darkness as her lungs started to burn from the lack of oxygen.

Without realizing, her knees collided with the stone at her feet and she continued to claw at the water with her burning hand and unscathed one, finding that she couldn’t escape the impending drowning she faced.

The fire in her lungs was unmatched and she tried to inhale out of instinct but was met with a nauseating gulp of water that made stars dance across her vision.

She knew they wouldn’t allow her to die, but Estella screamed out under the pool of water she was being crushed by, feeling every nerve in her body losing its will to fight as the panic consumed her.

Suddenly though, the water dropped, Estella’s body with it and for a moment, she saw nothing but darkness but could feel the air fighting its way into her body. Her ears were ringing, the sound of gun shots above her muffled as if she were still underwater and slowly, her eyes opened as she came to, the white sky almost blinding.

Something deep in her chest lurched when the instinct to breathe failed and she coughed, gallons of water it felt like overflowing from her mouth, and Estella rolled over her side to let it all come out.

There was no one stopping her, she realized and she tried to push herself up to run as her chest burned with the fresh air. When she tried to move, however, her singed hand met the stone and her entire arm gave out beneath her.

Estella continued to drag herself up though, the cold air feeling frigid against her face but welcoming to her hand, but her body felt all out of sorts as her numb legs carried her away. The gunshots continued overhead, but her mind could not process anything but her drive to get away. The lack of oxygen left her body entirely shaken from mind to soul and as she cut through the streets of Ketterdam, she found that her stamina was not what it once was merely minutes ago.

There was a small opening behind a stack of empty and rotting crates tucked away behind a brick building, and Estella’s legs finally gave out as she fell towards it, dragging herself against herself against lopsided stone pathway to hide herself.

Estella’s chest was rising and falling vigorously, her clouds of breath passing through her nearly blue lips now and all she could do was stair at her reddened hand as it shook before her eyes and the pain throbbed up and down her arm. Tears welled in her eyes, the burning becoming an insurmountable pain that left her short of breath, and as it all sunk in a faint whimper passed through her lips.

Every tiny movement she made with her hand was enough to make her cry, and she couldn’t look at it anymore, knowing that the layer of skin she had lost was going to be a bitch to get back.

Footsteps could be heard down the alley, and Estella managed to stop her shivering for a.moment as she pushed herself back against the brick. There was a moment of doubt of what she would have to do if she had to fight, and the thought crossed her mind to simply give in.

But when Kaz appeared before her, kneeling on his good leg to be eye level with her, Estella could only stared at him, uneasy about letting herself show truly how much pain she was in but the tears she fought back was probably an indicator enough.

Estella was willing to greet death or worse, being taken to Ravka but the monster Kaz was believed to be greeted her like an angel.

Kaz began to slide his long coat off, draping it over her before sliding his arms underneath of her in attempt to hide her kefta.

There was a moment where Estella wanted to withdraw from him, not wanting his pity or whatever it was that compelled him to come back to her. She didn’t want it for the fear that the Grisha would be waiting for them around the corner and strike him down without a moments notice.

“They’re gone.” said Kaz, as if reading her mind.

Estella felt her muscles unravel and she let out a shuddering breath she had been holding, the icy chill to the air unbeknownst to her now as she rest her head on Kaz's chest, buried in his the collar of his shirt.

Part of her could mourn at her weakness she showed against the Grisha, the shame of allowing herself to be saved when had she known any better, she could have saved herself.  The worst part of all was that they were right, about evert snide remark they made at her and her powers.

Everything they said was true and that hurt her the most.

They returned to the Slat, the scent of old furniture and a home like smell that could never be distinguished welcoming them. But nothing felt more welcoming than the warmth of the fire in the small common area that awaited them. As she was sitting on the sofa, Kaz limped away, nearly crashing onto the tall backed seat across from her, letting out his own breath or relief and his bad leg extended out before him.

There was nothing but the sound of his breathing and her teeth chattering as she shield her hand away from the fire to warm up as much as she could.

Estella stared at him though, watching his eyes wince ever so slightly as his gloved hand rested upon his bad leg.

Her heart sunk slightly watching him, and she opened her mouth to speak, but she knew nothing she could say would make it better.

Estella was saved when the door beyond the kitchen swung open, Jesper and Inej skidding to a halt as their eyes fell upon her and even she was caught off  guard wondering just how much they knew behind what happened.

The way Inej looked at her though told her that she probably already knew though.

Jesper pulled a small jar from his pocket, storming around the arrangement of chairs to kneel at Estella's side.

“Hand, please.”

“That’s not the right way to propose, Jesper.” Estella’s weak voice said, her cold cheeks barely moving as she tried to smile.

The boy smirked, shaking his head as he gently took her hand. The sight of it made her shudder and she suddenly snatched her hand back, warily eyeing the jar of a white cream.

“What is it?” she asked.

“It’ll help, I promise.”

As Estella leaned forward, untucking her legs from her chest, Kaz’s coat slipped from her shoulders and revealed the ancient kefta she sported, catching everyone off guard as they stared at it. But Estella ignored their glances and slid up the sleeve.

“It saved the rest of my arm from being burned. It’s just my hand.” Estella said, extending her hand out again.

Jesper nodded and the silence that filled the air was unnerving as she anticipated the glob of topical ointment that was about to be pressed upon her hand. Estella turned her head, leaning her chin into palm as her elbow was propped up on the armrest of the chair. She could feel the coolness of the cream as Jesper neared closer, but the second it made contact with hand Estella seized up, gasping as she squeezed her teary eyes shut.

No matter how old she was, a burn this deep was never easy to sit through.

She groaned into her palm, hot tears slipping through her eyes and it was only when the stinging subsided, replaced with a relieving cold, Estella let out the breath she was holding and looked at her hand now slathered in white.

Jesper delicately wrapped it, and she winced occasionally as he rubbed a blister wrong.

“Thank you.” she murmured, trying to avoid looking at the others as her gaze settled on her hand.

“It makes sense.” Inej’s soft voice came.

Estella’s head perked up, and she found her eyes to be admiring her kefta.

Sighing, she glanced over the three of them, only one still looking away into the cackling fire in the fireplace.

“You all have to understand why I didn’t want you to know.”

They nod, Kaz’s firm gaze set on the same fire that was warming her drenched upper body. She silently begged him to look at her, at least acknowledge she was even there. Her own frown appeared as her eyes bore into his clenching jaw.

“The stories you pass down were a children’s book compared to the real horrors that happened. “

Suddenly, Kaz’s eyes caved in as they flickered to her for a split second, his body unmoving.

“Tell us the truth then.” he mused.

“Kaz,” Inej harshly whispered, her lips parted as she glanced at her.

“No, its fine.” Estella began, straightening in her seat.

Taking a deep breath, her thoughts took her back almost four hundred years ago.

“My brother and I created the Fold, as you probably already guessed. I wasn’t always as mad as him, and he wasn’t always the twisted older brother I had come to hate. But we were hurt by the people we put our trust in, and when he asked me for his help to protect the Grisha we accumulated, I naively agreed. When I saw the devastation we caused though, I couldn’t sleep as peacefully as my brother did the days following. The Grisha we provided safety for started to sense the weak link I was becoming and soon, my brother turned on me too, accusing me of things I had never done. So, I ran.”

“To Ketterdam.” Jesper guessed.

“Yes.” She said, a ghost of a smile appearing on her lips. “I loved it here.”

Estella wouldn’t deny that it was the most perfect, peaceful time of her life until it wasn’t.

“I boarded a ship to Ketterdam and when I came, it was only a fraction of the size it is now, nothing but a simple harbor town. It was simple and untouched with gang violence and corruption. The Geldestraat we know now was actually the slums.” she chuckled. “But I found a small pub settled along the harbor, and it was my favorite place. Seashells hung by the windows, the best fish and class could be found being cooked here, and it was refreshing to just be by the water all day. I knew right away that I’d work if the owner offered me a place to stay, which he did. I worked there for a few months and I helped the owner build the place up and every time a new ship of people coming to expand the city boarded, they would always come to us.”

“Was the fiance part true?” Inej asked, a grin pulling at her lips.

Then, Estella’s heart fluttered at the thought of the darkest part of her story: the day he turned against her.

The sad smile on her face could be seen by Kaz, unable to fathom the idea that Estella had loved someone so deeply to look so heartbroken as she did now.

“Finn.” Estella spoke, not having said the name in ages. “I don’t even remember where he came from, I only remember when he first walked in. Everyone talked about the girl behind the pub in Ketterdam, he told me. I teased him and said it was funny, because I had never heard of a sailor named Finn.”

Jesper snickered, and all their eyes turned on him.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He said, his giddy laughter coming through his serious demeanor. “You married a man named Finn?”

Estella, unable to hide her own grin, reached for a pillow to throw at him.

“I loved him. For a year he came and went and every single time we came back to each other. Then, one day, he returned with a ring and a promise to stay. We never officially married but Finn and I lived together in Ketterdam and I continued to work at the pub. Life was normal and then one day--"

Estella never thought she’d be able to say the words out loud, and the darkest part of the story had yet to come until now. Her throat became thick, and she swallowed past the forming lump as she remembered only the worst parts.

“We were going to have a child.”

Then, Kaz’s eyes turned on her, wide slightly and she could see how horrified Jesper and Inej looked. It wasn’t so hard anymore to remember, only being winded by the fact that she finally told someone about it.

“Obviously, there are no little Shadow Summoners running around.” Estella grimly chuckled, looking in her lap.

“My brother had spies in Ketterdam keeping an eye on me, and I assume word got back to him that I was expecting a child.”

Tears pricked her eyes, but Estella sucked in a deep breath and prepared to tell him.

“You don’t have to continue, Estella.” Jesper assured.

But, her eyes flickered to Kaz who’s mouth was hiding behind his palm and they looked at each other for a long while.

“I have not loved anyone, nor found a home I could imagine the rest of my life in until I found you three. You deserve to know.”

Estella looked at the fire.

“Finn and I were having a picnic, wondering how we were going to announce it to all of our friends as I was beginning to show. But a darkness started looming in the corner of our eyes, an undoubtedly it was my brother. I wish I could remember how exactly the day went but all I know was that Aleksander tried to kill him and take me. It woke the darkest, most monstrous instinct in me and I was able to send my brother away but all I can remember is the way Finn looked at me after he saw what I was capable of.”

A single tear rolled down her cheek, and she laughed as she swiped it away.

“It was ridiculous of me to chase after him when he ran back into the city. Maybe I would have been okay if I ran with my brother back to Ravka. But I was met with a mob of our friends who no longer looked like themselves, almost as monstrous as me. They demanded to know what I was and why I was here, accusing me of stringing them along the whole time. It was overwhelming and Saints—I couldn’t breathe, let alone explain to them that I refused to ever use my shadow summoning unless it was to protect the people I loved.”

“That’s when someone told them to take me to the canals, that I was an abomination to not just Ketterdam, but to the world for what I had done with the Fold. They thought I was only there to spread it. All of them grabbed at me, bounding my hands behind my back and dragging me to the canal.”

Estella’s eyes looked dead as they bore in the dancing flames, and even her voice began to fall flat as she relived that day.

“It was Finn who tried to gut me practically while the others got creative with what they threw at me. I accepted death when they tied the bricks around my ankles and threw me over the canal.”

Tears filled Inej's eyes as she watched Estella go bumb before them.

“I had a friend, a Heart render who escaped Ravka with me who heard of the commotion and pulled me from the waters after the crowd had gone. When I was healed, my brother was waiting to take me back. How could I say no when I had lost everything?”

The silence following her story was suffocating, a tension vibrating against their skin that no one knew how to break. They stared at her to her dismay, and she never wanted to receive their guilt but only to know that they could understand.

Jesper had begun lounging on the floor, his elbow propped up against the pillow she threw at him earlier.

“What made you come back? Don't get me wrong, I love this piss bucket of a home as much as anyone, but why come back?”

Estella chuckled and shook her head.

“The Little Palace is full of big secrets, Jesper. My brother and I faked our deaths through several lifetimes, returning as a different general, diplomat, or whatever the times needed. We built the Second Army and I felt like I was a shell of a person, like something was always missing. I hated my life. So, after so many years away, I came back. That’s when I met Kaz, then you, and then Inej. I kept telling myself I should leave but I couldn’t bring myself to. Things seemed too easy.”

“You really are Sankta Iskra.” Inej said in awe.

“I’m still calling you Estella.” Jesper said, raising a finger.

Estella shook her head. “I’m not Saint. I couldn’t even begin to scratch the surface of all the horrible things I’ve done.”

“But you saved Ketterdam. Not only from your brother, but the Grisha who came today.”

Kaz’s voice was like coming up for fresh air, almost comparable to the feeling when she saw his face appear in the alley today to take her away. In her story, Kaz was the true Saint despite the cruel and horrible ways he made it through the Barrel.

Finally, he looked at her now, for who she was and not the fear of who he thought she was.

“Since when do you believe in Saints, Kaz?” Estella asked softly, her words kind and not accusing, and he sunk back into his seat just a little, shifting under his clothes.

“Since you were willing to lay down your life to keep the rest of us safe.”

“But, we had to come in and save you anyway.” Jesper shrugged.

Estella laughed, and they all did too, even if Kaz sat there with an amused grin on his face as he looked away from them.

A weight was unraveling itself from her, as if centuries of her buried grief were finally leaving her now. Not a single thing could bother her as she watched her friends laugh with her over how bizarre this day was. It started out as a simple morning, with a simple job, and they ended it here with the curtains closed and a fire burning between them. But Estella could only hope this was how it would be from that point on, even if things were going to change with what they knew.

“I can’t believe we have a real life shadow summoner in the Crows!” the Zemeni cried out, waving his hands in the air. “Does that not strike anyone else as crazy?”

“What does a shadow summoner do exactly?” Inej asked, tilting her head with curiosity.

“Do you really want to know?” Estella replied, raising a brow.

“Oh, dear.” Kaz sighed to himself.

Estella grinned. “I’m a little different than my brother,” she said, raising her hands out at her sides and looking around the room as the shadows of the corners manifested into something larger. “There’s the darkness that a child fears, but then there’s the darkness one finds peace in when they look up at the sky at night and if you look closely enough—” the shadows enveloped them now, the fireplace entirely blacked out, “—and there are just a few stars you can make out.”

The darkness wasn’t strong in her anymore, but, she made something else entirely out of what she had and as little pinpricks of light started poking their way through the cloud that floated around them, she could see their faces alight with endearment as they looked around. They weren’t stars, no. She wasn’t even sure what it was that made her darkness seem more like a cloudy sky than a monster in the closet.

But when Estella’s eyes landed on Kaz, she found that he was not looking at the power that slipped from her fingertips, but only looking at her.

~

tag list: @whothefuckstolemykeds​ @thedelusionreaderbitch​ @rika90​ @a-bath11​

[fitzs-trained-monkey]

Chapter One: Lonely Together

Jack Kline x OC

Rated: PG

~I might hate myself tomorrow

But I'm on my way tonight

Let's be lonely together

A little less lonely together~

Sent: 10:52 PM

Merry Christmas, stranger. I hope yours is as bright as new fallen snow. Stay warm.

I smiled down at my phone before clicking it off and slipping it into my pocket. I didn't know who I had sent the message to. It was just a number I had punched in at random. I didn't expect anyone to reply.

Wrapping my dark green cardigan tighter around my body, I pulled my knees in closer to my chest and pressed myself closer against the wall of the bakery. The wall was only slightly warmer than the frigid air around me. It was December 2nd and icy gales were blowing in from Lake Superior and stinging the skin of the city's occupants.

The sky hung dark, low, and flat over Copper Harbor, Michigan. Copper Harbor was an itty-bitty town at the northern most tip of the northernmost part of Michigan. You know that piece of land that's only connected to the mainland by a highway, that in-between place that really should be Canada, but isn't? That's where Copper Harbor is and that's where I was.

Copper Harbor was the sort of town where newcomers and visitors are as common as flying pigs and are treated with about as much scrutiny. It's not one of those small, friendly towns just off the highway; the ones that are pleasant to find yourself in if you've taken a wrong turn. It's quite the feat to get lost and turn up in Copper Harbor, considering its miles away from anything and everything remotely interesting, unless you're searching for Bigfoot or a drunk Canadian that took a wrong turn. Though those two things might just end up being one and the same. No, nobody came to Copper Harbor unless they had a reason. That's just the sort of place it was. And aside from the mind-numbing cold, it was exactly the sort of place I wanted to be.

The clouds were so heavy with the snow that now drifted down, dusting everything in a layer of fine white powder, it seemed that someone standing on even the lowest rooftop could reach up and touch them. The snowflakes raining down from those clouds gave the appearance of tiny shooting stars. Many would have found the sight beautiful. I didn't. I just found it cold and somewhat depressing. Some people say that shooting stars are angels, falling to the earth to bless the lives of people in need. I've never liked those sorts of stories. The stars belong in the heavens. The dust belongs on the earth. Collecting in puddles, the sparkling, sugar-like ice crystals did nothing to ease the bitter cold. I shivered and coughed, my breath fogging in front of me.

I should have frozen to death hours ago.

But I can't die. At least, not that way.

Suffering, on the other hand, I can do that to no end.

I put my head between my knees, hoping to retain what little heat my walking corpse had to offer. I struggled to remain conscious. The story of the little-match-girl was playing in my head. I'd never liked that story's ending. Hallucinations really weren't my thing, especially hallucinations about things I tried not to think about, the things I tried to burry in the farthest corners of my mind. I had to distract myself, to think about anything that would keep me awake. The problem was, there was nothing to distract me.

Pling!

My phone buzzed in my pocket with a text. I grasped it quickly, greedy for a distraction, but I paused upon seeing the number displayed upon the screen. It was that number I had texted the Merry Christmas message to. Whoever it was had texted me back. I unlocked my phone and peered at the mystery person's message.

Received: 11:18 PM

Merry Christmas to you as well!

The message read. I smiled a little, surprised that anyone would care to return my quiet Christmas wish. The screen of my phone lit up with another message.

Received: 11:19 PM

Who are you?

The question was a simple one. Though tone can often be difficult to infer over written text, the question seemed to bear no hostility, only innocent curiosity. I thought for a bit about what to say, the answer was not as simple as the question had implied.

***

Located quite literally one thousand miles away from Copper Harbor, was the small, out-of-the-way town of Lebanon, Kansas. Now, in the outskirts Lebanon there was a hill. The hill was modestly sized and carpeted with thick grass painted with a layer of frost. Although it was a rather pleasant sight for some stray hiker to find, the hill was really quite unremarkable. That is, if you ignored the hulking steel door built into the side of it that looked like the entrance to a post-apocalyptic hobbit hole. See, built under that hill there was a bunker. It looked like any ordinary bunker if one can ever describe a bunker as ordinary. But inside this ordinary looking bunker, sat something rather extraordinary and his name was Jack.

Jack Kline was quite happy where he was. Sitting with his legs crossed on a chair beside the bunker's fireplace, Jack held Sam's beloved lap-top between his knees. Sam let him borrow it on the nights he couldn't sleep. Those nights were many. Sleepless nights were one of the many side effects of being half-angel, but he didn't really mind. Jack wasn't overly fond of sleep, not like Sam or Dean who adored the few hours they got. Jack would much rather be awake because if he was asleep then he couldn't observe. He liked to observe. He loved learning. He loved taking in anything and everything going on around him, soaking it all up like a sponge with legs. He especially loved to soak up a story. Epic ones with heroes that defeat powerful villains. Jack loved stories.

So, no; Jack Kline was not overly fond of sleep. No, Jack preferred to just sit quietly and watch those epic stories as they played out in front of him on the screen of Sam's lap-top.

Currently, he was watching Star Wars: The Clone Wars. The computer had said he would like it, and the computer had been right. He had just finished season 2 and had begun on season 3. Some small voice in the back of his mind told him he should slow down and draw the series out a little longer, but Jack just couldn't find the will to do so. This story was just too good to stop. Jack shoved a hand full of popcorn in his mouth as he pressed the play button on the next episode. He had managed to sneak several bags of popcorn from the kitchen and into the secret stash in his room a few nights earlier. It was perfect, except popcorn needed to be popped and popping the kernels without attracting notice was a bit of a challenge. But he found that if he popped them during the day, when everyone was clamoring about and busy with whatever, the noise from the popping kernels wouldn't peak any suspicion. The only downside to his strategy was that it left him with cold popcorn. Though this too could be remedied via his angel powers, if he was careful about it, he could warm up the popcorn undetected.

Now, don't get the impression that Jack was being starved, or held in this bunker against his will, or something awful like that. As was mentioned before, Jack was very happy there. The Winchesters, Sam and Dean, and the angel Castiel, lived there with him and took care of him. They were his family and Jack loved them. The only reason he had a secret stash at all was because Sam was the only one in the bunker who cared about the importance of having a somewhat healthy diet. Whereas Dean let the boy eat pretty much anything he wanted and Cas- well in Cas's mind food was food and that's all there was to it. But Sam didn't like it when he caught Jack eating what he referred to as 'junk food'.

Somehow, Sam always caught him.

"That stuff’ll rot your teeth, Jack!" He'd sigh, as he'd flip on the kitchen light and catch Jack eating cereal sometime around midnight. Then he'd look at Jack with a disappointed look on his face until Jack threw the cereal away and went back to bed. Jack hated it when Sam looked at him like that, he just couldn't bear to let the Winchesters down.

But Jack loved to eat. Eating was enjoyable as it brought with it something new every time. Yet more things to absorb and to experience. Although the younger Winchester disapproved of the more sugary foods; Jack liked those a whole lot more than the salads Sam tried to get him to eat. Jack didn't like the salads or 'Rabbit Food' as Dean called it. No, Jack liked popcorn a quite a bit more.

He smiled as he brought another handful into his mouth. Yes, Jack Kline quite enjoyed eating.

Plip! Ploop!

Jack's head swiveled away from the screen to stare at the phone laying face-up on the arm rest of the chair in which he sat. The screen was alight with a text message. He picked up the phone and unlocked it. The message read:

Received: 10:52 PM

Merry Christmas, stranger. I hope yours is as bright as new fallen snow. Stay warm.

That was all. Jack was quite confused; he didn't know that number. Who had sent the text? What should he do? Should he say something back?

Curiosity and caution struggled in a match tug-of-war in his head. He wanted to know who the message had come from. He wanted to know why that person had sent it. He also wanted to know why he had a strange feeling that whoever had sent the message was horribly sad. But would the Winchesters be mad at him if he answered? Sam and Dean had given him the phone just a few days earlier.

"For emergencies," Sam had said as he laid the device in Jack's hand before resuming his packing. Jack had stared at it, rather confused as to its purpose. Castiel had been off somewhere doing something and Sam and Dean had been leaving for a hunt, leaving him alone which Dean was completely and utterly against.

"Only for emergencies," Dean had stressed, jabbing his finger in Jack's general direction as he inspected various articles of clothing before tossing them into a duffle bag. "That means don't text or call unless someone is breaking in or you're dying!"

Sam shot his older brother a warning look. Dean ignored it and pulled a pair of socks out of his dresser, sniffing them briefly before making a face and chucking them to the other side of the room. Jack looked back down at the small black rectangle in his palm.

"Okay so, only text or call in case there's an emergency. Got it." Jack clinched the thin black box between his thumb and forefinger, carefully lifting it up as if it might explode in his face. "But, one question, if something happens like-like you said, like somebody breaking in or me dying, how-how would I do that?" He asked, looking back at the two brothers. They both froze their hasty packing and pivoted to stare at him, their eyebrows raised with disbelieving question.

"What?" Dean asked the young Nephilim. Jack shrank away a little, not wanting to upset the older Winchester.

"How do I text or call you? I don't know how to do that," Jack had timidly replied. Dean just shook his head and returned to over-stuffing the duffle. Sam, however, was much more understanding.

"That's right, you-you don't, do you?" Sam asked, realizing his mistake. Jack turned his attention to the younger of the brothers, shaking his head in an answer to Sam's question.

"Unbelievable," Dean muttered, rolling his eyes. Sam shot him another glare which Dean merely shrugged off.

"Well, come on then, I'll teach you," Sam had said. Jack watched as Sam set the contacts and explained how everything worked. He showed Jack how to send a text, how to dial and answer a call, and all the other things Jack would need to know. Jack just watched him and took note of every little thing. Watching and replicating was how Jack learned best.

"Now, if I don't answer my phone, you call Dean. But if he doesn't pick up, I want you to call me again, if I still don't answer a second time, I want you to call this number right here. That's Jody Mills, she's a friend of ours and she'll help you, alright? You get all that?" Sam finished explaining and looked for Jack to confirm his understanding. Jack nodded.

"I got it!" He said, enthusiastically. Sam gave the young boy a nervous smile.

"You do? Can you repeat it back to me?" Sam asked Jack the question the same way Sam and Dean's father had always asked them.

"If something happens, call you, and if you don't answer, call Dean. If Dean doesn't answer then I call you again, but if you still don't pick up, then call Jody Mills." Jack repeated all of Sam's instructions perfectly, grinning proudly at the younger Winchester when he finished. Sam laughed a little, but nerves twinged his voice.

"Good, yeah. Okay," Sam paused, thinking things over, "You know what, Jack? If neither of us answer your call and it's really that urgent, don't bother calling me a second time. Just call Jody right away if you can't get through to either of us. Alright?"

"Alright!" Jack nodded, grinning. Sam nodded back, stiffly.

"Alright." He seemed like he wanted to say something else but didn't know how to say it.

"You two done in there, Sammy?! We gotta go!" Dean called, walking in from another room. Sam stood and looked at his brother.

"Uh, yeah. I think we're good," He took a few steps towards the stairs that lead up to the door before pausing and turning back to Jack, "We're good, right? You're gonna be okay here by yourself?" Sam asked again. Jack grinned and gave him a thumbs up.

"I'll be fine. You don't have to worry."

Sam nodded and smiled with so much nervousness it almost hurt to watch.

"Okay, good. It's good. We're good," He said, nodding and trying to reassure himself more than anyone else. Dean raised an eyebrow at his overly anxious little brother, tugging his old leather jacket on over his shoulders, but he didn't say anything. Instead, he directed his remarks at Jack.

"Hey, kid. Whatever you do, don't do anything stupid," He'd said, half glaring, "We'll be back in a few days." Then they'd left.

Now, Jack glanced back down at the phone in his hands, remembering Dean's warning about not doing anything stupid. But his curiosity regarding the sender of the message was overwhelming. It couldn't hurt to text this person back, right? Was that what Dean had meant by his warning? Did this count as something stupid? What was the worst that could happen? Deciding that the benefits outweighed the risks, he texted back.

Sent: 10:18 PM

Merry Christmas to you as well!

Jack wrote.

Sent: 10:19 PM

Who are you?

No sooner had asked his question, he began to worry that he might have sounded rude. He waited with anticipation for the mystery person to reply. He didn't have to wait long.

Received: 10:20 PM

It doesn't matter, you don't know me.

I'm just someone wanting to give you a warm holiday wish.

Jack frowned. Again, he got the distinct feeling that the person on the other side of this conversation was deeply saddened by something. He desperately wanted to know what. So, he did the thing he did best. He asked and waited to see what would happen.

***

Received: 11:21 PM

If you don't know me, why do you care?

I don't mean to be rude. I'm just curious.

Why do this?

I read the person's question once, then twice, then three times and I realized that I didn't have an answer. Why did I care? Why was I texting some random person a Christmas wish? For all I knew, this person may not even observe the holiday. I had so many of my own things to worry about I was nearly drowning in them. I didn't know this person. I had nothing to do with them. So, why did I care about their holiday season? Why was I doing this?

I told myself it was just a random act of kindness. But deep down I knew what the reason was, and even if I didn't want to think about it, I felt it in my heart. I was doing this for the same reason I did everything. So, I took a few moments and came up with a reply.

Sent: 11:25 PM

I'm doing this because I believe that no one should ever have to be alone,

especially during the holidays.

I sent my reply and remembered to keep on shivering. I could hardly feel the cold anymore, I had gone almost completely numb. But I knew if I didn't keep moving, I would surely freeze in place and be unable to move until spring came. I vaguely wondered how cold it was. I remembered having heard on someone's car radio that this was supposed to be the coldest winter Michigan had experienced in the last decade. Though winter had only just begun, it was already cold enough for the district council to be suggesting face coverings to prevent citizens from getting frostbite and losing their nose.

I sneezed. I had no such face covering. Hell! I didn't even have a jacket! Let alone a coat or anything mildly warm. All I had was my oversized green cardigan, my black Star Wars t-shirt and my black jeans. That was it. Yet here I sat, outside a bakery in well below freezing temperatures, shivering myself into next decade.

I could go to a shelter. At least there I wouldn't have to endure the bitter biting of the wind as it gushed with double its normal force through these tight, abandoned alleyways. But if I went to a shelter then there was no chance of leaving undetected, I reminded myself. No, it was better to stay here, cold and alone, than to risk human contact.

I was pulled from my thoughts by another pling from my phone. Another message from that unknown contact.

Received: 11: 27

Are you alone?

Again, the question was simple. And although the mere thought hurt like a knife twisting in a fresh wound, I looked around at the dark, trash littered alleyway I sat in, watching the scattered rags of paper flutter and tumble in the winter gales, and I looked at the brutally beautiful puddles of speckled ice gathering along my body and melting on my skin, and I examined the bleak night sky, choked starless by the drifting dreary clouds; and the utterly silent stillness of the sleeping city revealed the harsh reality of my answer.

No one was here.

Nobody cared.

Not even the stars would keep me company. Because the stars never cared who I was.

So, with no reason to keep the truth hidden. I answered the question honestly.

Sent: 11: 29 PM

Yes.

Sent: 11: 30 PM

I am alone.

I was completely and utterly alone.

***

Received: 10: 30 PM

I am alone.

Once again Jack got the distinct impression that these words carried a heavy burden. It made him frown. What could he do to help a person he didn't even know? He wanted to ask this person if they had any friends, but something about those words told him the answer. When this person had said they were alone, Jack got the feeling they weren't just talking about the current moment. But maybe that's what this person needed. Maybe they needed a friend.

Sent: 10: 32 PM

Well, I'll be your friend and talk to you. There, now you're not alone anymore!

Jack smiled as he sent the text. The reply didn't take long.

Received: 10: 33 PM

Thank you.

You don't have waste your time on me but thank you.

It didn't take any special powers to read in between the lines this time, anyone could see the sadness in those words. Though Jack wasn't sure if it was his powers causing that strange feeling or if he was just imagining things.

Sent: 10:34 PM

I don't mind. Really!

Besides, I don't have anyone to talk to either.

Received: 10: 35 PM

Well, in that case, we can be lonely together!

Jack grinned. He'd made himself a friend. He couldn't wait to get to know them.

***

Received: 11: 36 PM

Since we're friends now, what's your name?

I smiled down at my new mystery friend's message. There was something about the words that made them seem innocent and earnest. It couldn't hurt to give my name, right? It’s not like he could find me. After all, I'm supposed to be dead.

Sent: 11: 37 PM

My name is Martina.

I sent my name and waited for the response. It came quickly.

Received: 11: 38 PM

I like your name Martina!

It's very pretty.

I flinched as I read the text. Something about seeing my name written in the text brought me back to a conversation with a different person a long time ago. It was a painful memory, and I didn't want to see it anymore. I didn't want another reminder of the still bleeding wounds in my heart. I remembered why I didn't let anyone call me that name anymore.

Sent: 11: 39 PM

Thank you.

But I would prefer you call me Marty.

I didn't want to be so sensitive to things like this, but I just couldn't help it.

Received: 11: 40 PM

Alright! I like Marty too.

It's a fun name.

I smiled; grateful they didn't ask why it was so important that they called me by a nickname.

Sent: 11: 41 PM

Thanks for understanding.

So, what's your name?

Received: 11: 42 PM

My name is Jack!

I grinned to myself. I'd made me a friend. I just couldn't wait to get to know him.

Sent: 11: 43 PM

Heya, Jack!

It’s nice to meet you!

I think this is the beginning of a wonderful friendship.

Received: 11: 44 PM

I agree, Marty. We are going to be great friends!

Sent: 11: 45 PM

So, what's your favorite movie?

And just like that, we talked until the sun came up. And suddenly, for the first time in quite a while, I wasn't completely alone.

***

"Hey, uh, Jack? We're back!"

Sam's voice drifted in from just outside Jack's bedroom door. Jack was surprised. He hadn't heard the brothers come in which, for him, was quite peculiar.

The door creaked open and Jack hastily attempted to pretend like he hadn't been using the phone.

He failed.

Miserably.

The device slipped from his hand and he fumbled to catch it before it smashed against the grey, polished concrete floor. He let out a sigh of relief as he snatched it just in time.

Sam peered around the door, checking in on Jack, who was now hanging halfway off his bed and clutching the phone. Scrambling to sit upright, Jack gave Sam a half-panicked smile.

"Hi Sam!" He waved a greeting, shoving his phone behind his back. Sam raised his eyebrows in a questioning expression and stepped into the room, shutting the door behind him. He folded his arms and leaned back on his heels.

"Hey Jack," Sam seemed a little distracted, "Have you seen Cas?" He asked. Jack shook his head vigorously.

"He's not back yet," He answered. Sam nodded and started to leave before stopping and turning back. Only now seeming to notice Jack's odd behavior. Sam gestured at the phone hidden behind the boys back,

"So, what were you doing in here just now?" Jack's eyes flew wide as quarters and his gaze shifted rapidly around the room, focusing on anywhere but Sam. His mind was working overtime trying to find a viable excuse.

"Uhhhh...Nothing!" Jack tried; his brain had gone blank. Sam raised an eyebrow.

"You sure about that?" Sam leaned forward a little, narrowing his eyes. Jack leaned back to match; his face scrunched up with the guilt he was trying very hard to hide. Everyone in the bunker knew how terrible Jack was at lying. He might be able to pass a few simple fibs by a stranger, but his family saw through him like he was made of glass. He couldn't deceive them. But that didn't stop him from trying, however.

"Yes..." Jack said slowly, his eyebrows pulling together in a rather sad attempt at looking sincere.

"Jack, what were you doing?" Sam asked more sternly. Jack looked at his feet and didn't answer. His shoulders moved up and down in a shrug.

"Do I have to go get Dean?" Sam pressed. Now Jack's head shot up. He stretched his hands out in a pleading gesture.

"No, no! Don't tell Dean!" Jack begged. Sam's expression shifted into one of concern.

"If you tell me, I won't tell Dean." Sam agreed, moving to sit on the bed beside Jack who shifted to give him some space. Sam waited patiently for the young Nephilim to speak. Jack kept his head down and rubbed his hands together nervously as he tried to think of how he should explain himself.

"Well, last night I was watching Netflix when I got this text from somebody wishing me a merry Christmas-" He started.

"Someone we know?" Sam asked, interrupting. Jack shook his head and continued.

"I asked them why they would do that, and they said it was because they thought that nobody should be alone this time of year. So, I asked if they were alone and they said, yes ─" Jack looked the younger Winchester in the eyes ─

"I don't know why but I just got this- this feeling, and they sounded just so sad, and now we're friends! But Dean said not to do anything stupid, and now I'm worried that I did! Are you mad?" Jack finished, worry coloring his features. Sam blinked. Once again astounded by the size of the half-angel's heart, he shook his head.

"No, Jack. I'm not mad," He said, softly.

"Really?"

"Really. I think you did a good thing. Everyone needs a friend." Sam patted Jack's shoulder and smiled. Jack looked down, grinning to himself as pride filled his chest.

Sam waited a moment before getting up from the bed. Stretching his back out and groaning a bit as he stood. It had been almost 48 hours since he last slept, and he was more than ready for a long nap. His hand rested on the doorknob and he paused a moment before turning back around.

"Hey, uh, Jack. Just one more thing. Do you by chance know this person's name?" Sam asked. Jack looked up briefly before looking back at the floor again, trying to hide the embarrassment creeping up to stain his cheeks.

"It's, uh, it's Marty," He replied. Sam nodded and moved to leave again but he stopped. His eyebrows pulled down with confusion before he turned back.

"And uh, is that a boy's name or a girl's name? Do you know?" Jack turned his head a bit to the side and picked at a thread in his jeans.

"Does it matter?" He questioned back. Truthfully, it didn't. Sam wouldn't make Jack stop if he didn't want to. But to say that the boy's current evasive behavior didn't pique his interest, would be a lie. Though, the kid’s flushed cheeks told him quite a bit about the answer.

"It doesn't matter," Sam said, shrugging, "I'm just curious is all." The tall man watched the boy's reaction. Jack nodded and shifted as if uncomfortable.

"Marty's a girl." He answered, trying to force his voice into sounding nonchalant. And failing.

"Okay, cool." Sam nodded, turning around again, and reaching for the handle. Jack's head whipped around.

"Wait, Sam!"

Sam looked over his shoulder.

"Hmm?"

"Don't. Tell. Dean!" Jack stressed. Urgency was evident in his voice. Sam huffed a laugh.

"Okay, Jack." With that, Sam pulled open the door and walked out letting the heavy steel swing shut behind him. Behind the door, Jack sighed with relief. He'd dodged a bullet with that one.

Walking a ways down the hall, Sam got to Dean's room where his older brother was now unpacking. The younger brother leaned on the door frame and expelled the laughter he'd been holding on to since Jack’s room. Dean turned around, holding a pistol and a pair of weeks old and hopelessly blood caked socks in his hands, he faced Sam with a questioning look.

"What's got you so giggly all of a sudden?" The older of the brother's asked.

Dean glanced at the pair of socks in his hand. He grimaced at the stench and held them further away from his face, trying not to breathe. It didn't work. The socks odor was so pungent, Dean could smell them through his mouth. There was no hope of washing them. Nope, those things would have to be burned. Though, taking another whiff of them, Dean wasn't sure that even incinerating the socks would do him much good now. The stomach-turning stink would be branded into his memory forever. Sam straightened up, shaking his head of shoulder length hair.

"It's just something Jack said." Sam smiled and laughed again before taking notice of the unholy stench wafting off the socks. He coughed. "Dude, those stink. Bad!"

"Yeah, it's a sad day, Sammy." Dean nodded solemnly. Sam covered his nose.

"Why?"

"These were my second luckiest pair of socks."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"Well, they're not anymore," Sam pointed out. Now, they were just rancid.

"I think we should give em' a Viking funeral, something to honor their service. I mean, I remember one time when I wore these things for two weeks straight!" Dean reminisced, grinning. Sam looked mildly disturbed.

"That's, uh... nice... But, uh, is there somewhere we could put them before the funeral? Because they, uh, they reek." Sam was trying hard not to gag and couldn't understand how Dean could be holding them and remain unaffected. Dean smirked.

"You wanna go put em' somewhere?" He asked, waving the socks into Sam's face. Sam leaned away.

"Ah! God! No! Put those things somewhere! Please!" He choked out. Dean just grinned and moved to the other side of the room. Grabbing a cardboard box from off the shelf, he shoved the socks in there and sealed the lid. The stench quickly began to dissipate.

"Better?"

"Yeah, thanks."

"We're gonna have to burn that box too."

"Yup." Sam still felt a little sick but at least the socks were gone.

"So, what was it Jack said that you thought was so funny?" The older brother asked.

"Oh, uh, nothing. It was nothing," Sam said. But laughter began to creep up on him again. Dean rolled his eyes and went back to pulling more dirty clothing from the duffle bag.

"Are ya gonna stand there or are ya gonna spill?" Dean pushed. Sam sobered up again.

"Well, I'm not supposed to tell you," He said.

Dean shook his head, mildly annoyed. He knew Sam was going to tell him whatever juicy information he had gotten, just like he always did when he got that sly look on his face. Sam could be a bit of a schoolgirl that way. Except, of course, when it came to the important things, the things Dean was supposed to know. Those things Sam always kept to himself.

"Well, Sammy, if you ain’t gonna spill─" he used the gun in his hand to gesture from Sam to the duffle bag─ "get workin'."

The younger Winchester moved to the bag and started unpacking, grinning his face off all the while. Dean knew his little brother was waiting for him to ask about the thing with Jack again, so he said nothing. He just waited for Sam to look over to him eagerly, which is exactly what Sam did.

"So get this!" Sam started.

'Here it comes.' Dean predicted internally. Sam kept starring.

'Yatzee.' Dean thought. He knew Sam like the back of his hand. Actually, he probably knew his brother better than that.

"Apparently, Jack got a text from some random person last night wishing him merry Christmas. And, well, you know Jack! So he─" Dean stopped his brother mid-sentence.

"What's her name?" He interrupted. Sam looked confused.

"I didn't say anything about a girl," Sam trailed off. Dean sighed and shook his head.

"Geez, Sammy! If you love drama so much, you should go be an actor. You ain't foolin' anybody. We both know where this is goin' so just cut to the chase!" Dean sighed, opening a trunk and tossing in the gun he'd been holding along with several knives. His small outburst had startled his younger brother, but Dean didn't really care. Sam wasn't the only one who hadn't slept in 48 hours. Sleep was calling and Dean wanted nothing more than to answer. Sam frowned.

"Marty. The girl's name is Marty," Sam stated, sounding rather put out that Dean had guessed at his not-so-cleaver ploy. The older if the pair turned to the younger with a perplexed expression.

"Wait, wait. Marty?" He clarified. Amused disbelief written all over his features.

"Marty," Sam confirmed.

"Marty?"

"Yeah. Marty."

"Like the zebra in Madagascar, Marty?" Dean asked, grinning. Sam nodded.

"Yeah, like that. But remember, you didn't hear anything from me!" He answered, smiling as well. Dean laughed as he turned his attention back to the mess of clothing and weapons surrounding him on the floor.

"Yeah, whatever, drama queen." Dean rolled his eyes and kept working. The room was silent for a moment before the older Winchester burst out laughing again. He couldn't help himself; he found the subject hilarious.

"Ah, man. Marty! Now there's a name!" He exclaimed as he started folding the few clean clothing items laying in the pile. "What? Did her parents just take one look at her and say: 'Look at our beautiful baby! Let's name her Marty!'" Dean scoffed.

Sam snorted and shook his head at his older brother's bad joke. Then he leaned his head back and yawned.

"Man, I think we need some sleep," Sam sighed. Dean smirked.

"Is it your bedtime already?" He taunted, expecting a playful retort. But this time, Sam didn't argue. He just nodded.

"Yeah, I think it is." Though worried about his little brother, Dean held his playful smirk in place perfectly, just like he had been doing for so many years.

"Well, you go ahead and hit the sack. I'll finish up here." He said, easily. Even though he was just as tired and Sam was, he would finish out like always. Sam raised an eyebrow.

"You sure?"

"Yeah, o'course. There's not much left anyway." That was a lie and they both knew it, but Sam took the offer of sleep while it was on the table.

"Thanks, Dean."

"You're welcome, Sammy."

Sam patted his older brother on the arm as he stood and left the room. Traveling down the corridor he got to his bedroom and was out as soon as his head hit the pillow.

Meanwhile, Dean mouthed the strange name of Jack's mystery girl and chuckled about it to himself. Sitting on the floor in his room as he continued folding the rest of the clean clothes, cleaning out all the weapons and putting everything back in its place. The chore took him two more hours to complete but when it was done, he stretched himself out and laid back on his bed.

"Marty. Now, that's hilarious." Dean snickered to himself as he drifted off to sleep.

~I might hate myself tomorrow.

But I'm on my way tonight.

Let's be lonely together.

A little less lonely together~

Lyrics from: Lonely Together by Jasmine Thompson