#dad is also very amused at the fact someone reblogged one of his posts with 'spoon't'

[the-real-list-of-ominous-threats]

Im going to make a jersey mikes ad play very loudly from an unknown and un-closable source whenever you open Tumblr

[python333]

task force 141 getting gaslighted by [reader] — python333

— — — —

synopsis just as the title says, tf141 gets gaslighted by [reader]... nothing serious, dw!!

relationships platonic!taskforce 141 & reader.

characters cap. price, soap, ghost, gaz.

warnings gaslighting, but used in extremely stupid and unnecessary ways, 2nd person pov [you/yours/yourself], usage of c/n [code name/call sign], probably ooc but i'm a little more confident in this one than the last one!

note i'm so sorry that this is so long... it's like 3k+ words :{ and the soap and gaz sections are a majority of those words LMAO also tysm to the people who reblogged my last post?? thats so sweet?? im crying?? it was my first post too so i was just hdjsfhjdhsfjf tysm tysm!!

JOHN “BRAVO SIX” PRICE

➥ price is basically your dad atp.

➥ so it’s safe to say he knows about pretty much all of your weird little antics and shenanigans.

➥ this includes your tendency to gaslight people about the stupidest shit possible.

➥ trust him, he was a victim of this.

➥ the first time it happened, it was just too perfect of an opportunity for you to pass up.

➥ price was trying to eat his food in the mess hall, when you had sidled up right next to him at the small table he was eating at, and commented on his food choice.

➥ “Oh, nice. We got the same thing.” you’d said, setting down your tray of chicken, rice, and potatoes right next to price’s bowl of soup.

➥ at first, he thought you were just joking, and gave you an amused look and commented something along the lines of you being blind because you absolutely did not get the same thing as him.

➥ you take your gaslighting very seriously. this is not a joke.

➥ so you insist that you did in fact get the same thing, and you shoot a very confused look at him for good measure. your definitely-serious tone throws price off, because there’s no way you could possibly think you both actually got the same thing…

➥ … right?

➥ cue the rest of your lunch being spent alternating between eating your food and arguing that, “But we did get the same thing!” while price can only counter with, “No we did not!”

➥ now you may think that this is the point where you give up.

➥ it absolutely is not.

➥ see, price’s first mistake was giving you leeway to argue with him over this. his second mistake was suggesting that you ask someone to come over to the table and settle this by telling you both if you did get the same thing for lunch.

➥ naturally, you chose soap, because who else would encourage your bullshit with the same enthusiasm he does?

➥ long story short, he agrees to come over and settle the very weird argument you’ve started with price, and takes a very close look at both you and price’s chosen food items for the day and after you shoot him a glance that tells him everything he needs to know he confidently says, “Aye, these’re the same.”

➥ price has never recovered from the crisis he had after that entire interaction.

➥ so, the next time you do it, he knows exactly what to do.

—

When you sat down next to Price during lunch, he immediately got a sense of deja vu. Which is weird, because you sit next to him everyday, so what could possibly be different about today?

“Oh, nice. We got the same thing,” you’d commented offhandedly, setting down your tray of food, of which was just about the direct opposite of Price’s meal. Oh, so that’s why I feel like this has happened before. Price stared at your tray for a moment, flashbacks running through his mind, recalling his trauma from the last time this happened.

Then finally, cautiously, he agreed, “... Yeah. Whatta coincidence.”

You didn’t know if you should feel disappointed, happy, or shocked by him agreeing with you this time. You were fully prepared to pull Soap and Gaz aside to take a look at both of your trays of food and agree that they were the exact same meal, down to the portion sizes and everything. After a quick moment of thinking, you smile at him with the most innocent smile you can muster and eat your food, ignoring the sigh of relief Price lets out when you don’t begin to argue with him.

—

JOHN “SOAP” MACTAVISH

➥ actively enjoys being gaslighted.

➥ in the sense of like, how many ways can he defend himself in ways you can’t argue with?

➥ he’s like the gaslighting victim version of markiplier with the whole ‘i’m not a masochist, i just wanna see how much pain i can handle’.

➥ so safe to say he very much encourages your gaslighting.

➥ the first time and only time you ever gaslighted him was when you were both hanging out in his room, both of you on your phones, soap watching ‘my babysitter’s a vampire’ after you told him you thought he’d enjoy watching it, and you scrolling through social media to pass the time.

➥ then, you got an idea.

➥ “Soap?” soap perks up at the sound of his name and hums in acknowledgement of you talking to him, “Have you finished that show I recommended to you yet?”

➥ “Nah, I’ve still got a few episodes left.” he’d responded.

➥ “Really? What season are you on?”

➥ “The last season, season two.”

➥ “... What do you mean the last season?”

➥ you two go back and forth, with you insisting that no, you told him to watch ‘the vampire diaries’, not ‘my babysitter’s a vampire’.

➥ the entire thing goes on for at least thirty minutes before soap sighs and insists that you’d told him to watch ‘my babysitter’s a vampire’ one last time, and you finally break.

➥ you break out into a small fit of laughter, and stop yourself to take a deep breath and admit, “Yeah, I did.”

➥ honestly, soap is very impressed by your determination to manipulate him. 10/10 would encourage you to do it again. in fact, will help you gaslight anyone you so please.

—

You and Soap were sitting in his room, him on the bed and you on the floor sitting down on one of his pillows. You’d just been scrolling through any and all apps you had, even going through your photos app, bored out of your mind, when you suddenly got an idea. You turned off your phone and looked over at Soap.

“Soap?” He tapped on his phone screen to pause the show he was watching and hummed, looking over at you. “Have you finished that show I recommended to you yet?”

“Nah, I’ve still got a few episodes left,” he’d answered, sitting up and cracking his knuckles.

“Really?” you’d asked, feigning confusion, “What season are you on?”

“The last one, season two,” he replied, showing you his phone screen. You looked at it for a moment before drawing your eyebrows together in pseudo-confusion.

“... What do you mean the last season?” you’d asked, “There’s eight seasons.”

“Uhh…” Soap looked back at his phone screen, confused, and tapped his screen a few times before he shook his head, “Nay, there’re two seasons, c/n.”

“Are you watching the right show?” you’d asked, watching as Soap nods confidently, and yes. You had set down your phone, ready for this new form of entertainment.

“Yeah. My Babysitter’s a Vampire, right?” he said, hoping for confirmation that he’s watching the correct show. You slowly shake your head negatively.

“No, I told you that you should watch Vampire Diaries,” you’d clarified, watching as Soap started to disagree.

“Nay, ye told me tae watch the Babysitter one,” Soap argued, quickly pulling up his text messages with you, “I reckon I’d ken if ye told me tae watch Vampire Diaries.”

“Well, I did,” you argued back, “I told you, verbatim, ‘hey you should watch Vampire Diaries, I think you’d really like it, since you like making fun of old 2000s shows with me’. I texted you yesterday about it.”

Soap raised an eyebrow before he’d turned his phone to you, showing you your text messages from yesterday, where you definitely did not tell him to watch Vampire Diaries. You took a good look at the text messages, before looking up at Soap, concerned, “Are you okay? That clearly says what I said it says.”

Soap looked baffled, and it took everything in you not to laugh, “Nay, ye messaged me tae watch the Babysitter one, so I’m watchin’ the Babysitter one!”

You two went back and forth, arguing over what the text actually said. You’d constantly deny everything Soap saw and he’d argue back in the most flabbergasted tone that ‘Nay, it’s richt there, I ken I’m no’ goin’ daft!’ and you argued back that he’s definitely seeing things because how could he possibly be reading the text but see completely different words than what it actually says?

Eventually, you both stopped arguing, taking time to catch your breaths. You had taken one look at Soap’s miserable facial expression before breaking out into a small fit of laughter, giggles spilling from your lips as you tried to muffle them by putting your hand over your mouth.

“Ye ‘nd I baith ken that the text says you want me to watch My Babysitter’s a Vampire,” Soap breathed out, watching you try and muffle your laughter.

After you’d taken a moment to catch your breath, you admit, “Yeah, I know.”

Soap’s eyes widened and he immediately said, “So ye admit it?”

You nodded affirmatively and he groaned, flopping back down onto the bed, the action having made you giggle even more. “Ye’re a bampot,” he’d grumbled, though there was no serious anger or irritation behind his words.

—

SIMON “GHOST” RILEY

➥ now why would you even try this, huh?

➥ have you MET the dude?

➥ he absolutely will not fall for it.

➥ he won’t encourage it, won’t argue with you, in fact he’ll shut you down with a simple “No.”

➥ you’re too scared to even try again after the first time you tried it.

➥ the first time you tried to gaslight him, you were both just walking down the hall together.

➥ you tried convincing him that gaz was off on a mission when you had just passed by him.

➥ the look he gave you… my god.

➥ “No he isn’t.” i’m so sorry please let me jump off a cliff i’m sorry i made a severe and continuous lapse in my judgment and i don’t expect to be forgiven i’m simply here to apologize mr. simon ghost riley lieutenant sir.

➥ you never try to gaslight him ever again.

—

You thought it was a good idea at the time. You don’t know what drugs you were on or what meds you were off, but you decided that, yeah, I can totally gaslight Ghost with no repercussions, that’s definitely possible. So here you are, walking right beside him, the both of you going to completely different locations but he doesn’t need to know that.

When you first sidled up to him, walking by his side down the hall, he looked over at you for a moment and was just a bit confused but didn’t say anything otherwise. The two of you passed by Gaz, who was minding his business just walking past the two of you. He gave you both a quick nod and you made a point to nod back, not only out of respect but because you thought it would make your gaslighting session just that much better.

Just a minute after passing Gaz, you sighed and commented, “Can’t believe Gaz is on that super long mission right now. Two weeks is crazy.”

Ghost had slowly turned his head towards you, a sight that made your stomach drop because oh God I definitely fucked up, and simply said, “No he isn’t. We just saw him.”

I think I just shit my pants. “Y- yeah, right, right, definitely, no clue what I was thinking,” you blurted out, stumbling over your sentences because oh my GOD I’m gonna piss myself why is he so scary lord have mercy on my soul. Ghost raised an eyebrow at you, before huffing out a small laugh and continuing his walk, amused by your sputtering. You let out a sigh of relief as he simply walked away, and you headed in the correct way of where you're supposed to go, completely chickening out of your original plan.

—

KYLE “GAZ” GARRICK

➥ oh that poor poor boy.

➥ probably gives into it and just lets you gaslight him tbh.

➥ like maybe if your argument/gaslighting isn’t too strong he’ll argue with you, and sure he still won’t win but it was worth a try, but if you’re gaslighting-gaslighting him? he’s just gonna agree with you.

➥ like at that point anything you say is law and he is a law-abiding citizen.

➥ if your argument is strong enough and he’s tired enough he will genuinely believe you, too.

➥#savegazfromreader

➥ the first time you tried to gaslight him, it was pretty easy. you two had just finished sparring, with you coming out on top, much to your own surprise. gaz had given you a lighthearted pat on the shoulder and went off to shower, when you had the best idea you’ve ever had.

➥ you had groaned and playfully complained, “I can’t believe you won that.”

➥ gaz turned around, confused, and was like, “Won what?”

➥ cue the next 5 minutes being spent by you saying that gaz had won and arguing with him that he did win.

➥ “Honestly, you don’t have to lie and say I won. I appreciate that you don’t want me to feel bad, but I can take a loss.”

➥ hes so confused omg.

➥ starts gaslighting himself into thinking he won, then he’s like ‘wait no i didn’t’.

➥ but he still goes along with it because… what else is he supposed to do?

➥ ever since then he’s been your main gaslighting victim, and your favorite.

—

You hated the feeling of being sweaty, but you hated the feeling of someone else’s sweat even more. Maybe that’s what tripped you up that day, letting Gaz swipe his leg underneath yours and force you to fall down onto the mat beneath you, where he then started counting to ten, as per usual with sparring. But luckily for you, you were able to grab his ankle and yank it towards you, making Gaz fall on his ass and letting you straddle his chest and begin to count to ten just as he was doing earlier.

Of course, you dramatized your counting, because who would you be if you didn’t? You emphasized every number and your lips twitched into a small smile as you watched Gaz scoff and look away from you, clearly fed up with your theatrics. Once you were done counting, you got up and held out a hand for Gaz, who took it and got up, letting out a huff and patting you on the shoulder.

“Good job,” He’d said, smiling down at you, stepping off the mat and walking over to the bag of stuff he’d brought with him. After that small interaction, you just couldn’t pass up the opportunity to gaslight him. It’s not your fault! Who else would pass up an opportunity like this?

You groaned and stepped off the mat, muttering, “I can’t believe you won that. I really though I had you.”

“Won what?” Gaz questioned, looking back at you, confused.

“The spar?” You answered, though you made your answer sound more questioning, as if confused on why he’d even question your words. As if it was obvious that you hadn’t won. Gaz simply looked at you, very confused, trying to figure out if you’re joking or not. By the serious look on your face—a poker face you’ve worked on for the longest time—he figured that you weren’t not kidding, which worries him a bit.

”... No, you won that spar,” Gaz insisted, before nervously joking, “Remember? Thirty seconds ago, when you kicked my arse after I thought I had you down?”

“Honestly, you don’t have to lie and say I won,” You laughed, walking over to Gaz and patting him on the back, “It’s not like I’m a sore loser or anything like that. I can take a loss.”

He was so confused, and continued to insist that you had won the small sparring match, and got more and more confused the more you fought with him on this. He was so sure that you had won—you did, didn’t you?

He eventually just sighed, and ‘admitted’ that you were right, he did win. Satisfied, you smiled up at him and reminded him that you can take a loss, and you went on with your day. And if you heard him asking Price if he could go through the security cameras for a moment, requesting to go back to that specific time the two of you had sparred, no you didn’t.

[snowdice]

Big Bang Editing Story [Day 2](Part 2)

I’m going to go ahead and start a new thread. What’s been done of this story already is under the cut.

If you’d like to block these proceedings, please feel free to block the tag proofread stories. I will reblog this post with the parts of the story I do today.

Chapter 1

“Please?” the younger teenager said as he threw his arms around Logan in a hug. Logan gave him a disgruntled look when a stray arm bumped some of the papers on his desk and one that he’d been using fluttered to the ground.

“Patton, I have work to do.”

“You work all the time,” Patton pouted back at him.

“I’m the crowned prince,” Logan reasoned. “There is a lot for me to do.”

“You’re not even doing royalty business tonight,” Patton pointed out. “You’re just reading your book.”

“But I have to do some tomorrow and if I agree to a sleepover, we both know neither of us will sleep.”

“We’ll sleep, I promise!” Patton said.

Logan gave him a skeptical look. They had been having these sleepovers for a decade at this point and in none of them had Logan ever actually slept. On the contrary, Patton usually kept him up long enough that Logan was so tired he couldn’t fall asleep and then the boy himself would pass out leaving Logan to stare grumpily at the ceiling.

“Future Royal Advisor’s honor?” Patton tried, eyes hopeful. “Come on, we can play dress up.”

Logan glared at him. “I am 17 years old,” he reminded.

“I’ll do your hair,” he tempted. “I’ll even let you read a book while I do it.”

The look in his friend’s eyes and the fact that he really was quite good at hair started to weaken Logan’s resolve.

Patton, knowing him so well, saw his tenacity faulter and pitilessly pressed his advantage. “Mama made fresh cookies today,” he said. “They’re the ones with strawberry jam. We could sneak into the kitchen and steel some in the middle of the night.”

“Considering you are the head chef’s son and I am the prince, it would hardly be considered stealing.”

“But it’s more fun that way,” Patton argued with a laugh. “Come on, you need to have some fun. You’ve been stressed out lately.”

“This is fun,” Logan said with a frown, gesturing to the large book in front of him.

“I know,” Patton said, “but your brain has got to be tired from reading all of that Latin and Sand’s Kit.”

“Sanskrit.”

“Gazuntite.”

Logan sighed. “Why did father agree to make you the royal advisor in training?”

“Because he knows without me, you’ll send your entire life sitting at this desk reading your book.” Patton scrunched up his nose at him.

“I would also do my royal duties.”

“But sometimes you need to relax,” Patton said. Logan opened his mouth. “Really relax. No super encoded magical books that make me dizzy looking at them. We’re going to play dress up, eat cookies, and read silly books, and that’s final.”

“Oh, I’m being commanded, am I?” Logan asked, an eyebrow raised. “You’re really going to try to command your prince? You’re lucky I don’t have you tossed into the dungeon.”

Patton hopped off the chair he’d pulled up to Logan’s desk and scrambled a few feet away. “You’d have to pull yourself away from your book to do that,” he said, sticking out his tongue at him.

Logan glanced down at his book. Reading the Pragilium text despite its difficulties had been his life’s work since he was a small child, and it was something he very much enjoyed, but he was tired from his duties and his lessons the last few weeks and not in the way he would be if he agreed to Patton’s sleepover. He looked up at Patton. He was shifting back and forth on his feet, a smile on his face. The book could wait.

Logan carefully closed his book and stood from his desk chair. Patton was already giggling before Logan lunged for him.

Patton was a lot more agile then Logan was himself and knew the castle just as well since he had been brought to live here when he was just starting to walk, yet he was clearly slowing his place so Logan would not lose him. They ran through familiar corridors, careful to not slam into the stationed guards as the slid around corners. They ran past the large window that gave the best view of the castle garden and Patton avoided the spiral staircase that would let out near the kitchen where his mother was currently preparing that night’s dinner. Instead, he made a dash through the smaller dinning hall, unused at this time because they had no important guests, and then hung right to bolt towards the wing with Logan’s own private quarters.

The guards that stood in front of the double doors to the private hall, stepped aside easily at Patton’s approach. Patton pushed through the doors and they swung shut behind him.

“Traitors,” Logan accused, shooting past them through the door himself.

The guards only seemed amused by his accusation.

“Help!” Patton yelped. His still light tone didn’t worry Logan that something was actually wrong, but it did make him wonder who he was speaking to. That became clear, however, when he noticed his father standing at the end of the hall outside the entrance to his own bedroom. Patton sprinted past Logan’s bedroom and directly at the king.

“What is going on here?” Logan’s dad asked amused as Patton darted around him to use him as a human shield.

“I made Logan stop working and now he wants to throw me in the dungeons.”

“Well,” Logan’s father said. “It’s a good thing I’m king and can overrule him then.”

“Thank you, Thomathy.” Father chuckled at the nickname, and Patton poked his head around the king to stick his tongue out at Logan once again.

“He’s sticking his tongue out at me!” Logan pointed out. “Surely that counts as some sort of treason.”

“Does not!” Patton claimed.

“Does too!”

“Does not!”

“Stop it!”

“Make me!”

“I would, but you’re hiding behind my father like a coward,” Logan argued.

“He does have a point there, Pat,” Father reasoned. Patton just wrapped his fists into the man’s robes and shot him a piteous look.

“Oof, Pat,” Father said, rubbing his chest as though it ached. “That look is a shot straight to the heart. Is someone trying to assassinate me?”

“No,” Patton said. “I wouldn’t let them.”

“Hmm,” Father replied, reaching out to ruffle his hair and then stepping away from him. “I can always count on you Pat. I have to head to a meeting now. Keep our troublemaker out of mischief for me?”

“Oh, I’m the troublemaker?”

“Of course, Thomathy,” Patton swore, ignoring Logan completely. “Can we use the jewelry box for dress up?”

“Sure, go ahead,” Father agreed. “I won’t need any for a while. Just keep them safe.”

“We will,” Patton promised. Father smiled at him and walked towards the entrance of the hall. He paused to press his palm to Logan’s cheek briefly before continuing and disappearing through the doors.

Logan turned back to Patton. “It seems you have cornered yourself,” he pointed out.

Patton glanced around himself. He had, in fact, sequestered himself in the end of the hall. The only possible avenue was into Father’s bedroom and he’d likely locked the door behind him if he was going to be gone to a meeting. Patton giggled when his predicament set in. “Truce?” he offered.

“Not a chance.”

“No! Logan! Truce!”

Logan took a menacing step towards him.

“Defensive offence!” Patton shrieked and charged at him.

The air was knocked out of him when Patton slammed into him. “Ugh, Patton, why?” The arms that had wrapped around him squeezed hard. “I’m being attacked! Guards!”

To the guards’ credit, one of them did stick their head through the door just to make sure. Patton waved at them.

“There is no respect for the crown in this entire castle!” Logan sputtered when the door closed once again.

Patton released his waist finally, and instead grabbed his hands. “Come on, I bet I can pick out a good fun book from your dad’s library for you to read during our sleepover.”

“My book’s fun.”

“And easy,” Patton stressed. “We’ll have to wait for the cover of nightfall to steal the cookies, but there is plenty to do until then.”

“Fine,” Logan said with a put-upon sigh, though he honestly didn’t feel any true resentment. He wondered if he’d regret his decision to agree to Patton’s ‘sleep’over in the morning.

He would find in the years to come, that he very much wouldn’t. For, many, many reasons.

Chapter 2

Virgil hated this. He really, really hated this. To think he wished he was back in training camp. He yearned for General Landon’s mistreatment like he imagined most children desired their mother’s affection. He tried not to sniff too loudly from his place behind the foul-smelling bags he’d hid behind in the small shed long enough ago that his legs had long since cramped.

He could tell from small window opposite him that the sun had set recently, though it was not quite last light. Soon he would have the cover of darkness and would have to move from this spot. That was almost worse than staying cramped here forever and starving to death in the shed. He felt sick. He felt so sick. He didn’t want to be here.

A noise startled him, and he flinched down further behind the bags as someone pulled opened the door to the shed. A man made a groaning sound and set gardening tools down on the table with a clank. Virgil did not want to imagine all the ways each of those things could kill someone, but his brain didn’t give him the choice.

Virgil focused on breathing as quietly as he could even when the thoughts in his head made him want to pant. The man continued to put away the tools in different places in the shed. Virgil tried to curl even tighter into his already tight ball when he strayed too close a few times.

The man finished his work and wiped off his hands on his shirt. Virgil expected him to turn and exit the shed, but instead he called out. “I can see your hair.”

Virgil froze, and when the man turned to look right at his hiding place, he let out a small whimper. He tried to scramble away when the man took a step closer to him, but there was nowhere to go but to press himself up against the back of the shed, the man’s body between him and the door.

They sized each other up for a long moment. Could Virgil make it to one of the tools if he moved quickly enough? He didn’t know. He doubted it and there was more than a likely chance that he’d reach for a tool himself with his much longer arms.

“You here to steal food from the castle garden?” the man finally asked.

Well…no, not at all. He wished he was here to steal food. How should he respond? What was the most tactical answer? He cast his mind back to his training. There were a few options when faced with this situation, but he didn’t know which was the best one. The most obvious explanation was to go with his cover story and try to say he worked in the kitchen, but this man worked with the garden. There was every possibility he knew people in the kitchen. Another strategy would be to agree with whatever he said and hope he came up with a reasonable explanation on his own… but that explanation seemed to be that Virgil was a thief. Would he immediately be dragged in front of the king or have his arm chopped off or something else horrible? He could try spinning it around on him by asking him questions back and confuse him. He could ask him why he was here or if he was the one stealing food. That would be stupid though, he was obviously the gardener. That would probably just piss him off and make Virgil’s fate worse.

Virgil couldn’t breathe.

“Hey kid,” the man said. “What’s going on?” He had crouched down in front of Virgil and the fading light from the window finally hit the side of his face the right way to light up the currently black tattoo on his face. Virgil blinked. He was really glad he hadn’t just lied in that case. He did not comment on the marking or otherwise indicate he knew what it was. That would breed questions about why he knew what the man was. Why was the man a gardener if he was a multrum? It didn’t make any sense.

That didn’t matter now however, Virgil needed to say something, and it had to be the truth.

[tw-anchor]

33. Olivia and Lydia vs. The Darach

Anchor

Stiles Stilinski x Original Character

Episode: 3x09; The Girl Who Knew Too Much

Word Count: 7,103

Warning(s): Mature language, canon violence + gore, attempted murder of main character, kidnapping, sacrifices

Author’s Note: Sorry for not updating in a while. My Gram is in hospice and I haven’t been into writing. I hope you enjoy the chapter! Please make sure to reblog, like, and let me know what you think!

Masterlink in Pinned Post!

Olivia had only been to Peter's apartment downtown once before, and that was to bring over a polite welcome-home casserole that he probably didn't eat. Now, she had business to attend to. She had questions for Peter. Questions about herself and Lydia.

Only a half-hour before she made her way downtown to talk to Peter, she left Lydia in her bedroom after a couple of bad hours. Lydia and Olivia had been going out for ice cream with Allison before they went back to their house for a girls' night, when Lydia drove them to the school. Not only had Lydia been drawn to the area—just like she had the night she found the body at the pool—but Olivia, herself, had felt the same thing as Lydia.

She just didn't know if it was because she and Lydia shared abilities or because she was so connected to Lydia due to their shared DNA or relationship. Her only option for answers was to go to her father.

"All right, tell me again what happened," Peter blinked the sleep out of his eyes; it was around one in the morning when Olivia knocked on his door and woke him from a deep sleep.

"Lydia found another dead body," Olivia repeated herself. "What ever your bite did to her, it led her to the body and I felt it to. Now, I know you bit Lydia for a reason. That's why she was able to bring you back with that ritual. I want to know what she is and how it's affecting me."

Peter sighed heavily and rubbed his forehead, exhausted. "Okay."

"I want the truth," she said firmly before he could begin. "No changing the story this time."

"All right, fine," he agreed. "To start off, you have to know what your mother was. Grace was eighteen when she inherited her abilities. She was a banshee."

"A banshee," Olivia repeated in slight belief; she hadn't known that banshees were a real thing. They weren't even in the Argent bestiary.

"A wailing woman, harbinger of death, same thing. They're not really like the Irish myths. They don't attach themselves to a family line, and their echoes don't cause death, either" he informed her. "Only females can be banshees and their abilities are inherited from their bloodline."

Olivia knew what he was getting at. "So, Mom got her banshee abilities from Nana Lorraine and because Uncle Thomas is a male, he passed it down to Lydia."

Peter nodded. "Exactly. The only reason you're not a banshee is because the werewolf genes you got from me. Anchorams are rare, very rare, but there have been two recorded instances before."

"As results of a banshee and werewolf union," Olivia assumed.

"Yes. You're neither werewolf nor banshee, but instead you have some abilities of both," he crossed his arms over his chest. "Instead of predicting just anyone's death, you're connected to your pack—that's the werewolf part of you. That's why you knew Boyd was going to die."

Okay, that made sense. It also explained the screams that came out of her when her pack members were in deep trouble, like when Erica had her seizure from the kanima venom or when Mrs. Argent was trying to kill Scott. It was the banshee side of her.

"So, that's how I'm connected to Lydia."

"Banshees are drawn to each other. And you're related to Lydia, which gives you two a deeper connection. On your own, you wouldn't have felt the dead body tonight, but because you were with Lydia, you did."

"But I can hear her scream even if I'm far away," Olivia pointed out. "That night when Boyd and Cora were out of control, I could hear her scream from the public pool. I screamed with her."

"It might have been because it was the first time her powers really came through," Peter said thoughtfully. "I mean, other than the time when I got into her head."

Olivia narrowed her eyes at him, wishing he hadn't brought that up. It still infuriated her that he took advantage of Lydia when she was in such a delicate place.

Peter rolled his eyes. "Sorry," he apologized without meaning it. "Everyone is different, though, and since you're, what, the third Anchoram in history, some things we're gonna have to figure out as we go."

Olivia nodded. She realized that. It was just hard to comprehend. She hadn't even gotten to the bottom of her collection of abilities, and already she had a lot. It was a little daunting to know that she had more to learn to learn about her abilities, along with honing them.

"Okay," she said finally. "Can you tell me more about banshees?"

"Sure thing, sweet pea."

"So, I can find dead bodies," Lydia scoffed as Olivia pulled into the school's parking lot. "You know what, I can already tell that this banshee thing is gonna be a pain in the ass."

"You can do more than that, though," Olivia reminded her while parking next to Stiles' Jeep; it was empty, but she knew—thanks to his text message—that he was going to eavesdrop on his dad, who was supposed to be talking to the principal before school started. "You'll experience something like me, like the whispers or the warnings in your head."

"Yeah, and you handle those so well," Lydia grumbled.

"I know I don't, but they also help," Olivia stated firmly. "I know when my pack is in danger and it helps because most of the time, I have a warning and we can stop whatever is supposed to happen. You'll know if someone's dying, Lyds. What if you're able to stop it?"

They got out of the Olivia's new car—courtesy of the insurance company and Peter, who wanted to spoil her instead of being a good parent—and started making their way up to the school. Olivia was supposed to meet Stiles by the main office but she wanted to make sure Lydia was okay before she left her.

"I guess you have a point," Lydia conceded finally. "It's just a little..."

"Scary?" Olivia offered; Lydia nodded. "I know. But I'm gonna be there for you, Lydia, I swear. You don't have to go through any of this alone."

Lydia sighed and pulled Olivia into a tight hug. "I love you," she rubbed Olivia's back; Olivia awkwardly patted her back, making Lydia laugh. "I know, I know. No PDA."

"It's okay," Olivia assured her as they parted. "I love you too, by the way."

"I know you do," the corners of Lydia's eyes crinkled as she studied her cousin and the awkward face she was making. "You know, the fact that you can only be lovey-dovey with Stiles is really disappointing."

"That's not true," Olivia said adamantly. "I'm lovey-dovey with you, too. I just don't like showing my affection for people out in public."

"It's the Hale in you," Lydia shook her head with a smile. "All right, you're released. Go on and meet Stiles."

"Thanks," hurriedly, Olivia kissed Lydia's cheek and ran away from her, waving teasingly. "Love you!"

She knew that her show of her love would amuse Lydia. It was the only reason why she did that. She had to make an exception for her person.

Outside of the main office, Stiles hid behind a pillar. His eyes were sharp and his ears were perked as he spied on his father, one of his deputies, and the principal. Unfortunately, he couldn't hear much. In fact, the only thing he did hear was Noah excusing himself from the conversation when he locked eyes with Stiles.

"Hey!" Stiles frantically pulled his backpack up over his head as he rushed to get away from his dad; unfortunately, Noah was pretty quick for a man in his forties. "Hey, hey, hey, back it up," he sighed and turned to face his father. "I know what you're thinking. I know you've got all these ideas about patterns and people dying in threes—"

Stiles cut him off. "Dad, they were murdered," he then corrected himself. "Sacrificed, actually."

"I've got half the state, including the FBI coming in on this," Noah told him. "They're not getting away with killing one of our own."

Stiles almost deflated at his father's words. Up until then, he hadn't thought about just who was sacrificed. It was Deputy Tara. She had been Noah's right-hand woman ever since he was elected to be sheriff, and she was a big part of Stiles' life after his mom died. She used to bake him cookies and helped him with his homework when he was having trouble. She was a good woman.

"Dad, they killed Tara," his voice was shakier than he cared to admit. "You know, how many times did she help me with my math homework when I had to wait at the station for you?"

Noah inhaled deeply and Stiles could see the sadness in his eyes. "Just, uh, get to class, okay?" he nodded behind Stiles and greeted Olivia, who Stiles hadn't even noticed had walked over to them. "Hi, Olivia."

"Hi, Sheriff," Olivia waved at him politely.

Noah went back to his conversation with the deputy and the principal, leaving Stiles and Olivia to themselves.

Olivia gave him a sympathetic look. "How are you feeling?"

"Not the greatest, but I'll live," Stiles took her hand and locked their fingers together.

"Well, if you need to talk, I'm here," she promised him, letting go of his hand and ignoring the pout he sent her to wrap her arm around his waist.

"What happened to no public displays of affection?"

"I'll think I'll make an exception for just today."

"Just today?" Stiles stopped walking and when she tilted her head up to look at him, grinned down at her.

"Just today."

"Well, then I better make the most of it," he remarked before ducking his head and slamming his lips to hers in a passionate kiss. She easily returned his affection but when he attempted to slip his tongue into her mouth, she pulled back. "Sorry, too much."

"A little," Olivia laughed. "Come on, we have English and I don't want Ms. Blake to tell on me to Derek."

"Would she really do that?"

"God, I hope not."

-

"Idioms, analogies, metaphors, and similes; all tools the writer uses to tell their story," Ms. Blake stated as she walked around the classroom. She paused in between Olivia and Lydia's desks, glancing down at Lydia's drawing of a tree. "Lydia, I wasn't aware you had so many hidden talents."

"You and ever guy I've ever dated," Lydia smirked up at her, causing Olivia to snicker.

"Oh," Ms. Blake was surprised by her reply. "um, well, that was an idiom, by the way. Idioms are something of a secret to the people who know the language or the culture..."

Olivia did not like the meaningful look that Ms. Blake gave her, Stiles, Scott, and Lydia. They all knew that she knew about werewolves—she was there when Boyd died, after all—but they didn't need her to act like an amateur and blow the big secret by acting nervous.

"They're phrases that only make sense if you know key words," she continued. "Saying 'jump the gun' is meaningful only if you know about the starting gun in a race, or a phrase like 'seeing the whole board.'"

"Like chess," Stiles offered.

"That's right, Stiles," Ms. Blake smiled down at him. "Do you play?"

"Uh, no," Stiles shook his head. "My father does."

Ms. Blake smiled at him again and faced the rest of the class. "Now, when does an idiom become a cliché?"

Olivia raised her hand to answer and Ms. Blake gave her the go-ahead.

"When you say the idiom too much," she reported. "It's like saying, 'it's raining cats and dogs,' Eventually it'll catch and more people will say it. It's an overused idiom."

"Great answer, Olivia," Ms. Blake grinned at her and then went on with her lesson.

Once Ms. Blake was far enough away that they could whisper to each other, Scott leaned over in his seat to speak to Stiles and Olivia. "I think I can get to Ethan. I'm pretty sure I can make him talk."

Olivia scowled at the mention of one-half of the alpha twins while Stiles asked, "What do you want to do that for?"

"The druids are emissaries, right?" Scott pointed out. "What if the Darach was an emissary to the alphas?"

Olivia pressed her lips together in agreement. "You've got a point."

"Thank you," Scott grinned at her and then turned to Stiles to wait for his response. "So?"

"So, I can't believe that we've gotten to the point where a sentence like 'what if the Darach was an emissary to the alphas?' actually makes sense to me," Stiles huffed. "Second of all, we're gonna have a huge problem getting to Ethan."

"What's that?"

"Going through Aiden," Stiles stated matter-of-factly. "Ever since he's been back at school, they're always together. How are we gonna separate them again?"

Eyebrows furrowing, Olivia tried to think of something that would distract Aiden. She didn't like the guy whatsoever, so the only thing she knew about him was that he liked to hook up with Lydia in Coach's office.

Wait.

"I have an idea," she spoke up. When the boys looked at her curiously, she nodded toward Lydia, who was still concentrating on her spooky drawing of the tree.

Feeling eyes on her, Lydia looked up at them and sighed, "What now?"

-

Just staring at Ethan's face made Olivia want to slap the shit out of him. Normally, she would think that she'd be somewhat friends with Ethan. But with the situation they were in now, she doubted that she would ever want to be. She didn't see what happened with Boyd, but Isaac had given her some details. She knew that Ethan and Aiden had picked up Boyd's electrocuted body and dropped him onto Derek's claws. She knew that they watched as Derek's claws ripped up his internal organs, and she knew that they walked away without a care that they had left a teenage boy dead behind them.

However, at least she wasn't joining Stiles and Scott in order to talk to Aiden. She didn't know if she could even look at his stupid smug face without attacking him. She didn't even care if he was ten times stronger than her. Ideally, she'd be able to calm his ass down and then Stiles or Allison could get the drop on him. Lord knows that Scott wouldn't.

"Why are you even talking to me?" Ethan asked, his eyes flitting between the three of them. "I helped kill your friend. How do you know I'm not gonna kill another one?"

Olivia gritted her teeth at his words and when he looked at her toward the end of his question, she stiffened. Stiles did, too. In fact, his temper flared at the way the alpha talked about Boyd and how he had the audacity to look at Olivia, like she hadn't been affected by Boyd's death.

"Are you look at her? Are you threatening her?" he snapped at him, standing up straight and stepping closer to Olivia. "You know what I'm gonna do? I'm going to break off an extra-large branch of mountain ash, wrap it in wolfsbane, roll it in mistletoe, and shove it up your fucking ass, you absolute dick—"

"Okay, Stiles," Scott cut him off nervously, while Olivia gently grabbed his arm and reached through their tether to calm him down. She loved that he was willing to stand up to an alpha to protect her, but she didn't want him to get hurt. "Woah, we get it."

Stiles gave Scott an irritated look and wrapped his arm around Olivia's shoulders, exhaling deeply as his anger started to concede.

"Look," Scott looked back at Ethan, who had been staring at Stiles blankly throughout his whole rant. "We're talking to you because I know that you didn't want to kill Boyd. And I think that if something like that happened now, you wouldn't do it again."

Ethan shook his head shortly. "You don't know what we owe them, especially Deucalion," he told the three of them. "We're weren't like Kali and Ennis when we met him. We weren't alphas."

"What were you?" Scott asked.

"Omegas," Olivia frowned at Ethan's answer; he and Aiden really didn't deserve any sympathy but she was going soft and couldn't help but feel a bud of it. Being the type of omega that had a pack—not ones who chose to be by themselves, like Derek had been—was said to be horrible. "In actual wolf packs, omegas are the scapegoat; the last to eat, the one who has to take the abuse from the rest of the pack."

Stiles raised his eyebrows. "So you and your brother were, like, the bitches of the pack?"

Olivia hid the smirk that threatened to spread her lips and nudged Stiles as Ethan gave him an annoyed look. "Something like that."

"What happened?" she spoke up instead, wanting to know how he and Aiden managed to make it into the alpha pack.

"They were killers," Ethan shook his head in disgust, which Olivia found to be ironic. "I mean, people talk about us as monsters. Well, they were the ones who gave us the reputation. And our alpha was the worst of them."

"Why didn't you guys just fight back?" Stiles brought up a good point. "Form Voltron-Wolf, you know, and kick everyone's asses?"

"We couldn't," Ethan stated flatly. "We didn't know how to control it back then."

"Deucalion taught you," Scott realized.

Ethan nodded. "And then, we fought. We took down the whole pack, one-by-one," his voice got a little vicious. "and by the time we got to our alpha, he was begging for his life. We tore him apart, literally."

"What about your emissary?" Ethan shook his head at Scott's question. "They're all dead? Kali and Ennis' too?"

"All of them except for Deucalion's," he confirmed.

"You mean Ms. Morrell?" Olivia gave him a pointed look and then paused as her mind seemed to leave her body and then zap right back into it. "Oh, my God."

Cora...Cora...Cora...

"Livvy, are you okay?" Stiles asked as Ethan grunted in pain.

"What's going on?" Scott asked both of them.

"My brother's hurt," Ethan answered at the same time as Olivia told Stiles, "Something's wrong with Cora."

It didn't take long for Stiles to put the pieces together; Cora and Aiden were obviously fighting somewhere nearby. "Where are they?" he asked as her eyes flashed back in forth between purple and blue. "Babe, you gotta focus."

"I...I," she stammered before she was able to pass through into Cora's tether and find out where she was. "They're in the boys' locker room."

The four of them took off into the empty hallways, trying to get to the boys' locker room before any more damage was done between Cora and Aiden. Luckily they weren't far from Coach's office and they made it to the locker room just in time to see Aiden whip Cora in the head with a fifty-pound weight.

"Stop, stop!" Olivia shouted as Scott and Ethan took a hold of Aiden on each of his arms. She didn't bother visualizing the anchor that she put on him, she was too angry about him hurting her cousin that it came easy to her.

Aiden's wolf features immediately melted away, calming down in his brother's hold.

"You can't do this," Ethan reminded Aiden as Olivia and Stiles knelt down by Lydia beside Cora's injured body.

"She came at me!" Aiden shouted. He would have growled, but Olivia's hold was still over him.

"It doesn't matter! Kali gave Derek until the next full moon. You can't touch him, Cora, or Olivia."

Stiles placed his hand on Olivia's back and glared up at the alpha twins. "Get the fuck out of here."

It looked like Aiden wanted to argue but Ethan wouldn't let him. Without a word, the twins left the locker room. Olivia hardly noticed, she was too focused on her cousin and the huge wound on her head that was pouring blood.

"She's really hurt," she said softly. She looked at Stiles and Scott and asked, "Can you help me get her up?"

Once Cora was up on her feet, Olivia escorted her over to the sinks. She got some paper towel and dampened it in order to wipe the blood off of her face. Cora was not pleased with her cousin's hovering and grunted a few times when Olivia cleaned the wound.

"Stay still," Olivia got some antibiotic cream from her bag and gently smeared it over the wound. "You're such a bad patient."

"Shuddup."

"Are you okay?" Scott asked Cora.

Lydia scoffed. "She doesn't look okay."'

Cora gave Lydia an irritated look and carefully pushed Olivia away from her. "I'll heal," Almost immediately after she took a step away from the sink, her legs weakened and she faltered. She would have fallen if Scott wasn't there to grab her and keep her steady. "I said I'm fine."

"Stop being so stubborn," Olivia sighed and wrapped an arm around her waist. At least Cora would let her help.

"Do you realize how suicidally crazy that was?" Stiles pointed out sternly. "What were you thinking going after them?"

"I did it for Boyd," Cora snapped back at him. "None of you were doing anything."

Olivia sighed. "You know that's not true, Cora."

"We're trying," Scott added.

"And you're failing," Cora addressed all her ire at Scott, Stiles, and Lydia. "You're just a bunch of stupid teenagers running around, thinking that you can stop people from getting killed, but all you do is show up late. All you really do is find the bodies."

"Cora, shut up," Olivia's voice had hardened as she turned and carefully dragged her cousin out of the locker room, not hearing Stiles' comment about the both of them definitely being part of the Hale family. "I know you're grieving and you're angry and hurt, but you can't say things like that to them."

"Why not? It's the truth."

"You shouldn't say it because we're trying our hardest to figure this out," Olivia stated, annoyed. "And I get it, I can feel Boyd's loss, too, but you can't take it out on people who are doing their best to help you and the whole town."

Cora let out a drawn-out sigh and winced when a flash of pain went through her head. "I'm not apologizing," she said stubbornly.

"That's fine. Just give them some slack."

"Hey!" they heard Stiles call from behind them; he was soon at their sides. "Do you need a ride?"

"Um, yeah," Olivia nodded. "I can leave my car here and pick it up later tonight."

"Sounds good."

Halfway to their journey to Derek's loft and after three attempts to make contact with Derek, Allison called them. She informed them that she and Isaac had been searching her dad's desk and found a Celtic knot that was labeled with each group of the sacrifices. She listed the groups of sacrifices that had already happened and then the two that had yet to come.

"Philosophers?" Olivia asked in surprised. What exactly did that mean? There were a lot of occupations or people that could easily fit into that category. It would be someone like Plato, or a teacher, or a scientist, or even a really smart person. But, at the same time, how did Deputy Tara fit in that category?

"And guardians," Allison added; that made more sense in Tara's case since she was a police officer. "which after last night, has to mean something like law enforcement. Stiles, you have to tell your dad. Tell him whatever you need but you have to get him to believe. Tell your dad, warn him."

"Okay, okay, okay," Stiles said quickly, his mind racing a mile a minute. "I know."

Olivia ended the call and looked at her boyfriend, seeing the anxious look on his face. "You're gonna tell him right?"

"I have to," Stiles nodded. "but I'm gonna need both of your guys' help."

Olivia nodded and took his hand from the steering wheel, squeezing it tightly. "Whatever you need."

-

Olivia watched from Stiles' bed as her boyfriend paced back and forth, trying to come up with something to tell his dad. Personally, she had never gone through telling a parent about the supernatural world and because she was pretty sure that Natalie had some sort of knowledge about it—and she was in deep, deep denial that Olivia and Lydia were a part of it—she wouldn't really need to. She couldn't put herself in Stiles' shoes properly and it annoyed the crap out of her because she wanted to be there for him like he was always there for her.

"Okay, okay, okay," Stiles murmured under his breath. "Yes, okay...No, no..."

"Stiles?" Noah cleared his throat.

Stiles quickly faced his dad. "Dad, I'm sorry. I'm just...I'm trying to...I'm just trying to figure out how to start here."

"Hey," Noah said sternly. 'I don't have this kind of time."

Stiles blew out a heavy breath, causing Olivia to speak up encouragingly, "Stiles, just start with the cases."

"Right, right, the cases," Stiles nodded jerkily and looked back at Noah. "Okay, um, for the last year, you've had all these cases that you couldn't figure out, right? I mean, all the murders involving Kate Argent, and then Matt killing all the people who drowned him, and all these murders right now. It's like...it's like you've been playing a losing game."

Noah stared at him, unimpressed. It was clear that he didn't know why Stiles was going through his "failed" cases. "Stiles, the last thing I need right now is a job performance review from my own son."

Stiles rubbed his forehead in frustration. "I know," he looked over at his dresser in order to pull his thoughts together and spotted the chess board he and his dad would play with from time to time. "Okay, see, but that's—that's just it, Dad."

He hurried to his dresser and grabbed the chess board, which folded into a case to keep all of the pieces together, and then set it on his desk. "The reason that you're losing the game is cause you've never been able to see the whole board," he opened the game and tossed out all the pieces. "I need to show you the whole board."

While Stiles carefully labeled each and every chess piece with sticky tabs, Olivia let Cora lean against her. She made sure that she didn't fall asleep, but soon she was swept up into an episode. She could hear Lydia screaming and it took all of her control—and biting down on the inside of her cheek—to make sure she didn't scream too (she didn't realize that it would have helped Stiles convince his dad that the supernatural life was real until afterward).

Noah did not look over at her—and therefore, did not see her purple eyes—because he was too concentrated on watching Stiles label and explain each supernatural creature and the names of his friends that matched up with them. By the time Olivia was pulled away from Lydia's tether and back in control of her mind, Noah was sufficiently caught up.

Well, kind of.

"Scott and Derek are werewolves," he said flatly, looking across the desk at Stiles.

"Yes."

"And Kate Argent was a werewolf?"

"Hunter," Stiles corrected him, pointing to the piece where he labeled Kate with a purple tab. "That's...Purple stands for hunter."

"Allison and her dad are hunters, too," Olivia told him, leaving out the part where they were supposed to be retired. If Mr. Argent and Allison were retired, then normal grandparents would be working overtime.

"Yeah," Noah gestured to Dr. Deaton's piece. "and my friend, Deaton, the veterinarian, is a kanima?"

"No, no, he's a druid, okay?" Stiles stated. "Well, we think."

Olivia and Cora exchanged a look. They didn't really think that Dr. Deaton was a druid, they were 99.9% positive that he was one. Then again, Olivia could see why Stiles said what he said, Noah could only handle so much.

"So, who's the kanima?"

"Jackson," Olivia responded, thinking of her friend; she missed him.

"No, Jackson's a werewolf."

"Jackson was the kanima first, and then Peter and Derek killed him and he came back to life as a werewolf," Stiles explained. "Now, he's in London."

Noah frowned. "Who's the da-rack?"

Stiles corrected his pronunciation. "It's da-rock."

"We don't know who the darach is," Olivia piped in.

Stiles pointed at her in agreement. "We don't know yet."

Noah blinked at them. "But he was killed by werewolves?"

"Slashed up and left for dead."

"We think."

Stiles pointed at Olivia again. "We think, yeah."

Noah sighed heavily and leaned back in his chair, folding his arms over his chest. "Why was Jackson the kanima?"

"'Cause sometimes, the shape that you take reflects the person that you are."

"And what shape would an increasingly confused and angrier-by-the-second father take?"

"Uh, that would be more of an expression like the one you're currently wearing," Stiles replied nervously.

"Yeah," Noah heaved himself off the chair and started toward the door.

Stiles scrambled out of his, too. "Dad—Dad, would you wait?" he begged his father. "I can prove it, okay? Cora's a werewolf and Livvy's an anchor. You ready?" he asked Olivia and Cora; they nodded and Olivia helped Cora stand. "All right, Dad, just watch this, okay?"

Olivia didn't know if Noah managed to see any sign of their supernatural nature or not. Cora's name popped up in her head and she was dragged down to the floor when Cora collapsed.

-

"I wished you would have answered my calls," Olivia muttered to Derek as they sat side-by-side in the hospital waiting room while Cora was being examined and placed in a room.

"I know, Ollie," Derek replied softly. "I'm sorry."

"I don't understand why she's not healing. She should have healed by now."

"We'll find out why she's not," Derek assured her and squeezed her hand. "I already called Peter. Hopefully he knows something we don't."

"Hopefully," Olivia sighed; her phone started vibrating in her hand. When she was that it was Scott, she excused herself from Derek and walked over to Stiles, where he was talking to Melissa. "Hey."

"Hey, is Stiles with you?"

"Yeah, hold on," she waved to Melissa silently and grabbed Stiles' arm, pulling him into an empty hallway; she put him on speaker. "Okay, you're on speaker."

"All right, it's philosophers as in teachers," Scott told them hurriedly. "Allison and her father just found Mr. Westover."

"That makes sense," Stiles glanced at Olivia. "Tara, she wasn't always a cop. She used to teach middle school."

"Then the last one's gonna be another teacher."

"There's close to a hundred teachers employed at the high school," Olivia pointed out worriedly. "There's even more at the middle and elementary schools."

"And they're all headed home," Stiles added.

"No, no they're not," Scott said after a few seconds of silence. "They're all going to the recital."

"Fuck," Stiles cursed in annoyance. "All right, I'm gonna go talk to my dad."

"I'll borrow Derek's truck and head over there now, Scott," Olivia took the call off speaker as Stiles walked away to find his dad. "I'll only be a couple of minutes."

"Okay, but Liv..."

Her eyebrows furrowed at the worry in Scott's voice. "What's wrong?"

"I talked to Morrell. She told me that the alpha pack wanted me because I'm supposed to be a true alpha."

"A true alpha?" she repeated in disbelief. "Wow, Scott."

She was impressed; true alphas only came around once in a while and the fact that their own Scott was going to be one was special.

"Yeah, but that's not the only thing she told me," Scott sighed; Olivia braced herself for more news. "She told me that the alphas want you, too. She said that anchors are rare and you have powers you haven't even untapped. Deucalion thinks you be a good addition to the pack."

Shit, shit, shit, shit...Olivia cursed herself. Why did I have to be a rare species?

"Well, that is not good," she breathed nervously before collecting herself. "but we can deal with it later. We need to stop the darach before someone else dies."

"Yeah, we do," Scott agreed. "All right, I'll see you in ten."

"Okay, be careful."

"You too, bye."

The recital had already started by the time Olivia arrived at the school. A storm was brewing overhead and the faint music she could hear coming from the auditorium made the environment even more eerie. She ran through the parking, wishing that she hadn't worn heels that day, and rushed into the building.

She got to the lobby but stopped right in her tracks outside the main part of the auditorium, her gaze taking on a purple tint. An indescribable feeling flashed through her body and then she moved, letting whatever the feeling was take her where she needed to go. It was like the time that Derek had been shot with the wolfsbane bullet and she was led on autopilot throughout the school until she found him.

Lydia...Lydia...Lydia...Lydia, Lydia, Lydia...

She found herself in the English hallway, automatically making her way to Ms. Blake's classroom in a daze. She stopped just outside of the classroom when she heard Lydia and Ms. Blake talking.

She didn't take time to listen to what they were saying. She stormed into the classroom but was immediately airborne. Her back hit the wall painfully and she was risen until her feet were a couple feet off the ground. She was stuck and she was useless.

"Glad you joined the party," Ms. Blake—no, fuck that, I am not giving her any respect by calling her anything but her stupid first name! –smirked at her. "I was wondering when you would come for her."

"Let her go," Olivia snapped at her, her eyes darting to Lydia, who was terrified and staring at her with wet eyes. "What do you even want with her?"

"Nothing special," Jennifer shrugged. She flicked her hand toward a chair and Olivia flew to it, slamming against the hard, wooden back. "You, on the other hand..."

Olivia was unable to move as Jennifer used duct tape to secure her hands and legs to the chair. When she was finished, she picked up a small wooden dowel and started wrapping a length of strong cord around it. She was making a garrote.

"What are you doing?" Lydia whimpered, still fighting off unconscious from the hard hit she took from Jennifer when she first walked into the classroom.

"What's necessary," Jennifer stated. "I'm still surprised none of you seem to get that. You call them sacrifices but you're not understanding the word," Olivia rolled her eyes at her dramatic monologue. "It's derived from the Latin 'sacrificium', an offering to a deity, a sacred rite. A necessary evil."

"Oh, shut up," Olivia groaned, hoping to get her attention away from Lydia. "I'm pretty sure that killing fifteen innocent people isn't necessary."

"You know, on the outside, you appear so tough, emotionless," Jennifer stood from her crouched position in front of Lydia and sauntered over to Olivia. "but I know you're afraid right now. I know you're afraid all the time. This shell?" she poked Olivia in the cheek. "Well, it's all an act."

"Who cares if it is?" Olivia hissed right back at her.

"Oh, I don't care. I was just taunting you before I kill you and your precious cousins. The useless ones, I mean," Jennifer grinned maliciously. "I think I'll keep Derek around."

Olivia harshly snapped her jaw together, speaking through her clenched teeth, "Stay away from them."

"I would but I won't," Jennifer giggled. "See, you were my target. Deucalion wants you and you're powerful. If I kill you now, he won't be able to use you against me."

Olivia's heart started to race and her own name was starting to be repeated over and over in her head. Scott had to know that Lydia had disappeared and that she never made it to the auditorium. She had to stall so he could get there. "So, you're doing this to go up against the alpha pack?"

"Correct. Let's just say that you don't know the alphas like I do," Jennifer twisted the garrote in her hands and stepped behind Olivia. "And because they currently don't know my plan, I think Lydia is going to have to go, too. She knows too much. First, she can watch you die."

"No, no, no," Olivia said frantically, locking her scared eyes on Lydia, who stared fearfully back at her.

"Stop!" Lydia whimpered. "Stop, stop!"

Jennifer didn't stop. Before she could fully press the garrote against Olivia's throat, she forcefully tore the duct tape around her right hand and slipped it between her flesh and the cord. She gasped as the cord dug into her fingers. "Lydia!"

As if they had rehearsed, Lydia let out the loudest scream that had ever passed through her lips. Olivia screamed only a second later, unable to fight the urge that came from Lydia's tether. It was kind of weird, warning people of your own death.

Olivia's scream died out first and then a couple seconds later, so did Lydia's. Jennifer dropped the garrote from her hands, letting it hang on Olivia's neck, and walked over to stand in front of Lydia.

"Unbelievable," she gasped, studying Lydia intently. "You're a banshee. A wailing woman, right before my eyes. You're just like me, Lydia. Look like the innocent flower but be the serpent under it."

"She's nothing like you," Olivia spoke up fiercely, her voice hoarse.

Jennifer shrugged, the comment not bothering her. "It's too bad, though, and too late," she walked back over to Olivia, taking her place behind her and picking up the garrote. The garrote pulled tightly around Olivia's neck, making her choke. "One last philosopher."

Olivia couldn't breathe. There was no room for her trachea to move, causing her to suffocate. It was almost as if she could feel her throat being crushed, causing her to panic and squirm around in the chair, kicking her feet to try to fight back.

Olivia...Olivia...OLIVIA, OLIVIA, OLIVIA!!!!

"Stop, stop!" Lydia shouted frantically, choking on her tears as she watched Jennifer pull out a knife from her person and hold it up to Olivia's throat; the second part of the three-fold death.

"Drop it!" a new voice joined Lydia's.

With Jennifer sufficiently distracted, the garrote dropped from Olivia's neck. She took in a deep breath, her throat sore inside and out. Something urged her to look over at who had interrupted Jennifer, but she recognized the voice. Noah had ran into the classroom, gun cocked and aimed right at the darach.

As soon as she laid eyes on her boyfriend's father, Jennifer whipped the knife that was going to be used on her at him. It lodged itself into his shoulder so forcefully that it splayed him flat on his back. Noah wasn't technically in her pack, but he was someone Olivia cared for very much; that meant that she knew he was in danger, but he wasn't going to die. She couldn't explain it, but there was a different between the whispers that warned her of a pack member in danger and then the ones that warned her of the pack member's death. Noah was okay, for now.

Jennifer turned back to Olivia, intending to finish what she started, but a roar filled the room. Scott had arrived, his werewolf features fully on display as he snarled at Jennifer. He lunged at her, but Jennifer easily dodged each of his blows. She was more powerful than him and the way she sent him flying across the room and into a pile of desks proved it.

Olivia didn't know exactly what Jennifer did to him, but it was obvious that she did something else to him. Scott was spitting up blood and hitting desks that didn't weigh much didn't seem like it would do something like that to him.

She whimpered through the pain in her throat, "Scott!"

Her attention was dragged away from Scott as Jennifer slid her desk across the room and right into the door, slamming it closed. Before she could even wonder why Jennifer had done that, she saw Stiles' head pop into view from the small window at the top of the door. He was slamming his whole body against it, but with the weight of the desk, it wouldn't budge. He couldn't get into the room.

With Stiles and Scott taken care of, Jennifer focused on Noah, who had grabbed his gun, got to his knees, and aimed it at her.

"There was a girl," he said tiredly as Jennifer took slow steps toward him. "years ago. We found her in the woods, her face and body slashed apart. That was you, wasn't it?"

Jennifer glared at him. "Maybe I should've started with philosophers with knowledge and strategy."

She closed in on Noah and he pulled the trigger, shooting in her in her right thigh; Jennifer simply shook it off and continued on to him. "Healers," she grabbed him by the knife in his shoulder and held him high in the air, the blade slicing through the fleshy part of his shoulder. "Warriors..." she ripped his badge off of his shirt and crushed it with her fingers. "Guardians...Virgins..."

"God, leave him alone!" Olivia shouted to the best of her ability as Jennifer placed a wet kiss against Noah's mouth. Jennifer's face warped into a horrifying figure and screeched while she grabbed Noah and flew toward the windows. "No!"

Jennifer had disappeared with Noah. Scott had woken up from whatever daze Jennifer had put him in and the force that was shoving the desk against the door had disappeared. While Scott had rushed toward Lydia—on Olivia's insistence; the redhead was unconscious from the blow Jennifer had landed on her—Stiles rushed into the classroom and to the windows.

"Dad?" there was no answer to Stiles' call and it hit them all like a punch to the gut. "Dad?!"

(Gif is not mine)

[scalpel-mom-mori]

The Colors of Yukichi Fukuzawa

It was so long ago that only a few even remember it, but at one time, Fukuzawa too was an angry young man.

This was supposed to be funny, I’m sorry. It just kind of turned into angst there at the end, oops.

Based on this post, submitted by Aure. Dedicated to @sword-dad-fukuzawa

Slight AU where Fukuzawa and Mori went to high school together lol. Did I steal Aure’s storytelling POV? Yes I did. Reblogs and comments highly encouraged.

POV you’re modern!smol dazoo from Temple on a Hill that asked Sensei for a bedtime story.

Oh? A story? Well, I don’t have any stories I should really be telling to someone your age. Especially right before bed.

No, I take that back. I do have one. Just one, so it’s the only one I’ll ever tell.

This was at least twenty years ago, maybe more, but I remember it well. I nearly had a heart attack when Yukichi started dyeing his hair. Even at that age, he looked like an old man in some ways, what with that grey hair. Even at this age, he moves like a much younger man, the likes of which I never could approach. He’s just timeless like that.

But that day I couldn’t quite be sure if it was truly Yukichi that I was looking at. He wore his hair in a high ponytail when we were in high school, and he arrived at our usual meeting place with acid green highlights beneath his ponytail.

“They’re hideous,” I told him. He didn’t mind.

It might not seem like it, but Yukichi was an angry man in his youth. He was the sort of person that was angry with the world. To this day, his soul rails against injustice, but he wears a well-respected face.

“You don’t have to like them,” is what he told me. “Where are we having brunch?”

I could have laughed. “You’re not even wearing your uniform today.”

He shrugged. “Why should I tell them who to report me to?”

At this, I really did laugh. “What’s gotten into you?” You know what he’s like these days, with those intense, inscrutable stares. You’re still quite intimidated by him. His eyes were just as intense back then, but they burned with something like passion.

One of these stares he levelled at me. Back then, I was nowhere near as accustomed to those stares. Yukichi doesn’t look at someone he’s speaking to unless he’s very close with them or very displeased. “What does that mean?” The longer you know Yukichi, the less he expresses himself. Back then, anyone walking past would know my friend was upset with me.

“I just thought you liked a nice veneer of respectability,” I said.

The disgust in his face said clearly what his voice did not. Such deception is your forte.

Perhaps it is, but that’s nothing to worry yourself over. I assure you, in our high school days, Yukichi and I were both as fresh and green as any high school boys can be.

“Of course. You look good, if you didn’t look like you were going to go murder someone,” I amended. “How does Chinese sound?”

Yukichi, I will take care to note, was also quite sulky while we were in school.

Though, perhaps all boys are at that age.

Still, he expressed no additional offense besides over the comment about murdering someone.

Over our meal, I found myself amused over how he drank tea like an old man. “Truly, how do you convince me to ditch with you?” I asked.

As if to cover up any face he would have made at me, he picked up his steaming cup and drank. I continued staring at him, long after he set his drink down and began eating.

But Yukichi was as stubborn as he is now. Perhaps even more so.

“You know there’s no longer enough time,” is all he says.

Even then, I knew what he meant. Already in our second year, there would never again be enough time for everything we wanted to do anymore, and Yukichi… well, he already had his career lined up for him. The first part of it, anyway.

I frowned, half-teasing. “Well, I need to study hard to get into the medicine program,” I replied, “and skipping classes doesn’t help that.”

Yukichi’s eyes felt like a whole sky on my chest. “Then go,” he said.

I have to admit, I was rather hurt, but Yukichi was never one to mince words. Nor was he one, in our youth, to speak with much tact. But there was some cunning in that statement. And I let him have it.

“I didn’t mean that,” I told him quickly, “And I know you didn’t either.”

Yukichi’s eyes slid away from me, back to his food.

Yes, he did mean that. If I wanted to, I could leave him to self-destruct under the weight of his future. But he and I both knew that I wouldn’t.

The next time I saw him, the streaks were purple. A rather pleasant shade, too. Rather odd with his particular coloring, but at least it didn’t burn to look at. He’d tied his hair in something of a messy bun, and had a pen sticking out of it, rather like one of those ladies you see painted on silk screens.

“What does the maiden require of me today?” I asked with a mocking bow. Yukichi looked annoyed, but didn’t argue.

“Lunch. You’re paying.” I suppose I brought that one on myself.

I made a face. “You say such things with a straight face,” I complained. “Only if you wear a hairpin.”

However, today, Yukichi had the face to agree without hesitation.

The nerve of him! It vexes me to this day. It certainly didn’t help that he was tall enough that most wouldn’t notice the thing unless they were looking, and no one looks Fukuzawa Yukichi in the eye. Not even back then.

Well, I do, but that’s a different matter altogether.

So we bought a hairpin from a shop that sold trinkets for pocket change. Yukichi somehow kept a straight face when the clerk wished my girlfriend and me a happy relationship. I could barely manage the same. Despite the fact that Yukichi had probably killed a man by this point in life, I couldn’t help but be amused by the thought.

With a perfectly serious expression, he tucked it in his hair and turned to me. “It’s not crooked, is it?”

I pouted, knowing full well that this was his way of asserting, as he did without fail at that time, that he was taller than me by nearly a head. “Well, I can’t tell from this angle.”

So, maintaining his neutral face, he crouched so I could see. This was the last straw. “Oh, the nerve of you! It’s fine!” I shouted, nearing tears. This man was willing to play this far to humiliate me. But, I should have known at the time that Yukichi saw no shame in femininity.

I still had to buy today, and Yukichi decided to thin out my wallet with fast food and the nicest bakery he had the nerve to suggest to me.

Ah, but only for him would I have ever suffered such humiliation. These days, he wouldn’t subject me to them. Only to frown at me disapprovingly, as though he has some moral high ground.

And I suppose he does, these days.

He grew out of being an angry young man.

The last time I saw him before he went underground, he had a shock of red in his bangs. I was well into preparing for premed at the time, and had little energy to argue with him, but something else kept even me from teasing him about the color. In those two years, he’d worn every imaginable color besides red. He hated red, so it was rather curious that he would pick it for his hair. He wore his hair half up to keep it out of his face.

He was dressed in his usual traditional attire, but he carried a sword now. It was Christmas, after we had graduated, and he had aged a decade.

His hair had always made him look older than he was, even now. He looked younger with the splashes of color to soften the grey. But it was his eyes this time. They were tired, and one hand rested lightly on the handle of his weapon the whole walk. We spoke very little, absent of all the teasing we did during school. But, it wasn’t all bad. This was what he wanted anyway. Almost nineteen, and he had a despair in his face that men three times his age rarely knew. Still, we went to that bakery he loved when we were in school. I bought him his favorite pastry from memory, and this seemed to soften the weight in his heart.

Very little was said the whole time we ate.

Yukichi always left abruptly. He does still, as I’m sure you know. Still, there are usually signs. Today, he licked one finger and stood. He was almost out of earshot by the time I had realized what happened. “Keep in touch!” I called after him.

I could have sworn I heard, carried by the wind one word. “Can’t.”

Another two steps, another two footprints between us, and from the half bun on the back of his head, the little flowered hairpin I’d bought him caught the light through the dull snow-grey world.

[puggledy-huggledy-is-not-a-pig]

If You Want To Get Warm You Must Stand Near The Fire (Parts 8 & 9)

Warnings: Angst (most of it mine :P)

Very Important Note: I have been staring at this for hours and days. I hate, hate, hate, writing sex scenes. I just feel so awkward doing it, and I hate it, because I want Hope and Guy to make beautiful love :( If anyone wants to write them for me, I will be grateful, give you credit, send you puppies, or whatever else you ask. For now, after spending hours reading other people’s erotica trying to breathe some life to my fossilised imagination, I’m just going ahead and posting this. I’m not tagging anyone this time, because frankly I’m too embarrassed and cross at myself that I can’t even do this in the privacy of my own mind. If you think it’s not completely cringe worthy, throw me a comment or a reblog. I promise I’ll try to get over myself and tag people next time. Ok you’ve all been encouraging nd lovely so I will stop being a giant infant and tag people for this too. Thanks, and sorry if I seemed to be high maintenance compliment-fishing!

After that day, Hope was amazed to see a side to Guy that she never expected. That night he showed up in her bedroom, smiling like the cat that got the cream; she moved to make space for him and he spent the night draped over her, much to the disgust of Falkor, who had been displaced to the foot of the bed. He did the same again the next night, and the next, and it quickly became a routine.

During the day they would potter along companionably, Guy slowly exploring and learning more about how everything worked. Hope had imagined that he would have a hard time with a lot of modern concepts and inventions, but to her surprise and relief, Guy was stoically accepting of most things. It seemed like, once he had fixed in his mind the fact that this was the year 2020, he just expected that a lot of things would not make sense. Guy, thought Hope, was the most practical man she’d ever met. He was far from unintelligent, but surrounded with all this newness, he didn’t bother with the how and why -he just methodically collected every new skill she showed him and moved on to the next one.

She also discovered that he had a really dry sense of humour, when he let himself show it. He had this habit of looking up for a reaction when he made a joke -Guy was a man who liked an audience, Hope was realising.

He never offered her any words of affection during the days, although in unspoken ways he was behaving very differently than he had before.

From being stiff and distant he became surprisingly tactile, always touching her back, running a hand down her arms, breathing in her ear... Then, every evening, they got in the same bed, had sex, and slept holding each other through the night.

It was a fragile equilibrium, and Hope was finding herself holding her breath. She was very aware that things couldn’t stay like this for too long. One way or another, Guy would have to move on soon.

Chapter 9

One evening, Hope was sitting up in bed with Guy’s head on her lap. She was ostensibly reading a book, but in reality kept peering over the top at his eyelashes casting a shadow on his pale cheeks, his long nose, his thin, clever lips. He was drowsy, looking relaxed, but his fingers kept dancing just under the hem of her shirt.

I’m getting too attached... she thought to herself.

He’s not some stray you can adopt, Poppet, Gran’s voice was in her head again, spelling out her thoughts like she had when she was alive. Hope sighed, and closed her book.

“Guy?”

“Mmmmm?”

“Sing me a song...”

“Mmm.” His fingers travelling higher, playing with her breast. “There are better ways to pass the time.”

“Come on, sing me a song!”

Amused, she flicked his nose, and he glared at her.

“I’m not a minstrel!”

“And I’m not Freddie Mercury, but you still got me to sing.”

“Ah, but that was for your own good.”

“So is this. I’m getting bored, I might leave in a minute,” she teased him.

“I don’t know any songs,” Guy groaned, then gave up when Hope pretended to be getting up.

“Paura pichona,

Perqué plorar?

Lo niu d'ironda

Va s'envolar.

Paura pichona,

Cal pas plorar,

Ambe l'aureta

Lo niu vendrà.

Paura pichona,

Consòla-te,

Lo niu d'ironda

Tornarà ben.”

“That’s lovely,” breathed Hope. “What is it?”

Guy blinked. “It’s a lullaby,” he said, “my mother used to sing it. I didn’t think I’d remember it.”

“What language is that?”

“Occitan. My mother was French.”

“Tell me about your life, before,” Hoped asked him, and Guy was torn. On the one hand, having someone want to get to know him better was a very nice feeling, and not one he was accustomed to. On the other hand he really didn’t feel like going back, even just in his mind. What good could possibly come from it? Everything he had worked for all these years was gone, and all that was left was the taint.

He compromised by shrugging and keeping it short. “Not much to tell. I worked for the Sheriff for years, ran things for him. I was...” (Feared? Loathed?) “...respected,” was what he settled on.

“Do you want to go back?” Hope hated how needy she sounded, but she couldn’t help herself. Don’t go back...

Guy shook his head. “No. Things got... bad. There’s nothing left for me there.” There really isn’t, he thought bitterly. All these years of putting up with Vaisey’s whims and humiliations, all the bits of himself he had had to amputate and shed in the process of rebuilding the Gisborne name and fortune, and there was nothing to show for it all.

“No... family?”

“No.” None to speak of...

Guy had had enough of these questions, now. What difference did it make, picking at the past like a scab? He had lost everything and had to start from scratch before, and, although he would never have chosen it, it appeared he had to do the same again. So be it. Guy was surprised to find the thought didn’t bother him as much as it should have. All the ambition that drove him for so many years had been burnt away, turned to ashes in the blaze that was Marian’s death, and in its place a need for revenge had grown like a twisted, blackened tree that had survived a forest fire. But now, after being away for just a few days, his appetite for revenge had left him. Let Isabella have Nottingham, let Hood have Sherwood. They could kill each other, for all he cared, he was done. I want to stay here... With Hope, Guy realised. Why not? He liked being around her, she had the means to help him, and she responded to him in a way that was very... flattering. She sure as hell was a better choice of someone to throw his lot in with, than Vaisey had been, Guy knew.

No one would accuse him of having a poet’s soul, but Hope reminded him of the sun-drenched fields in France. She reminded him of the Earth. She was generous, and nurturing, and warm, and vast, and heavy, and, Guy thought, she grounded him.

“Your turn,” he said, changing the subject. “And none of those songs about the men you killed.”

Hope giggled. “I’ve told you, that was Freddie Mercury. We’ve got to do something about your musical education.”

“Now seems a good time to start!”

“Right, ok...” Hope scrunched her forehead, trying to think of a song. “I know, this is one my dad used to sing to me when I was a teenager and got in a strop.

#In the crazy world

Anything can happen

If you will it to

I'm just a hazy girl

Blurring all the edges

Only seeing blue

It's a wild hope

A wild hope

A wild hope

Everything will be alright.”

“Wild Hope, hmmm?” Guy murmured against her neck. “I’d like to hear more about that...”

Guy is back in Locksley, about to get married.

“Are you married, Thornton?”

“I was. She died, years ago.”

“Did your wife... understand you?”

“I’d like to think so, yes.” The old servant’s kindly face twists into a mocking parody of itself. “We were both human, you see. So we could understand each other. No one understands you... because there is no humanity left in you, is there, Gisborne? No heart... Just the howling void.

Don’t look inside you Gisborne. You know what they say happens, when you look into the abyss... It looks back.”

Thornton’s face twists again, morphing into Vaisey.

“Lepers, Gisborne... You were always running after lepers. I wonder why that is, hmmm? Could it be -rot calling to rot? Like father, like son, eh?”

Maggots are squirming out of Vaisey’s eyes now, he smiles widely and his jeweled tooth winks at Guy. “My boy...” The Sheriff leans close, his carrion breath stroking Guy’s face like a promise. “I made you. I know you...”

“Nooooo...”

“What is it, Guy?” It’s Marian’s voice, and he opens his eyes and sees her smiling, looking down at him. “It’s just a nightmare, it’s not real.” She strokes his forehead with her cool fingers, and pulls up the blankets, tucking him in.

“It’s not real, none of it was ever real, you stupid boy... Only the sand, the sand is real and it gets COLD, Guy, I’m COLD, it’s COLD where you sent me.”

And the floor turns to sand, the bed turns to sand, it’s in Guy’s mouth, in his nostrils, and everything goes dark.

“Paura pichona,

Consòla-te,

Lo niu d'ironda

Tornarà ben.”

“Mother? I destroyed everything, mother...”

“Shhhh, Fiéu mèus. It’s fine. Nothing is destroyed, just changing. Lo niu tornarà ben, remember.

Look, the door is open. Go out in the sun for a bit, it will do you good.”

# It’s a wild hope,

A wild hope,#

“-everyone deserves to be loved-“

#A wild hope,

Everything will be alright.#

Hope started awake in the middle of the night. Guy was kicking her, tangled in the covers, obviously having a nightmare. She reached over to turn the bedside light on, intending to wake him up, but then he suddenly sat up, calling out her name.

“Hope!”

“Shhh... I’m here.”

Before Hope could ask what was wrong, Guy was on her like a starving man, kissing her desperately, cupping her breasts, pressing against her like he was trying to bury his whole self inside her. He was holding her so tightly that it was almost hurting her, but Hope couldn’t bring herself to care. Something had changed. Guy’s teeth and tongue were all over her, and Hope could feel him tremble. She had never realised how much he held back every other time she’d been with him. Instinctively, she put her hands on his face and kissed him back, keeping her eyes on his. She just felt like, more than anything else, he needed to be seen..

Guy pulled his head back and looked at her. His pupils were so dilated that his blue eyes looked almost black.

“Tell me you want to be with me,” he begged.

“I want to be with you.”

He moaned and reached between her legs, pulled her underwear aside and pushed inside her.

“Say it again.”

“I want to - Oh! - I want to be with you. I want you to stay with me. Guy! I love you...”

He rained kisses all over her face, thrusting, and it was all over so quickly; but that felt right, too. She stroked his face and kissed him, and Guy stared at her, lost for words.

“Hope... You deserve to be loved. I don’t know that there’s enough good left in me to do that.”

She kissed him again, and spoke his words back to him. “Hush. I know it’s hard. But it hurts more if you fight it.”

Notes:

*The Occitan lullaby is this one: https://www.mamalisa.com/?t=es&p=3877

Can’t say I’m sure how old it is, but I’m sure Ghislaine would have sung something similar.

*The song Hope sings is Wild Hope, by Mandy Moore.

*Fiéu mèus: my son

Lo niu tornarà ben: The nest will come back again.

Tagging: @whofriend @moony-artnstuff @fizzyxcustard @tigereyesf @guylty @xxbyimm @dumbassunderthemountain @aspookybunny @patanghill17 @ruthoakenshield

[worldoffanficskpopcpop]

Hwang Hyunjin AU Fanfic Recommendation Masterlist

Hello! Welcome to my fanfic recommendations! If you would like to see other groups or other content in regards to this artist or their group, please click the links below! All of the masterlists/posts I’ve made will always be updated when I find new content or scenarios! Feel free to recommend me some blogs to check out! Also, you like my fanfic recommendations, please like and/or reblog so that more people can see it! I will release more groups as time goes on!

Go Back to Stray Kids’ Main Masterlist

Go Back to All Group Masterlist

Boxer AU

Bloody Knuckles: You wish Hyunjin would tell you when he has his match in advance, not like three days before it

Camp AU 

enemies to lovers!: camp counsellors y/n and hyunjin never get along,, until y/n drowns and hyunjin has to save them 

CEO AU 

sincerely,: Being the company’s youngest CEO of one of the top soju brands in the country does not get easier as the days pass. You’re forever thankful for your assistant, hwang hyunjin, who knows everything about you and what it takes to keep your head on your shoulders.

Delivery Boy!Hyunjin

Pizza Boy: you’re a usual customer at the pizzeria your friends work at, ordering pizza whenever there’s no food in your house; but when you realized the new delivery boy is super cute and makes your heart stop, what do you do? Order pizza all the time, obviously

Detective!Hyunjin 

Secret Panels and Paperwork: Seoul Police Headquarters is much more interesting than your old job, particularly the detective you’re now shadowing 

Husband & Dad!Hyunjin 

Fuck the Neighbors: Your son was a bit hyper today but Hyunjin was not in a good mood 

Told You: How do you lose a kid?!

Welcome Back: Hyunjin is away on tour and comes home early to surprise you and your guys’ son

Idol!Reader

A Bump in the Road: You and Hyunjin started secretly dating after your groups did a joint performance. Things don’t really go as planned when a jealous JYP trainee finds out and tells on you, but that only leads to defiance

“Baby.”:  You had a cute nickname and perhaps Hyunjin calls you that while you’re hosting a live broadcast.

Focus: You are an idol and have a collab stage with Hyunjin when you injured your ankle. Not wanting to burden him, you kept your injury to yourself... Maybe you should’ve told him beforehand.

idol!reader meeting hyunjin backstage: You, an idol known for your dancing skills, bumped into Hyunjin of Stray Kids backstage at an award show.

My Idiot: Dispatch sucks and posted pictures of our date

Rules: How did you end up in Hwang Hyunjin’s bed?

show: We got married show

Stages: He wanted to do a stage with me but wasn’t able too.

The Lovers Dance: Being a trainee is burdensome, but when there’s someone to help share those burdens, you begin to see the lighter side of things

Mafia AU 

Light and Darkness: Life with Hyunjin is sweet, Sweeter than you thought it would be. Darker than you wanted it to be

Photographer AU 

picturesque:  in which you fall in love with photographer!hyunjin 

Rich Boy!Hyunjin 

the city and you:  in which a rich city boy is forced to live in the countryside, but along the way, he meets you

Royal AU 

At War: Your country is at war with another, and your father sends you (the crown princess) to meet with the opposing country’s prince in an attempt to settle things

Magical: Hyunjin wants to fix his kingdom. The child of the person who destroyed it in the first place is the only one who can help

Whimsical: Prince Hyunjin was charming, whimsical and undoubtedly handsome, so when he visits your kingdom, you might just be swept off your feet

School AU 

Break a Leg: “And of course, you’d fallen very, very, very hard for him”

Bruised Knuckles: “His name’s Hyunjin. He apparently has a reputation in this town. No one messes with him, no one tests his word, he’s like a bad cliche of some sort.”

Heart Shot: You knew there was a reason you hated college parties, but this one was certainly a golden exception to your list 

Hyunjin asking you out: Hwang Hyunin. The innocent heartthrob of your high school. The person everyone admired, and the person you never really thought anything about 

Kisses in the library: You two are trying to study together in the library but Hyunjin has something else in mind.

Love At First Dance: the person you thought was special to you shunned you, rejected you. There is a prince charming to save you, and you see it only as an unemotional form of revenge. But you soon realise he could mean more to you than anyone in the world.

Lovelorn: The state of being sad because of the problems love brings. Stupid projects mean even stupider decisions when you’re in college 

Muse: where he wanted an easy grade but it was your favorite subject and now he’s helplessly infatuated

Nothing More: you are best friends with Hyunjin, the most popular guy at school.

Pretty Cute: The moment Hwang Hyunjin snatched the unofficial confession from your desk (which he was definitely not supposed to read), you knew you were royally screwed

Smoke: You’re  an infamous school druggie, always coming to school with bloodshot eyes, purple  bags, and cracked, bloodied lips. Rumors are nothing new to you, and in all honesty you don’t fight them - you don’t want to waste time on meaningless drama, after all. Everything starts to change, in a way, when a quiet easily amused boy comes to your school - and you wouldn’t have had it any other way

tell me again (why i love you): hyunjin confesses his love for you (or not quite) after he decided it would be fun to pin you to the lockers in the boy’s changing room. 

Soulmate AU 

Filling the World with Color: in a universe where soulmates share the common factor, which is having matching hair colors. out of everyone, you’re soulmate happens to be hwang hyunjin, the boy who doesn’t know how to stop dying his hair.

full of love: when hyunjin’s world becomes dim

it’s knot you:  Two people connected by the red string of fate are destined to be lovers regardless of circumstance. What happens when the red cord malfunctions and miraculously appears between two strangers?

Lavender Flowers:  “Let's get married.”

Lucky Ducky: If it wasn’t for your rubber ducky, maybe you wouldn’t have met your soulmate 

Purple Looks Good on You: In a world of various soulmate bonds - you’d landed yourself with a reciprocal pain bond - the only problem was your soulmate had a tendency to get into fights.

Sweet Tooth: While most of your friends are connected to their soulmates by tattoos, dreams, or voices inside their heads, you are connected to yours by taste; it wouldn’t seem so bad if it wasn’t for the fact that everything they ate was sweet 

Symbols: Everyone is born with a symbol that matches with their soulmate, except you and one certain boy 

that was the end of it:  hyunjin asked you to tie his string of fate to someone else, to manually change his soulmate, when he didn’t know you were his soulmate. you did it. 

Time Travel AU 

2030: Jisung has a time-machine and somehow you and Hyunjin end up in the year 2030

back in time: You fall in love with the most unexpected person at the most unexpected time

bits of stardusts:  traveling back in time is fun, especially when hyunjin wants to know all about modern day life Time Travel AU Part 2

forward in time:  A prince from the Goryeo Dynasty in the twenty-first century only calls for trouble.

Waiter!Hyunjin 

Double Date Disaster: you’re dragged to a horrible double date but maybe it gets better

[mittensmorgul]

wheee monday! back to the tnt loop! 1.22 gives us a lot...

Bobby, most of all. And the beginning of our Good Practical Demon Knowledge. Not our Christo’s and our Two Part Exorcisms that make the demon wildly more dangerous before sending it to Hell. We learn that demons can keep otherwise dead or dying meatsuits alive, and exorcising them can kill the human trapped inside. We get all of this demonstrated for us via Meg. And we learn a bit more about where Dean’s ultimate moral lines are drawn:

Dean: Sam, there’s an innocent girl trapped somewhere in there. We’ve go to help her. Bobby (comes up to them): You’re gonna kill her. Dean: What? Bobby: You said she fell from a building. That girl’s body is broken. The only thing keeping her alive is that demon inside. You exorcise it – that girl is going to die. Dean: Listen to me, both of you, we are not gonna leave her like that. Bobby: She is a human being. Dean: And we’re gonna put her out of her misery. Sam, finish it.

(which will become interesting again in 4.02... the things they didn’t know at the time literally coming back to haunt them in new and bigger ways because of something new they’re just learning about... which is exactly what makes the spiral narrative spin. The same thing over and over again isn’t interesting, they need to keep leveling up, being forced to build on their knowledge and understanding and applying it to the next degree of cosmic problem, only to learn some more and compound their understanding, only to level up yet again.)

We also learn what’s “normal” for the supernatural world:

Bobby: Normal year, I hear of, say, three demonic possessions. Maybe four, tops. Dean: Yeah? Bobby: This year I hear of 27 so far. You get what I’m saying? More and more demons are walking among us – a lot more. Sam: Do you know why? Bobby: No, but I know it’s something big. The storm’s coming, and you boys, your Daddy – you are smack in the middle of it.

Heck they so did not want this, nor ask for it.

We still don’t really understand Azazel’s motives in possessing/kidnapping John outside of the fact he now needs to reverse his trap, use what he does have, and hope Sam and Dean are just as unable to resist saving John as he was to save them. In the most immediate terms, he just needed the Colt off the playing field. (heh, was he gonna store it in Ramiel’s armory for safekeeping I wonder, or just flat-out destroy it like Dagon did?)

We get our first “whoops they killed a dog, so they’re now irredeemable” when Meg shows up at Bobby’s and kills his dog. (cue 13 years of “Dean is a dog” imagery)

We also get both Meg and Azazel taunting Sam and Dean over the fact that they killed Mary:

Meg: Jeez. You kiss your mother with that mouth? Oh wait, I forgot, you don’t.

and

John/YED: What? You’re the only one that can have a family? You destroyed my children. How would you feel if I killed your family? (he smiles at Dean) Oh, that’s right. I forgot. I did. Still, two wrongs don’t make a right.

And they’re not wrong... for all we learn about Dean’s personal moral code, we also learn his exception:

Dean: Killing that guy, killing Meg. I didn’t hesitate, I didn’t even flinch. For you or Dad, the things I’m willing to do or kill, it’s just, uh .... it scares me sometimes. John: It shouldn’t. You did good. Dean: You’re not mad? John: For what? Dean: Using a bullet. John: Mad? I’m proud of you. You know, Sam and I, we can get pretty obsessed. But you – you watch out for this family. You always have. Dean: Thanks.

When “John” asks for the Colt a moment later, this is where Dean draws another line. He knows it’s not John. In the standoff, “John” and Dean play a weird game of “calling the puppy to them” when Sam questions what’s going on, why Dean has the Colt pointed at “John.”

Tell me this doesn’t sound EXACTLY like 14.20:

Sam: Dean? What the hell’s going on? John: Your brother’s lost his mind. Dean: He’s not Dad. Sam: What? Dean: I think he’s possessed. I think he’s been possessed since we rescued him. (He starts to get upset.) John: Don’t listen to him, Sammy. Sam: Dean, how do you know? Dean (fighting back tears): He’s .... he’s different.

vs

SAM: Our entire lives. Mom, Dad -- everything. This is all you because you wrote it all, right? Because -- Because what? Because we're your favorite show? Because we're part of your story? CHUCK: Okay, Dean, no offense, but your brother is stupid and crazy. And that kid is still dangerous. So pick up the gun. Pick it up... pull the trigger... and I'll bring her back. Your mom. DEAN: No. (Dean takes a few steps back to stand side by side with Sam)

“Your brother’s lost his mind” about Dean, vs “your brother is stupid and crazy” about Sam. Both times, Dean holding Magical Kill Everything Guns and pointing them at yellow-eyed monsters. Dean facing killing his father in 1.22, and someone he considers a son in 14.20. And he couldn’t do it either time, not to get revenge, not to kill the current concept of “Ultimate Evil and Danger” to the world. And yet another parallel between John and Chuck, even if this was actually Azazel speaking here he was using John’s face to do it. This is the archetype of “toxic fatherhood” in the narrative from the jump.

Dean does get one good comeback in:

John: You know, you fight and you fight for this family, but the truth is they don’t need you. Not like you need them. Sam – he’s clearly John’s favorite. Even when they fight, it’s more concern than he’s ever shown you. Dean: I bet you’re real proud of your kids, too, huh? Oh wait, I forgot. I wasted ‘em.

And then after this bit of mental torture, because this is psychological torture for Dean here, the physical torture kicks in. The wounds look shockingly similar, in retrospect, to the ones the hellhound leaves on Dean in 3.16, claw marks down his chest. And both times, Dean is unwilling to kill the person he loves to stop the larger evil thing.

This is also our very first instance of what we’ve come to refer to as a “crypt scene.” Breaking through demonic possession or other mind control to reach a loved one. For a complete rundown, including a description of this scene in that context, please have the very long and complicated history here (excellent reading, btw. Click through the read more for the entire original post and then the s12+ additions in this reblog):

https://elizabethrobertajones.tumblr.com/post/167800948433/elizabethrobertajones-so-basically-you-cant

Just another thread of the big narrative spiral getting broken in 14.20.

And not related to anything I’ve said above, but because heh I find this amusing  as heck, just as a weird... production wtf. At the scene outside the Sunrise apartments, there’s two men (one man in the crowd of bystanders and one of the firemen he approaches) who it looks like they were scripted to be possessed by demons in this scene. Both men open their mouths and gasp at the supposed moment of possession. But we don’t see any smoke crawling down their throats. I figure it’s because it was the VFX crew who realized it was implausible for random smoke to be floating around outside a supposed scene of a fire in broad daylight, without drawing any sort of attention from anyone in the crowd. So instead of these demons simply “activating” and coming to the surface of the people they’ve already been possessing, we get this weird “invisible possession” gasp. Because of who I am as a person, my brain has decided these two people were already possessed, but the demons inside them were lying dormant until they were called up for service, like a couple of understudies being told they’re finally getting to take the stage. And they’re both inordinately delighted by this, to the point they do the lil “gasp of excited glee:”

ME?! YOU WANT  LIL OL’ ME TO HELP?! *omg okay this is actually happening, we are really doing this, i’m readY I’M READY I’M READY!*

alrighty then, moving on to season two now :’)

[famder-news]

Video Review Wednesday

Welcome back to another entry in our video review series! 

We are going back in time again, all the way back to near the start of the series to look at another early entry. This time it is;

Way Too Adult!

Video Length: 4:17

Characters in order of appearance: Thomas, Patton/Morality, ‘Steve the Stove’.

Watch it HERE

Thomas defends his shirt and yep, we are gonna see that one in numerous videos he has posted throughout the years. Like he said, let’s move on. 

This episode is very much an intimate one, just between Thomas and Patton as they discuss ways in which Thomas is succeeding - and many more ways in which he first considers himself to be failing - at becoming an adult and the things in which the world as a whole consider being part of being an adult. It all revolves around the issue of not being able to cook.

Thomas was clearly still working out what he wanted to do with this series, as evidenced by the fact that he calls Patton the ‘dad character’ from his vines. He also introduces a one off character in the form of fandom named ‘Steve the Stove’ which talks. This feels more like his shorts than anything else, an excuse to voice an inanimate object and explore a concept rather than actually talking through problems with various aspects of his personality. It is also the only episode where only one Side shows up. 

We know from later episodes that Thomas listening to one side to an overwhelming extent is not a good thing and it is interesting to note that out of all the sides, the only one that gets a pure solo episode is Morality. 

It isn’t the most consistent episode - a joke is introduced in the form of an alarm which goes off every time the word ‘adult’ is said, only to be abandoned after a few usages and before the dilemma of the episode has been resolved, and we have learnt that it isn’t actually scary to be an adult. At least, not all the time. 

What I like about this episode is how it sets up so many recurring themes throughout the rest of the series.

Perhaps the most important one, is of course, Patton’s incorrect use of the word ‘Adultery’. 

There is also the joke where someone’s face is insulted only to have to admit that they share the same face, a moment of bickering that will show up later. 

Cooking in general is also a reoccurring theme, although by later episodes it is in the form of the ads rather than actually showing in universe how he has grown. There is also another mention Thomas’ love of pizza. As well as his tendency to show his butt off whenever he can, something we’ve seen in the latest Sanders Sides video as well as this one. 

Some ‘problems’ still haven’t been addressed years down the line. 

The lesson is far simpler in this one than in later episodes, namely that there is no time limit to ‘growing up’ and that it is perfectly alright to learn at your own pace and hold onto the things you enjoy, no matter how childish they might seem at times. 

You don’t need to lose all sense of fun just because you reach a certain age. 

End Card

Again, this is more like a vine or Sanders Shorts than anything else. It is an amusing little moment but one that exists almost independently of the Sanders Sides Universe as we might understand it, and an experiment that Thomas pretty much completely abandons by later episodes, favouring the talking objects for his shorts alone. 

Stray Thoughts

Thomas’ little flailing noises are adorable. Pretty sure Patton starts making them in later episodes. 

Quotes 

“Your face is scary.”

“You realise we-”

“... have the same face. Yeah I messed up. This is not my day today.” - Thomas and Patton

“That is not a correct statement.”

“Hmm... I thought that was a thing.”

“It’s a thing. It’s just a different thing.” - Thomas and Patton on the subject of ‘Adultery’. 

“That’s... uh...a plastic plate.”

“Oh.. um.”

“You know you can’t put that on me, right?”

“Oh yeah, sure. Mmhmm... I knew.”

“I’m scared.”

“Me too.” - ‘Steve’ the Stove and Thomas 

Please feel free to leave comments/thoughts on a reblog or reply. Disagree with anything? Think we missed anything out in our review? Let us know! Have an awesome Sanders Sides video or your own that you would like us to cover in a future entry? Our Asks and Submissions are open!

~ Mod Aca

[larriefails]

Amy 28nachos know claims they don’t know who’s behind babygate. They literally get more deluded by the day and they don’t even realise it.

I mean, let’s break this down

When Larries started with their conspiracy theory, their initial target was Modest Management. I think it was mostly because they thouht they’d identified one of Modest’s employees in the background of some pictures of Louis and Eleanor and she was like a “beard handler”, you guessed it, they harassed her to hell and back

  They also believed Harry was crying here

Because Marco Gastel, another Modest Management employee asked to take Louis and Eleanor’s picture

Truth is Harry went outside without his sunglasses and the glare of the sun was hurting his eyes. He wasn’t crying. I don’t even know if that’s actually Marco taking their picture, not that it’d be in any way suspicious for Louis and Eleanor to ask someone to take their picture if it were

They spent all of 2012, 2013, and most of 2014 yelling Modest was closeting them against their will, they called them “management”

This one is long but boy it was funny to read

In late 2014 this wack ass theory started to crop up, I believe mostly from lapelosa, worshippedlove, stagtatto/handslows, and verily (all of them are either not Larries anymore or have abandoned their blogs), the theory was that Sony was on the Larry side and Modest was against them. Which is… incredibly amusing

When Harry started being spotted with Jeff and his family more and more, certain blogs started pretending to have insider knowledge about how Irving was actually going to sign the whole band and save Larry. These blogs were diggingandfluff, srslycris, lapelosa, larryappreciation, and some others that escape me now. They were 100% sure and even kept at it all the way into March of 2017, just five days before Harry announced his solo debut

Obviously Irving and Jeff didn’t sign the band. Jeff signed HARRY, which was something the “antis and hets” Larries love to disparage predicted all the way back to 2014/2015

So Larries now hate Jeff, they think he’s incompetent and the product of nepotism. They don’t admit to having been wrong for over three years, to have lied about having insider knowledge. Cris and Kati have justified Angela (lapelosa) by saying that she trusted sources when she shouldn’t have.. and you know what? I could excuse a naive Larrie trusting a “receipt” because it plays into what they want to believe and it doesn’t really have a big impact anyway, but Angela spent literal years saying over and over and over again that she knew for a FACT that Irving would sign 1D, that Harry wouldn’t go solo, that Louis and Harry were engaged, and Kati and Cris can play it off like “well we didn’t trust those things, she did” but they reblogged the posts and never raised their voices to say that they didn’t necessarily agree

The result of this is an endless wave of hate towards Jeff, who’s one of Harry’s best friends and welcomed him to his family, and also a lot of hate towards Harry from rads. Rads believe Jeff/Irving are actively working against Louis, that they’re the ones that designed “babygate” that it’s all to “lift Harry up”, that it’s putting the “burden of the closet” on Louis so Harry can be his “true self” and how incredibly unfair that is

But we’ll go back to this, first we have to establish who Larries blamed when the Modest vs Sony theory became visibly absurd and while Azoff was still seen as a good guy. Well, it was Simon Cowell

Simon became the root of all evil. Now, I don’t particularly like the guy, he’s shady and greedy, but he’s a music executive, they all are shady and greedy. That’s how they get to the top

For a long time the Larrie theory was that Syco was behind all of it, that they knew they were gonna lose the band because the original contract was ending and there was no way they were signing a new one. That Louis was the mastermind behind the band breaking away from Syco so Simon was punishing him with all the events of 2015. Then they found out that as they were cooking up those theories, Simon Cowell had sold part of his shares in Syco to Sony and now Sony was in charge. For a while, Larries continued to believe that Simon was punishing Louis, this time because he’d “cost him his empire” (Syco). Then they realized that made no sense, because Louis was still a dad and now Simon wasn’t even in charge, at least not completely, so though at that point they had already started hating on Sony, they laser focused their attention on them

That was the new evil that needed defeating. Sony, in general. But Simon/Syco aren’t good guys either and they also have a hand in this. But also Modest facilitated Sony/Syco’s plans, so they’re still evil. And throw Simon Jones PR there too, while you’re at it

To Rads, it’s mostly a combination of Rob Stringer (Sony’s current CEO) and Irving Azoff, with Simon Cowell as an evil puppet, and the reason for babygate is boosting Harry’s career. They say that Irving astroturfed (sent anons) to tumblrs to convince these blogs that he was their savior and he gaslighted the Larries into liking him only to BAM stab them in the back (instead of just admitting they were wrong and bought a bunch of bullshit from fake insiders and random anons on tumblr). This is really funny because there’s been a bunch of CEOs in Sony (like, three?) between 2012 and now, hell, Stringer wasn’t even CEO when “babygate” started

To Larries, it’s more unclear. It’s Simon Cowell but actually Sony? But Irving isn’t helping Louis either but Rusty and JGG were also evil and it’s just a giant salad. The reason behind it at this point is a big fat shrug. Punishing him because…? Some might spew a bit about Savan Kotecha and how Louis was a “thorn in their side” (so powerful yet so helpless) Some others will say closeting but in the same breath that babygate is still a thing even without Larry (which is all sorts of confusing)

In other words: their theories have never made sense, they’ve never stood the test of time. Time and again they’ve been proven wrong and at this point they don’t even know what they believe anymore. I fact, Twitter and Instagram will still have you believe the evil is Modest Management

—–

A small glossary of people and terms:

Syco was 1D’s original label. Simon Cowell owned it 50/50 with Sony Music. The band also had a deal with Columbia Records (a Sony subsidiary) in the US. In 2015, Sony bought a majority of Syco’s shares off Simon and they’re now the major owners of the company (which includes the music label and the TV production company behind America’s Got Talent, Britain’s Got Talent and the X Factor)

Irving Azoff is a very important music mogul who managed some of the biggest bands in the world (still does, actually). His son, Jeff, is Harry’s BFF and manager. Irving and Jeff merged their respective management companies (Jeff’s Full Stop and Irving’s Azoff Management) along with Brandon Creed’s management company and Tommy Bruce (Tommy Bruce was Jeff’s colleague at Creative Artists Agency, the world’s largest touring agency, they both left to form Full Stop in 2016)

Harry is currently signed to Columbia Records (both US and UK). He has a three album contract that he signed around June 2016

Louis is currently signed to Syco in the UK and Arista in the US. He was previously signed to Epic records. We don’t know any more details of this contract

[breezy-cheezy]

So. Here’s some art and a fic I’ve been holding onto for...about a year. I’ve been too nervous to post it anywhere because I don’t write, but my chances to post are running out so now or never! 

This is my take on why and how Keith knew Shiro when they met in the first episode. There weren’t many stories like this when I wrote it but I’m sure there are alot now but whatever, just take it. This follows the main scenes of the first episode, with some added details/headcanons and flashbacks added into the mix. Oh, and male pronouns for Pidge because this is from Keith’s early perspective. Beta’d by my lovely friend @x-i-l-verify~

This is also written in a completely platonic light. I love Keith and Shiro as surrogate brothers of sorts, and the team as a family, so if you reblog...

Please don’t tag any ships on this! Thank you!

    Looking Back (then Forward)

               He had to investigate. He had to. The signs had all indicated the same thing. Something important was arriving tonight, and he wanted, no, needed, to know what it was. Whatever crash landed on Earth continued to pull on him, to call to him, guiding him forward to the quarantine facility. His mind told him not to proceed, that it was foolish to enter a place he knew so little about (were there guards? How many? Any other defenses?)  and that technically was not supposed to exist. But his gut was telling him the exact opposite, and he usually listened to that anyway. It’s not like he had anything to lose. Keith pressed a small red button on the controller he held.

        Explosions boomed on the far horizon. Keith watched the guards run in the direction of the loud noises, a smug smile curling his lips. This was working better than he’d thought.

        Keith lowered his hover-bike behind a nearby boulder and leapt off, sprinting through the open doorway. He pulled the maroon bandanna up around his mouth to partially conceal his identity, but there was no one inside. All he found was a long, dark hallway, with a somewhat illuminated door at the end. There was someone yelling on the other side of that door, and this set Keith’s nerves on edge. There was something disturbingly familiar about that hysterical voice…it grew quieter as he proceeded forward.

        Upon opening the door, nothing happened immediately. After Keith’s eyes had time to adjust to the sudden bright, clinical light, he saw a few masked figures. They were puttering around a metal table, chattering in hushed tones and exchanging little vials and needles. Whatever voice he’d been hearing before had died down completely, replaced by heavy, ragged breathing.

        One of the scientists looked up to the doorway as if making to request assistance for something, but then sputtered off in shock. This alerted the entire room to Keith’s presence. He leapt into action before they could so much as take a step in his direction.

        Keith bobbed and weaved as he ran, kicking the legs out from under his opponents and sometimes even throwing them across the room. Keith was by no means the strongest person around, but these reedy little scientists stood no chance against his agility. What he lacked in strength he was able to make up for in using his opponents’ attacks against them. The brawl was easily won.

        Keith stepped over the unconscious scientists and toward the examination table, pulling the bandanna back down around his neck. There was a man dressed in dark rags lying on the table, but Keith couldn’t see his face. Was this the person that he heard screaming earlier? Judging by the steady rise and fall of his chest, he appeared to be asleep now. Drugged, perhaps?

        Keith reached over and carefully turned the man’s face towards himself. A shaggy shock of white hair splayed across his face and fell away, revealing an expression that was far from peaceful. Scars peppered the man’s face, a particularly nasty one running over the bridge of his nose. There was a certain familiarity about this man…Keith gasped softly, his eyes widening in realization.

        “Shiro…?”

~~ <> ~~

        “Keith.” A small boy just shy of ten years jumped a little, looking up at the sound of his name. Over the past month he’d been here, people had expressed their condolences but had generally left him alone. He didn’t mind. He preferred it actually. After his parents’ deaths, he’d been getting used to feeling alone. He figured it was necessary. They would have wanted him to be strong.

        Hearing his name startled him more than a little. He gazed at the matron curiously, never saying a word. The woman smiled sweetly. “There’s someone here to see you.”

        With that, she stepped to the side, and a young man took her place. The youth also smiled, but with a deep sadness settled into his expression. Keith couldn’t help but wonder why. The matron left them alone.

        “Hello Keith,” he began warmly, kneeling down to be at eye level with the boy. Keith stared at the young man with eyes full of curiosity, analyzing the dark hair and neat military uniform. The teen’s face was gentle and creased with faint laugh lines, even though he seemed to be only about sixteen years old. There was also something undeniably familiar about his eyes. Keith still said nothing.

        “My name is Shiro. You probably don’t remember me, but I was good friends with your father.” Shiro’s words were careful and sad, and Keith bowed his head slightly.

        “He’s dead.” Keith said bluntly, and he watched Shiro’s smile become even more pained. Hurt flared in Keith’s chest, but there was no point in dancing around the facts. Shiro placed a consoling hand on the boy’s shoulder. Keith almost shrugged it off, but chose not to.

        “I know. And I can’t even begin to imagine how sad that must make you feel,” Shiro answered softly. Keith bit his lip, not wanting to admit to the statement. He had to be strong. For his parents…

        But they’re not here anymore, are they? Keith began to shake.

        Shiro sighed. “I’m going to visit you as often as possible, okay? Your parents were good people. They were good to me. I’m sure they wouldn’t have wanted to leave you alone in the world.” He gently ruffled Keith’s unruly hair. “This is the least I could do for them. And for you.”

        Keith sniffed and stumbled forward, wrapping his arms around the teen’s shoulders. Shiro quickly returned the gesture, strong arms encircling the boy’s small form and protecting him from the world, even for just a moment. It was a lot like his father’s hugs.

        Keith began to cry.

~~ <> ~~

        He’s alive…Shiro is alive. Keith’s mind began racing with so many questions at once. Where had he been all this time? How did he end up here? Why did he look…so different?

        There was the sound of a distant door opening, and Keith snapped out of his thoughts. There was no time. He had to get out of here, and he wouldn’t be leaving alone.

        Keith whipped out his knife and cut the man loose from the straps binding him to the table. He then took an arm (the human one…Shiro’s right arm was cold, metal, and so unsettling and what happened to you--?) and pulled it across his shoulders. He was prepared to bear heavy weight, but was surprised to find that Shiro was actually pretty easy to carry, even as dead weight. For some reason, that did nothing to comfort Keith.

        There were voices and the sounds of people running in the hallway, making Keith grit his teeth in frustration. It seemed like reinforcements had already been sent to this location. He tightened his grip on his knife, prepared to fight his way out.

~~ <> ~~

        “Is everything alright, Keith? I got a call saying you were in trouble for something?”  Keith, now around twelve years old, continued sharpening his knife. He sat at the edge of his bed, kicking his feet rhythmically in the air. His brows were furrowed and his mouth was curled into what one could only call a pout. A corner of Shiro’s lips twitched upward in amusement. He sat down next to the boy.

        “Keith…what’s wrong?” The knife sharpening continued for a moment, and then, finally, Keith looked up. Shiro’s eyebrows rose in surprise.

        “They started it…”  Keith muttered bitterly, looking back down at the knife and allowing his bangs to once again fall over the dark bruise forming over his eye. “You should see the other guy.” He added as he listened to Shiro struggle in deciding if he should be angry or not.

        “Did…did you pull that knife on them?” he eventually settled on, horror, uncertainty, and an underlying note of anger coloring his voice. Keith’s head snapped up at the question, his uninjured eye wide with incredulity.

        “What!? No, no, nothing like that.” Keith sputtered, starting to fidget with the knife in question. “It’s…my dad gave me this, okay? Before h-he...I would never…this just...helps me calm down...” Keith gradually trailed off, and Shiro let out a sigh of relief, clapping the boy on the shoulder.

        “Good…good. That would have been really bad.” Keith snorted at that, his own way of agreement. His eyes gradually turned grim again.

        “They tried taking it from me. Those kids stole my knife.” His fidgeting with the knife increased. “I got so mad…it’s one of the last things I have of my family.” Shiro nodded in understanding, and a solemn silence fell over the room. After a few moments, he held out his hand.

        “May I?” Shiro asked. Keith stared for a moment, then hesitantly passed over the knife. Shiro gripped the handle in a fashion that Keith was unfamiliar with, and he blinked in confusion. Shiro smiled warmly. “You were holding it wrong.” He flicked his wrist slightly, the blade flashing. “You’re going to need to protect yourself, and probably other people someday. You know, once you’re out of the orphanage.” Shiro turned his gaze back to Keith. “I want you to be safe…mind if I show you how to use a knife correctly?”

~~ <> ~~

        The “reinforcements” Keith thought he heard coming actually turned out to be on the friendly side…if a bit annoying. Some were very annoying (honestly, he barely even remembered this “Lance” kid, what was he so upset about?) but he wasn’t naming names. In fact, Keith vaguely recognized the newcomer’s faces, but he could not for the life of him remember their names. However, he did share some common goals with these people. And at the moment, they were aiding in his rescue attempt, so he couldn’t complain too much.

        Even if they did end up weighing down his hover-bike. And the big one seemed like he was about to cry. He could not afford to slow down. Even with all these extra passengers, Keith was a highly experienced pilot. He knew what he was doing. He tossed back his head and glanced at Shiro slumped limply in the little newcomer’s arms. The kid’s grip looked tight, which was as much as he could ask for in this awful situation.

        Everyone started yelling in terrified protest as Keith drove full speed towards the cliffside. As long as they all held on tightly, they would be fine. A confident smile formed on his lips. He knew what he was doing.

        Keith drove off the side of the cliff.

~~ <> ~~

        At the age of sixteen, Keith finally did make it out of that orphanage. With Shiro’s help, he had been enrolled in the Galaxy Garrison. Shiro was an instructor there now, and he made it a point to not show any favoritism whatsoever during class, even to his friend. He was only doing his job, and Keith could appreciate that. Even so, Shiro made sure to express how much he expected from Keith; how much he believed in him. He could only do his best but…it felt nice, having someone who believed in him.

        In the end, Keith was not the brightest student, but he took to flying like a fish to water. After learning the essentials, piloting airships came easily and naturally to Keith. He liked the rush of flight; the way things looked so tiny on the ground, or how the clouds sped by as he flew. He liked how being in the air gave him complete control of his situation. Nothing had ever clicked with him as much as flying did, as if he were born to be in the air. Keith knew exactly what he was doing, and his future as a fighter pilot looked bright.

~~ <> ~~

        Despite the odds, they all escaped their pursuers with nary a scratch. Well…nothing that wasn’t already inflicted.

        Keith had invited this ragtag rescue team to his home base, giving them time to rest and recover. They had carried Shiro to a small couch on the side of the room, trying to make him as comfortable as possible. The large one—Hunk, he recently learned— hovered by Shiro’s side, hurriedly checking him over for any injuries that needed immediate attention. The small one—Pidge—sat nearby, handing over bandages and salves whenever asked. Hunk appeared to have a small emergency first aid kit packed with him, which seemed surprising to the rest of the group, but it only seemed practical to Keith. He had his own medical supplies, but it had been awhile since he had restocked. Hunk was better prepared, equipped with bandages, tools, and a couple of apparently homemade salves in a small pocket first aid kit. Keith was quite grateful for the extra assistance.

        That Lance guy could barely handle even a few moments of this and had already excused himself. Pidge seemed to be taking it all in stride, but the kid was young. Despite his clipped and clinical tone, his wide eyes and the slight tremor in his hands betrayed him. Hunk carefully and methodically continued checking over his patient, grimacing from time to time when he came across more than a little bit of blood, but otherwise kept a surprisingly level head.

        More and more scars of all shapes and sizes, some more fresh than others, were being discovered on Shiro as his tattered shirt and bodysuit were gradually stripped down to his waist. Some open wounds were found and quickly patched up, while others were only recently scabbed over. Shiro seemed to be suffering from malnourishment, as Pidge put it. The man’s skin was too pale, and Keith could count every single one of his ribs. Keith felt like he was going to be sick. However, he couldn’t bring himself to leave the room.

~~ <> ~~

        “What were you even thinking?” came an incredulous voice. Seventeen years old but at the moment feeling so, so young, Keith sat hunched over against the bathroom wall. He could only bring himself to look up slightly, gazing at a set of booted feet in front of him.

        “Don’t you have some super important moon mission you should be getting ready  for…?” the teen murmured sullenly. He didn’t want to deal with this right now…

        “Keith.” There was an extra edge to Shiro’s voice this time, and something in the boy’s heart clenched painfully. At that moment, Keith’s mind flooded with childhood memories of being scolded by his parents after swiping the last cookie from the jar, or tracking mud through the house. Except this time, he’d gotten into another fight. Keith gritted his teeth and finally looked up to meet his instructor’s eyes.

        “He was asking for it.” Keith rasped, still a bit breathless from a recent kick to his gut. He was sure a bruise was forming there, as well as probably everywhere else. Shiro glanced over his injuries and let out a long, weary sigh. He then slid down to sit next to his charge.

        “What happened?” he asked, softer this time. Keith’s shoulders sagged, and he brought his knees up to his chest.

        “There was a guy.” Keith paused, and Shiro nodded, urging him to continue. “He was with this girl. They…he was…she kept telling him to stop touching her, and…he…it was terrible, Shiro.” His hands slowly curled into fists, a cold anger burning in his eyes. “He was about to do something really horrible and disgusting to her. She called for help. So…I helped.”  He ran a hand through his hair. “I would have stepped in even if she didn’t ask though.”

        Shiro took a moment to process this new information. He then smiled grimly, throwing an arm over his friend’s shoulder. “You’ll have to tell me more about this guy so we can work on getting him expelled.” he stated, more than a little angry that a student here would even attempt such a heinous act. Keith stared at him in surprise.

        “You believe me?” He asked hopefully. Shiro raised an eyebrow.

        “Of course! Why wouldn’t I?” Keith looked down again.

        “The principal doesn’t. He thinks it was just another one of my stupid fights…I think he wanted me expelled.” he grumbled. Shiro shook his head at that.

        “Not on my watch they won’t. Trust me, I’m going to help set this right.” he ruffled Keith’s hair affectionately, causing the younger boy to squawk indignantly and bat his hand away. “You’re going to be just fine. I’ll make sure of it.”

        “Gee, thanks.” Keith mumbled sulkily, but the  meaning was sincere. He attempted to smooth down his now mussed hair, with little success. Shiro laughed.

        “You’re welcome. Now…” he stood up, offering a hand to Keith. “Why don’t we get you cleaned up before that talk with the principal?”

~~ <> ~~

        Shiro was screaming again.

        He had awoken a few moments before, eyes glassy and listless from what was most likely trace amounts of tranquilizers lingering in his system. He looked confused and in slight distress, and Keith had come forward to explain the situation, that he was safe now, or that he was back on Earth. Anything to bring his friend some semblance of peace. He only got a few words in before it all went to hell.

        Shiro’s eyes had snapped wide open, and Keith only had a brief second to duck to the side before a metal fist was thrown in his direction. Keith immediately dropped to the floor and rolled, trying to get away. Hunk cried out in surprise and quickly moved in front of Pidge, as if to protect the kid. They all stared in horror as Shiro flew into a blind panic, knocking over the meager amount of Keith’s personal possessions and attacking just about anything within range. He kept yelling words that none of them could understand, apparently in another language altogether. He clawed at the wall, as if trying to escape. But from what?

        “What the heck is going on?!” Lance called from the doorway, causing everyone to look up at him. Seeing more people only seemed to aggravate Shiro further, his actions becoming increasingly violent and frantic. Keith could only watch dumbly, completely at a loss of what to do.

~~ <> ~~

        His eyes were trained on the dorm’s small television, wide and unseeing. There was a news reporter speaking on the small, private screen, her voice becoming an intelligible stream of words. Text flashed across the screen. Keith didn’t register any of it. It had all fallen away after the first announcement. It continued to play over and over in his mind, and even now he was struggling to comprehend it.

        “The Galaxy Garrison mission to the distant moon of Kerberos is missing, and all crew members are believed to be dead. The Galaxy Garrison says that the crash was presumably caused by pilot error…”

        Shiro.

        Shiro had gone missing, along with his exploration team members. Shiro had been so excited to go on this mission.

        Dead.

        Unable to watch any longer, Keith lowered his head into his hands, gripping at his bangs tightly. Most of him felt numb, but there was a terribly familiar pain blossoming in his heart and spreading quickly throughout his body. He had no idea what to do about it.

        Images of that night flashed in front of his mind’s eye, when the police officer arrived on his doorstep. Keith had looked behind the man, asking when his parents would be coming home, for they had been unusually late. The officer had knelt in front of him, and in the gentlest voice possible, he told him how his parents would never come home again. Keith did not understand. He didn’t want to understand. Not until someone came to support and protect him. Someone who offered to share his pain, anchoring him to ensure the grief wouldn’t swallow Keith whole.

        But now that someone was gone.

        Shiro was gone.

        Completely alone and feeling more childish than he had in years, Keith silently wept.

~~ <> ~~

        “Hey…hey. You can get through this. I know you can.” Keith watched as Hunk slowly, ever so slowly, moved towards Shiro. There was fear in his eyes, but he spoke in a soft, reassuring voice, almost as if speaking any louder might break something.

        Earlier, Lance tried to diffuse the situation, but he seemed so upset seeing his “hero” in such a state. His concern was appreciated, but there were just too many people in the small room, and his nervous presence seemed to only make things worse. Hunk had finally requested Pidge and Lance to fetch some water from the well outside. This was supposedly for medical purposes, but Keith knew better. With less people in the room, Shiro’s screaming had died down to a nervous murmur, his frantic attacks becoming frightened twitching. Once he had calmed down a bit, Hunk had started speaking as if to a scared animal. He held his hands up to Shiro as if in surrender, a placating gesture that actually seemed to have some effect.

        “I’m not gonna hurt you.” Hunk reassured carefully. Shiro stared at the large teen with wild eyes, his pupils blown wide in a state of fight or flight. Blood dripped from his flesh hand, small pieces of one of Keith’s favored glass cups embedded in his skin. He was trembling violently, his breathing ragged, irregular and dangerously close to hyperventilation. Shiro continued to quietly mumble alien words, never once taking his eyes off of Hunk. He took an unsteady step backward, but otherwise did not make another violent move. Fear radiated off of Shiro in waves, and Keith couldn’t help thinking that his friend still had not entirely returned to them. His gut twisted in knots at the scene, but he could not make himself look away.

        “Y’see…you’re safe now.” A step forward; Shiro took a step back. “No one in here is going to hurt you, I promise.” A step forward; a step back. “You’re going to be just fine…just let me help you.” A step forward. Shiro’s breath hitched and he lunged forward, slamming his left fist into Hunk’s chest. The large boy winced in pain, but otherwise made no sudden movements. He instead looked down at Shiro’s bruised and bloody hand, frowning in sympathy.

        “May I?” he asked. Shiro’s eyes darted between his hand and Hunk’s face, but he made no move to pull away. Keith watched as Hunk took Shiro’s hand in his own larger ones, slowly and carefully inspecting it. He took some tweezers out of his pocket and began removing each and every glass shard, dropping them to the side in a small pile. All the while he kept up a calming stream of words, comforting and praising his patient for making it this far. Shiro seemed to be starting to relax under these ministrations, his breathing beginning to even out and the alien words petering off into silence.

        By the time Hunk had cleaned the wounds and wrapped his hand in bandages, Shiro had sunk to his knees, looking utterly exhausted. Hunk knelt down in front of him and began asking simple questions to get his patient talking. Shiro responded to each question, albeit weakly, and Keith was beyond relieved to hear him speaking in English again. Maybe he wasn’t as far gone as he thought. Keith just hated seeing his friend looking so defeated…it wasn’t right.

        Hunk turned to meet Keith’s eyes, as if he just remembered he was there.

        “H-Hey, would you mind…um…making some tea for him? I think that’d really help.” he asked, seeming a bit nervous to be asking the host of the house to prepare a drink. Keith nodded in understanding, turning to leave. He had been dismissed like the other two. But it was also a chance to help, something he’d been stupidly incapable of doing lately. He should probably check on Lance and Pidge, to make sure they didn’t get lost on their way to finding water. He’d need that water. And a fire to heat it up. Anything to help.

        On his way outside, Keith heard a soft, broken sob from the room behind him, followed by quiet shushing and gentle words that he was too far away to understand. He wished he had left faster.

~~ <> ~~

        Keith had dropped out of the Galaxy Garrison. They always said he had been reckless, and he had been getting into more and more fights. In flight practice, they said he’s been putting his life in danger with the stunts he pulled; he took too many risks.

        Keith already knew this, but that didn’t stop his peers from telling him so every chance they got. He was tired; tired of them, tired of the fighting, tired of the Garrison…tired of the numb feeling of grief crushing his chest. No one believed in him anymore. He no longer felt like he belonged there. So he quit, stole a hover-bike, and set off on his own.

        Traversing the desert, Keith discovered many things. Ancient ruins dusted with age and crumbling to sand. Dark caves with walls covered in strange pictures, some of which seemed to tug at him in an almost unnatural way. An abandoned home with an old water well nearby, a bit run down but inhabitable with a little care and repairs. It also was not too far from a little desert village, where he could do some odd jobs and stock up on more living supplies. Keith made himself at home.

        Sitting on the newly repaired porch, Keith stared wistfully up at the star studded sky. It was beautiful and endless, and he couldn’t help the small pang of loneliness at how small he felt compared to this vast sky.

        There was something about this place, something calling him to search. For what, he was not sure, but there was a board in his new home covered in possible answers. Something big was coming. How he knew that was lost on him, but he was willing to wait.

        And wait he did.

~~ <> ~~

        Emerging from the doorway into the open desert air, Keith combed a hand through his hair, trying to steady his nerves. A little ways ahead, he could see Shiro standing on a small hill, his figure silhouetted by the rising sun. There was something strikingly lonely about the figure on the horizon. Keith strode forward to meet him.

        “It’s good to have you back.” Keith said, clasping a hand on his friend’s shoulder. Shiro gave a weak smile in return.

        “It’s good to be back.” he responded warmly, folding his arms tightly against his chest to steady his still somewhat shaky hands. Keith recognized it as a defensive gesture.

        “So what happened out there?” Keith asked, his brow furrowing in barely restrained worry. “Where…were you?” He was dead. I thought you were dead. Shiro let out a very tired sigh.

        “I wish I could tell you. My head’s still pretty scrambled…” Shiro squeezed his eyes shut, as if trying to remember even a fragment of the previous year. “I was on an…alien ship; somehow I escaped.” His eyes opened again, looking thoroughly confused as he gazed across the sandy expanse in front of him. “It’s all a blur.”

        It was clear to Keith that the ghosts of the previous night still clung tightly to Shiro. He was much calmer than he had been a few hours ago and was acting almost normal. But Keith could not help but notice the differences after that dreadful year. His friend’s eyes remained gentle, but there was now a haunted, almost frenzied light to them that Keith had never seen in anyone before. There was exhaustion etched into his face, completely overshadowing the laugh lines that Keith remembered so clearly. But worst of all was his right arm. It was just…gone. Replaced with something so completely alien and cold and just...wrong. Keith’s stomach turned whenever he looked at it. He didn’t like thinking about how it got there.

        “How did you know to come save me when I crashed?” Shiro asked, turning to look back at Keith. The teen grimaced, guilt seizing him. He hadn’t known. He didn’t know what he’d find in that science facility, but he never would have expected--never could have hoped--that it’d be Shiro. Shiro was dead. Keith had long ago given up on Shiro.

        Even with those guilty thoughts invading his mind, Keith looked up at his friend and realized that now was no time for self-pity. It was time to explain himself. He pushed his dark thoughts to the side.

        “You should come see this,” Keith answered, turning towards the house and gesturing for Shiro to follow him. As they walked down the hill together, the sun continued to rise higher in the sky, chasing away the last traces of the night and bathing the world in a warm, comforting light. Keith welcomed that warmth, letting it flood his thoughts and banish the darkness of the past year for good.                                                                  

~~ < END > ~~

A.N. So um... yeah, amnesia or no, Shiro's been through hell. Then he finally got to Earth and got experimented on by his own people, forcibly knocked out in a distressed and disoriented state...I figured he'd wake up the same way, his brain eventually shutting out the memories for him to cope somewhat.

I used Hunk as the medic because 1. I love Hunk. And 2. Idk he seems like he has some medical expertise, and Xi seemed to agree so I went with it? He fixes things, and he's the voice of reason for the team most of the time and that's kind of what Shiro needed. Scared yes, but willing to push past to help with the apparent panic attack...Hunk would probably know a thing or two about dealing with those, poor thing. Sorry I couldn’t work everyone in more evenly, it got too crowded for me otherwise! Still I hope it was somewhat enjoyable ;v;

[strawberry-milktea]

Hi! I'm one of your followers and I saw the post you reblogged about hell misconceptions and how it said "Occult practices are not harmless." I'm the anon who asked recently about astrology, personality tests, and MBTI, and I was wondering if you had an answer for me. I'm finding myself getting further away from astrology and more interested in MBTI which I consider an "improvement" but I'm still concerned because of Jung's occult practices

and Christians who say all personality tests are claiming humans know more than God does. Also, a personal thing I would like to share is that my former best friend completely changed personalities after getting a tarot reading, and this has greatly concerned me.     Basically what happened was, we went to an amusement park and she strayed from the group we were in. Later I found out she had gone to a stand where she got a tarot reading and became very insistent that “everything the tarot card reader is true/coming true”. I don’t know what all the predictions were but at the time they seemed pretty harmless like one I do recall is she said the reader said she’d develop feelings for an old friend and she started liking this guy she went to middle school with.      So I honestly didn’t see it as too bad at the time because it just seemed fake. But she then got EXTREMELY strange like she filmed herself burning a book of Bible passages and put it on YouTube, she began calling herself a “demon” and putting evil and disturbing images on social media, and posting things against God and Jesus that I can’t even type out without feeling physically sick. Like just pure blasphemous outrageous things that I honestly wish I could un-see because they were so sickening.            Btw, she used to be a youth minister at our church, so trust me when I say this was a drastic change. My parents know about this, but my dad doesn’t think it’s actual demonic influences on her and she is just playing “The devil made me do it” excuse. I truly think she changed after the tarot event, but some people say “She was like that all along and just hiding it from you” which could also be true. Nothing surprises me anymore tbh and losing her was really saddening.Plus she began doing illegal drugs and drinking so maybe substance abuse had some impact on her psychological state… I honestly don’t know but I do pray for her and can’t believe this happened. My other friends got involved in similar stuff and I don’t talk to anyone from my high school anymore. They are the ones who ditched me, but honestly I sometimes feel better about not being associated with then anymore even though I am worried about all of them and still think about them.     I’ve been able to see through a false prophet’s teachings, I have tried to abandon old beliefs that contradict Christianity, I am becoming more critical of things that go against God, and I am just trying to avoid “gateways” that could lead me to straying from God, mainly tarot readings and drugs since those are the things I see as having had the biggest influence on my friends (and luckily I do neither of those things though I have been curious about both, I admit).            But I’m thinking there are things I was involved with that could potentially be bad that I’m only opening my eyes to now, like the zodiac stuff I’m trying to get away from, so that’s why I wanted to ask you about these things, no matter how “harmless” they seem to the general public. Thank you so much for your answers, I appreciate it and hope you can give me some of your advice and guidance. God bless you and thank you again!            — Hello! I apologize for not having answered your other ask about astrology and MBTI yet. I’m going to work on that as soon as possible. What you’re describing about your friend is very unsettling and sad.. The fact that she has been doing drugs/drinking is something that I believe could have possibly opened her up to spiritual attacks because it serves to lower one’s inhibitions and can definitely cause people to behave in ways they normally wouldn’t:

“Who has woe? Who has sorrow? Who has strife? Who has complaints? Who has needless bruises? Who has bloodshot eyes? Those who linger over wine, who go to sample bowls of mixed wine. Do not gaze at wine when it is red, when it sparkles in the cup, when it goes down smoothly! In the end it bites like a snake and poisons like a viper. Your eyes will see strange sights, and your mind will imagine confusing things. You will be like one sleeping on the high seas, lying on top of the rigging. ‘They hit me,’ you will say, ‘but I’m not hurt! They beat me, but I don’t feel it! When will I wake up so I can find another drink?’” - Proverbs 23:29-35

I know that when I’m feeling tired and weak, that’s when I often get spiritual attacks. Demons know when your guard is down and try seizing the opportunity to attack. So people who have lowered their guard with alcohol or drugs are prime targets. What’s also important to note is when people dabble with witchcraft/the occult, one means of attempting to communicate with spirits is the consumption of alcohol and/or mind-altering drugs in an attempt to “open” one’s mind. And I think the lowering of inhibitions can and does definitely open people up to spirits, but not any that are good or that you’d want to talk to. However, to someone who isn’t aware of the fact that demonic spirits prey on those who are unknowingly seeking them out, demons can masquerade themselves as whatever they want, even loved ones who have passed away. This might be getting a little off topic, but I think it’s something worth sharing. One prominent example I remember of demons trying to masquerade as a loved one in attempt to cause destruction involved this psychic named Sylvia Brown who used to go on various talk shows years ago and do “readings” for people and promote her books. One woman who came on her show wanted a reading about her daughter who had been missing for quite sometime. She wanted to know if her daughter was still living. The psychic insisted that her daughter was no longer alive. Reality was, her daughter was still alive. She was being held captive and eventually escaped. I do believe this psychic received that message, but she was clearly communicating with something that wanted to do all it could to keep this young girl suffering in captivity. It wanted people to think she was dead and give up on looking for her. And this is just one example proving how demons try to manipulate psychics/mediums in an attempt to destroy and further proof as to why mediums/psychics should never been sought after.I’m sorry to hear that this girl and the other friends you mentioned have turned away from Christ.. I hope they find their way back to Him and develop a true relationship with Him. It’s good that you still think of them and pray for them. Keep praying for them, don’t give up on that..It’s really good that you are able to recognize false teachings and have a desire to turn away from things that go against Him! It sounds like you are growing in your faith and relationship with Christ. I will give you a thorough response when I answer your question regarding astrology and MBTI, but the general statement I can make regarding that is something the world deems as “harmless” can very well be spiritually harmful. And if you feel convicted to avoid something, you most certainly should - no matter what anyone else says.

[snowdice]

Big Bang Editing Story [Day 3](Part 2)

In the same vein as my study session fics, I’m going to be writing a story while I edit my Big Bang Fic. I will write and publish 100 words of the story every time I finish doing final edits for a section of my Big Bang Fic.

This will be a royalty AU and unlike the study fic, I actually have a few plans for it going in, but you can still feel free to send in asks with suggestions or questions to help me along.

Because this story is a story I’m writing to edit, I’m not going to edit it very consistently… The two chapters are finished and under the cut.

Also! I have a lot of world building for this story already and I have a role for all of the sides! (Even the ones that won’t show up for a little while.) Feel free to ask any questions. There’s plenty of magic in this AU.

If you’d like to block these proceedings, please feel free to block the tag proofread stories. I will reblog this post with the parts of the story I do today.

Chapter 1

“Please?” the younger teenager said as he threw his arms around Logan in a hug. Logan gave him a disgruntled look when a stray arm bumped some of the papers on his desk and one that he’d been using fluttered to the ground.

“Patton, I have work to do.”

“You work all the time,” Patton pouted back at him.

“I’m the crowned prince,” Logan reasoned. “There is a lot for me to do.”

“You’re not even doing royalty business tonight,” Patton pointed out. “You’re just reading your book.”

“But I have to do some tomorrow and if I agree to a sleepover, we both know neither of us will sleep.”

 “We’ll sleep, I promise!” Patton said.

Logan gave him a skeptical look. They had been having these sleepovers for a decade at this point and in none of them had Logan ever actually slept. On the contrary, Patton usually kept him up long enough that Logan was so tired he couldn’t fall asleep and then the boy himself would pass out leaving Logan to stare grumpily at the ceiling.

“Future Royal Advisor’s honor?” Patton tried, eyes hopeful. “Come on, we can play dress up.”

Logan glared at him. “I am 17 years old,” he reminded.

“I’ll do your hair,” he tempted. “I’ll even let you read a book while I do it.”

The look in his friend’s eyes and the fact that he really was quite good at hair started to weaken Logan’s resolve.

 Patton, knowing him so well, saw his tenacity faulter and pitilessly pressed his advantage. “Mama made fresh cookies today,” he said. “They’re the ones with strawberry jam. We could sneak into the kitchen and steel some in the middle of the night.”

“Considering you are the head chef’s son and I am the prince, it would hardly be considered stealing.”

“But it’s more fun that way,” Patton argued with a laugh. “Come on, you need to have some fun. You’ve been stressed out lately.”

“This is fun,” Logan said with a frown, gesturing to the large book in front of him.

“I know,” Patton said, “but your brain has got to be tired from reading all of that Latin and Sand’s Kit.”

“Sanskrit.”

“Gazuntite.”

 Logan sighed. “Why did father agree to make you the royal advisor in training?”

“Because he knows without me, you’ll send your entire life sitting at this desk reading your book.” Patton scrunched up his nose at him.

“I would also do my royal duties.”

“But sometimes you need to relax,” Patton said. Logan opened his mouth. “Really relax. No super encoded magical books that make me dizzy looking at them. We’re going to play dress up, eat cookies, and read silly books, and that’s final.”

“Oh, I’m being commanded, am I?” Logan asked, an eyebrow raised. “You’re really going to try to command your prince? You’re lucky I don’t have you tossed into the dungeon.”

Patton hopped off the chair he’d pulled up to Logan’s desk and scrambled a few feet away. “You’d have to pull yourself away from your book to do that,” he said, sticking out his tongue at him.

 Logan glanced down at his book. Reading the Pragilium text despite its difficulties had been his life’s work since he was a small child, and it was something he very much enjoyed, but he was tired from his duties and his lessons the last few weeks and not in the way he would be if he agreed to Patton’s sleepover. He looked up at Patton. He was shifting back and forth on his feet, a smile on his face. The book could wait.

Logan carefully closed his book and stood from his desk chair. Patton was already giggling before Logan lunged for him.

 Patton was a lot more agile then Logan was himself and knew the castle just as well since he had been brought to live here when he was just starting to walk, yet he was clearly slowing his place so Logan would not lose him. They ran through familiar corridors, careful to not slam into the stationed guards as the slid around corners. They ran past the large window that gave the best view of the castle garden and Patton avoided the spiral staircase that would let out near the kitchen where his mother was currently preparing that night’s dinner. Instead, he made a dash through the smaller dinning hall, unused at this time because they had no important guests, and then hung right to bolt towards the wing with Logan’s own private quarters.

The guards that stood in front of the double doors to the private hall, stepped aside easily at Patton’s approach. Patton pushed through the doors and they swung shut behind him.

“Traitors,” Logan accused, shooting past them through the door himself.

 The guards only seemed amused by his accusation.

“Help!” Patton yelped. His still light tone didn’t worry Logan that something was actually wrong, but it did make him wonder who he was speaking to. That became clear, however, when he noticed his father standing at the end of the hall outside the entrance to his own bedroom. Patton sprinted past Logan’s bedroom and directly at the king.

“What is going on here?” Logan’s dad asked amused as Patton darted around him to use him as a human shield.

“I made Logan stop working and now he wants to throw me in the dungeons.”

 “Well,” Logan’s father said. “It’s a good thing I’m king and can overrule him then.”

“Thank you, Thomathy.” Father chuckled at the nickname, and Patton poked his head around the king to stick his tongue out at Logan once again.

“He’s sticking his tongue out at me!” Logan pointed out. “Surely that counts as some sort of treason.”

“Does not!” Patton claimed.

“Does too!”

“Does not!”

“Stop it!”

“Make me!”

“I would, but you’re hiding behind my father like a coward,” Logan argued.

“He does have a point there, Pat,” Father reasoned. Patton just wrapped his fists into the man’s robes and shot him a piteous look.

 “Oof, Pat,” Father said, rubbing his chest as though it ached. “That look is a shot straight to the heart. Is someone trying to assassinate me?”

“No,” Patton said. “I wouldn’t let them.”

“Hmm,” Father replied, reaching out to ruffle his hair and then stepping away from him. “I can always count on you Pat. I have to head to a meeting now. Keep our troublemaker out of mischief for me?”

“Oh, I’m the troublemaker?”

“Of course, Thomathy,” Patton swore, ignoring Logan completely. “Can we use the jewelry box for dress up?”

“Sure, go ahead,” Father agreed. “I won’t need any for a while. Just keep them safe.”

 “We will,” Patton promised. Father smiled at him and walked towards the entrance of the hall. He paused to press his palm to Logan’s cheek briefly before continuing and disappearing through the doors.

Logan turned back to Patton. “It seems you have cornered yourself,” he pointed out.

Patton glanced around himself. He had, in fact, sequestered himself in the end of the hall. The only possible avenue was into Father’s bedroom and he’d likely locked the door behind him if he was going to be gone to a meeting. Patton giggled when his predicament set in. “Truce?” he offered.

“Not a chance.”

 “No! Logan! Truce!”

Logan took a menacing step towards him.

“Defensive offence!” Patton shrieked and charged at him.

The air was knocked out of him when Patton slammed into him. “Ugh, Patton, why?” The arms that had wrapped around him squeezed hard. “I’m being attacked! Guards!”

To the guards’ credit, one of them did stick their head through the door just to make sure. Patton waved at them.

“There is no respect for the crown in this entire castle!” Logan sputtered when the door closed once again.

Patton released his waist finally, and instead grabbed his hands. “Come on, I bet I can pick out a good fun book from your dad’s library for you to read during our sleepover.”

“My book’s fun.”

“And easy,” Patton stressed. “We’ll have to wait for the cover of nightfall to steal the cookies, but there is plenty to do until then.”

“Fine,” Logan said with a put-upon sigh, though he honestly didn’t feel any true resentment. He wondered if he’d regret his decision to agree to Patton’s ‘sleep’over in the morning.

He would find in the years to come, that he very much wouldn’t. For, many, many reasons.

Chapter 2

Virgil hated this. He really, really hated this. To think he wished he was back in training camp. He yearned for General Landon’s mistreatment like he imagined most children desired their mother’s affection. He tried not to sniff too loudly from his place behind the foul-smelling bags he’d hid behind in the small shed long enough ago that his legs had long since cramped.

He could tell from small window opposite him that the sun had set recently, though it was not quite last light. Soon he would have the cover of darkness and would have to move from this spot. That was almost worse than staying cramped here forever and starving to death in the shed. He felt sick. He felt so sick. He didn’t want to be here.

 A noise startled him, and he flinched down further behind the bags as someone pulled opened the door to the shed. A man made a groaning sound and set gardening tools down on the table with a clank. Virgil did not want to imagine all the ways each of those things could kill someone, but his brain didn’t give him the choice.

Virgil focused on breathing as quietly as he could even when the thoughts in his head made him want to pant. The man continued to put away the tools in different places in the shed. Virgil tried to curl even tighter into his already tight ball when he strayed too close a few times.

 The man finished his work and wiped off his hands on his shirt. Virgil expected him to turn and exit the shed, but instead he called out. “I can see your hair.”

Virgil froze, and when the man turned to look right at his hiding place, he let out a small whimper. He tried to scramble away when the man took a step closer to him, but there was nowhere to go but to press himself up against the back of the shed, the man’s body between him and the door.

They sized each other up for a long moment. Could Virgil make it to one of the tools if he moved quickly enough? He didn’t know. He doubted it and there was more than a likely chance that he’d reach for a tool himself with his much longer arms.

“You here to steal food from the castle garden?” the man finally asked.

 Well…no, not at all. He wished he was here to steal food. How should he respond? What was the most tactical answer? He cast his mind back to his training. There were a few options when faced with this situation, but he didn’t know which was the best one. The most obvious explanation was to go with his cover story and try to say he worked in the kitchen, but this man worked with the garden. There was every possibility he knew people in the kitchen. Another strategy would be to agree with whatever he said and hope he came up with a reasonable explanation on his own… but that explanation seemed to be that Virgil was a thief. Would he immediately be dragged in front of the king or have his arm chopped off or something else horrible? He could try spinning it around on him by asking him questions back and confuse him. He could ask him why he was here or if he was the one stealing food. That would be stupid though, he was obviously the gardener. That would probably just piss him off and make Virgil’s fate worse.

Virgil couldn’t breathe.

 “Hey kid,” the man said. “What’s going on?” He had crouched down in front of Virgil and the fading light from the window finally hit the side of his face the right way to light up the currently black tattoo on his face. Virgil blinked. He was really glad he hadn’t just lied in that case. He did not comment on the marking or otherwise indicate he knew what it was. That would breed questions about why he knew what the man was. Why was the man a gardener if he was a multrum? It didn’t make any sense.

That didn’t matter now however, Virgil needed to say something, and it had to be the truth.

 “Kid?” the man said again.

“I don’t want to be here,” Virgil said truthfully.

The man’s tattoo shimmered just slightly, and he paused. He settled himself down in front of him. “Well where do you want to be?”

Virgil shrugged.

The man frowned and then leaned back to grab something out of a bucket under the table. “Here,” the man said. An apple was plopped down in his lap.

Virgil stared down at it in confusion.

“Are you hungry?”

“Yeah,” Virgil admitted. “I wasn’t here to steal though, promise.”

The man nodded. “Go ahead and try it,” he suggested. “It’s from a new hybrid plant that just started growing fruit.”

 Virgil cautiously brought it to his lips and took a bite. “It’s good,” Virgil said softly. “Thanks.”

The man watched him eat for a long moment. “What are you doing here?” he finally asked.

Virgil was careful with how he responded. “Hiding.”

He arched an eyebrow. “From what?”

Virgil was not fool enough to say.

“Well, you can’t hide in here,” the man said once he realized Virgil wasn’t going to speak. “I lock it from the outside during the night. How about I walk you back to wherever you’re supposed to be. Where’s that?”

Virgil bit his lip. “The castle,” he said.

 He titled his head at Virgil. “Alright,” he agreed. “Come on.” The man offered him a hand and he twitched before slowly taking it. The man pulled him to his feet carefully. He reached over and grabbed another apple from the bucket. “Here, have another one for the road,” he offered.

Virgil looked at it in confusion. “Oh,” he said. “T-thanks.” He stored the apple in his pocket and when he’d looked away, he felt a hand descend on his back.

He yelped and jerked away, eyes wide, but the man was just holding his hand in the air where Virgil’s back had been, looking confused.

 “Sorry,” he stuttered. “You just startled me.”

The man eyed him. “Sure kid,” he agreed. “Let’s get along.”

Virgil nodded and followed him out of the shed. He waited for the man as he locked up the shed and then they walked side-by-side to the castle. The man never reached for him again, Virgil noticed.

Virgil found himself shuffling closer to him as other random castle workers passed them, using him as a cover. No one looked at them twice.

The man took him in one of the doors of the castle. It was one near the kitchen if Virgil’s mental map was right.

 “Can you find your way from here?” the man asked.

“Yeah,” Virgil replied. “I know where I am. Thanks.”

“No problem kid,” he replied. He nodded at the bulge in Virgil’s pocket. “If you ever want another one of those apples, I have plenty.”

“Oh,” Virgil said softly. “Thanks for the offer.”

He inclined his head and turned back to leave out through the door they’d come through. Virgil watched him go. Well. That was the weirdest interaction he’d ever had with an adult, but at least all of his limbs were intact. He gulped looking around at the strange hall he was in. For now.

 There weren’t many people coming in and out of the kitchen at the moment since dinner had long since passed, but he was still cautious as he took the spiral staircase up. Though most wouldn’t question him in the more public areas of the castle, it still never hurt to be safe. He came out in a large corridor across the way from what he knew was a small dinning hall for important guests. It was still fall, but it was getting late enough in the season that there should not be any guests staying for fear winter may come early and snow them in.

 He kept close to the walls as he quickly passed through the dining hall, wincing as his shoes clacked softly on the floor and then turned left. He kept his ears peeled for guards and ducked around corners when he heard people coming, but eventually found himself in the correct hall. It was a hall of large bedrooms used for visiting dignitaries, and he slipped into the first bedroom on the left.

He took a moment to gawk at the large bedroom. Most of the furniture was covered in white cloth to keep it from getting dusty when not in use, but he could still imagine how beautiful it was when someone was staying there, how soft the bed and chairs must be, and how pretty the designs on the wardrobe.

He shook himself and turned his attention to the bed. He crouched down and squirmed underneath it. His arms stretched out, searching along the wall at the head of the bed until he found the loose board. From what Virgil had been told, a dignitary from Faumatia had come here in the spring before their membership in The Alliance was known and planted supplies for this. He grabbed the bag and squirmed back out from under the bed. He opened the bag and pulled out exactly what he’d been told would be there: a knife, some dried meat (which he chose to forgo since he still had the apple), and one sleeping potion enough for the guards who would inevitably stand at the entrance to the hall The King’s bedroom was in.

 Then, Virgil settled in to wait for a few more hours until the rest of the castle was asleep. He chewed idly on the second apple he’d been given. He felt a little bad; he wondered if the nice gardener liked his king. Would he make the connection between The King’s assassination and Virgil? Would he feel guilty for helping him even if accidently?

He shook off the thought. He had enough to feel bad about without feeling bad about that too.

He waited for hours before he finally decided it was time to move. The clock had struck 2am a good while ago and everyone but the night guards should be asleep. He stood and snuck back the way he came, past the dinning hall and into another area of the castle. The correct hall was easy enough to find with its two guards posted outside of it. With practiced ease, he kept silent to the shadows and snuck up on them. When he was close enough, he pressed his shirt up against his nose and uncorked the potion, tossing it so the gas it made when hitting oxygen hissed and spiraled up their legs. They were down in a moment and Virgil was running past them, holding his breath. He closed the doors behind him silently.

Now, he just needed to find the king’s bedroom. He imagined the floorplan in his mind. There were two bedrooms in this wing: one for the prince and one for the king. He froze. Which was which? He remembered which doors led to bedrooms, but racking his brain, he couldn’t remember which one they’d said was The King’s.

It was fine. They’d both be asleep at this hour. He’d just check the first bedroom on the left and see if it was the prince or the king. If the prince was sleeping there, he’d back out and go to the next one.

Decided, he took out the knife and crept to the first bedroom door. He turned the knob and pushed it open slowly.

Confused eyes met his the moment the door finished opening. It was the prince. What was he doing awake at this hour? The stared at each other for a long moment, both frozen. The prince’s eyes drifted to the knife.

Then, something heavy and flat slammed into the back of his head.

 Chapter 3

The figure whose head Patton had just slammed a cookie sheet over tottered forward and fell to the floor; the knife fell limply from its hand onto the floor. Patton immediately stepped forward to kick the weapon away towards Logan. Logan stepped forward to grab it and stored it away quickly at the bottom of the chest at the foot of his bed.

He looked back up at Patton. “T-thank you,” he said.

“Um-huh,” Patton replied, still looking down at the fallen figure. It did not seem like it’d be getting up anytime soon. He slowly lowered the cookie sheet.

 He cautiously knelt down next to the person.

“Patton, what are you doing?” Logan asked.

“I just want to see,” Patton said. He carefully shoved the figure over to its back so he could peer at his face. It was a young boy with a pale face and kinda squiggly dark hair that framed his face unevenly. “Oh,” Patton said softly. “He’s just a baby.”

“What are you talking about?” Logan asked.

“He’s like 12,” Patton said with a frown. “Maybe 13.”

“He also had a knife,” Logan stressed, but he did move closer to get a better look at him. “We should call the guards.”

“But...”

“No, Patton,” Logan said firmly.

 “Maybe it’s just a misunderstanding?” Patton tried.

“A misunderstanding?” Logan scoffed. “What? Did he accidently sneak past the guards into royal family’s private hallway and come into my bedroom in the middle of the night with a knife?”

Patton looked down at the kid. “Well…”

“He’s clearly an assassin,” Logan said. “We need to call the guards so they can deal with him appropriately.”

“Can we at least wait until he wakes up?” Patton said. “I want to talk to him. Maybe…”

“He’s not a feral cat you can tame.”

Patton bit his lip and looked up at Logan about to do something sorta mean. “But aren’t you curious?” Patton beseeched. “He’s so young. Who would have sent him? Who would have trained him if he’s really an assassin? How’d he get past the guards? Don’t you want to know? They probably wouldn’t tell you if we let the guards take him away.”

 Patton could see Logan’s resolve breaking. He was weak to his own curiosity and whoever this kid was, was a curiosity. He sighed. “We’ll have to check him for any weapons before he wakes up, and we’ll have to restrain him.” Patton beamed up at him. “We’ll call the guards and tell Father as soon as we’re done or at the first sign of trouble.”

“Sure,” Patton readily agreed.

“Hmm,” Logan said. “Watch him closely for a couple of seconds.” He ducked through the door to his little work area and then ran back with a corked bottle. “Hmm… can I borrow your bracelets?”

 “Sure. Why?” Patton asked, already working them off his own wrists.

“This is a binding potion,” Logan explained, taking the bracelets and pouring a couple of drops carefully on them. “It keeps people locked in place. It’s rather strong though and if I applied it directly on his skin, it’d hurt him and be hard to take off. This way, the bracelets will just act like magical cuffs. They’ll hold his arms in place wherever we need them to be.” He waited for a moment and then tapped his own finger to where he’d applied the potion. “It’s dry” he said.

[admirable-mairon]

My thoughts on Fëanor-

-and false claims that piss me off

See, I have been wanting to just sit down and write things about Fëanor for so long now but I’ve never gotten around to actually doing it. What is the purpose of this? Well mainly as entertainment for my followers, but also to clear up some things that I keep seeing repeated over and over again, and oh how many posts I would reblog on here if only they didn’t take a cheap, unfunny jab at Fëanor - The character I love more than any other in any form of media ever.

I will unfortunately be unable to share actual quotes in this piece. I let my friend borrow my english copy of the Silmarillion and so I only have the swedish version here, which is admittedly HILARIOUS occassionally, but it means that if I have a quote - I will have to translate it for you, so it won’t be exact word for word.

I won’t be talking about the different texts and exact words, but rather misconceptions I’ve seen prodding around about him, and direct arguments I’ve seen come from different parts of the fandom. I see the majority of the Tolkien fandom as the gosh darn best people I’ve ever had the joy of stumbling upon - endless amounts of fan-pieces, whether it’s art, music or writing that never seem to go away. They just get better and better and I love you.

But like I said there are SEVERAL things that are always brought up falsely about Fëanor that I just can’t stand for, sort of like the criticism against Thranduil that ‘OH HE’S JUST A RACIST SHITHEAD AND HE’S WRONG’, when in truth he’s the only actually rational and sane character in the movies.

THAT is the type of things I will bring up here. Read on further if you think it might me amusing. If you decide not to I wish you a pleasant evening/morning/day :D

There are many things one might dislike about Fëanor - Hell one might simply not be interested in him? I have several characters that I couldn’t care less about for no better reason than ‘Meh I guess I just don’t?’.

One might dislike his arrogance - he’s the very definition of ‘Holier-than-thou’ in many ways, and his passion can be off-putting for many. Maybe the whole concept of ‘GREATEST OF THE ELDAR WAS HE’ pisses you off on a sheer principle? That’s all well and good - I dislike Galadriel for the same reason (though I would argue there is no basis to claiming that she’s the GREATEST in any way as she hasn’t really done anything worthy of mentioning, but I digress - that is not what I’m here for, and the malcontent I have with her is mainly because of petty arguments on tumblr). 

HOWEVER. 

When people lie about Fëanor to support their own dislike of him - I get downright pissed off. 

To be more direct - Here are the things I will be discussing in this piece:

He was a bad Father / He ruined his children / He forced his children to swear the oath with him

He left His people to the Helcaraxë 

He was to blame for all the kinslayings

There was nothing but fire and greed inside him

All of these are so-called critisisms I’ve seen directed towards him during my years on here. I have not seen many of them on here lately, but it is likely that that’s because I’ve made a point to unfollow and potentially block those who spew nonsense like this. 

BUT LET’S ADRESS ALL OF THIS SHALL WE? STRAP IN Y’ALL AND GRAB A SNACK - I’M GOING IN DEEP

He was a bad Father / He ruined his children / He forced his children to swear the oath with him

Mostly inspired by things I keep hearing as well as an anonymous ask I recieved this morning 

I love feanor too but he sort of brought tragedy on his children

*the heaviest sigh*

Okay. Just. Gimme a moment. 

Okay no. 

Here’s the thing: The Silmarillion is filled with questionable forms of parenting. There’s Finwë not understanding what had to be done to deal with Fëanor as a child, there’s Indis also lacking in that understanding, there’s parents that seem to give no shits about their children, hell I love Curufin and I do think he adored Celebrimbor more than anything, but he was a little too damaged to know how to handle him, not to mention the fact that a pair of Kinslayers were better parents than Elwing and Eärendil ever were. 

But Fëanor wasn’t one of them. How do I know?

His sons would not have done everything they did unless they loved their father with every fibre of their being. They were not copies of him (aside from Curufin) and to me it seems clear that they were encouraged to follow their heart’s desires rather than strictly follow in his footsteps. 

When Nerdanel left - or however that went over - ALL SEVEN OF THEM CHOSE THEIR FATHER. ALL OF THEM. ALL SEVEN. 

When Fëanor was distraught and coing crazy with agony over losing his father and the Silmarilli - When he swore that oath - his sons wasted NO TIME in getting up to stand there with him. 

They stuck with him through thick and thin, they didn’t hesitate to stand there with him and support him fully. They were a family - a close-knitted one at that - and they adored him. That much is clear. 

Just because someone is a biological parent doesn’t earn them any form of respect as a parent, nor any love from their children if they haven’t deserved it. Fëanor was loved by his sons and he loved them dearly - He is one of the few parents in these damn series that deserve the title of ‘Actually great and supportive dad’. 

Fëanor did not bring tragedy on his children - let’s all be very clear on that. If anything - tragedy was brought unprovoked onto him and his children, who - by the by - were grown men by the time they left Valinor and swore the Oath

Eru was completely alright with all of this. The Valar were cruel, whether they meant to be or not, and Fëanor was used by Melkor. The fëanorions wanted what was rightfully theirs - what their father and grandfather died for - and the whole world suddenly decided to say ‘Hah fuck no finders keepers shitheads!’.

It can naturally be argued that his death fucked them up, and that he shouldn’t have barged forward to take on Balrogs on his own, but TBH if it fucked over them that bad it only further supports the argument that he was an amazing father that they loved so dearly that they would do literally ANYTHING to get back and honor. Furthermore one could naturally point out that burning ships was a Rude AF thing to do, but to be fair every single one of his sons was in on it aside from Maedhros who suffered the loss of Fingon, but perhaps Fingon would still at least be safe and out of harm’s way in Valinor. Burning the ships was arguably and admittedly very ‘rude’, but it was not an ill action directed towards his people or most importantly his son.

Which brings us beautifully to the second subject....:

He left his people to the Helcaraxë

Except he really didn’t. 

He left FINGOLFIN’S people - not his own. Seems minor and pointless perhaps, but I assure you it’s of great importance. 

After the kinslaying at Alqualondë it was only natural that tensions would grow unbearable. When people break - when people do terrible things - they often regret them afterwards, become angry and need to find someone to blame it on. Given how Fëanor was their king and that he was the one who encouraged them to leave the cage the Valar had put them in, it would be natural to blame Fëanor for the horrendous act they’d all just committed.  Because let me remind you - The Nolofinwëans ALSO took part in the first kinslaying.

Fingolfin’s people had long been - for a lack of a better word - talked shit about Fëanor and his people. Ever since Finwë died and they left the safety of their cage, there had been constant nagging about how Fëanor shouldn’t be their king, how he didn’t deserve it, why did they have to do this, it was too far away, this was going too far by now, Fingolfin should lead instead.  And Fëanor - Never having been one for taking anyone’s shit - basically said ‘Oh okay then you can WALK BACK HOME YOU PIECES OF SHIT WE’RE GOING TO MIDDLE-EARTH AND YOU CAN STAY BACK COMFORTABLY HERE’. 

FINGOLFIN was the one to insist they cross the Helcaraxë, along with his people. There was the option of returning back to Valinor, which I assume Fëanor would assume that they would do, because after all that’s what they had been complaining about for weeks, wasn’t it?  Believe me - I love Fingolfin - and it was an asshole move to burn the ships.  But Fëanor didn’t leave his own people to the Helcaraxë - He left Fingolfin and his people to do whatever they wished (as long as it didn’t involved the ships they’d killed for), and they chose to walk along the Helcaraxë. 

Did they have much of a choice? Could they return or was it more of a 50-shades kind of situation of ‘OH BUT SHE COULD LEAVE WHENEVER SHE WANTED but really she couldn’t’? Finarfin returned just fine, but then again he hadn’t killed any teleri. 

That whole part can certainly be discussed and argued about, but the fact remains that Fëanor did NOT leave his own people to the Helcaraxë - He left Fingolfin’s. The dramatic noldor flare version of ‘IF YOU DON’T STOP COMPLAINING I’LL TURN THIS THING AROUND AND YOU ALL CAN WALK HOME’

He was to blame for all the kinslayings

This is - as we all can see - A clear and obvious fucking lie. 

Fëanor died before the sun was created. Fëanor died at the very beginning of the First Age. 

He was literally not alive long enough to be blamed for any of the other kinslayings. 

He created the silmarillis - he and his sons had the only right to them. 

The kinslayings post Alqualondë happened because of incompetent leadership, corruption and betrayals within the good ol’ people of Middle-Earth. Need I mention that the only Fëanorion killed by Melkor’s forces was Fëanor himself? The rest were killed by other elves. Not only that but the fëanorions were known to be diplomats - the strongest war-forces out there to be sure, and warlords for the legends - but the Union of Maedhros wasn’t their fault. The fact that Thingol fucked up and told a human to fetch a Silmaril because this human couldn’t understand a simple metaphor for ‘I will never let you marry my daughter’. Sort of ‘I will let you marry my daughter when Hell freezes over’, and he’d take that seriously? Not that I doubt it - Beren seems like the kind of fella who would barge into Hell with buckets of ice because ‘I WILL BE ALLOWED TO SHAG THE FEMALE ELF IF I DO THIS’.

Wars and conflicts such as the ones that raged through the First Age are NEVER black and white. Never. There is no good guy and there is no bad guy (aside from Melkor, but he wasn’t the ONLY bad guy). There were the Fëanorions and their property, and people who thought that they had the right to them. 

Overall bad leadership and simple stupidity as well as over-dramatic elves and kings and humans were to blame for the Kinslayings: Not Fëanor. 

That would be like blaming the one who made my phone in case it’d get stolen. “OH IF ONLY YOU HADN’T MADE THIS PHONE THIS WOULDN’T HAVE HAPPENED”

There was nothing but fire and greed inside him

I saw this written in that one post about why Galadriel giving Gimli three strands of her hair was an amazing scene (which it was because that move was SAVAGE). 

This is the only place in which I will quote something word for word in this:

“Even when she was young, Galadriel’s ability to see into other’s hearts was very strong, and she knew that Fëanor was filled with nothing but fire and greed”

*muffled shrieking*

ALRIGHT SO LET’S HAVE A LOOK SHALL WE

To be fair - Galadriel is a child of Indis. That is not to say that Indis herself was bad (even though I literally hold no love for her whatsoever, aside from the fact that she gave us great characters through that womb of hers - good job), but rather that Finwë’s family was very heavily divided and separated by an understandable conflict.

Fëanor - understandably - hates that side of the family.  Because of that, because they’ve never been given a chance because they aren’t worth his time - it’s natural that they dislike him in turn. 

Galadriel is Finarfin’s child, but acts more like a Noldo than he does. It would be LOGICAL for her to be biased against him. Because of that it wouldn’t be surprising if she saw the passion in him and interpreted it as Fire and Greed because of bias - whether she was aware of it or not. 

Fëanor was indeed the greatest elf that has ever existed and ever will exist - greatest in both beauty, mind and strength. He did ask for her hair three times because he wanted to capture it's beauty in gems, but that they inspired the silmarilli? Really? Nah. It might have driven him to create them out of spite, but we have a pretty clear case of stroking Galadriel's ego to deal with here if we are to assume that the SILMARILLI - the very gems that caused most of the tragedy during the First Age - were crafted in her image.

But more than that the phrase "she saw that in his heart there was only fire and greed" pisses me off.

No. There was not. There was passion in his heart. Fëanor lived to create - especially things of beauty. Everything - literally everything about this cocky little shit was about passion and creation. He cared for his people - he wanted to share wonders with the world freely and out of the rule of the Valar/Gods. He wanted freedom and he wanted to create, he has three times too much energy in his soul.

If that is what they mean by "only fire and greed", then yes.

All in all this has been amusing and interesting to write and I hope I’ve made at least some lick of sense to you - the reader.

This was really just a long and complicated way of saying that it is OKAY to dislike a character. Not every character appeals to everyone. There is legit nothing wrong with that. 

But I lose respect for people - grownups - who can’t even admit that their reason for disliking someone or something is petty. I cannot respect people who go far enough that they end up lying and making things up just to make themselves seem more sensible and mature, when in all seriousness all it tells me is that someone lacks the self-confidence to admit that ‘Yeah. I like this thing but not that. There’s no reason really, I just thing this thing is neat and that one isn’t because I’m a petty asshat’. 

No character - Especially not in a masterpiece like The Silmarillion has perfect characters, only ones with different grey areas in what’s okay and what isn’t.  There is nothing wrong in liking some and disliking some.  But OWN that. if the reason is petty OWN it.  Try to have at least some semblence of confidence and insight to know when you’re being petty and when you aren’t. 

We’re a great fandom - I truly and utterly believe that.

I love you

( @first-son-of-finwe )

[snowdice]

Big Bang Editing Story [Day 5]

In the same vein as my study session fics, I’m going to be writing a story while I edit my Big Bang Fic. I will write and publish 100 words of the story every time I finish doing final edits for a section of my Big Bang Fic.

This will be a royalty AU and unlike the study fic, I actually have a few plans for it going in, but you can still feel free to send in asks with suggestions or questions to help me along.

Because this story is a story I’m writing to edit, I’m not going to edit it very consistently… What I have done is under the cut.

Also! I have a lot of world building for this story already and I have a role for all of the sides! (Even the ones that won’t show up for a little while.) Feel free to ask any questions. There’s plenty of magic in this AU.

If you’d like to block these proceedings, please feel free to block the tag proofread stories. I will reblog this post with the parts of the story I do today.

Chapter 1

“Please?” the younger teenager said as he threw his arms around Logan in a hug. Logan gave him a disgruntled look when a stray arm bumped some of the papers on his desk and one that he’d been using fluttered to the ground.

“Patton, I have work to do.”

“You work all the time,” Patton pouted back at him.

“I’m the crowned prince,” Logan reasoned. “There is a lot for me to do.”

“You’re not even doing royalty business tonight,” Patton pointed out. “You’re just reading your book.”

“But I have to do some tomorrow and if I agree to a sleepover, we both know neither of us will sleep.”

 “We’ll sleep, I promise!” Patton said.

Logan gave him a skeptical look. They had been having these sleepovers for a decade at this point and in none of them had Logan ever actually slept. On the contrary, Patton usually kept him up long enough that Logan was so tired he couldn’t fall asleep and then the boy himself would pass out leaving Logan to stare grumpily at the ceiling.

“Future Royal Advisor’s honor?” Patton tried, eyes hopeful. “Come on, we can play dress up.”

Logan glared at him. “I am 17 years old,” he reminded.

“I’ll do your hair,” he tempted. “I’ll even let you read a book while I do it.”

The look in his friend’s eyes and the fact that he really was quite good at hair started to weaken Logan’s resolve.

 Patton, knowing him so well, saw his tenacity faulter and pitilessly pressed his advantage. “Mama made fresh cookies today,” he said. “They’re the ones with strawberry jam. We could sneak into the kitchen and steel some in the middle of the night.”

“Considering you are the head chef’s son and I am the prince, it would hardly be considered stealing.”

“But it’s more fun that way,” Patton argued with a laugh. “Come on, you need to have some fun. You’ve been stressed out lately.”

“This is fun,” Logan said with a frown, gesturing to the large book in front of him.

“I know,” Patton said, “but your brain has got to be tired from reading all of that Latin and Sand’s Kit.”

“Sanskrit.”

“Gazuntite.”

 Logan sighed. “Why did father agree to make you the royal advisor in training?”

“Because he knows without me, you’ll send your entire life sitting at this desk reading your book.” Patton scrunched up his nose at him.

“I would also do my royal duties.”

“But sometimes you need to relax,” Patton said. Logan opened his mouth. “Really relax. No super encoded magical books that make me dizzy looking at them. We’re going to play dress up, eat cookies, and read silly books, and that’s final.”

“Oh, I’m being commanded, am I?” Logan asked, an eyebrow raised. “You’re really going to try to command your prince? You’re lucky I don’t have you tossed into the dungeon.”

Patton hopped off the chair he’d pulled up to Logan’s desk and scrambled a few feet away. “You’d have to pull yourself away from your book to do that,” he said, sticking out his tongue at him.

 Logan glanced down at his book. Reading the Pragilium text despite its difficulties had been his life’s work since he was a small child, and it was something he very much enjoyed, but he was tired from his duties and his lessons the last few weeks and not in the way he would be if he agreed to Patton’s sleepover. He looked up at Patton. He was shifting back and forth on his feet, a smile on his face. The book could wait.

Logan carefully closed his book and stood from his desk chair. Patton was already giggling before Logan lunged for him.

 Patton was a lot more agile then Logan was himself and knew the castle just as well since he had been brought to live here when he was just starting to walk, yet he was clearly slowing his place so Logan would not lose him. They ran through familiar corridors, careful to not slam into the stationed guards as the slid around corners. They ran past the large window that gave the best view of the castle garden and Patton avoided the spiral staircase that would let out near the kitchen where his mother was currently preparing that night’s dinner. Instead, he made a dash through the smaller dinning hall, unused at this time because they had no important guests, and then hung right to bolt towards the wing with Logan’s own private quarters.

The guards that stood in front of the double doors to the private hall, stepped aside easily at Patton’s approach. Patton pushed through the doors and they swung shut behind him.

“Traitors,” Logan accused, shooting past them through the door himself.

 The guards only seemed amused by his accusation.

“Help!” Patton yelped. His still light tone didn’t worry Logan that something was actually wrong, but it did make him wonder who he was speaking to. That became clear, however, when he noticed his father standing at the end of the hall outside the entrance to his own bedroom. Patton sprinted past Logan’s bedroom and directly at the king.

“What is going on here?” Logan’s dad asked amused as Patton darted around him to use him as a human shield.

“I made Logan stop working and now he wants to throw me in the dungeons.”

 “Well,” Logan’s father said. “It’s a good thing I’m king and can overrule him then.”

“Thank you, Thomathy.” Father chuckled at the nickname, and Patton poked his head around the king to stick his tongue out at Logan once again.

“He’s sticking his tongue out at me!” Logan pointed out. “Surely that counts as some sort of treason.”

“Does not!” Patton claimed.

“Does too!”

“Does not!”

“Stop it!”

“Make me!”

“I would, but you’re hiding behind my father like a coward,” Logan argued.

“He does have a point there, Pat,” Father reasoned. Patton just wrapped his fists into the man’s robes and shot him a piteous look.

 “Oof, Pat,” Father said, rubbing his chest as though it ached. “That look is a shot straight to the heart. Is someone trying to assassinate me?”

“No,” Patton said. “I wouldn’t let them.”

“Hmm,” Father replied, reaching out to ruffle his hair and then stepping away from him. “I can always count on you Pat. I have to head to a meeting now. Keep our troublemaker out of mischief for me?”

“Oh, I’m the troublemaker?”

“Of course, Thomathy,” Patton swore, ignoring Logan completely. “Can we use the jewelry box for dress up?”

“Sure, go ahead,” Father agreed. “I won’t need any for a while. Just keep them safe.”

 “We will,” Patton promised. Father smiled at him and walked towards the entrance of the hall. He paused to press his palm to Logan’s cheek briefly before continuing and disappearing through the doors.

Logan turned back to Patton. “It seems you have cornered yourself,” he pointed out.

Patton glanced around himself. He had, in fact, sequestered himself in the end of the hall. The only possible avenue was into Father’s bedroom and he’d likely locked the door behind him if he was going to be gone to a meeting. Patton giggled when his predicament set in. “Truce?” he offered.

“Not a chance.”

 “No! Logan! Truce!”

Logan took a menacing step towards him.

“Defensive offence!” Patton shrieked and charged at him.

The air was knocked out of him when Patton slammed into him. “Ugh, Patton, why?” The arms that had wrapped around him squeezed hard. “I’m being attacked! Guards!”

To the guards’ credit, one of them did stick their head through the door just to make sure. Patton waved at them.

“There is no respect for the crown in this entire castle!” Logan sputtered when the door closed once again.

Patton released his waist finally, and instead grabbed his hands. “Come on, I bet I can pick out a good fun book from your dad’s library for you to read during our sleepover.”

“My book’s fun.”

“And easy,” Patton stressed. “We’ll have to wait for the cover of nightfall to steal the cookies, but there is plenty to do until then.”

“Fine,” Logan said with a put-upon sigh, though he honestly didn’t feel any true resentment. He wondered if he’d regret his decision to agree to Patton’s ‘sleep’over in the morning.

He would find in the years to come, that he very much wouldn’t. For, many, many reasons.

 Chapter 2

Virgil hated this. He really, really hated this. To think he wished he was back in training camp. He yearned for General Landon’s mistreatment like he imagined most children desired their mother’s affection. He tried not to sniff too loudly from his place behind the foul-smelling bags he’d hid behind in the small shed long enough ago that his legs had long since cramped.

He could tell from small window opposite him that the sun had set recently, though it was not quite last light. Soon he would have the cover of darkness and would have to move from this spot. That was almost worse than staying cramped here forever and starving to death in the shed. He felt sick. He felt so sick. He didn’t want to be here.

 A noise startled him, and he flinched down further behind the bags as someone pulled opened the door to the shed. A man made a groaning sound and set gardening tools down on the table with a clank. Virgil did not want to imagine all the ways each of those things could kill someone, but his brain didn’t give him the choice.

Virgil focused on breathing as quietly as he could even when the thoughts in his head made him want to pant. The man continued to put away the tools in different places in the shed. Virgil tried to curl even tighter into his already tight ball when he strayed too close a few times.

 The man finished his work and wiped off his hands on his shirt. Virgil expected him to turn and exit the shed, but instead he called out. “I can see your hair.”

Virgil froze, and when the man turned to look right at his hiding place, he let out a small whimper. He tried to scramble away when the man took a step closer to him, but there was nowhere to go but to press himself up against the back of the shed, the man’s body between him and the door.

They sized each other up for a long moment. Could Virgil make it to one of the tools if he moved quickly enough? He didn’t know. He doubted it and there was more than a likely chance that he’d reach for a tool himself with his much longer arms.

“You here to steal food from the castle garden?” the man finally asked.

 Well…no, not at all. He wished he was here to steal food. How should he respond? What was the most tactical answer? He cast his mind back to his training. There were a few options when faced with this situation, but he didn’t know which was the best one. The most obvious explanation was to go with his cover story and try to say he worked in the kitchen, but this man worked with the garden. There was every possibility he knew people in the kitchen. Another strategy would be to agree with whatever he said and hope he came up with a reasonable explanation on his own… but that explanation seemed to be that Virgil was a thief. Would he immediately be dragged in front of the king or have his arm chopped off or something else horrible? He could try spinning it around on him by asking him questions back and confuse him. He could ask him why he was here or if he was the one stealing food. That would be stupid though, he was obviously the gardener. That would probably just piss him off and make Virgil’s fate worse.

Virgil couldn’t breathe.

 “Hey kid,” the man said. “What’s going on?” He had crouched down in front of Virgil and the fading light from the window finally hit the side of his face the right way to light up the currently black tattoo on his face. Virgil blinked. He was really glad he hadn’t just lied in that case. He did not comment on the marking or otherwise indicate he knew what it was. That would breed questions about why he knew what the man was. Why was the man a gardener if he was a multrum? It didn’t make any sense.

That didn’t matter now however, Virgil needed to say something, and it had to be the truth.

 “Kid?” the man said again.

“I don’t want to be here,” Virgil said truthfully.

The man’s tattoo shimmered just slightly, and he paused. He settled himself down in front of him. “Well where do you want to be?”

Virgil shrugged.

The man frowned and then leaned back to grab something out of a bucket under the table. “Here,” the man said. An apple was plopped down in his lap.

Virgil stared down at it in confusion.

“Are you hungry?”

“Yeah,” Virgil admitted. “I wasn’t here to steal though, promise.”

The man nodded. “Go ahead and try it,” he suggested. “It’s from a new hybrid plant that just started growing fruit.”

 Virgil cautiously brought it to his lips and took a bite. “It’s good,” Virgil said softly. “Thanks.”

The man watched him eat for a long moment. “What are you doing here?” he finally asked.

Virgil was careful with how he responded. “Hiding.”

He arched an eyebrow. “From what?”

Virgil was not fool enough to say.

“Well, you can’t hide in here,” the man said once he realized Virgil wasn’t going to speak. “I lock it from the outside during the night. How about I walk you back to wherever you’re supposed to be. Where’s that?”

Virgil bit his lip. “The castle,” he said.

 He titled his head at Virgil. “Alright,” he agreed. “Come on.” The man offered him a hand and he twitched before slowly taking it. The man pulled him to his feet carefully. He reached over and grabbed another apple from the bucket. “Here, have another one for the road,” he offered.

Virgil looked at it in confusion. “Oh,” he said. “T-thanks.” He stored the apple in his pocket and when he’d looked away, he felt a hand descend on his back.

He yelped and jerked away, eyes wide, but the man was just holding his hand in the air where Virgil’s back had been, looking confused.

 “Sorry,” he stuttered. “You just startled me.”

The man eyed him. “Sure kid,” he agreed. “Let’s get along.”

Virgil nodded and followed him out of the shed. He waited for the man as he locked up the shed and then they walked side-by-side to the castle. The man never reached for him again, Virgil noticed.

Virgil found himself shuffling closer to him as other random castle workers passed them, using him as a cover. No one looked at them twice.

The man took him in one of the doors of the castle. It was one near the kitchen if Virgil’s mental map was right.

 “Can you find your way from here?” the man asked.

“Yeah,” Virgil replied. “I know where I am. Thanks.”

“No problem kid,” he replied. He nodded at the bulge in Virgil’s pocket. “If you ever want another one of those apples, I have plenty.”

“Oh,” Virgil said softly. “Thanks for the offer.”

He inclined his head and turned back to leave out through the door they’d come through. Virgil watched him go. Well. That was the weirdest interaction he’d ever had with an adult, but at least all of his limbs were intact. He gulped looking around at the strange hall he was in. For now.

 There weren’t many people coming in and out of the kitchen at the moment since dinner had long since passed, but he was still cautious as he took the spiral staircase up. Though most wouldn’t question him in the more public areas of the castle, it still never hurt to be safe. He came out in a large corridor across the way from what he knew was a small dinning hall for important guests. It was still fall, but it was getting late enough in the season that there should not be any guests staying for fear winter may come early and snow them in.

 He kept close to the walls as he quickly passed through the dining hall, wincing as his shoes clacked softly on the floor and then turned left. He kept his ears peeled for guards and ducked around corners when he heard people coming, but eventually found himself in the correct hall. It was a hall of large bedrooms used for visiting dignitaries, and he slipped into the first bedroom on the left.

He took a moment to gawk at the large bedroom. Most of the furniture was covered in white cloth to keep it from getting dusty when not in use, but he could still imagine how beautiful it was when someone was staying there, how soft the bed and chairs must be, and how pretty the designs on the wardrobe.

He shook himself and turned his attention to the bed. He crouched down and squirmed underneath it. His arms stretched out, searching along the wall at the head of the bed until he found the loose board. From what Virgil had been told, a dignitary from Faumatia had come here in the spring before their membership in The Alliance was known and planted supplies for this. He grabbed the bag and squirmed back out from under the bed. He opened the bag and pulled out exactly what he’d been told would be there: a knife, some dried meat (which he chose to forgo since he still had the apple), and one sleeping potion enough for the guards who would inevitably stand at the entrance to the hall The King’s bedroom was in.

 Then, Virgil settled in to wait for a few more hours until the rest of the castle was asleep. He chewed idly on the second apple he’d been given. He felt a little bad; he wondered if the nice gardener liked his king. Would he make the connection between The King’s assassination and Virgil? Would he feel guilty for helping him even if accidently?

He shook off the thought. He had enough to feel bad about without feeling bad about that too.

He waited for hours before he finally decided it was time to move. The clock had struck 2am a good while ago and everyone but the night guards should be asleep. He stood and snuck back the way he came, past the dinning hall and into another area of the castle. The correct hall was easy enough to find with its two guards posted outside of it. With practiced ease, he kept silent to the shadows and snuck up on them. When he was close enough, he pressed his shirt up against his nose and uncorked the potion, tossing it so the gas it made when hitting oxygen hissed and spiraled up their legs. They were down in a moment and Virgil was running past them, holding his breath. He closed the doors behind him silently.

Now, he just needed to find the king’s bedroom. He imagined the floorplan in his mind. There were two bedrooms in this wing: one for the prince and one for the king. He froze. Which was which? He remembered which doors led to bedrooms, but racking his brain, he couldn’t remember which one they’d said was The King’s.

It was fine. They’d both be asleep at this hour. He’d just check the first bedroom on the left and see if it was the prince or the king. If the prince was sleeping there, he’d back out and go to the next one.

Decided, he took out the knife and crept to the first bedroom door. He turned the knob and pushed it open slowly.

Confused eyes met his the moment the door finished opening. It was the prince. What was he doing awake at this hour? The stared at each other for a long moment, both frozen. The prince’s eyes drifted to the knife.

Then, something heavy and flat slammed into the back of his head.

 Chapter 3

The figure whose head Patton had just slammed a cookie sheet over tottered forward and fell to the floor; the knife fell limply from its hand onto the floor. Patton immediately stepped forward to kick the weapon away towards Logan. Logan stepped forward to grab it and stored it away quickly at the bottom of the chest at the foot of his bed.

He looked back up at Patton. “T-thank you,” he said.

“Um-huh,” Patton replied, still looking down at the fallen figure. It did not seem like it’d be getting up anytime soon. He slowly lowered the cookie sheet.

 He cautiously knelt down next to the person.

“Patton, what are you doing?” Logan asked.

“I just want to see,” Patton said. He carefully shoved the figure over to its back so he could peer at his face. It was a young boy with a pale face and kinda squiggly dark hair that framed his face unevenly. “Oh,” Patton said softly. “He’s just a baby.”

“What are you talking about?” Logan asked.

“He’s like 12,” Patton said with a frown. “Maybe 13.”

“He also had a knife,” Logan stressed, but he did move closer to get a better look at him. “We should call the guards.”

“But...”

“No, Patton,” Logan said firmly.

 “Maybe it’s just a misunderstanding?” Patton tried.

“A misunderstanding?” Logan scoffed. “What? Did he accidently sneak past the guards into royal family’s private hallway and come into my bedroom in the middle of the night with a knife?”

Patton looked down at the kid. “Well…”

“He’s clearly an assassin,” Logan said. “We need to call the guards so they can deal with him appropriately.”

“Can we at least wait until he wakes up?” Patton said. “I want to talk to him. Maybe…”

“He’s not a feral cat you can tame.”

Patton bit his lip and looked up at Logan about to do something sorta mean. “But aren’t you curious?” Patton beseeched. “He’s so young. Who would have sent him? Who would have trained him if he’s really an assassin? How’d he get past the guards? Don’t you want to know? They probably wouldn’t tell you if we let the guards take him away.”

 Patton could see Logan’s resolve breaking. He was weak to his own curiosity and whoever this kid was, was a curiosity. He sighed. “We’ll have to check him for any weapons before he wakes up, and we’ll have to restrain him.” Patton beamed up at him. “We’ll call the guards and tell Father as soon as we’re done or at the first sign of trouble.”

“Sure,” Patton readily agreed.

“Hmm,” Logan said. “Watch him closely for a couple of seconds.” He ducked through the door to his little work area and then ran back with a corked bottle. “Hmm… can I borrow your bracelets?”

 “Sure. Why?” Patton asked, already working them off his own wrists.

“This is a binding potion,” Logan explained, taking the bracelets and pouring a couple of drops carefully on them. “It keeps people locked in place. It’s rather strong though and if I applied it directly on his skin, it’d hurt him and be hard to take off. This way, the bracelets will just act like magical cuffs. They’ll hold his arms in place wherever we need them to be.” He waited for a moment and then tapped his own finger to where he’d applied the potion. “It’s dry” he said.

 “Help me get these on him,” Logan said. Patton nodded and grabbed the boy’s thin wrists in his, pulling back the dark sleeves so Logan could snap the brackets on him. Then, Logan grabbed both of his hands and moved them above his head, so they laid against the ground. Patton shifted him around, so he was laying prone. “Okay, now we should make sure he doesn’t have any other weapons on him.”

Patton nodded and they both started awkwardly patting at his clothing, feeling for anything that could be a weapon. “He’s really skinny,” Patton said while his hands brushed across his rib cage.

 “Strange,” Logan said. “You would think one would keep your assassins well fed.”

“And older,” Patton pointed out.

“It’ll be another question for when he wakes,” Logan said. “He doesn’t seem to have any other weapons on him.”

“Let’s get him sat up,” Patton suggested, “so he’s easier to talk to.”

Logan nodded, and they worked on pulling him into a sitting position against the wall. The boy made a slight sound at being moved and Logan met his eyes. They quickly finished setting him up and settled his hands next to him on the ground to pin them there.

 Then, they both stood back to watch. The boy shifted a bit more and then sucked in a sudden breath. He went tense all over the second before his eyes opened. His head lifted to look at them with absolutely terrified eyes. Logan shifted beside him, clearly about to speak, but Patton’s hand struck out to grab Logan’s shoulder. Logan glanced at him and then stood back.

Patton moved forward to kneel in front of him. “Hey there,” Patton said with a slight smile. The boy seemed to try to curl away from him into the wall. Strangely, he didn’t seem to even attempt to pull against his restraints.

 “What’s your name?” Patton asked. He paused but the boy didn’t respond. He just stared at him with scared eyes. “My name’s Patton,” he offered, “and that’s Logan.” The boy glanced at Logan, and then looked away, staring down at his lap. Patton waited, but he didn’t move. Eventually, Patton tilted his head so he could get a look at his face. “Oh, honey,” Patton said. “Are you crying?” Patton reached out to touch his cheek and he flinched back with a sharp inhale but there was very far for him to go. “Hey, it’s okay,” Patton soothed. He gently wiped away a few of the tears that had fallen down his cheeks. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

 The boy did not respond, and Patton settled back on his knees with a frown. He glanced at Logan who shrugged. Patton bit his lip in thought for a moment. They weren’t going to be able to speak to him until he calmed down. How could Patton calm him down? Patton’s eyes skirted around the room. The book Logan was reading? No. One of the old fancy crowns they’d borrowed from Thomathy? No. Cookies?

“Are you hungry?” Patton asked the boy. He didn’t confirm verbally, but his head did tilt up in interest. “We have some cookies,” Patton said. He stood, perhaps too quickly because he cowered into the wall as though he expected Patton to lunge at him. Patton smiled apologetically and walked over to the plate they’d luckily stacked the leftover cookies on before Patton had used the cookie sheet for different purposes.

 With a smile, he selected a mint chocolate chip cookie from the plate and walked back over to the boy. He was slower this time with his movements, but the kiddo still tracked him carefully with his eyes as he knelt back in front of him. “Here,” Patton offered. “Try this one. It’s my favorite.”

The boy didn’t open his mouth. In fact, he pressed his lips even harder together.

“Come on,” Patton tempted. “They’re really good. It’s my mama’s own recipe and she made them herself. One of the only two people who know how to make them perfect.”

 Patton glanced over at Logan and smiled. He got a glare back in return. Patton leaned forward slightly like he was telling the boy a secret. “Logan’s the other person who knows how to make them,” he divulged. “When I was six, my mama got sick for a few days and I was really sad. He wanted to cook me my favorite cookies to cheer me up. He had no idea how to do it, but he was determined. He snuck into the kitchen in the middle of the night and tried to make them.” Patton laughed at the memory. “He did really, really bad. Logan hadn’t ever cooked anything before, let alone mint chocolate chip cookies. There was flour everywhere and he managed to break three wooden spoons. But, when mama got better, she taught him how to make them. That way, he can make them for me if she ever can’t.”

 Patton offered the treat again. “Come on,” Patton said when he still didn’t move to eat it. “What’s wrong?”

Logan stepped forward suddenly and Patton blinked at him. He reached for the cookie and tore off a small piece of it before offering it to Patton. Patton opened his mouth, confused, and let him pop it into his mouth. He chewed it and swallowed.

“Try again,” Logan said stepping away.

Patton turned back to the boy and held out the cookie. After a moment’s hesitation, the boy opened his mouth. Patton let him take a bite. “See!” he said. “It’s good, huh?”

5020

He chewed and swallowed the bite of cookie. “W-what’s going on?” he finally spoke in a low scratchy tone. Hmm, maybe Patton should get him some water soon.

“We were hoping you could tell us that,” Patton said. “Lo and I were a bit startled by you showing up in his bedroom in the middle of the night.”

“You… knocked me unconscious,” the boy said.

“Well you gave us quite the fright there with that knife of yours.”

The boy seemed to shrink at the reminder.

“Want to tell us what that was about?” Patton asked.

He shook his head, shoulders climbing.

“Let us rephrase,” Logan said calmly. “Clearly you were here to assassinate either my father, myself or both. So, the relevant questions are who sent you to do so and why?” The boy shook his head and Logan frowned. “No?” he asked. “Apologies, but ‘no’ is not a sufficient answer.”

 Chapter 4

Logan’s statement did not appear to go over well with the small assassin. He went still and curled over into himself as though to protect his more vulnerable areas. Honestly, Logan thought agitated, Logan hadn’t threatened any bodily harm. He’d even prefaced the statement with an apology even though he didn’t feel as though he had anything to apologize for! Just like father had taught him!

Patton shot him a glare telling him he was somehow in the wrong despite the fact that he’d almost been the one assassinated. Logan grumbled and returned to quietly sulking in the background while Patton cooed at the assassin, trying to cajole him out of the ball he’d wrapped himself into.

 Logan did have to admit the situation was odd. He was young. He didn’t even know anyone trained assassins so young. His kingdom did have a guild of trained assassins/spies, but one couldn’t even join the military until one was of age (though they could start training at 16 with special permission) and all assassins must have at least a year of military training before being considered. It would be years more before they were sent out on actual missions.

So, where had this young boy came from? Surely, he wasn’t acting of his own violation especially considering his age and temperament. What was his or whoever had sent him’s greater purpose? One didn’t attempt the risky act of regicide without some reasoning. Why did he only have one weapon? Most hired killers would be provided a backup at the very least and more than likely an arsenal. Why was he acting so skittish? It was a strange attitude for a trained killer.

He had piqued Logan’s curiosity and Logan wanted answers.

 “There, see?” Patton was saying, hand feeding more of the cookie to the assassin who looked just as startled by this fact the second time around as the first. “How about a compromise?”

Logan eyed him suspiciously. He was willing to let Patton lead since Logan was well aware of his own shortcomings when it came to tact, but his friend also had a bit of a bleeding heart. Logan refused to let him put himself at risk.

Ironically, the assassin seemed to be on the same page as Logan. His eyes tracked Patton distrustfully. “Compromise?” he echoed.

“Yes!” Patton said, unconcerned with the blatant discomfort in the room.

 “We’ll ask you a question and you answer it,” Patton said. “Then you can ask a question and we’ll answer that. Then we can keep going back and forth like that.”

The assassin seemed unsure about this, but he slowly nodded. “What’s your question?” he asked.

Patton looked back at Logan and inclined his head. Logan took a step forward. “Who are you?” Logan asked. The assassin hesitated.

“Maybe a more specific question,” Patton suggested. “We’ve got plenty of time and ‘who are you?’ is a bit of a big question. There are so many different answers!”

“Very well,” Logan agreed. “Let’s start with, what’s your name?”

 The assassin considered him, looking overly cautious for such a mundane question. “It’s Virgil,” he said after a moment.

“Last name?” Logan prompted.

“I-” he hesitated, looking distressed. “I don’t have one.”

“You don’t have one?” Logan asked.

And… he was curling up into a ball again. “Sorry,” he said softly. He started to cry again.

“It’s okay, it’s okay, hey,” Patton soothed. “That was good.”

Logan frowned. It was not ‘good’. It had given them basically no information. “Why-”

“It’s Virgil’s turn to ask a question, Logan,” Patton said. Logan almost groaned. This was going to take forever, wasn’t it?

 Virgil’s eyes bounced between them. “Why haven’t you called someone to take me away yet?” he asked.

“We wanted to ask you a few questions ourselves before getting the castle guards involved,” Logan answered.

“Are…” he shut his mouth, likely realizing he’d have to wait for his next question.

Logan considered him. “Why do you have no last name?” Logan asked.

Virgil looked away. “I’m an orphan. I don’t know who my parents were, and no one bothered to give me one.”

“Ah, that makes sense,” Logan acknowledged. “And your question.”

“Are…” Virgil said. “Are you going to torture me if I don’t answer something right?”

 Patton made a little pained exhale.

“Why would we do that?” Logan asked.

“Why wouldn’t you do that?” he replied.

“Where the hell are you from where that’s a question?”

“Why the hell should I tell you?”

“Why the hell would you be defending a place that makes you think that a normal question?”

“What the fuck are you even on about?”

“Okay,” Patton cut Logan off before he retorted in kind. “I think that’s enough of the question game at the moment.” He stood up and walked back over to the plate of cookies.

“He-” Logan started to grouse and got a sugar cookie pushed into his mouth to silence him.

 Logan frowned at him around the cookie as he went back and offered the other cookie to Virgil. Virgil turned his head away from it. Logan’s eyes watched the assassin as Patton thought for a moment and then took a bit of cookie off and ate it himself before offering the cookie again. He was a suspicious thing, Logan thought as the boy slowly ate a bite of cookie himself.

It made Logan’s curiosity itch even more, but at this rate he wasn’t going to get any answers. He polished off the sugar cookie and then walked over to sit on the floor next to where Patton was kneeling.

 Virgil watched him move and Logan met his eye. “No, by the way,” Logan thought to answer. “We aren’t going to hurt you.”

Logan tried not to bristle at the disbelieving look on his face. Logically that distrust had nothing to do with Logan personally, but with whatever his experiences were before this.

Logan tilted his head at him. “Why the one knife?”

Virgil blinked at him. “What?”

“The knife,” Logan reiterated. “You were clearly here to use it, but you only have one. It seems odd.”

“Uh…” Virgil said. “I don’t know. That’s all they gave me.”

Logan nodded. “Me or my dad?” he asked. “Or both?”

 Virgil clearly didn’t want to answer. “The king,” he said.

Logan nodded and it suddenly hit him exactly what would have happened if he and Patton hadn’t happened to be awake. Virgil seemed to see the realization. He braced himself as though expecting to be struck. Logan felt suddenly nauseous, the idea of a dead father hitting a bit too close to home after…

“And the guards?” Logan asked.

“I didn’t,” Virgil rushed to say. “Just a sleeping potion.”

“Okay,” Logan said. “Good.”

“What are you going to do with me?” Virgil asked.

“We’ll hand you over to the guards,” Logan said. “They’ll figure out what to do with you from there.”

[snowdice]

Big Bang Editing Story [Day 4](Part 2)

In the same vein as my study session fics, I’m going to be writing a story while I edit my Big Bang Fic. I will write and publish 100 words of the story every time I finish doing final edits for a section of my Big Bang Fic.

This will be a royalty AU and unlike the study fic, I actually have a few plans for it going in, but you can still feel free to send in asks with suggestions or questions to help me along.

Because this story is a story I’m writing to edit, I’m not going to edit it very consistently… What I have done is under the cut.

Also! I have a lot of world building for this story already and I have a role for all of the sides! (Even the ones that won’t show up for a little while.) Feel free to ask any questions. There’s plenty of magic in this AU.

If you’d like to block these proceedings, please feel free to block the tag proofread stories. I will reblog this post with the parts of the story I do today.

“Please?” the younger teenager said as he threw his arms around Logan in a hug. Logan gave him a disgruntled look when a stray arm bumped some of the papers on his desk and one that he’d been using fluttered to the ground.

“Patton, I have work to do.”

“You work all the time,” Patton pouted back at him.

“I’m the crowned prince,” Logan reasoned. “There is a lot for me to do.”

“You’re not even doing royalty business tonight,” Patton pointed out. “You’re just reading your book.”

“But I have to do some tomorrow and if I agree to a sleepover, we both know neither of us will sleep.”

 “We’ll sleep, I promise!” Patton said.

Logan gave him a skeptical look. They had been having these sleepovers for a decade at this point and in none of them had Logan ever actually slept. On the contrary, Patton usually kept him up long enough that Logan was so tired he couldn’t fall asleep and then the boy himself would pass out leaving Logan to stare grumpily at the ceiling.

“Future Royal Advisor’s honor?” Patton tried, eyes hopeful. “Come on, we can play dress up.”

Logan glared at him. “I am 17 years old,” he reminded.

“I’ll do your hair,” he tempted. “I’ll even let you read a book while I do it.”

The look in his friend’s eyes and the fact that he really was quite good at hair started to weaken Logan’s resolve.

 Patton, knowing him so well, saw his tenacity faulter and pitilessly pressed his advantage. “Mama made fresh cookies today,” he said. “They’re the ones with strawberry jam. We could sneak into the kitchen and steel some in the middle of the night.”

“Considering you are the head chef’s son and I am the prince, it would hardly be considered stealing.”

“But it’s more fun that way,” Patton argued with a laugh. “Come on, you need to have some fun. You’ve been stressed out lately.”

“This is fun,” Logan said with a frown, gesturing to the large book in front of him.

“I know,” Patton said, “but your brain has got to be tired from reading all of that Latin and Sand’s Kit.”

“Sanskrit.”

“Gazuntite.”

 Logan sighed. “Why did father agree to make you the royal advisor in training?”

“Because he knows without me, you’ll send your entire life sitting at this desk reading your book.” Patton scrunched up his nose at him.

“I would also do my royal duties.”

“But sometimes you need to relax,” Patton said. Logan opened his mouth. “Really relax. No super encoded magical books that make me dizzy looking at them. We’re going to play dress up, eat cookies, and read silly books, and that’s final.”

“Oh, I’m being commanded, am I?” Logan asked, an eyebrow raised. “You’re really going to try to command your prince? You’re lucky I don’t have you tossed into the dungeon.”

Patton hopped off the chair he’d pulled up to Logan’s desk and scrambled a few feet away. “You’d have to pull yourself away from your book to do that,” he said, sticking out his tongue at him.

 Logan glanced down at his book. Reading the Pragilium text despite its difficulties had been his life’s work since he was a small child, and it was something he very much enjoyed, but he was tired from his duties and his lessons the last few weeks and not in the way he would be if he agreed to Patton’s sleepover. He looked up at Patton. He was shifting back and forth on his feet, a smile on his face. The book could wait.

Logan carefully closed his book and stood from his desk chair. Patton was already giggling before Logan lunged for him.

 Patton was a lot more agile then Logan was himself and knew the castle just as well since he had been brought to live here when he was just starting to walk, yet he was clearly slowing his place so Logan would not lose him. They ran through familiar corridors, careful to not slam into the stationed guards as the slid around corners. They ran past the large window that gave the best view of the castle garden and Patton avoided the spiral staircase that would let out near the kitchen where his mother was currently preparing that night’s dinner. Instead, he made a dash through the smaller dinning hall, unused at this time because they had no important guests, and then hung right to bolt towards the wing with Logan’s own private quarters.

The guards that stood in front of the double doors to the private hall, stepped aside easily at Patton’s approach. Patton pushed through the doors and they swung shut behind him.

“Traitors,” Logan accused, shooting past them through the door himself.

 The guards only seemed amused by his accusation.

“Help!” Patton yelped. His still light tone didn’t worry Logan that something was actually wrong, but it did make him wonder who he was speaking to. That became clear, however, when he noticed his father standing at the end of the hall outside the entrance to his own bedroom. Patton sprinted past Logan’s bedroom and directly at the king.

“What is going on here?” Logan’s dad asked amused as Patton darted around him to use him as a human shield.

“I made Logan stop working and now he wants to throw me in the dungeons.”

 “Well,” Logan’s father said. “It’s a good thing I’m king and can overrule him then.”

“Thank you, Thomathy.” Father chuckled at the nickname, and Patton poked his head around the king to stick his tongue out at Logan once again.

“He’s sticking his tongue out at me!” Logan pointed out. “Surely that counts as some sort of treason.”

“Does not!” Patton claimed.

“Does too!”

“Does not!”

“Stop it!”

“Make me!”

“I would, but you’re hiding behind my father like a coward,” Logan argued.

“He does have a point there, Pat,” Father reasoned. Patton just wrapped his fists into the man’s robes and shot him a piteous look.

 “Oof, Pat,” Father said, rubbing his chest as though it ached. “That look is a shot straight to the heart. Is someone trying to assassinate me?”

“No,” Patton said. “I wouldn’t let them.”

“Hmm,” Father replied, reaching out to ruffle his hair and then stepping away from him. “I can always count on you Pat. I have to head to a meeting now. Keep our troublemaker out of mischief for me?”

“Oh, I’m the troublemaker?”

“Of course, Thomathy,” Patton swore, ignoring Logan completely. “Can we use the jewelry box for dress up?”

“Sure, go ahead,” Father agreed. “I won’t need any for a while. Just keep them safe.”

 “We will,” Patton promised. Father smiled at him and walked towards the entrance of the hall. He paused to press his palm to Logan’s cheek briefly before continuing and disappearing through the doors.

Logan turned back to Patton. “It seems you have cornered yourself,” he pointed out.

Patton glanced around himself. He had, in fact, sequestered himself in the end of the hall. The only possible avenue was into Father’s bedroom and he’d likely locked the door behind him if he was going to be gone to a meeting. Patton giggled when his predicament set in. “Truce?” he offered.

“Not a chance.”

 “No! Logan! Truce!”

Logan took a menacing step towards him.

“Defensive offence!” Patton shrieked and charged at him.

The air was knocked out of him when Patton slammed into him. “Ugh, Patton, why?” The arms that had wrapped around him squeezed hard. “I’m being attacked! Guards!”

To the guards’ credit, one of them did stick their head through the door just to make sure. Patton waved at them.

“There is no respect for the crown in this entire castle!” Logan sputtered when the door closed once again.

Patton released his waist finally, and instead grabbed his hands. “Come on, I bet I can pick out a good fun book from your dad’s library for you to read during our sleepover.”

“My book’s fun.”

“And easy,” Patton stressed. “We’ll have to wait for the cover of nightfall to steal the cookies, but there is plenty to do until then.”

“Fine,” Logan said with a put-upon sigh, though he honestly didn’t feel any true resentment. He wondered if he’d regret his decision to agree to Patton’s ‘sleep’over in the morning.

He would find in the years to come, that he very much wouldn’t. For, many, many reasons.

 Virgil hated this. He really, really hated this. To think he wished he was back in training camp. He yearned for General Landon’s mistreatment like he imagined most children desired their mother’s affection. He tried not to sniff too loudly from his place behind the foul-smelling bags he’d hid behind in the small shed long enough ago that his legs had long since cramped.

He could tell from small window opposite him that the sun had set recently, though it was not quite last light. Soon he would have the cover of darkness and would have to move from this spot. That was almost worse than staying cramped here forever and starving to death in the shed. He felt sick. He felt so sick. He didn’t want to be here.

 A noise startled him, and he flinched down further behind the bags as someone pulled opened the door to the shed. A man made a groaning sound and set gardening tools down on the table with a clank. Virgil did not want to imagine all the ways each of those things could kill someone, but his brain didn’t give him the choice.

Virgil focused on breathing as quietly as he could even when the thoughts in his head made him want to pant. The man continued to put away the tools in different places in the shed. Virgil tried to curl even tighter into his already tight ball when he strayed too close a few times.

 The man finished his work and wiped off his hands on his shirt. Virgil expected him to turn and exit the shed, but instead he called out. “I can see your hair.”

Virgil froze, and when the man turned to look right at his hiding place, he let out a small whimper. He tried to scramble away when the man took a step closer to him, but there was nowhere to go but to press himself up against the back of the shed, the man’s body between him and the door.

They sized each other up for a long moment. Could Virgil make it to one of the tools if he moved quickly enough? He didn’t know. He doubted it and there was more than a likely chance that he’d reach for a tool himself with his much longer arms.

“You here to steal food from the castle garden?” the man finally asked.

 Well…no, not at all. He wished he was here to steal food. How should he respond? What was the most tactical answer? He cast his mind back to his training. There were a few options when faced with this situation, but he didn’t know which was the best one. The most obvious explanation was to go with his cover story and try to say he worked in the kitchen, but this man worked with the garden. There was every possibility he knew people in the kitchen. Another strategy would be to agree with whatever he said and hope he came up with a reasonable explanation on his own… but that explanation seemed to be that Virgil was a thief. Would he immediately be dragged in front of the king or have his arm chopped off or something else horrible? He could try spinning it around on him by asking him questions back and confuse him. He could ask him why he was here or if he was the one stealing food. That would be stupid though, he was obviously the gardener. That would probably just piss him off and make Virgil’s fate worse.

Virgil couldn’t breathe.

 “Hey kid,” the man said. “What’s going on?” He had crouched down in front of Virgil and the fading light from the window finally hit the side of his face the right way to light up the currently black tattoo on his face. Virgil blinked. He was really glad he hadn’t just lied in that case. He did not comment on the marking or otherwise indicate he knew what it was. That would breed questions about why he knew what the man was. Why was the man a gardener if he was a multrum? It didn’t make any sense.

That didn’t matter now however, Virgil needed to say something, and it had to be the truth.

 “Kid?” the man said again.

“I don’t want to be here,” Virgil said truthfully.

The man’s tattoo shimmered just slightly, and he paused. He settled himself down in front of him. “Well where do you want to be?”

Virgil shrugged.

The man frowned and then leaned back to grab something out of a bucket under the table. “Here,” the man said. An apple was plopped down in his lap.

Virgil stared down at it in confusion.

“Are you hungry?”

“Yeah,” Virgil admitted. “I wasn’t here to steal though, promise.”

The man nodded. “Go ahead and try it,” he suggested. “It’s from a new hybrid plant that just started growing fruit.”

 Virgil cautiously brought it to his lips and took a bite. “It’s good,” Virgil said softly. “Thanks.”

The man watched him eat for a long moment. “What are you doing here?” he finally asked.

Virgil was careful with how he responded. “Hiding.”

He arched an eyebrow. “From what?”

Virgil was not fool enough to say.

“Well, you can’t hide in here,” the man said once he realized Virgil wasn’t going to speak. “I lock it from the outside during the night. How about I walk you back to wherever you’re supposed to be. Where’s that?”

Virgil bit his lip. “The castle,” he said.

 He titled his head at Virgil. “Alright,” he agreed. “Come on.” The man offered him a hand and he twitched before slowly taking it. The man pulled him to his feet carefully. He reached over and grabbed another apple from the bucket. “Here, have another one for the road,” he offered.

Virgil looked at it in confusion. “Oh,” he said. “T-thanks.” He stored the apple in his pocket and when he’d looked away, he felt a hand descend on his back.

He yelped and jerked away, eyes wide, but the man was just holding his hand in the air where Virgil’s back had been, looking confused.

 “Sorry,” he stuttered. “You just startled me.”

The man eyed him. “Sure kid,” he agreed. “Let’s get along.”

Virgil nodded and followed him out of the shed. He waited for the man as he locked up the shed and then they walked side-by-side to the castle. The man never reached for him again, Virgil noticed.

Virgil found himself shuffling closer to him as other random castle workers passed them, using him as a cover. No one looked at them twice.

The man took him in one of the doors of the castle. It was one near the kitchen if Virgil’s mental map was right.

 “Can you find your way from here?” the man asked.

“Yeah,” Virgil replied. “I know where I am. Thanks.”

“No problem kid,” he replied. He nodded at the bulge in Virgil’s pocket. “If you ever want another one of those apples, I have plenty.”

“Oh,” Virgil said softly. “Thanks for the offer.”

He inclined his head and turned back to leave out through the door they’d come through. Virgil watched him go. Well. That was the weirdest interaction he’d ever had with an adult, but at least all of his limbs were intact. He gulped looking around at the strange hall he was in. For now.

 There weren’t many people coming in and out of the kitchen at the moment since dinner had long since passed, but he was still cautious as he took the spiral staircase up. Though most wouldn’t question him in the more public areas of the castle, it still never hurt to be safe. He came out in a large corridor across the way from what he knew was a small dinning hall for important guests. It was still fall, but it was getting late enough in the season that there should not be any guests staying for fear winter may come early and snow them in.

 He kept close to the walls as he quickly passed through the dining hall, wincing as his shoes clacked softly on the floor and then turned left. He kept his ears peeled for guards and ducked around corners when he heard people coming, but eventually found himself in the correct hall. It was a hall of large bedrooms used for visiting dignitaries, and he slipped into the first bedroom on the left.

He took a moment to gawk at the large bedroom. Most of the furniture was covered in white cloth to keep it from getting dusty when not in use, but he could still imagine how beautiful it was when someone was staying there, how soft the bed and chairs must be, and how pretty the designs on the wardrobe.

He shook himself and turned his attention to the bed. He crouched down and squirmed underneath it. His arms stretched out, searching along the wall at the head of the bed until he found the loose board. From what Virgil had been told, a dignitary from Faumatia had come here in the spring before their membership in The Alliance was known and planted supplies for this. He grabbed the bag and squirmed back out from under the bed. He opened the bag and pulled out exactly what he’d been told would be there: a knife, some dried meat (which he chose to forgo since he still had the apple), and one sleeping potion enough for the guards who would inevitably stand at the entrance to the hall The King’s bedroom was in.

 Then, Virgil settled in to wait for a few more hours until the rest of the castle was asleep. He chewed idly on the second apple he’d been given. He felt a little bad; he wondered if the nice gardener liked his king. Would he make the connection between The King’s assassination and Virgil? Would he feel guilty for helping him even if accidently?

He shook off the thought. He had enough to feel bad about without feeling bad about that too.

He waited for hours before he finally decided it was time to move. The clock had struck 2am a good while ago and everyone but the night guards should be asleep. He stood and snuck back the way he came, past the dinning hall and into another area of the castle. The correct hall was easy enough to find with its two guards posted outside of it. With practiced ease, he kept silent to the shadows and snuck up on them. When he was close enough, he pressed his shirt up against his nose and uncorked the potion, tossing it so the gas it made when hitting oxygen hissed and spiraled up their legs. They were down in a moment and Virgil was running past them, holding his breath. He closed the doors behind him silently.

Now, he just needed to find the king’s bedroom. He imagined the floorplan in his mind. There were two bedrooms in this wing: one for the prince and one for the king. He froze. Which was which? He remembered which doors led to bedrooms, but racking his brain, he couldn’t remember which one they’d said was The King’s.

It was fine. They’d both be asleep at this hour. He’d just check the first bedroom on the left and see if it was the prince or the king. If the prince was sleeping there, he’d back out and go to the next one.

Decided, he took out the knife and crept to the first bedroom door. He turned the knob and pushed it open slowly.

Confused eyes met his the moment the door finished opening. It was the prince. What was he doing awake at this hour? The stared at each other for a long moment, both frozen. The prince’s eyes drifted to the knife.

Then, something heavy and flat slammed into the back of his head.

 The figure whose head Patton had just slammed a cookie sheet over tottered forward and fell to the floor; the knife fell limply from its hand onto the floor. Patton immediately stepped forward to kick the weapon away towards Logan. Logan stepped forward to grab it and stored it away quickly at the bottom of the chest at the foot of his bed.

He looked back up at Patton. “T-thank you,” he said.

“Um-huh,” Patton replied, still looking down at the fallen figure. It did not seem like it’d be getting up anytime soon. He slowly lowered the cookie sheet.

 He cautiously knelt down next to the person.

“Patton, what are you doing?” Logan asked.

“I just want to see,” Patton said. He carefully shoved the figure over to its back so he could peer at his face. It was a young boy with a pale face and kinda squiggly dark hair that framed his face unevenly. “Oh,” Patton said softly. “He’s just a baby.”

“What are you talking about?” Logan asked.

“He’s like 12,” Patton said with a frown. “Maybe 13.”

“He also had a knife,” Logan stressed, but he did move closer to get a better look at him. “We should call the guards.”

“But...”

“No, Patton,” Logan said firmly.

 “Maybe it’s just a misunderstanding?” Patton tried.

“A misunderstanding?” Logan scoffed. “What? Did he accidently sneak past the guards into royal family’s private hallway and come into my bedroom in the middle of the night with a knife?”

Patton looked down at the kid. “Well…”

“He’s clearly an assassin,” Logan said. “We need to call the guards so they can deal with him appropriately.”

“Can we at least wait until he wakes up?” Patton said. “I want to talk to him. Maybe…”

“He’s not a feral cat you can tame.”

Patton bit his lip and looked up at Logan about to do something sorta mean. “But aren’t you curious?” Patton beseeched. “He’s so young. Who would have sent him? Who would have trained him if he’s really an assassin? How’d he get past the guards? Don’t you want to know? They probably wouldn’t tell you if we let the guards take him away.”

 Patton could see Logan’s resolve breaking. He was weak to his own curiosity and whoever this kid was, was a curiosity. He sighed. “We’ll have to check him for any weapons before he wakes up, and we’ll have to restrain him.” Patton beamed up at him. “We’ll call the guards and tell Father as soon as we’re done or at the first sign of trouble.”

“Sure,” Patton readily agreed.

“Hmm,” Logan said. “Watch him closely for a couple of seconds.” He ducked through the door to his little work area and then ran back with a corked bottle. “Hmm… can I borrow your bracelets?”

 “Sure. Why?” Patton asked, already working them off his own wrists.

“This is a binding potion,” Logan explained, taking the bracelets and pouring a couple of drops carefully on them. “It keeps people locked in place. It’s rather strong though and if I applied it directly on his skin, it’d hurt him and be hard to take off. This way, the bracelets will just act like magical cuffs. They’ll hold his arms in place wherever we need them to be.” He waited for a moment and then tapped his own finger to where he’d applied the potion. “It’s dry” he said.

 “Help me get these on him,” Logan said. Patton nodded and grabbed the boy’s thin wrists in his, pulling back the dark sleeves so Logan could snap the brackets on him. Then, Logan grabbed both of his hands and moved them above his head, so they laid against the ground. Patton shifted him around, so he was laying prone. “Okay, now we should make sure he doesn’t have any other weapons on him.”

Patton nodded and they both started awkwardly patting at his clothing, feeling for anything that could be a weapon. “He’s really skinny,” Patton said while his hands brushed across his rib cage.

 “Strange,” Logan said. “You would think one would keep your assassins well fed.”

“And older,” Patton pointed out.

“It’ll be another question for when he wakes,” Logan said. “He doesn’t seem to have any other weapons on him.”

“Let’s get him sat up,” Patton suggested, “so he’s easier to talk to.”

Logan nodded, and they worked on pulling him into a sitting position against the wall. The boy made a slight sound at being moved and Logan met his eyes. They quickly finished setting him up and settled his hands next to him on the ground to pin them there.

 Then, they both stood back to watch. The boy shifted a bit more and then sucked in a sudden breath. He went tense all over the second before his eyes opened. His head lifted to look at them with absolutely terrified eyes. Logan shifted beside him, clearly about to speak, but Patton’s hand struck out to grab Logan’s shoulder. Logan glanced at him and then stood back.

Patton moved forward to kneel in front of him. “Hey there,” Patton said with a slight smile. The boy seemed to try to curl away from him into the wall. Strangely, he didn’t seem to even attempt to pull against his restraints.

 “What’s your name?” Patton asked. He paused but the boy didn’t respond. He just stared at him with scared eyes. “My name’s Patton,” he offered, “and that’s Logan.” The boy glanced at Logan, and then looked away, staring down at his lap. Patton waited, but he didn’t move. Eventually, Patton tilted his head so he could get a look at his face. “Oh, honey,” Patton said. “Are you crying?” Patton reached out to touch his cheek and he flinched back with a sharp inhale but there was very far for him to go. “Hey, it’s okay,” Patton soothed. He gently wiped away a few of the tears that had fallen down his cheeks. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

 The boy did not respond, and Patton settled back on his knees with a frown. He glanced at Logan who shrugged. Patton bit his lip in thought for a moment. They weren’t going to be able to speak to him until he calmed down. How could Patton calm him down? Patton’s eyes skirted around the room. The book Logan was reading? No. One of the old fancy crowns they’d borrowed from Thomathy? No. Cookies?

“Are you hungry?” Patton asked the boy. He didn’t confirm verbally, but his head did tilt up in interest. “We have some cookies,” Patton said. He stood, perhaps too quickly because he cowered into the wall as though he expected Patton to lunge at him. Patton smiled apologetically and walked over to the plate they’d luckily stacked the leftover cookies on before Patton had used the cookie sheet for different purposes.

 With a smile, he selected a mint chocolate chip cookie from the plate and walked back over to the boy. He was slower this time with his movements, but the kiddo still tracked him carefully with his eyes as he knelt back in front of him. “Here,” Patton offered. “Try this one. It’s my favorite.”

The boy didn’t open his mouth. In fact, he pressed his lips even harder together.

“Come on,” Patton tempted. “They’re really good. It’s my mama’s own recipe and she made them herself. One of the only two people who know how to make them perfect.”

 Patton glanced over at Logan and smiled. He got a glare back in return. Patton leaned forward slightly like he was telling the boy a secret. “Logan’s the other person who knows how to make them,” he divulged. “When I was six, my mama got sick for a few days and I was really sad. He wanted to cook me my favorite cookies to cheer me up. He had no idea how to do it, but he was determined. He snuck into the kitchen in the middle of the night and tried to make them.” Patton laughed at the memory. “He did really, really bad. Logan hadn’t ever cooked anything before, let alone mint chocolate chip cookies. There was flour everywhere and he managed to break three wooden spoons. But, when mama got better, she taught him how to make them. That way, he can make them for me if she ever can’t.”

 Patton offered the treat again. “Come on,” Patton said when he still didn’t move to eat it. “What’s wrong?”

Logan stepped forward suddenly and Patton blinked at him. He reached for the cookie and tore off a small piece of it before offering it to Patton. Patton opened his mouth, confused, and let him pop it into his mouth. He chewed it and swallowed.

“Try again,” Logan said stepping away.

Patton turned back to the boy and held out the cookie. After a moment’s hesitation, the boy opened his mouth. Patton let him take a bite. “See!” he said. “It’s good, huh?”

5020

He chewed and swallowed the bite of cookie. “W-what’s going on?” he finally spoke in a low scratchy tone. Hmm, maybe Patton should get him some water soon.

“We were hoping you could tell us that,” Patton said. “Lo and I were a bit startled by you showing up in his bedroom in the middle of the night.”

“You… knocked me unconscious,” the boy said.

“Well you gave us quite the fright there with that knife of yours.”

The boy seemed to shrink at the reminder.

“Want to tell us what that was about?” Patton asked.

He shook his head, shoulders climbing.

“Let us rephrase,” Logan said calmly. “Clearly you were here to assassinate either my father, myself or both. So, the relevant questions are who sent you to do so and why?” The boy shook his head and Logan frowned. “No?” he asked. “Apologies, but ‘no’ is not a sufficient answer.”

 Logan’s statement did not appear to go over well with the small assassin. He went still and curled over into himself as though to protect his more vulnerable areas. Honestly, Logan thought agitated, Logan hadn’t threatened any bodily harm. He’d even prefaced the statement with an apology even though he didn’t feel as though he had anything to apologize for! Just like father had taught him!

Patton shot him a glare telling him he was somehow in the wrong despite the fact that he’d almost been the one assassinated. Logan grumbled and returned to quietly sulking in the background while Patton cooed at the assassin, trying to cajole him out of the ball he’d wrapped himself into.

 Logan did have to admit the situation was odd. He was young. He didn’t even know anyone trained assassins so young. His kingdom did have a guild of trained assassins/spies, but one couldn’t even join the military until one was of age (though they could start training at 16 with special permission) and all assassins must have at least a year of military training before being considered. It would be years more before they were sent out on actual missions.

So, where had this young boy came from? Surely, he wasn’t acting of his own violation especially considering his age and temperament. What was his or whoever had sent him’s greater purpose? One didn’t attempt the risky act of regicide without some reasoning. Why did he only have one weapon? Most hired killers would be provided a backup at the very least and more than likely an arsenal. Why was he acting so skittish? It was a strange attitude for a trained killer.

He had piqued Logan’s curiosity and Logan wanted answers.

 “There, see?” Patton was saying, hand feeding more of the cookie to the assassin who looked just as startled by this fact the second time around as the first. “How about a compromise?”

Logan eyed him suspiciously. He was willing to let Patton lead since Logan was well aware of his own shortcomings when it came to tact, but his friend also had a bit of a bleeding heart. Logan refused to let him put himself at risk.

Ironically, the assassin seemed to be on the same page as Logan. His eyes tracked Patton distrustfully. “Compromise?” he echoed.

“Yes!” Patton said, unconcerned with the blatant discomfort in the room.

 “We’ll ask you a question and you answer it,” Patton said. “Then you can ask a question and we’ll answer that. Then we can keep going back and forth like that.”

The assassin seemed unsure about this, but he slowly nodded. “What’s your question?” he asked.

Patton looked back at Logan and inclined his head. Logan took a step forward. “Who are you?” Logan asked. The assassin hesitated.

“Maybe a more specific question,” Patton suggested. “We’ve got plenty of time and ‘who are you?’ is a bit of a big question. There are so many different answers!”

“Very well,” Logan agreed. “Let’s start with, what’s your name?”

 The assassin considered him, looking overly cautious for such a mundane question. “It’s Virgil,” he said after a moment.

“Last name?” Logan prompted.

“I-” he hesitated, looking distressed. “I don’t have one.”

“You don’t have one?” Logan asked.

And… he was curling up into a ball again. “Sorry,” he said softly. He started to cry again.

“It’s okay, it’s okay, hey,” Patton soothed. “That was good.”

Logan frowned. It was not ‘good’. It had given them basically no information. “Why-”

“It’s Virgil’s turn to ask a question, Logan,” Patton said. Logan almost groaned. This was going to take forever, wasn’t it?

 Virgil’s eyes bounced between them. “Why haven’t you called someone to take me away yet?” he asked.

“We wanted to ask you a few questions ourselves before getting the castle guards involved,” Logan answered.

“Are…” he shut his mouth, likely realizing he’d have to wait for his next question.

Logan considered him. “Why do you have no last name?” Logan asked.

Virgil looked away. “I’m an orphan. I don’t know who my parents were, and no one bothered to give me one.”

“Ah, that makes sense,” Logan acknowledged. “And your question.”

“Are…” Virgil said. “Are you going to torture me if I don’t answer something right?”