#haunted places savannah

[ghostlytales]

Kehoe House, Savannah, Georgia

Set on Savannah’s Columbia Square, the Queen Anne brick mansion was completed in May of 1892 for William and Anne Kehoe and their ten children, a few of which died in the house. The building was converted into a bed-and-breakfast in 1992 and guests have reported hearing the sounds of children playing.

[wyrdhearth]

@wereveaux gets a shippy starter. savannah woodham ➵ alcide herveaux.

𝐬𝐚𝐯𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐚𝐡 𝐰𝐨𝐤𝐞 𝐮𝐩 𝐢𝐧 𝐚𝐧 𝐮𝐧𝐟𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐫 𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐦, and immediately was transported to her teen years, sneaking into the rooms of boys whose mouths tasted like whiskey and girls whose bodies were soft against her own. savannah's last hook up must have been.... four years ago. jesus, time flew by.

she groaned softly as she sat up, feeling around her face for her glasses –– sometimes, when she went a little hard on the wine, she fell asleep without wrapping her hair up, and they got tangled in her twists. but no –– her glasses weren't there. she glanced over at the man beside her, and in her honeyed drawl asked, ❝ mornin', you uh... seen my glasses anywhere? ❞

[paranormal-playground-podcast]

The Ghostly Legends of Savannah, Georgia

The ghostly legends of Savannah, Georgia, are renowned. This city, known for its charm and beauty, also holds many eerie secrets. Ghost stories and haunted locations abound, making Savannah a hotspot for paranormal enthusiasts. The Haunted Sorrel-Weed House One of the most famous ghostly legends of Savannah, Georgia, is the Sorrel-Weed House. Built in the 1840s, this historic home is infamous…

[mammonscheeks]

diavolo on a ghost tour

Imagine taking Diavolo to a human world destination that's considered "haunted," like one of those American cities that capitalize off cheesy ghost tours, like Salem or Savannah.

Imagine Diavolo earnestly listening to every word that escapes the unenthusiastic tour guide's mouth.

"Diavolo, you know these stories are fake, right? It's just a tourist trap," MC giggles.

"Are you sure, MC? This place seems pretty haunted to me! Human culture is so interesting, you all are fascinated with frightening yourselves intentionally!"

MC then realizes that if demons exist, it wouldn't be crazy for ghosts to exist either. So they cling onto Diavolo's warm arm for comfort for the rest of the night as he laughs away at the gruesome stories of murder and hauntings. Diavolo thinks it's adorable that MC seeks out his comfort, even though it's not necessary. After all, no paranormal entity would dare try hurting the Demon King's partner.

Diavolo then decides to gaslight the other tourists at the end of the tour by switching in and out of his demon form quickly. As his wings and horns flash for a mere millisecond, the humans run off screaming, causing the two of you to break out into laughter.

"Young Master... I cannot say that messing around with humans is recommended." Barbatos chimes in.

Plot twist: the ghost tours are real, and Diavolo can see every single one. He actually waved and chatted with a few ghosts.

[obxsummer]

selfish // ghost of you

navigation -- series masterlist

pairing: jj maybank x routledge!reader (she/her)

summary: covering the 18 months after el dorado, the pogues are home and are attempting to work through life back in kildare. you're dealing with your trauma setting in, and jj's usual reckless decisions are not helpful in the slightest. oh, and it's time to treasure hunt. again.

warnings: s4 spoilers! for episode one, violence, cursing, the usual obx. heavy mentions of trauma/depression/anxiety/ptsd.

-- So, you might be wondering. What happens after you find the lost city of El Dorado, get blown up, two of your parents die, and you’re stranded in South America with a sack full of gold? Let’s catch up.

First, you catch a ride back home, and you sleep for like three weeks. And then when you finally get back, you make peace with the fam… or not really. And after all the loose ends are tied up, the gold.

$1,172,549…Enough money to get you back on your feet and taken care of after what had been the most insane chase of your life. Pope was the mastermind that pieced together a plan and after a heated, overpriced auction, you stood in front of the old Maybank property that had been transformed into a dream. A surf shop, JJ’s new boat, a dock, and a house full of love and friendship.

Granted, things got iffy and your plethora of money dropped quickly (no thanks to JJ’s poor budgeting), and you were already tight in terms of keeping the business alive. So, you were laying low and helping where you could.

While you were glad to be home and no longer on the run, it didn’t keep away the haunting memories that followed. This was the first time since John B went missing that you’d been able to sit with your thoughts and try to process everything that happened. And it wasn’t easy.

“Hey there, sweet thing.”

You glanced up from your spot on the hammock, having been dozing in and out of sleep for a few minutes now. JJ stood in the doorway, his cutoff shirt framing his tanned skin nicely as you smiled up at him.

“Hi.”

He moved to meet you, lips pressing against yours in a warm, feverish kiss. The two of you had just spent the weekend away in Savannah, Georgia while the other Pogues placed the finishing touches on the property and store for opening. They were more than happy to send the two of you off for time away since you were both more touchy and lovey than you had been in a while. It was the vacation you needed and deserved.

“You coming to the race?” JJ’s voice was raspy and he sat on the netting next to you. It was the annual Kildare Enduro, one that JJ loved to get involved in and you loved to watch, but after his last biking accident, you were a bit nervous.

Your fingers messed with the hair behind his neck as you hummed in agreement, pulling him back down to your lips. “Not happy about you racing on that bike but yes, I’m coming.”

One of the few things you all allowed was for John B and JJ to pick out a new dirt bike, given the fact that you only had the Twinkie as reliable transportation. Now all three of the boys had their own, so as long as the van kept running, the six of you had a fair chance.

“You love me on the bike, baby.”

You chuckled at JJ’s words, giving him another kiss before rolling off the hammock to prevent yourself from falling asleep. “I love seeing you on the bike, J. Don’t love you racing on it.”

The beach was slammed with bikes, trucks, and tents for the racers and crowd of the day when you all arrived. You and Kie business yourself grabbing lemonade as Cleo and John B made sure JJ’s bike was ready to go. 

“How was your trip?” Kie asked as she shoved her reusable straw into the lemonade cup after politely declining the plastic ones the cashier had offered. 

You pushed your sunglasses up and sipped your drink as the two of you started walking back to where the Twinkie was parked. “So nice and peaceful. We didn’t do too much but it was a welcomed change in the chaos.”

Your eyes caught sight of Topper Thornton in his red racing gear, no doubt having a stare-off with your boyfriend. The thought of JJ out there racing against Kooks who clearly had a bone to pick with you guys didn’t help your anxiety.

Sarah thanked you as you handed her a lemonade before sitting in the back of the van which had been pulled up to the makeshift track so you all could watch. Being in this new rhythm had been so odd for you, especially after you started to make peace with the idea that you would never have this sort of “normal” again.

“Did you know?”

You looked up to see your brother, John B, staring back at you with a frustrated frown on his face. He had pulled on his racing jacket, which added to your confusion, but you could tell he was pissed at something. And just like that, things had gone to shit again.

You glanced at Sarah, who looked just as confused before shaking your head. “What are you talking about?”

John B sighed and stepped closer, crouching in front of you. His demeanor changed when you tensed, not knowing what was happening. “Did you know JJ bet the gold?”

“He what?” Your voice was deep and angry. JJ’s lack of self-control when it came to spending money had become severely frustrating for all of you, especially when he spent so much to reclaim his house when it wasn’t worth over half of it. “Please tell me you’re lying, JB.”

He didn’t answer and instead, got to his feet to grab the handles of his own bike that had been driven over.

“John B!” You set your lemonade down and quickly got to your feet as Kiara started cussing out JJ’s behavior, Sarah mumbling her agreement. “Are you serious?”

Your brother stopped short, his eyes searching yours as if he could say everything without speaking. He knew you were already anxious about JJ racing, and putting both of them in there was slowly becoming a fearful experience for you. It didn’t make you feel any better when Rafe settled into a spot next to Topper on his bike, revving his engine to make a scene.

“I’ve got him, okay? We’re gonna make it work.”

You didn’t say anything else, watching as he made his way to the starting line and leaving you between two heated girls who had their glares set on your boyfriend.

It had been hard for you to adjust after nearly dying multiple times while in South America. You’d had a lot of talking sessions amongst each other as a group to cope with it, making sure everyone aired all their emotions when they needed to. Even as though you were practically adults, life was still scary, and you’d had too many breakdowns to not acknowledge it.

JJ had taken most of the nightmares and sleepless nights you’d been cursed with, talking you through every bit of it until you would fall back asleep. John B did his best to pull you out of your head, clocking the look on your face when you’d get too deep and try to pull away. He meant it when he said he was working on being better for everyone, but especially you.

It was a process, but it was working. Slowly but surely, you were healing. It weighed on you mentally, but you were so appreciative to have the support you did.

So, watching the two boys you loved the most get into a race with people that hated you, was scary. 

“They’ll be fine,” Sarah reassured as she watched her own boyfriend pull his helmet on before adjusting his bandana around his face. “Does JJ ever think before he does anything?”

“No, never,” You were quick to answer, crossing your arms over your chest. “Not even once.”

Kie wordlessly held her joint out to you, which you took with no objection. This was slowly becoming a horror movie as they took off from the starting line, the roar of the bikes overwhelming as sand flew up behind them. You kept your eyes on JJ and John B as long as you could until they disappeared over the hill and into the treeline. 

“We’ve got some serious contact in the brush. Oh, and it sounds like Topper didn’t like Maybank crowding him there. Taught him a little lesson. Stuffed him like a turkey!”

You groaned, burying your face into your hands as the announcer covered the parts of the races you couldn’t see behind the trees. Not only was JJ losing, he was losing badly.

“It looks like they’re turning around the buoy. We’ve got Rafe Cameron still in front ahead of the group of riders. Cameron seems to have things well in hand. No mistakes and he should take home the Kildare Enduro. There’s Maybank bringing up the rear. Tough race for him and oh, he’s down again in the deep sand!”

Kiara groaned loudly this time. “Fucking shit, JJ!”

“Wait, what’s he doing?” You caught on to the fact that JJ wasn’t slowing down to make the left-handed turn that would put him en route with everyone else and instead had set his eyes straight ahead where the inlet met the track. “Are we seriously doing this again?”

Sarah grabbed your hand, squeezing tightly as JJ approached the jump at full speed. As much as you wanted to, you couldn’t take your eyes off the scene as he threw himself and the bike in the air, managing to catch the ground just ahead of Rafe.

“Holy shit!” Cleo yelled as JJ pushed forward, everyone bursting into cheers as he held the lead. The remaining racers turned the corner and you caught sight of John B nearing Topper, the two pushing each other for the next spot. 

Rafe managed to catch up to JJ quicker than you would’ve liked as they hit the final stretch. Things were looking up and you fought the glimmer of hope bubbling in your chest that this may all end up in your favor.

Until Rafe’s tire nudged JJ’s and sent both of them flying in the air. 

“Jay!” You were moving before you realized, only to get tugged back by Sarah and Pope from interfering as more racers caught up. JJ was moving though, and that was the only part you really cared about. 

John B came flying into view next, barely stopping in time to miss JJ’s crumbled form that was in the sand, which gave Topper the door to win. You couldn’t even care about that though, and as soon as the bikes cleared you were flying forward to your boys on the track. You made it to them as John B pulled JJ from the ground, your boyfriend shoving your brother angrily as he mouthed off. 

“Hey!” You yelled and grabbed JJ’s arm to move him as he tossed his helmet aside angrily. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

JJ shook his head and continued separating himself from the group. “I don’t want to hear it right now.”

“Then you’re going to fucking hear it later, JJ!” You shouted after him, anger overtaking your anxiety as the adrenaline wore off. So much could’ve gone wrong and you could’ve lost more than the money. You glared at him, angry tears burning your eyes as he continued to walk away as if it didn’t matter. 

“Hey, hey.” John B’s arm wrapped around your shoulder, tugging you back into his chest as he turned you away from the sight of your retreating boyfriend. “He’s fine, we’re fine. That’s all that matters.”

“Get used to it.” A raspy voice cut off your response to your brother as you shifted to see Rafe pulling himself off the ground next to you. 

“What’d you say?” John B’s hold disappeared from around you before he moved forward to confront the older Kook with a shove. “Nah, man. What’d you say?”

Rafe hit John B back, both boys ready to start a fight instantly before Sarah jumped in between them. “Hey!” 

“This is forever, alright?” Rafe screamed, backing up a few paces. His face was burning red with anger and you feared he would lash out right in front of you. “Y’all don’t get to win.”

You shook your head, placing your hand on John B’s shoulder to keep him back. “We never get to win, Rafe. In case you haven’t fucking noticed.”

“You could’ve killed each other!” Sarah yelled back at him as she continued to force her brother away from your group. 

Rafe pulled himself out of her grip and shook his head. “Yeah, like you give a shit. You gonna kill me like you killed Dad?”

Your eyes widened as Sarah attempted to defend herself from the comment, but Rafe had already walked out of hearing range. Your friends crowded around the three of you, JJ still in his own head behind the crowd where you left him. 

John B shook his head, running his hand through his hair. The last hour had really wiped him out, physically and emotionally. “We are so screwed.”

Kiara nodded in agreement, the displeasure evident on her face. “Yeah. We are.”

“Why are we screwed?”

The question coming from Pope made you sigh and dig your palms into your eyes in frustration. This was the worst outcome possible for something that was supposed to be fun. 

“Just come on, let’s go.” John B led the group back to the van as Pope pushed for an answer that none of you were willing to give yet. Kie busied herself tossing the lawn chairs in the van, John B taking a seat on his bike and replacing his helmet as Sarah waited for him. 

“Do you want me to get him?” Cleo asked you as she nudged her head in JJ’s direction. You followed her movement to see the boy cussing at himself, kicking sand, and throwing an angry fit.

It broke your heart, but you shook your head. “Leave him, he can come home once he’s calmed down.”

That was another thing that had taken a lot of time to figure out, was how to separate yourself from everyone’s emotions. You were such an empathetic person that you wanted to solve the problems and help everyone, but it had taken its own toll for so long that you needed to end the habit. JJ included. As much as you wanted to run over and hug him and tell him it was fine, it wasn’t. 

It wasn’t until you guys were back home, John B and Sarah following the van on his bike, that Pope approached the subject again. “Someone better tell me what happened before I lose it.”

Shoving the passenger door open, you forced yourself out of the car, knowing the rage was coming quickly. “JJ bet the last of the gold on himself for the race.”

Silence echoed for a moment. 

“What the fuck!”

--

The rampage of Pope Heyward was well deserved. The poor boy had done so much to try and extend the gold payout as best as possible and lost in every way. So when JJ resurfaced at Poguelandia 2.0, all hell broke loose. 

“I said it. I said it once, and I said it again. I said don’t touch the last of our nugget. That was it. That was the last of our savings! Do you not care?”

JJ spun around in a fury, his body scratched and dirty with sand from the crash. “Pope, you saw what happened, man! He stole it, okay? He cheated and he stole it. That’s not my fault, Pope.”

“Do you know how selfish you sound?”

JJ laughed, which just pissed everyone off further. “I sound selfish? I was trying to help us.”

“You helped us, you just cost us everything. Thank you!”

You curled into the sleeves of your sweater as you watched your boyfriend pace. How he thought none of this was his fault was crazy. “Jayj, why are you making it sound like you had nothing to do with it?”

He looked at you and all the anger disappeared from his face, leaving the vulnerable boy you loved so much with tears in his eyes. “Okay, babe. Babe. You know me. Okay? I was gonna bet it all. That’s who I am.”

Kiara scoffed from next to you, “You should’ve talked to us first! It was too risky this time.”

“And what were you doing?” Pope’s anger turned toward John B, who instantly went wide eye at the attack. “You knew he had it and you just let him race?”

“He told me last minute, alright?” Your brother attempted to defend himself but it fell on silent ears.

“John B, look, man. You were supposed to cover-!”

“I did cover!”

The arguing escalated loudly between all three boys until you covered your hands over your ears to block it out. You’d never faired well with yelling since everything happened with Rafe, and hearing it from the people you loved made it worse even if it wasn’t directed at you.

Cleo took one look at you and shut it down. “Hey, enough!” Her voice echoed around the space, effectively chopping the harsh words that were being through. “How bad is it, Pope?”

“How bad is it?” Pope repeated the question as he faced her. “We have a $13,000 property tax payment due in seven days. And we have zero working capital. There is nothing. And you took the last of our savings, so thank you.”

Silence followed the heaviness of his voice before he left you all outside. You winced at the severity of JJ’s actions, knowing these consequences affected all of you and it wasn’t like the hot tub episode at the Chateau where it was a rough purchase. 

JJ called your name, breaking you from your thoughts as you looked up at him. His eyes were still red and clouded with tears. “Baby…”

“I’m going to go for a little bit. I’ll be back before dark.” You didn’t leave room for argument, instead taking off in the direction of the dock where the HMS Pogue was. 

You weren’t trying to give anyone the cold shoulder, but you promised yourself you would try to be better about handling your emotions on your own. You needed to process and take care of yourself alone sometimes.

“Hey,” Pope’s voice was soft as you caught sight of him in the boat, looking out over the water. Seems the two of you had the same idea to come out here. He whispered your name when you didn’t answer or say anything. 

You shrugged, climbing in to sit near him as you pulled your sleeves over your hands. “I’m trying.”

“You’re okay.” Pope’s affirmation sent you into tears. Your knees pulled to your chest as you let out a shaky breath. He didn’t hesitate to wrap you into a hug, letting you cry softly. 

“I’m trying really hard,” You breathed out, hating how weak your voice came out. “It’s like the second a voice raises I shut down and-and-”

Pope held you tightly against him, allowing you to have time to get your emotions out. These panic episodes happened more often than you’d like since you had all gotten home an you felt so embarrassed for your friends to deal with them. 

“Just breathe, I’ve got you. I promise.” 

Pope had become an anchor for you since the moment that was shared on the plane to Orinocco. When it had been revealed that you felt left behind after John B disappeared, he took it personally to help where and when he could. You had always been like a sibling to him and it broke his heart to know you were struggling so much.

The two of you sat there for a few until you caught your breath and recentered. The air was brisk as you drove the HMS through the marsh, taking in the sunset as you did. As much as you loved JJ, you were disappointed he had made this decision on his own. He was trying to help, he always was, but sometimes it just didn’t go that way.

“I’m sorry about JJ,” You said as Pope slowed down for the final stretch before the dock. “I know he means well, but it doesn’t always turn out that way.”

Pope shook his head softly. “I know he does too, but his impulse will be the death of him.”

Unfortunately, you didn’t disagree.

--

The house was relatively quiet as you walked in, quietly thanking Pope before making your way up to your shared bedroom with JJ. You could hear the shower running, the light poking from under the door along with soft music that told you that Sarah was likely inside. The bedroom door creeked quietly as you opened it. JJ’s figure was sitting in your floating egg chair, the one thing you’d asked for at the thrift shop. 

“Hi,” You greeted quietly. He immediately looked up, relief flooding his body at the sight of you as he got to his feet.

“I’m so sorry, I-”

You held your hand up, intercepting whatever he was going to say. “Jayj, I know you are. And I love you, but I really don’t want to talk about this right now. Okay?”

His hope deflated but he nodded regardless. “Yeah. Yeah, okay. Um, Kie made salad. There’s leftovers in the fridge. I can… I can sleep on the couch if you want.”

You shook your head softly, giving him a small smile before wrapping your arms around his neck gently. “After today, there’s nothing more I want than to hold you and make sure you’re okay. So no, you’re sleeping here. Now come on, macho. Let’s clean up those cuts and get your ass to bed.” 

And then our luck turned, and the Outer Banks Sentinel wrote about us and our journey. They finally excavated the cave we blew up and suddenly, we’re heroes. It’s pretty weird, to be honest. After the ceremony, this old guy named Wes Genrette came up to us with a request. He invited us to his private estate to discuss his proposition. So, here we are. Eighteen months after finding El Dorado, on our way to Goat Island. Back in the G game, for what we hoped was the last time.

--

navigation -- series masterlist

a/n: and we're back!!! send ideas, send requests, and let the angst begin !!!!

[jamil-s-wifey]

If you're taking any scenario request. Maybe could I request funny/silly one where Leona and his S/O are married and live in the Royal Palace. Leona's S/O has gotten lost somehow in their own home and when found their response is "This place is too damn big I'm sorry!"

You have NO idea how much I love these types of fics! Wholesome crackheadedness at its finest✨ We love a spouse with 0 orientation skills. (I'd know, I get lost in supermarkets) This was ONE OF THE FUNNIEST THINGS I've EVER written. I hope you enjoy!

"What the actual fuck."

A turn here. A turn there.

Oh, would you look at that - the exact same vase you passed 5 minutes ago. But was that really the same vase? Or was it its evil twin, trying to further confuse you, only for you to get lost even more and die of starvation, eventually BECOMING ONE WITH THE PALACE...

God, whoever built this palace should have their head on a stake. Haha, that sounded a lot like the Red Queen of Hearts. Perhaps Riddle was rubbing off on you. You two did text occasionally since graduating from NRC.

Speaking of graduation, you married Leona. (yay!) And it's not like you weren't happy. Life was relatively peaceful. You two moved back to the palace. Arrangements had begun for you two to take over a certain part of Sunset Savannah, as something akin to a *Peerage. (They had their own name for it, you are currently far too annoyed to remember.) A lot of (semi-forced) communication set the road to reconciliation between the two brothers. (Admittedly a very long road. A road that puts Gulliver's travels to shame.) The Royal Family™️ accepted you with open hearts. (albeit a tad wary at first)

Really there was only one major problem.

The ROYAL PALACE IS LIKE A GODDAMN LABYRINTH. And that's rich, given your history of painting the white roses with Ace and Deuce in Heartsabyul's maze. So here you are, lost.

Scratch that.

Lost: again.

And all you wanted to do was find Cheka's room. You had a gift for the little cub.

"An architectural masterpiece, my ass. This is an architectural disaster. A disaster with a capital D. D for Vitamin D - what I won't be getting, because I'm trapped within these walls, where the SUN CAN'T REACH ME-"

Okay. Calm down. It's not that bad, sure there isn't a soul in sight, but you're bound to stumble upon somebody at some point, right? There had to be servants, or guards, or somebody! UNLESS! This is all an elaborate plan to get rid of you.

Aha! That must be it. The Royal Family wants you dead and they intend to make it seem like an accident! But Leona wouldn't allow that, right? He loves you! Dearly! You're his spouse, his one and only! Ah, cruel fate.

Is it just you...or are these walls moving in on each other. So this IS an assassination attempt! And you presented yourself on a silver platter. Good job, s/o. Splendid work. A royal for a few months and you're already about to be assassinated. Your name shall remain the book of "Dumbest ways to die." Goodbye cruel world-

"S/o."

Leona's voice rang through the empty hallway, "What are you doing out here."

Ah! And so tragedy was avoided once more!

"Leona, my LOVE! Thank God."

"Did you just- get lost in the palace... again?", his eyes read annoyance but his tone was teasing.

"It's not MY fault this place is so damn big, what do you need all this space for anyways? Indoor badminton? Hide and Seek or Die?"

"Definitely that last one. That's how we get rid of our enemies."

"AHA! I knew it! So this IS an assassination attempt!"

He simply rolled his eyes, pulling you towards him to wrap an arm around your waist and kiss you on the forehead.

"This isn't an assassination attempt. You did this yourself. It's called idiocy."

"You should build a better palace."

"What I should do is put a collar on you. With a tracking device on it. Like a pet."

"Oh, Leona~ Who knew you were into that~"

"Next time I'm leaving you here to rot."

"Then I'll haunt you to Hell and back."

He smirked, pinching your cheek as you were both making your way far from the cursed looping corridor.

"At least you won't be able to get lost."

"I told you, it's not my fault."

"Nah, of course not. The Palace is just cursed."

"EVIDENTLY."

You both knew this isn't the last time you'll be getting lost. And Leona was seriously considering the tracking device.

Perhaps he'd already ordered it too.

You were about to find out.

*Peerage - collective noun for titles like Duke, Duchess, Count, Earl etc. Comes from "Peers of the Realm" where one could hold one or more of these titles. It differs from monarchy to monarchy. THAT'S YOUR WORD FOR THE DAY FOLKS!

[drewlyyours]

Nancy Drew Quotes That Haunt Me:

- “the older your father got, Joy, the more he realized that life was made up of memories. he realized that even bad memories have a place in a good life” (Miles the Magnificent Memory Machine - CAR)

- “they hung Dirk at noon. I thought I would be glad but I ain’t.”

“The Harrison’s Yellow which Frances said was her favorite flower in the world is just a pile of brown stix now. I don’t know how to look after delicate things like that so it is my fault that it died… I ain’t seen or heard from Frances in a year. I tell people she is on her way home but when I look in my heart I know this is a lie.” (Meryl Humber, SHA)

- “Some women with noses that would put birds of prey to shame are perfectly content with their appearance, while others with perfectly acceptable features are convinced they are more hideous than Frankenstein. Self image– it can make people do strange things.” (Jean-Michel - DAN)

- “You watch this dark rampaging monster go tearing across the land, wrecking everything it touches, til all of a sudden, it ain’t there no more. Ya can’t go after it, ya can’t make it put everything back, ya can’t get even with it, ‘cause it’s just… gone. All you can do is stand there thinkin’… now that ain’t fair. That just ain’t fair.” (Pa - TOT)

- “You think you’re entitled to a straight answer? Who are you, Nancy? A stranger. You forget that too easily.” (Miwako Shimizu - SAW)

- “Saw Maggie on a walk today with her new boyfriend. She gave me a sad look, and there was something else there… was it pity? Am I to be pitied now?” (Alexei Markovic’s journal - ASH)

- "I can't help but wonder if they're misfortunate fools, or just addicted to Sunday clothes and the sound of a spade takin' a bite out of cold clay."

(Savannah Woodham - GTH)

- “I wanted to be her when I grew up. But then one day I was older than my older sister, and older still today.” (Harper Thornton - GTH)

- “And I hear your song, whenever the world is quiet enough.” (Nancy, talking to her mom - SPY)

- "Family. People. That's what matters. The rest is useless noise." (Elisabet Grimursdottir - SEA)

And, finally, this nightmare from a dead soldier:

- “VICTUM INVIDEO SILENTE : The Conquered shall envy The Dead.” (Milo Penvellyn’s Coat of Arms - CUR)

[sqvishii]

I just reread book 2 so consider: Silver vs Leona love triangle. I think everybody always pays more attention to Malleus v Leona, but these two have my heart. Maybe Silver is impressed with the Prefect's calm under pressure, charisma, and strategic abilities when they rally Savanaclaw's students against their leader and defeat him long-range with magic from the stands (like having Ace try to blow away the sand with his wind to give other mages clear shots, and using standard fire shots to burn up the oily blot). (Sorry, I just like to play with the Leona OB fight in my head.) And when he wakes up, maybe Leona starts to respect the Prefect's gumption and smarts more, when they still put up a fight in the Spelldrive match and fulfill Azul's contract.

Yuu swears, all they did was defeat a couple of overblotting mages, and suddenly got a loyal, caring friend and a leonine prince hanging around them all the time. And now both are trying to invite them to their home for the winter holidays, glaring at each other all the while? What's a Prefect to do?

there would be three endings:

silver:

you'd be in briar valley, uhh- kind of dangerous place for someone without magical powers, but you can manage. lots of cliffs and mountains, you'd be in a.. cottage (I FORGOT,, BASTA ITS WHERE SILVER WAS RAISED), small and cozy.. or the castle (or something..), but no matter- silver is always there for you if anything happens.

during the winter holidays, you two would sometimes house a bunch of animals that bursted in one day and warm them up with magic.. or make flower crowns-

acorn bracelets.

leona:

wowzers, sunset savannah.

respect, especially if ur one of leona's.. "friends", you'd get along with some of his relatives and if you like kids (NO. NOT THAT WAY 🙏), you can always play with cheka! a ball of sunshine, you like him- leona doesn't.

during winter holidays, he just.. sleeps. what's the point of having you come over to his homeland, then? have you as distraction so that he can sleep and cheka doesn't bother him?

just kidding (kinda),, leona would drag himself to go with you if you ever go somewhere to watch over/protect you, even if it's a woman and he's kind of intimidated (because they are much physically stronger and more strong-willed than the men), he'll try his best to prove his worth.

EITHER.

GO AND HIDE IN RAMSHACKLE !!

you'd want nothing more but to spend the cold winter inside your dorm, raccoon in your arms while you do a certain activity and the ghosts that haunted you since the first day just.. roaming around.

but seriously, stay at the dorm, DO NOT go to the kitchen and get roped into another overblot.

[jaynovz]

In discussions about the finale of Black Sails, one of the things I often see is folks hard-focusing on Flint's fate, in an either-or binary fashion, usually presented as "Which do you believe-- that Silver killed him? or sent him to the plantation?"

Now, for posterity's sake, gonna mention a few things-- first off, that's simply not thinking broadly enough. There are farrrr more than two options here and I've come up with my share of the reallyyyyy bad ones for sure. Whatever your mind chooses, none of those are happy endings anyway, there are bittersweet, bad, and worse endings all the way down. (They are paused, they are in a time loop, and also all endings and no endings are happening simultaneously)

But also, the more cogent point is that, it doesn't actually matter what happened *to Flint* The story is... not actually about him at that point. We have transitioned from Flint as protag to Silver as protag, setting up for (the fanfiction that Black Sails has ended up making of, ugh, king shit) Treasure Island.

And so, I just, don't find it to be of particular interest exploring what we think Flint is actually doing or if he's alive for real. What is EXTREMELY interesting to explore though is how Silver's speech at the end to Madi is sort of giving Thomas back to Flint as a pacifier/comfort object, but how... Silver is giving Flint that thing in his own mind as his own type of pacifier/comfort object.

That's the REALLY chewy bit. What actually happens to Flint is not the purpose of that scene for me, of Silver's recounting of events to Madi. It's more about... projection. It's about how Silver is dealing with whatever happened to Flint/whatever he did.

And I just feel like it's missing the point to focus so hard on if Flint is alive or not.

He is the ghost of the story regardless, that's what's important. He's going to haunt the narrative for the rest of everyone's lives. No one has been untouched or unscarred by coming into contact with Captain Flint; he has a forever legacy. I'm not the first to call him this, but he's Schrödinger's Flint and he's staying that way.

But this?

"No. I did not kill Captain Flint. I unmade him. The man you know could never let go of his war. For if he were to exclude it from himself, he would not be able to understand himself. So I had to return him to an earlier state of being. One in which he could function without the war. Without the violence. Without us. Captain Flint was born out of great tragedy. I found a way to reach into the past... and undo it. There is a place near Savannah... where men unjustly imprisoned in England are sent in secret. An internment far more humane, but no less secure. Men who enter these gates never leave them. To the rest of the world, they simply cease to be. He resisted... at first. But then I told him what else I had heard about this place. I was told prominent families amongst London society made use of it. I was told the governor in Carolina made use of it. So I sent a man to find out if they'd used it to hide away one particular prisoner. He returned with news. Thomas Hamilton was there. He disbelieved me. He continued to resist. And corralling him took great effort. But the closer we got to Savannah, his resistance began to diminish. I couldn't say why. I wasn't expecting it. Perhaps he'd finally reached the limits of his physical ability to fight. Or perhaps as the promise of seeing Thomas got closer... he grew more comfortable letting go of this man he created in response to his loss. The man whose mind I had come to know so well... whose mind I'd in some ways incorporated into my own. It was a strange experience to see something from it... so unexpected. I choose to believe it... because it wasn't the man I had come to know at all... but one who existed beforehand... waking from a long... and terrible nightmare. Reorienting to the daylight... and the world as it existed before he first closed his eyes... letting the memory of the nightmare fade away. You may think what you want of me. I will draw comfort in the knowledge that you're alive to think it. But I'm not the villain you fear I am. I'm not him."

This is the speech of a man who is self-soothing, who is spinning himself a tale, who is projecting, who is coping.

and THAT is just, way chewier, innit?

[stonecoldholly]

Worldwalker

Summary - After witnessing a ritual at a pagan festival in her hometown, Sam suddenly finds herself in a world where magic exists and dangers far worse than everyday crime lurk around every corner. Accepting her unfortunate situation is one challenge; trusting these otherworldly beings to help her is another. As she uncovers the truth, she often finds that it leads to more trouble than it’s worth. Sam must navigate this new world, find her way back home, and restart her life.

With each passing day, they get closer to sending her back and while Sam dedicates herself to finding answers, Azriel finds himself drawn to her. Together, they search for the solution, but with the multiple rifts appearing across Prythian, rising tensions between courts, and the threat of a possible invasion looming, they are working on borrowed time.

With the weight of the world on her shoulders, Sam embarks on an adventure that only happens in fairy tales, but even the most exciting fairy tales have to end.

Warnings - None as of right now, this will change.

Word Count - 6,738

A/N - I meant to get this out before Halloween but time got away from me. This is officially my return to writing fanfiction and I am beyond excited. I hope you enjoy the story and feel free to comment, message, and critique as it makes me a better writer. Thank you for taking the time to read this as it means more to me than you will ever know. Please bear with me as I continue to refresh my memory on how everything works and what it is supposed to look like behind the scenes of posting, you'll notice I still have yet to figure out how to page break on here. Without further ado!

“Run boy, run! This world is not made for you. Run boy, run! They’re trying to catch you. Run boy, run! Running is a victory. Run boy, run! Beauty lies behind the hills.” Run boy run – Woodkid

Savannah, Georgia, USA October 2024

Savannah, a relatively small city nestled along the coastline of Georgia, had begun to awaken from the deep slumber taken during the hot summer months. With the ushering in of the cooler weather, more and more tourists returned to their hometowns and left the coastal city in the hands of the residents. When the latter half of the year finally came around, specifically September and October, Savannah seemed to come alive. The entire city shifted into a completely different energy. Gone were the dog days of summer, the half-naked people (both drunk and sober) stumbling along the old cobblestone streets, and the poor, unfortunate souls who dared to brave the original stone steps that connected Bay Street to River Street. In their stead, a welcoming scent of freshly baked goods and rich cinnamon danced on the cool breeze between the buildings, coffee shops overflowed with customers seeking a hot beverage, and the storefronts already pushing Christmas decorations out in hopes of being the first to rake in profits.

The very city seemed to have a heartbeat around this time of year. The Old Towne trolley tours that normally showed tourists the more historical locations downtown turned into hearse rides and ghost hunting tours. The magical and haunting energy of the old city pulsed as the sun went down, the oak trees drooping in Spanish moss reached over every street and park square, and the shadows that climbed along the historic cemetery gates only added a layer of mystery and intrigue.

They say Savannah was built upon graveyards. Everywhere a person steps in the downtown area, they would likely be stepping upon bones of those long since passed, having been relocated from their original resting place due to floods, hurricanes, and other disasters. Legend says that almost every house, business, and square in the city has a ghost story of its own, unique to the former residents who lived there and continuously embellished as the years passed on.

Perhaps that’s what draws people to this city. Savannah was dripping rich in history and had a way of accepting those who were just looking for something more. It had southern charm, incredible food, amazing people from all walks of life, and always something happening to entertain you. That’s not without saying it did not have its ugly parts but the way Savannah just seemed to call out to those who wanted something different in life was unlike anything that could be described, at least not accurately. However, it was the last quarter of the year when the city gave its mightiest call, reaching out to those who had questions in their minds. It caressed that small part of the soul of those who questioned life and who needed to seek out the answers.

Was there more to life than this?

Where is my place in the world?

Am I destined for more?

What was I put here for?

“It’s Savannah during Halloween season! We have to go. Do you know how hard it probably was to convince the churches to allow a pagan festival to happen?” A female voice yelled out excitedly from the front end of the small ‘Mom & Pop’ restaurant.

“They probably had a couple thousand reasons to look the other way, Mel.” Another female voice answered from the back end, her deep red hair coming into view through the serving window. “However, it’s not me that you have to convince, I’m down, it’s your fiancee over there who looks like he’s about five seconds away from completely crashing out.”

Melissa turned her head to take in her fiancee, who indeed was looking a little worse for wear, having the early morning shift for the Savannah Police Department. She sighed and turned back towards the serving window, “Poor guy has had it rough this past week. There’s been a lot of crazy things happening around town lately.”

A hum in acknowledgment met Mel’s ear, along with the appearance of food plates on the landing. “Doesn’t help that you won’t stop jumping his bones every chance you can. Maybe the guy can actually get some decent sleep if you and I go out.” Sam grinned while motioning to the three plates of food she made for dinner for her and her friends.

Mel let out a deep belly laugh, a smile stretching across her beautiful face as she took in the chicken parmesan and garlic knots, “Oh fuck you, Sam, I can’t help it if my man just oozes sex appeal.”

Sam made a gagging noise before disappearing behind the wall. Mel walked over to her fiancee, Josh, and relayed the plans for the evening while setting a plate of food in front of him. For a brief second, relief crossed his expression and Sam, who had just emerged from the kitchen, caught the look and snickered, causing Mel to roll her eyes. Josh cracked a smile, pressing a kiss to Mel’s cheek and brushing a strand of hair away from her face. “You two have fun and be safe; I’m going home and relaxing, I only ask that you don’t call me from the jail again.” Josh nodded in thanks for the food to Sam, who nodded back.

Mel whipped around to glare and point at Sam, who threw her hands up in mock innocence, her eyes wide and mouth agape to portray said innocence. “She’s the one who got into the fight, not me!”

“Hey, I was defending you! Ain’t no way I was gonna allow that guy talk to you that way. Ain’t no way.”

“And the firearm charge?”

“It was simply on my person.” Sam defended herself with a halfhearted shrug, grabbing her plate and joining the table. “I’m legal; I have a concealed carry and that charge was dismissed because of my paperwork. You gave me grief enough when you picked me up from the county jail.”

“Anyhow,” Mel interrupted before that particular conversation could go any further, sitting down at the table across from her man. “Maybe tomorrow we can go to the pumpkin patch? I heard there was gonna be hayrides and a corn maze.”

“The big one outside the city limits?” Josh asked while leaning back in his chair, chewing. He pulled out his phone as he did, tapping the screen to find what he was looking for. “If it’s the one I’m thinking of then it has a huge corn maze, it’s a lot of farmland out there.”

“I haven’t been to a pumpkin patch in ages.” Sam sighed, tearing into a garlic knot. “I think the last time I went was when I was like, thirteen? My mom took me the year before she passed.”

Mel grinned and grabbed her hand causing Sam to pull her garlic knot out of the way, thinking Mel was trying to swipe it. “We have to go, relive the good parts of our childhood for like, two hours.”

“As long as I get a candy apple, I’m golden,” Josh said looking down at his phone and waving his hand in dismissal. “Yeah, it was the one I was thinking of. It’s about an hour and a half away, so if we leave tomorrow afternoon at 3ish we’ll get there as the sun goes down. I just have to go to the station and finish some paperwork in the morning.”

“Being mindful of Savannah traffic, we’ll get there at the perfect time!” Mel exclaimed nearly bouncing in her seat. “God, I love fall!”

Sam smiled at her best friend as she watched the excitement spill out of her, Josh succumbing to the pure happiness that Melissa seemed to exude as well. It had been a long time for all of them to look forward to something. Having adult friendships was a delicate act of balancing your personal life and work life and still, somehow, making time for your relationships. In the midst of life’s chaos, going nearly three months and then a year without spending time with those you love sometimes felt like it passed in a blink of an eye. Life has a funny way of either pulling you together or tearing you apart.

Samantha and Melissa had met at a previous job, working in retail brought people together through combined suffering, after all. There was no other way to describe the beautiful friendship that blossomed between the two polar opposites. Melissa was a high-energy, outgoing, and excitable woman who always seemed to breathe new, unfiltered life into any situation she found herself in. She was the person you could count on to lift your spirits up whenever you were feeling down and to offer sound advice in the midst of turmoil. She had this childlike energy to her, a precious and beautiful soul that radiated happiness to those around her. She was the life of any party, loved being around other people, and couldn’t stand to see someone upset thus making it her personal mission to enhance their mood before parting ways. With her golden waves and bright, stunning crystal blue eyes, it was hard not to feel as if you were in the presence of the summer sun personified.

Meanwhile, Sam was her opposite. She was more fiery, headstrong, and opinionated, preferring to “strike first, ask questions later”. While she didn’t mind being around others, she liked the company of herself, having been alone for over half of her life. Her temper sometimes ran a bit too hot, always willing to defend those she cared about even if they were wrong, and took risks that were better left...not taken. She sometimes came off as sarcastic and rude but wasn’t intentionally vicious. With her darker clothes, sleeves of tattoos, and combat boots coupled with her attitude problem, she didn’t have many people rushing up to her to be in her presence. A loyal friend who would go to the ends of the Earth to ensure they knew how much they were worth it. Where Melissa was a summer day, Samantha was a stormy night; two sides of the same coin.

Josh was the perfect match for Melissa. She had met him at a party on the beach four summers ago back when the world was on the verge of going to hell. It was an instant whirlwind, the connection so deep and real that it even took Sam’s breath away. Josh and Melissa fell so hard in love with each other that even God himself wouldn’t be able to pull them apart. Sam could see the difference in her, could see the good it was doing for Melissa, and it warmed her heart to know her best friend was being treated the way she deserved after all the hardship Mel had gone through. Josh worked for the Savannah police as a detective for over six years. Meaning, that he didn’t have a lot of free time but every spare moment he had, he spent with Mel, and Sam by proxy. Josh was level-headed and calm, preferring to get all the information before making a decision. He was sure of himself, knowing his strengths and weaknesses better than the average 30-year-old would. Josh became the equivalent of the brother she never had as Melissa was the sister she was not blessed to grow up with. As Sam’s family was gone, they became the next best thing.

“Well, if we’re gonna go, let’s head out. It’s almost 9 o’clock and I’m missing the Packers game for you.” Sam said, standing up and walking to the drink cooler to grab a Sprite to go.

“Ah, you do love me.” Melissa teased.

“What? Don’t want to see the Eagles make cheese whiz out of your Cheeseheads?” Josh smirked, settling back in his chair and crossing his arms.

Sam raised an eyebrow, turning to face him as she threw two dollars on the table for her soda. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t hear you over our four Superbowl rings. How many do y’all have?” She tilted her head to look at him. “Oh, right, ever since y’all finally won one, you think you made it up here with the big boys.”

“Now, y’all please don’t sta-”

“At least we didn’t buy our championships.”

“Bret Favre wasn’t poppin’ percocets on the sidelines for all those years for you to say we bought our championships and Aaron Rodgers didn’t lead the Packers to the Superbowl within the first two years there. Get outta my face.” Sam said, waving him off. “While you’re wondering if we bought our championships, you should figure out why you go through quarterbacks as quickly as you do.”

“We fought hard for that ring, like Kelce said, hungry dogs run faster.”

“So hard in fact, you had nothing left to give and choked when facing the Chiefs.” She shook her head and gave him a mock pout, her voice dropping to a faux whisper. “I’ll be sure to contact the Eagles and confirm if they are available to be your pallbearers...just so they can let you down one last time.”

Josh, pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes, releasing a stressed breath of air from his lungs, muttering under his breath. “I swear to everything that is holy…”

Sam pointed towards the front of the restaurant while Melissa stood there with her hands on her hips, clearly over this argument. “Would that be ‘in vain’ or is that a form of ‘blasphemy’? There’s a church right there, we can go ask.” She took a sip of her soda before adding, “I don’t know why you’re so defensive, you started it.”

“And that’ll do it!” Josh threw his hands up and started to push the two women toward the door. “Y’all have a good time, don’t drink too much, keep your wits about you, and for the love of Christ, Sam, do not get into any fights. I’ll lock up the restaurant.”

Sam stepped down onto the sidewalk turning to face Josh and Mel following her lead, stumbling a little bit as she chuckled at her love. “I don’t go lookin’ for them, ya know.”

“Yes, but they do seem to seek you out.” Josh cracked a grin in her direction, handing his credit card to his girlfriend who took it and slid it into her wallet. Sam patted her holster on her hip, double-checking that her weapon was secured and silently letting Josh know that they would be okay. “Be safe. I’ll be at the house, bring me back some candy!”

Mel kissed him with a whispered ‘I love you’ before the two women bounded off down the street. Josh’s chanting of ‘Fly, Eagles, Fly!’ could be heard before the door of the restaurant closed behind him. Sam resisted the urge to throw her drink back at him.

______________________________________________

River Street was bustling with tents, vendors, music, food trucks, and performances by the time they made it the few city blocks. The cobblestone street was swarmed with people chatting excitedly about the upcoming holiday while snacking on the never-ending choices of food, desserts, and drinks. Vendors lined up alongside each other, the Savannah River a beautiful, glistening backdrop to the practitioners doing their workings, teachings, and demonstrations for the surrounding groups.

Of course, there were the faux pagan vendors who were there to simply sell Halloween-related objects and decorations. Harry Potter merchandise littered the tables and tents, gemstones both real and fake were scattered in dishes and bowls, and apparel tables had rock bands on their graphic shirts. It was clear which vendors saw this event as a quick get-rich scheme and who saw it as their livelihood. It was the latter that drew Sam and Melissa to events like these.

Magic had always intrigued Sam. Mythology, tarot, and astrology held a special place in her heart and soul as she was introduced to them at a young age by her mother. She remembers walking into her mother's bedroom and seeing a strange-looking mirror propped up on a table with purple candles on either side of it. Her mother had ushered her over, wrapping an arm around her small shoulders and letting her have a look, saying something she couldn’t understand in her ear. Sam would never forget that night as that was the night that allowed her to fall in love with magic and something other.

Perhaps that’s what brought them to the vendor down by the river.

A middle-aged man, who looked as ordinary and unremarkable as any stranger, was talking animatedly with his hands, gesturing back and forth between the crowd, clearly in the middle of his presentation. “The Wild Hunt! In mythology and at its basic explanation, is a chase. These figures would be hunted by the souls of the dead and they would need to escape and get to safety or hide.” The man explained, pointing to paintings and imagery to make his tale easier for the group to follow along. “It’s a well-known folk myth across Northern Europe; a ghostly leader and his group of hunters and hounds fly through the cold night sky and anyone found outdoors at the time would be swept up into the hunting party involuntarily.

“Most often in the tales,” He went on as he pointed to a painting that looked like the Norse god, Odin, and a hunting party behind him as he led the charge through a forest. “The Hunt was not seen – only heard- typically by the barking of Odin’s dogs or the forest growing deathly silent as a warning of their arrival as seeing the Wild Hunt was thought to forebode some catastrophe such as war or plague, or at least, the death of the person who saw it.”

Sam took a closer look at the paintings as the man motioned to a painting depicting what looked like a warrior woman running through woods, a gang of ghostly figures behind her, lunging forward to grab her but not quite being fast enough. The paintings, she could have sworn, seemed to move. “It is said that if the Wild Hunt catches you, you will be taken to the underworld or the fairy kingdoms,” A few teenage boys snickered. “In some instances, some people's spirits could be taken during their sleep if they had witnessed the Hunt.”

“So, you mean to tell me,” One of the teenage boys started, “If I see a ghost, they’re going to grab me and take me to a fairy kingdom?” He scoffed and Sam fought the urge to roll her eyes. Mel just sighed and shook her head. “Will I be a King if they do?”

The man, ever patient, shook his head with a smile. “No, that’s not what I am telling you. Back then, when people had no other sources of information but their legends, stories, and upbringing, they believed in multiple gods, worlds, and creatures both good and bad. If their crops didn’t fare well that year, they sometimes believed they were cursed by a god or a creature from their lands who had sabotaged them. They needed explanations for what they saw, witnessed. Folklore sought to bring understanding to what was unexplainable at the time. Who's to say that it didn’t happen? Who's to say that it doesn’t still happen?”

The boy looked ready to retort, but the stranger carried on without giving him time to form a response. “Just because you do not believe it, does not mean that others do not believe it. Where do you think the stories of the Bible come from? Old wives' tales? Traditions? All these stories, these legends, came from people who believed what they saw and retold them for generations and generations. Yes, the details do change a bit but they all come from some facet of truth.”

The boy snapped his mouth shut and seemed to reflect on what he had said. He was right in a sense and while the boy probably had multiple arguments against it; he didn’t voice them because he knew there was something in the way the man held himself, how he said it, that told him it was true.

“Some mythologies believe the Wild Hunt falls around the same time as our Samhain, or Halloween, others believe it to be around the Winter Solstice, or near Christmas.” He continued on as if the brief disagreement didn’t happen and handed out a little booklet. “You don’t want to be outside when the ghostly procession of the Wild Hunt surges past. You may be sucked into their dark frenzy, with or without your body along for the ride.”

Sam smiled and took one of the booklets, thanking him in response. Mel did the same and started to leaf through the pamphlet detailing more about The Wild Hunt. Sam couldn’t help but look at the paintings again, the winged beings striking against the sky above with what looked like a human army below them, weapons drawn and aiming for the ghostly host. It was incredible to look at, the paintings seemingly coming to life the longer she stared. A shiver ran down her spine and a metallic taste coated her tongue.

“A ritual….over...right there.”

Sam turned around at the voice she heard, catching the couple down the sidewalk who were having a conversation. She nudged Mel, who looked up confused. “Huh?”

“There’s a ritual happening, that couple said it’s happening over there.” Sam nodded her head in the direction the couple had indicated.

Mel furrowed her brows, looking at the couple and then back at her friend. “You heard them from all the way down there? They’re like...30 yards away.”

Sam shrugged, not thinking much of it. “I only heard snippets and filled in the rest with body language.”

Mel shook her head but nevertheless dragged her in the direction she indicated. “You and your weird hearing.”

Whatever it was that Sam had expected to see when getting to the ritual, did not even come close. The second she crossed into the cluster of people, she felt an energy in the air, and the metallic taste got stronger. Her whole body seemed to respond, vibrating in response, warmth settling in her belly and chills breaking out along her skin. One glance at Mel told her that she, too, felt the shift and her body was at a loss as to what to do.

The moon was vaulted in the sky, shining brightly above the Talmadge Bridge; the light pollution blocked a lot of the stars from being visible. A heaviness seemed to settle along the river and the air was getting thicker. The flickering heat of the small fires scattered around in a circle attempted to chase away the goosebumps rising on the surface of her skin. There was an uneasy shifting of the crowd, some dispersing altogether to try and outrun the energy their bodies clearly were not comfortable with. Sam couldn’t blame them, it was intense. It was one of those moments that you knew you were witnessing something real, without a shadow of a doubt. The very air told your bones to sing, to rise, and join in. The flames beckoned you closer, ensnaring your senses and holding you and your attention hostage and Sam was no different.

It was mesmerizing to watch the participants. The way the fire danced in the center of the circle and seemed to reach out towards the torches in their hands. Their steps were effortless, so graceful it almost hurt to watch how they glided around each other, seamlessly weaving in and out from between the other and flowing towards that centerfire. They went around and around, spinning in a fluid dance, almost willing the fire to rise higher and dance with them.

An older woman, dressed in a long, tweed skirt and simple white tunic, spoke in an old language that Sam couldn’t begin to decipher. Her voice was steady and soothing, reciting the ritual's dialogue as if it was secondhand nature to her, and perhaps it was. The smooth tone of her words completely enraptured witnesses who had stopped to watch, a lot of them clutching their chests and staring wide-eyed as if their god would come down and strike them where they stood for just witnessing this act.

But Sam was spellbound, completely at the mercy of these women spinning around the fire and singing in a language that clearly no one else understood. Whatever the words were, it was awakening something buried deep inside Sam’s bones, something long forgotten or hidden. She stepped closer to the ritual, her eyes unblinking as she lost herself. The women in the twirling circles were blurs around her, the older woman’s voice turning into a murmuring the longer she stared, daring another step towards the ritual.

Come. Come. Come.

She would. She would answer the calling that seemed to tug her closer to the dancing, the music, the voice. It held such promise, such hope that Sam felt the urge to barrel forward into the dance. Such a longing ached so furiously in her chest that it caused a sliver of fear to drop into her stomach.

Come. Come. Come.

It was a whisper, a soft plead. It grabbed hold of her gut and tugged her along, closer, closer, closer. She couldn’t resist the call, not even if her life depended on it. It was like her body wasn’t her own anymore; that it was moving on its own accord and every signal sent from her brain was being intercepted by the energy in the air, diverting it to the ether.

Come and find what you are looking for.

She didn’t even realize she had stepped out of the crowd, almost falling into place with the women who had stopped dancing around the fire and had their hands lifted up towards the night sky. The woman was still speaking but if Sam didn’t know any better, she would have sworn the woman was speaking directly to her; that the language she didn’t understand just a minute ago, were words spoken as clear as day.

It’s waiting for you. A blessing from the Mother.

A burst of color exploded behind her eyes and she stumbled back into the crowd, clutching her head as ringing echoed in her ears. The fire in the center of the dancers flared higher and brighter and a collective gasp was released by participants and witnesses alike but Sam was trying to get her vision back, to shake the underwater feeling that seemed to swim in her ears.

Mel rushed forward and grabbed her arm, spinning her around to face her in alarm, “Are you okay? What the hell was that? You could have gotten hurt!”

Sam rubbed her eyes to clear the kaleidoscope of colors racing through her sight, “I-I don-”

“You almost walked righ’ into the performance! What’s gotten into you?” Mel asked as the southern accent she tried so hard to mask slipped through. Her eyes narrowed as she took in her friend's bewildered expression. “Are you alrigh’?”

Sam reassured, rubbing her eyes and running a hand through dark burgundy hair, the firelight enhancing the deep purple hues. “Ye-yeah, I’m good. Fine.”

Mel stared at her for a few seconds longer, assessing the lie for what it was but nodded along. “Let’s grab those mini pumpkins we saw and head home. I know damn well Josh doesn’t expect me to carry three fully grown pumpkins back home at nearly midnight.” She said in a huff before stalking off towards the pumpkin vendor’s tent down the river.

Sam had enough time to force a chuckle at her and once she was down the sidewalk, she looked up at the woman who had been speaking during the ritual. Their eyes connected, old and wise blue eyes seemed to convey a message to Sam’s own bright green ones. A knowing gaze that made Sam bristle uncomfortably and rush after her friend toward the vendors still selling their wares.

Three mini pumpkins, a caramel apple, and an overabundance of candy were stashed into the bag that Mel toted down the cobblestone streets. Sam was uncharacteristically quiet, her mind still reeling with the events that took place but Mel was trying her best to distract her, chatting aimlessly about whatever vendor she had gotten the pumpkins from. She could feel the beginnings of a headache creeping along her skull and she longed for a couple Advil and some caffeine to help chase it away.

“Sammi, are you sure you don’t wanna stay the night? You know Josh and I don’t mind.” Mel looked at her again, concern gracing her features and Sam felt her heart tug at the emotion there. “You’re more than welcome to the guest room.”

She nodded, nudging her shoulder against Mel’s with a small smile. “I’m sure. Trust me, all I need is my bed and the upstairs neighbors stomping on the floor to lull me to sleep.”

“Oh, you mean the herd of elephants?” She smiled, a little of that concern easing from her face. “I’m worried about you, Sam, something just didn’t seem right with you today.”

“I wish I knew,” Sam started, turning the corner towards Mel’s apartment. “I’m just as lost as you are.”

The night got a little cooler by the time Sam walked Mel to her door, Josh’s soft snoring wafting out from what Sam knew was the living room. She nodded goodnight, telling her she would text when she woke up and made sure she got inside and locked the door before she began her own trek home.

Sam didn’t live far from Mel, just down three blocks and a turn to the left, where a small (and outrageously overpriced) apartment is what she called home. Living in downtown Savannah, you had nearly everything at your fingertips and it was more of a hindrance to own a car than it was to walk. More likely to have it broken into, stolen, or clipped by a passing car as on-street parking was almost the only option, back alleys the second. No, Sam was fine with walking home no matter the time of day or night, having her own assurance of her protection secured to the waistband of her jeans or strapped to her thigh.

Her mind drifted back to the events of the night and what she felt afterward, her thoughts running near rampant with questions as she sidestepped a break in the cobblestones. She was doing her best to filter the questions and find logical solutions to them, knowing her own limitations of knowledge. While she was staring at the ground just ahead of her, she wasn’t exactly paying a lick of attention.

Did I really witness a ritual, a real ritual? What was it for? Sam definitely believed that what she saw was the real deal and not what movies try so hard to replicate. The air itself had felt different as if it had come to life, not to mention the effects that it had on her body and those around her. She also didn’t know what it was for, having missed any possible explanation by staring at the flames.

The strange colors? She ruled out a brain tumor or aneurysm a while ago. Perhaps it was a migraine, her head did hurt.

Why did I hear a voice? Perhaps it was just her mind filling in the missing information? Provide a reason why for stepping forward and entering the sacred ritual circle? She talked to herself all the time so she knew what that sounded like in her head, but that voice was different.

But why did I enter the circle? Why did I listen to the voice? She felt called to step forward and she did. She answered the call that her body was singing. She had completely lost control over her motor functions.

It doesn’t make sense, something isn’t right. No, she knew something wasn’t right. Why else would she suddenly have what felt like an out-of-body experience?

Something isn’t right. Yes, she already covered that and was aware that something wasn’t right. She wouldn’t pretend that the entire event didn’t scare her, or make her nervous. As of right now, she felt like she was going to jump out of her skin simply by running through what happened. Memories of the ritual flashed through her mind's eye and she suppressed a shudder, the cold sliver of fear settling down in her gut again.

Something is wrong.

Sam stopped walking and looked up from the cobblestones, instantly alert. The street was silent, eerily still, not even a rustle of leaves or a squirrel running along the branches. The breeze stopped and the trees seemed to rear back, pulling themselves away from their natural tilt towards the street. The silence became deafening and Sam turned around to look down the block. Only the lights from the lampposts and shadows met her.

Even though she was alone, something was indeed wrong.

Sam discreetly patted her hip, finding comfort in the heavy weight of metal that consisted of her Ruger. She took a deep breath and continued her journey, never changing her pace as she made her way home. Sam looked at every reflective surface as she passed, trying to get a look behind her while keeping calm. Store fronts, car windows and mirrors, even the shiny gloss layer on the street signs; anything that could aid her in figuring out what was going on as she tried to keep her head.

Clearly, she was either being watched or followed, or both. It made her as uneasy as she had ever been, even with her surefire protection on her. Every intake of breath felt like it was being stolen from her. Her mind wanted to run rampant with anxiety but she willed herself to remain as calm as she could. She needed to stay calm and aware.

It wasn’t until she hit the corner of the square that she felt the immediate urge to run. The intensity of it nearly sent her heart into a wild gallop and her hands started to tremble with the building adrenaline. The sudden feeling lit a fire under her skin, she couldn’t recall making the conscious decision to run but within a split second, she bolted into the square. Dodging trash cans and benches, weaving around trees, and out onto the other side where she took off like a bullet down the cobblestone street.

The intense fear slammed into her body, her legs carrying her as fast as they could and her lungs squeezing every ounce of air out and greedily sucking it back in to fuel her mad dash. She needed a place to hide. She couldn’t go back to her apartment and she wouldn’t go to Mel’s house either. She needed a neutral spot to take cover and wait out this unseen being. She needed to hide.

She heard the footsteps behind her as she ran down the road, skidding to a halt almost a half second too late to swing herself around a lamppost and accelerate herself down the street. The cobblestones made it difficult to run, bits and pieces of stone jutting up or the sand filling in between being nonexistent and creating holes. She did her best to keep her pace, her boot getting caught up twice, in the attempt to lose her pursuer. She was being chased by something she couldn’t see, but she could hear it. She looked down the alleyways and side streets as she passed, trying to find somewhere, anywhere, to hide.

She scrambled around a turn onto a side street and darted down the dirt-covered road. She could feel whoever or whatever was chasing her getting closer, almost like a sixth sense. She could feel the change in the air and knew they were almost on her. All they had to do was reach out and grab her, and if they did, she would go down fighting.

“I need a place to hide.” She breathed out, over and over again as she ran.

Her lungs were on fire and her side cramped but she continued to push herself to her limits. She cut across another main road and down into another side street, spinning herself into a turn towards an alley. Her legs kept pushing and burning while carrying her weight. Her arms pumping as fast as they could and her heart beating so wildly it was about to come out of her chest. She didn’t have anywhere to go, she wasn’t losing her tail, and she couldn’t run anymore. Her body was on the brink of giving out.

She didn’t have time to slow herself down or stop when she realized she was reaching a dead end in the alley. It was already too late. She braced her arms out in front of her, intending to take the brutal impact of her speed coming to a halt at the wall, but the surface rippled.

Sam didn’t have time to think about the shimmering boundary before she fell straight through it and into a void of emptiness.

_________________________________________

A ripple shuddered through Prythian. Feyre’s brow furrowed as she looked up from her canvas and Rhysand turned his attention to the windows overlooking Velaris. Azriel walked to the edge of the balcony, taking note of anything out of place along the Sidra, his shadows scattering away from him at his command.

Cassian set down his training sword as another ripple caressed the wards standing strong around the Night Court, scanning the skies; Amren and Nesta emerged from the House of Wind, glancing around as if something was waiting to attack them.

“What was that?” Nesta asked as Cassian stepped closer to the ledge of the balcony. His eyes searched the sky and the rooftops of the buildings below as Nesta came to stand beside him. “Are we under att-”

Another ripple trembled through the wards, and eerie stillness settled around the city. The birds from the cluster of trees down below took flight and headed north towards the mountain range.

“No, I don’t believe we are being attacked,” Rhysand answered as he joined his family outside on the landing, his eyes still overlooking the city. “But something is definitely wrong.”

“Az, anything?” Feyre called out to the Shadowsinger who had started to walk towards them.

Azriel took another look towards the Sidra as a shadow curled around his ear. “Nothing definitive yet, but whatever it is, it’s coming from the south.” He looked to the High Lord, his face settling into a cool mask as he awaited his inevitable orders.

Rhys hummed in agreement, nodding in the southern direction. “Take Cass with you, scout the territory lines to the southeast, Feyre and I will take the southwest section. Mor, send a message to Helion making him aware that we will be crossing into the Day Court. Thesan as well, just in case this takes us further south into Dawn than we anticipate.”

“Should we be alerting them to what we’re doing? Perhaps we should keep it among ourselves.” Mor responded as she rose from the bench.

“If we all felt that, I’m sure we are not the only ones.” Rhys replied, “Besides, it is common courtesy to inform them when crossing into their lands. I doubt Helion would mind, but until we know what we are dealing with, we do it by the book.”

Mor nodded and set off inside the House to write the messages to the High Lords as Azriel and Cassian tapped their center siphons to don their fighting leathers.

“Amren, monitor Velaris. Nesta, guard the House and keep Elain inside until further notice.” Rhys delegated as Feyre also disappeared inside the House. “All of you, stay on your guard, report back here by no later than tomorrow evening. Do not take chances until we know what we are up against.”

With that, he turned on his heel to follow his mate back inside the House. Azriel and Cassian immediately took flight. Cassian threw a wink in Nesta’s direction and disappeared through the clouds with Azriel, their figures fading in the distance as they headed south.

[italoniponic]

Long Live the Brother | Kingscholar brothers

Synopsis: Since Cheka was born, Falena became more aware of the fact that he wouldn’t live forever. Whenever he falls asleep in his most stressful days, he has this strange nightmare about a gorge and a stampede. As years pass by, the dream has gained more details to its story. Cheka is in danger and Leona is close to Falena, but he can’t help him — because he doesn’t want to.

Falena needs to do something about this premonition. As little as it seems to be.

kingscholar brothers / angst with hopeful ending / Lion King references / minor tamashina mina setting / ft. mention of ocs / 4,5k words / Masterlist

Notes: It’s been a while since I last talked about doing this fic but it’s finally here, folks. *sighs in tiredness* well, I asked people to vote for a type of ending so it took me a long time to write it all and come to a conclusion that felt… proper. Like, there’s room for good things to come, certainly. Hope you enjoy it!

Long Live the Brother

Falena knows he won’t live forever. It seems kind of obvious, especially when it comes to Afterglow Savannah’s oldest teaching: “we are part of the cycle of life.” It’s part of the birth-to-death cycle. Helping others in life and giving life to nature itself when one dies. To become grass, to be a spirit in the stars.

Falena thought about this a lot, especially on some extraordinary occasions in his life: the birth of Leona, the strong illness of their father and, even more strongly, on the birth of Cheka.

The kingdom’s people — among servants, guards and subjects — got used to the charismatic image of Falena. To them, the then-young king was brave and imposing, his strong smile shining brighter than the sunlight on the golden savannah. And it wasn’t a lie at all.

But there were things that troubled Falena’s mind many times. Shadows that have haunted him since the crown was placed on his head.

He was so young at the time and the books he had read during his education weren’t enough to guide his journey in the real world, where brilliant theories could fail at the first unpredictable element of nature. His father was also too debilitated to give any advice. Sometimes he barely recognized where he was in his own room.

Falena could only thank Heavens for having Maisha by his side, she being his most precious support all these years.

The couple had ruled together since they got married. They hit and missed all the obstacles in life together. Maisha was the only confidant that Falena could truly let go of his saddest thoughts and worries. She didn’t demand from him any perfection of his royalty. Maisha would let him just talk to her and it was those moments that made him happiest.

That had been their dynamic since they met at a diplomatic ball a long time ago. The then-prince purposely hid himself from Kifaji just to show the stars to the princess who befriended him.

And it was a mutual, strong feeling. Maisha wouldn’t trade Falena for anyone. Her love was true, overcoming any circumstances and problems they encountered along the way. Proof of this was the birth of Cheka. 

It was an unforgettable day. The kingdom celebrated it as if it were the sunrise after a long period of darkness, the rain after a long period of drought. Both of them were so happy with their little cub. Falena thought of Cheka as the light in his difficult life as king. Unfortunately, with the King’s health worsening, Falena found himself again thinking about life and death.

The shadows gained strength and that’s when the nightmares began.

It wasn’t constant dreams. They appeared mainly after a long and stressful day. When everything seemed about to fall apart, when the difficulties of the kingdom weighed on Falena’s shoulders.

It started simply with him lost in a crowd. People were running over each other, everyone was confused and frightened — and he was being slaughtered by all of them, trampled underfoot.

Then it switched to something else. Falena heard Cheka’s screams and desperately ran to save him. Sometimes he managed to get the little boy to a safe place on the rocks. Other times, they didn’t survive. But in either scenario, Falena would lose his life.

No matter what he did or how hard he tried, everything or only his life slipped through his hands. His son’s screams would turn to tears as Falena collapsed into his own unconscious sleep. It was tortuous. He wanted to answer his little one, to say that everything would be fine — but in what voice? With what kind of force?

As time passed, a new character came to his dreams: Leona. 

He almost always stood aside, just watching the scene unfold in front of him. But sometimes it was he who first warned him of the danger that Cheka was in, and with this, Falena ended up finding himself in the midst of that frightened crowd.

Whenever he woke up from these nightmares, Falena usually took a deep breath and tried to comfort himself in the fact that if something happened to him, Leona could take care of Cheka and Maisha in his place. Without a doubt, he would leave the kingdom safely in the hands of his younger brother. 

There was no other person Falena wouldn’t trust with his own life and that of the people he loved most.

Then, at a certain point, that nightmare repeated itself.

Falena had managed to lead Cheka to the rocks, away from the tumultuous crowd where he could be safer. But he himself fell among the stampede again. In a last effort, Falena jumped up and clung to a high rock.

Relief washed over his face when he saw Leona on top of that very stone, safe enough to pull him away from danger.

“Leona...! Brother! Help me!,” Falena pleaded.

But Leona only gave a contemptuous smile in response. With all the calmness in the world, he crouched down and dug his nails into the knuckles of Falena’s hands, making him scream in pain. 

  “Long live the king,” then Leona gave a long and dangerous smile like he had never given before, looking deep into his older brother’s eyes.

Falena felt afraid of the shade of green in Leona’s eyes. Green in the shade of poison, pure burning sulfur. He wasn’t his brother. Leona wasn’t like that! In front of him was just the picture others painted of him.

Falena heard so many times from the servants that this was who his brother was going to become. A corrupt, envious boy who would bring drought and disgrace to the kingdom. It couldn’t be! Leona wasn’t like that. He would never hurt Cheka, nor anyone. 

Or would he? 

Suddenly the pain in his hands had stopped. The distance between them increased. Was Falena falling? Leona no longer held him. He was watching his fall with a dark, victorious look. A scream was heard in the distance. Falena has never heard the word “no” pronounced so painfully before.

He wasn’t sure if it was coming out of his own mouth because the voice he was hearing was from Cheka. But Falena kept falling until he finally hit the ground and thousands of feet passed over him. The pain of being trampled on was nothing compared to his heart being shattered inside.

Falena didn’t want the crown if it meant leaving his son and wife alone. He never wanted to. 

Before he knew it, he had already left his brother once. He didn’t want to leave him again. 

His voice grew faint before the noise of the stampede above him. Both when he was young and when observing his kingdom, it was the only time when the people’s voice surpassed his light. What began with the servants losing patience with the young second prince, turned into real complaints and fear with his magic.

Falena didn’t know what to say to them. His brother was young, that was all. But as Leona seemed to worsen in behavior, Falena lost the basis to defend him. And with the accumulation of royal responsibilities, he lost sense of time.

One day, Leona was already a full-fledged teenager who didn’t have the slightest motivation to do anything. The chess that Falena taught him with great joy became a game that his brother played alone — because he had no one by his side and no one wanted to be near him. Leona acted as if he were a stranger in the palace, a being who didn’t belong there.

But he was part of the cycle, he was a vital member of the family. Falena still held that truth in his heart. At the end of the day, he didn’t have more time to bring him back? Was their bond already broken beyond repair?

What would be left of all this would be for Leona to let him fall over the abyss of death, more than content to see the color of his eyes shine for one last time? 

“Dad!”

Then Falena woke up. He was alive after all. His heart was pounding hard enough to be sure of it. The sun shone brighter than ever through the office window. He should have fallen asleep unintentionally. His rest time has been getting worse lately. Everywhere he went he had a problem to solve, and if he ever stopped to rest, he felt guilty for it.

But there was Cheka holding his arm tightly, jumping endlessly with excitement. His eyes let out sparks of joy. It was almost nostalgic — at one point, in a room full of books, another boy called his brother to take a break from his studies and talk to him a little bit.

“Dad! Uncle Leona arrived with friends!,” the little prince announced happily. “Can Naru and I play with them? Can we?”

Seeing Cheka smiling gave some cheer to Falena’s poor suffering heart, though the mention of his brother couldn’t have come at a worse time.

“Go with Monti and Zakki to talk to your uncle. I... I’m going soon.” 

“Okay!”

“Ah! Cheka!”

The boy stopped in his tracks when his father called his name, his orange hair with yellow edges swirling like rays of midday sun. He was the perfect blend of his parents, a gift from Heavens to them. Falena took him in his lap and kissed his forehead.

“I love you, son. Be careful, okay?,” he asked. His voice was a little hoarse.

“I love you too, dad!,” Cheka kissed his father’s cheek. “And don't worry! I’ll be with uncle Leona.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of...”

Maisha entered at the right moment when Cheka ran out of the office. She had overheard part of the conversation. And her worry only worsened when she saw her husband’s forlorn countenance. 

Falena held his face in his hands, trying to catch his breath. He couldn’t believe what he’d just thought about his own brother. His stomach felt heavy and empty at the same time. He was feeling bad in so many different ways that he didn’t even know where to start. His thoughts collided like an onslaught of hyenas, tearing at his flesh and gnawing at his bones.

“It was that nightmare again?” 

The desolate king felt his wife’s hand massaging his shoulder, conveying comfort and solace. Falena raised his eyes to Maisha, her presence always welcomed on any occasion.

She went around the chair where her husband sat to be closer to him, and he held her waist, resting his head on her belly as he did at the time when she was pregnant with their precious son. His hair of a strong and intense orange cascaded down, confusing itself with the dress of the finest fabric that his queen wore. 

Maisha caressed Falena’s head, patiently waiting for him to find words to express himself.

She never rushed or pressured him. She knew it wouldn’t do any good. Few queens in the world could say that they loved their husband so much that they wouldn’t mind supporting them unconditionally as Maisha had done for a long time.

They never changed, they just got stronger together. Maisha had the same long, naturally slightly grayish-beige hair with strong yellow tips and the kind, wise caramel-colored eyes she had when she was young. The eyes Falena most wanted to face at the moment.

The time that passed wasn’t as long as it felt. For Falena, it seemed like an eternity before he told Maisha every single thing that happened in his nightmare. When the story came to an end, husband and wife stared at each other in deep silence. 

“I failed Leona... terribly,” Falena sighed. “I’d let them say what they wanted of him…”

“Falena, dear. You always defended him the best you could, I know that. Leona... actually, you two are very complicated. All this palace’s life is. What they subjected to a fifteen year old and a five year old boy is unforgivable,” Maisha said.

“But there’s nothing else we can do.”

The woman bit her lip. She understood the feeling well, those shadows that haunted her husband. That’s what she was most afraid of, too. She had known Leona for a long time and, luckily, he came to respect her more than anyone in his life. 

However, respect was still too little to meet him in the desert and drive him back home. Maisha didn’t just want to be Leona’s sister-in-law. She wanted to be his older sister. But he despised his own brother by blood, so what would she — as the family’s outsider — needed to do wrong to fall into the same bad graces?

“What can you offer a man who has everything but wants nothing?,” Maisha suddenly thought out loud. 

And Falena grasped this thought as if it were dry leaves that the wind brought in the afternoon. The royal spiritual adviser, Chinaza, once said that those said leaves were messages from the Kings of the Past — and in reality, the old baboon wasn’t so far from the truth.

With the words of his wife in mind, the king began to think calmly about everything. Over the years, he offered Leona various kinds of gifts. Books, chess boards, expensive items of clothing, dinners with his favorite meats and everything else he had at his disposal to give to his precious brother. It wasn’t just charity. He knew Leona deserved it all.

But it must have looked fake in the young man’s eyes. Deep down — and the nightmare didn’t help this feeling — Leona should despise all these gestures. 

It felt like Falena was patching up the past, as if all they had been through was an old tapestry that just needed extra thread.

“What is the one thing that a man who despises all things, because he feels himself to be despised, most wants?,” Falena asked back as he got up and looked out the window.

They were at the highest point of the palace, from where they could see the whole kingdom and everything that the light could touch. Maisha rested her head on Falena’s shoulder and he leaned on her equally, both with their gaze lost in the horizon.

“I have no idea, my love,” the wife replied.

“I think I know what to do... well, I think” Falena swallowed hard. “It’s not much and I honestly don’t know how much Leona will like or understand it…”

“What are you talking about?”

“Our father used to say that diplomatic apologies require more than an emotional and well-crafted text. That’s not what touches people. It’s the process, the small steps you take along the way. If you never cross the desert, you will never come home.”

“Alas, you ramble a lot sometimes,” Maisha said but began to smile as she saw her husband’s face recover its grace. “Will you start with the small steps then?”

Falena took a deep breath, filling himself with courage. He would. 

Better late than never.

If anything, Leona’s patience could be more succinctly described as a worn-out tapestry. 

It had interesting embroidered drawings, making smooth lines on thick thread and had the colors of the sunset. In the old days, it had impressive strength. But he couldn’t say the same in the present though. A lion cub had snatched the edge and began to tear it apart, leaving bristles exposed and easy to fray.

Which settled Jack to be the only one — by their side at the moment — who was actually concerned about the dorm leader wanting to rip apart his own nephew running around him in a fit of pure childish energy. 

Meanwhile, Kalim was distracted by all the beautiful landscapes around them in the huge palace. Naru, the lioness-friend of the little prince, was explaining everything to him — and on certain occasions, she would take a look at her best friend and smile at him having fun. 

But, perhaps, what was doing more harm to Leona’s nerves was the indescribable delight in which Lilia and Vil were watching them near the balcony. They both had different kinds of smiles but seemed equally amused by his look of distress.

Was that Leona’s penance for being himself in the NRC? Or were they joining life’s queue to piss him off?

“Cheka!,” suddenly a powerful voice made its entrance. 

“Dad!” 

Leona had his chair turned away from the entrance, but as he turned around, he was for a very brief moment happy with his brother’s arrival. All to get Cheka away from him, especially. 

He then took a look at the colleagues he brought along and observed their reactions of respect and admiration at the arrival of the king. He wasn’t particularly impressed himself. 

Falena might be the most imposing “Lion King” in all of Afterglow Savannah’s history but Leona would always see him as his annoyingly enthusiastic older brother.

“Dear friends!,” Falena greeted the boys with a smile. “Could you let me steal Leona for a moment?”

This was such a surprise that the second prince turned his head back.

“Oh, we don’t mind, Your Majesty,” Vil spoke for the group, smiling politely.

Leona rolled his eyes. It was like he was being handed over like a pesky stray cat off someone’s backyard. 

Jack was thinking of a form to add any type of positive comments — to at least take that very impression out of the room — but he remained silent as the dorm leader assured him in a simple hand gesture that it wasn’t necessary. 

Falena noticed this as his brother stood up. Every one of them had their own opinions on Leona. Well, mixed opinions it seemed. Personally, he would like to know how his little brother was doing at Night Raven College — but he would have to wait a bit longer to hear about Leona’s school adventures. 

Falena waved a goodbye to Cheka and Naru, leaving them in the hands of their caretakers, the meerkat-man chamberlain Monti and the warthog-man cook — who also acted as the little prince’s personal aide — Zakki, and the remaining boys. 

Then the brothers left the balcony and walked through the halls in complete silence. No one dared disturb their course. Even a falling leaf could be heard in the distance.

After a few minutes of walking beside his brother without facing him, Leona eventually realized that they were walking through more and more empty corridors inside the palace. Places he almost forgot existed. It seemed that they had crossed the entire construction when Falena opened for him a door hidden behind a large dark red wall-tapestry.

Behind the secret passage, there was a large field that was part of the royal estate but remained in the shadow of the towers and higher floors. Further away, Leona recognized a part of the field with a large tree as the marking for the Cemetery of the Kings of the Past. 

“Why did you bring me here?,” he finally spoke to his brother, although he had a confused frown on his brows.

“It's a quiet, peaceful place,” Falena said. “Because it’s the Royal Cemetery, anyone who does not consider here an inhospitable place certainly knows that it is sacred so even servants and guards would never think of looking for a secret passage or opening the door.” 

“So what?” 

“I wish you could find rest here.”

Because Leona had a tremendously surprised expression, Falena added quickly:

“N-no! I’m not talking to you to rest forever here! No way! Please don’t even think...!,” then he took a deep breath to recompose himself. “What I mean, Leona, is that here it will be much easier to hide from the palace than in your room. Cheka is terribly afraid of those hallways, even if he won’t admit it.”

It was Leona’s turn to take a deep breath and facepalm, bewildered by that whole situation. He had not confused Falena’s words — though, come to think of it, it would indeed be a strange thing to say normally — and remained in the dark as to why he was being introduced to that place.

“Are you letting me stay here? Is that it?,” Leona questioned.

“Yes. Consider it my holiday gift.”

“Have you... gone insane? Is the crown so heavy that you hit your head on the floor one of these days?”

Falena bit his tongue, trying not to be discouraged in his convictions, nor to let himself be contaminated by the acidity of his brother’s words.

Leona could be an excellent diplomat when he wanted. Emphasis on “when he wanted”. But what was occurring at the present moment was no disaster of etiquette. It was how Leona usually talked to his older brother. 

Sarcasm and irony were always at their peak. Boredom dictated the harmony of his voice. And, above all, resentment oozed through the thorniest sentences like burning sulfur. 

Falena could feel it more than ever. They weren’t just brothers who couldn’t get along like normal families had. There was a large scar between them, completely exposed and fragile. 

There was no point in pressing mere band-aids there, hoping to disappear with the cut. Something needed to be done to improve the healing process and not allow inflammations. It would be painful and difficult. However, wasting time was no longer on Falena’s mind. If he were going to stop the blood, he should do it now.

It was then Leona felt something different when Falena looked up at him. 

Anyone who might have had the chance to observe them — however deserted the place was — might have seen the reflection of the king’s normally radiant countenance. However, only his young brother was close enough to understand that it wasn’t his usual glow.

“I gave you many gifts and allowed you to do whatever you wanted in a clumsy and vain hope that... “Falena sighed but kept going. “...things could be arranged. But it’s not that simple. In fact, by trying to please you, I was making the situation worse. But Leona...!”

His voice grew stronger, pouring out all its honesty like good rain in the midst of drought and desolation.

“I don’t know what to do, that’s the truth! Maybe I’ll never know. If our father was still well, I could try to take his advice... but all this damage is already done. You walk in and out of here with your head held high but with a terrible feeling in your heart. Like this it’s not even your home.”

“Don’t put words in my mouth. You don’t know how I feel,” Leona looked away, annoyed.

“Of course I don’t know! You don’t tell me!”

So Leona turned to Falena again, torn between putting the matter aside or contesting it in the adrenaline rush that awoke in his heart. Actually, he wasn’t sure what to answer. And as if Falena could finally after all those years read his little brother’s thoughts, he smiled softly.

“Talk about it when you feel the time has come. It doesn’t even have to be with me, if you don’t want to. For now, a place of silence and comfort is all I can indicate to you.”

“Indicate?”

“Yeah. Because you are still the Prince of the Savannah. You have rights like any of our bloodline,” Falena touched Leona’s shoulder and looked deep into his brother’s green eyes. “You can come here whenever you want. You always could.”

A strong breeze passed by the brothers but they didn’t move even a flinch. Small leaves of various colors, dust and the familiar smell of the savannah continued on its way, as if it were a ghost of one of the Kings of the Past who wanted to spy on the strange scene unfolding there on sacred territory.

Gently, Falena’s hand left Leona and joined his other hand. He wasn’t feeling cowed at least. On the contrary, he was satisfied for the first time with an action he did. His smile didn’t waver.

“Well, if you want to take a break, I’ll let your friends know and…”

“Falena,” Leona called.

He mirrored his older brother’s expression with his words. For a moment, Leona felt like a child again. Not in the sense of feeling small and powerless. But, as it was in the old days. The good times when things were in their place and Falena still had time to afford to teach him to play chess.

“Thanks. Or something like that.”

Leona stared at a distant spot in the landscape, not looking directly into Falena’s eyes. 

He didn’t feel ready yet for that type of situation and had doubts about his brother’s intentions. He never thought he would say that, but hanging out with his classmates and holding his own patience seemed much easier than dealing with the scars of the past.

But something inside him knew that Falena understood what he was doing. It could be a part that Leona hid from his own peripheral vision on purpose, almost always to the point of completely forgetting its existence. Yet it was still there inside him.

“But I’ll have to leave it for another time. I have to lead a pack of warthogs’ backsides to a festival, remember?,” Leona retorted, going back to the exit. “Later. Who knows.”

Falena let out a laugh that made his brother stop for a moment. He looked like he was going to comment on something but then gave up.

“Well, always feel welcome. And I’ll be watching it all from somewhere. Above all: have fun, Leona!”

And then, Falena gave the biggest smile Leona had ever seen before. Perhaps it wasn't just an impression that his aura of majesty was different. It wasn’t like it got any worse, though. 

It was as if an immense weight had left Falena’s shoulders and he rejuvenated like the dawn sun as he reached for his little brother’s step. They continued without saying anything on the way back, following the path in a very rare and comfortable silence. 

It was the first step towards a new ending.

Falena also felt a different energy coming from Leona and his gaze accompanied him throughout the visit, questioning within himself how people couldn’t even see the resplendent light coming from Leona. Or maybe they did — it was his final conclusion — and they didn’t know what to make of it.

But Falena knew. And he felt a deep joy to have a younger brother like Leona. Smart and strategic, able to stand on his own two feet, courageous. Even friendly — although the boy didn’t like to admit it. 

  For the first time in a long time, Falena could have a peaceful night of starry dreams. He never had that nightmare again. He was dreaming of a bright future ahead. Some moment in time when Leona could feel happy doing whatever he wanted. Where Cheka would be a wonderful king and Maisha would still be there by his side.

And Falena would live long to see all this.

Special notes: Uh, I haven’t actually watched anything from the Tamashina Mina event so I don’t even know if they acknowledge Falena’s presence at some point. But this is what I think happened. And I feel particularly relieved about writing this story bc I love Falena due to my memories of Mufasa. I don’t think canon will ever prove me wrong but even so, this is the version of good ol’ Falena that I love the most <3 Thank you for the attention!

[writer-freak]

Horror Movie night | Twst x gn reader

Characters: Lilia Vanrouge, Leona Kinscholar and Idia Shroud

Warnings: none all fluff, gn reader, mentions of watching horror movie and getting scared, reader being teased, english isn't my first language

A/n: So I maybe wrote a lot for Lilia and not so much for the others but here is a little something for halloween and I hope you guys like it

Comments, likes and reblogs are always appreciated and really motivate me to write more <3

Lilia: When you stepped into Lilias's room you couldn't help the smile forming on your face. Fairy lights were hung on every corner, casting a warm and inviting glow over the entire room. Pillows and blankets were scattered in a little messy pile creating a cozy little fort. There were all kinds of different blankets, pillows, and plushies, just waiting for you to crawl in and make yourself comfy. You both cozied up in the blanket fort, the dim lights creating a beautiful atmosphere. You leaned back and chose one of the plushies it reminded you of Lilia so you took it into your arms cuddling with it. The room smelt like your favorite candle, and you noted that Lilia had several of them placed around the room. As you settled into the nest, Lilia got a tray of snacks, ranging from sweet to savory, having everything that you liked. You started eating some popcorn before he even put on the first movie and then you both leaned against each other to start your horror movie night. The first horror movie flickered on the screen, and you couldn't help but feel the tension in the air. It was your idea to watch something spooky, wanting to embrace the fall vibes, but as the first eerie scene unfolded, you began to regret your choice. Lilia, the mischievous old man that he is, sensed how tense you were and used it to his advantage. If there was a very tense scene he would scare you making you jump and send him a slight glare when you noticed that he did it. His voice, ever so sweet, teased, "Did I scare you, my dear?" A playful glint in his eyes that was almost as annoying to you as his mischievous grin. His laughter mixed with the movie's haunting soundtrack, a small smile making it onto your lips. Before any real fear could settle in, he'd pull you into a tight embrace, his warmth and laughter reassuring you. "Just teasing you a little to make the night more interesting." he'd say, a mischievous sparkle still in his eyes. Even if Lilia could be quite annoying at times like these this is exactly what you love so much about him, his teasing is just something so endearing to you. You could feel your heart racing, all the while you hoped that Lilia was unable to hear it. Lilia's laughter, the gentle rhythm of his heartbeat, and the way his eyes met yours in the soft glow made your face feel hot. You lost track of time, spending part of the night also trying to scare Lilia. Though he would expect your every move no matter what, the horror movie now only being a backdrop. You two at one point cuddled closer together intertwining your fingers and then fell asleep.

Leona: Moonlight spilled through the window, casting a soft glow over Leona's room. You and Leona lounged on his bed, a horror movie flickering on the screen. Leona, the king of indifference, tried to act cool, but his tail gave away his subtle excitement with each twist or jumpscare. As the scenes played out, Leona couldn't help but chuckle now and then, a mix of amusement and maybe a hint of mischief. He casually draped an arm around you during tense moments, his laid-back demeanor masking the fact that he enjoyed being closer to you. It didn't matter if you were genuinely scared or not, you soaked up the warmth that radiated off him. By the time the credits rolled, accusations flew about who got spooked more. Leona grinned "You jumped at every shadow, herbivore. I thought you said you were the fearless type." You shot back "Please, you were practically hiding behind your own tail. King of the savannah, my ass." Laughter filled the room, wiping away any lingering tension from the film. As you both playfully teased each other about your reactions, Leona leaned in with a mischievous glint in his eyes, "You know, if you're ever scared, you can always hold onto me. I'll protect you from the movie monsters and the real ones too." You rolled your eyes "Oh, how chivalrous of you, King Leona. Should I expect a heroic rescue from every horror movie now?" He chuckled "Only for you, [name]. You're special."

Idia: You both were snuggled under a pile of blankets, and Idia held onto you like a lifeline. Surprisingly, he was a bit of a scaredy cat, jumping at every jumpscare or loud sound in the movie. You couldn't help but chuckle at how adorable he was like this. Normally he wouldn't easily coddle with you like this, or at least he wouldn't initiate it but that was seemingly thrown out of the window right now. When you got to a bad horror movie though his entire demeanor would change. Suddenly he spends most of the time critiquing the film and explaining every inaccuracy to you. He'd point out the flaws in special effects, scoff at unrealistic plot twists, and make witty comments about the characters' choices. "Come on, even a first-year magic student could cast a better illusion spell than this" he'd remark, his eyes narrowed at the screen. You playfully nudged him "Well, Mr. Expert, do you really think you could do better in that kind of situation" He smirked, "Oh, trust me, I would know what to do. I'm not like one of those normy protagonists who makes beginner horror movie mistakes" Eventually, the critiques turned into funny comments, and the scares turned into inside jokes. "Maybe if they paid attention in Magical Creatures class, they'd know how to deal with that monster." Idia would quip, earning a giggle from you. As exhaustion crept in, Idia's grip on you loosened, and he started to just sometimes mumble out explanations. You listened, half-asleep, to his comments, trying to pay attention but your eyes slowly fell shut. Before you finally fell asleep you used the moment and shifted a bit, resting your head against Idia's chest. "Thanks for making this night so magical, Idia." He was obviously caught off guard and you could hear his breath getting caught in his throat before he responded with a slight stutter "Anytime, the [name]"

Divider by: @djarrex

[fatehbaz]

hello! While we're on the topic of Chicago, do you know about Leonard Dubkin? His writing can be hard to find because it is out of print, but he wrote nature columns about approaching the bugs and weeds accessible in city life the same way you would traditional naturalist landscapes and! It is sometimes neat! Especially for the time period before the turn toward huge public parks projects

Yes, actually, I've heard of Dubkin in two different settings: University course discussions of the history of environmental studies and geographic thought. And also in discussion of Great Lakes "bioregionalism".

Kinda some entangled stuff here that you've brought to mind for me, having to do with how Chicago relates to environmental thinking. Chicago as site of contemporary urban naturalism and community gardening. Chicago as site of "Midwestern gothic". Great Lakes and Great Plains as sites of Indigenous pedagogies. Chicago as site of Progressive era reformism. Chicago as site of influential (imperialist) geographic thinking.

---

(1) You've reminded me of "Muskrat theories, tobacco in the streets, and living Chicago as Indigenous Land" (Bang, Curley, Kessel, Marin, Suzukovich, and Strack, Environmental Education Research, 2014). They discuss: "Chicago is a wetland that becomes part prairie and part oak savannah. It's hard to see with the layers of colonial fill, but actually it's hiding in plain sight [...]. [There is] recognition of how the filling of wetlands factored greatly into the [...] establishing of Chicago as a national transportation hub and why some forest reserves or parks [...] were [situated as they are now] [...]. As teachers [the authors are educators], we began to track and weave into our thinking [...] the waves of ecological restructuring that has occurred in Chicago; from the filling of wetlands, to the rengineering of the direction of the Chicago river, the mass destruction of prairie lands [...]."

---

(2) It's been my impression that, in the past 15-ish or so years, a lot of writing about "urban/community gardening" and the reclamation of space has been coming out of Detroit, Cleveland, Pittsburgh, Chicago, etc. Reclaiming of apparently-decrepit urban space after abandonment by institutions, "making a home" even in the face of ruination, etc. Post-industrial decay and the (condescending?) stereotyping of the Rust Belt, and Detroit especially. Much of these efforts led with deliberate intent and passion foremost by Black gardeners. (Milwaukee has some of the most extreme Black-white residential segregation of any major US city. Treatment of Black communities and use of redlining is notorious in Minneapolis, Detroit/Flint, St. Louis, etc.)

---

(3) I think this decay/abandonment theme might dovetail with what seems (anecdotally to me, at least) to be a sort of popular ascendancy of a regional gothic or Midwest gothic kinda thing among wider audiences even outside of the region. Corn fields at edge of town, chainlink fences and crooked oak branches, shuttered Rust Belt factory, Night in the Woods aesthetic-y stuff, Over the Garden Wall-adjacent stuff, etc. Like the celebration of a perpetual Halloween. Really plays on the landscapes, haunted history, attempted concealment of violence, and institutional abandonment of the Great Lakes region. And then there is the advent of more Great Lakes/Rust Belt bioregional identity stuff, which Belt Magazine has been writing about for years now. I'm thinking also of some recently published stuff like "Deep Map Country: Proposing a Dinnseanchas Cycle of the Northern Plains" and Grasslands Grown: Creating Place on the U.S. Northern Plains and Canadian Prairies. As wells as some non-academic general-audience titles (like Rust Belt Arcana: Tarot and Natural History in the Exurban Wilds, etc.).

---

(4) I do also wonder if the apparent rise in popularity recently of Robin Wall Kimmerer's work has contributed to a rise in "ecological citizenship" dialogue and Great Lakes/Great Plains bioregional thinking. But I think it would behoove us to note that Kimmerer is not the only Indigenous thinker discussing ecological citizenship in this region.

I'm thinking of Grace Dillon's writing on Indigenous sciences, Indigenous futurisms, storytelling/narrative, dealing with ecological cataclysm, more-than-human agency, etc (big institutions are "still thinking about knowledge as mere accumulation"). Just as Kimmerer talks about "plant beings", Dillon also talks about "multispecies entanglements" and agency.

Also thinking of Kyle Whyte (Potawatomi, from this region), who's written for years about Indigenous science fiction and Indigenous pedagogies of knowledge, especially situated in the Great Lakes.

Also Leanne Betasamosake Simpson's writing (Mississauga Nishnaabeg, from this region) on Indigenous resurgence and creating constellations of co-resistance. Both Whyte and Simspon write about persistence in the aftermath of apocalypse, which I think works well when considered in relation to Black community gardens and the wider Great Lakes/Rust Belt discourses of building lives in the aftermath of post-industrial decay/abandonment.

Also scholar Zoe Todd as well (Red River Metis, from the northern Plains). Aside from famously criticizing academia's superficial and fashionable appropriation of these Indigenous pedagogies and concepts, Todd also has written a lot about more-than-human agency (especially fish!), ecological citizenship, and a sort of place-based identity (especially in the northern Great Plains).

Considering the appropriation of Indigenous knowledge also brings to mind Katherine McKittrick's writing on "Black methodologies" and pedagogies/knowledge production (universities undermine and appropriate Black knowledge; Black knowledge is "interdisciplinary"; prioritizing multiple ways of knowing; "wonder is study" and "curiosity is attentive") and Fred Moten's writing on the fugitive relationship to academia. Also brings to mind Glissant's writing on opacity.

---

(5) Regarding Chicago as a center of (white) conceptions of environmental space and geographic thought: You mention Dubkin's writing on a sort of urban naturalism in Chicago. And I know that Madison (Wisconsin) and its university have a similar reputation as being an early center of environmental studies among white/national institutions. Meanwhile, seems Chicago might've acted at times as a focal point of this "progressive" modernity kinda thing that celebrates reforms and "innovations" in industrial livability or whatever (much of which still depended on and/or endorsed colonization, extraction, labor abuse, imposed standards of "productivity", etc.). Thinking of Progressive era through New Deal (1890s-1940s, as Chicago had achieved a pinnacle of wealth after establishment of railroads and then industrialization, electricity, monoculture crops, Rust Belt processing/manufacturing, etc.). For example, I recently posted about the work of Oenone Kubie, who studied "urban discipline" and the white anxiety and racial segregation driving children's reformatories in Chicago during the Progressive era. (Kubie argues that eformers were concerned with poverty, truancy, and "delinquency" in tandem with Black migration, which led to "interventions". Chicago hosted the "first municipal playground system" and by 1915 "the city of Chicago ran sixty-six recreation centres. [...] From Chicago, the idea spread around the country. By 1921, almost 200 cities employed a total of over eleven thousand men and women as year-round playground workers.") The case that Martinez was making in the essay we've been discussing (about Chicago's influential role 1880-1910 as a center of policing, surveillance, and the conceptualizing of US imperial frontiers in the Philippines, influenced by Chicago's fear of Black migration) relates to how Chicago has been considered a center of the refining of geographic thought in late nineteenth century, as white Americans crafted ideas of national space (westward expansion into the frontier radiating out from Chicago along railroads; Chicago being hub of industrial agriculture of the prairies/plains as an economic frontier). Kinda brings to mind how scholar Mashid Mayar has recently written about "the cartographic pedagogies of empire" and the teaching of geography to children in the United States in the 1890s ("home geography" school classes, "dissected map" puzzle games, children's magazines that attach "adventure" to ideas of botanical/ethnographic expeditions), giving white children an idea of the planet as an extension of their nation/home at the same time that the US was understanding itself as an empire with dominion in Cuba, Central America, Hawai'i/South Pacific, Philippines, etc.

---

For anyone interested in environmental crisis and multispecies ecologies in prairies, Great Plains, "Midwest", Great Lakes, you might like Grace Dillon, Zoe Todd, Kyle Whyte, and Leanne Betasamosake Simpson.

Lots to consider. Sorry for excessive length here. Thank you for saying hi.

[noveldivergence]

Apostate - Chapter One - 4251w

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Apostate is a Lovecraftian crime horror with themes some might find objectionable in later chapters. While nothing more than a description of a dead body is shown in chapter one, please be mindful of triggers listed in my pinned post.

TAG LIST: @lord-fallen @coffeexafterxmidnight @philosophika (please send an ask or dm to be added)

Chapter One

Bell Baylor hated the heat and its miserable twin, humidity. Sweat clung, caul-like, on his forehead as he stood in the field beneath a haint-blue sky. He hated the feeling of the sunscreen he’d smeared on his face as a half-measure, streaking deep into the lines of his face. The sun melted the crust of sunscreen and made it drip down his temples, a mixture of sweat and chemicals colored a bone-bleached white. 

He hated the sound of the cicadas too, screaming their lusty songs from the trees, haunting him since he’d gotten here. He hated the empty creek bed in front of him, all dried up and dead. It had been full of life once. 

So had the man laying in it. Now both man and creek lay empty, dry as a bone in the hot Georgia sun. 

Red clay clung to bone as rust did to iron, and cave-hollow skull sockets stared up at him. Doctors Cargill and Lal had brushed carefully against the ribs as if they’d found a pharaoh’s tomb, but nothing could quite mute the vivid orange tone to the lower half of the body that had sunk into the creekbed. The prickled brush of a heat-dead tree-line a hundred yards away did little to shield them from vivid sky-fire beating down, but flame hadn’t faded traces of mud from bone quite yet. 

‘Found him when the crick dried up,’ the property owner had proudly told the local police. ‘Was making some rounds when a cow got loose and found his hand reaching up out of it. Scared the shit outta me, I’ll tell you that.’

The creek had been deeper once, Bell knew, full of life and death in all its forms--deep enough to cover the body of a fully grown male and get him stuck deep down in the mud and rock and red clay in this part of Georgia. 

But it didn’t make too much sense for the suspected homicide victim to end up in Slaughter County, regardless of what the name of the place may have implied. It was out in the middle of nowhere, at least until the chemical plant had moved in and made it somewhere at last. Bell could imagine the locals kicking and screaming about that the whole time too, from what he’d seen so far. Still, the plastic ID card near the body had read the name plain as day, even through mud streaks and sun-bleaching.

Brandon Severin, 24, male, white, recent fifth-year senior graduate of Georgia State University, disappeared from Atlanta nearly two years prior. Known for party-heavy behavior which delayed his graduation and lost him part of his left pinkie finger in a dazzling display of stupidity at a kegger. 

So much could have stolen the finger on the corpse after death, Bell reminded the over-eager deputy who’d briefed him: fish, frogs, the rush of current. It didn’t have to be Severin’s body, even with the identification card. It might not be. They’d have to wait for dental records, he insisted, even as he eyed the file that listed Severin had veneers.

The smile of them was unnerving even to Bell. They were as bleached-white as the rest of him, with a wrongness none of them would speak aloud. Still, he was sure all of them felt it, even Luther, and Luther wasn’t type to be easily unnerved. 

Supposedly, Severin had gotten a job interview in Savannah that didn’t actually exist. State police couldn’t find proof of it at least. Friends had claimed he’d been depressed, and police theorized he’d gone off to end it with a convenient lie to delay the search for a body or a suicide note. When his car had been found near Lake Lanier, that theory had solidified. While the case was still officially open, the police in Atlanta hadn't seen it as pressing–at least not if the files Bell read on the way over were any indicator. They hadn’t drained that cursed lake before for more urgent cases, more pressing closures. They weren’t ready to drain Lake Lanier for a party boy with a death wish, even if his rich parents were hollering to the news about it.

The creek before Bell didn’t connect to Lake Lanier. Instead, it connected to Lake Troxler, another large man-made lake dug out and filled when the plant moved nearby into Besant. While it lay in roughly equal distance between Atlanta and Savannah, the town was a convenient through point for neither. 

Dr. Lal’s head appeared from behind the shoddy barrier around the creek.

“Agent Baylor? The ribs are the same as New Orleans.”

Bell shared a glance with Luther Tanner, his partner agent in this mess sent with him to the furnace of hell that was Georgia in high summer. He’d hadn’t known the man for too long. In many ways, he was still as much a mystery as Severin and his disappearance and Bonds down in New Orleans. They’d had the case file dropped on their desks four months ago up in Quantico. If it weren’t for the New Orleans case and the nightmares it brought them both, the box of loosely interconnected files probably wouldn’t even exist. Bell wouldn’t have even met the man beside him as more than a passerby in the halls. Just another box shape with steel gray hair, sharp eyes, and ill-fitted suit.

Not that he wasn’t getting there, he reminded himself, save the box-shape that at least implied he was at least fit at one point. 

“We’ll see if we can connect Severin to Bonds.” Luther sighed, and Bell watched as the man’s fingers twitched for a cigarette as he spoke.

How many years had it been since he’d quit smoking, if he quit? Bell had seen the bottom of a nicotine patch on Luther’s arm earlier, the outline still whispering beneath the thinner fabric of a summer shirt. His own father had quit cigarettes when Bell was twenty-four but wore the nicotine patches till he’d died two years ago. Never stopped drinking. No way to know with some people. Addiction was funny like that. It pursued people in funny little ways, all their lives, invisible to the gaze of others. 

Luther met his eyes looking at his twitching fingers and sighed, shaking his head, before stomping off through the field. It would have been a lot more dramatic, if the crunch of the grass wasn’t so quietly pathetic. With a quick glance back into the black, blank eyes-that-should-have-been of their victim, Bell followed through the tall, crackling stalks.

Luther had been on edge since they’d arrived in Besant, Georgia, with this new, familiar slaying; because of New Orleans, Bell had thought, surely.  Luther would want to touch base with him about that, of that he was certain. What had happened in New Orleans kept the wheels of his mind turning constantly since it had happened those months ago, grinding his life to a stop and throwing off sparks like a train with a pulled emergency brake.

Only it wasn’t New Orelans. It was Besant itself.

What had once been a near-ghost town had only gained more people recently with the arrival of the petrochemical plant. Havich Industries had claimed yet more space in the American landscape with its flagship plant deep in the heart of the American South. Bell had heard the Havich family lived out here too. They followed the money.

And a lot of people followed them.

Bell sure had thoughts on that. 

Bastards, the lot of them, like most with ungodly money. If it weren’t for the heat, he’d be breaking out in hives from the sheer obscenity of the building on the ridge pouring out smoke and tainting the beauty of the open sky.

But Luther wasn’t Bell, and obscenity wasn’t why Luther was on edge. 

“You said something about your son living round here?” Bell kept his voice low. He wasn’t sure if Cargill and Lal, the pathologists the Bureau had sent with them, knew much about Agent Tanner, but he was sure that was entirely purposeful on the older man’s part. Hell, he only knew a little. Enough to be dangerous. Luther’s jaw clenched. He talked less about his son than he did his wife, and Bell figured it had to be on purpose. Bell was sure if they weren’t here, weren’t where Calvin was, that he might not even know the young man’s name. 

Luther knew Bell’s sons' names, of course. He knew them before Bell had told him, and he knew Diane’s name too. Luther was that sort of agent.

“I take it that’s an issue.” Bell continued speaking through Luther’s brick-wall silence. He was used to it. If Luther thought he could gain advantage over his curiosity with the tricks of stubborn adolescence, he was wrong.

“It’s not an issue.”

“You sure?”

“It’s not an issue for this case, Baylor.”

Bell paused before nodding, glancing back at the taped off creekbed as he did so. Luther had only started using first names recently, despite all of their work together. He couldn’t find it in himself to be too surprised that he’d slide back to surnames at the first sign of irritation with Bell. He couldn’t even find it in himself to be irritated. His emotional capacity for the day had leaked out his sweat glands with what he was sure was the rest of his brain and insides. He didn’t have time for Luther’s personal problems.

“So.” Bell wiped an errant string of sweat-soaked black hair from his line of sight. “You think the director’s right about this being a serial? Hell of a coincidence if it isn’t, I think. With the way the bones look and all.”

Luther nodded, before cracking a small awkward smile. Bell had learned this was his equivalent of a slap on the arm, all masculine gesturing, all reassurances, all the little things he’d so rarely been included on in life, even at the FBI.

“You ever see the sun a day in your life, or did they bring you out of the basement for this one to fuck with you?”

A glass-breaking laugh cracked from Bell before he could stop it, but thankfully Luther had heard it enough in the last four months that he didn’t wince at the sound like many did. 

“They–,” Bell stammered through laughter, “they thought I needed enrichment outside of my enclosure.”

Luther’s laugh was barkish, bulldog that he was, and his head tossed back with it. A pair of local deputies sent off glances between them and the scene of discovery, but said nothing. Bell wondered if they’d ever had a case involving the FBI. They hadn’t even touched base with the sheriff yet; they’d all got in at 0200 this morning and fallen asleep for a bittersweetly cursed five hours before leaving the air-conditioned oasis of the hotel in the morning for the scene. 

It was more sleep than they got in New Orleans.

 Breaking the moment with a nod, Luther stalked back over to the side of the ditch, craning his neck down about two feet from the edge. He’d fallen in once. Bell didn’t know it for sure in his mind, but he did in his gut, from the way the agent held himself. 

He’d fallen once too, early in his days with the FBI. Stepped wrong off a muddy lick of solid ground into a mass grave near the aptly named Great Dismal Swamp of Virginia. His foot had caved a skull, rotted through with the seep of the bog and face bloated beyond recognition even before his clumsy idiocy. It sounded like the crunch of wet and rotten cabbage being split open. Nearly twenty years on, and he remembered the sound. 

If Luther tripped, it would sound like the crunch of pottery underfoot, shattering so much history of the tomb Severin had fallen silent in. Bell had been lucky back then for dental records and lessons learned. They were lucky here for more than that. He stood by Luther and watched the doctors work with the rest of the forensics team weaving through the area around them like ants to their queens. 

“Chances of finding anything around the area aren't good. Been too long.” Luther gestured at the body, before patting his shirt pocket reflexively. Nonexistent pack, Bell thought before replying.

“What do you think about the ID card?” Luther bit his fingernail, seemingly uncaring of the black build-up beneath them.

“I think we’re either very lucky and our killer is very stupid or–” He gestured at Bell to complete his thought.

“Or the killer left it here on purpose.”

“Or Severin here really did fall into the lake.” There was a dark twinkle of humor to Luther’s eyes. “And went twenty rounds with a gator.”

“I doubt that.” Both men looked down at the bemused face of Dr. Cargill, who stood hands on hips staring up at them with wide brown eyes. “I can’t tell you yet without a full examination, but the wounds look purposeful.”

“Thank you, Rhoda.” Luther smiled a bit ruefully, shaking his head. Bell wondered if Luther’s nature was why he got the social misfits of the agency like himself and Dr. Cargill attached to his cases. He seemed to have a patience for the weird, or at least put up a good facade that he did.

Dr. Cargill hummed and went back to excavating the last bit of the body with Dr. Lal. Bell wondered if she handled the heat better with her shaved head. His own father had gone bald, and while Bell hadn’t seen any signs of that happening in his own life, he was afraid to test fate by taking the razor to it.

“Too much water damage too, before it all turned to clay and red dust.” Dr. Lal didn’t even look up from her work. “I don’t believe you’ll find any DNA or identifiable particulates on the body after the water and heat damage.”

Luther shrugged, turning towards a sound down field. The kick up of that same dried blood dust and the hum of an engine came from a distance. Bell heard Luther huff a small laugh before he realized that whoever was making their way towards them was being escorted by the property’s owner on the back of a UTV. The deputies stood straighter, as it approached.

The sheriff then.

Luther reached a hand into the ditch to help Cargill and Lal up the embankment, while Bell approached the UTV. Sheriff Harlowe was a tall man; his knees folded in an awkward slope towards the footboards of the machine. He looked less like a sheriff, Bell thought, and more like an Appalachian mountain man. He imagined that the sudden increase in population hadn’t done much for the man’s attitude or number of gray beard hairs, but despite that he’d been the sheriff for the past twenty-some-odd years.

He looked it. The thought was uncharitable of Bell, he knew, but the man had the kind of skin that had been tanned and hardened as tough as whitleather. Wrinkles sat like divots in the parts of his face that weren’t concealed by beard or brows or the longish mane of salt-pepper-rust hair that stuck out in wild strands from under his hat. He’d been the sheriff for twenty-some-odd years, yes, but Bell couldn’t tell if he had another twenty in him.

Harlowe’s father was the sheriff before him, he’d been told. Besant, Georgia had been that sort of town once. The wisp of white smoke coming over the hills from the direction of the plant was as much a marker of desolation as it was progress.

“It Severin?”

The sheriff’s voice was roughly chewed gravel sifted through an ashtray. It reminded Bell of his father’s at its root, all Marlboro and masculine posturing. The accent was different, oceans apart, but the core was familiar. Bell wasn’t sure how he felt about that, not yet at least.

“We’re not 100% yet, but the evidence is pointing towards that.” Bell glanced sideways at the property owner, who was eyeing him with an almost affectionate sense of doubt he was sure was reserved for the most well-meaning Northerners. Harlowe gave him a nod, a friendly dismissal abided by. The sheriff waited till the UTV had turned and cleared the area before he turned back to Bell.

“You Tanner or Baylor?”

“Sorry, yes, Agent Bellamy Baylor. Bell or Baylor, either work.”

“Agent Luther Tanner.”

Bell turned slightly, as Luther wiped sweaty hands on trousers and extended one in greeting towards the sheriff. He hadn’t offered his own hand, but then neither had the sheriff. The man seemed skeptical as it was of Luther, who was cut more from the same cloth of machismo. 

“Boone Harlowe. Either name is fine. Ladies?”

“Yes,” Luther nodded towards the two lead analysts they’d brought along. “Dr. Rhoda Cargill and Dr. Bhavani Lal.”

“A pleasure.” Dr. Cargill moved forward for a handshake, which the Sheriff seemed mildly surprised by, but shook her hand nonetheless. Bell wondered if the issue was one of race or gender or even her shaved head and nose ring, settling quickly on the matter of gender, as Harlowe tipped the brim of his hat to Dr. Lal next.

“Nice to meet you, Sheriff.”

“You as well, ma’am. Ma’am. You the uh…”

“Forensic pathologists.” Lal nodded towards Cargill.

“Yes, sir. Dr. Lal and I are leading the investigation into the body itself. Our team is combing the area for any trace evidence. Unfortunately, given the time frame, it’s unlikely there’s anything notable that’s lasted this long.”

“How long y’all think it’s been?”

“We can’t be sure until we’ve gotten him into a lab, but I would estimate he died shortly after his disappearance.” The sheriff nodded, turning from Lal to Cargill.

“Small mercy, I suppose. I’m guessing it’s not a drowning, Doc?”

Dr. Cargill shook her head and released an uncharacteristic sigh. She had a high and breathy voice, and the noise sounded almost musical–a lilting dirge to the deceased.

Bell sighed too, despite himself, glancing back at the creek bed. The skeleton was covered by the rise of the embankment, but he could see it–could see New Orleans–in his mind’s eye. The split of ribs. The wild slices of blade or animal teeth down to bone. The lack of eyes and ears and tongue. There had been flesh left in New Orleans. There had not been enough flesh left in New Orleans.

There were no mercies for Brandon Severin, great or small.

“Taking that as a no, huh Baylor?”

Bell shook his head, snapping back to reality to see the others giving him a concerned glance. He tried for a weak smile, feeling the crust of sunscreen crack in the lines of his forehead. Lal seemed to have a small mercy on him.

“It’s highly unlikely his death was a result of drowning.” Dr. Lal’s tone was as matter-of-fact as if she were describing the shape of the earth. “At least not without multiple major contributing factors that would have resulted in death otherwise.”

Bell had known Bhavani far longer than Luther. He knew less about her than he did of the other agent. He did appreciate her demeanor though, just warm enough to keep her overly clinical speech from making her appear unempathetic. Not that they were in need of warmth here. Since arriving, they’d been suffocating in a sauna of Southern hospitality and politeness, more cloying and clinging than even the sheen of sweat.

“So he was dumped here?” The Sheriff nodded towards the ditch.

“Or the lake, yes, and flowed down here where he got stuck. That seems most likely. There is a massive injury to his chest cavity. Given…prior encounters with a similar case, I would hazard that this was his cause of death.” 

Lal seemed hesitant to give this much information. Too many assumptions.

“Serial killer then?”

There it was.

“Too early to tell,” Luther rebutted quickly. “We’re not ruling anything out, though.”

“It is, then.” Harlowe seemed sure of himself, and Bell sighed.

“It’s complicated.”

“How–” Luther’s firm voice cut the sheriff off.

“It’s complicated. But again, we aren’t ruling anything out.”

A cloud the shape of a file box shadowed Bell’s mind. No need to worry anyone local. Not yet at least, but the sheriff looked as skeptical as Bell felt. And why shouldn’t he? Before the plant had moved in Besant was unincorporated, known for nothing more than a horse breeding facility. Harlowe had the demeanor of a man who had a fine discernment for horse shit, a sommelier of lies that got caught up in good breeding. 

The white smoke lingered above the hillside.

“Woulda hated to see him before he was just a pile of bones,” Harlowe commented from somewhere just behind Bell’s shoulder. His mind had meandered at some point during the muffled conversation. It was wont to do that more and more these days, especially since they’d been called to the Bonds case. He wondered if he should bother worrying about it. It seemed that he had so much to worry over, particularly corpses in creeks and swamps and ditches and run-off trenches.

He’d ruined enough by putting worry off in his life. What was a little more? 

Bell lingered near the back of the group, only vaguely listening to their conversation, instead staring between them, below them, into Severin’s empty eye sockets. Nothing else could be done in the field at this point. They’d have to transport body and earth and particulates alike back to the cold closet of a medical examiner’s office in the local hospital’s basement, hoping all the way that no equipment broke in transportation. Or, he held back a sigh, anything they had to send away for analysis got lost in the mail. It had happened more than he cared to admit. More than the FBI would publicly admit either.

“You’ll have to push the gurney back up towards the gravel road. We ain’t getting the morgue truck down here, not anytime soon, especially with how well it’s holding up. Hey--”

The sheriff had turned a glare to the younger of his deputies.

“No smoking. Dry as kindling out here, you’re gonna light yourself and the whole damn field on fire. Jesus Christ.”

Addiction was funny like that, Bell thought for the second time that day. 

He tamped down a wry smile, even as the young man tried to hide his sins and move to help with the removal of the body. Luther and Harlowe shared glances reserved for men with sons older than Bell’s own, as they helped the doctors back down the embankment. Pathologists lingered like fruit flies, as the choir of cicadas rose their pitch and volume till they were drowning out all else.

He wasn’t sure how he spotted it. The line of beech trees was nearly a hundred yards away, and the malformation was small. Could be a trick of light. Could be any number of things. Something called him still, some strange feeling wriggling in the back of his mind, like the melody of a familiar, forgotten song. He couldn’t place it. He was sure he’d never felt it before. It felt known to him despite that.

Bell looked beyond the others towards the tree line and began walking. Even a hundred yards away in the meandering windbreak of beech trees, the sound of cicadas was overwhelming. It thrummed in cacophony against the internal music of his soul, and were he asked later, he couldn’t tell anyone what compelled him to walk towards the line of bone-white beech trees sticking awkwardly along the boundaries of the field. Not truthfully. Not without sounding insane.

He could claim the carving was visible, just barely from the creek bed. That the sun had crept in and the lighting had been just right to pique Bell’s curiosity. None of that was true. They’d know that. Or would they ask? If it helped, would anyone care? The grass crunched beneath his feet. The corpses of dead cicadas crunched beneath his feet.

The trees grew closer. 

The marking was carved into the tree and partially covered by the clinging corpse of a southern grass cicada. Bell resisted the urge to brush it to the ground, and instead slipped it into a small plastic bag he’d carried in his pocket. He felt dizzy from the heat. The screams of the insects swarmed into the songs of a calliope, and his mind spun in a tortuous carousel race. Why? He bent down and leaned in close, fingers and eyes searching the bark of the tree.

The marking was a rudimentary drawing of a man, arms and legs splayed out in an X-shape and head a simple circle. Above the head were scratched lines not unlike a crown, and the arms and legs ended in similarly scratched claws.

It made him lightheaded in ways he couldn’t understand. The cicadas pressed in, ever present sonic warfare bombarding whatever sense he had that hadn’t already been overtaken by the oppressive heat. The caul of sweat and the shrieking cries of new life overwhelmed him.

Bell’s vision swam. He vaguely registered the crown of the trees filtering out the haint-blue sky. He felt himself falling, falling, falling, and he tried to reach out, to claw towards the tree, but could find no purchase there.

He fell through the veil. 

[cinderellaenjoyer]

Cosma's Nightmare Time!

That's right, folks! Your girl's planned out a whole Nightmare Time fan-series! 20 episodes of both canon characters and my OCs getting put into situations, including rewrites of three of the original episodes!

Heavily inspired by @pastriibunz Nightmare Kai-me!

Forever and Always

Olive is overjoyed when her sister Emma marries Paul Matthews. Finally, they'll have a happy, stable life, a life that'll go just how Olive planned it. But all is not as it seems, and soon Olive discovers her sister and brother-in-law might not be what they seem

Honey Queen

Summer is in the air, and the annual Honey Festival is steadily approaching. Linda Monroe and Zoey Chambers will do whatever it takes to win the crown at the Honey Queen Pageant. For Marcella Johnson, however, it just seems to be a fun little thing to try out, much to the confusion of her competitors. It's not about having fun, it's about winning!

Hey Melissa!

Savannah and Rose find themselves tangled up in shenanigans with Sav’s co-workers, including Office Creep 2 Freddie Briggs and office secretary Melissa.

Loser Status

Max's friends have had enough of him, and finally stand up to him. Unfortunately, all this does is make Max announce them as losers. And by next Monday, everyone at school seems to know it. The strange part is, no one seems to remember them being popular at all. The gang must work together to adjust to their new social life and find out what changed them from clique to geeks

Rinse Re-Pete

Max Jagerman falls and dies in the Waylon Place, comes back as a ghost, and kills anyone he deems a ‘nerdy prude.’ But where the story changes here is that Peter Spankoffsi - with the help of a certain yellow goat - is given the chance to stop it from happening. Pete is determined to stop anyone from dying, to make sure no one is harmed, no many how many loops he has to go through to do it. But as the loops go and Pete's sanity wears down, his objective changes from making sure Ruth and Richie live and making sure Max stays dead.

The Kitty Cat Club!

19 year old Melissa Hey loves two (well, technically 4) things - cats, and her childhood friends Aubrey, Krissy and Mina. But as close as the girls are, they're growing up, and soon they'll be adults with busy lives and little time for each other. The girls are desperate for a way to spend time with each other. Luckily got them (and less luckily for everyone else), the creeps at Melissa’s internship give her an idea

Siren's Serenade

After almost drowning, Rose Spankoffsi’s body starts to change in strange and unusual ways - ways that are weirder than puberty. Rose isn't sure what's going on, but what she does know is that she's getting more scaly and her singing voice is getting better. On top of that, three mysterious women seem to be following her wherever she goes. Slowly, Rose starts to adjust to her new gifts, and suddenly she's questioning if she wants to keep her humanity at all.

The New Kid

Sunset Jagerman is sick of her brother, point blank. So when she sees him picking on shy new kid Jordan, Sunset befriends him out of spite. Slowly, the two’s bond becomes genuine, and they begin to like each other’s company. But Jordan has secrets, secrets he doesn't want Sunset finding out. Sunset tries not to push, but when curiousity gets the better of her, blood starts to get spilled.

Forget Me Not

Gone are the angsty, lonely, grieving days of Savannah Lamb’s teenage years. Sav has a job she's pretty okay with, a decently sized apparenment to herself, and most importantly, co-workers she can consider friends. It doesn't get much better for this. Unfortunately, a certain Lady in Black has other plans, ones that include getting Sav to dig up a memory that has haunted her for years.

Cheerleader 3000

Lacey Brooklyn Brent is the perfect cheerleader. Preppy, full of energy, always positive. A little too perfect, at least to Brenda and Stacey. The girls try to let their suspicions slide, but when Lacey starts acting weird and getting more and more defensive about cheer - well, the popular girls aren't exactly known for minding Thier own business

The Hatchet Girl

Max Jagerman’s bullying chased Lindsey Topet out of Hatchetfield High in sophomore year. So it's a wonder to anyone why she decides to come back to the same place that caused her so much pain. Well, that is until the popular kids start dying.

Space Star

Rose is a Spankoffsi. She is also the perfect little actress. Nobody wants two lords in black fighting over them, but unfortunately for Rose, she ends up caught in a fight between T'noy Karaxis and Pokotho to be their specialist little toy.

Universal Revenge

Angelou Brailer was once in Max Jagerman's little posse, until he got kicked out. When he returns to Hatchetfield High, students are immediately enamored by him and the chrisma he radiates. Max is determined to drag him back down again, but comes to discover Angelou has different plans, as well as some… divine intervention.

Little Candy Shop of Horrors

Stephanie Lauter makes an unusual new friend at the new candy store in town. One that's sweet, and craves it too. Unfortunately, Steph's new friend’s favorite treat is red and sticky, and is instant on Steph getting it for her.

Heart Eyes

Marcella has never really liked love triangles in fiction. So, when she finds herself in one, she's not very thrilled. Especially not when then triangle consists of her long time crush Bill Woodward and an Eldritch Eye God.

The Nightmare Well

After a visit to a mysterious well, PJ finds herself having frequent nightmares. What's more is that she finds herself coming back to the well over and over again, becoming more enticed to jump inside. She enlists Reese's help, but it soon becomes apparent the well has no intention of leaving her, or anyone, alone.

Pretty and Perfect

Lola Drayson is sick of being a Nerdy Prude. So when a beautiful red haired woman offers her the chance to be everything she's ever wanted to be - perfect, pretty and popular - Lola jumps at the chance. Lola is thrilled by her new life, despite her best friend Michelle's concerns. But beauty comes at a cost, and Lola's dreams are soon to become a total nightmare.

Web of Melodies

Michelle signs up for the town Talent show, hoping it'll take her mind of the weird visions she's been having recently. She's happy to meet most of the other performers, but one in particular seems somewhat suspicious. And when an old friend shows up, Michelle realizes just what she's getting into.

Honey Queen, 2009

What happened at the 2009 Honey Festival? How did six (known) people end up dead? That's for Christine Jagerman to know, and you to find out.

Grace Chasity and T'noy Karaxis VS The World(s)!

Tinky's been having a little too much fun lately, but luckily Grace is willing to help him clean up his mess. With a lot of annoying comments, of course.

[strawberryshortcake1495]

The Story of Jasmine

(I can’t afford the fast-pass chapters so I’m not sure if her backstory has already been revealed, but as I said, this is all just my own interpretation and shouldn’t be taken as canon.)

Jasmine used to be such a happy girl. She was the eldest child in her family, having two younger siblings named Amara and Colton (aged 7 and 4). She was only 12 years old when she and her family went on a vacation to Savannah. They visited the Sorrel Weed House and Jasmine explored each crook and cranny of the house, drawn in by its history of being haunted. That’s when she saw a phantom from the corner of her eye but chose to ignore it. By the time her family left, it was nighttime, and they were making their way home when a large phantom blocked their way. In a frenzy, they quickly drove off into the forest and stayed at a cabin for the night. The next day, the phantom was gone but that wouldn’t be Jasmine’s last encounter with those ugly creatures. She and her siblings started seeing phantoms everywhere but they’d always disappear before they could really catch them. Amara told their parents and then they started seeing the phantoms too. This went on for like 3 weeks. Jasmine’s mother thought they were going crazy and started spiraling into madness. Jasmine’s father thought that the hotel they were staying at was haunted as well and that the only way to escape the phantoms was to just go home. So one fateful night, they packed their bags and started driving all the way back home. Jasmine kept checking her phone as they kept driving. 7PM. 8PM. 9PM. 10PM. 11PM. As the clock struck midnight, the skies turned red and there was a loud roar in the distance. Then the giant phantom centipede manifested and started chasing the family. Jasmine’s father was driving at speeds that shouldn’t be possible and Jasmine herself was hugging her siblings and trying to comfort them while crying her eyes out. Suddenly, they began to swerve off the road. The last thing Jasmine saw was a tree getting closer and closer and closer.

When she gained consciousness, the first thing she felt was something wet and mushy. Someone wet and mushy. As Jasmine’s vision cleared and she looked around, she realized something horrific. Her entire family was dead. She was laying in a bed of corpses. Distraught, Jasmine scrambled out of the broken car and began crawling into the forest. Her leg was twisted in a not-so-fun way. The only thing she could really see was the sky, which had returned to a somber dark blue with stars that illuminated the forest. Jasmine fell limp and closed her eyes, ready to die.

She awoke in a strange place with white walls. A man was standing near her bed. It was Maverick. Jasmine tried to leave but Maverick kept her put, and explained that she was sick. Infected with the virus. Maverick told her if she stayed, she could be able to help other infected people like her so they wouldn’t end up like her family. Jasmine stayed in that place for 6 miserable years until she turned 18 and started working professionally under the Paper Cranes.

Jasmine is presumed to be Patient Zero. A child who was gaslighted into believing she was crazy.