#for the large crane fly friend

[fantabulisticity]

Some Friends I've seen recently!

[saintmuses]

❝𝙣𝙤 𝙤𝙣𝙚 𝙚𝙡𝙨𝙚 𝙞𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙡𝙙 𝙘𝙖𝙣❞

Pairing:

Jonathan Crane x Innocent!Reader

Summary:

They were best friends since high school then he broke her when she became his Patient X.

Warning(s): Dub-con. Pervert/depraved!Jonathan. Implied corruption. Implied abduction. Power imbalance. Naivety. Nudity. He struggled with his feelings for her. This is dark due to mental health and toxin usage. Minors, dni!

Word Count: 1.5k

“The mind can only take so much.” He had once said that to one of his minions, and he knew that it was true when he was accosted by his own toxin. He had seen things, the things he wished he hadn’t seen. His best friend dying over and over. The only person he’d ever cared about.

The door closed behind him with a quiet thud, he threw his scarecrow burlap mask to the side table in the foyer carelessly. 

Something was different tonight, and he couldn’t put a finger on it.

“Jon?” A voice murmured from the end of the hallway, making him inhale sharply.

He exhaled softly before turning to her, “it’s time to go to bed, my dear.” He murmured; his eyes raked over her figure to ensure nothing was out of place.

He used his creation to experiment on her phobia, and after so many trials and tribulations, he had broken her. Not in the way he had imagined, but he broke her, nevertheless.

She went from one of the smartest people he had ever got to known with fire that could scorch everything, reverting to an innocent docile person that he had to take care of. Obviously after what happened, he couldn’t give her back to her family, but it had been five years since he took her in. Of course, he had to implant a farce where she was abducted and declared she was dead.

Something was different tonight, and he did not understand what it was.

He sat down on the edge of her mattress, fingers brushing against the hem of her t-shirt, his touch lingering as he slowly lifted them. She was delicate in his hands, and he couldn't help but feel protective and possessive over her this time. To him the feeling felt foreign.

With a gentle tug, he pulled the shirt over her head, revealing the smooth skin beneath. Her breathing quickened, and Jonathan could tell she was nervous. He shushed her gently, assuring her as he did every night. "It's okay.” He cooed softly, she was his best friend and only she got to see the side of him that no one else would ever get.

He traced his fingers along the waistband of her pants,  and with a subtle tug, they slid down her legs, leaving her standing before him in nothing but her bra and underwear.

He could see right through the bundle of energy she was radiating. "Y/N, you don't have to be afraid of me," he assured her once again as he gently tugged at her bra strap, loosening it. "I'd never hurt you."

You broke her. His mind whispered, almost viciously teetering on victorious as if he was proud that he broke his best friend.

“I know you won’t.” she murmured shyly. Her voice was soft and sweet.

"That's my good girl," he said softly, his warm breath brushing against her arm. With gentle fingers, he unhooked her bra and let it fall to the floor, taking in the sight of her perfect breasts. His possessiveness spiked once more.

He had never once looked at her breasts or anywhere on her body when he would help her to change clothes.

After what happened in the Arkham Asylum, being sprayed in the face with his toxin, and seeing what he had saw, it shifted something inside of him.

Perhaps there was a reason why he kept her like a singing docile bird in a gilded cage. The one that did not fly too far, always circling around him.

He turned to the side slightly on the bed and grabbed a large t-shirt from beside him.

She looked at it, confusion flitted her curious gaze. “Is that my shirt?”

"No, this shirt is for you to sleep in tonight," he explained gently, guiding her to slip it over her head. It was huge on her, dwarfing her frame, but it was comfortable, and that was all that mattered.

He could feel the heat emanating from her body as he slid his hands up her thighs, feeling the soft skin beneath his fingertips. His touch was gentle yet strangely possessive as he reached for her underwear under the shirt, slowly sliding them down her legs. "There we go.”

As soon as his fingers enclosed the underwear that she had stepped out of, he froze when he felt something damp on the fabric.

“Jonny?”

His heart skipped a beat at the sound of her sweet, innocent voice calling him "Jonny". He couldn't help but feel a rush of emotions - protectiveness, possessiveness, and something else he couldn't quite put his finger on.

He could feel her looking at him. “Are you okay?”

Clearing his throat "I'm fine, my dear," he said reassuringly, forcing a smile as his fingers tightened on the fabric. "Now, how about we get you into bed?”

He watched her climb onto the bed, his eyes never leaving her. He couldn't help but feel a twinge of regret as she turned away from him. It was then that he brought the underwear to his face, inhaling deeply. He couldn't help but inhale her scent, memorizing every detail of it. It was intoxicating, like a drug to him. As she turned her face to him, he quickly tucked the underwear away in the pocket of his dress pants, trying to regain his composure.

She looked concerned, “Jonny?”

"I'm fine," he repeated, his voice more shaky than he would have liked. "Now, why don't you snuggle under these covers and get warm?"

When he was helping her lifting the comforter up, the long t-shirt ridden high on her thighs while she accidentally spread her legs while trying to get underneath the comforter.

He couldn't help but notice how her legs spread, revealing more of her soft skin of her thighs. His possessiveness flared once more, and he couldn't resist reaching out to gently pull the shirt down further, covering her thighs completely.

He noticed the slight blush on her cheeks and knew she was embarrassed. He chuckled softly, brushing off her impending apology. "Don't worry about it."

His heart melted at the sight of her sweet smile, and he couldn't resist leaning over to gently press a soft kiss to her forehead. "Sleep well, my dear."

The next morning, she was still sleeping soundly as he opened the door to check on her while wiping down his glasses with a soft cloth before placing it back on his face.

Jonathan couldn't help but notice how adorable she looked, all warm and snuggled under the covers. He strode over to her bed, “wake up, Y/N.”

A groan of protest emitted from her throat as she burrowed into the pillow.

He chuckled softly, knowing she wasn't a morning person. He was comforted to know despite breaking her, she still inhibited some pieces of her old self. "Come on, it's time to start your day." He gently pulled the covers off of her, revealing her body under the t-shirt which so happened to ride up on where her thighs met her ass, revealing a sliver of her bare pussy. He swallowed hard.

He couldn't believe how innocent she looked. The sight of her exposed pussy under the fabric of the t-shirt that rode up under where her thighs were was driving him crazy.

He couldn't resist any longer. With a trembling hand, he pulled the t-shirt up further, exposing her entire pussy to his hungry gaze. It was even more beautiful than he had imagined.

He couldn't help but to release an inaudible groan as he looked at her pretty pussy. It was the most erotic sight he had ever seen. He continued to shake her gently, "wake up, darling." His voice was hoarse before he cleared his throat. “It’s time to get dressed.”

He watched her carefully, noticing the way she stood by the bed. He walked over to the edge of the bed and sat down on it, spreading his legs apart. "Come here." His voice was soft but commanding.

His heart raced as she stood between his legs. He could feel the heat radiating off of her, making it hard for him to concentrate on anything but how much he wanted her. "We’re going to do something a bit different today," he murmured, “turn around.”

He watched her turn around despite her confusion, revealing her back to him. He then laid a hand on the middle of her back, telling her to bend over.

The t-shirt ridden up to her upper thighs as she bent over, and he bit down his bottom lip as he lifted the hem of the t-shirt to reveal her pussy again.

“Aren’t you supposed to put an underwear on me first before you do anything else?” she asked quietly.

He smirked softly, "Not this time." He leaned in closer to her, his warm breath brushing against her skin. He could feel himself trembling as he looked at her exposed pussy.

He leaned in as close as he could towards her pussy without touching her and then he inhaled deeply, smelling her pussy then his eyes rolled back in pleasure, feeling the familiar sensation of his cock swelling in his dress pants. He took a deep breath, savoring the sweet, feminine scent that bombarded his senses.

“Jonny?” His eyes refocused when he heard her sweet voice.

"Shh, darling.” He whispered. "I was just making sure everything is fine," he lied as he inhaled deeply again, his eyes closing.

Something was different last night, and it showed when he saw her differently.

[roll-of-royces]

Caleb Headcanons

Since @caleb-pilot has entirely ruined me, and I am now deep in my Caleb fixation I give you my personal headcanons for him. These are largely personal opinions given he's minimally developed by canon, and also heavily influenced by the Caleb Gimmick!

He's an adrenaline junkie, always seeking the next thing that makes him anything intense enough to be worthy of feeling

Caleb has a bit of a drinking problem, he drinks to forget and to remember and when he's drunk he lashes out at everyone

The boy has big wanderer trauma (likely watched his family die when he was a child)

He's hyper-vigilant, to the point of sometimes being jumpy

Caleb pays attention to all of MCs little details, knows all sorts of facts about her that no one else does

He will start a barfight and he will win that fight

He loves symbolism, and reminders of positive things in his life such as apples as an inside joke and clinging to terms of affection like pipsqueak

Caleb absolutely gave MC piggy-back rides all the time as kids and misses doing it now that they're older

He keeps a calendar full of things he wants to remember about his friends and family

He prefers fist bumps over hugs unless its MC because of his hyper-vigilance

Caleb deals with chronic nightmares

He drinks his coffee black

He has a high pain tolerance

(Very personal headcanon) His squad mates nicknamed him Icarus because he takes more risks than he should

He went out of his way to learn how to make all of MCs favorite foods

He keeps a picture of MC in his wallet he won't show anyone

Caleb wears the necklace MC gave him 24/7, in the shower, when he's sleeping, at the gym

Sometimes he texts Zayne to get updates on MCs health because he knows she'll sugar coat it

He is fiercely protective of his family and will defend them immediately

Caleb uses his Evol all the time for the most menial things

He will send slutty pictures without hesitation

His smiles don't always reach his eyes

Caleb has two laughs, one for fitting in and one that comes out more as a wheeze for genuine amusement

He likes junk food and is happy to eat at food stalls or grab convenience food lunches

Caleb is a master paper airplane crafter and is also good at origami (he keeps a box of 999 cranes under his bed, scared to make his wish)

He sings to himself while he flies (he has a pretty good voice)

He's developed a reputation for being a skilled pilot but people sometimes don't want to fly with him due to his impulsivity

Once he almost got thrown out of flight school for threatening a teacher

Many an adult has said he has promise but shows a troubling amount of anger

MC is the only one he'll listen to without question (if she says jump he asks how high)

[apomaro-mellow]

Guitar!Steve 2

In the early hours of the morning, Eddie was sure he was still in a dream. What other explanation was there for the crazy hot dude in his bed? Then the other man made a sound and turned around and the memories of the previous night came back to him.

Eddie immediately scampered out of bed, stumbling a bit and grabbed his pants. He pulled out the smooth, black wishing stone. He pumped his fist, not believing his luck right now when his bedmate made another waking sound and his eyes fluttered open.

"What are you doing up?", Sweetheart asked.

And Eddie didn't really have a good answer with for that but he stammered through the attempt anyway. His Sweetheart just gave him a sleepy smile and patted the empty space next to him.

"Come back to bed~"

Eddie practically pounced right onto him. He was only human. But his Sweetheart, strong and solid, only let out a slight 'oof' before wrapping his arms around him. He kissed Eddie's cheek, then his chin, then kept going lower.

"Feeling affectionate?"

"I know you don't like early mornings."

Eddie hummed as his hands stroked up and down the other man's sides, just feeling but still not fully believing. Then Sweetheart started kissing down his neck and Eddie felt himself drowning deeper and deeper into him when someone pounded on the trailer door.

"Eddie!"

"Shit!", Eddie hissed, very reluctantly pulling away from his lover. Another voice called his name and that confirmed it. His friends were at the door. Probably looking for him. Because he definitely told Crash he would call him back and then he...didn't.

Eddie looked to Sweetheart, lying in the bed, looking confused but also extremely fuckable and why had he moved away from him again?

"Dude!"

"Eddie!"

"We're coming in!"

"Shitshitshit!"

Eddie resumed what he was doing, which was putting on pants. In his haste he just picked up the jeans he wore last night and slipped them on. Going commando in his jeans wasn't ideal, but it was all he had time for before Jeff, Crash, and Gareth were barging into the trailer.

Eddie came out of his room to meet them and they froze just inside the door to the trailer.

"Uh, hey?"

"You just get up man?", Gareth asked.

"Where's the stone?", Crash demanded to know.

Jeff was looking at the ceiling. "Please zip up your fly."

Eddie looked down and saw his bush peeking out from his pants. "Didn't know you were such a prude Jeffy." He watched his hairs as he zipped up.

"Why didn't you call back last night? What happened?", Crash asked.

"I uh, got a little distracted..." Eddie stuck his hands in his pockets while figuring out exactly how to break the news to them. He was saved by that by the sound of Sweetheart moving on his creaky mattress and calling out his name like it was a siren song.

Eddie turned, and the other boys leaned over and craned their necks to look through Eddie's ajar door.

"Ohhh", Jeff nodded.

Gareth looked like he bit a lemon. "Eddie? Seriously? You get laid and forget to call back?"

"Give him a break", Jeff said.

"Can we just-!", Eddie held up his hands. "Wait here!" He left the dissonant voices in the living room while going to check in on Sweetheart.

After explaining who was here and getting him into some clothes, and putting on a shirt for himself, the two of the rejoined the group at large. The others looked confused as to why Eddie was presenting the guy instead of kicking him out.

Eddie put on a t-shirt, still going commando. Sweetheart had put on a pair of his boxers, which were a little snug on him and a tank top. It fit but only because it was a bit big on Eddie in the first place.

"Alright, Sweetheart, these are the boys, Crash, Gareth, and Jeff. Boys, this is my uhhh guitar."

Crash's hands went to his forehead and he pushed his hair back. Jeff's eyes were bugging out and Gareth was looking back and forth between the two of them.

After a cacophony of disbelief and better explanations, Eddie sat down on his couch with a weary sigh. He barely gave a reaction when Sweetheart sat in his lap, he just put a hand on his hip.

It didn't seem to matter to either of them that there was more than enough room on the couch for them both. Jeff couldn’t take his eyes off the guy.

“Okay, so this is your guitar.”

“Sweetheart”, Eddie said. It didn't seem right to just refer to him as an instrument anymore.

“Yeah, okay, but weeeee can’t call him that”, Jeff said, swinging an arm to the others.

“Yeah, he needs another name. A human name”, Gareth clarified.

“At least while he’s here”, Crash agreed.

Eddie didn’t really like the implication there, that Sweetheart wouldn't always be around, but he conceded that he also didn’t like the idea of anyone else using the pet name. He needed a name that wouldn’t raise too many eyebrows.

"What do you think, Sweetheart?"

"I like what you call me", he whispered only to him, twirling a curly lock around his finger.

"Yeah, but do you want anyone else calling you that?", Eddie asked in an equally low voice.

They kept talking in low whispers, in their own little world. Pretty much ignoring the other people in the trailer.

"Do you guys need a room?", Jeff asked.

"Well we DID have one before you broke into my home", Eddie pointed out.

"Can we just figure out what to do about this?", Gareth asked, looking like he was about to collapse.

They spent about ten minutes deciding on what to call this man and eventually landed on the name 'Steve'. Eddie's brows rose at that but even he had to admit there was something oddly fitting about it. His Sweetheart had looked like a killing machine in guitar-form, but was capable of tender, mellow notes.

Now as a human he was just as capable of multitudes. So he was here, he had a name, now Eddie needed to find out how to make his stay permanent.

Part 4 coming soon

[azsazz]

Structure of the Gods

Modern!Cassian x Reader

Summary: Figure drawing class is normally not something to write home about. But today, the nude model just happens to be the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen...and your best friend Feyre knows him.

Warnings: Nudity, sexual themes.

Word Count: 2,382

Notes: Here’s the Cass I promised this weekend. The trifecta is complete! 💙

_________________________________________

“(Y/N)!”

The breath whooshes out of your body for two reasons. One, because you’d stopped so abruptly in the doorway to the drawing room that your best friend, Feyre, had slammed into your back.

And two, because of the fucking God standing before you.

He’s clothed in a robe that you’ve become accustomed to the models wearing for your drawing; the thin, gray cotton stretching over the expanse of his broad shoulders. He’s so tall that it nearly shows his ass – cut short like he’d ordered the incorrect size – and you think that if he turns around you might be able to see the tip of his–

Feyre shoves you forward. You stumble into the room, nearly tripping over your feet because you can’t seem to look away from the hulking figure who’s turning his head at your friend's hiss of your name.

“Cassian?” Feyre’s scold dies on her lips, her tone perking up at the sight of him.

You remember him, of course you do. He’s everything you’ve ever dreamed of and more. Unruly brunet hair that’s been thrown haphazardly into a knot at the back of his head. You wonder if he’s just that effortless that his hair turned out to be that perfect or if it had taken years of practice. Loose strands frame his strong jaw and he tucks a lock behind his ear as he recognizes Feyre, face splitting into a wild grin that makes your knees weak and your heart trip.

“Fey,” he exclaims excitedly, bounding closer. You swallow harshly, heart stuttering at his beauty. The nearer he gets the taller he becomes, towering over the both of you. He doesn’t hesitate to pull your friend into a bear hug, and when he straightens you have to crane your neck back so far it almost hurts. “What are you doing here?”

You clutch your sketchbook tighter to your chest, drinking in the tree of a man before you. 

Cassian.

From the front, the robe hardly closes over his tanned chest, large pectorals peeking out from the cloth. You can make out the curve of his body, the slopes leading down to his tight waist where the belt is tied in a lazy knot, like he’s not worried that his bulky muscles will snap it right in half to expose him.

“I’m in this class,” she laughs easily, but there’s a pink tinge to her cheeks, “Although I didn’t know you were going to be a part of it.”

Cassian shrugs easily, winking, “Nothing you haven’t seen before, little one.”

You have to choke back the gasp that crawls its way up your throat, eyes flying wide as you stare at Feyre, who’s shaking her head quickly, stumbling over her response.

Her glance flickers to you and you catch the realization in her eyes. She tucks her arm with yours and tugs you closer as she changes the subject.

“Cassian, this is (Y/N). I think you’ve met before. At Rhys’ last party?”

And those breath-taking hazel eyes slide to you, examining you slowly. It makes your face heat and your grip on your book tightens, palms sweaty.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, a sparkle in those earthy eyes, “I’d never forget a pretty face like that.”

Your cheeks grow hot with an embarrassed blush but you don’t have time to respond, nearly jumping under his heavy gaze when your professor calls for everyone’s attention.

“That’s me,” Cassian grins, flashing perfect teeth, “See you later.”

You release a breath you didn’t know you were holding as you and Feyre scramble to your seats, putting your bag and books down and making your way to get the large drawing pads you keep stowed in the room so you don’t have to lug them around campus three times a week.

“You know him?” you ask, incredulously, passing her her drawing pad and reaching for your own.

Feyre smirks, nudging your shoulder, “Yeah, he’s one of Rhys’ friends. Interested?”

You glance over your shoulder to where he’s speaking with your professor. He’s nearly an entire head taller than the man running the class, explaining how the time will be split – one minute warm ups, a fifteen minute session, and the rest of the two hours will be spent in one pose so you can all work on drawing the full human form.

You’re very interested. Had been when he’d had his tongue shoved down your throat in the middle of the makeshift dance floor is Rhysand’s basement. He’d been called away before things could go further, as the reigning champion of the longest keg-stand he had to keep his crown once Azriel had surprised everyone with a whopping twenty–two seconds, and you hadn’t even been able to snag his number in your haze.

You hadn’t seen him around campus after that no matter how badly you wanted to.

But now, setting up your drawing pad, flipping to an open page as you sit on your bench next to Feyre, you’re about to see much more than you had imagined.

“Slightly,” you shrug at Feyre’s questioning stare. She scoffs, rolling her eyes as she pulls out her charcoal and kneaded eraser.

Your mouth goes dry and you snap your charcoal in half as the robe slips from his tanned shoulders, unveiling the marble statue of a man underneath.

Rippling muscles line his body, corded and thick in all of the right places. You can’t help it, staring unabashed because he’s turned away from you, your eyes falling from the inky whorls of tattoos across his shoulders, down through the cavern of the muscle lining his spine, all the way down to his tight ass.

The one minute alarm jars you from your stupor. Feyre notices your blank drawing pad, the crumbled charcoal in the palm of your sweaty hand, laughing under her breath as Cassian changes poses.

You avert your gaze as he turns, quickly rifling through your pencil case for another stick of charcoal.

You can feel his eyes on you as you put the chalk to your paper, and you hardly look away from those glowing eyes as you roughly sketch, trying to relax as much as you can with the obvious tension between the both of you.

The alarm is off again and he’s shifting, putting a foot up on a block and bending over slightly, resting his forearms over his folded knee. Your charcoal slides across your paper in a fluid motion as you draw the curve of his spine, much more confident now that his eyes aren’t watching you work.

After a few more rounds of quick studies there’s a short break where all of the students turn to a fresh page while the professor talks to the model, instructing him on his positioning for the longer fifteen minute focus.

Feyre leans over, a glint in her eyes and an amused smirk on her lips, “We did ten minutes, why do you only have nine drawings?” Her question is innocent but her face is anything but.

“Shut up, Fey,” you grumble, cheeks pinking as you flatten down your paper.

She giggles and then your professor announces the beginning of the fifteen minutes.

You lose yourself in the quiet of the classroom, nothing but the sounds of long strokes or chalk against paper, the scratch of quick sharp lines being drawn in. You have a view of Cassian’s backside again, so it’s much easier for you to focus on your work.

You draw the contours of his muscle, packed on layer upon layer from years of hard work put in, your fingers rubbing in the dark soot to your drawing pad, wishing they were sliding against that perfectly smooth, tanned skin.

It’s easy to draw his form, and you find yourself sketching in his dark ink, pulling out the highlights of the fluorescent lights beaming harshly on his shoulders, drawing the fly away hairs from his bun. You wish he’d take it down so you can draw it cascading over his shoulders and back like you imagined.

The timer rings and the professor calls for a break before the last long drawing. You dust the charcoal from your fingers, admiring the expanse of Cassian’s arms as he tugs on the robe.

Feyre stands to stretch, shooting you a knowing look, which you ignore in favor of digging out your water bottle from your bag, drinking down a much needed sip.

“You like him,” she sing–songs in a low voice to you, a grin on her face.

You’re thankful that Cassian is occupied with the professor, asking questions about how he’ll be posed for the remaining time.

“Can we not do this right now? Please?” you beg, frowning at your friend.

She raises her hands in surrender, “Fine, fine. But might I just say that I think he likes you too.” Her head tilts in his direction and your gaze cuts to where he’s talking to the professor, eyes darting away from yours when you turn.

You bite back a smile and Feyre winks at you.

Cassian lies down for the last session, on an air mattress covered with what you hope is a clean sheet.

Of course, you are sitting right before his…well-equipped package. 

He’s huge. Split you open, break your back huge. You can’t stop looking at his cock, the slight curve as it rests against his leg, surprisingly tan and a perfect pink at the tip. And he’s not even hard.

Your professor starts the timer and all time is lost.

You’re in the zone, admiring the sheer side of this man, how he looks while he’s relaxed. Cassian’s eyes are closed and you think he might even be sleeping with how even the rise and fall of his toned chest is.

You take the time to reach out your pencil and measure his length, just like you’d been taught.

Well–equipped indeed.

The timer ends before you know it, and you sit back to admire your work. 

Feyre leans over to take a look at what you’ve drawn. “Looks great (Y/N). I can really tell you spent a lot of time on his cock.”

You choke, batting her away as you slam your drawing pad shut. She lets out a full laugh and you can’t help but shake your head at your friend, breaking into a smile of your own.

“Fuck off,” you roll your eyes, standing to put your sketch pad away.

You slide it into its drawer, letting Feyre take her own this time. On your way back to your seat is when Cassian comes up to you, stopping you in your tracks.

The robe is once again on, and he’s holding it shut over his chest like he hadn’t had the time to tie it in his haste to get over to you.

“So, what did you think?” he grins and it makes your heart melt a little.

“About what?” you answer, trying to play it off like you weren’t just staring at his cock for two hours.

His smile falters for a moment before it turns wolfish, smug as hell. He knows you’re playing with him and Mother does he love a good game.

“Been thinking about you the whole time,” he admits, staring down at you with his mesmerizing hazel eyes, “Straddling that fucking bench, it was hard not to think about how you’d look sitting on my cock like that.”

“Really?” you duck your head to hide the blush heating your cheeks, cursing yourself from backing down from his words so easily. “You hardly even looked my way.”

“Couldn’t be getting hard in the middle of the session,” he replies easily, tilting your chin up with his warm fingers, “They wouldn’t ask me back then.”

You purse your lips, “What a shame that would be.”

“Don’t like to share, sweetheart?” he purrs, releasing your chin. “Did you make sure to get my cock the right proportions?” 

You roll your eyes in response. “It took about all of five seconds.”

“That’s alright. Some learn better from hands-on experience,” he winks at you, not backing down.

“I can’t draw what I can’t see,” you retort, the comment slipping easily from your lips as you hold his gaze.

“Sweetheart, there’s so much of it I’m not even sure you’d know what to do with it. Need a better view?” He asks, wolfishly.

You scoff, narrowing your eyes at him. You don’t have a response and Cassian raises his brow in challenge as he continues. “Care to find out?”

“As if you would be so lucky.”

“It’s my nickname after all,” he purrs, leaning in closer. His tongue flicks out to lick at his bottom lip.

Feyre appears, startling the both of you apart. “I thought your nickname was Big–”

“Not now, Fey. I think Rhys is waiting for you out front.” Cassian doesn’t break eye contact with you as he speaks. Feyre’s brows furrow and she looks like she’s about to respond but she must think better of it. If Rhys is really outside waiting for her she would much rather be hanging out with him anyway.

“See you Friday, (Y/N). Fuck you, Cass.”

You both wave, his glowing hazel eyes still pinned to yours as she takes her leave.

“So what do you say we skip the rest of our classes and study anatomy at my place?” he offers when Feyre’s gone. He lets the front of his robe slip open an inch further, showing off his impressive chest.

You chew on your lip for a moment. He’s obviously just invited you over to have sex, and you’re far enough ahead in your classes that you could miss one…and he really is so fucking handsome.

“I’d ask if you’re going to put anything on before we leave.”

The corner of his mouth lifts, “I think it would benefit us more if I didn’t. Half of the work is already done.”

“I think enough people have seen you nude today,” you nearly growl at the thought of him striding around campus in his thin robe.

Cassian lets out a hearty laugh that makes your heart hammer in your chest. He repeats the same question he’d asked you earlier, reaching for the neatly folded pile of clothes. “Don’t like to share, sweetheart?”

[convexicalcrow]

By all accounts, Magic Mountain was a lovely place. The bases coming up around it all in various stages of progress offered glimpses as to it's final form. Cub liked hanging out in the cherry trees at the top of the mountain, watching the sunset. It was a great backdrop for his fireworks tests. High enough to be out of the way of people's bases, and with enough open sky to really show off how good they looked.

There was just one problem with Magic Mountain, though. Gem and Grian's bases were just... foggy. Damp, cold, foggy. For whatever reason, the weather around their bases was so utterly different from everywhere else, and Cub didn't really notice it until he was up on that mountain and could see the distinct changes in lighting and atmosphere that surrounded that part of the river.

it was a bit creepy, really. To be fair, Gem and Grian had been weird all season. Something about fishing and being close to the water had clearly done something to them. Which is not to say Cub had been immune either. He'd done his share of fishing while Grian was trying to get that mending book, more for moral support and company than anything else. There were worse ways to spend your time than hanging out with your friends while fishing.

One evening, he got curious. He'd seen Gem's progress at her base, seeing the crane reaching out through the fog and the bright yellow sparks from the power lines punching through the darkness. A bright red beacon beam burst through the top of the lighthous, as if it was a warning. Something...

He flew down and landed on the docks, immediately feeling the change in atmosphere. The night ceased to be clear. Thick fog rolled around him, preventing him from seeing too far. The skull across the river glowed ominously, its towering presence looming over the water. He might have shivered. Something here didn't feel right.

"I probably shouldn't be here," Cub muttered as he walked further into the base.

The huge anglerfish head that decorated the fish market seemed alive somehow, bathed in the eerie glow of the bulb at the end of the protrusion coming from the top of its head. Its teeth just seemed razor sharp. Cub didn't want to approach it. He was sure he just saw it breath, saw some kind of tongue moving in its lower jaw.

He walked slowly, moving towards the lighthouse. The two fish that circled it moved so slowly, the fog making them seem like ghosts that weren't really there. They made no sound save for the soft movement of their bodies through the air.

He turned as something large seemed to hit the water, causing a splash.

"Hello? Is someone there?" Cub called. "Gem? Is that you?"

There was no answer, and only small splashes. Perhaps fish just swarming. Maybe that was just a squid landing after flying out of the water. Maybe that's what it was. He went closer to the water's edge, trying to see if he was alone.

"What the hell-? What is that thing?" Cub murmured as he saw an unusually large dark shadow moving through the water. It was too dark to see what it was; it was only visible because of the moonlight that had barely made it through the fog to reflect on the water.

One of the power lines sparked again, causing Cub to startle. It was too loud in the dark quiet dockyards. Perhaps a sign he should get out of here.

"Maybe that was just squid ink. Maybe it got scared when it fell into the water. Maybe that's it," Cub told himself as he moved past the lighthouse, hoping to pass out of Gem's area and back into the clear night.

Perhaps something grabbed his ankle and dragged him under before he could leave. Perhaps there was nothing more than dark water and soft, gentle singing before he respawned in his bed, clammy and wet, with a jagged stab wound through his heart made by some creature he did not want to imagine.

"Man, I ain't never going there again. That place is cursed for real though," Cub said. And if even he was scared to go there, perhaps the fear was well placed. Something was wrong with Gem's base, and Cub wanted nothing to do with it.

[onenicebugperday]

@enbyboiwonder submitted: I saw my second mayfly! The first one was a large, sorta banana-looking one I submitted idk a couple years ago. This one was probably about an inch long at most (I’m bad at judging), so more normal-sized for mayflies I guess. And they were pure white aside from a tiny bit of black on their wings! Do you know if bugs can experience albinism, or if there are species that just are white like this? (I’m in the DFW area)

And the funny thing is, this was only a couple days after I’d searched up some photos of mayflies to show my mother, since we’d always thought crane flies were mayflies. And one of the related searches on the Images page was “Texas mayfly,” and the attached photo was… a crane fly. So I guess that’s just a thing here? People in Texas just call crane flies mayflies? At least, when they don’t think they’re giant mosquitos lmao

Seems like crane flies have all sorts of common names in various locations! Never heard the called mayflies, though, that’s funny. As for your white friend here, it likely just molted and its exoskeleton will harden and darken over time.

[simp-ly-writes]

Cookie Jar

Pairing: Stardew Valley Harvey x Reader

Summary: You and Harvey come back from a friends wedding to get caught red handed in the cookie jar.

Warnings: mentions of choking.

A/N: Thank you all for the advice and support, I've learned a lot from y'all so here's a really fluffy one as my form of thanks!

Masterlist | Taglist | edited.

Imagine… you and Harvey are leaving town for a few days for your best friends wedding. Dressed to the nines and bags fully packed, you place your reluctant children for the weekend away with Evelyn and George.

Small tears stream down their faces and both of you debate of even attending the wedding at this point, your train comes in half an hour and yet here you are already at a crossroads.

Evelyn eventually convinces the kids to let go of your legs and bags with the promise of baking cookies at the community centre later in the day as you both slip out the door and into the cool morning air.

--

The weekend soon passes as you and Harvey are racing back home to see your kids and to check on the farm. It is reaching late at night, yet George's television program can be heard reverberating through the slightly open window as you knock on the door.

Your eldest opens the door, surprisingly with their height and tackles you both in a large hug, your youngest waddling themselves over to join the family picture. Any thoughts of scolding the children to opening the door to a potential stranger fly out your head as you feel their small hands play with your cheeks and smear your make-up.

In the meanwhile Harvey thanks Evelyn and George for their kindness as he picks of the children's bags alongside a large jar of cookies. He weighs the jar in his hand and sighs slightly, wondering how much sugar they must have had and how he'll explain to the dentist this time. But that was a problem for another day.

--

By the time you made it home and the kids were settled into bed after four stories and a visit from the dog. You softly close the door and rub your eyes, it had been a long few days. Turning to go downstairs you find your husband sneaking a cookie from the jar, already! Concealing your laughter in your hands you join him in the kitchen and steal a bit out of his cookie with dramatic effect.

His glasses slip down his nose as he stares blankly at you, you choke a little bit, trying to contain giggles and still chew at Harvey's dead-faced reaction as he wags his fingers, cookie in hand at you. Then helps to pat your back as you grab some tap water as you begin to choke. You both still dressed in your formal attire, just now with some crumbs as accents.

Yet what you both didn't realize was your eldest coming downstairs watching mom and dad chip away at their hard-work. With a creak of the wood on the last step, you and Harvey stopped like deer in headlights as you slowly craned your necks around the corner to see your eldest standing there. Hands on hips and wagging their finger in an all to familiar motion to that of your husband. You split the cookie again and moved the jar into a more secure location atop the fridge... though how long what that actually last in reality...

[kaces-graham-crackers]

Ebonhowl: The Raven's Hound - Prologue

Wednesday Addams x Female Character

Authors Note: Hey, everyone! This story is an origin tale for my original character, Ken Pollard, set two years before Wednesday even steps foot in Nevermore Academy. It’s a slow-burn journey where Ken, a rare Black Shuck (Hellhound), grapples with her dark family legacy and navigates life at Nevermore. There's plenty of mystery, self-discovery, and tension along the way. Eventually, the story will blossom into a Wednesday Addams x Female character romance—but for now, it's all about Ken's personal journey. I’ve had this story tucked away for a while, but my friends loved it and urged me to share it. So here it is! Stick around, get to know Ken, and follow her as she learns to thrive in the strange, dark world of outcasts.

Summary: Ken Pollard thought she could leave her dark past behind, but the scars—both visible and hidden—linger. As she faces the daunting reality of her unique abilities and the legacy of her Hellhound ancestry, Nevermore Academy might be her only chance at a fresh start. With an open house on the horizon, Ken must decide if this strange academy is where she belongs or if her dangerous lineage will be too much to keep hidden. Two years before Wednesday Addams arrives, the stage is set for a slow-burning journey of self-discovery, secrets, and survival.

Word Count: 962 words

My name is Ken Pollard, and I attend Nevermore Academy…Well, I will soon enough, anyway. I fumbled with the pamphlet; the front cover had a rich, deep indigo with intricate yellow embossing of the academy's crest. The crest features a stylized raven in mid-flight, wings outstretched above the crest, "Nevermore Academy" is written in elegant, gothic lettering. I flipped to the back of the pamphlet, examining the faces of two creatures, one vampire and the other a gorgon smiling. "You know, hon, your father and I had a great time at Nevermore Academy," my mother chimed, staring at me through the rearview mirror. Looking up, I smiled and nodded "Mhm." I glued my eyes back to the embracing species, and above them, the same style of gothic lettering read, "We're dying to meet You!" Don't get me wrong; I'm excited to attend my parents' alma mater, but having to live up to their expectations and legacy isn't making this transition any easier. Not to mention, my grandfather is the most feared hound in history. So, everything I do needs to be perfect and flawless.

I forgot to mention that Nevermore Academy is not just a private school; it is specially designed to cater to individuals considered as "freaks, monsters, or outcasts." Any outcast who wants to understand their abilities can attend. Nevermore Academy's curriculum is tailored to the unique abilities of its students, offering comprehensive training in a wide array of supernatural talents. The school has an expansive library of invaluable resources, including extensive notes, informative texts, and detailed records documenting various species and their capabilities. Now I know what you are wondering: If my parents and I attend such a lucrative academy, what species am I? We are Black Shucks. Or more commonly known as Hellhounds. I can already imagine the first thing that comes to your mind is those fire-engulfed wolves; we're not. Hellhounds consist of three breeds. Grytrash is a "ghostly" black dog that can transform into horses, mules, cranes, or dogs that haunt the lonely roads when a traveler comes along. Black Shucks and Barghests originated from common ancestors, evolving into distinct species as the Barghest traveled northward, bearing large teeth, claws, and thicker fur.

On the other hand, Black Shucks are jet-black, large dogs with red glowing eyes. If you hear their howls, death indeed follows. Residing along the coastline and countryside of East Anglia. I threw the pamphlet onto the seat next to me. Looking forward, I watched as we passed an iron-wrought gate with the illusion of a raven flying decorating the very top. Directly under that, the words "Nevermore Acadamy." were skewed across. As we grew closer, my anxiety intensified. Here I was, one of the most endangered species in creature history. Will I become an outcast of all outcasts? Or will I be feared? I let out a labored breath, not realizing I was holding it in. "Kenyara!" snapping out of my trans, I studied my mother's facial expression. Worry painted on her face. "You ok, honey? You seem quiet." "Too quiet," my father chimed, darting his eye from the road to the rearview mirror. I looked between them both. I smile weakly and say, "Sorry, I'm just thinking." At that moment, my mom turned her head and body to see me. She just looked at me with her signature "What do you really mean" face.

Sighing in defeat, I spilled my thoughts out. "Oh hon…" my mother was now waiting for my father's reaction. "Pup…you shouldn't be worried about that; your grandfather was a feared hound, but that is why Gytrash. Barghest and Black Shucks alike are endangered. We are not sending you here to hold such a burden." His voice was always booming and stern, but listening to him this time, he was soft-spoken, gentle, almost as if he was afraid to be above a whisper. "Ken, my sweet girl, we want you to enjoy yourself and get an education in a safe place to learn about yourself and other species around you." My mother finished. I looked at my hands and then back to my parents. Who were sporting giant grins; I mirrored their infectious smiles before I knew it. "There's that beautiful smile we love!" my father's thunderous laugh echoed.

The surrounding forest had suddenly disappeared. Replaced with scattered orange shrubbery, adorning indigo ribbons. Well, would you look at that?" My mother sighed, leaning forward to look up. "Looks a lot bigger than I remember." my father hummed. "We haven't been here in 11 years, Lawrence. It's gonna look larger than before." Their banter caused me to look forward. Squinting, I carefully inspected the gothic building through a ghostly fog. The building itself seemed gray. Why is everything gray and purple? I questioned. " Nevermore didn't want to stand out, fearing they would be targeted. Indigo, yellow, and black. Indigo, the primary color, represents integrity, wisdom, and institution." Mom said.

Drawing closer, I still couldn't shake that feeling…I don't know why it's happening again. Finally entering the courtyard of the school, we pulled up to a woman who was directing cars. "Mr. and Mrs. Pollard, it's a pleasure to see you too again." she flashed a devilish grin, revealing her fangs. Simultaneously, my mom smiled while my dad visibly sank in his seat. "Dr. Vanry, you're still working at Nevermore Academy?" My mother asked. "Of course, dear; who else would prepare the next army of outcasts." They both laughed. Pulling out a clipboard licking the tips of her fingers. "Now, where's the little Pollard?" My dad only cleared his throat and rolled the back window down. I froze, staring back up at her. Her face was etched with lines and a few wrinkles that revealed the passage of time.

The most alluring were her features, high cheekbones, piercing eyes, and jet-black silky hair pulled into a ponytail. "This is Ken Blakesley Pollard, our little pup," he murmured, never meeting his former teachers' eyes. She lends down, observing me extensively. "Hello, Ms.Pollard. Both of your parents were known throughout their time at Nevermore. Let's hope you've inherited your mother's behavior. I froze, our eyes glued to one another. Her eyes were a deep crimson reminiscent of freshly spilled blood, and her irises shimmered with an inner intensity, adding to her intimidating presence. It felt as though she was looking through my soul. Without hesitation, my mouth spilled, "I won't be a problem, Ma'am!" Straightening her posture, she hummed, "Mhm, you have manners; that's a good sign." She walked to the front of the car.

Lawrence Odin Pollard, it hasn't been long enough." she scolds him. It's good to see you too, Ma'am." he huffed. "Mr. Pollard, fix your posture and speak clearly; last time I checked, you are not a young boy anymore!" As if a drill sergeant just yelled at him, he did as he was commanded, putting both hands on the wheel and barking back, "Y-Yes, Ma'am." I dropped my jaw. For 14 years, I've never seen anyone discipline my father. Dr.Vanry smirked as my mother stifled a laugh. Looking at her clipboard, she checked something off her eyes, finally meeting my dad's. "Park anywhere in Lot 4 and follow the Open House signs to Check-In. "Thank you, Dr.Vanry; it was good seeing you! Mom waved as Dad's posture fell, putting the car in drive. The silence in the car grew. Mom and Dad both looked in the rearview mirror, looking at my expression. Defeated, my dad sighed. " Go ahead, ask."

"Who was that, and what happened," I questioned, more panicked than interested. "She's the devil," he grunted through his teeth. Earning him a slap from mom. "She was the only woman your father feared." "I. DON'T. FEAR. HER." he snarled. "I said "was," didn't I. She scolded him. Finally, he pulled into a parking spot and shut off the car. While dropping his head and sighing. "I'm sorry she just brings back the worst in me." he turns back and looks at me sternly. "I used to be a rough, rowdy type of teen. So she made it her mission to…" he paused, taking a breath, softening his eyes. "Tame the Beast within, as she called it." He looked at the back of his hands, riddled with healed scars. It was always a sensitive topic, the origins of the many lacerations from his hands to his arms. Especially the three slashes across his left eye stretching from his forehead to his left ear. Mom gently grabbed his hands before he could touch the battle scars on his face. "That was for the best, though." she smiled wholeheartedly before intertwining her fingers with his. He nods. Turning back towards me. I smiled at him softly, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Yeah, it was." he smiled back at me. I knew the rest of the story.

My father always says, "…if it weren't for Nevermore." Mom and Dad consistently speak highly about their time at Nevermore. Which makes sense based on their reputations. My dad was president of the wrestling club, and my mom was captain of the debate team. Both were known for their skills. That's how they met…though instead of falling in love, they hated each other's guts. They both claimed to be better than the other, constantly fighting to be at the top of every class. That was until my dad saw her being bullied by some normies. He immediately interfered to protect her. He claims he never knew why, but Mom says he always had a crush on her. He didn't win that fight; it was six older, more muscular boys, but he did, in fact, win her heart. Not so bad, right? "Alright, enough about the past; we are here for our little girl!" he boomed, pulling me out of my thoughts.

As we approached the entrance, the scent of dampness permeated the air, mingling with the fragrance of decaying leaves and morning dew. The building seemed to grow larger, casting a foreboding shadow over us. While bringing a sense of enchantment and delicacy, the indigo ribbons defied the desolate atmosphere, seemingly frozen in time. I stopped observing the pile of unforgiving masonry as the feeling of dread returned. Almost as if something sinister resided within. This feeling is weird; almost like I've been here before, like Déjà-vu. It makes my skin itch like my Ebonhowl is clawing my insides to burst out and wreak havoc. My rampages are often violent, but the last time I acted on it, I almost killed my best friend as a puppy.

I will never unleash complete control of Ebonhowl. While in my head, I hadn't realized we had finally reached the entrance. Crossing the stone threshold, I stuffed my hands into my pockets. I could smell the hundreds of different species in the great hall. Werewolves and vampires are the most distinctive. As for the mix of others, I couldn't tell what they were. My mother, reading my mind, replied to my contorted expression. "There are many different species to haven't met." she laughed, ruffling my hair. Knowing I hated that, I brushed off that she messed with my hair. I shot her a cold look. She quickly whispered, "Sorry, I forgot," putting her hands behind her back and chuckling. It usually takes me an hour and a half alone to fix. After I finished scolding my mother, I finally observed my surroundings. High vaulted ceilings adorned with delicately painted designs riddled with cracks revealing stories lost to time.

A grand chandelier with bright crystals hung from the ceiling, casting a slightly brighter glow upon the typical dim scene. The light caught dust fragments, shimmering like ethereal particles suspended in the air. The walls themselves seemed to come alive in the lighting. It is adorned with tapestries depicting scenes from many of Edgar Allan Poe's poems and writings. Ribbions suspended from archways and windows, swaying slightly, hinting at a breeze. "So what do you think, hon?" my mother asked, putting a hand on my back. I simply pulled one hand out of my jacket pocket and scratched my neck.

"It's cool but foreboding, like eerie?" My father's hand lands on my shoulder. "That's Nevermore Academy for you; if your hair isn't standing up or gettin' goosebumps, then you're someplace else. We reached the registration table. "Well, Well, Well, if it isn't Lawrence and Nicole," an elderly woman chimed. She was dressed in typical secretary attire. A tailored charcoal gray skirt with a crisp white ruffled trim blouse was neatly tucked in. A burgundy silk scarf was loosely laying around her neck, adding a touch of color to her ensemble. Although the scarf looked like it was breathing. My eyes widened slightly as it flexed tighter around her neck.

"Miss Hildegard! You're still here! My father beams. "Yes, I am, but this is my last year with Nevermore. I'll be retiring," she replies while putting on a pair of black cat-eyed glasses. I had to admit the woman was the embodiment of professionalism, with her silver hair pulled back into a neat bun and a pair of pea stud earrings that glinted brightly in the light. She was flipping through her clipboard with a warm, business-like smile. Until she found what she was looking for. "Ah yes, Kenyara Blakesley Pollard. What a lovely name!" She broke her staring contest with the clipboard and landed her eyes on me. I copied her smile. "Thank You, Ma'am." She seemed surprised at my manners. "Cute and well-mannered, you'll fit quite nicely in Nevermore Academy." she smiled. "Nothing but well -manners, cuteness, and smarts with this one!" my mother kissed my cheek. I hid my face in my hands. "Mom!" The three laughed; I begged for the floor to swallow me whole.

While Miss Hildegarde and my parents continued the sign-in process and reminisced on the "old days." I turned to survey the attendees. They all had a sense of enigma about them; this was the first time I hadn't been exposed to different species like this. I went to a creature school, but it was mainly werewolves and a few vampires. The attendees seemed to hide behind masks of polite smiles, and conversations were collectively held in hushed tones.

The ambiance and unidentifiable smells made me feel like I was on another planet. "Kenny, can you come here, please?" I turned back, returning to the table, for I had mindlessly wandered away. "We need you to sign this, Ms. Pollard. It's to confirm that you have attended and automatically enter you in a chance to win some Nevermore School Spirit merchandise." I looked at my mother and father, sporting grins and holding their phones, ready for a picture. I smiled and chuckled at their antics. Putting pen to paper, swiftly signing my name. The flashes of my parent's phone went off. All signifying me signing my soul to Nevermore Adacemy.

[rom-e-o]

Liable To Fall - Chapter 1 (Scrooge/OC)(Post-Canon)

A nasty fall from a rickety footstool steals some of Ebenezer Scrooge's precious and recent memories. As his mortal self struggles to remember recent events, including his courtship and recent marriage, his Present conscious takes a ghostly form. With only the ghost of his former business partner privy to his misery, he is forced to watch the spectacle of his Past self attempt to readjust to his changed life.

A continuation of Begin Again.

Read on AO3

On an otherwise unsuspecting Thursday evening, the tranquility of the Scrooge manor was interrupted by a loud, bone-jostling crash. The disturbing resonance rattled the floorboards and accosted the walls, slithering through cracks and air vents with uncanny volume.

It was more than enough to startle the manor’s lady, Constance Albany DoGoode-Scrooge, out of her daydream. She’d been seated before a roaring fire in the home’s spacious second floor sitting room, reading her husband’s vintage copy of Robinson Crusoe by firelight while Prudence snored at her side.

“He told me it was for Men of desperate Fortunes on one Hand, or of aspiring, superior Fortunes on the other, who went abroad upon Adventures, to rise by Enterprize, and make themselves famous in Undertakings of a Nature out of the common Road; that these things were all either too far above me, or too far below me …” she read aloud, cheating glances at Prudence as she acted the different parts aloud. “Are you already snoozing?”

“Hmph!” the mastiff huffed, the dog's breath almost as warm as the firelight on her skin.

“Silly girl, we’ve just started!”

She rolled over and pawed at Constance's elbow, asking for pets. Uncle Harry gave the best belly rubs, but hers would have to do.

Obliging with a laugh, Constance continued to read, “… that mine was the middle State, or what might be called the upper Station of Low Life, which he had found by long Experience was the best State in the World, the most suited to human Happiness, not exposed to the Miseries and Hardships, the Labour and Sufferings of the mechanick Part of Mankind, and not embarass’d with the Pride, Luxury, Ambition and Envy of the upper Part of Mankind."

The dog’s large head had rested comfortably in the woman’s lap, her tongue occasionally lolling from between her fanged teeth to create a spot of drool on the woman’s nightgown. Even if Constance had noticed, she wouldn’t have cared.

“He told me, I might judge of the Happiness of this State, by this one thing—”

Then came the crash.

The strident sound screamed through the halls, interrupted the tranquility, and her narration. Upon hearing and feeling the reverberation of the impact in the floorboards, the woman and mastiff shared concerned looks.

“Ebenezer?” Constance called out in worry. She craned her neck in an attempt to peer past the doorway, as if her answer lay in the shadows of the dark corridors. “Is something wrong?”

No answer. “Magda? E-Errol?”

A flurry of footsteps sounded from another part of the house, but no tangible voice answered her call.

Was it possible that one of the Cratchits had stopped in for a visit? They were trusted friends and had keys to the home, but they always announced themselves, and rarely showed up past sunset. Harry and Hela were the same, and with a young daughter to take care of now, they

She was running out of people already, but the sound had to have come from somewhere. Unless … was someone else in the house? Had someone broken in?

Just as she stood to investigate, a distant yell reverberated from the house’s inner corridors.

“Constance, it’s Ebenezer!” Magda called out; her voice frayed with urgency. “H-He’s fallen in the study – come help me with him, please!”

Oh, no. No.

“Hurry!” the maid called again, more insistently this time.

Constance was up in a flash, abandoning everything in the sitting room and practically flying down the halls. In her haste she didn’t even reach for her candle, opting to leave it behind and feel her way through the familiar house. Guided only by instinct and traces of waning sunlight seeping through the cracked windows, she found her way without single delay or injury. The emerald-colored gown and golden dressing robe she wore billowed behind her as she ran through the home, skidding on the wooden floors on socked feet.

When she practically stumbled over the threshold of Ebenezer’s study, she saw her husband laying unresponsive on the floor amidst a scattering of books, with Magda gently fitting the cushion from his desk chair under his head. Cast off to the side was a toppled stepladder, one of the rungs snapped in half, laying crooked before one of the towering bookcases.

Constance was on her knees at his side immediately. She knew better than to move him too much, but it didn’t take a doctor to see that he was unconscious – but still quite pale.

Once Constance was at her side, Magda quickly deposited Ebenezer’s larger hand into hers for safekeeping. The older woman had been taken it up to check the pulse in his wrist for any beat.

“Stay with him,” the maid said, “I’ll send Errol to fetch us a doctor right away!”

Picking up her skirt and moving faster than a rabbit in a fox hunt, she was down the main stairs and through the main entryway in a heartbeat. She didn’t waste the extra second it took to latch the door behind her, opting instead to let it swing on its hinges in the twilit evening’s icy air. Prudence also sprinted in, borderline frantic at the sight of her beloved owner in distress.

As she sat beside Constance and surveyed the scene with terrified and understanding eyes, the woman held firm at her husband’s side. All her energy went into staying calm and trying to make sure she did not disturb him for fear of aggravating his condition any further.

To siphon out the manic energy building inside her with every passing second, she stroked the sides of his face lovingly, fingers shaking as if she was out in the blistering cold.

All the while, she repeated his name like a mantra.

“Ebenezer…”

Constance shook her head in denial of everything, her copper hair falling loose from its wrappings to flow around her shoulders. Powerless to do anything else, she stooped over and pressed her forehead to his, tears running in silver rivers down her freckled cheeks.

“Ebenezer.”

 “Well, this is certainly a surprise, old boy.”

Ebenezer awoke with a start, awakening to the sensation of tingling numbness throughout his entire body. It felt like needles pricking his skin all over, and ice racing through his veins like rain through London’s sprawling gutters. Regardless of this, he was able to stand, limbs somehow lead-like in clunkiness yet also light as dust clouds in weight.

One glimpse at his appendages, and they looked … wrong. They were misty and diaphanous as light, not solid as they should have been.

The rush of dizziness he felt after standing on his legs was not nearly as distressing as the sight his eyes fell upon a moment later; his own body, lying resigned on the floor with Constance cradling him, curled upon him like the mourning angels that decorated large gravestones.

Terror snapped at his heart like the jaw of a rapid animal.

“I …. I am…”

“Dead? No, you are not,” the familiar, corporeal voice said. “If you were, you wouldn’t be tethered to this mortal realm like I am. I’d say the closest comparison is that you are … lucid dreaming.”

Ebenezer veered around again, fighting another wave of dizziness, to see the source of the voice. There, before him, seated in his desk chair was his former mentor. An icy specter dressed in rags, icicles protruding from his bruised, frost-bitten skin. His slate-colored hair and mustache fluttered about weightlessly, as if he was suspended in water.

Most notably, the golden obols on his hollowed eyes sparked a shade of vibrant gold, a stark contrast to the icy hues that fully encapsulated the rest of the man’s uncannily preserved body.

“Jacob Marley…” he muttered again, shock temporarily absorbing his terror. “W-Wait. H-How is the possible? H-How are we…?”

He chanced another look down at his hands and noticed that the indentations of the walnut floor were visible through what should have been a solid layer of flesh. Barely holding back panic, he fell to his knees and scrambled to Constance’s side. He reached out to grasp her shoulders, but his hands slipped through her. Blinking, he retracted his hands from her, then more gently, teased his fingertips along her spine.

His fingers slipped right through the back of her robe. There was not a trace of the usual warmth he felt emanating from her, nor any indication that she was even there. It was as if they existed on two different planes of existence.

As if sensing the next question on his friend’s tongue, Jacob chuckled forlornly. “Relax. It’s quite normal, my boy. It took me seven years to talk to you, remember?”

“Yes, but you were dead!” he reminded him, pointing an accusing finger at the spirit. “Jacob, you … you are dead. That why you came to me that Christmas Eve night. Y-You spoke to me then.”

The ghost inclined its head. “I did, and I can see that the conversation paid quite bountiful dividends.”

His ghostly gaze flicked to the worried, copper-haired woman cradling Scrooge’s body unresponsive form. The ghost rose from the chair then, levitating mere inches off the ground as the chains and lockboxes continued to anchor him to the mortal plane and delay his ascension.

“You are a changed man,” Jacob murmured, his voice softer than Scrooge could ever remember hearing it, “I could not be prouder, nor more relieved, for you. You heeded my words …”

His gaze softened at his partner’s kind words. They breached his hardened heart “Jacob.”

“Finally!” the ghost said, throwing his hands up dramatically. “You were too bloody stubborn to listen to most of my advice in life! Now, almost a full decade after I breathed my last and had to literally haunt your dreams for attention, you finally get your act together. Bah! Well, better late than never, I suppose.”

“What?” Scrooge snapped back, close to shaking a finger in the spirit’s face. “Now, look here Jacob—”

Interrupted by the study door slamming open, Scrooge veered his head to see Magda and Errol rushing in, both flanking a physician carrying a rather large leather case.

Constance was forced to move away as the physician examined her husband, wanting the man to have all the space he needed to spread out and examine the man she loved. Unable to sit still, she stood and began to pace about the room frantically, only for Magda to catch her and pull her into a tight embrace. Scrooge’s heart shattered as he watched his wife fold immediately, wrapping the older woman in an embrace that could put the squeeze of a python to shame.

By reflex, he attempted to reach out … only for his hand to fall right through her shoulders, over her heart, and exit her lower back.

His breath began to come in quick, frantic gasps. “Y-You say I’m not deceased, but…”

“You above all others should know that I am always right, Ebenezer,” Jacob assured. “Did I not speak the truth about the Three Spirits that night?”

“Y-Yes, but—”

“Then cease your blabbering and listen. Oh, and don’t worry, you can still sit down. If you’d like.”

Ebenezer was in no mood to act playful (or cheeky, for that matter) with the ghost of his dead business partner. The occasion was strange enough in its own right without the horrible addition of watching a physician inspect his body mere feet away from him. Oh, and the horribly distressing sound of Constance crying. It was hard enough to focus without having his nerves shredded to ruins by the sound of her sobs.

Too tired and confused to argue further, he slinked over to his desk chair, where he’d been sitting just a few minutes prior when he’d decided to mount the old stepladder for a top-shelf book and sank into the seat. He felt nothing, but he was … sitting.

“Please, speak some comfort to me,” Ebenezer begged his friend. “Please.”

“This time, I can oblige you,” Jacob said, much to the other man’s palpable relief. “You are alive, but just a step beyond unconsciousness. You see, when you awaken, a part of you will not be intact.”

“A part of me?” he parroted. His hands patted at his ghostly body. “A-Am I injured?”

“Not physically. Some of your memories will be gone. Recent memories.”

The man’s stomach dropped. “H-How recent?”

“You should have a misty recollection of your entire life, even in this form, but the memories that are crystal clear to you will be the ones that that your physical brain has forgotten. Those memories are manifested by you.”

His lack of understanding must have made him look truly pitiful, because Jacob reached out to lay a long-fingered hand on his shoulder. “What is the last vivid memory you have, my boy?”

Ebenezer shut his eyes and forced himself to think back. Everything from the past month was clear. He easily recalled accompanying Bob and Ethel to Tim’s monthly physician appointment to check on the condition of his leg. Another memory from a few days ago of Prudence nearly knocking over an entire cabinet of glass collectibles in an antique store came to mind as well. Somehow, he and Constance had caught every piece before anything had smashed onto the ground, though they’d had to work themselves into quite the tangle to accomplish it.

His mind continued to drift. A few months prior, he remembered Constance and him getting married in a semi-private ceremony at his home. Every detail came to him easily, as if the whole ceremony had happened mere minutes before. He recalled the radiance of her gold-accented gown, the feeling of kissing her as he cried tears of joy, and the taste of their vanilla wedding cake somehow even sweeter when tasted off her lips. Later that night, he remembered experiencing a new, and very physical, level of joy between the sheets with her. He’d later awakened to her nude form curled beside him, her glorious smile curving against the slope of his bare chest. Maker, her smile. He could never forget it. Could he?

No.

Ebenezer’s mind raced as he retraced the steps of their relationship. He recalled dates as if they’d happened yesterday. The picnic in the countryside where he’d proposed was vivid as a painting in his mind. Her excited ‘Yes!’ rang through his mind with the musicality, and perhaps the foreboding knell, of a bell.

“Do you…remember meeting your wife at all, old boy?” he asked. “That first day, when the butcher the street over invited her out of the cold?”

“Of course, I do, I—" he snapped, before the implication hit him. “No. Oh, no. Jacob, please.”

 When Ebenezer first stirred under the physician’s careful touch, Constance snapped out of her daze almost instantly. She flew to his side again, on her knees as he slowly worked to push himself upright.

“Easy now,” the physician said, one hand flattening against the man’s back as he helped usher him upright. “Nice and slow, Mr. Scrooge.”

“Augh, my head …” he groaned, his body folding up with agonizing slowness. Once mostly upright, his head almost instantly fell into his palm, a grimace slicing his face like a wound.

“Are you dizzy?” the doctor asked in concern.

“A bit, yes,” he croaked.

“That’s normal. Just take a moment to rally yourself.”

A few tense seconds passed before he dared to lift his head again. When he gathered the willpower to do so, he blinked slowly as he eyes adjusted to the light of the room. As he registered the wreath of spectators around the room, he let out an uneasy chuckle.  “M-My, what an audience.”

Prudence padded over to her beloved papa, nosing at his arm and whimpering. The man turned to her and scratched under her jaw, making sire to pay extra attention to the spot right under her collar he knew she liked. As predicted, her tail began thumping the floor almost instantly, and with enough force to practically knock the pictures off the wall.

Constance, tearing up from relief and joy, leaned forward to embrace him. “Oh, Ebenezer! I’m so relieved you’re okay!”

The man allowed the redhead to lean into him, but visibly tensed as she wrapped her arms around him. Constance noticed this, and reeled away immediately, fearing she’d hurt him. “I-I’m sorry! That was too much, wasn’t it? Oh, I’m so sorry. I-I was just relieved to see that you woke up.”

“I-I…” Ebenezer stuttered, staring at the woman with wide eyes. “I-I’m sorry.”

“Sorry? Whatever for?”

“Probably for being a bloody fool and using that old stepladder alone,” Magda chimed in, overturning her fist to gently knock on the top of his head. “You stubborn codger. I told you to toss that old thing in the trash. Would make nice kindling, too!”

While Magda laughed amicably at her jest (as did Errol, the ever-faithful husband he was), Ebenezer still stared back at Constance with troubled eyes. There was something searching in his gaze, his pupils darting from one feature of hers to another. After studying her face, he shifted his attention to her clothes, her hair … before eventually landing back on her Atlantic-colored eyes.

“Um, miss, please pardon me,” he started slowly, “Um, perhaps that fall was severe after all.”

Constance cocked her head. Miss? He hadn’t called her that in…well, since they’d first met.

The woman reached out in an attempt to comfort him, but saw him shift away. She did the same, apologizing again under her breath.

“I’m so dreadfully sorry, but … do we know each other?” Ebenezer asked, obviously realizing the question was a painful one to impose on her.

When her face faltered, collapsing from relief into shock, he added sheepishly:

“I-I don’t believe I know who you are.”

If anyone else in the chamber could hear the otherworldly wail that left Ebenezer's spirit, it did not show on their faces.

List: @quill-pen, @crimson-phantom-designs @thedivinelights

Here we go~

[bumblesimagines]

Midnight Beach

Part 11

Request: Yes or No

Taglist: @nathan-no @hyubg @ash455

~~~

"For the record, I think this is a horrible idea, Pope." 

Something about a desperate teenager scaling the wall of a century-old church with rotting wood screamed dangerous to (Y/N). Pope was a geek. A nerd. Someone who could recite mathematical and scientific equations without blinking an eye. Someone who notably sucked at gym class- per JJ's words- and had almost no muscle definition. Pope was lanky and tall and only exercised when he had to run from something or someone. He was no Peter Parker or Miles Morales. He was Pope Heyward, son of a fishmonger. So why the hell had they let him climb up the wall and onto creaking pillars with only minor protesting?

Hitting the side of one of the beams, Pope called down to them with no regard for their worries. "Alright, this one's solid wood. I'm gonna try the other beam."

"Pope, that's rotten as shit right there, okay?" JJ called out to his best friend but his words went in one ear and out the other. Pope moved around the wooden beams, propping himself up and hitting the side of the middle support beam. "I hate to break it to you, but that's just wood."

"It has to be here," Pope muttered and stood, arms wrapped around the beam as he traversed around it.

"Just, watch out for that wasp's nest above your head, Pope! Move slow, alright?" JJ called out again. Pope eyed the nest and set his foot down near the last beam, the wood there proving to be unsteady when a piece of wood fell down near the group on the ground. Pope panted softly and craned his neck, eyes squinting at the last beam when he hit it.

"It's hollow. I need a crowbar." 

"I'll be right back." Sarah sighed and turned on her heels, walking back out toward the cars. (Y/N) rubbed his forehead, feeling the base of his neck start to ache. He glanced back at Sarah when she returned with the crowbar and tossed it up at Pope, a wide proud smile breaking out on her face when he caught it. Pope began chipping away at the side of the beam, bits and pieces of wood falling down. The more he chipped and tore away from the beam, the better look they got at what was inside. 

"Is that..." (Y/N) felt his breath hitch in his throat, the gleam of the setting sun peering through the windows and lighting up the inside of the beam. A golden glitter came from within. Pope tore away a large chunk of wood and there it was. A myth turned reality. The cross of Santo Domingo.

"Oh my god... Oh my god!" Kiara squealed as JJ and John B whooped and hugged each other, jumping up and down in excitement. Sarah laughed and jumped as well, hands shaking and grabbing onto Kiara for support. The blonde spun around and threw her arms around (Y/N), eyes shining with glee. (Y/N) snapped himself out of his shock and laughed breathily, slowly wrapping his arms around Sarah. 

"We did it!" Pope cheered, hacking away at the side of the beam until the cross was fully and completely exposed to them. He shoved his hands up in the air and let out a gleeful cry, attracting the attention of the wasps flying above him. Pope's cry turned from excited to pained as the wasps swarmed and began stinging him. The crowbar fell from his hands and landed on the ground with a clatter, and soon, his foot slipped and the sudden weight shift caused him to fall over, forcing him to cling desperately onto the support beam.

"Cover the ground with something soft!" (Y/N) called, tearing himself away from Sarah and snatching up the cushions on the pews. The Pogues scattered, grabbing anything that looked soft while shoving away the pews and furniture to ensure Pope wouldn't fall on them. 

"I can't hold!" Pope screamed, one hand slipping from the beam. They tossed the cushions down on the floor, pushing them around to make a landing pad of sorts. With one last screech, Pope fell from the beam and landed on the ground with a thud, kicking up a cloud of dust. They surrounded Pope immediately, asking questions and checking him for injuries. Pope winced and cracked open his eyes with a small groan, only for his eyes to fly open. He shoved (Y/N) and JJ aside and they looked up, scrambling out of the way as the cross fell onto the ground, breaking through the floor.

"Pope, you okay?!" JJ rushed to his side but Pope waved him off with heavy pants. (Y/N) pushed himself off the floor and got closer, crouching down to look him over. The wasps had gotten him good, covering his neck and hands with stings.

"Give me... a minute to... catch my breath." Pope gasped.

"You did it, Pope." John B whispered and (Y/N) lifted his eyes off Pope to look at the cross. It was big, bigger than all of them. Designs and carvings had been engraved into it with a small square right below the crystal-imbedded center where a key could be inserted. (Y/N) felt dizzy just looking at it. The Pogues fawned over it, hesitantly running their fingers over it as if scared it'd fall apart if they were too rough. (Y/N) felt Pope move and turned to watch him, noticing the stings were forming into large bumps on his skin. One of his eyes appeared nearly swollen shut. (Y/N)'s throat tightened.

"This belongs in a museum." John B breathed.

"Are you kidding me?!" JJ exclaimed, whirling around to look at him. "If we melted her old bones down, we'd be making high billions, dude."

"Hey! It's my ancestors' cross!" Pope shouted, bracing himself against one of the pews and wincing. "This is bigger than money, and the world's gotta know the truth."

"And if we don't get this shit outta here before Limbrey gets here, nobody's gonna know. So, saddle up." 

"Pope, Pope, hold on a second. Are you okay?" (Y/N) stepped in Pope's way before he could stand and attempt to pick up the cross. Pope nodded but then staggered, bringing a hand to his chest and curling his fingers around his shirt. He coughed and collapsed back onto the pew, beginning to gasp for air. (Y/N) froze.

"Pope? Pope! Shit, what's wrong with him?" JJ appeared at (Y/N)'s side and grasped Pope's shoulder, panicked eyes flickering all over his friend.

"He's having an allergic reaction." Kiara mused, bringing a trembling hand to her mouth.

"Shit, Kie's right. The stings are causing a reaction. We need to get him to a hospital-" Pope's eyes suddenly rolled back and he began convulsing. "-right now!" (Y/N) slung one of his arms over his shoulder while John B got his other arm. The girls ran up ahead, opening the church doors and holding them open as they dragged Pope out. JJ lingered behind, attempting to cover up the cross as best as he could. (Y/N) and John B got him to the Carrera truck, laying him back across the backseat. Kiara got in with him, keeping his legs elevated and checking on his pulse.

"W-What do we need?!" JJ asked, his voice high with panic.

"An epi-pen. Where's his epi-pen?" (Y/N) turned to look at the boys but received silence in response. "Why doesn't he have one?!"

"We didn't know he was allergic, b-but I know where to find one!" JJ's face brightened and he got in the driver's seat, quickly turning on the truck. Groaning quietly, (Y/N) got in the passenger seat and watched Sarah and John B get in the back before JJ stepped on the gas and took off down the road, making quick turns and definitely breaking at least a few road laws.

Swerving into a neighborhood, the truck came to a screeching halt in front of a house. JJ flew out of the driver's seat and sprinted up to the front door, knocking rapidly and shouting for help. (Y/N) helped John B and Kiara get Pope out of the backseat, listening to his labored breathing as they took him up the driveway where a shirtless and pantless man swung the door open with a scowl. 

"Ricky, please, he can't breathe!" John B pleaded with the bearded man. Ricky groaned and ran a hand over his face, begrudgingly opening the glass door for them and letting them inside when he saw the state Pope was in. Sarah and Kiara hurried inside, clearing out the man's dining table by knocking over his basket of laundry and any stray clutter. (Y/N) and John B lied Pope across the table and Ricky got a good look at him.

"What's wrong with him?" 

"He's having an allergic reaction to wasp stings and needs an epi-pen right now." (Y/N) explained to Ricky, each gasp for air sending a shot of anxiety down his back. He should've stayed home. If he had, he wouldn't have to steal with drenched clothes and a potentially dying friend. So much for wanting a peaceful year.

"I gotta get my kit." Ricky turned and headed deeper into his house, prompting JJ to quickly follow him and help search for his kit. Sarah and Kiara tried speaking to Pope, attempting to keep him conscious and focused on their voices. (Y/N) stepped back, spotting a fridge in the next room and walking toward it. He opened the freezer and searched it, grabbing the first ice pack he spotted and closing it. 

"What's that for?" John B asked only for (Y/N) to press it against his chest and shove him down onto the couch.

"For you, Routledge. Stay off your damn ankle and keep that pressed against it." He barked and John B clamped his mouth shut, bowing his head and placing the ice pack over his ankle. Kiara cupped Pope's face, eyes beginning to well up with tears as she softly spoke to him. Ricky jogged past them and entered his garage, still searching for his kit. He emerged from the garage with a black backpack in hand and set it down on the table beside Pope's head.

"What do we do now?"

"You don't do anything 'cause you're not a paramedic," Ricky replied and took out a syringe and a small bottle, poking the syringe into the bottle and sucking up the medicine inside. "Here's the thing, I don't have a proper epi-pen on me right now but I have this. This is a pediatric dose of epinephrine. It is ten times a normal dose. So if it doesn't stop his heart, it'll help him. But I gotta use the whole thing, or it won't work and I'm not going down if he dies." 

"Okay! Fine! Do it!" JJ shouted when everyone else stared at Ricky wide-eyed. Oh, (Y/N) should've stayed home. He should've stayed home on his cozy couch. With JJ's permission, Ricky injected the dose into Pope's arm, taking out the needle once done and sighing heavily. Pope remained unresponsive on the table and Kiara began panicking, shouting and cursing at Ricky until Pope suddenly gasped. Pope groaned and sluggishly sat up, muttering about feeling hot and shrugging off his jacket.

"Okay, now we go to the hospital. I'll pay for the bills if you want-"

"That is the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to me but we have to get that cross." Pope slid off the table, stumbling past (Y/N) and JJ. He shoved open the door and staggered out, pace quickening as his energy returned to him. Everyone quickly followed after him, attempting to steer him toward calming down but Pope simply whooped, threw his jacket on the ground, and got into the truck. Or more precisely, he got into the driver's seat.

"He's high as shit," Kiara whispered and followed him, getting into the passenger seat. The others followed, having to squeeze in the backseat with JJ basically sprawled out over John B and Sarah's laps.

"Should we be letting him drive?" (Y/N) tentatively asked, feeling the truck lurch forward when Pope stepped on the pedal and began driving. Kiara's worried look didn't ease his concern, especially as night fell over them.

Pope continued to drive as fast as he could, his burst of energy prompting him to act impulsively and recklessly. The truck occasionally swerved from side to side, forcing the four in the backseat to squish together further. JJ's elbow met John B's chest a couple times while his foot stepped on (Y/N)'s calf about every few minutes. Pope even swerved onto the other lane to drive past another car, shouts and screams coming from them when he nearly crashed into an oncoming vehicle. 

"We're not gonna get to the cross if we're dead, Pope!"

"We're not gonna die. It's our divine right to get that cross."

"Pope, look at the road!" John B hollered and Pope suddenly swerved the truck to avoid another collision, forcing the truck to begin spinning out. (Y/N) grabbed onto the assist handle on the ceiling of the car, holding onto it as Sarah fell over his lap and JJ's heel nearly collided with his abdomen. The back of his head hit the seat when the truck crashed, the sound of a window shattering and the airbags expanding filling his ears. He groaned and opened the door, stumbling out of the truck and catching himself before he could fall. Sarah and JJ followed him out, taking a moment to catch their breaths and try to soothe the growing aches in their muscles from whiplash. 

"Kie, one word: totaled." JJ flashed the light from his phone over the front of the car and (Y/N) cringed at the sight, resting his hands on his knees and shakily exhaling. A fully cracked windshield and a crumbled hood. Not to mention the other dents in the truck. Guess he could cross getting into a car accident off the bucket list. (Y/N) straightened up, rolling his aching shoulder and looking over everyone. Nobody appeared injured, aside from some minor bruising.

"My parent's are gonna kill me." Kiara breathed.

"We're gonna have to walk the rest of the way. I'm going to get my cross." Pope stated and began walking down the side of the road. John B followed, stepping in his way and trying to stop him from continuing in his agitated state. The sight of headlights growing closer caught (Y/N)'s attention and he watched the truck drive closer until they drove past the group. (Y/N) made eye contact with the driver and a chill shot down his spine.

Rafe.

"The cross..." (Y/N) whispered, staring after the truck as it drove down the road. "They have it." 

"We gotta get back to the church!"

Forced to sprint the rest of the way back to Freedman's Church, (Y/N)'s legs ached and cried by the time they arrived at the doorstep and entered to find the cross gone. He collapsed on one of the pews and slumped back against it, letting his body rest as JJ angrily rambled. Sarah took a set behind him, equally as exhausted. She leaned her head against his shoulders and closed her eyes, chest heaving and covered in a light layer of sweat. Kiara sat down across from them and buried her face in her hands, breathing slowing down. Pope slowly stepped toward the podium and stood behind it, looking down at one of the things his ancestor created.

"Denmark would've stood right here... preaching to everyone he set free. A slave, the sole survivor of the Royal Merchant,  he got the gold and the cross, and he brought them both to shore and used it to free every person who walked through those doors. He made a church, a family, a congregation... a home. And the Limbreys took everything from him." Pope stepped down from the podium, an air of calm rage to him. "They sicced dogs on his wife and his kids, and when he tried to get her remains, they hung him. Well, I'm done. I'm tired of that shit. That is not how this is gonna end. We need a win, guys. I'm going to get my family's cross."

He walked forward and cracked open the door, pausing to turn his head to look at them. "You guys coming?"

                    ✽        ✽       ✽       ✽       ✽       ✽

The drive back to Tannyhill had one obstacle. Shoupe had pulled the van over when they neared the crash and forced Kiara to go with them and return home to her parents or else he'd bring them down to the station for fleeing the scene of an accident. Despite leaving them with a deep frown and a heavy heart, Kiara gave them her blessing to continue on without her. So they did and arrived at the Cameron Residence well into the night. 

"Stay low, stay low," Pope whispered to them as they got out of the Twinkie and crept up to the stone fence, seeing the truck from before pulling into the driveway. Rafe got out of the truck and swept his gaze over the front yard before stepping inside the mansion. "How much you want to bet Rafe's got the cross inside there right now?"

"Only one way to find out," Sarah decided and stepped away from the fence. She didn't look back as she began walking toward the gate leading up to her house, to a possible trap. (Y/N)'s feet followed her before he could think twice about it and his hand caught her wrist, brows knitted together in worry when she turned around to face him. 

"Rafe's in there, Sarah-"

"I know. It's why I have to do this. I need to do this." She told him softly and placed her hand gently over his, fingers curling around his and affectionately squeezing. (Y/N)'s lips pressed together, eyes flickering between hers. Sarah's lips parted and she inched forward, head tilting upward to stare him directly in the eye. She went to speak but before a single word could leave her mouth, John B suddenly shoved himself between them, forcing (Y/N) to step back and blink. Sarah's jaw clenched at the sight of him.

"What is it?" She asked, a hint of irritation laced in her voice at his interruption. 

"I need to talk to you." He pleaded softly, staring into her eyes as she had done to (Y/N). 

"About?"

"Us." (Y/N) rolled his eyes.

"Us?" Her brows rose in disbelief. "Really? You want to have this conversation now? John B, now's not the time-"

"No, no, look, Sarah. I'm sorry. I'm sorry." John B croaked and reached into his pocket, pulling out a worn piece of string and offering it back to her. Sarah looked down at it, letting him drop it in her palm and curl her fingers into a fist. He held her hand in his, thumb running over her knuckles. He lifted his other hand toward her face and cupped her cheek, eyes trailing down to her lips. He slowly began leaning forward.

"John B, no, not now." Sarah leaned back and pressed her hands against his chest, gently pushing him back. JJ and Pope hissed quietly in the distance and (Y/N) nearly snorted at the dejected look on John B's face. Sarah's tongue darted out between her lips and she sighed quietly, wrapping the string around her wrist and giving John B a tight-lipped smile. 

"Sarah, I-"

"I don't know what I want right now, John B. You hurt me. You weren't there for me, after everything I did for you. I-I care about you. But I don't know if I want there to be an 'us' again. Not when there are... others." John B's shoulders sagged and his head turned to (Y/N) with a fierce glare. Sarah gently took his chin and turned his head back toward her. His gaze softened again. "Now's not the time. Pope needs our help. We'll talk about this later." 

"But-"

"Later." Sarah turned around and walked away from them, slipping past the gate and heading up the driveway. John B's jaw clenched, hands turning into fists and he turned his body to face (Y/N). He shoved an accusatory finger into (Y/N)'s chest.

"If you weren't here-" (Y/N) brought his foot back then forward, kicking John B's ankle with the front of his sneaker and making him reel over in pain. He clamped a hand around John B's mouth before the teen could yelp and kept his hand pressed firmly against him as he dragged him back over to Pope and JJ. Both boys had their brows raised, staring at the withering John B. 

"You learn a thing or two hanging around Rafe and Topper." (Y/N) mumbled and peered over the fence to check on Sarah, finally releasing the Pogue. John B crumbled against the fence, cupping his ankle and whimpering quietly. JJ and Pope exchanged glances and joined (Y/N) back up against the fence. Sarah approached the truck and looked inside, presumably searching for the keys but coming up short. She turned around and motioned toward the house, raising one hand to motion for them to stay behind. 

"No, no, don't go inside!" Pope shook his head rapidly but Sarah merely turned and walked right into the house. Cursing under his breath, Pope and JJ braced themselves to go over the fence in support but (Y/N) spotted headlights going toward them and yanked the two back down. A golf cart rolled up, horn beeping and a gun cocking. Shit. (Y/N) swallowed and walked forward, staying in front of the Pogues and putting on his best smile.

"Mr. Sumner! Is that you? I hardly recognized you! Is that a new coat?"

"(Y/N)?" The old man lowered his shotgun and adjusted his glasses, stepping out of his golf cart and squinting at him. A smile suddenly broke out on his face, realization settling on his features. Looking down at his coat, he nodded. "Why, yes it is. Martha got it for our anniversary, ain't that nice?"

"Going on forty years, right?" 

"I didn't expect you to remember!" Mr. Sumner laughed heartily and nodded, running a wrinkled hand over his new coat. 

"How couldn't I? Mrs. Sumner mentions you every time she brings around that lovely meatloaf of hers. Always talkin' about how good of a husband you are. She loves you a whole lot."

"Yeah, that sounds like my Martha. Such a sweetheart she is." Mr. Sumner chuckled sheepishly and adjusted his glasses again to peer over (Y/N)'s shoulder. "And, uh, who might these fellas be? I couldn't help but notice they looked awfully suspicious tryin' to climb over the fence."

"Oh, these guys?" (Y/N) turned his head to look at them. The three of them put on polite smiles for the old man, glancing helplessly at (Y/N) and huddling closely together. "Well, this guy is Booker. He had an accident the other day and hurt his foot real bad but he's such a hardworking guy that he came right over to help the Camerons' with, uh-"

"Mr. Cameron's memorial, sir." JJ piped up, taking off his baseball cap and holding it to his chest. He walked forward and stood beside (Y/N), forcing his voice to tremble as he spoke. "You see, we were his yard workers, sir. While everyone else looks at us and just sees three delinquents from the Cut, Mr. Cameron saw potential. He trusted us to do his yard work, sir. He-He was such a good man to us. He really tried to help us young men from the Cut stay off the streets. He said he saw himself in us." 

Forget being a motivational speaker, JJ should work toward being an actor. (Y/N) stared at the blonde as he went on, speaking about Ward Cameron with enough passion and heartache to make anyone believe he knew the man personally. JJ conjured a whole story from nothing and Mr. Sumner ate up every single word that came out of his mouth, even growing teary-eyed one time. (Y/N) wordlessly nodded along to his tale, backing up every lie JJ told the poor old man until he finished, wrapping it up with a perfect little bow. "-But don't worry, sir. The Knight of the Rhododendron lives on in all of us. It's why we planted those flowers in his honor. Don't you smell it?"

Mr. Sumner took a whiff of the air. "What is that, night-blooming jasmine?"

"No, that's more like, uhm... natural Viagra," JJ answered and (Y/N) cleared his throat loudly when Mr. Sumner's eyes widened. He stepped forward and gently took the older man by the arm, leading him back to his golf cart as Pope quietly scolded JJ for choosing Viagra of all things. Mr. Sumner sat down and placed his shotgun beside him.

"Martha must be worried about you, now, Mr. Sumner. If you'd like, tomorrow morning, I'll come by and drop off these fine gentlemen's business cards, alright?" 

"See that you do, will you, son? I'd like to see if I can get some of those flowers planted in the garden." 

"Right, of course, Mr. Sumner." (Y/N) forced another polite smile and patted his shoulder, taking a step back and waving as Mr. Sumner drove off. Once he turned the corner, (Y/N) spun around to face JJ and gave him a deadpan look that JJ snickered at.

"What? It worked!"

"Yeah, uh-huh." 

The four of them hoisted themselves over the fence and landed quietly on the other side, although John B's ankle buckled underneath him and he was forced to clutch the wall for support momentarily. They crept through the front yard and ducked down behind some bushes when Rafe came out of the house with no sign of Sarah in tow. (Y/N) kept his attention on the front doors, waiting to see Sarah attempting to sneak out while JJ and John B went back and forth. Pope suddenly took off, chasing after the truck going down the driveway and jumping up, getting a hold of the side of it and clinging on.

"The hell was that?" 

"No idea. But with Rafe gone-"

"Guys." (Y/N) roughly tugged on JJ's shoulder, eyes focused on Rose and Wheezie as they took out a limp Sarah and brought her to a black car. Rose got her in the back of the car, likely spouting some lies at Wheezie to get her help. "She's drugged..." (Y/N) concluded and backed up, watching the car head down the driveway and onto the street.

"Come on, let's get to the Twinkie, man!" JJ shouted, rushing down the driveway with (Y/N) and John B in tow and running out onto the street toward the van. They quickly climbed in and John B turned the van around, driving after Rose's car. The pursuit went well into the early morning, reaching the wharf just in time for the van to sputter and roll over to the side of the road. (Y/N) opened the door and hopped out, looking over the fence surrounding the wharf. 

"What's our best bet?" John B asked, eyeing the security guard.

"I say we rush him. Three against one-"

"Or we wait for another cargo truck to come by to drop off its shipment and use it as cover." (Y/N) proposed and JJ pursed his lips, nodding. He shook his head and looked back down the road, waiting for a semi-truck to undoubtedly head inside the wharf. Luckily, they only had to wait a couple of minutes before a large red truck drove by. They ran up behind it and headed down the opposite side of where the guard was, successfully sneaking into the wharf undetected and hiding behind some large equipment. 

"Shit, wait. The Coastal Venture. I know that ship. My dad did legs on her last summer. It's a total tramp steamer. I worked on her in port." JJ told them, pointing to the massive blue and red ship waiting at the dock. 

"And there's the truck and Rose's car." (Y/N) pointed the two vehicles out. They were parked alongside the ship with a large wooden box sitting beside the truck, conveniently the same size as the cross. The workers got it strapped and it was hoisted into the air before being lowered down onto the ship. Rose got out of her car next, opening the back door for a worker who pulled Sarah out of the back seat and escorted her onto the ship with Rose. 

"Howdy." The three flinched and turned around to face the last two Pogues. Pope looked battered and bruised, dried mud clinging onto his face and clothes. A grin spread across Kiara's face, a soft snort escaping her. "You looked scared as shit."

"How'd you even find us?"

"Geo-located your phone," Kiara answered JJ and stood beside (Y/N), looking out at the ship. "We gotta get on that boat, huh?"

"But first we gotta get past the goon squad," JJ murmured, nodding to the side and creeping forward. (Y/N) and Kiara followed, only pausing and looking back when Pope turned in the other direction.

"I've got an idea. Trust me, okay? I'll meet up with you guys." He assured John B before disappearing behind some equipment. (Y/N) turned back to Kiara and JJ only to flinch and duck when an explosion sounded off and Pope hurriedly ran back toward them. Workers immediately ran toward the explosion, giving them time to find access to the ship. Pope coughed and crouched down beside them, pointing out a white container.

"That container's going on the ship. We can get in that way." Pope told them and stood back up, leading them toward the container and climbing inside. John B followed him in, walking further into the container and disappearing behind the cargo. (Y/N) swallowed, staring into the container. The chances of them getting back out without consequences were low, especially if they were dealing with the Camerons. Kiara's fists clenched and unclenched, eyeing the container as well. 

JJ stepped forward, taking Pope's hand and getting up into the container. He turned and smiled down at them reassuringly, extending his hand out toward them. "Nothing to lose?"

"Nothing to lose," Kiara repeated under her breath and took JJ's hand, pulling herself up into the container and heading in deeper. JJ watched her go before offering his hand to (Y/N), quirking a brow. (Y/N) licked his lips and inhaled deeply, lifting his head to meet JJ's eyes. His mind screamed at him to reject the offer and stay behind, to stay on land where he'd be safe. But the Pogues were his friends and Sarah needed him. Nodding to JJ, he took his hand.

"Nothing to lose."

[zooophagous]

Strauss sat slightly curled in the passenger’s seat of the dirty pick up. He was very pointedly staring out the window, away from the driver, watching the reflective markers by the road fly past in a yellow blur like shooting stars. Sylvain was grinning, seemingly at nothing. She wasn’t apparently concerned with Strauss’ refusal to look at her. She was too busy. Too busy haphazardly steering with one hand while fucking with the radio with the other.

“Ugh, country music. I can’t stand this twangy shit. How about you? You got a preference?” She craned her head to look at his tee-shirt, which bore the band emblem of The Rolling Stones. 

“Classic rock fan? We can do that. You at least have good taste, Lu.”

“Where are we going?” He asked without turning his head. 

“Like I said, we’re gonna have a little fun. Seems like something you’re out of practice on.”

“I am concerned that your idea of fun will not mesh with mine.” 

“Oh come off it. I do have other interests beyond tormenting mortals you know.” She rolled her eyes. “You aren’t still MAD at me, are you?”

“You tried to kill a friend of mine and in saving him I managed to shatter my femur and be confined to bed rest.” Strauss replied flatly. “I loathe bed rest.”

“Come on. That was weeks ago!” Sylvain protested in a mock whiny voice. “You were barely on bed rest for two weeks, if that, I’m sure. I know you didn’t take long to heal. A drop in the bucket, for someone as long lived as you. Practically a minor inconvenience.”

“It is less minor for Mr. Samuel, who nearly lost his life.”

“Look, I had no idea he was as gung ho about dying as he was, ok?” She huffed. “Fine. You win. I’m sorry I almost killed Mr. Samuel by using my advanced powers of psychic suggestion to convince him to commit suicide. That’s as much of an apology as you’re going to get. Now will you try and look at me when I’m talking?”

Strauss inhaled deeply, and did as she asked, finally forcing himself to look at her. She felt so much larger than him, even though the opposite was true. She was nearly too short to reach the pedals of the obnoxiously large truck. Her claw rested casually on the steering wheel, the other tapped along in time to the music on the car door out the open window. 

He harbored a multitude of regrets. This was supposed to be an expedition in information gathering. Doing so would be nigh impossible if he couldn’t look at her, much less talk to her. 

“Forgive me. I am being rude. It is just… very new and strange for me, to be in the presence of another immortal like this. I am used to it being a bit more combative. It is not as if our previous meetings have been enjoyable.”

“Oh, I don’t know. I enjoyed them just fine. But! Apology accepted, Lu. We may as well start fresh and make nice. We have more in common than not, I’m sure.”

“Beyond both of us being dead, you mean?”

“Both of us being captives- excuse me, FORMER captives of the Van Helsings? Both of us being occult researchers?”

“How about both of us being wanted murderers?”

“Speak for yourself, Lu. You’re the one with the record. I’ve been keeping my claws clean.” 

“Is that because you’ve been good, or because you know how to avoid detection?”

“You’re so clever, Lu. Funny guy. I knew there was a reason I liked you.”

“Like me, do you?” He raised an eyebrow. “I heard quite the opposite. I was told you had a hit list of vampires to dispose of, and my name was on it.”

“Told you about that, did they? Color me impressed. They must like you, if they’re that honest with you. No hard feelings about it Lu. I can call you Lu, right? Anyway, believe it or not, I didn’t actually want to ‘dispose’ of you.”

“No?”

“Nope. You were my thesis project for graduation. Harmless little old German man. When they told me your number was up, I was actually sad about it. Sad to see you slip up, you know? That’s why I put you at the bottom of the hit list.” 

“How touching.”

“As far as I could tell, the victim in the killing that got you your murder record had it coming. But then, you did go on to kill again after that, didn’t you?”

“In self defense, yes. A Mr. Elliot Lane. Was he a colleague of yours?”

“At one point, yeah. He was a moron. Always felt like he had to prove himself. Be better than everyone else. He was a trophy hunter. It’s funny, I always knew he’d die at work. I just didn’t think I’d ever be buddy-buddy with the monster that took him down.”

“Both of those statements are false. I am not a monster, and we are not buddies.”

“Aww, don’t hurt my feelings now Lu. After all the effort I’m putting in to give you a night on the town?”

“You still have not told me where we are going.” 

“Well, I know enough about you to know you’re a biologist at heart. I also know enough about the Van Helsing Institute to know your mind is going to complete waste there. I said we’d have fun, and I meant it. Consider this a peace offering, yeah? You’ll like this place.”

“What is it?”

“We’re going to the zoo.”

“The zoo?” Strauss raised his eyebrows and turned to finally face her directly. “The zoological gardens where they keep wild animals?”

“That’s the one.”

“Why?”

“Two reasons. First, because I know you’ve never seen one and it’s pertinent to your interests. Second, because they have a petting zoo with goats, and I don’t want you to get peckish.”

She grinned evilly. Strauss grunted in reply. At least she wasn’t expecting him to join her in hunting humans just yet. “This facility is surely not open after midnight.”

“Doesn’t need to be. We can get in and out easy. Besides, it will be a nice quiet place to talk. That’s what you wanted, right? To talk? You still haven’t told me what about.”

“Yes. I am… building my courage to speak of it.” He swallowed hard. “It is a difficult topic to broach. I worry it may… trigger your temper.”

“Are you scared of me?”

He hesitated before answering. “Yes.”

“Good.”

Strauss returned his gaze to the roads. He rested his head on the window. The cool of the glass was comforting, even though the heavy rumble of the truck was off putting. The road slowly became the city. He had been here often enough to recognize parts of it now. There was the path that led to the bar, and further down, the road to Mr. Samuel’s house.

He winced inwardly at the thought. With any luck, she’d forget about wanting to hurt Sam. If she tried again he may have to break his promise to Artemis not to fight with her. She seemed content to sing along to “Paint it Black” on the radio until it faded into an obnoxious car dealership commercial that played several decibels louder than the music. 

Strauss frowned, and abruptly shut off the radio. 

“Not feelin’ the tunes, Lu?”

“If I have to listen to one more moment of commercials I will lose my composure. Are we close? I wish to get out of the car.”

Or at least, he wished not to be trapped in a small moving object mere feet away from her while she subtly mocked him.

“It’s right up this way. We’ll have to park and walk. If we climb the fence in the back corner here, there won’t be any alarms.”

“You talk as if you’ve done this before.”

“Of course. Many times.”

She parked the truck and hopped out of it eagerly. Strauss meekly trailed after her. This was already taking far too long. He’d allowed her to call the shots and get him to a secondary location. He was just along for the ride at this point. He absentmindedly stuck his claws into his pockets and felt the smart watch still there.

He gripped it momentarily. That watch was a lifeline. So long as Artemis was on the other side of it, he wasn’t completely alone with Sylvain. Not that Artemis could help very quickly. He almost missed Frau Harker. 

“Y’know Lu. Before I got into the vampire killing biz I wanted to be an exotic veterinarian? Graduated with a biology degree and everything.”

“You must like animals. I suppose we have that in common as well.”

“More than I like people.”

“How did you come to join the Institute?”

“Some of my exotic animal research led me to some interesting places. Namely, old records of vampirism in animals. One of my advisors had ties to the institute, so I wasn’t exactly discouraged from learning more from there.”

“And they convinced you that these unique new specimens you’d just discovered needed killing?”

He followed her in the dark down a tree lined path. He could smell hot compost and dung- no doubt the dumping grounds of the large animal waste. Sylvain was the one not looking at him, now. She scanned the fence line for an entry point.

“It’s something they teach you when you learn about wild animals, Lu. Large predators and humans have conflict. Large predators need careful management.”

She found her spot on the fence and made the climb. She looked not unlike a squirrel, or rodent, scaling the sheer face of tall wooden slats. 

“If people are in conflict with large predators, and someone doesn’t remove the problem predators, then the people feel unsafe, and they retaliate. They retaliate hard. If a problem wolf isn’t shot, a ranger might poison the entire pack. If a problem vampire isn’t dealt with, then every vampire loses their veil of secrecy, and all of them are in danger.”

“So your venture into the murder of our kind was done out of some desire to save us?” He tilted his head. “It was for our own good?”

“I’m not saying it doesn’t sound stupid in hindsight. You want the answer? You got it.” 

She disappeared over the fence. Strauss gripped the top of the fenceline and slowly pulled himself up. Chin ups were arduous, but he cleared the obstacle easily, and lowered slowly to the tall grass of the other side. 

“Is that it?”

“Is what it?” She led the way down the gravel path of the staff areas. 

“I suppose I was expecting a renowned slayer to have some deeply personal reasons for collecting such a body count. I thought perhaps some vampire had wronged you, planted a desire for revenge, I did not expect your interests in us to be so academic.”

“Not every bad person has the luxury of a good reason for being that way.” 

Strauss followed her slowly. His head was on a swivel, taking in the grounds. He could feel many eyes tracking him, and many excited heartbeats in his ears, but none of them human. No doubt the animal denizens of the facility were not used to seeing visitors at this hour. He worried one might sound the alarm, somehow, like a guard dog. No such alarm came.

“I suppose our paths aren’t terribly different. I too took an interest in vampires from the perspective of the biologist. I was more interested in medicine than zoology, however.”

“Interesting, ain’t it? I ended up joining the hunters, and you ended up joining the wolves. Interesting choice on your part too, Lu.”

“I did not go by choice.” He replied flatly. “I thought perhaps, given your research into my life, you might know that.”

“You had more of a choice than I did.” 

“You and I both walked willingly into the tiger’s den.”

“Wrong. I walked in to kill a tiger. You walked in because one promised you something and you believed it. Maybe you should think twice about questioning my background when you’re the one taking candy from strangers.”

Strauss shut up abruptly. Her anger was still dangerous, despite the attempts at familiarity. 

“Forgive me. I did not intend to upset you.”

“Relax, Lu. You didn’t make me mad. When I’m mad, you’ll know.” She turned to face him with aggressive eye contact. He felt himself falter even further behind her. “Besides, all that’s water under the bridge now. We ended up on the same team.”

“Same team, are we?”

“Sure. Vampires should stick together. We’re a rare breed. We won’t get a lot of people who understand us. Doesn’t make sense to fight.”

“Why then, in our previous meetings, were you so keen to intimidate me?”

“Large predators have a hierarchy, Lu.” She lingered slowly by the fence line as a pack of captive wolves approached the chain link with hungry curiosity. 

“I had to be the one calling the shots. I needed you to know in no uncertain terms who was in charge. I didn’t want it to even be a question. So, a little vulgar display of power here and there. I figured your curiosity would bring you out even if I was kind of a bitch.” She grinned.

“Why is it important for me to be brought out?”

“I already said I didn’t want to kill you.” She leaned over the guardrail to look at the gathering wolves more closely. “I still don’t. I didn’t really think that you deserved it. I also know that most vampire research subjects at the Van Helsing Institute are kept there in jars, not in dorms.” 

She crossed her arms with a sigh. “You’re doomed there, you know. They want to pretend to be your friend but you’re just an exotic pet, and soon enough you’d be another skull in a cabinet. I wanted better for you. I wanted to… I don’t know. Release you back into the wild.”

“The fact that I can tell you that I am happy and well cared for notwithstanding?”

“A psychological cage is still a cage.” 

The wolves dispersed along the fence line. The novelty of the visitors had worn off. Sylvain followed the pack with her eyes till they were hidden from sight. 

"It's a bit late to try and just put you back, unfortunately. Whatever worked for you before back home is gone now. If you're going to survive now you're going to have to adapt. And I know you're bad at adapting."

She started down the path again. Strauss wandered after her. "What makes you think I'm bad at adapting?"

"If you were any good at it you'd have done it on your own. You lived in a hole underground slowly starving to death. Don't take this the wrong way Lu. Most large predators aren't very good at adapting. Especially adapting to a bigger predator. They don't know how to cope with it. I get the feeling that it was all downhill for you once bloodletting started becoming less common for illnesses. Am I right?"

"I admit, yes. The advancement of modern medicine was beneficial to humanity, but the loss of that treatment did leave me very hungry."

"Damn shame isn't it. But you know, Lu. Even if donations run dry, you can still keep a clear conscience if you just stick to those who have it coming." She flashed her awful shark toothed grin at him, almost more like an animal baring its teeth than a person making a smile.

"Is that what you do, Frau Pietra?"

"Accusatory tone much? Besides, I know you've done it." She hand-waved him away as she strode down a path labeled "Asia." 

"Yes, I have. But if you remember, that one was practically forced on me. It wasn't my original idea."

"Sure, the dead child molester wasn't your idea." She shrugged. "But I know he wasn't the first time you cleaned up the streets a little in the name of a hot meal. Maybe it didn't make it to your file, but I have a hunch, Lu. You can tell me. I won't blab to Ursula over it."

"If you must know, I have lived through two world wars, and I admit that yes… perhaps I did take advantage of the fact that so many people simply disappear into the fog of war. A dead Nazi here or there was not terribly missed. Is this sort of thing what you do often? Do you hunt, Frau Pietra?"

"Shhh. Hey. Look." Sylvain stopped and pointed at a fence. There was a panel built into it made of glass, for the viewing pleasure of the public. Strauss approached the glass slowly.

On the other side of the fence stood an apex predator. It was long, longer in body than Strauss was tall, and it weighed more than three of him. Its fangs likewise envied his own. Strauss ran his fingers along the raised letters of the bronze plaque that gave the beast its name.

PANTHERA TIGRIS ALTAICA

The Amur tiger. Small yellowish dots of reflected light glinted in its eyes. It stood not but five feet beyond the glass, regarding its audience with cool indifference. Strauss made eye contact with the animal, and felt that for a moment he could actually hold that eye contact comfortably.

The tiger blinked slowly, and began to pad silently past the glass, treating the pair to the full spectacle of its size and striped coat.

"That is a tiger. A real one."

"Yeah. Pretty fella, isn't he? Hard to believe they get that big."

"I've never seen a real tiger before." 

"That one's not a real tiger. Not all the way. It has the fangs and the claws, sure. But it's not a hunter. It won't ever kill a deer or defend a territory. It will only ever eat and sleep and mate as its handlers allow it to."

"The sign says it is an endangered species. Perhaps places like this keep it safe."

"Safe is different from whole."

Sylvain walked off down the path again. Strauss lingered a moment to watch the tiger. It looked like a real enough tiger.

"I am sure it is quite real enough to humble anyone who tries to tangle with it."

"That's true. That's one thing I like about this place, you know? I don't even think a vampire is a sure winner against a tiger. Puts me in perspective. There's always a bigger fish."

"That is a cat, not a fish."

"Shut up." 

"How much longer do you wish to linger here?"

"So impatient. How about this. Let me go feed the ducks in the koi pond and then we'll leave. We can talk more there. Maybe I can give you some pointers."

"Pointers on what?"

"How to be a real tiger, Lu. I feel like that's what you're really curious about anyway. I'd be happy to give you a little lesson."

"Lesson?"

He asked, though the answer was obvious. 

"Of course. Before the sun rises, I'm going to need a snack. You're going to help me get it."

"I'll do no such thing."

"I wasn't asking."

She produced a quarter from her pocket, and fed it to a coin slot machine that spit out a small handful of crumbling brown pellets.

"Here. Feed the ducks."

She forced the feed into his hands. It left an unpleasant residue. He helplessly tossed the feed to the waiting waterfowl and watched it sink and be devoured. 

[amaurotine-daydreaming]

VII. Noisome

“You like gysahl greens very much. Yes, very much. Just as the hunters told me.”

The chocobo at the Vath’s side chirped and dipped its head once more. Bracing the vegetable with one of its taloned feet, it tore off another broad leaf with its beak. The Vath stroked its soft flank as it continued observing its companion.

“They call me the Birdkeeper now,” the Vath said. “I am happy to have a name, yes, very happy. But you are strange for a bird.”

A big brown eye swiveled toward the Vath Birdkeeper quizzically, then went back to its meal. 

“You have the feathers and the wings, but you cannot fly,” the Vath Birdkeeper explained. That eye swiveled to them once more, a bit more balefully.

“Perhaps that is rude,” the Vath Birdkeeper amended, chastened. It moved its claw from the bird’s flank to its wing, smoothing down the ruffled feathers there. “You must forgive us for saying so. Indeed, please forgive us. You do not need to fly. For that we have our kongamatos.”

The chocobo relaxed, soothed by its master’s hand, and with a soft trill nudged the Vath Birdkeeper’s head with its own. The Vath Birdkeeper in turn clicked its mandibles, relieved. These birds were very understanding creatures, it had come to understand, but it had also come to recognize the guilt and sorrow it felt when upsetting them. Such feelings were alien when it was part of the Onemind.

“The hunters tell me we must choose a name for you,” the Vath Birdkeeper told its friend. “We find this difficult—very difficult. We have only just found our own name. We do not know how to name others yet.”

The current bunch of gysahl greens was now down to a nub no bigger than a large fruit. The chocobo tossed the last mouthful into the air and caught it, its gullet working as it slid down its throat. The Vath Birdkeeper patted it, impressed.

“The Vath come to these decisions because of a skill. A very special skill. The Storyteller, The Kintamer, The Deftarm.”

The chocobo chirped. The Vath Birdkeeper found these strange, flightless birds to be very good listeners.

“We hope you will like the name we give you. Since you cannot choose it yourself, we are told. But we do not know much about you yet. Only that you are a cho-co-bo. But all your kind share this name, yes?”

Another chirp. The chocobo craned its neck around and tucked its beak into its feathers, grooming. 

The Vath Birdkeeper nodded. “Such is the way of the Onemind. It is the way of the Vath to be individual, and this is what we wish for you, too.”

The red earth of the Forelands was taking on an even more fiery hue, and the shadows were growing long. As its companion went about its after-meal preening, the Vath Birdkeeper reached up and adjusted the saddle and its straps, checking that it was resting comfortably and securely. 

“Something you are skilled at…” the Vath Birdkeeper mused, next checking the straps on the simple pack and bedroll behind the saddle’s cantle. “You are very skilled at eating these greens. Indeed, very skilled.” The Birdkeeper peered around to where its companion’s head was still tucked. “Maybe we will give you the name Greenseater,” it ventured. 

The chocobo lifted its head, stretched its neck forward, and gave a short, shrill retort.

The Vath Birdkeeper winced. “I see. You do not like the name. Well, we are–” it tilted its head, hesitant, “I am–not called the Namegiver, and it seems this is for a reason.” 

It gently inspected the reins on its companion’s beak. “But you and I will come to an amicable solution, yes? An amicable solution.”

The chocobo bobbed its head. As the Vath Birdkeeper stood there, lost in the dilemma of a suitable name, its companion scratched its talons against the earth restlessly and prodded at the dirt.

“You are also very good at finding things in the soil. Perhaps… Earthdigger.”

The chocobo eyed them.

The Vath Birdkeeper’s shoulders slumped and its head bowed. “We will think on it further while we are on the road. Come.”

The chocobo obligingly knelt, and up into the saddle the Vath Birdkeeper swung. Its feet still scrabbled a bit at the stirrups, but it was careful not to accidentally scratch its friend, as it had done the first time the kind hunters at Tailfeather had tried to show them how to ride. 

“You know the gysahl green, but do you know about the others?” the Vath Birdkeeper asked, as they left the shelter of the forest for the open expanse of the Wastes. It nudged the chocobo’s flank and gently tugged on the reins, directing attention to a cluster of sprigs poking out of the ground a few paces away. Though the Wastes were very dry, the long leaves shone as if they were wet with rain.

“This one is called silver dew. The dragons find it noisome, yes, very noisome. We light our censers to keep them away.” The Vath Birdkeeper looked to the open sky, clicking its mandibles. “We appear to dragons a tasty snack. A tasty, savory snack. Crunchy on the outside, gooey on the inside. We find this thought distressing, so very distressing.” 

The chocobo shifted its gait, sensing its rider’s unease. A boon of these birds was how well they came to understand both words and nonverbal gestures, but the Vath Birdkeeper had to remind itself now to still its nervous clicking. Being able to understand a Vath’s feelings, the Birdkeeper thought, was not always helpful for either of them. 

“We will protect you from the dragons with this noisome silver dew,” it said, patting its companion’s neck. “They will not take you for a snack if you smell of it.”

Its companion whistled happily, and although the bird’s strides lengthened as they traveled, the pace remained leisurely. Similarly more at ease, not least of which because of a sky unclouded by any Dravanians looking for a meal, the Vath Birdkeeper took in its surrounds with a more inquisitive eye. 

It had always known these lands, but the idea of stopping and looking at this place for its beauty–or for anything that wasn’t food or a threat to the Onemind–remained new, even moons on. Every day, it found new things to simply look at, and marvel. It was glad its boon companion also had an appetite for the sights of the world, for even short journeys tended to become twice as long with the Vath Birdkeeper in the saddle.

The sun was only halfway behind the mountains, its light slanting long, and so the Birdkeeper consoled itself that the Vath of the guild could at least not scold them for arriving home from their journey after dark again.

The setting sun’s orange hues reflected off of the Vath’s carapace, but its companion seemed to simply absorb the color, lending its feathers a fiery glow.

“Sunkeeper?” the Vath Birdkeeper asked, surprised by the serendipity of inspiration. “Your feathers shine like the sun, they are so very golden and beautiful. Like you have captured the rays in your coat.

“If you do not mind sharing part of a name,” it added. “The hunters share names sometimes. They have a special word for it. We think it is ser-names. They put them in the front on some occasions, as with ‘Ser Jantellot.’ It is clearly respectful, yes, very respectful. But we have noticed that the ones who share names placed at the end are very close, like family.”

The Birdkeeper’s companion did something unusual then: it wiggled, its feathers puffed out not with displeasure or anxiety but with pride.

“Kweh!” it trilled.

“Sunkeeper,” the Vath Birdkeeper nodded, satisfied that its companion was satisfied. “Your name will be Sunkeeper.”

[jocia92]

Dan Stevens couldn't say no to Godzilla x Kong: The New Empire. Part of the reason was that he loved the character he got to play; the other part was that the role was literally written for him.

"Adam Wingard, the director, and I have been good friends since we made The Guest. We've been talking about many things over the years but not nearly on this scale," the British actor explained. "Usually, they were weirder, indie-sized things that have yet to come to fruition, but then Adam started getting into these big blockbuster movies. I loved what he did with the last one, but with this, I think it's fair to say that he and Simon Barrett, who also wrote The Guest with Adam, created and wrote Trapper with me in mind, hoping that I would be lured in. Honestly, it wasn't hard for them to lure me."

... Unlike frenemies Godzilla and Kong, Stevens and Hall have been firm friends for decades, which is one reason he thinks they work so well on screen.

"I loved working with Adam again, but Rebecca is involved here, and I've known her since we were about 18 or 19. We were at college together," he enthused. "Brian Tyree Henry is someone I've been friends with for many years, but we've never worked together. I adore him, and I think he's a fantastic actor. To get to come and essentially play with a group of friends in such a fun world was pretty automatic for me to say yes."

"Rebecca and I were roommates after college, but at university, I think the only thing we did together was a production of Macbeth, where we were Mr. and Mrs. M. One of my first professional theatre gigs was working for her father, Sir Peter Hall, on a production of As You Like It. We also did a movie called Permission a few years later when we were both living in New York. We go way back, so it was lovely to step into this with such an old mate and have another mate direct it. We had a huge amount of fun on and off screen, which I hope comes through the lens."

While Stevens wouldn't call himself an aficionado of Godzilla or Kong lore, he has been drawn to it since childhood.

"There was that big Godzilla movie in 1998 with the Puff Daddy track. It was prime teen time for me, and I remember seeing that in theaters," the actor recalled. "There was also the Peter Jackson King Kong movie a few years later, so the two definitely loomed pretty large in my adolescence. Also, being aware of movie history and Godzilla being very much part of that fabric, particularly the B movie world. If you look at any books relating to the history of sci-fi, whether it was Mechagodzilla or whatever, I was always aware of that."

"With so much Godzilla content out there right now, it's a great time to talk about it. The mythology endures, and it endures for a reason. It has something that speaks to our age, whatever that age is. Ever since it was created, it seems to resonate in the world."

Stevens wanted to work with Wingard again since they made The Guest a decade ago, and he recalled how his filmmaking friend sold the concept to him.

"He described the scene where Trapper goes and commandeers the HEAV, which stands for Hollow Earth Aerial Vehicle, and flies it into a flock of creatures that are humming with dangerous electricity that fly through and become sort of instrumental in the climax of the movie. He basically narrated that scene to me, and it sounded very cool," he said. "Then I read the script and to introduce a character by having him drop 60 feet off a crane into Kong's mouth to help take a tooth out, I thought. 'That is a cool way to introduce a character.' I wouldn't say the whole thing is me, but there's something in Trapper that I enjoyed bringing out in a world like this. You've got a character who's optimistic, pretty happy-go-lucky, unfazed, seen it all, and he's been around the block, and he's not going to be too freaked out by anything. That's always a nice character to have in the mix in a team-up movie like this. The whole thing was a privilege to step into a character like this that felt so easy and comfortable and do that with such great people."

Stevens knew exactly what real-world and pop culture references and influences he wanted to use to bring Trapper to life.

"A man-child was a big touchstone," he laughed." There's a sprinkling of Ace Ventura in there, and a bit of Dr. Doolittle and Bear Grylls is probably in there, too. There are a lot of fun characters in the mix. I liked the idea of this very optimistic Brit because we're not always known for our optimism. Trapper is a reasonably international character. He probably left the UK when he was quite young. We definitely had a scene where he told a story about his time in Africa, which didn't make the movie's final cut, but it gave us some context. He's been to the jungles and the desert; he's an adventurer and has that element of being pretty chipper in the face of enormous peril."

The actor, also known for Downton Abbey, Beauty and the Beast, and Eurovision Song Contest: The Story of Fire Saga, thinks Trapper has more escapades to enjoy. Like Hall, he'd love another appearance in the Monsterverse franchise, whose first four films grossed $1.96 billion worldwide.

"The adventures of Trapper would be wild, whether it's a prequel or a sequel," Stevens enthused. "I would love to see more of Trapper, and I'm very touched that you said that. He's a character I enjoyed, and I think you could send Trapper almost anywhere, and it would end up being fun, funny, and weird. There's plenty of story there."

The actor reveled in Godzilla x Kong: The New Empire's visual and sonic designs, where Wingard, a director not shy to rave about his love of the 80s, leaned into the era and what it offered creatively.

"There was definitely artwork he'd created going in that they had in what they called the War Room. Wall-to-wall, there were designs of all the creatures and the worlds we would see. A lot of the time, that's green or blue screen effects that we're not really seeing, although some of the sets were real, and sometimes we were going into the jungle," Stevens recalled. "That's a hallmark of Adam Wingard, the Vaporwave synth soundtrack, the blues, purples, and pinks in the lighting. There are so many great 80s movies infused in there, as well as anything from John Carpenter and maybe some John Woo. You're in good hands when you're with Adam because it will be steeped in great and authentic movie references, have a great soundtrack, and look cool. That allows you to relax into whatever you're doing and throw yourself in. The outcome is just a wild ride."

The actor isn't just grateful to be reunited with friends and creatives he adores and admires; he's also happy that it falls during the tenth-anniversary celebration of the first film he and Wingard made together.

"I didn't realize it was ten years, but I knew it was coming on for that. They did a fun thing last April as kind of an April Fool's gag but also kind of not? They released a soundtrack to The Guest 2, which absolutely slaps. Adam is a huge fan of many of the bands invited to contribute to the first film's great soundtrack, so he invited his favorite synth acts to contribute a track to a fake sequel," Stevens explained. "They issued an LP of it, and I think Adam and Simon had worked on an outline of what this movie might be. They issued that to these various artists who had composed some great music. It really is a good standalone album."

He concluded, "The Guest is still finding an audience, and that's delightful. You can't expect that from everything you do, but it's special when one endures like that. I'm particularly fond of it. It came along at a particular time when I had an appetite to do something very different from what I'd done previously. It ticked a lot of boxes and challenged me in several ways. It stays out there as a great calling card for the kind of weird things that I like to do. I don't know if there will be a sequel to The Guest specifically. I know they've got various plans, whether it was a mini-series or a movie, but I certainly hope to work with both Adam and Simon again in some capacity, so never say never."

[honey-minded-hivemind]

Imagine...

An 🪶Avian AU

Yes! An Avian AU! Where instead of being mutants, the X-Men, Brotherhood, and their friends and foes (who are mutants) are part bird!

Now, we have different bird wings, bird talents, and bird talons for each different type of mutant. For the feral/beastly mutants, we have larger birds of prey. For the psychics, telepaths, and generally smart/ingenious/creative mutants, we have the likes of parrots, parakeets, and budgies. For faster/coordinated mutants, we have things like the falcon birds of prey, or the likes of hummingbirds. Witch/sorcerer-like mutants are more akin to the likes of ospreys and large waterbirds, such as cranes, storks, and herons. Mutants with abilities like fire, energy, sparklers, ice, and the like fall into the songbird/woodland bird categories, ranging from wrens to crows to bluejays to cardinals. There are so many options, and there are just as many for the reader.

In the 🪶Avian AU, they tend to call their groups/family "flock". Younger avians are referred to as "hatchlings", "fledglings", "nestlings", and "chicks". Different species may use their respective bird species to refer to others, such as calling a young eagle avian "eaglet" or a young swan avian a "cygnet". Adults are very protective of their young, and will die trying to protect their flock from danger. Their territory is fiercely guarded and secured, unwanted intruders being scared off, or hostile ones killed. Nests are built in large rooms that are deemed secure, and are filled with whatever is comfortable/comforting, like blankets, sweaters, plushies, and feathers, and are usually large enough for the entire group. Adults can end up in a more primal mindset when too stressed or threatened, where they keep any younger members in the nest and attack any deemed threats. The same can happen with younger avians, who will go into a state of mind of where they seek comfort and hide from deemed threats. When in these states, both adults and younger members become extremely broody and cuddly towards whomever they deem safe/in need of help.

Different avians eat different things. Some eat fruit, some eat meat, some eat seeds and nuts, others eat fish and crabs. Some have been known to eat carrion, or even humans, if nothing else is available... Avians can mix up their diet, but tend to stick with what they know. Many are known to preen feathers, similar to actual birds, and can do it for each other if wanted or needed. Sharpening of talons can also take place for those who have them. Most avians' eyesight is better than humans, but some have been known to have poor eyesight or none at all.

Avians have been hunted down in the past for their feathers, and for them supposedly bringing luck to whomever can catch one. It was also known that if you caught one, they would likely kill you at the first chance. Avians can hold a grudge, and are not above doing what it takes for their survival, or their species' survival. It was considered much safer by humans to collect avian feathers rather than actual avians. Different feathers meant different things, and many rich and influential humans would have cloaks or fans made out of the collected feathers. Avians can speak the human languages, but also have their own language, comprised of chirps, clicks, caws, hoots, screeches, tweets, and warbles, a language that only a few humans have ever been able to translate.

Flying is important to avians. That is the highest freedom they have, and to take away their wings is considered a mortal sin, an act punishable by death. There are tales in different regions of foolish humans who injured young avians, hoping to take home a trophy, only to be met by their parent or flock, who would then tear them apart. Other tales speak of trying to take one for a romantic partner... those end just as worse, with endings ranging from the avian's original romantic partner slaying the human, their flock destroying the human village, or the captured avian themself ripping through their captor in a feat of rage. Avian folklore is filled with its own mythological figures, like the Cunning Owl, Wise Crow, Loving Dove, and Immortal Phoenix. They also take great pride in their abilities, whether it be fast flight, heightened senses, sharp talons, clever wit, or impeccable beauty.

With a bby, the platonic yans would all go a little "coo-coo". They don't care if their bby isn't quite the same type of avian as them, or how old or young they are. Once they've set their sights on them, they're fixated. They don't want anything to happen to them, and it drives them so close to slipping into their instincts whenever they leave, but, they'll struggle to remain normal. They don't want to scare them off. But, they don't think they can fight it for much longer...

[margojacksonpotter]

Part in BOSAS books that should have been in the movie

-Dr. Gaul used on Avoxes for her mutation experiments, combining humans with gills, feathers, tentacles, and other animal parts. Also, Dr. Gaul spoke in rhymes sometimes which just made her character even creepier.

-When Arachne was killed by her tribute, Brandy, Coriolanus was asked to sing the national anthem at her funeral. The tributes were also paraded on the funeral while Brandy’s lifeless body swung high into a crane. It was meant as a reminder to the tributes of what would happen if they tried to resist. A few weeks later, when two other mentors were killed in the arena explosion, a hologram of himself sang Gem of Panem to their funeral as well.

- The large crowd forming in front of the arena during the Games. People dressing up their dogs as their favorite tributes. People at the zoo making the tributes do tricks for food. It was all so disgusting and just added to the horrors of the Games.

-All of the scenes with Coriolanus in the classroom. They had such deep, profound discussions about the Games, war, humanity. I can’t list all of them but the students made interesting points.

-How Coriolanus got the guitar that Lucy Gray used it in her interview before the Game. He borrowed it from Pluribus Bell, a family friend. Pluribus and his partner used to own a bar pre-war but now make a living selling items on the black market. Pluribus loved Lucy Gray and gave her a standing ovation after her interview performance where she sang. He even wanted her to headline at his bar if he ever reopened one. He kinda reminded me of Cinna.

- There were only a few microphones in the wall of the arena so most of the time spectators were watching the Games in silence. The microphones could only pick up so much sound, so they had to interpret facial expressions or body expressions to understand what the tributes were doing. I understand for the purposes of the movie they couldn’t do that but it would have been interesting to see.

-Lucky Flickerman being absolutely chaotic: being completely oblivious to Highbottom’s snide remarks towards him, doing tricks with his parrot Jubilee, Jubilee flying to the ceiling and refusing to come down because Lucky’s theatrics were too much for him, looking uneasy at Dr. Gaul who wanted to do experiments on Jubilee, giving the weather forecast when the Games were too slow and making snow related jokes at Coriolanus’ expense, getting sprayed with a fire extinguisher on camera because his sprinklers set off the alarm. The list could go on.

- Though that scene of Coriolanus saying “I was just sending water” was very funny in the movie, it did not happen in the book. Coriolanus was about to send water to Lucy Gray to fend off Jessup who was rabid with rabies. However, Lysistrata, Jessup’s mentor, insisted that she send the water because that’s what Jessup would have wanted. She and Jessup had also become very close before the Games. As she sent the water to him, a single tear rolled down her cheek.

-The Games did not end after Lucy Gray sang to the snakes. There were still five tributes left. Heavy overnight rainfall and cold weather caused most of the snakes to die in the arena. Honestly it seemed like the movie just wanted to wipe out the remaining tribute to get the Games over with.

-Reaper!! What a complex character! This is the guy who, before the Games, personally apologized to every tribute for having to kill him. And he is the only tribute who didn’t have a single kill. Instead, he formed a short alliance with Lamina, tore the Capitol flag off the arena wall ( which caused a commotion in Heavensbee Hall) and made a makeshift morgue for the fallen tributes. I think the movie did an injustice by having him die off from the snakes. He and Lucy Gray were the last two standing. Lucy Gray, knowing Reaper was starving and had contracted rabies when Jessup spit in his eye, tired him out to death when she ran off with the Capitol flag he used to cover the other tributes. Then poisoned a puddle using the compact, knowing he’d drink from it, which led to his death. He deserved to have more of an acknowledgement. All the tributes did really.