#flung the bottle crashing into the fireplace

[aibidil]

Some things never change: meddling grandparents/overprotective parents edition

Between Mrs. Sedley and her daughter there was a sort of coolness about this boy, and a secret jealousy—for one evening in George's very early days, Amelia, who had been seated at work in their little parlour scarcely remarking that the old lady had quitted the room, ran upstairs instinctively to the nursery at the cries of the child, who had been asleep until that moment—and there found Mrs. Sedley in the act of surreptitiously administering Daffy's Elixir to the infant. Amelia, the gentlest and sweetest of everyday mortals, when she found this meddling with her maternal authority, thrilled and trembled all over with anger. Her cheeks, ordinarily pale, now flushed up, until they were as red as they used to be when she was a child of twelve years old. She seized the baby out of her mother's arms and then grasped at the bottle, leaving the old lady gaping at her, furious, and holding the guilty tea-spoon.

Amelia flung the bottle crashing into the fire-place. "I will NOT have baby poisoned, Mamma," cried Emmy, rocking the infant about violently with both her arms round him and turning with flashing eyes at her mother.

"Poisoned, Amelia!" said the old lady; "this language to me?"

"He shall not have any medicine but that which Mr. Pestler sends for him. He told me that Daffy's Elixir was poison."

"Very good: you think I'm a murderess then," replied Mrs. Sedley. "This is the language you use to your mother. I have met with misfortunes: I have sunk low in life: I have kept my carriage, and now walk on foot: but I did not know I was a murderess before, and thank you for the NEWS."

"Mamma," said the poor girl, who was always ready for tears—"you shouldn't be hard upon me. I—I didn't mean—I mean, I did not wish to say you would do any wrong to this dear child, only—"

"Oh, no, my love,—only that I was a murderess; in which case I had better go to the Old Bailey. Though I didn't poison YOU, when you were a child, but gave you the best of education and the most expensive masters money could procure. Yes; I've nursed five children and buried three; and the one I loved the best of all, and tended through croup, and teething, and measles, and hooping-cough, and brought up with foreign masters, regardless of expense, and with accomplishments at Minerva House—which I never had when I was a girl—when I was too glad to honour my father and mother, that I might live long in the land, and to be useful, and not to mope all day in my room and act the fine lady—says I'm a murderess. Ah, Mrs. Osborne! may YOU never nourish a viper in your bosom, that's MY prayer."

"Mamma, Mamma!" cried the bewildered girl; and the child in her arms set up a frantic chorus of shouts. "A murderess, indeed! Go down on your knees and pray to God to cleanse your wicked ungrateful heart, Amelia, and may He forgive you as I do." And Mrs. Sedley tossed out of the room, hissing out the word poison once more, and so ending her charitable benediction.

Till the termination of her natural life, this breach between Mrs. Sedley and her daughter was never thoroughly mended. The quarrel gave the elder lady numberless advantages which she did not fail to turn to account with female ingenuity and perseverance. For instance, she scarcely spoke to Amelia for many weeks afterwards. She warned the domestics not to touch the child, as Mrs. Osborne might be offended. She asked her daughter to see and satisfy herself that there was no poison prepared in the little daily messes that were concocted for Georgy. When neighbours asked after the boy's health, she referred them pointedly to Mrs. Osborne. SHE never ventured to ask whether the baby was well or not. SHE would not touch the child although he was her grandson, and own precious darling, for she was not USED to children, and might kill it.

-Vanity Fair, William Makepeace Thackeray (1848)

[arsonistslut]

Chapter 27: Jeff Vs Jane

Eventually, after hours of wandering around in the dark, dingey alleyways of New Orleans, he came across a large, slightly rusted gate that beheld a long dirt path, leading to a towering home that he quickly recognized. Janey's new home. He'd seen it on the news during his stay in that mental institute sometimes, but he obviously never got to see it in person like this. Woods found the lack of a chain surprising..she was practically inviting him inside at this rate. Pushing open the door and proceeding down the driveway, he licked away the splattered blood near his mouth, the metallic sting that hit his tongue tasting much more familiar than it had any right to, this far forward from the day he mutilated his own face. He tried to open the front door, and when it didn't budge, he forced it open with his shoulder, seeing no point in not making a ruckus due to the secluded nature of the house and Jane being the only tenant that he knew of. Gripping the handle of his knife tightly, he called out to her.

"Oh, Janey! I'm here!"

He could already hear a door open upstairs, so he looked in the fridge and grabbed a bottle of red wine, pouring himself a glass from the cabinet as a frazzled-looking Jane cautiously walked down the stairs.

"C'mon, Janey..try it. I ain't afraid of you. Try and kill me, my back's turned."

Jeff downed the entire glass in one go..no attack came.

"Jeff..I'd sure as shit like to, but..hatred fucked me up. I think..I think I just need to forgive you, since..what you did has stayed with me for the last year. Besides..it might help you, too, and you seriously need it.."

Woods shook his head, letting out a long, pained sigh, his back still turned to Arkansas.

"I can't be helped, Jane. I don't want to be, either. Last time that happened, we both know how that ended. More fucking people died, that's all my life is! An endless cycle of death and..fuckin' depravity!"

"...Jeff. It doesn't have to be like that, though. I-I want to help you, I want all of this to just-"

"I'm unfixable, you dumb whore!!"

Jeff turned around as he yelled at Jane, the blood staining his clothes becoming all too visible as he approached, drawing his knife from his jacket's pocket.

"Look at me! I'm a goddamn monster, and that's all I'll ever be!"

"Who..Who'd you kill this time..?"

Morbid curiosity drove her at this point, horror plain on her rapidly whitening face. She could hardly describe how surreal it was seeing him face-to-face again..the flesh on his body stretched impossibly thin from heavy scarring, his face still split open from the knife he took to his face a year ago, blood riddling his whole body and dripping from his blade like a leaking faucet. It called to mind the horrifying mental images of the monsters she dreamed up in her head from mere description when she read a horror novel, except that horror was plain to see. It stood plain in front of her, holding a blood-drenched blade, fury in it's all too human eyes.

"Your adoptive family, Janey..old Donnie and whoever your brother was."

"No..you didn't..p-please tell me you didn't.."

Jane knew the request made no sense, but she refused to believe he'd taken them away, too..they were all she had outside of the news people she spoke to on occasion.

"Oh, they're dead, girlie..and you're fuckin' next! I'm about to finish what I started when I torched your house and cut your bitch's head off!"

Arkansas felt a tidal wave of rage begin to overtake her as he spoke. She didn't have anyone anymore. Jeff had taken everything, but he'd forgotten a principle rule of life.

Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.

As Jeff let out a war cry and charged Jane at full speed, she grabbed a fire poker from the fireplace and rammed it into his upper lip, dragging it upwards until she'd cut straight through his left eye and it flew out, bits of his pale flesh still stuck to the poker. Woods fell backwards, leaning against the wall and screaming out in pain, dropping his knife as he screamed and cursed.

"My fuckin' eye!! You-"

Jeff was quickly interrupted by the sound of firewood igniting. Jane had thrown a lit zippo into her fireplace, and she grabbed him by his hoodie and proceeded to throw him into the fire, the wounded side of his face being pressed against the harsh flames. However, she was unable to do any more damage before he scurried away, half of his hair and the side of his head burnt, skin melting off like cheese on a pizza. Jane snatched up his knife and ran at him, leaping in the air only to be tackled mid-flight and sent through her coffee table with a crash, Woods sitting up and straddling her quickly as he attempted to wrestle the blade away from her. However, a shard of glass from the shattered table driven into his side hindered his attack, Jane sliding out from underneath him as he willed himself to remove the glass from his side. He looked behind him and saw Jane holding his knife, raising it in the air to stab him in the back, so he kicked her straight in the jaw with his foot, sending her reeling backwards from the force of the kick.

"I'll make sure this place burns as well, y'hear me?!"

He spat out at Jane, getting up and ignoring the pain shooting through his face and jamming the shard of glass into her shoulder, lifting her by the neck as he did and gaining a running start. Jeff flung his adversary straight through the door to her guest room, Jane narrowly dodging her head being crushed when he followed up with trying to jump on her head. He cackled maniacally between breaths, the adrenaline pumping through his veins serving as an intoxicating drug that kept him fighting. Narrowly dodging a blade to his neck, Woods grabbed a baseball bat from underneath the bed and swung for the fences at his rival, who dodged underneath and stabbed him in the knee with frightening speed. Forcing him down to a knee, Jane took her alarm clock and smashed it against his face, blood flying from his mouth as he fell onto the bed. Arkansas ripped the knife from his leg and went to stab him again, climbing in and smashing the blade next to his head, a narrow and costly miss.

He delivered a destructive fist right to Jane's cheek, before grabbing her black dress and smashing his head into her nose, shattering it like a window. Jeff kept hold of her, striking her in the gut with his knee before she broke out of grip, stumbling backwards as blood flew from the massive wound in his face. He knew he needed to end this fight sooner rather than later, so ripping the knife from the bed, he drove the blade deep within her stomach. His breath hitched as she screamed, the satisfaction he'd longed for finally arriving in an orgasmic wave. Longing for more of that sweet catharsis, he pressed Jane against the wall and twisted the blade, awful growling noises emanating from him as he savored every second, every droplet of Arkansas's blood running over his fingers, every disgusting noise she made as she coughed up blood.

"I..am the deadliest man on earth!"

He proudly boasted, a heat of the moment statement that was quickly cut short when Jane kicked him full-force in the balls.

"You..are the most self-absorbed lunatic on earth."

She hissed out as she fled, Jeff in too much pain to retort or give chase. Once he recovered, he scooped up the knife she'd pulled out and began hunting for her, listening as closely as he could for any noise, even though he'd lost his hearing and his vision from Arkansas's initial assault with the poker and the fireplace. Following the trail of blood she'd left behind from her various wounds, Woods went upstairs and walked toward his enemy's room, swinging open the door.

"Come on, Janey..I know you're here.."

The door slammed behind Jeff, Jane standing in the way with a lit molotov cocktail in her grasp.

"That doesn't matter now, does it?"

"...Oh. Oh, I see! You wanna burn me alive again..tell me this, how are you gonna get out of this exactly?"

"I don't intend to. Not anymore."

Jane threw the cocktail on the ground between them, the fire quickly spreading around them. Jeff's first idea was to escape through the window. No dice, they were boarded up from the inside. He couldn't tell from the outside due to the shades blocking his view of the boards, and she was in the way of his only exit. It didn't matter. Jeff ran forward, ignoring the fire around them and lifting Jane up before she could react, slamming her through the wooden, flaming floor of her room and landing in the bathroom, the ceramic bathtub breaking before their combing weight.

The harsh landing the two shared winded them both, Jeff and Jane lying in a pool of their mixing blood for what felt like centuries. Suddenly, Jane grabbed a shattered piece of the bathtub and smashed it over Jeff's head, sending him rolling away from her as she used her vanity to get up, sparks and flaming wood falling around her as the upstairs caught fire. Arkansas watched and smiled as Jeff ripped a towel rack from the wall, charging her and swinging wildly and desperately, leaving himself open to a punch in the wound in side, doubling him over and giving Jane the opportunity to send him stumbling back into the living room. They could both smell smoke, the house was beginning to burn down around them.

"Anything to say before I send you straight to hell?"

She asked, grabbing a hold of Woods's ankle. He couldn't respond..he could barely stay conscious at this point.

"Oh, don't go to sleep, Jeffrey..you won't wake up."

Jane broke his ankle with a loud snap, his foot bent at a horrid angle as she left him there to die.

Arkansas nearly passed out herself as she dragged herself out of the rapidly-igniting house, not caring that everything she owned was inside, charring away. She didn't notice any officers arriving, so as her vision got blurrier and blurrier, she turned around and flipped up both her fingers at the raging inferno her home had become, before finally passing out in her driveway.

[rollingthunder06]

sunshine

hello! this is part two of spring. i wasn’t planning on extending this story line but i might go further now...

—————————————————

Hades hated the sun.

More correctly, the sun hated him. It was too bright, too hot, and burnt him to a damn crisp, but for his wife it was worth it.

Hades glared through his sunglasses, walking up the path to the old farmhouse that was burned into his mind with both good and bad memories.

Cerberus trailed directly behind him, dipping the tree head under his coat and in his shadow. It was a surprise the dogs even got off the train into the bright world they were unfamiliar with. His dogs were braver than him when it came to the sun.

They reached the porch and Hades gently knocked on the front door to no answer. He sighed, looking for the spare key hidden behind one of the rocking chairs. It had been in the spot for years, untouched. He didn’t need to sneak in anymore so there was barely a use for it.

It felt like he was though.

It felt like he was younger and sneakin’ in the front door to see his wife while her mama was busy in the fields. Before the walls, before the factories, before everything went wrong. But they were trying again. They were better now.

But how come he had to keep convincing himself than?

How hard it was to convince himself of it the day he rode up with her on the train. That was until he saw that look on her face. His wife didn’t want to leave him. Then he had kissed her, and they held each other until she had to leave.

Hades would never admit it, but he cried as he drank his bourbon and rode home. Cried for his wife he just saw off, the woman he loved more than anything in the realms.

The door creaked open, and Hades half-expected to see Persephone waiting for him. She wasn’t, not that he blamed her. He wasn’t due to visit for two more weeks. Except he couldn’t wait that long.

The house looked the same as it did the last time he was there, before Demeter left, every knick-knack in its place as if his wife hadn’t touched a thing over the years.

Hades wondered into the living room, taking off his coat and looking around. One detail caught his eye. The photos on the fireplace mantle were different.

The old god cracked a smile at the photos. One was of Persephone and Hermes, another of the two and a little boy Hades could only assume was Orpheus, and a large frame sitting in the middle in the prized place.

It was them, much younger, in a crumbling yellow tinted film. They were in front of the train, a much older version, and both smiling wholeheartedly and staring deeply at each other.

Hades walked to the kitchen next, setting his coat down on one of the chairs. The back door was wide open, and the screen door rattled in the light breeze.

Persephone was probably out in the fields, and Hades debated on going out to look for her. The screen door crashed against the wall as Cerberus made the decision for him.

“Cerberus-“ Hades growled, running after the dogs out into the summer heat. “Cerberus!” Hades chased Cerberus for miles along the fields, until stopping dead in his tracks.

There was his wife, her hair blowing in the light breeze. Her back was turned and all Hades could do was stare, his words dying on his tongue. She looked ethereal in the sunlight, like a goddess in her element.

Which she was.

A sharp pain of guilt hit Hades. A goddess he took out of her element six months a year. The ethereal presence that dimmed because of him.

Persephone used to joke that she was like her flowers. That she died and came back to life every year. She wasn’t wrong, and that’s what hurt. That he practically killed his wife every year. For what?

For Love

We all do things for love

We all make our loved ones suffer

Why did she still love him? The fates were right, he makes her suffer. Makes her find her comfort in the bottom of wine bottles instead of in him. But they were getting better weren’t they?

Why did he still doubt then?

“Hades?”

Persephone was staring at him, eyes wide. Great, He was early, and now she was mad.

“Lover I-I couldn’t wait I’m sorry-“

Her lips slammed into his before he could finish, her hand cupping his cheek. It was an intense and passionate kiss, and Hades tasted the sweet nectar on his wife’s lips just as he had all those years ago.

Hades didn’t want to pull away. He didn’t want to end the moment he’d craved for weeks. The moment that drove him so far into his work that he got it done faster just so he could have it sooner.

But then again, he still need to breathe.

They pulled apart, both breathing heavily, and Hades rested his forehead on his wife’s. “Take it ya ain’t mad,” Hades said, a grin reserved only for Persephone spreading across his face.

She laughed, and gods how he loved the sound. She gently shook her head, “Just wasn’t expectin’ ya for a few weeks, that’s all.”

Persephone trailed her hand across his face a smile breaking out. “You need to shave, Hades.” Hades laughed, grabbing her hand and kissing it. “‘Course. I musta’ forgot while I was working.”

“Well we can fix that.”

Suddenly she stopped smiling, laughing. Instead she just stared at him, like the world had been pulled out from under her. Hades frowned. Did he make her that miserable that he was only good for a kiss and laugh?

Much to his surprise she barreled into him, her curls flung into his face as she buried her head in his chest. “I missed you.” She said, mostly muffled from his shirt. “Hades, I missed you so much.”

She looked up at him and he saw tears trickle down her cheeks, and soon his fell too. “I know, shh, lover, I know. I missed you too.”

He loved her. Every second he didn’t have her was torture. He couldn’t let anyone see it, his weakness, except her. His wife was his weakness as well as his greatest strength.

Persephone was all that mattered. All that mattered to him was currently clinging to him for her life. She was just as lonely as he was. Just as sad, just as desperate.

They loved each other, fates be damned. It didn’t matter if they filled his head with so much doubt that he couldn’t think, he wouldn’t let it consume him again. He had his wife back now, and no plans of letting her slip away again.

Hades was sweating, the sun practically burning through his clothes. But he’d bare it to hold his wife. He’d burn to a crisp if it meant letting her be happy.

[j-elaine-hyde]

The Townie

Part Four

Chris Evans / Reader / Henry Cavill

(Smut warning! 18+)

This writing is my own original work, it is not posted or to be posted on any other platform. K Thanx Bye. ENJOY!

You walked into the living room with Chris to find Marki and Henry sitting on the floor at the coffee table. A fire was roaring in the fireplace behind them. A bottle of vodka sat on the table next to the board game ‘Sorry’ already set up.

“Let’s go! We’ve figured out how to turn Sorry into a drinking game. Let’s do this.” Henry was pouring drinks as the two of you sat side by side on the sofa.

“This is either the best or worst idea you’ve ever had.” Chris looked at him and shook his head.

“Green, for the beautiful Y/n. Red for my girl.... Blue because just look at him... those eyes... and I’ll take yellow bc I’m about to get piss drunk.” Henry smiled and nodded as he handed you a drink.

“Y’all are going down....” you laughed.

-

By the end of the night the board game pieces were scattered all over the table, the bottle of vodka was all but empty and the four of you were properly drunk.

Marki and Henry were dancing by the fire, singing along loudly, drunkenly attempting to serenade you and Chris to the spice girls ‘Two become one’. Chris was leaning back against the sofa. He rolled his head to look at you and just stared.

“How are you so unbelievably gorgeous?” His sentiment was sweet, but his words were ever so slightly slurred.

You smiled at him and crawled closer to him, snuggling up against him.

“Baby... lets go to bed...” he plopped his hand on your thigh and smiled.

“Looks like our love songs are working doll....” Henry grabbed Marki and kissed her.

“That’s our cue to go.” You started to get up, but Chris pulled you back down onto his lap.

“Baby... you have to help me up.”

“Chris I can’t help you up if you won’t let me get up.” You pushed off of the sofa and stood up, taking his hands in yours. You pulled his arms forward, as he stumbled to his feet.

“Goodnight guys... see you in the morning.” You shot Marki a questioning look, silently asking if she was ok with staying and being left alone with Henry.

She nodded and smiled as she leaned against him, wrapping her arms around his waist. “Goodnight!”

Chris waved over his head as he stomped out of the living room, down the hall to his bedroom. He paused when he realized you weren’t behind him. You were still saying goodnight to Marki and Henry when all of a sudden Chris was throwing you over his shoulder.

“Sorry guys. I need to take her to bed now.” Yelled Chris as he walked down the hall.

He walked into his bedroom and tossed you onto the bed. He held up one finger, telling you to wait as he jogged over to the bedroom doors, locking them behind him.

He started walking towards you, pulling his shirt off as he did, dropping it to the floor. He stood at the side of the bed, looking at you with a smirk on his face.

“How ya feelin babe?”

“Good...” you replied as you sat up on the bed, crawling to the edge, sitting on your knees in front of him. “Surprisingly not as drunk as I should be....”

“I’m a better actor then I let on... I started switching out our drinks for just juice about an hour ago.”

“Ohhhh you smart smart man... I’m so glad you did that.”

“You’re welcome babe. I didn’t want to finally get some alone time with you and have us too drunk to enjoy it or remember it.” He brushed your hair back away from your face, leaned down and kissed you.

You ran your hands down his chiseled abs, gently tugging on the waistband of his sweats. The kiss deepened as he held your face in his hands.

He pulled back, “Are you sure you don’t want to wait?”

You shook your head ‘no’ as you pulled down his sweats, dropping them to the floor. You bit your lip trying not to smile as you stared at his naked body.

“My turn....” he said softly as he kissed you, fumbling with the knot you had tied. “You’re killing me smalls....” he laughed as you reached back undoing it.

“Thank you.” He lifted your shirt over your head, tossing it to the side. He trailed his finger tips down your arms, continuing to kiss you. Gently bringing his fingers back up your arms he slid his hands behind you, undoing your bra. He stepped back, looking at you with a hungry smile on his face, he curled his finger, silently asking you to stand up.

You crawled off the bed and stood in front of him. Your eyes locked on his, as he reached out, pulling you closer to him, his hands on your waist. His fingers hooked into your sweats, and your panties, dropping them around your ankles. You stepped out of them, slowly scooting them out of the way, never losing eye contact with Chris.

His hands flew to your face as his lips collided with yours. He walked you backwards towards the bed, before kissing down your neck. He kissed his way down your body, brushing his palms over your breasts as lowered to his knees, kissing down your stomach before pushing you back onto the bed.

He ran his strong hands down your thighs, splaying open your legs, before burying his face between your thighs. His arm outstretched, his fingertips danced around your chest, groping, tweaking, and playing with your breasts as his tongue drove you closer and closer to orgasm.

He gripped your inner thigh hard before trailing his finger over your clit. The sudden change in pressure rocked your body. He gently slid his finger inside of you as his tongue continued, almost instantaneously you came. Your hands flew to the top of his head as he continued. You had been stifling your moans to the best of your ability, but as he continued to tease your body, demanding another orgasm, you couldn’t contain them any longer.

He brought on another orgasm like his life depended on it. As you wriggled and writhed on the bed, deep in your second orgasm, he stood up, slowly running his hand up and down his shaft watching you.

“Baby... scoot onto the bed more.”

You were trying to catch your breath as you moved further onto the bed. He crawled over you. Your hands flew to his chest, moving down his abs, tracing the V of his hips, down to his rock hard erection.

You could taste your sweetness on his lips and tongue as he kissed you. He nibbled on your neck as you reached down, tugging gently on his balls.

He rolled one of your nipples between his fingers as he sucked on your neck. Moving his face next to yours he whispered, “Are you ready baby?”

You shook your head yes as you found your words, you started to say it as he slid into you, making your ‘Yes’ become ‘YES!’

“Oh Gah-“ you moaned as he began grinding his hips, inching into you further and further with each thrust.

Your fingers gripped his muscular back, every nerve ending in your body was standing at attention. Another wave of orgasm was building as he continued.

You had lost count of how many orgasms Chris had brought you by the time he finally came. The sheets were torn off the bed, the mattress askew. You had bent and contorted in ways you didn’t know were possible. And finally the two of you collapsed onto the bed, sweaty and breathless.

“That was.... you were.... are.... incredible.” Chris panted.

“Ditto.” You exhaled as you rolled onto your stomach.

Your eyes were heavy as your breathing slowed, Chris was running his fingers along the curves of your back, hypnotically lulling you to sleep.

“You’re amazing and I can’t believe I found you.” He whispered as you fell asleep.

-

You woke up wrapped in Chris’s arms. He was snoring quietly, a sheet barely draped over you, rain pelting the window. A soft rumble of thunder filled the room. You laid peacefully in the quiet, well rested and completely happy.

You were almost asleep when you heard a quick yelp followed by laughter from somewhere else in the house.

Intermittently between crashes of thunder you could hear your friend’s moans steadily growing louder. Pans colliding alluded to their location and you guessed they had gotten distracted while trying to make food.

A loud, breathy “OH! HENRY!” stirred Chris. You pretended to be asleep, but were surprised at how turned on you were hearing them. You weren’t the only one.

You felt Chris grow hard against your ass as his hands moved around your body. Gently gripping your breast, his other hand slid between your legs. Finding you already wet, Chris moved back, pulling your leg back and over his. He positioned himself at your opening, slowly working his way inside you.

You gave a soft moan as he entered you. He began kissing the sweet spot at the base of your neck as his hand resting on your stomach, held you firmly in place.

Chris made a low grunt as his entire length entered you. “Good morning baby” he whispered as he continued moving his hips.

In one swift movement he flung your leg over and picked you up resting you on all fours, never pulling out. He smacked your ass hard as he gripped it, rapidly picking up the pace.

“Oh fuck!” You exclaimed loudly as he hit the perfect spot, pounding into you from behind.

“God baby... you feel so good.” He slowed for a minute, savoring the feeling of your body gripping him tightly. “Cum for me!” He thrust hard and deep, not giving you a choice.

You were practically screaming as he used every bit of his energy to properly fuck you. Your jumbled incoherent moans would get higher and higher pitched as every orgasm grew before crashing through you.

“Baby I’m gonna-“ he managed to say before a guttural grunt signaled his release. He stayed buried deep inside of you, his body twitching and tense, before both of you moaned in unison as he pulled out.

Both of you collapsed onto the bed side by side.

“Fine.... you win.” Henry grumbled from outside the door.

The two of you laughed and blushed realizing your audience had heard the finale up close.

“Come here baby... lets get some more sleep.” He kissed you before draping his arm around you.

To be continued...

[thecardsimagine]

I swear I saw this HC that Julian may have a hard time getting a boner when drunk by someone, but I can’t find that post to save my life (pls sent it to me so I can link it properly ;-;) but basically that’s what’s happening.

EDIT: The amazing @omfg-angel-with-a-shotgun​ found it! Click here to read the original HCs

Characters: Julian Devorak, Reader Genre: Hurt/Comfort Rated: Lime

≿————-————- 　❈　 ————-————-≾

Julian was never one to pass up on a good drink at the Rowdy Raven. He loved being there almost as much as he loved being with you, but you were sure you held the top place in his heart. However, when two of his favorites came together, he got somewhat... reckless.

Or absolutely bonkers. Without restrains. Way over the top. Simply Julian.

You tentatively rubbed over his back, kneading your thumb in between his shoulder blades. Hunched over, he leaned on the tabletop, groaning whenever you applied pressure - a strange mix of exhaustion and pleasure running through him. "I overdid it," he wailed, giving away as you pressed your fingertips into one side of his back.

"Oh, no. That was just the table dancing, Julian. Just... the table dancing," you tried to comfort him, holding back on the smirk that kept breaking through your lips. With another sip of your own keg, you fished for your purse, putting down some coins to pay the expenses of Julian's party-mood. Nodding towards the bartender who had his eyes on you two for a while - fearing Julian might leave behind some unwelcome parting gift - you waited for him to give you the okay before you got ready to go.

Ushering Julian out of the booth, you endured his groans and moans, two long, helpless legs staggering to a stand and almost giving away beneath him. But you hooked your arm casually under his shoulders and around his body, Julian more than willingly hunching down to you and gripping onto you in his own attempt of getting some support. With a small wave to the owner and some patrons that were barely responding to it after having partied with Julian, you led him outside, cold air crashing into both of your faces.

"What time is it?" he questioned, words barely resembling a spoken language anymore. "Pretty late, I'd say." He let out a chuckle, pulling you closer to his body as he felt you shiver in the night air. "Or pretty early, Sweetheart."

Drunken idiots you two were, laughing as you staggered through the hardly lit district of the town. Even intoxicated, Julian would have found his way back to Mazelinka's place, and you trusted him to do so. However, that didn't mean that you two got there without crashing into a few barrels and kicking over randomly places bottles on the ground.

But whenever you lost your footing, you were sure to be pulled back into his arms, twirling with him through the streets as if in an unrhythmical dance. And every time he pressed up a little closer, hands falling lower down your back, reeking Salty Bitters in your knows when his face came close.

Until it wasn't just close anymore.

Demanding, hot lips bothering yours, tongue traveling between them. Hands on your ass, gripping it ever so tenderly, like a question before getting more confident. Fingers slipping under the cheeks, in between your thighs, feeling you up, you let out a gasp against his mouth, which was appreciated with a grin of his.

"Maybe it's still early enough..." he lulled, letting himself be interrupted by your hands cupping his cheeks, pulling him flush towards you for another kiss.

"To get frisky?" you finished, tearing yourself away from him, which was met with a curt whine of disagreement over your actions. But Julian was quick to catch himself, smiling again like the love-drunk idiot he was. "Mhm, frisky, alright."

Arms slung around his neck, he pecked your lips again, over and over, using a free hand to pull up one leg. With your legs pressed to someone's exterior wall, you were sandwiched between the hot-cold of the bricks and his body. Neither of you would have bothered if someone had passed you at that moment, too caught up in your doings, but luckily, the streets were pretty empty.

You felt his hips pressing closer with your leg out of the way, lower body grinding into yours. It drove you both to a moment of moaning into each other, eyes closing as it was too dark to see anyway. You just wanted to enjoy the moment, the feeling of him against you, his groans, and the smacking of your lips the only things to your ears. How the pressure grew and dispersed from his fingers all over your body, that was all you wanted to feel.

But at the same time, something was missing.

Furrowing your brows, you shook your head lightly, making him back away from the kiss and leaving you some room. "Julian," you sighed, irritation swinging in your voice as you reached down, caressing his crotch. Surely, you felt him shiver from your touch, face leaning in close with a grin to kiss you, but it was nagging on you. There was no bulge forming, no hint of erection in his snug-tight pants, and you grew worried.

"Something wrong?" you asked, panting as he had moved to the sides of your face, teasing your neck and jaw. "Eh?" he finally noticed, clearing up space between you to look down. It was sheer impossible he could see in the darkness, but you felt one of his hungry hands release you, presumably to touch himself.

"I..." Falling into stutters, he eventually let go completely, stepping back and almost tumbling into the stream of water behind him. Admittedly, it felt a bit disappointing that he was so far away already. You would have lied if you said you weren't hot and bothered by the time this occurred, but you were just as fast to grip him, keeping him from falling.

"Maybe the cold?" you suggested, quickly leading him forward and back on track to your temporary home. You heard him stutter some more, feeling how tensely he held on to you while trying to come up with an excuse or explanation as to why his body had not the usual reaction, but you just hushed him, continuously asking him for directions.  

You were more than glad to finally get to the door, letting the distraught Julian fiddle with his keys to let you two in. He swore a little as he hit a shoulder trying to get through the door, but you two made it into the safe space, the fireplace still having sparks in it covered by ash.

Almost immediately - and now a little bit more desperate - you got help with undressing. Fabrics gliding to the floor, coats being flung over a chair. You two weren't exactly the epitome of quiet, but with the new hints of lust coming back to you, you at least did the best not to laugh loudly and wake Mazelinka.

As it was, you didn't get spared from feeling the urgency in Julian's touch as he seemingly worked himself up. Kisses got sloppy, groping a little off the areas it was supposed to feel good. You were in charge of correcting his touches and forcing him to kiss you more seriously, questioning if it was the influence of the alcohol or the desperation boiling in him.

To the point where your back hit the mattress a little too roughly, robbing you of your breath and giving you a moment to think before Julian followed. "No," you said firmly as he hovered over you, stemming your hands into his shoulders before he could lean down. Shifting awkwardly in your position, you shoved your way out of his body imprisoning you, sitting at the edge of the bed and sighing.

You had been sure that you wanted this as much as he did, but something felt wrong, and you didn't appreciate the forcefulness with which he tried to make it right. Julian stayed in the position you had left him in, unsure what exactly he had done wrong or if you even wanted him to approach you about what just happened.

Taking a deep breath, you got up from the bed, turning around and crawling back up to him. "Let me," you suggested, though really, it was undebatable. With the moonlight filling the small back room, you could see his eyes turning from momentary confusion to excitement, Julian quick to turn.

Slowly, teasingly, you helped him out of his pants, taking the sweet time to prolong the whole procedure. His hands grazed your arms, a beg to satisfy him, and a promise that he'd be good. When you attempted to let go of the rest of your own clothes, he sat up, bringing the fabric over your head and taking the time to kiss along your exposed skin. Kissing along the line of your chest, the top of your shoulders, and the crook of your neck, you were filled with all kinds of tingling feelings.

It was on you to eventually shove him back into the pillows softly, lowering yourself to his crotch, tending to his hiding member. It wasn't very like you to take the initiative on preparing him, but it also wasn't very like him to not get a boner the moment you two emitted the want to copulate.

And you weren't going to lie, it was a struggle.

You really tried. Using your tongue to slip around it, stimulating him, Julian was moaning and groaning up above, but there was no movement in the region below. When you felt his hand on the top of your head as you worked your mouth around his cock, you knew he was getting desperate. Desperate for it to work, desperate for some release, but whatever was holding him back did not want him to as much as he wanted.

"[Name]... wait, hold one," he winced, and you immediately let off of him. Swallowing some salvia that had collected, you wiped your mouth with one hand, straightening your back and sat up. In your other hand, his limp member resided, really unimpressed by your effort. His own fingers slinked around and under yours, seemingly trying to make something happen as if he could use magic, but his voice grew more damned with every passing second.

"I don't... This is not... I really want to- I-"

"Schsch, it's alright," you cooed, inching closer to him and pulling his head against your chest. "It's not your day, maybe it's the Salty Bitters."

"But [Name]-" he whined, shaking in your hold as he got caught up in his emotions, working himself up about not being able to get it up. "I really want you... I love you, why is that not-"

"I know," you assured him, rubbing his back. "I know, and it's not your fault. Surely it's just not your day. Maybe it's the Salty Bitters," you suggested, trying to reason with him. Julian turned his face into your shoulder, hiding away against your skin while you tugged on a blanket nearby to cover you two. “I really wanted to- I- [Name] you got to believe me...”

"Tomorrow we will figure it out surely, it's alright," you mumbled, sinking into the mattress with him, holding him close to you. After a while, you felt him take deep breaths, arms coming around your torso to hold on as he finally let you comfort him. "I’m sorry," he muttered.

"You have no reason to." You felt him nod against your body, his arms wrapping a bit more welcoming around you, allowing you to settle against him as comfortable as possible.

And sometime between quiet sobs and hushes, confusion about what happened and promises that it was all fine, you two fell asleep pressed together tightly, loved. Knowing you'd wake up with no hard feeling and a clearer mind the next mornig, in the arm of the person you wanted to wake up next to.

[novantinuum]

Crack the Paragon, Chapter 7

Fandom: Steven Universe

Rating: General Audiences

Words: 3.4K~

Summary: In another world, he doesn’t have his mother’s sword or shield to hide behind when Bismuth lands her strike. The bubble pops.

Steven falls apart.

Chapter summary: In which actions are louder than words.

First | Last chapter

You can find the AO3 link in the reblogs! (I have to omit it from the original post these days to ensure this will show up in the tags.) If you enjoyed this, I’d greatly appreciate your support over there as well. 

Chapter 7: Silenced

“Are you out of your mind??”

"Pearl, please understand, I’ve been wanting this for so long,” you explain softly, the sunset illuminating the face of the pale Gem before you in shades of pink and orange as the waves crash onto shore behind her. “Human life is simply incredible! Never stagnating, always living, and loving, and learning. I want to pass on my gem, to create something new with Greg, someone who can grow! Someone… who can finally be free.”

“But- but Gems can’t have babies!” she sputters, throwing her arms out. “We don’t have the organs for it, or genetic material, o-or—“

You shake your head, enthusiastically cutting her off.

“That’s no problem, I used shapeshifting like Amethyst always does! And believe me,” you say with a conspiratorial chuckle, “you know better than anyone that I’m fully capable of holding this for the next nine months.”

“That’s not my point!”

“Then… what is?”

“My point—! You always do this, Rose!” she shouts, her pale blue eyes growing damp. “You know I try to support you, but I can’t do that if you never talk with me before leaping headfirst into whatever fanciful desire you please, and- and deciding everyone’s future for them!”

“But isn’t that… what I’m doing now?”

“No! You never even asked me how I’d feel,” she says, voice thick. “And that’s your problem.” Tears stream in rivulets down her cheeks, her lithe body quivering. Roughly, she wipes them away, and turns to escape your presence. “You never do!”

“Where did it go??”

The sound of shrill panic abruptly wakes Steven, the precise details of his peculiar dream already beginning to blur into obscurity as his eyes flutter open. A line of half-dried drool, slimy and still warm, extends from the corner of his mouth. His dad is softly snoring next to him, swaddled in his stolen covers like the very image of a sushi roll.

“No, no, no!” Pearl shouts from the kitchen. There’s a dull clap as her hand swipes across the counter. Something light (cloth?) falls to the floor. “This can’t be happening, not now, not again!!”

Yawning, he presses his fingers against the slight ache at his temple and sits up, blinking in confusion at his surroundings. “Wha—?”

For whatever reason, the beach house has devolved into absolute chaos between the time he fell asleep and now. The couch cushions are all askew, one of them flung halfway across the room. Two of the kitchen stools are overturned, and the bath towel they nestled his gem in last night lays in an abandoned heap between them. Dishes from the open cabinets are strewn everywhere on the counters. Meanwhile, the contents of the game shelf by the window— which Pearl normally keeps meticulously organized in alphabetical order— have exploded across the floor with little to no regard to the walking hazard they pose. If her intent was to blow through the place like a one person wrecking ball, then she’s clearly succeeded. No corner of the house is left untouched by her mania. The Gem roughly swings open the fridge, rattling the condiment bottles in the door. After a brief pause to scan through its contents she huffs, and slams it shut again.

Her arms shaking, she grips tufts of wispy peach hair from either side of her head. “Where is it???” she cries, her voice edging towards borderline hysteria.

“Uh, Pearl?” he asks, uneasiness churning in his gut at the sight of his guardian under so much stress. He swings his feet over the edge of his bed. “Pearl! What’s going on? What’s wrong??”

She freezes momentarily upon noticing he’s awake, her cheeks flushing blue.

“O-oh! Thank goodness you’re finally up,” she says, bounding across the room and up the stairs to him in no more than five steps. Her hands grasp his shoulders, a frantic gleam in her pale eyes. “Steven, where’s your gem?! Have you seen it??”

“My… gem?” he mutters, scrunching his nose as he peers up at her. In the fog of his exhausted, sleep deprived mind, for a second he has no idea what on Earth she’s talking about. Where’s his gem? His gem’s at his navel, inlaid flush with his skin like it’s always been, so what is she—

In a flash, snippets of recent memory eclipse everything else that’s at the forefront of his attention, reasserting their place in his psyche.

“Go ahead!” Bismuth snarls, jamming the tip of the breaking point rough against her concave gemstone. “Just do it!”

A sharp cry, his world standing still as a searing pain tears through him from the gem at his core to the very tip of his extremities.

Too damaged to sustain himself, his hard light form poofs into a cloud of smoke. He remembers this from both perspectives, now. And with the memory of the searing pain his other half was in… he wishes he doesn’t. The cracked gemstone hangs in the air for just a moment, morning sunlight glinting off its facets, before plummeting lifeless to the ground.

“—it’s Pink Diamond,” Garnet whispers in horror.

He swallows hard as the burden of the last few hours quickly rears its ugly head, weighing down once more on his shoulders. Oh, right, he thinks, resting his hand atop his stomach, over the unfamiliar facets of his newly flipped gem. Almost dying. That was a thing.

“Yes, your gem, I’ve been looking everywhere for it!” Pearl says, throwing her arms up. She leaps to the ground floor from the lofted level, and with a skip and a flourish so unbefitting of her current state of panic, jabs her pointer finger towards the kitchen counter. “I clearly remember setting it right here when we put you to bed, but now it’s nowhere to be found!”

Her words degrade to incomprehensible mumbling as she continues her fruitless search, this time localized to the space around the fireplace and the bathroom door. Finally understanding what has her in such a tizzy, Steven leaps to his feet and follows her down the stairs. Of course she’s freaking out, she thinks his gemstone disappeared entirely, or walked off, or got stolen! She has no way of knowing what happened on the beach early this morning. No one does. Someone’s gotta tell her, and that someone can only be him. Rushing to his guardian, he gently tugs at her arm.

“Pearl!”

She forces a laugh, the sound of it neurotic and unhinged, as her fumbling fingers remove a small photo of the four of them off its hook on the wall. “Well at least we can say for certain it’s not hiding behind this framed photograph!” she announces, smile stretched just a bit too wide. “Just one less infinite possibility to check…”

“Pearl, listen, you—“

“And it’s not like it could simply roll off the table without a trace, right? Am I right??”

“Please, you don’t have to freak out, ‘cause I—“

“But it’s okay Steven, there’s no need to panic! I know we’ll find it eventually, yes we will, of course we will, how could we—“

“I have it!” he blurts out, grabbing both of her shaking hands. “I have it.”

Held securely in his, her hands fall silent. The panic drains from her in but a breath as she stops to contextualize what he’s just said and what it means, her mouth slipping slightly ajar. Sensing that he’s firmly caught her attention now, he continues, heart hammering in his chest.

“Last night, the gem reformed as me, a-and… we fused back together.”

“You— you’re back to normal,” she says with glassy eyes, voice softer now.

He tugs at the collar of his pajamas. “Well, more or less. There’s a bit of a catch, and I’m pretty sure none of you are gonna like it.”

Her expression is blank with confusion. “Uhhh— a catch?”

“Y’know, it’s probably easier if I just show you,” he reasons with a nervous chuckle, and— sweat beading on his forehead— lifts his nightshirt to reveal his gem.  

Pearl kneels down to peer at it straight on, hand balled into a fist at her chin. “Oh!” she says first, brows shooting up on her face. Then, her features narrowing the more and more she looks at the newly exposed facets of his diamond: ”Ohhhh...”

“This is what her gem looked like, isn’t it?” he asks. “Pink’s?”

Her eyes shoot wide open at his query. “I—“

Immediately, her palm clamps tight over her mouth, strangling whatever words she had planned to share.

Steven cringes as he watches her struggle against her orders, a seed of guilt churning deep within. “Oh, right. You can’t… sorry, I forgot. We can talk about something else, if you want!”

She’s thankfully able to pull her hand away before too long. A distant part of him wonders how this gag order works, how it knows in advance what Pearl plans to say, if there’s any loopholes they could possibly find to skirt around it...

“I— I’d appreciate that,” she admits, suddenly looking very tired.

A lopsided smile brightening her face despite her exhaustion, she reaches up to affectionately ruffle his hair. He flashes her a boyish grin as her touch flattens some of his wild curls against his head.

“You know,” she says quietly, glancing at him with such a softness reflected in her pale irises that it almost makes him forget all the stress he’s endured, almost makes him believe nothing’s changed since yesterday, “there may be a lot I can’t talk about, but what I can say is that I’m so glad to see your beautiful smile again.”

“Pearl,” he responds, blushing with half-hearted embarrassment.

“Now let’s clean up this mess before your father wakes up, shall we?” the pale Gem chuckles nervously as she rubs her hands together, glancing between the trashed ground floor of the beach house and the middle aged man miraculously still snoozing away in the loft above.

“Nose-goes on kitchen!” he says hurriedly, tapping his finger against the tip of his nose.

She feeds him a mock gasp, already crossing behind the counter to start returning the plates and glasses to their rightful homes in the cabinet. “Oh, you rascal! How ever will I organize all this by myself?”

Steven gives a soft laugh at this, and then promptly sets himself on tidying duty. First priority is the board games strewn across the floorboards in the corner. He kneels and begins arranging the boxes into piles. From there, he stacks each pile nice and near on the shelf by the window. After straightening the stacks so the box corners line up, he moves to pull open the blinds to let more sunlight in the house. A blissful smile stretches across his face as he pauses his work to bask in the morning glow.

Already feeling a good deal more content about everything in the reminder of daybreak, he turns to Pearl. “Not gonna lie, I’m kinda surprised Dad was able to stay asleep through all our racket.”

“Greg?” she scoffs and rolls her eyes, piling a stack of plates on one of the shelves. “That man sleeps like a rock. Which,” she continues, resting her freed hand against her chin in contemplation, “as an idiom, is actually rather ironic considering that ‘rock’ is common slang for ‘Gem,’ and Gemkind as a whole doesn’t have a biological need for sleep.”

“Well, I think you can blame humans for that one,” he laughs, picking the missing couch cushion off the floor and returning it to its home. “For anyone outside Beach City, rocks don’t actually move!”

Ever so slightly, the edge of her lips turn up. “I suppose that’s true, yes…”

They fall into a fairly comfortable silence for a while after that, as they put the finishing touches on the last nooks and crannies of the beach house that needed attention. Steven makes sure the floor is spotless, every stray pillow, toy, or decorative item returned to its rightful place. Pearl finishes tidying the kitchen, re-organizing the cups on the shelves by color and type. By the end of it he can proudly say the place looks leagues cleaner than it did yesterday. For good measure, Pearl pulls a broom out of her gemstone and sweeps up any debris littering the floor. He helps out by holding the dustpan steady as she brushes the sand and dust bunnies in.

“There!” she proclaims once they’re finished, proudly surveying her roost as she solidly holds the broom with the same level of decorum with which one might hold a rebellion era rampart. “That’s much better, don’t you think?”

The ground nearly shimmers in its cleanliness. Heartily, he gives her a thumbs-up.

“Yeah, looks great!”

With a big yawn, he glances up at his father’s slumbering figure in the loft above, for a moment jealous that he’s not still snoozing away too. Four or five hours (or however long it’s been since he crawled back into bed, he hasn’t checked the clock yet) simply isn’t enough rest for a growing boy. He always tries to aim for eight or nine. Maybe he can bridge that gap now, though? Would it help, he wonders, if he falls back asleep a good twenty minutes after he woke? As he ponders this mystery, he ambles past Pearl, heading directly to the couch.

“Steven,” she says with poorly disguised concern, as she watches him abruptly flop over onto the cushions in his sheer exhaustion. “If you need to talk about what happened, then I—“

“I’m just a little tired, don’t worry about me,” he says, eyes drooping shut as he curls up tighter.

“Don’t wor—“ Pearl cuts herself off suddenly, choked up. She’s at his side in a flash, and he feels the cushion adjust for her weight as she sits herself adjacent. “How can I not worry about you? You went through something no child… no Gem should ever have to experience!”

“But I’m alive,” he points out, eyes cracking open a smidge. “I’m alive, and you guys dealt with Bismuth, a-and we fixed it like we always do, so- so there’s no point in fixating on what could’ve happened, right?”

She rests her hand on his shoulder, her fingers hesitantly shifting over the seam of his pajamas as if she’s suddenly a complete stranger to the art of comforting. Normally he lives for her shows of affection— her occasional head pats, loose side hugs, a hand clasped tight on his arm as she gently leads him through hazardous terrain on missions— but in his mounting desire to be left alone in peace to rest, he bristles under her touch. She doesn’t seem to catch onto the hint, though. Still hidden behind his neutral expression, he grits his teeth.

“I-it’s not a matter of fixation,” she continues, “it’s a matter of unpacking difficult emotions. You have to understand, the state of being cracked, it’s not one that most full Gems are easily able to bounce back from, and I just want to ensure that you’re not—“

“I’m fine, really, I am!” he snaps. “You don’t have to keep fussing about it! And anyways, it’s all over now, isn’t it? So can’t we at least try to move on from this and let things be halfway normal again?!”

Pearl reacts like she’s been physically struck. She yanks her hand back, resting her palms on her knees as she turns her head away. A cautious glance at her face (or at least the half she hasn’t intentionally obscured from his sight) shows one muddled with a blend of melancholy and that sort of silent displeasure he’s long since grown to associate with disappointed parents. He swallows hard, shame settling heavy like the diamond at the pit of his stomach. He went too far.

“Sorry,” he mumbles as he sits upright, cheeks heating up. He stares at his fingers, rhythmically flexing them.

She doesn’t vocally respond to his apology, but her form does grow visibly less tense. It’s a start.

Fully audible through the walls of the house, the tides crash onto shore, gently pulsing in and out. It doesn’t take long before the pace of his heart matches the ocean’s unwavering drumbeat. His naive young mind twitchy under the throes of the unnatural silence, he yearns for some concrete image to latch onto, anything to spirit him away from the present. Not before long, distant threads of memory from the strange dream he woke up from this morning rise to meet his pleas.

Most of the details are fuzzy, indistinct and abstract as one might expect from a dream, but nevertheless just enough specificity remains that he can’t help but wonder if this was more than your run-of-the-mill moonlight fantasy. Frowning pensively, he balls his hand against his chin. The sky was streaked with lines of pink and orange, he remembers. The tides swelled with the same unwavering prowess as they do this morning. He knows he was standing somewhere near the temple, because he clearly saw one of the stone hands half-buried on the sandy shore. A familiar ivory and peach figure stood defiant and distraught before him— no, not him!— before his…

“You always do this, Rose!”

His hands. They were wide, pale, free of the familiar calluses built up from years of plucking strings on his ukulele, they… they weren’t his. This body wasn’t his.

Mom. He was dreaming about his mom. But why, and how? He’s had dreams with her in them before, but they were always different, they were always from his perspective. They were always fluid and nonsensical. This, however… this one felt different, somehow. More tangible.

Almost… real.

“You never even asked me how I’d feel,” Pearl said, voice thick. “And that’s your problem. You never do!”

Realization dawns over him like the glow of the morning sun rising above the horizon. A sudden sickness churns in his stomach. He’s almost horrified, disgusted with his past actions in rudely brushing Pearl off like that.

She just… wants to know how I feel about all this, he thinks, throat constricting as he swallows hard. She wanted to know if I’m okay! But- is she even okay??

Is there more to this dream of his than meets the eye? Is his subconscious trying to tell him something, trying to lead him to take some sort of action? Have they really not asked her that enough?

His fingers drum against his leg as he gathers the nerve to speak again.

“Hey...”

“Yes?” Pearl says quietly, tone clipped. She’s still glancing out the window, turned away from him.

“How are you handling all this? Everything’s suddenly so different, and…” He grips the fabric of his pajama bottoms, his eyes burning hot. “I know you can’t say much about it, but I just wanna make sure you’re doin’ okay too.”

She finally meets his glance, her gaze glassy and wet. Her bottom lip quivers, so subtle he almost doesn’t pick up on it. In all the time he’s lived with her, he's not sure he’s ever seen her so vulnerable, and the sight of it drives a razor sharp point right through his heart. He takes a deep, grounding breath, and continues.

“And I want you to know I don’t blame you for this,” he reassures. “Even if you couldn’t tell us anything, that’s not your fault.”

“Thank you,” she says, her voice breaking.

“If there’s stuff I can do to make things easier, let me know?”

Her ice blue irises skate upwards as she deliberates, desperately grasping for an answer to his open ended question. Steven clasps his hands together in his lap, and simply waits in silent patience. His legs dangle back and forth over the edge of the couch.

Pearl sighs, her long suffering exhaustion evident. “If, in the future, you could avoid asking probing questions about your mother or abo- about my past on Homeworld, that would be a great help.” She presses her thumb and forefinger firm against her forehead, right under her gem. “It’s… painful, suffice it to say, when programming kicks in. And to answer your first question, I’m honestly trying not to think about any of it too much. Like you, it would seem,” she adds with a bit of a mirthful chuckle. “I can’t claim it’s good advice, but that’s where I’m at.”

“I’m sorry,” he repeats with a sniffle, leaning into her shoulder.

Tenderly, she wraps her arms around him and nestles her cheek against his mop of curly hair. It’s a blissful comfort, a wordless promise that more than anything else makes him feel safe. Secure.

“So am I,” she whispers, a tear slipping down her cheek.

__

Notes: 

I have a headcanon that Rose took ages to reform after Pearl staged her "shattering," and in the midst of that Pearl had to go into hiding with her gem so the Crystal Gems didn't learn their secret. During that, I imagine she probably lost Rose's gem at least once, and almost had the Gem equivalent of a heart attack. Which is why she's flipping out so much about it happening again, with Steven.

I also hc that Steven doesn't actually upset Pearl too often, out of the three main CGs. When she does get especially upset though, she's the type to give the icy silent treatment.

[lickstynine]

Consequences

A/N: this was an idea I’ve had for a week or two, but the first part came in spurts late at night and during breaks on my job, and the second half came between three and six this morning, so I apologize in advance if it sounds awkward once I read it back over after sleeping. On the off chance this doesn’t suck, I’ll dedicate it to my favourite hoes, @ocsickficsideblog and @emetoandotherthings, who both love Kit and The Big Angst.

Story-Relevant Notes: This is set when Kit was about sixteen, so he and Alistair were not in contact. TW for violence, hospitals, underage drinking, and abuse.

Kit couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so content. His father had gone golfing up in Scotland for the weekend, so he had the manor all to himself. Rather than spend the weekend with just his servants, he'd invited a guest. Lucian Winters was a year his senior, significantly taller than Kit, with dark, curly hair, striking blue eyes, and enticingly full lips. He was the captain of the debate team, and Kit had hit it off with him earlier this semester. Practice turned to off-topic banter turned to flirting, and before long, they'd been making out in an abandoned classroom.

Now that the two had a place to meet properly, they were hip to hip on an old velvet loveseat, cozied up near the library fireplace. They'd nicked a bottle of wine from Reggie's never-locked cellar, and several glasses later, Kit was climbing into Lucian's lap to better reach his lips.

Though the wine had eased his inhibitions, Kit was still a bit nervous. Lucian was older than him (likely more experienced, too), and gorgeous. His heart was pounding in his chest, and he was sure Lucian could feel it. He wondered what would happen if they went further than kissing. Kit barely knew what he was doing now. Would he make a fool of himself? His chest tightened at the idea of stripping - what would Lucian say when he saw the scars? Kit was pulled from his thoughts by a gentle voice.

"Are you okay? Your heart is racing, and you're shaking."

Kit nodded, his cheeks burning red. "Sorry. Just nervous."

Lucian nodded, reaching over to the side table to refill Kit's glass. "Have another drink. That should help." When Kit took the glass, Lucian's hand moved to rest on his back, fingers tracing gently up and down his spine. Kit sipped his drink, leaning against Lucian’s sturdy chest. The older boy's heartbeat was steady and soothing, and Kit's face flushed in a very different way as he continued to drink. Lucian was so kind and calm, and he smelled like spicy, alluring cologne.

Kit finished his wine, setting it aside and leaning up to kiss Lucian's jaw. Lucian smiled down at him, lifting Kit's chin to properly kiss his lips. They pressed closer, Kit's arms around Lucian's neck, and Lucian's fingers in Kit's long hair. It was a fiery, passionate moment that seemed to last forever. That is, until a strong hand yanked on each of the boy’s collars.

“What in the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Kit’s face went white, and he could almost see his life flashing before his eyes. He’d been so absorbed in Lucian, he hadn’t even heard his father walk into the library. Reggie was fuming, holding both boys at arm’s length like bags of trash. While he didn’t look scared to death like Kit, Lucian was clearly a bit alarmed, and he looked at the angry older man, trying to figure out what to say.

“I’m… so sorry, sir. I didn’t mean to intrude. We didn’t know you were home.” Lucian kept his tone calm and even, trying to counter the tense energy crackling in the air.

“I bloody well know you thought I wasn’t home! That’s why you faggots are in here drinking my wine and sucking each other’s cocks!”

Now Lucian was properly taken aback. “We were not! I do apologize for taking the wine, but it’s not like we were desecrating your couch! Kissing someone isn’t a crime!”

Reggie’s face was crimson with rage; he wasn’t used to being talked back to. His fist tightened on Lucian’s collar, and he pulled the boy closer to growl. “It is when you’re putting your hands on my faggot son in my bloody house! Get out before I break your wordy fucking mouth.”

Lucian cringed; he was nearly as tall as Reggie, but the older man was easily twice his weight. As soon as Reggie let go of him, he bolted for the door. A twinge of guilt panged in his chest as he realized he was leaving Kit to his father’s wrath, but his sense of self-preservation was stronger than his boner, and he nearly tripped as he ran off down the stairs.

Meanwhile, Reginald’s hands were now both free to drag Kit away from the couch. Forceful paws locked around Kit’s shoulders, and he withered under his father’s roar.

“What the fuck were you thinking?”

“I… I don’t… I wasn’t.” Kit mumbled uselessly; he didn’t know what to say, especially after Lucian’s defense had gone over so poorly. “I’m sorry.”

“You’d better be!” Reggie barked. A sharp crack echoed through the halls as his fist connected with Kit’s cheek. The boy yelped, stumbling but unable to fall with his father still clutching his shoulder. Tears were stinging in his eyes, but Kit knew better than to run, instead just mumbling another hoarse apology.

“It… It won’t happen again.” All that earned him was another punch, his head rattling.

“Oh, how nice!” Reggie scowled. “Because that totally makes up for the disgusting scene you were making on my couch!” This time, he threw a kick, and the horrible, snapping pain in his leg made Kit crumple. He dangled limply from his father’s grasp like a half-cracked piñata.

Reginald’s fury-reddened face twisted into a vicious sneer. “Look at you. Sniveling, whining, drooling after boys. Can’t even take a hit like a man. I’d be better off having some dumb bitch daughter.” He dropped Kit as his feet, and the boy landed like a sack of cement. Reggie scoffed. “Francesca’s boys may be dumber than rocks, but even the little embarrassment is tougher than you.” The toe of his sleek black shoe connected with Kit’s ribs, eliciting little more than a pained groan.

“Bloody hell!” Reggie shook his head. “You couldn’t even fight back if you tried. Pathetic.”

Without warning, he yanked Kit up by the arm. Instead of hitting the boy, Reggie flung his son aside like a child discarding a toy. Kit was too stunned to even see straight, which made the sharp corners of the stairs even more of a shock to hit. His head cracked against the unyielding edge, splitting the skin. He yelped in pain, tumbling and smacking into the wood like a pinecone falling through branches.

Despite the disorientation pounding in his head, Kit’s most basic instincts tried to ease his landing. His hands stretched out, desperate to keep his face from hitting the floor again, but when his palms smacked into the polished wood, the force of his tumbling weight made his wrist crack. He let out another shriek, collapsing and clutching at the newest source of pain.

The commotion had attracted a few servants from their quarters, but most knew better than to approach. Melinda, however, couldn’t just stand there and watch while a child was in pain. She hurried over and knelt next to Kit, hesitant to touch him after such a nasty fall. All her instincts were telling her to scoop him up and carry him off somewhere safe, but that wouldn’t end well for either of them. Instead, she just ran off to grab a dish towel when she saw the blood pooling on the walnut floor.

“Oh, dear… you just… can I help?” Melinda asked.

Kit sniffled, barely able to shake his head. “Hurts…” he mumbled, his good hand pressing the towel to the fountain of blood pouring down his forehead. He squinted to keep the red drips out of his eyes, whimpering and resting his head on Melinda’s lap. She very carefully stroked his hair from his face.

“I know, love. Try to relax. Deep breaths.”

Kit tried to obey, but drawing breath brought out a pain in his chest. He winced and groaned, taking shallow, rapid gasps as he started to panic. Melinda cringed, stroking his hair again and humming softly.

“Easy. Easy, it’s okay. You’re gonna be okay. If you’re really hurting so bad, I’ll call you an ambulance.” She reassured.

“No the hell you won’t.” The ominous growl from the top of the stairs made both Kit and Melinda start. Reginald’s shadow stretched down the steps, jagged and looming. “You will not call be calling anyone.”

“But he’s hurt! Pretty badly, too!” Melinda cried, not moving from where she sat.

Reggie stomped down to their level, towering over them both even standing on the same floor. “You’ll go back to your room and forget you saw anything if you like working here.”

Melinda’s shoulders sagged, the scowl on her face fading into fear as she thought of the three kids she was still putting through school, the eldest crashing on her couch after a job had gone under. As much as her general motherly and moral instincts wanted to help, she couldn’t throw away her family’s main source of income. She lifted Kit’s head off her legs with the gentlest touch, folding another towel under him before standing. The guilt pooling in her chest was overwhelming, and she started to cry as she shuffled away.

Reginald just scowled as Melinda walked off, sneering down at his son. “She’s almost as soft as you.” He prodded Kit with the toe of his shoe, making the boy wince and shrink away. “Get up already, stop ruining the view in my hall.”

“I… I can’t…” Kit croaked. Even if he tried, he only had one good arm to push himself up, and the leg Reggie had kicked earlier screamed when he tried to move it. “I think I do… I need… an ambulance.”

“As if! You’re not even that hurt, you’re just a sniveling pussy who can’t take a hit!” Reggie snapped. “Get up!”

Fear surged in his veins, and Kit did his best to force himself up, terrified of what might happen if he didn’t. He pushed his torso up, managing to ignore the pain in his wrist, but when he shifted his body, the pain in his chest dropped him back to the floor. “I… I really… it hurts… doctor.” He couldn’t focus enough to argue, so he just begged. “Please… I need… Please.”

Reginald was quiet for a moment, the tiny gears in his head struggling to turn. The last thing he thought Kit deserved was pity, but at the same time, there was a lot of blood collecting on his floor. He did not want to deal with the repercussions of his son dying in his house. The cleaning crew would be in the way for days.

“Fine. If you’re really so desperate to see a doctor, call Taddy. Have him take you. But you fell down the stairs of your own fucking accord. Do you understand?”

Reggie didn’t have to add an ‘or else’ - they both knew Kit knew better. The boy nodded feebly, desperately patting his pockets until he found his phone. Not actually caring whether Taddy came, Reginald walked off to the bar, leaving Kit to fumble with his cell in peace.

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

Taddy had just sat down for the night when his phone started to buzz. Normally, he didn’t dare settle in before two, but Reggie had come home from his failed trip in the mood to be drunk and angry alone. Taddy had hoped he might get the rare early night, but he didn’t hesitate to pick up his phone at quarter to twelve.

“Yes, Master Kit?”

“Tad… Taddy… help.”

That was enough to get the chauffeur on his feet, already going for his jacket and his keys. The pain and panic were audible in Kit’s voice, and Taddy sounded as worried as Kit did scared when he replied. “Help with what, sir? Where are you? What’s going on?”

“Home.” Kit forced another breath, trying to keep talking despite seeing spots. “Fell… really hurt. Need a doctor.”

Taddy already had a feeling that Kit hadn’t simply fell, but now wasn’t the time to delve into that. He yanked on the first pair of shoes by the door, wedging his phone between his ear and shoulder to tie them. “Alright, alright, don’t worry. I’m on my way.”

“Hurry…” Kit begged, trying not to sob because he knew it would make the pain worse. “Hurts… really bad.”

“I’m coming. I’m getting in the car now. Stay on the phone with me, okay?” Taddy babbled, his usual relaxed tone replaced with a frantic edge. He sped off down the road, rushing from his modest block of flats towards the most deceptively beautiful part of town.

By the time Taddy pulled up in front of the manor, the other end of the line had gone quiet. There was a nagging fear in his chest that he might be unlocking a crime scene, but he rushed inside the grand double doors anyway. Luckily, Kit’s phone had simply fallen from his grasp, skidding out of his reach on the polished wood. Taddy’s relief at seeing Kit wasn’t dead faded the second he saw the crumpled figure on the ground.

“Master Kit!” The chauffeur rushed over at once, and Kit’s blood-heavy lashes fluttered to look up at Taddy. “Good Lord, what happened?” He cried, picking up the fragile boy as carefully as he could.

Kit groaned, leaning against Taddy’s chest. “I had.... someone... over for a date... Father wasn’t supposed to be home.  He got… he was so mad.”

Taddy scowled, half considering calling an ambulance for Kit so he could go upstairs and strangle his boss. Instead, he just sighed. “Violent bastard… come on, let’s get you to the hospital.”

“Taddy, don’t… you can’t… don’t tell anyone what happened.” Kit mumbled. “Make something up if you have to, but Father… he’ll kill us both if word gets out.”

“I’ll kill him first once you’re taken care of.” Taddy grumbled, setting Kit in the passenger seat as carefully as possible and buckling him in place. He climbed back into the driver’s seat, gunning it off down the street again. Kit groaned when the seatbelt tightened slightly, and Taddy gave him a hand to hold, which he quickly latched onto.

It was late night on a weekend, so the typical A&Es were full of shady trainwrecks. The waiting room of the posh hospital, however, was a ghost town, and the pair of secretaries looked at Kit and Taddy with wide, horrified eyes. One of them quickly called for a nurse.

“Oh, lord, what happened to you?” She asked, guiding Taddy to set Kit on a stretcher. Kit was barely conscious, and didn’t provide an answer. Taddy instead provided the excuse he’d figured out on the drive.

“He was studying late at the library. Half asleep by the time he left, wiped out on the stairs. I’m sure you’ve seen that old stone hazard downtown.”

The nurse clicked her tongue disdainfully. “That thing should have been torn down and re-done twenty years ago.” She huffed, pulling the stretcher down the hall to a proper room so she could clean and stitch up Kit’s cuts. He winced and groaned as she moved him, and she frowned in concern. “What hurts, dear?”

“Everything.”

While the answer was understandable, it was also useless. “I need specifics so I can help. Try to focus. What hurts the worst?”

“Chest… wrist… head.” Kit mumbled, doing his best to think. “Leg… head… head…”

The nurse jotted something about concussions on her clipboard sitting nearby. “Okay, once I stitch you up, we’ll bring in a doctor. I think you need X-rays.” She turned to Taddy, who had been given a stack of paperwork to fill out by the front desk. “Are you the father?”

Taddy shook his head. “Just the chauffeur I’m afraid.” He was suddenly all too aware of his haphazard outfit - a heavy coat over only an undershirt, faded pyjama pants, and shiny dress shoes. “This was a bit of an… unexpected… call.”

“I see. Once you’ve got the paperwork taken care of, you’re free to go. We can contact the parents.” The nurse told him.

“Oh, no. That won’t be necessary.” Taddy said at once. “I’m staying."

[thebigreylotheory]

Star Wars: The MustafarVille Ghost (reylo-y)

‘Sup my Star Warsy peoples!

Long time no see.

A few weeks hath turn regrettably into months. I wish I could be all Star Wars Captain America about it and tell you “I’m with you until the end of the [Star Wars] line.” I’m more of a trash Mary Poppins who “Shall stay until the wind changes.”

Anyways, I couldn’t miss out on your Halloween story time this year!

TheBigReyloTheory’s TrasherPiece Theatre Proudly Presents:

Star Wars: The MustafarVille Ghost

So, yeah, we all know ole Anakin [Sir Simon de Canterville] is a Force Ghost now. (And rumored to, grain-of-salt, potentially be in Episode 9.)

So, I’mgonnaruinitforyou with this mashup story [The Canterville Ghost] that I just know is going to come true. (I saw a woollyworm yesterday that had a lot of black on it, so that means Darth Vader. Or lots of winter. I forget.)

When Kylo Ren [Mr. Otis], the Supreme Leader, bought MustafarVille Castle [Vader’s Castle], everyone told him he was doing a very foolish thing, as there was no doubt at all that the place was haunted.

A few weeks after this, the purchase was concluded, and at the close of the season the Supreme Leader and his family(*) went down to MustafarVille Castle.

(*So, I feel like I need to explain to you that there’s a huge, HUGE time jump in Episode 9. As Supreme Leader with Boss Pay, Kylo was able to afford some therapy for his issues and teach him to communicate his feelings to Rey. 

The dark side’s all about passion and emotion right?

Rey tried to hang out with the Resistance, but she slowly realized she was too dark side for them:

)

Their eldest son, christened Renington [Washington] by his parents, which he never ceased to regret, was a rather good-looking young man who enjoyed casinos and dancing.

Their daughter, Vir Jynnia [Virginia], was a wonderful Amazon, and had once raced her TIE Fighter, winning by a length and a half…to the huge delight of the young Duke of Naboo, Palpatine’s grandnephew [The Duke of Cheshire], who proposed to her on the spot. Everyone said she was the very image of her great-grandmother Padme, but with that Skywalker blonde hair.

After their daughter, Rey and Kylo had Force Twins, who were usually called “The Stars and Stripes,” as they were always swishing First Order underlings.

Anyways, at eleven o’clock the family retired, and by half-past, all the lights were out. Sometime after, Kylo Ren was awakened by a curious noise in the corridor, outside his room.

It seemed to be coming nearer every moment. He was quite calm and felt his pulse, which was not at all feverish. He put on his slippers, took a small phial out of his dressing-case, and opened the door.

“My dear sir, I really must insist on your oiling your mechanical limbs, and have brought you for that purpose a small bottle of the Tammany Rising Sun Lubricator. I shall leave it here for you by the bedroom candles, and will be happy to supply you with more, should you require it.”

And then Kylo slammed the door.

For a moment Vader’s Ghost stood quite motionless in natural indignation. Then, dashing the bottle violently upon the floor, he fled down the corridor. However, just as he reached the top of the great staircase, the Force Twins fearlessly flung their lightsabers at him.

Hastily adopting the fourth dimension of space as a means of escape, Vader’s Ghost vanished through the wall. Never, in his brilliant dark side career, had he ever been so insulted. He had frightened plenty of people in the past. (Why not his grandson and great-grandsons?) Accordingly, he decided to have his vengeance.

Next morning the Supreme Family discussed the ghost over breakfast. Kylo Ren was slightly annoyed the ghost had not accepted his gift. He scolded the Force Twins for being so rude to the poor ghost. It was agreed that if the ghost could not be quiet, they would have to ask him to remain in his meditation chamber.

The second appearance of the ghost happened a week later. During the night the family heard a fearful crash in the hall. Rushing down the stairs they found that a large suit of Mandalorian armor had become detached from its stand, and had fallen on the floor while the ghost rubbed his knee with an expression of pain. The Force Twins, having brought their blasters with him, shot first at him.

The ghost swept over them like mist, leaving the family in darkness. Victorious, Vader’s Ghost flew up the stairs. He barely had a moment to celebrate before a door opened, revealing Vir Jynnia.

“I am afraid you are far from well, and have brought you a bottle of Vic’s Vapor Rub. If it is a wheeze that affects your breathing, you will find it a most excellent remedy.”

Upon reaching his room, Vader’s Ghost broke down. He was far from a successful ghost, unable to frighten the family at all. For some days after this, he was extremely depressed. However, by taking great care of himself, meditating over how much he hated sand, he recovered and resolved to make a third attempt to frighten them.

He had nearly reached their corridor when right in front of him was standing a horrible specter. Monstrous as a madman’s dream! Hideous laughter seemed to have writhed its features into an eternal grin.

Having never seen a ghost before, naturally, Vader’s Ghost was frightened. He fled back to his room.

Eventually, he asserted himself and determined to go and speak to the other ghost as soon as it was daylight. Upon reaching the spot, he rushed forward lifting the ghost, only to find a registered Lucasfilm copyright on the costume.

He had been tricked! Outwitted!

Perhaps, Darth Vader was losing his touch.

Afterwards, he made up his mind to give up haunting the family. They did not deserve him. For several weeks, he was careful not to be heard or seen.

That is, until he met with a severe fall, treading on a Nerf Herder butter-slide the twins had constructed. This last insult so enraged him, that he resolved to make one final effort to assert his dignity. On reaching the room occupied by the twins, he found the door ajar. Wishing to make an effective entrance, he flung it wide open.

However, the shock to his nervous system was so great that he fled back to his room as hard as he could go.

He gave up all hope of ever frightening the rude family. On the contrary, he was seized with panic at the very sight or sound of Rey and Kylo Ren’s Force Twins.

Much time passed. Rey and Kylo threw grand parties at MustafarVille Castle. It was generally assumed that the ghost had gone away.

However, the galaxy was deceived, for the ghost was still in the castle, and was by no means ready to let matters rest, particularly as he heard Palpatine’s grandnephew, Duke of Naboo, was visiting Vir Jynnia. Accordingly, he made arrangements to appear to Vir Jynnia’s little lover in all his villainous glory.

Yet, at the last moment, his terror of the twins prevented him from leaving his room.

A few days later, Vir Jynnia and her beau went flying somewhere in the Ileenium system, where she damaged her flight helmet so badly, that, upon her return home, she made up her mind to go up by the back staircase so as not to be seen.

There she saw the ghost all by his lonesome. He looked so forlorn, Vir Jynnia was filled with compassion and determined to try and comfort him. So deep was his melancholy that he was not aware of her presence till she spoke to him. She informed him that her brothers were going back to their royal academy and if he behaved himself no one would annoy him.

Vader’s ghost thought her request to behave himself quite absurd. Haunting was his only reason for existing.

Vir Jynnia explained that was no reason at all for existing. She reminded Vader he had been very wicked. He had caused his wife to die of a broken heart. It is very wrong to cause someone to die of a broken heart.

Course, Vader then lamented how it was all Obi-Wan’s fault. Obi-wan cut off his limbs and burned a majority of his body.

Vir Jynnia, being very kind, offered to take Vader for bacta treatments. Vader assured her it was too late for that. But she could help him! Help him cross over and forever rest in the ashes of Endor!

She could open the holocron portal for him! Because of her love and compassion, and love is stronger than death!

Vader then pointed to the prophecy etched in the MustafarVille Castle window:

"First comes the day

Then comes the night.

After the darkness

Shines through the light.

The difference, they say,

Is only made right

By the resolving of gray

Through refined Jedi sight."

―Journal of the Whills, 7:477

Confused, Vir Jynnia asked what the prophecy meant.

Of course, Vader explained to her that it meant after opening the holocron, it would probably take 24 hours, but she could help him find his old gray podracing goggles, which would make everything right and then he could look all refined again and be out of sight.

There were also some lines about:

“When a golden girl can win,

Prayer from out the lips of sin,

When the barren almond bears,

And a little child gives away its tears,

Then shall all the galaxy be still,

And peace come to MustafarVille.”

But the Whills didn’t think it was all that important, so they edited that part out. They might use it in the Extended Special Edition or something.

Vir Jynnia was still confused, but agreed.

Vader’s Ghost clutched her hand tightly. Suddenly she had visions of ancient Jedi, all telling her to turn back.

Creatures in the fireplace warned her to beware. Still she lifted the holocron. Together, her and Vader disappeared through the portal opening in the wall.

Later, the same day, Rey became concerned when her daughter didn’t show for tea time.

She became really agitated when six o’clock struck and Vir Jynnia did not appear. She sent the boys out to look for their sister, while her and Kylo searched every room in the castle. They found no trace.

Suddenly, Kylo remembered he had given a band of bounty hunters permission to camp near the Klegger Corp Mining Facility by the lava river. Upon investigation he and Renington quickly assumed the bounty hunters left suddenly, kidnapping Vir Jynnia for ransom!

Well, the galaxy was in chaos.

All the stormtroopers were dispatched. Kylo immediately left Mustafar to search for his daughter.

Sweetly, the Duke of Naboo begged Kylo to allow him to aid in the search. Unfortunately, when they found the bounty hunters, their minds held no trace of Vir Jynnia. It appeared all was lost.

All returned to MustafarVille Castle and gave into suffering.

When suddenly, just past midnight, there was a loud crash. Out of the portal stepped Vir Jynnia with the holocron in her hand.

To say the family was relieved is an understatement. They all had many questions, which Vir Jynnia quickly explained.

She showed them the secret treasures of MustafarVille Castle Vader left for her.

Also how the portal lead to Vader’s burial spot on Endor. Together the family decided to hold a ceremony and place a mausoleum in remembrance of Vader.

And everything returned to normal. Vir Jynnia later married the Duke of Naboo. Episode 10 will probably be about their kid. Continue Anakin’s legacy and whatnot.

(But probably not….)

The end.

Happy Halloween!

[newkate]

Snowfall

For @misterwiggums -  little kanders Satinalia treat for the @teamblueandangry Let it Glow event. 

Kanders, sfw, pure fluff.

The Satinalia feast was, naturally, the best meal of the year. The portions were about twice the usual size, the potatoes weren’t boiled but roasted in golden fat, and there were steamed sweet puddings for everyone. There was just one put-upon young templar watching the proceedings, looking at the tables wistfully. The rest were upstairs in their quarters, having their own feast, and it was rumoured they even had wine.

For one night no expense had been spared to have all the fireplaces in the Great Hall going, and the room was blissfully warm. Heavy abundant food made everyone jovial, near tipsy, and there was a sense of camaraderie in the air rarely felt here with the usual cliques and fraternities, squabbles and petty jealousies. For one night they were all brothers and sisters, the mages of Kinloch Hold, all traversing into the new year together.

Anders gobbled up his pudding, wiggled an eyebrow at Karl and pulled on his sleeve. As soon as the templar looked the other way they edged around the tables and darted out, into the empty hallway.

They ran through the echoing corridors and stairs, enjoying the thrill of being alone here, as if the tower was their own castle and they were the kings of it. Anders pulled him into the empty infirmary, and Karl spun him around, pushed him against the desk and leaned in to kiss him.

“I didn’t lure you here for a quickie, actually,” Anders laughed, flung his arms around Karl’s neck and gave him one of his deep, hungry, wonderful kisses, his lips still sweet and plummy from the pudding. “I have a gift for you.”

That was unlikely. Mages from the noble houses sometimes received gifts from home they could bestow upon a lover: some marzipan, a bottle of perfume, soft underclothes. Anders had exactly what Karl had: Circle issue clothes and shoes, and one shabby, ancient piece of needlework that could neither be parted with nor make a half-decent present.

Anders went into the store room that had always been rammed full of broken furniture, cracked alchemy apparatus and disgusting dusty heaps of cloth that might have been used bandages. Now it was partially cleared, or at least didn’t look like they’d get blood poisoning just standing here.

Anders squeezed through the piles of junk, picked up a singed table top that was leaning against the back wall, and moved it aside.

Behind it was perfect, infinite black sky, and against it was a mess of white, fat, fluffy snowflakes, slowly coursing downward.

“A window,” Karl muttered. Cold air hit his face, sweet and sharp, smelling of water, frost, and something undefinable, long forgotten. For the past few years he’d only seen light from the tower, through the small stained glass windows twenty feet above the floor.

“Yes,” said Anders, beaming. “Since I’m in change of the infirmary now, I thought I’d clear all this out, and look what I found. It was bricked up, but not very well.”

He nodded at the pile of broken, charred bricks in the corner.

“I think this was here to let the light in, to grow healing plants. I guess the templars thought that was too much of a luxury for the likes of us. You know how you mentioned you don’t really remember how snow felt? Well, since it’s my fault you can’t go outside anymore--”

The window was wide enough for both of them to look out of it at once, low enough for them to lean out. There was a thick, light layer of snow on the windowsill. Karl carefully scooped it up, amazed at its brittle texture and the crisp sounds it made when he pressed it into a tight ball. He turned the ball in his palm, letting it melt torrents of soft water against his skin, and then lobbed it against the far wall as hard as he could.

The snowball wetly splatted against the stone, and for a brief moment Karl was a child again, running through knee-deep unbroken snow, gathering it in his hands to play with the other kids, yelling, laughing, free.

He leaned out of the window and looked up, into the endless streams of snow falling from above, and down, at the  glowing white below.

“Do you think your fireball can make it down there?” Anders asked.

“Easy,” Karl said. It was far beyond the range he’d ever tried, but that was only because there wasn’t room for that kind of training in the tower.

He formed the spell and held it as long as he dared, until the fire pulsed in his blood, thrummed in his hands, and then he let it loose.

The huge, bright fireball hurtled from his fingers, the biggest one he’d ever made, and shot to the ground, aided by the gravity. They both watched it blaze through darkness; for a moment Karl thought it might fizzle out, but it made it, it crashed into snow with a satisfying long hiss and left a perfectly round, black hole in the pristine white cover.

“Wow,” Anders breathed, and they both watched as the falling snow blurred the edges of the hole and began to paint over it again. Snowflakes softly landed on their hands and cheeks and turned into water droplets right away.

“Are you going to use this?” Karl asked. “For…”

He couldn’t even bring himself to say it, even though the fear was always there.

“Escape? No, it’s far too high. I’d have to steal sheets from every single bed in the tower to make the rope. Besides… Have I ever told you how Irving used to lecture me about my attitude? He said, life in the Circle is what you make of it. If you give it a chance, you might like it. And you know what, that old bastard was right. It’s not so bad after all.”

He smiled at Karl, shivering a little in his thin robes. There were sparkling clumps of snowflakes clinging to his eyelashes, adorning stray wisps of hair at the sides of his face. Karl pulled Anders closer, brought their cold lips together and melted into the warmth of their kiss.

[axelsagewrites]

Hi Can you Harry Potter ship me.I have long blonde hair and blue eyes. I love dogs, books,and singing, and people say I'm to kind hearted. I'm 16, straight, and I love English. I have ADHD, I'm a hufflepuff, and I am a total introvert. A guy I would like is a man who is kind,funny, and is to sweet but strong.

I ship you with

Harry Potter

You had met Harry on the train to Hogwarts in first year. You had just boarded the train and your trunk was pushed off your trolley by some older kids. Harry helped you put all you put all your stuff back in your trunk since it had opened when it fell.You sat with him since you didn’t know anyone else. Ron soon joined you in the carriage and for the rest of the train ride you all joked around and talked.The sorting hat separated you and Harry so the rest of 1st to the end of your 3rd year. You had snuck out with some sweets to give to Hagrid since you knew buckbeak being executed would really upset him and you were a kind-hearted Hufflepuff who didn’t mind sneaky out to make him feel better.However, your timing was horrible because as you were near the whomping willow, walking to Hagrid’s hut, you heard a howl. You froze at the sound. Once you snapped to your senses you turned back to flee to the castle but in the dark, you didn’t see a rock on the grass and promptly tripped.The wolves head snapped in your direction. You quickly scrambled to your feet but the wolf was quick. As the wolf ran after you Harry shot a spell at it.The rest of the night was hell on earth, to say the least. You helped Sirius escape as Harry asked you and its hard to say no to him.To repay you Harry awkwardly asked you to Hogsmeade. It was a fun date, with Harry making jokes all the time. You didn’t even have to fake a laugh, it was genuine.However, after you got back to Hogsmeade you and Harry didn’t really talk. You didn’t know why but he was avoiding you. He ended up asking you to the Yule but you told him you wouldn’t go unless he said why he had been ignoring you the whole year.He confessed he didn’t think you deserved to be dragged into all the crap he was always in. he didn’t want to put you in danger.When you asked why he had suddenly asked you to the dance he told you Sirius had threatened if he didn’t ask out his crush he’d fly to Hogwarts and give the ministry a reason to jail him for real. You said yes and you actually had a nice time. Well, to be honest, you left the ball after half an hour and went to the room of requirement.

“Where are we going?” Harry asked, as (Y/N) dragged him along.She turned to grin at the boy. “You’ll find out.” Harry chuckled. Teachers weren’t patrolling the corridors as they were supervising the ball so (Y/N) and Harry was in the clear. (Y/N) held her dress up as she and Harry began to run up some stairs. However (Y/N) wobbled slightly and Harry frowned. “They’ll break your ankles.” He pointed to her heels which Harry called torture devices. (Y/N) rolled her eyes but took the off none the less. “I’ll carry them if you want,” Harry said when he saw (Y/N) struggling to hold them and her dress so she didn’t get it dirty.“Thanks.”(Y/N) stopped suddenly at one point of the corridor. She started pacing in front of the wall three times. Harry was confused until a large door opened. (Y/N) grinned and grabbed Harry’s hand, dragging him through the door. “What is this place?” Harry asked.“The room of requirement,” Seeing Harry’s confused face (Y/N) continued. “When someone is in need Hogwarts will provide.”“And what do we need?”(Y/N) smirked. “Snacks,” a table appeared out of nowhere loaded with snacks and sweets. “and drinks.” Bottles of many varieties joined the snacks on the table. Harry was pretty sure he even saw some firewhisky. “And a comfy seat.”The plush sofa had already been in the room and (Y/N) flopped down onto it. She pulled out her wand and aimed it at the fireplace. She lit the fire and beckoned Harry over to the couch.Harry flopped down next to (Y/N) and the two began to chat. Harry made jokes throughout the nights and (Y/N) didn’t know if it was the euphoria or the jokes that made her laugh but she wasn’t complaining.

Severus Snape

Severus Snape was a recluse, everyone knew that. The only person he truly called a friend was Lily Evans. Well until his second year.

(Y/N) (Y/L/N) was the muggle-born cousin of Lily Evans and the two were close. (Y/N) had known about Lily’s letter since the day she got it. The two were inseparable for the first month of (Y/N)’s first year.

Snape didn’t admit it but he was jealous. He avoided Lily and watched from the sidelines as he watched his best friend be stolen from him.

Eventually (Y/N) made her own friends in her house, Hufflepuff, and throughout the school. Because of this Lily and (Y/N) weren’t attached at the hip any longer but they did spend at least 3 days a week together. Severus got used to it eventually, ignoring (Y/N).

It’s not that he didn’t like her, he didn’t know her. She was shy and would always clam up around him. severus did approve of her taste of books though. It was the one thing he would admit he liked.

In truth, he was jealous of (Y/N). She was gorgeous, nice, trusted and liked by those who met her. Well everyone but the Slytherins. She had nothing against them but they had something against her. Narcissa Black hated her for some reason though (Y/N) didn’t know why.

Narcissa had recently found out about (Y/N) ADHD so had a new area to aim her insults at. Severus didn’t do anything, he couldn’t do much for her. (Y/N) kept on a brave face though. She was fine, no tears, well for a few days.Severus was heading to the library to meet up with Lily to work on a potions assignment when he heard something. He assumed it was the marauders planning a prank so crept over to the door to see what had made the noise. It had sounded like a chair being flung.He was wrong though, it was kicked by a crying (Y/N) who sat on the floor, knees to her chest. He froze for a second, or two. After he unfroze he turned the handle and opened the door. (Y/N) looked up startled but they softened slightly seeing who it was. “Go away.” She whispered.Severus didn’t listen and walked closer to her. He slowly took off his bag and set it down before sitting in front of her himself. He sat crossed legged, staring at her. “What?” she asked. “Never seen tears before you robot?”“You never insult people,” he spoke softly. “in all the time you’ve been at this school you’ve not bitched about anyone. Not even the Slytherins.”She looked at the ground ashamed. “Of course you’d know what they were doing.” She muttered.“Ignore them, they’re idiots. Soon enough the real world will come crashing down on them and then they’ll see things clear. See their mistakes. They’ll realise that when you’re the one conducting their job interview.”(Y/N) chuckled at his words. “Since when were you nice?” She whipped her tears away with the back of her hand. “You hate me.”“No,” he reached out and placed his hand on top of hers. “No, I don’t. you’re an amazing witch (Y/N). in fact, ignoring the whole magic part, you’re an amazing person. Who cares what some idiot thinks? No one insults my friends.”“Were friends?” Severus nodded shyly, realising his small speech might haven’t of been that small. “I’ve never been friends with a Slytherin.”“I’ve never had a friend beside Lily.”That made something in (Y/N)s head click. “You’re jealous!” she proclaimed. “You think I’m stealing Lily from you.”“What-what? No-n-n-oo. I’m most certainly not.” (Y/N) smirked. “Ok, maybe a little. Speaking of Lily, I’m supposed to be meeting her in the library,” he stood but (Y/N) didn’t follow. Once he noticed he turned back and held his hand out. “You coming?”“I’m not invading your turf?” Severus rolled his eyes and offered his hand again. “Friends, remember?” he said as he pulled her up.“Friends. With a snake.”“Friends. With a badger. Hey, can you find the potions answer sheet?” (Y/N) laughed and slapped his shoulder.Severus didn’t realise it but he was right, (Y/N) did hold the job interviews. She was actually Lucius Malfoys boss. Snape did go to Hogwarts during the year but (Y/N) bought them a small cottage just outside Hogwarts so she could visit him. At one point Dumbledore actually hired (Y/N) to be a school counsellor so (Y/N) now lived in Hogwarts and sent in paperwork to the ministry once a week. After a while (Y/N) quit the ministry, her calling was Hogwarts. Her calling was Severus Snape

A/N: Who should play young snape? i cant decide, anyone have an idea?

[a-memory-of]

It was well into the evening bells; a fire had been stoked, a relaxing tea had been made. There was a soft scent of a low-burning candle wafting through the room. Ellere sat at her desk in the downstairs of her home, one elbow bent upon the wood, palm cupping her chin as she set about looking over her prize from the auction the previous morning.

Having already been gone from the clinic for more than a few suns, and having suffered one of Nafifi’s lectures for it, Ellere could only find the time in these late moments. It was a good thing, she thought, to occupy herself. Her mind had not been quiet, not since that night in Qarn. She flipped a page, the hand at her chin left to curl around the mug of her tea instead and brought it to her lips.

The book was old, there was no question. Those collectors at the auction had dated it correctly, she could almost guarantee. Sil’dih history, of course, was not her speciality by any means, but she knew enough. Normally, such a thing would not have even caught her eye, but, if there was one thing she was wont to spend gil on, it would be a book. And it would have been a shame to simply leave it there. The rich of Ul’dah did not have use for books. They went to auctions for shiny baubles and golden trinkets of status. Their loss, she hummed; only one other had bid against her, after all.

At a glance, the book was simply a medical journal, likely the property of a Sil’dihn mage or healer. Alchemical recipes, older ones, and some she recognized were neatly printed upon the aging parchment. Much of the information was no longer relevant, documenting herbs that Ellere knew could no longer be acquired. It was interesting all the same. But when she turned a page nearly midway through the book, her eyes widened in surprise.

There, among hollowed out pages was a small, leather-bound journal. Ellere furrowed her brow. The collectors had not mentioned such a thing at the auction. Had they missed it? She clicked her tongue, doubting they even had bothered to open the poor book at all. Instantly, she was far more awake than she had been when she had first sat down. There was a spark in her eye as she pried the little journal from its makeshift tomb.

Blowing off the dust, Ellere ran her fingers over the worn leather. There was a strange symbol engraved upon the cover. She tilted her head, untying the cord that kept the journal bound. It seemed just as old as the book itself. The first page was handwritten, and a quick thumb through the rest showed much the same. The letters were inked neatly, and the words spoke in a way Ellere easily guessed whoever had written them had been both highly educated, and well-versed in the arcane.

She felt herself lean back in her chair, taking the journal with her. This was far more interesting than any simple tome on ancient herbology. The text was personal, a diary perhaps. The owner spoke about their life, the people they met. As the pages went on however, the talk of war soon came up. Ellere hummed again; it was obvious of what it spoke of. Most historians, or scholars of worth knew what happened to Sil’dih, and Ul’dah’s own hand in her eventual destruction.

She could not recall of such a personal account ever being found, however. And spurred on by that thought alone, she kept reading. As the pages continued, she noticed how the once neatly written scrawl was slowly morphing. It became more hurried, ink blotting on letters. Even the way the writer spoke had changed. War and civil unrest, she supposed, would do that.

She read of the plague, a grimace on her face as the story of how the writer witnessed a young girl lose her fight against an illness, only for her body to twist and rise once more. Soon more and more dead filled the city streets. The journal spoke of chaos, of desperation.

Finally, the frantic writing grew dark. It spoke of a group that sought to turn the tide of the war. A group that had found the source, had learned what the mages of Ul’dah had done. And as Ellere read their answer, their idea of revenge, her eyes went wide. The handwriting had changed again. Letters took up much of the pages, the quill had been pressed into the parchment hard enough to make etchings on the next page. And then there it was, a name. Momomara.

Something crashed upstairs, a slamming against the wall that made Ellere jump from her seat. She set down the journal atop the book, waiting. The skywatchers had not predicted a storm. She knew better than to pass this on mere thunder. Only a passing moment more, and there was the sound of footfalls, many of them. Another crash, another. The doors leading downstairs.

Ellere cursed under her breath, there was no where she could go. She only had time to take one step back from her desk before several hooded figures descended her stairs, turning the corner and laying eyes on her. Some foolish thought had her grab for the journal, on instinct, if nothing else.

That got their attention. One raised a wand from under their cloak, and Ellere threw up a barrier but still felt a force throw her from her feet. Papers and bottles flew from her desk, shattering to the floor. She felt her back connect with a bookshelf, stealing the breath from her lungs with a harsh crack. She slid to the floor, books falling with her.

Looking up, the figures were advancing on her again. A glance to her desk where one of them had opened up the tome from the auction once more, and seeing the empty pit, and she knew her instincts had been right. They wanted the journal.

“Woman,” that figure said, a deep male voice, straightening up from the desk. “You test my patience.”

Ellere had to scoff, a small coughing like sound as she held her side, “You… you invite yourself into my home, and talk… of patience? Didn’t your mother teach you better?”

That had been a mistake. A wave of his hand and Ellere was sent crashing into the opposite bookcase. She gasped out, still clutching the journal to her chest. If it had been hard to breath before, now, now it was worse. Three of the others had closed in on her now, and all she could do was keep a barrier up. But without a grimoire, it was uncertain how long she could hold it. One of the men that approached slammed a fist into it as if to test it, before looking back to the only one who had spoken.

“First you meddle in my affairs at the auction,” he continued, slowly turning. Heavy-heeled boots clicked across her wooden floors as he took slow steps towards her. Ellere struggled back to her feet and she could only watch as with another wave of his hand the nearby furniture, a couch, a table, all were flung much like she had been. They crashed together, overturned by the fireplace. She swallowed thickly. This man. He was different than the others.

“And now you believe you can keep what is mine from me even still?” his voice almost echoed in her head. He stopped, just before the visible edge of her barrier, and the other hooded figures parted and moved away.

Ellere shook her head, knuckles whitening around the journal at her chest. Her breathing was labored, and speaking hurt, but still she refused. “I know… your type. If I let you take this…”

His hand shot out, sparking in aether against her barrier. And Ellere felt the breath steal away from her lungs yet again. She watched as her aether flickered once, then twice, and the barrier shattered. The figure’s hand kept going grasping firmly about her left wrist. Pain erupted across her bare flesh.

As he lifted her arm up, she struggled, screaming out as the skin under his hand burned. He used it to pull her closer, and Ellere felt herself nearly against his chest. Then there was only more pain. Her side erupted in pain, and the shock forced the journal to fall from her hands. As the figure let go of her arm, she stumbled back, looking down. Red was staining her tunic, she could feel the warmth seeping down her side.

Ellere lifted her eyes up, catching sight of the knife before her knees gave out. She hit the floor hard, gazing up as the hooded figure came into her line of sight once more, journal in hand. “There is no let, woman,” he hissed, almost sounding amused.

A gesture of the head, and the rest of the figures moved to retreat back upstairs. He remained, only a moment more, watching as Ellere struggled against the floor before turning and retreating himself.

Ellere lay against the floor, hand pressing against her side to try and stem what bleeding she could. Cursing under her breath, she tried to remain calm. But she needed help. It would not be long until she likely lost consciousness. Gasping out in pain, she tried pulling herself closer to her desk.

Her arm was in agony. It hurt to breathe, ribs she thought. The amount of blood was worrisome. “Alright, Ellere…” she breathed out. “N-Not going to die… tonight.” She told herself, and it became an internally repeated mantra as she crawled ever closer back to her desk.

It took a long moment of gathering strength once there to rise up and grip the edge of the wood. But her arm and chest screamed in pain, and she fell to the floor again. “Breathe…” she told herself, “B-Breathe.”

As she lay against the floor, her blurred vision saw the broken bottles, the mess of papers that had been thrown from her desk. And there she could see her pearls. She swallowed, giving a prayer in thanks of the one still within her reach.

Slowly, slowly, her arm moved out, still burning in protest with each ilm. Her fingers brushed against the familiar pearl, pulling it closer. “R-Ruran…?” she rasped out, quiet, voice giving out. “Please…”

[garrickgoyle]

Title: the more i hear the less i know Word Count: 1653 (kill me i don’t even like garrick that much) Pairings: N/A unless u take into account garrick and miranda are, like, married Summary: *garrick done does get arrested* Notes: so here it is! i don’t have anyone to kill but i DO have a death eater to lock up (for the time-being at least since he’s back for round 2 in the nineties, presumably bc he’s one of those guys as is revealed). i wrote it between the hours of 4 and 8 am and it’s shit but it’s done and Uh hopefully a death eater being arrested will be a cool thing to brighten some characters’ days and make other death eaters scared LOL! anyway, the title is from the song “distractions” by groenland. Warnings: ok, so there are allusions to/vague descriptions of domestic/physical abuse, boys leering at girls, umm garrick continuously refers to an house-elf as an “it” even when the house-elf refers to herself as a she, ummm. y ea h. i think that’s it.

Garrick had never known a quiet night; there had always been some variation of noise wherever he was led. He had followed his father into the kitchens once as a boy to watch him order a house-elf to place its hand into an open flame, to keep it there and count to thirty. His father told the house-elf, in a saccharine tone, like he had been granting it a favor, that it was allowed to cry if it wanted to and that it had permission to scream. In the end, the house-elf didn’t cry and it didn’t scream, but Garrick could remember its broken sobs and whimpers. For the first fifteen seconds he watched its ugly, grey face wrinkle up in pain, and then he spent the remaining fifteen with his back turned, sneaking pastries off the table.

The lack of silence carried over into his school years, when he followed his housemates into the nooks and crannies of the castle. There was not a single empty classroom that they had not found, it felt like, that they didn’t fill with their conversation; they whispered about their plans, about what their fathers were doing. They made lewd comments about the half-blood girl in their Potions class, the one whose skirt always seemed a little too short for regulation. Garrick never did understand the muffled, exaggerated moans his friends made when they talked about getting a peek up a skirt on the staircase, but he felt something fizzle in the bottom of his stomach at the sound of them nevertheless.

He felt a similar fizzle the day he followed Gregor into Gringotts; what might have been a quiet evening in Diagon Alley exploding into chaos and ruin. Flashes of light illuminated his face and screams filled the air as they rushed down the stairs, nearly tripping over his feet with every other overeager step he took. It was meant to have been as quiet a kidnapping as possible but Garrick had never known anything without noise or a plan he couldn’t disassemble, sending its parts scattering; he could take orders and go where he was told, but action took a level of precision and reflexiveness that he had never quite mastered as he grew and his limbs stretched, flailing just as they had when he was thirteen.

But then there had been a roaring in his ears as he lifted his wand that night, a pounding, swirling, deafening tidal wave beating against his eardrums. And for a split second, in the time between the words left his lips and the woman fell to the ground with a thump, when it could have been silent if not for the rapidfire beat of his heart, he felt in control of every limb, nerve, and cell. He thought the woman’s face ugly and grey as it went slack and he felt rooted there, watching a trail of blood falling from her nose onto the pebbled street, but then in one nauseating swirl of motion, they were gone.

Garrick had never known a quiet night. His childhood summers were painted with shattered glass bottles, whiskey drenching the carpet in the parlor, in a house that had only recently became theirs. Up on the walls were pictures of ancestors with no blood relation to him, staring with an unwavering, penetrative gaze, as if they knew the Goyles cheated their way into wealth and into their family’s walls. He sometimes heard them whispering over the nonstop creaking of the house while he lay in his bed, though he could never think of what they would want to talk about so late at night and never in front of him. Their hushed conversations were often interrupted by the sounds of his mother crying, or his father’s shouting, by heavy footsteps stomping down the halls and slammed doors. Garrick was an only child and his father often hit him upside the head and reminded him that he was also a stupid one but his mother couldn’t give him any siblings to make up for it.

The parlor in which Miranda had now stood in had all new carpets and the portraits on the walls gazed at her with begrudging respect. She was holding a crying Gregory in her arms in a way that contradicted every passing complaint she made about feeling like a broodmare and when the nanny swept him out of her arms, it was even obvious to Garrick that she hated that that contradiction had the gall to exist in the first place. He thought for a moment about commenting on it, maybe requesting Gregory to be brought back into the room, when a sudden flurry of movement occurred; there was a loud crack! before a house-elf came stumbling through the door without announcement and Garrick instinctively tensed. Miranda looked incensed at the insolence and only managed to take two steps forward before the house-elf spoke.

“Mimney tried to tell them to leave, Master! She tried to tell them to go! But — But they wouldn’t listen!” It wheezed, then stumbled over the edge of the carpet and fell to its knees with a high-pitched wail. Garrick flinched; Miranda’s eyes hardened as they flitted toward him.

“Get to the fireplace, Garrick,” she ordered, moving toward him as if she would physically push him there if need be. For a brief, fleeting moment, Garrick felt something in him kick; if he had been any other man and if Miranda had been any other woman, he might have immediately identified it as a short bout of fondness. But they weren’t and never would be, so all he could focus on was the spike in his heart rate and the sweat that broke out across his brow.

“Wha—” was all the sound he had managed to make in return before the door flung open again, this time bringing two cloaked men inside, their Auror badges shining in the candlelight. The house-elf curled in on itself, half-dragging its body across the floor until it hit a hall, its wailing only growing louder as it rocked back and forth.

Garrick reached for his wand where he kept it in the inside pocket of his cloak but stopped short when he realized he wasn’t wearing it and before he could comprehend what his next step should be, Miranda’s own wand was flying across the room. She looked enraged at being immediately disarmed, close to spitting in the faces of the men as they came closer like they owned the space, looking more commanding in the house more than Garrick had ever managed to feel.

“What are you doing here?” She demanded, but their eyes glanced off his wife and landed back on Garrick. The one closest to him had curly hair and Garrick could quickly identify him as McKinnon, but his brain stuttered and skipped as he tried to recall a first name in his panic.

“Ye wanted for the murder of a muggle woman named Hope Lupin. We have several witnesses that have put ye at the scene and are ready t’identify ye in a lineup,” McKinnon announced, his wand in one hand while he held the other in a gesture arrogant in its sense of casualness, like Garrick wasn’t going to be a real threat — he wasn’t someone who’d have them on the tips of their toes. “Now, I advise ye can make this easy for ye ‘n ye wife here ‘n come with us without makin’ a mad dash, eh? Save us all some time.”

The last time Garrick tried to run from someone threatening him he was standing in that same parlor; his mother was crumpled on the floor much like the house-elf was, but she had been quiet. Garrick could hardly remember the last time he had even heard her voice. In his father’s hand was the spade for the fireplace as he stood as an enormous presence a few stride lengths from Garrick, much like Miranda was, but Miranda’s glare wasn’t pointed toward him nor was the curled lip in disgust. Miranda had squared off, aligning herself with him, because Miranda wasn’t anything like Garrick’s father but Garrick — Garrick was still the same thirteen year old who had took stumbling steps back, hastily trying to make a fruitless escape. Garrick hadn’t changed; he had killed that woman but he had also followed his orders, and yet he was still the same person he always was. He was still scared, small, and stupid.

In a split second, he made a dash for the fireplace, no real destination in mind beyond AnywhereButHereAnywhereButHereAnywhereButHere. He took less than a couple steps before he felt a strong shove at his back, the floor coming up to meet him. The last thing he heard was Miranda’s shout as his head hit the hearth, and then everything went black.

Garrick had never known a quiet night. He had never known one in the manor he grew up in, old in its age but new in their occupancy of it; he had never known it at Hogwarts, blindly carrying out commands barked at him by his housemates; and he didn’t know it then as he sat in a cold, wet cell in the middle of the ocean. He could hear the waves crash against the rocks, the pounding in his head, and the moaning, chanting, crying, screaming. They echoed in ways he had never thought possible; in an endless, winding loop, they wormed their way into his thoughts as he curled in on himself, pressed against the wall, the taste of blood flooding his mouth as he tried to recall Miranda’s words; the ones she hissed at him months ago as Gregor apparated them into the foyer, Garrick’s limbs shaking with pent up energy and his eyes darting wildly.

“An Imperius, Garrick,” she said, squeezing his bicep tightly. “That’s what you’ll say: it was an Imperius.”

[meerkatheart-blog]

MH: Irreplaceable

Was bored, so I wrote my first MH story in a long time. I'm going to be fleshing out Penny and Tucker's every-day lives for a while now. I hope you guys enjoy. The story Butterfly is telling came from a comedy show I heard on youtube once. Credit goes to the guy who actually lived through this nonsense, but it sounded like something Penny would get into. Hope you guys enjoy this silly drabble. It was just a normal night at the townhouse, a bunch of girls sitting in various places in the living room. Everyone swapping stories, having drinks, it was all good. Penelope Stone, better known by her street name ‘Butterfly’, was full of stories. Mostly of her childhood. “Another story I’ll never tell my parents..” Penelope began, holding her bottle on her knee. “This all happened in high school. The redhead leaned back on the stool she was sitting on, her knee high boots stretching with the strain. “I had this teacher in high school, whose kid actually went to our high school, the teacher’s name was…” she thought a little “Mr. Alberquirq and his son was Max Alberquirq. He was a sophomore, when I was a…a senior so he was two years younger than me.” Two fingers were held up, more reaffirming herself than anyone else. “And well, Mr Alberquirq…” Penny smirked, as if amused by her own thoughts “was, an asshole. And one weekend, he and his wife decided to leave town, which you should never do,” she looked around the room, slightly leering at everyone “if you’re an asshole.” “The thing was, Max Alberquirq, decided to throw a party, at his dad’s house…yaaay.” Fake cheer, Butterfly knew sarcasm that was topped only the group leader “He wasn’t all that popular, you don’t get very popular when your dad is both a teacher..” she put a little emphasis on this one, using one figure in a forward and upward motion “and an asshole.” Most of the girls laughed, they knew what it was like. The lot of them were social outcasts, fed up with society. Labeled ‘mean girls’ by kids and grown-ups a like. Assholes were part of the trade. You dealt with them every day. “So most kids around town got invited to this Saturday night party, and each and every damn kid..” she paused again, this time for effect, her voice slightly rising in pitch “I swear to you, thought individualy ‘Alright, let’s go over there, and trash the place.’” She made a sneer at the last three words. This was rewarded by more laughter. Only one girl was keeping quiet so far, that was Merrianne Enin. Her street name was ‘Mercy’; hers wasn’t even a street-name that was just what everyone called her. No one called her Merrianne and survived. She had always been a hard-ass. But Butterfly respected her. So far, Mercy was just sitting in her chair, sewing something and not saying a word. After a sip off her beer, Butterfly continued her story “I walk in through the front door, and every person I ever knew was there. And they were all drinking like it was the end of the world.” Laughter broke out here “We were drinking like it was the civil war and we were all about to have our legs sawed off.” The laughter got louder; one girl caught her breath long enough to put a log on the fireplace. “It was totally unsupervised,” she flung her arms out “we were criminals off parole,” she bounced her shoulders, while slightly shaking her head “it was insane.” Now Butterfly stands up and starts to walk a little ways, making gestures as she tells her story “I make my way down to the basement; they got a pool table in the basement. Some dumbass took a running start, threw his body on to the fucking pool table and broke it in half.” She took a drink here before continuing. “Another kid found out which room was Mr. Alberquirq’s, went upstairs and took a shit in laptop case.” The girls really started to laugh here, that would be something one of them would have done. Even Mercy had to chuckle at that one. Butterfly made her way back to her seat. “So the party was going great.” An almost placid ‘this is fine’ smile on her face, as if to downplay the whole situation. “I’m in the basement, holding a red cup like you see in the movies.” She holds up her bottle in the same sort of way “So, I’m standing there, holding a red cup and I’m starting to black out. When suddenly someone says ‘something, something, police.” She sort of shakes her head as she said this, unable to remember the exact words. “And in this bleary, brilliant moment of intoxicated word association, I say ‘FUCK DA PO-LICE!” She suddenly stands, yelling “FUCK DA PO-LICE!’ and everyone joined in.” she looked very surprised, the other girls were too,. “A hundred, drunk, white children, collectively yelling ‘Fuck. The. Police. Butterfly was almost laughing herself as she said this “It was like a bunch of guys who had already, like, been to jail and aren’t afraid anymore, like ‘I served my sentence, you can take me if you want to!’” she did laugh a little here, and then said “but, drunk children.” “As it turned out,” she sat down again” the reason someone yelled ‘something, something, police, was because the police were there.” “So this middle-aged patrolman comes down the stars to the basement, and he looks out over a sea of drunk toddlers screaming ‘fuck the police’ in his face.” The girls all gasp a little at this, even Mercy seems interested by now, still not stopping her sewing though “And he’s almost impressed, he’s like ‘wow..’. Then he leans into his walkie talkie and says” Butterfly used her best ‘NYPD voice’ for this “‘Get the paddy-wagan’” There were a few chuckled, a few ‘oh my gods’ here and there. Butterfly continues. “And my buddy Poppy, she’s a mother now, this woman now has a baby. She grabs a forty, smashes it against a wall and yells ‘SCATTER!’” More laugher came from the girls settled in the room. Butterfly had to laugh herself, Poppy was a good kid, nothing like Butterfly. Poppy was a trouble-maker, but she was never really into crime the same way her childhood buddy was. Poppy got into trouble for fun, Butterfly did because it was just what she did. That had been the first and only time Poppy had ever drank, underage. Butterfly, by then had made it a bad habit, among other things. “And we all ran in different directions.” Her voice picks up speed as she talks, once again using hand gestures for emphasis “We all ran in different directions, it was like a hoard of cockroaches when you turn on the light and they all race away, yeah we all ran in different directions.” “I ran into the laundry room, jumped up onto the wash-machine and crawled out a window into the backyard and I start running through the backyard and there was this big chain-link fence and I was like ‘I’ve never climbed a fence this high before!’” Her voice dropped and she said flatly “and then I woke up at home.” One of the girls, a young Korean lady named Nari, street name ‘Bloom’ asked “How on earth did you get back to your house?” Bloom had an ‘American’ name that she had been given when her parents immigrated to America. But with this support system of friends she had made, she proudly bore her original name. Butterfly shrugged “No idea, I asked my brother the next morning what had happened, all he said was ‘You came back at like 4:00 am, Poppy fell asleep in a chair while you crashed in your bed.’” “I ask him ‘Where are the old men?’” “‘Well Dad #1 took Poppy home, Dad #2 asked why you were out so late last night, I told him you guys went to go hang out at the park with some friends and it got dark so you came back here. Next time you go out and get drunk, don’t expect me to cover your ass.’ I was lucky his did that time” Butterfly had to admit, her older brother may have been utterly useless in 90% of cases. But when it came to blowing smoke up her parent’s asses, Tucker was the master. He was able to sweet talk every adult in their family to this day. He was the only person able to schmoose even aunt Alexa. He’d pull that goofy smile and say something that sounded really cute and sincere and give one of those gushy bear-hugs of his, and they were putty to him. Tucker never used this talent for anything useful though, mostly for getting sweets after Dad #2 had clearly told him no more. Tucker was the #1 ass-kisser. A bunch of usual inquires followed. Till Mercy asked “Did you ever busted?” those were the first words she had spoken in an hour. Typical of the hard-ass to ask something like that. “Well,” Butterfly said “A caught up with Max a few days later and I denied ever going to his party. He recapped everything that had happened, but then he said “Worst thing is, someone stole my baby-picture from when I was still in the hospital, and my parents are kinda freaking out about it.” “I got that feeling, that only black-out drunks, and Steve Irkle could get. ‘Did I do that?’ But I told myself I wouldn’t do something like that, I wasn’t a sticky finger drunk.” Then she kinda shrugged “But I was never sure, until a two years later.” The girls all started mumbling amongst themselves “Hey! Relax” she said. “I was chilling with one of my cousins, this chick named Molly I went to school with, she was the same age as me. And we were playing video games and stuff like that, she was a lot closer to my brother than me, but he was off at college by then, so we started hanging out. After a few rounds she looks over at me and says ‘Come here, I wanna show you something.’” “She leads me into her bedroom and then into a secret crawl-space she found inside her closet one day, never a good thing. She turns on this electric lantern, and I shit you not” she paused here for a moment and said “it was wall to wall, with stolen hospital baby pictures.” “I look at her and I go ‘why…why are you like this’. She looks at me and she just says” Butterfly looked right over at Mercy and said “‘It’s one of those things that you can never truly replace’”

[ecotone99]

[HM] Beary Nice

Beary Nice

“An’ Sunday night, mommy made hot chocolate and we drunk it by the fireplace!” Cassie held up a polaroid picture of herself seated on what appeared to be a fold out sofa bed covered with what looked like very old and very stained “My Little Pony” sheets. In one hand she held a mug that proclaimed “World’s Greatest Grandma” and in the other she held a death grip on a small brown teddy bear with big goofy eyes and a red bow tie. “And Beary had a beary good time!” she finished with a giggle.

Cassie, like many of the kids in Mrs. Bloomer’s first grade class, was very fond of their class pet, a stuffed teddy bear Mrs. Bloomer introduced to them as “Beary Nice”. During the week, Beary sat in a little rocking chair by Mrs. Bloomer’s desk, and every weekend one of the children got to take Beary home and would later report on what they did together.

Mrs. Bloomer forced a smile. “Very good Cassie, thank you”. The little girl sat down, a smile beaming from her dirt-smudged face. “Well, it looks like Beary Nice had a good weekend with you. Thank you for taking care of him Cassie. Well, lets see, whose turn is it to take him home this weekend…” Mrs. Bloomer turned to the chart on the wall, though she already knew who was next. She’d been dreading this day all year. Dakota’s turn.

Dakota was already waving his hand wildly and making an “ooh” sound. Mrs. Bloomer gritted her teeth and turned to look at him. His long, filthy blond hair stood out starkly against the faded black AC/DC T-shirt he’d been wearing the last three days. Dakota was at least two years older than everyone else in the class and, given that he couldn’t even begin to read, he was likely going to be back in 1st grade again next year. He had, however, developed an even stronger attachment to Beary than most of the other children, to the point where he sometimes interrupted class to ask questions about the bear- “Does Beary have a daddy?” or “Does Beary cuss?” ”Yes…Dakota. I think its your turn.” Mrs. Bloomer said at last.

“I know it is Miss Bloomer! I counted the days from the start of the year and this is the 84th.” He smiled back at her, his crooked yellow teeth taunting her.

“Yes... Well, its almost time to go, so why don’t you go get Beary from his chair. Now remember you have to be nice to him.”

“We’re gonna shoot my dad’s gun!” Dakota announced loudly as he seized the bear roughly from its chair. The rest of the class laughed. Mrs. Bloomer sighed and realized she would probably never see Beary Nice again.

*********

On Monday, Dakota didn’t bother coming to school. When Tuesday came, he actually showed up for school, and, as Mrs. Bloomer feared, Dakota failed to return the bear. “He’s okay, I left him home watchin’ cartoons with my mama” he said reassuringly. “I’ll bring him back tomorrow.”

On Wednesday, once again, Dakota failed to produce the bear. Mrs. Bloomer decided to not make a scene during class, and instead asked Dakota to come see her before he went to recess. When he approached the desk, his face was already red and a look of consternation filled his normally impish face, so Mrs. Bloomer proceeded with caution.

“Now Dakota…You made a promise to bring Beary back. Why haven’t you done it yet?” Dakota fidgeted and looked down at his feet.

“Dakota, you have to bring Beary back. He is probably very lonely sitting at your house by himself.”

“He aint there by his self. My mama’s there with him.”

“Well be that as it may…” ”Miss Bloomer, Beary told me he don’t wanna come back here. He said he likes it at my house. Can I have him?” Dakota’s grubby face peered up at Mrs. Bloomer pleadingly.

“Uh…No, Dakota, we can’t do that. He belongs to the whole class.”

”But I love him Miss Bloomer. He wants to stay with me. . Please Miss Bloomer.” Tears began to well up in Dakota’s eyes.

“Dakota,” Mrs. Bloomer cleared her throat and looked away momentarily, “We …You need to bring Beary Nice back.” Dakota’s eyes dropped and tears began to roll down his cheeks, leaving brown streaks of dirt as they fell to the floor. He nodded and walked out the door. After she was sure he was gone, Mrs. Bloomer quietly locked the door and dug through her purse for the tiny bottle of Crown Royal she kept hidden in the middle pocket.

*******

The bell rang to begin class on Friday morning. After missing school Thursday, Dakota was back, seated in his chair, making faces at the boy behind him and laughing. Mrs. Bloomer had already decided to not make a scene by asking for the bear in front of the other children. As she got up to call role, a little girl raised her hand.

“Yes Rachel?”

“Do I get to take Beary home this weekend?”

Mrs. Bloomer gritted her teeth and swallowed. “We’ll talk about that later.”

The little girl pressed the issue. “But Mrs. Bloomer, its my weekend. We were gonna take him to the zoo.”

Mrs. Bloomer swallowed hard, gauging Dakota’s reaction. He was looking agitated, glaring at the little girl and wiggling around in his desk uncomfortably.

“Rachel, I said we’ll talk about this later.”

“No fair!” the little girl pouted. “Dakota was supposed to bring him back!”

“No!” shouted Dakota, giggling.

“Dakota! That’s very rude.” Mrs. Bloomer glared at the boy. “Dakota, see me at recess.” The boy stood up and grinned at her and shook his head.

“Dakota, sit down. Do you want me to call Mr. George?”

He shook his head again, then between giggles said, “You aint ever gettin' Beary back”.

“Dakota-“ ”He’s dead. He’s in hell with my daddy.”

“Dakota!” Children gasped around the room. Cassie started crying loudly. Mrs. Bloomer pressed the button to summon a principal to the classroom. “Dakota, sit down. You are in big trouble.” The little boy shook his head again, violently, his dirty hair flailing wildly around his head.

“You want Beary?” Dakota said, laughing maniacally. “You can have him!” Dakota reached deep into his G.I. Joe backpack and triumphantly yanked out what appeared to be a big piece of steel wool. He flung it at Mrs. Bloomer, who narrowly avoided the projectile, causing it to bounce off the white board and land on the tile floor with a plastic clacking sound. The room fell deathly silent as a smell of smoke and ash filled everybody’s nostrils. Staring back at the class were a pair of big melted plastic eyes.

“I burned him just like I burned my mawmaw’s cat!”

The next few minutes would forever be a blur in Mrs. Bloomer's memory. Dakota fell to his knees laughing while the other children screamed in horror. Leaping with almost preternatural speed, he snatched a bucket of safety scissors from Mrs. Bloomer's desk, and flung it around his head, sending scissors flying in every direction, all the while laughing and laughing and laughing. The children in the front row dove behind their desks, while those in the back just wailed. Somewhere in the distance, Mrs. Bloomer thought she heard a dog barking. She remembered a knock at the door, then the sound of old hinges squealing as it was thrust open, then Principal George's booming voice. Dakota, still laughing, dove for the classroom window, but was too short to get over the windowsill, and crash landed on his back. Mr. George grabbed him by the collar and drug him away, the sound of his heels squeaking on the vinyl floors barely audible over his laughter. Mrs. Bloomer stared dumbly as he disappeared into the hallway, his eyes bloodshot, his cheeks wet with tears, and his mouth agape and curled with hysterics as he laughed and laughed and laughed. It was over. Mrs. Bloomer looked around the room. Children were still crying, but started to take their seats. They looked to her for guidance. She stood, meaning to say something, but the words just weren't there. Then she saw it, the charred remains of Beary Nice, blackened limbs akimbo on the floor where Dakota left him. She approached it, toeing at it first, then bent down and took it into her hands. Its melted eyes glared at her accusingly. "Alright, Rachel," she held it out, "You may have Beary this weekend."

submitted by /u/Skelter1999 [link] [comments] via Blogger https://ift.tt/37k5Ofj

[storybash]

The stranger’s words

seemed to burn in the air for a long moment before the oaf’s face flowered with a hot, angry redness. When he spoke, it was in a harsh whisper. “Lads,” he wheezed, an angry vein throbbing in his forehead, “I want you to make sure this bitch goes nowhere,” raising his voice as he went until he was practically screaming, “whilst I feed this arse-tickler his FUCKING TEETH!”

Cryndal sighed deeply as he raised his thick fists and took a step past her toward the man at the end of the bar, whose laborious prattling seemed to have snuffed out the feeble light of thought flickering in the oaf’s thick skull. She whipped her right arm up and cast the loop of her scarf around his head. Kicking out with her left leg, she caught him just behind the knee and dragged the scarf down. He squawked as he lost his balance and crashed down onto his back.

She stomped her right foot onto his broad chest and stepped up. As she went she reached back with her left leg, hooked her foot under a stool and flung it at the two gawping fools to her left. She let the momentum of the throw carry her off the oaf and over the long loop of scarf still connecting her right hand to his head. She landed on her left foot and aimed a spinning kick with her right into the chest of the man with the red scabs blossoming from his collar. She felt a satisfying chorus of crunches in his ribs as he flew off his feet and crashed through a wooden chair. Cryndal planted her right foot, then pulled up on the scarf and kicked her left foot back, mashing the oaf’s face into her heel and slipping the loop over the top of his now limply lolling head.

The two fools on the left were momentarily put off by the unexpected stool, and the rashy one was lying in a gasping heap halfway to the door, but the piggy-eyed one and his nondescript friend seemed to have at least half a sack of guts between them. They both stepped toward her, Piggy drawing a crude but well-sharpened stub of a blade, and his mate hefting a thick wooden rod capped with a band of black iron.

Cryndal involuntarily started to raise her left hand in a defensive posture. She gasped at the heavy hammer blow of pain that blossomed from her upper arm and shoulder. Four days since she’d landed on it so badly, and she still wasn’t accustomed to it being useless. Mr. Nondescript must have mistaken her gasp for one of fear; his hunched shoulders relaxed a bit and he darted forward, raising the stick over his

Gritting her teeth, Cryndal raised her right hand and whipped it around in a tight spiral, wrapping the scarf around her forearm. She raised her arm, took the blow from his stick on her forearm, then spiraled her arm again, twisting his arm up and digging her thumb hard into the pit. A sharp kick to the knee sent him completely off-balance. She shoved him backward into Piggy, wrenching the club from his hands as both fools fell flailing. She threw it end over end at the one furthest to the left, smashing him between his off-kilter eyes and dropping him like a rock, blood spraying from his shattered nose.

The last one turned on his bowed legs to run and Cryndal leaped at him. Her reaching hand snagged the hood of his tattered cloak. She yanked back on it hard, jerking him off his feet and slamming him down, shattering the stool that was lying on the ground.

She stood there panting and, for a moment, all she could hear was her own ragged breathing and the pounding of blood in her head. As they started to fade she began to register the groans of one or two of the fools who’d escaped unconsciousness, and then another sound from behind her. A clicking rattle, like the innards of the great geared clock that had hung in her mother’s dressing chamber, carving up time into moments, reminding her of her duty to mark the past and prepare for the future. But the clock was gone, as was the chamber, and her mother, their memories and plans both turned to ash and blown away by the cold north wind.

Starting to turn, she heard a high, frightened voice. “D-d-d-on’t move,” it stammered in time with the rattling noise. The boy behind the bar, whose name had fled from her recollection. “I-I-I won the ribbon for shooting at the last festival day,” he said, “and I’m n-n-not afraid to put a bolt in you if you try anything else.” He must have slipped back through the door during the commotion.

Cryndal slowly started to raise her hands, groaned as pain flared in her useless left arm, and let her right hand continue upward as she calmly turned toward the bar. Sure enough, the lad was standing there wide-eyed, training a crossbow at her. From the sound it made as it shook in his hands, she guessed he was learning quick how different it was to take aim at a breathing target.

She forced a wholly unconvincing smile onto her face. “Come now, child, I’m sure that was frightening, but it is settled now. There is no need to spill blood…” she looked down at the fool whose nose she’d smashed, and the maroon puddle soaking into the rough planks of the floor. “Any more blood.”

“I’m not a child!” he responded, fear twisting his shout into a shriek. “This is my father’s place, and that makes it my place, and if you bust up my place and my customers then I’m justified to shoot you if I have to.”

As Cryndal opened her mouth to respond, the man who’d so enjoyed the sound of his own voice cleared his throat in a precise, practiced way. “Of course you’re not a child,” he said. “You’re the man of the hour, aren’t you? Saving a helpless traveling maiden from a gang of ne'er-do-wells.”

“I what?” the boy said, eyes rolling as he tried to look at the man without turning his head away from Cryndal, who nose began to prickle as she stared at the man with an equally confused look.

“Why of course,” the stranger continued, waving his hand across the scene with a flourish. “These rough and tumble privateers were threatening an honest traveler, whose only crime was paying for a room with a gem worth-” his eyes flicked upward for a second as he did a rapid calculation, then settled calmly on the boy, “-about 300 of the old Baron’s gold coins.”

“But I didn’t,” the boy said, his confused gaze now firmly fixed on the man still perched calmly on his stool. “It was her, she-”

“She, my boy, is a road-weary lass whose most endearing features are a lame left arm and a shocking unfamiliarity with the exchange rate in local currency. You, however, are a strapping local lad who was honor-bound to defend your livelihood and reputation, not to mention your new best customer. Why, they’re lucky you didn’t give them worse. As it is, there are only a few broken chairs, which that gem will easily pay to replace, and a few broken bones which, while unfortunate, should only hamper their usefulness in the short term. Unless that one makes his living with his face.”

Cryndal noted the rattling of the weapon starting to diminish as the boy’s hands calmed. “But no one will believe it. They’ll tell everyone I’m a liar.” The prickle in her nose crawled up between her eyes, which started to water just slightly.

“I am confident that, when they limp back to their usual places tomorrow evening, they’ll doubtless be inclined to corroborate that version of events, rather than admit to being so thoroughly disassembled by a member of the - ahem - milder sex.”

Cryndal scrunched up her eyes, trying to ward off the burning tickle in her nose. “I would not usually allow anyone to take credit for my victory, but I could make an exception if it means you’ll stop pointing that bow at me.”

“There, we’re all in agreement. If you’ll just put down the crossbow, the lady and I will retire to our rooms and take all your troubles with us. What do you say?”

The boy opened his mouth when Cryndal was wracked by a powerful sneeze. With her eyes squeezed shut, she heard almost simultaneously a yelp, a twang, a crack, and a thud, and felt a bright flare of pain from her injured shoulder. She unclenched her eyes just a crack, and saw the boy staring at her wide-eyed, the man leaning over the bar with his walking stick pressed down on top of the bow, and the bolt sunk deep into the wood of the counter.

The man swept his stick back, scooped up his book and dropped it into a pocket, plucked a bottle from behind the bar, then hopped off his stool. “There is truly nothing like small-town hospitality,” he exclaimed. Threading between the fallen townsmen, he slipped an arm through one strap of her pack and pushed her toward the door next to the fireplace with the other. As she stepped through the dark threshold and onto the first stair, she heard him pause. The bottle sloshed as he waved it in salute, and then he followed her through the door and up the stairs.

[sending-the-message]

Be Careful Little Mouth What You Say Part 2 by spaswimmer1023

Part 1

Damn, I didn’t know what to do. I wasn’t sure I could live with myself if I didn’t go and at least check on my mom. After all, I have acted like a total jerk to her all these years. Like you all suggested, I was going to be smart about this. I made a quick turn and darted back toward my house. When I got there, I gathered my sewing shears, two bottles of cooking spray, a skillet, and a butcher knife. I threw it all in a backpack and got back in my car.

As I pulled up at my mom’s house, I noticed that nothing seemed to be out of the ordinary. Both of my parents’ cars sat in the driveway. Nothing looked disturbed and it was eerily quiet. I shot a quick text to my sister to have her call me in an hour if she hasn’t heard from me. I stepped out of the car and threw my backpack over my shoulder. I readied one of the cooking spray cans and walked toward the door.

When I checked the door knob it was already unlocked. I gently opened the door and peered through the small crack. I could see that my parents were slumped over the couch in the living room. I flung the door open in case he was standing behind it. It made a large, crashing sound as it met the wall in the hallway. I stood still for a moment to see if anything moved. When nothing shifted, I carefully walked over to my parents in the living room. I checked to see if a pulse was present in either of my parents. After holding my fingers there for a while, there was none.

My heart sank as I thought about all the times I fought with them about the person that just murdered them. I felt ashamed that I had not been able to step back from the situation and just hear her out. After all, she was just trying to protect me. I turned around to see a hand written note with my name on it laying on the coffee table. I picked up the note and prepared myself for another emotional roller coaster.

“My Dearest Emily,

Honey, I’m so sorry that things had to end this way. I can’t tell you how much it hurts me to know that you are not protected anymore. I know that we fought and had our struggles, but you will always be my special little girl. Don’t ever forget how strong you are. Don’t ever let anyone take that away from you.

I remember the day you were born. It was unseasonably warm that fall and I was still working full-time. I worked up until my water broke in the middle of the kitchen floor. You and I sat there in the darkness of the hospital room. We just stared at each other as I prayed that your life could be different than the circumstances you came from. You were such a good baby. You used to sit and watch me from your high chair as I zoomed back and forth working. You would smile and coo as I could only think about getting to the end of the day.

I know that I hurt you by not telling you about your father. I sincerely hope that you understand why I didn’t tell you any information until now. He’s a bad man, Emily. Nothing good can come from him. He stole something from me that I can never get back, but he gave me one of the greatest gifts I have ever received.

Please, know that none of this is your fault. You are an innocent bystander in this mess. By now, I would imagine that the authorities around here will not be reachable. His followers are everywhere. You have to watch your every move. The people you could once trust are no longer on your side. You will notice a blue band around the wrist of the followers. If you see someone that has this immediately turn around and get out of the situation. There’s no need to be a hero, Emily. If you listen to my instructions you can be safe.

Go up into my closet. Once you are there, you will find a small cut out in the wall at the back of the closet. Take out the piece and you will find a small box. In that box is a key. The key is to a lake house that your grandfather bought many years ago. Go there and find Jim Anderson. I know he will be able to help you with this. You need to stay in that house for 30 days. It’s fully stocked with food and provisions. Make sure that you park your car plenty of distance from the house.

This is so much bigger than just you, sweet girl. This has been something that has been building since before you were born. Be safe, take care of yourself, and don’t you dare let him away with this. I’ll be seeing you.”

My stomach churned as the hot tears swelled up in my eyes. The only people left in my family were my siblings. They both lived in separate states. Our relationship has been strained the past few years due to some differences in life choices. I checked my phone and still hadn’t received a message back from my sister. I guess I was alone.

I bolted up the stairs to my parents’ bedroom. Just as my mom had described, there was a small cut out at the back of the closet. I took the small piece out of the wall and saw the small, white box. I reached in and pulled it out of the cobwebs that surrounded it. Inside was a small, black key and two small pieces of paper. On one sheet, an address for what I assumed was the lake house, was scrawled on it. The second piece of paper had a picture of a man on it. I didn’t recognize his face. He had dark, black hair with piercing green eyes. He was smiling from ear to ear and had his head slightly raised as if he was caught mid-laughter. His navy blue suit seemed to be too big for him. The wildly striped tie looked goofy against the starched, white shirt he wore. After studying the photo for a few moments, I folded both pieces of paper and put them in the box.

As I started to exit the closet, a single rose caught my eye. The flower had been placed neatly on top of a large, white box in the center of my parents’ bed. There was a note standing on top. Yet again, my name was on it. I picked up the note and began to read it.

“Emily,

I never abandoned you, pumpkin. You’re mother took you away from me. I never got to be the daddy you needed me to be. It’s time to make up for lost time. We will catch up soon. I’ll be seeing you.”

I quickly opened the box and found dozens of photographs and newspaper clippings. Everything from my birth announcement to the time I won a writing competition in high school. There were pictures of me playing in the front yard, on the playground, driving, on dates. Photographs from when I was a small child to just last week. I had never felt more violated in my life. I snatched the box up in my hands and flew down the stairs. I ran out, slamming the front door behind me.

As I typed in the address into my phone, I realized that I still had not yet heard back from my sister. In some blind attempt to reach someone, I texted my brother.

“Hey, it’s Emily. I know we haven’t been on the best terms lately but something weird is going on at home. I haven’t been able to get ahold of Kayla and I’m afraid I’m in over my head. If you get this, just give me a call. Love you.”

I turned the volume on loud as the GPS told me to go to the designated route. The lake house was just over two hours from where I lived. It was just enough time for me to mentally replay the past events. How could one man be capable of doing catastrophic damage? In less than 24 hours he took out the majority of my family. What was I supposed to do with my life? If things stayed the same with my siblings, who would be around when I got married and had children? The thoughts kept swirling in my mind as I drove down the road. Sobs filled the silence in between directions.

I was alerted that I would be turning off the highway in half a mile. My headlights glowed on a “Welcome to Lincoln” sign on the side of the road. I had never been this far north before. I turned right onto a heavily wooded road. The trees were thick and made the already dark night that much darker. I turned my headlights to the brightest setting as I slowly trudged up the hill. After it seemed like I had climbed a mountain, I reached the top where a small bungalow sat on top of a wide clearing in the trees. If the circumstances were different, I could see how this would be an inviting get-a-way spot. As my mother had written, I turned my car around and drove into the middle of a clearing in the thick trees. I got out of my car and left it there.

As I looked at my phone, the signal was spotty at best. Still, no word from either of my siblings. Whatever, I guess if I get killed they can see it on the news and wish they would have responded. I turned the flashlight on from my phone. I reached in my backpack and pulled out the butcher knife, just in case. I got the key and made my way toward the house.

I was slightly out of breath as I started to put the key in the door. I started to turn it to unlock the door when the lower knob started to turn. I immediately stepped back and raised the knife to whomever was about to open the door. The door opened abruptly and a large, jolly man stood in the doorway. His eyes grew large as he stared back at me and the large knife I held in the air.

“Woah, there! I don’t mean any harm, young lady. I’m Jim Anderson. You must be Emily!”

I slowly lowered my knife to my side. “How did you know my name?”

He replied, “Well, if you’re showing up here, that means that your day has been pretty bad. I’ve been waiting for you to come for some time now. Your grandmother gave me a heads up not too long ago that things might start to turn south for you.”

I stared back at him, “You knew my grandmother?”

He chuckled, “Why don’t you come in and we can talk about it?”

I cautiously stepped over the threshold. Jim closed the door behind me. The small abode was warm and inviting. There was a gentle fire going in the fireplace. A pot of something smelled amazing on the stove. When the smell hit my nostrils, my stomach returned with a growl. I forgot that I hadn’t eaten anything all day.

Jim continued. “Come on in and make yourself at home. We will be here for a while. Your family and I go way back, kid. Are you hungry? I can imagine you’ve been on the go all day.”

Jim walked over to the stove and dipped me a bowl of whatever was in the pot. Backpack and all I sat down at the table. I laid my knife next to my bowl and started devouring the contents.

“Your grandma was a real kind lady. I enjoyed working with her for all those years. She made the mundane duties a lot more cheerful each day. There’s quite a bit of stress on the pastor’s shoulders and your grandmother did her best to try to help in any way she could.”

I dropped my spoon into the stew below me. “Wait, so you’re my?”

“Grandfather? Yes, I am. Don’t worry though, your father stripped everything away from me a long time ago. He made it clear that I was no longer his father many years ago.”

When I didn’t think I could cry anymore, tears started to roll down my cheeks. I was exhausted. I wanted to feel safe here and be able to sleep for a few hours. I decided that I would trust my mother and stay here, at least for the night.

I must have been silent for longer than I realized. Jim said, “You must be exhausted. I’m going to clean up the dishes in here and call it a night. There’s a room just down the hall and to the right where you can sleep tonight. I’ve got some of my clothes hanging in the closet. Just move those over and do whatever you need to be comfortable. Rest up, kiddo. You’re gonna need it.”

I made my way down the short hallway to a small bedroom with stale looking wall decorations and plain bedding. The whole room looked bland. I took my backpack off and it slammed to the floor. Once it was off, I was relieved to feel the lighter weight. I walked over to the closet to see if there was a shirt that I could sleep in. As I pulled the string to turn on the light, I saw a row of neatly organized shirts. They were all the same and appeared to be uniform like. As I started to push them aside, I saw that the wrist had a blue band around them.

Am I ever going to be safe? How could my mom lead me into a trap like this? Before I completely gave up on this guy, I figured I would give him the benefit of the doubt. I was also just too tired to keep going. I put my backpack at the side of my bed in case I would need to make a quick escape in the middle of the night. I slipped the knife under my pillow for defense. I’ll update when I can.