#i keep the pennies in a trinket box

[coolbeansclover]

the other day at work i had a group of three goth middle schoolers, the oldest they could’ve been was like, 12 or 13, tip me two cents. i work retail. that’s been the highlight of my month.

[opiopal]

I like to think that one of the things that confirmed Mammons feelings for Mc was the fact that his crows liked them, and they liked his crows,

Let me set the scene,

One day when they were both walking around at RAD, Mc wanted to go to the gardens, they’ve never shown interest in it before so mammon was confused, but agreed anyways. he thought it was stupid at first, why would the human want to hang out in the garden? Nothing interesting ever even happens here.

But his thoughts are cut short as he hears Mc digging around in their bag and he see’s them pull out what looks like a snack back of nuts and seeds, Mc takes a step away from him and over to a bush, kneeling down and shaking the seeds into their hand, holding it out. Then one of his crows suddenly pops out of the bush and just starts eating right from their hand!

Once they’re done Mc pets the crow on their little head with their pointer finger, then stands up and walks back, They noticed mammons face and immediately explains themself. “I noticed some crows hanging around out here, picking at the flower bushes, and I’ve started feeding them during my breaks!”

That almost completely did it for him, this human seriously was taking time out of their own day just to feed birds? Specifically his birds? They weren’t even aware that the crows were his!

And it didn’t really stop there, Mc continued to be friendly with them, thanking the crows when they bring them gifts, even keeping a little trinket box for every penny, ribbon, or stick that’s brought to them. They started leaving small piles of seed outside their window before going to bed and before going to RAD. There was even a time when one had landed in their hair, and the only thing they did was giggle and gently pull the crow out, holding it like a baby.

And mammon just couldn’t help but feel all fluttery, what was wrong with this human?? Why are they just so sweet??

And after mammon finally explains the crows are his Mc doesn’t stop adoring the little weirdos,

I can even imagine the crows eventually trying to make a move for him after a while, mc and mammon are walking around town and one lands in front of them on the ground, doing a weird little dance until it clicks in Mc’s head, which causes them to giggle, and sarcastically say with a smile “I’m not a bird silly boy, though if I was I would be very charmed” the crow looks a little prideful for a second, and only for a second before mammon very flusteredly shoos the bird away,

Just silly thoughts! The last one was inspired by those videos of birds trying to dance for a human that feeds them and stuff,

[sillyheheguy]

•~°≈ A Murder's Love ≈°~•

Prompt: Mammon's murder of crows loving MC more than they love Mammon.

• ~ ° ≈ ° ~ •

So we all know that Mammon has a murder of familiars. They're all crows and they're a lot like himself, basically mini Mammons. They are always making a raucous, they like taking shiny things, and are always following those they're like.

They really like Mammon and he is the only person they'll listen to. There is constantly a handful of crows following behind him. That was until you came to Devildom. They all flock to you and will take your word over Mammon's. Some familiars they are...

The crows love your attention! So much so that they bicker in jealousy just for said attention. Mammon starts shooing them away whenever they pile on you. Be it out of jealousy of his own or from embarrassment that his familiars are relieving his true feelings towards you.

The crows nestle and preen your hair. Your hair is their nest now. You cannot stop them. They'll braid their feathers into their new "nest" as well.

They are constantly giving you gifts. From their shiniest of feathers to just really random trinkets they find. If you try and keep all these gifts from them, they'll only start giving you more. Now you have 3 shoe boxes full of crap, but it's their crap and it's the thought that matters.

Mammon gets jealous too and starts getting you more gifts. They give you a ran over penny and Mammon will buy you a new pair of shoes you wanted. At least you have another shoe box for the birds.

It's actually humorous watching Mammon compete with his own birds for your love. You have to sometimes remind him that they're his birds and you aren't gonna love a murder more than you love him. Just don't let the crows hear you say that.

Despite this pettiness of his birds possibly getting more attention then him, Mammon is actually thankful that the crows like you. His crows can be picky with who they like. (They once chased Belphegor down the hall).

The murder have a sanctuary in the shed that's in the back garden. Mammon gives them seeds every morning and night. Sometimes Mammon asks if you would like to help feed them. Oh, how the crows love when you do. They get to see you!

The crows live a very free life compared to other familiars. That's mainly because their owner is a chill demon who dislikes responsibilities and wants a free life like them.

That's all I have to say. His murder loves you.

•~°≈ Have a joyous day! ≈°~•

[bloodymiso]

★ pakisabi nalang sa kanya — multifandom x gn!reader

how did they show their love for you pre-confession + how did they confess?

a/n: always wanted to do one of these posts teehee:3 | fandoms: genshin impact, stardew valley, l&co + haikyuu!! | warnings: none!

— through letters “sometimes, love creates a poet.”

words weren’t enough to explain their love for you, but putting some action into it might help. day and night, they put their admiration for you into sweet, beautiful words they wished would help them explain what you had done to their hearts. though they knew those words could never explain even a third(1/3) of what their heart ached to say. once, twice, even thrice a week you’d arrive to school/work with a little note under your desk, locker, or even in your lunchbox. letters filled with toe-wiggling poems, songs, and beautiful paragraphs which overflowed with love in every single line started piling up in your room. they wondered what you even did to their letters, were they rotting away in the trashcan? were they turned to dust by the fire you lit in your backyard? or were they kept safely in a small box under your bed, a heart encircled on its cover? little by little, they added clues to their identity, whether it be a flower which was related to them, or a little trinket from your past encounters. one day, they handed you a letter by hand, after of course getting you on a whole treasure hunt to find out where to go. that little adventure led you to a garden. with you sweaty, stressed out, and confused, they confessed right there.

gi. KAZUHA, diluc, fischl, XINGQIU, kokomi, alhaitham(HEAR ME OUT), charlotte sdv. ELLIOT l&co. kipps(again, HEAR ME OUT) + your faves!! ♡

— quietly “in silence, we often find the deepest connection.”

it took them a while to understand what was happening, the way their hearts beat faster at your mere presence, the way the curve on your lips seemed to infect their own, the way they always couldn’t wait for the next day purely because of you. after hours of staring at the ceiling, they came to a conclusion—it was love. that was all. you weren’t some sorcerer who snatched their heart, nor were you a weirdo who spiked their drink, you were you, and apparently, they liked that. ever since their “awakening” they started doing little things for you. whether it was returning one of your pens they saw on the floor, or refilling your water bottle whenever you were too focused on works/studies. all these little things came unnoticed by you, but they knew they were making a difference

day by day, the spark between you grew. smiles were exchanged as you made eye contact, now, they weren’t afraid to do things for you in the dark, now they could step out of the shadows, and help you as they were. their confession was abrupt, and unexpected at that. as they stood in front of your desk, they held out a singular rose.

gi. NEUVILLETTE, cyno, diluc, XIAO, sucrose, freminet, wanderer sdv. sebastian, leah, penny hq. KAGEYAMA TOBIO, kozume kenma + your faves!! ♡

— proudly “you can’t blame gravity for falling in love.”

oh this little shit. they couldn’t get enough of you, nor could practically everyone else around them, they had no choice! always blabbing about how angelic you were, how your happiness seemed to be so..contagious. “okay so today—“ they started, before their poor friend quickly placed a hand on their somehow always open mouth. “don’t even start.” you’d think people would like to keep their crushes secret, especially to the one they admire but nope! even you knew! get ready for flirting galore. i don’t think they would even need a confession, the whole nation practically knew at this point. there were times you thought their love for you was fake, that they were just joking. i mean, they never actually confessed.

well, until now, of course. they got news to spread around town that they got a lover and that they’ve been spotted at the local cafe which may or may not have caught your attention. now, they stood there, bouquet in hand(coffee in the other) and friends all around.

“so uh, would you like to be that lover?”

gi. TARTAGLIA, KAEYA, baizhu, beidou sdv. sam(?) l&co. LOCKWOOD hq. iwaizumi haijime, OIKAWA TOORU, tanaka ryūnosuke + your faves!! ♡

— through teasing “pride often gets in the way of love.”

oh god did you hate their ass. woke up at 5am just to be early to work/school?oops! they beat you there, now they won’t stop talking about it! they love teasing you, they just can’t stop. sometimes they wonder if the real reason theyre teasing you is to cover up what’s really under their skin, to cover up the hook you pierced through their heart. it ate them up from the inside, but no way were they gonna admit that! if someone’s gonna confess, it better be you first..

they would have confessed rather stupidly. having gone to a bar in the evening with their friends, they called your number(which they got after getting down on their knees and begging) and confessed right there, their voice slurred, it was obvious how many glasses they chugged down. the next day, they remembered absolutely nothing, it took you a few days before finally confronting them about it.

“wait what?! i confessed to you? d-do you like me back?”

gi. TARTAGLIA(again), KAEYA(again), itto, sdv. shane(ig) hq. kuroo tetsurō, TSUKISHIMA KEI, bokuto kōtarō + your faves!! ♡

extra. through songs/music ( kazuha, itto, elliot sdv, tsukishima kei & lucy carlyle) . through food ( XIANGLING, ningguang, emily sdv + me/hj)

(><) wanna support? reblog with tags pookie!!

[wardenparker]

In the Still of the Night, ch 6

Zach Wellison x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

Grown up and looking to the future, Zach Wellison and bunkmate Shane Morrissey are working for a new cruise line that offers its guests a vintage Vegas experience on the Mediterranean. The romantic atmosphere is rubbing off on many of the crew members, and Zach finds himself to be no exception when he meets the beautiful lead singer of Shane's band.

But being wrapped in the seductive arms of an atmospheric cruise is a far cry from real life. How will their relationship fare on dry land? They can't know unless they try.

Rating: M for Mature but this blog is always 18+ Word Count: 5.2k Warnings: *Blanket warnings for this story include: Cursing, alcohol, food, cooking, eating, discussion of clothing/costumes. Mentions of prison time served, mentions of past homelessness.* Brief mention of assumptions made about the homeless, family death. Summary: Things have been going so well, that of course life finds a way to interrupt bliss. Notes: We seem to have hit the drama button this week. As always, I apologize for an errors I may have missed, and gif is for vibes not physical representation of characters. Hope you enjoy 🧡

Ch 1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3 ~ Ch 4 ~ Ch 5

It’s still astounding to Zach how much shit he has acquired since getting on the cruise ship. He’s spent so much time living in sea bags when he was in the Marines and then out of that same bag when he was homeless, it’s fucking surprising to have to make multiple trips to move his stuff from the cabin that he shares with Shane to the brand new soulmate suite he will share with you. “Fuck.” He hisses, nearly dropping a little trinket he had picked up in Athens.

“Careful.” Shane warns needlessly, lugging in the last box with both arms. This one is books and Zach likes thick hardcovers from street markets.

“Why didn’t you tell me I had too much shit?” Zach grumbles, even though it’s not Shane’s place to say anything. He never takes up too much space in their shared cabin and always keeps his side neat.

“Why the hell would I do that?” His now former roommate huffs. The fact is, Shane never wanted Zach to feel bad about a single damn thing he owned. Not when he had gone so long with so little. “Memories are fuckin’ important, Wellison.”

“Yeah.” He feels a little embarrassed though, that’s a lot of money compiled into that box. Money he could have been saving or using on necessities.

“Stop.” Shane huffs as he stands up again. “I know it’s—it makes you feel guilty. Like every single penny needs to get saved for a rainy day.” He had felt that way too, after getting out of prison and making it through a halfway house. He’d spent a year or so squatting and saving until he finally found steady work that didn’t ask too many questions. There are a lot of similar memories still working their way through Zach’s mind as he navigates the next stage of his life. “What are you saving it for if not to live? To have a life?”

One of the things that he loves and hates about Shane is his ability to read Zach easily. He guesses it’s easier since he’s walked the same path he has and can relate more than anyone else they know. It’s also comforting to know that Zach could possibly be as well adjusted as Shane one day. “You’re right.” He huffs, rolling his eyes. “Damnit.”

"You okay, baby?" The first thing you hear from the doorway of the suite when you arrive with your arms full of garment bags is Zach swearing, and your brow furrows.

“Yeah!” Zach pops his head up from where he was trying to fit the trunk into the tight space and slams his head on the desk above. “Ow! Fuck!”

"Babe!" You flinch when he swears again, mostly because it comes with hitting his head, and immediately drop what you were carrying onto the nearest piece of furniture. "Take it easy, honey. It doesn't all have to get done instantly."

“Shit, I’m sorry.” He groans, rubbing his head as he straightens up. “Thought I would have everything squared away.”

"There's no hurry," you remind him gently, checking his head for a bump and thankfully finding none. "Hi. It's been like four hours since I saw you last. Way too many."

“Hi.” He smiles even though his head still hurts, happy to see you. “It was too long.”

"Way too long." In fact, it's been long enough for your heart to start hammering just from being around him again, so you have absolutely no shame in going to wrap your arms around him in a tight hug.

He leans into your touch like he seems to always do. Basking in the simple intimacy that some might take for granted, but not him. “I’ve got all my stuff.” He tells you. “What else do you need to bring?”

“I’ve got one more trip to make.” You tell him, happily bundled into his arms. “I brought some stuff over this morning before bingo.”

“I can help you.” He promises. “I don’t have to be at the club for another hour to start prep.” He knows that he can have his staff do all the prep, but he doesn’t like to do that. It makes him feel guilty, like he’s not earning his paycheck.

“Are you sure?” Searching his face, you but your lip and frown. On the one hand? You’re not going to give up the help, but in the other you don’t want to make him feel like a packhorse.

“Of course I want to help you.” He would be offended, but you had confided that beyond a few friends like Shane, you hadn’t found many people who were willing to exert any extra time or energy when you needed help. Even though you had constantly helped anyone who needed it. “We can make quick work of it together.” He promises, flashing you a reassuring smile.

The instinct to push back and refuse is there, but you know that with Zach it isn’t necessary. Or at least, he had promised you it wasn’t and you have to remind yourself that he has no reason to lie to you. “Thank you, baby,” you murmur instead, dropping a kiss in the corner of his mouth. “It’s just one more trip.”

“Then we will get it all settled.” He loves that you are letting him help and he wraps his arms around you. “So let’s go before I want to drag you over to our new Queen sized bed to try it out.”

“That big bed is going to make such a difference.” And you won’t apologize for a second about sprawling out over him, either.

“Need me to stay?” Shane asks, smirking as if he knows the answer.

“We got it.” You promise him, tucked into Zach’s side. “Go call Diana and tell her that I said hi.”

“He’s going to be happy to have his room all to himself.” Zach chuckles. “I bet their sex talk increases.”

“Guaranteed.” The two of you close the door to your new suite behind you and head back toward your old room for the last of your things. “Ten bucks says he’s halfway back to your old room already for sex.”

“No doubt.” He snorts and knows that he would do the same thing in the other man’s shoes. “But enough about him.” He purrs playfully. “The sooner we get your stuff back here; the sooner we can have our own alone time.”

“Do we have time for a little homecoming before work tonight?” You wink for full effect, already giggling at your own joke.

“Hmmmmmm.” Zach pretended to contemplate it, grinning back at you. “I think it’s necessary at this point.”

Nudging him along the hall, you end up slipping right past him to practically pull him along. "Then why are you walking so slow, Wellison?"

His laughter follows behind you, a light, happy sound as his footsteps speed up to match yours.

The last trip is a few bags of every day items like your cosmetics, jewelry, and hair things, along with bathroom products. It’s nice to have a hand, and River takes it as a last chance to tease Zach about ‘taking you off her hands’. All the teasing in the world doesn’t make her hug you any less though, and you promise her one time that not being roommates anymore doesn’t mean a damn thing for your friendship. It just means hanging out will be even more special now.

“You’ve got a lot of jewelry.” Zach is uneasy holding the bag that seemingly holds hundreds of earrings and necklaces as you both walk back to your new home. A throw over from times where he would and could be accused of stealing a stick of gum. He keeps his hands where you can see them, even if it’s completely ridiculous, considering he is living with you and will be alone in your shared space with this stuff eventually.

“I like thrift shops.” Walking side by side, you lug your bags of cosmetics and bath things down the hall with a anime. “You can always find vintage stuff pretty cheap. A dollar or two for a pair of earrings I can wear on stage, ya know? Sometimes you can even find sets.”

“A couple of dollars?” He frowns slightly. “It’s…costume jewelry?” He asks incredulously. All of your outfits and accessories look extremely expensive.

“I mean…there might be a piece or two that’s worth something because some grandkid didn’t bother to have granny’s jewelry box valued after she died, but yeah.” You shrug, always having been more practical through your life out of necessity. “It’s pretty much all paste stone and glass. Looks pretty, though.”

His shoulders relax significantly and he nods. “Though I think you deserve real jewelry.” He frowns slightly, wondering how much something gorgeous for you would cost him.

“Maybe one day.” In an effort to make him smile, you nudge him with your elbow as you turn down another hallway together. “I’d wear a gum wrapper as long as you were the one who gave it to me.”

"I'll do better than a gum wrapper." He scoffs, but his lips pull up and his eyes are soft as he looks over at you. "That I can promise you." He'll buy you the very best ring he could find.

"My point is that the emotional weight of a gift means more than the price tag." It's something you've talked about just a little, the fact that you're both realistically broke when you're not living on the ship. "As long as it's something that made you think of me, I don't care what it costs."

“Hell, everything makes me think of you.” Zach grins and winks at you. “Hurry up and I’ll show you what I’m thinking right now.”

“Naughty.” The scandalized tone in your voice is just for show, and you pick up the pace considerably, practically racing him back down the hall to your new suite.

******

Both of you show up to work with incredibly smug smirks and a small skip to your steps. Zach rushes into the kitchen, technically late by thirty-five seconds but he couldn’t resist that one last kiss with you.

"Oh my god." Zach's sous chef and saucier are smirking right by the doorway when he walks into the kitchen. Both holding up their watches. "For the first time ever — Chef is only on time instead of early."

He couldn’t look stern even if he tried. Just too buoyed by happiness with you and the fact that you are just as giddy as he is. One day maybe the feeling will settle, but for now it’s butterflies and feeling lighter than a cloud. “Yeah, yeah.” He huffs, waving them off. “I know you have work. I might be on time but everything’s already outlined.”

"Oh, we were early today." His sous chef flashes him a grin. "We only stopped to wonder if you were actually going to be late."

“We were moving cabins.” He defends half-heartedly. He still can’t shake the grin on his face, so he knows they know that excuse is complete bullshit. “Get back to work.” He huffs, shooing them away.

“Any changes tonight? Last minute specials?” Zach’s team asks gently. They aren’t stupid. They know he’s been catering his specials to what the boss’s new girlfriend likes best. And if it weren’t so damn sweet, they might be annoyed about it.

He grins and shakes his head. “Nothing tonight, except I want to add a cherry cognac sauce to the chocolate cake.” He admits. “I appreciate you working with me on the unusual menu changes. You all have adapted admirably.”

“Keeps things interesting, chef.” His sous chef tells him, with a knowing grin. “But at this point we’re gonna be offended if we don’t get to cook your wedding dinner since we know what she loves already.”

"I couldn't imagine any other staff I would trust." Zach admits. Being in the trenches of the kitchen with this group had taught him how fucking talented most of the cooks on a ship where. Not only did they turn out the 'regular' foods served in the buffet for breakfast and lunch, but they also executed the finer dinning menu with the same ease. "Seriously."

“You heard the man!” The call goes out around the kitchen even as though few members of the staff closest to Zach are exchanging knowing smiles. He’s a good guy and an even better boss, and they would all walk through fire for him. Adjusting menus is the least of it. “Let’s get to work!”

The kitchen is a flury of activity from the moment they say 'go' and Zach just chuckles as he watches all the crew that he has assembled rush back to their stations. "Let's put a meal on the table they will never forget." He hums.

******

It goes from rare that you and Zach spend a night apart to downright impossible for the first several weeks of living together, but your old roommate River is having a little birthday party for her thirtieth and you can’t deny the request to join her that night. She’s forgoing a big party and just having a few of the girls over after hours, with wine and treats and gossip for all.

“Sweetheart, it’s okay.” Zach promises for the eighth time, leaning in and kissing the concerned frown off your lips. “Shane and the guys invited me out for a drink, so you go have fun. I won’t be pining away for you in misery.” He grins. “But I will miss you.”

“I’ll miss you, too.” The bag with River’s gift in it dangled from the same hand that your purse does and you have the other hand on his cheek. “Have fun, baby. I love you.”

“You too.” You look amazing, but you always do. Zach watches as you turn and stride towards the door. “I love you.”

Down a few hallways and in the deck below where you and Zach share a suite, River has turned your old shared room into a boho chic crash pad with beaded curtains and scarves over her lamps, and the smell of patchouli in the air. It’s her happy place and you love that she is able to fully settle in and enjoy a comfortable place to herself until the quartermaster gives her a new roommate.

The music is on, but respectfully low to not disturb the cabins around hers if they are sleeping. The sound really coming out when she opens the door and grins. “Honestly didn’t know if you could tear yourself away.” She teases, lunging forward to wrap you in a tight hug.

“I didn’t either,” you joke, though it’s not wholly a joke. You squeeze her back and let her pull you inside easily. “Happy Birthday, honey.”

“Well, come in.” She grins as she pulls you inside. “Everyone else is on their way.”

“How many people are we going to cram into this place?” It’s nice to be back in a sort of nostalgic way. You had liked living with River and been fast friends with the philosophically-inclined bartender.

“Only four others.” She promises. “Intimate. Wine and gossip.”

“And snacks.” Along with River’s present, you have a tray of treats Zach made for you to bring for the party.

“Your soulmate is the best.” She gushes, eyes lighting up in delight. Zach had picked your brain for her favorites and managed to put together a finger food tray that was completely River. Right down to the mini cucumber sandwiches.

“He says happy birthday, too,” you laugh as she pulls you inside with gleeful giggles.

“What’s he doing tonight?” She asks, taking the tray and setting it down on the desk where she already has four bottles of wine and six glasses ready to go. “Pining for you?”

“Maybe.” You huff, though you can feel the warmth in your cheeks at the suggestion. “He’s having beers with the band. Boy gossip time.”

“Good.” She knows that you will be thinking about Zach, you have this almost dreamy expression on your face now. “Then I won’t feel guilty about pumping you for details.”

That only makes you laugh, because you had a feeling she would go that route, but she’s still your friend to tease. “Oh, so I’m the subject of tonight’s gossip?”

“Of course.” She huffs, rolling her eyes dramatically as if it was never in question. “No one else has anything as interesting going on in their lives.”

“Oh my god, you are not starting without me!” Madi — one of the hostesses from the ship’s high end restaurants and the most fashionable person you’ve ever met — comes in right behind you with a look of conspiratorial glee on her face. “I need to know everything.”

Quickly after her, the three other women who were invited arrive, all squealing about seeing you and soon all of you are lounging around the room with wine glasses in your hands. All of them waiting for the gossip to begin.

“Okay, okay.” You can pretend all you like, but getting to talk to some new people about Zach is actually nice. The guys in the band have heard every story already. Or they were there when it happened. “What do you vultures want to know?”

Tara grins, picking up a cucumber sandwich and examining it. “How much food play is involved in your bedroom life?” She asks, cackling at the joke. She’s a casino host from Zimbabwe and has a wickedly sharp sense of humor. Guests and crew alike adore her.

“Surprisingly very little.” You shouldn’t be stressed that that is the first question, but it still makes you grin. Zach doesn’t like food play because he still has hang ups about wasting food, but you use it in other ways. “Food is usually flirting with him. Seduction. Sometimes I walk into the club at night and his menu special is something I know he meant just for me.”

“That is so damn romantic.” Madi huffs. “I want a man who makes me special meals.” She takes a sip of her wine. “I bet he does that a lot, doesn’t he?”

“Almost every day,” you admit, hiding your grin behind your wine glass. “I swear I’m going to need a gym membership when we get back to New York. His food is so fucking good.”

"It looks like you are getting plenty of workouts." Jasmine snickers, lifting a brow at you. "You haven't gained a pound so you are sweating it off somewhere."

Zach doesn’t mind if you gossip a bit, you had made sure to ask how much he was comfortable with and he said it was fine. The broad strokes will surely be shared tonight, even while you keep the finer details for yourself. So you have no qualms admitting how active you actually have been. “I’m putting my birth control through the wringer.”

All of the girls erupt into giggles, happy about how proud of that fact you look and the playful banter starts to ping pong back and forth between them. All of them teasing you about positions and techniques to keep your soulmate making you fabulous meals for months to come.

“I know you guys didn’t invite me just to hear about how incredible my soulmate is,” you tease. Pouring your third glass of wine has you just as giggly as the rest of them. “Did you?”

A form chorus of ‘yes! is only counter by one ‘of course not! and that was only River who disagrees. Everyone starts laughing again and Tara hums. “We are all so happy for you babe. You light up at the mere mention of him.”

"He's..." The dreamy sign you let out is undeniable. Not that you ever would deny him. "He's the love of my life. I really don't know how I got so lucky."

"Did you know?" Jasmine asks quietly. "Before you actually knew? Were you like, drawn to him?"

"Hindsight is twenty-twenty," you admit, with a shrug of your shoulders that convinces no one at all. "I was definitely drawn to him, but I had no idea why. It was just..." The feeling had been there. It had blossomed in you and taken hold and grown so fast you couldn't keep it up. "I just thought it was the most intense crush I'd ever had. Like when you're a tween and have that very first puppy love experience? But as an adult it was so much more intense. I thought that's what it was...but it was the bond."

"Did Zach feel the same way?" Tara asks. "I can only assume he thought you were gorgeous, but every man on the crew thinks you're beautiful."

"Oh come on, don't be ridiculous." It's a lovely compliment, but it's definitely an exaggeration. "If you were to ask him, he would tell you that it was love at first sight for him. But he didn't think I'd ever like him, too. Which is patently ridiculous. Obviously."

"Obviously." River giggles. "Don't kill me, but Zach is hot."

“Why would I kill your for that?” You giggle over a sip of wine. “You’re right and you should say it.”

"Are you not jealous?" Tara asks, impressed by the idea that you wouldn't be. "I mean, I guess you wouldn't be, when he's so obviously devoted to you."

“I’m not going to be jealous that people have eyes. That’s silly.” Besides which, you’ve dealt with jealousy. You’ve seen it firsthand. It’s an ugly emotion that you never intend to face if you can ever help it. “As long as I’m the one he comes home to at night, I don’t care who else notices him. I know I’m damn lucky.”

"You are truly lucky." Madi sighs. "So lucky."

“Maybe you’ll find out Olaf is your soulmate,” you tease, grinning and making the other girls giggle. Madi had been long distance dating a Swiss hotel heir that she met while on vacation with her family in London. “You should get up the gumption to ask him if he has that tattoo of yours.”

"I would rather see it." She groans, rolling her eyes. "I need to see him. Tell the captain to sail around the continent. I have a man to jump."

"Get. It. Girl!" Jasmine crows, clapping and practically cheering.

Everyone laughs and you nearly spill your wine in the jostle of enthusiastic women.

It's a breath of fresh air to feel this happy and this free. This happy about your life. It might be the first time ever that you really are happy with exactly how things are, and that itself is a miracle.

******

Coming back to the room he shares with you, Zach is pleasantly buzzed. He had shared quite a few beers with Shane and the other guys, as well as shooting the shit and catching up. Trading jokes and stories. It’s different working back of the house in a kitchen and being up on stage in front of the same crowd of people. Both have interesting outlooks and everyone had laughed over the similarities and differences.

The click of the door startles you, mostly for reasons you can't quite articulate, but you jump out of your seat when Zach comes into the room. Cheeks stained with tears that you're still crying, your phone is clutched in one hand but you immediately reach for him with the other.

“What’s wrong?” Zach is immediately grabbing you, rushing over to your side and he sees that you seem physically alright. But your tears are aching, painful. He can feel how you are heartbroken. “What is it?” He demands, crushing you to him and instantly sobering.

"My, um—" You have to gasp between the tears, but you had hung up the phone with your mother just seconds before Zach came home and you haven't had time to process it all yet. "My Gram died." It seems so surreal, that sentence, and the very fact that you have to say it. She had seemed so well the last time you saw her. So capable and healthy. You had talked to her barely a week ago and she was perfectly fine. "It was—she had a stroke. This morning."

“Oh baby.” Zach has no family left to speak of, but he knows the heartbreak of loss. He closes his eyes as he holds you close. “I am so sorry.”

"They're organizing the funeral." Your voice wobbles, as uncertain as you feel, and you hold onto him tightly. "I—I gotta go home."

“Yes you do.” Zach squeezes you tight. “Do you want me to come with you?”

"Can you be away from the club?" Honestly you hadn't even processed the idea that Zach would offer to come with you, let alone that he actually could. "The, uh...the cruise—" You sniff back tears as best you can, trying to give yourself a clear head. "It's almost over. I have to talk to...I don't even know who. Someone. About going home."

“I’ll make sure I can.” Because of the pilot program on the cruise ship, they are docking and spending a week in port for meetings to make sure that there aren’t any changes that need to be made. It’s unusual, but it’s actually a good thing in this case. “My crew can handle the kitchen, even if it’s not new recipes.”

"Are you sure?" His willingness to just drop everything to be there for you is astonishing, and you couldn't be more grateful.

“Unless….you don’t want me to go?” He asks, unsure of why you’re so resistant to the idea of him supporting you during your loss. “I don’t have to if you’d rather go alone.”

"No, no — I want you to." Your hands tighten a little on his arms, silently begging him not to pull back. "I'm just...I'm still processing. And I guess I didn't expect you to offer it so easily."

“Of course I would.” He firms up his hold on you and leans into the embrace. “Whatever you need, I’m here for you.”

"Thank you." You lean your forehead on his chest and breathe an extremely shaky breath, trying to keep hold of yourself so you don't break down crying again. "I love you so much."

"I love you too." He promises softly, his hand running up and down your back to soothe you. "Come on, let's lay down and you can cry it out." He knows it's too late for anything to be done tonight, but in the morning will be soon enough.

******

The morning, it turns out, is a whirlwind. The crew is given notice that the docking in port will be for two weeks instead of one due to a necessary repair on the ship, so when you go into the office to ask for a few extra days of bereavement leave, you’re told to take whatever you need. Shane promises to keep the band rolling in your absence and Zach turns his kitchen over to his sous chef for the time being. Things at work will be perfectly fine while the two of you are on dry land. You keep telling yourself that over and over while you pack.

Zach doesn't have many formal clothes, so he frets over that while he packs the nicest ones he has. "I— I will have to get a suit." He tells you after a moment. " I don't have one, and I'm assuming you want me at the funeral?"

You nod, still feeling fuzzy and vague, like your whole reality is off center. “I’m sorry honey, I mean—yes. We can get you one. The funeral isn’t for a few days, thankfully.”

"Don't be sorry." He sets the shirt down he had been folding carefully and moves over to where you are stuffing a large black suitcase full. Sliding his arms around you and hugging your back in support. "I'm sorry that I have to get one, that it will take time away from family."

“It’s okay,” you promise him quietly, drowning in the feeling of actual comfort and security inherent in being held in his arms. You’re so fucking grateful for Zach all of the time, but especially now. “I have a feeling that an excuse to get out of the house will be helpful now and then.”

"Whatever you need." He assures you. "I know it's not the best way to meet the family, but I'm here for you. If you need time away, you just let me know."

“I thought I could show you around Tulsa a little.” The good parts, anyway. He’ll see enough of the shitty parts while he’s with you. “When we decided we needed to get out, I mean.”

“That sounds good.” Zach nods. “What time is our flight?” You had made the arrangements, since you knew what to do. He had offered, and he had insisted on paying for his travel since you wouldn’t let him pay for both of you.

“Seven tonight. It’s going to be a long-ass flight home. Two layovers and every flight is at least a few hours long.” That draws another long, low sigh out of you and you lean back against his chest. “You’re amazing for doing this with me, baby. I can’t tell you how grateful I am.”

“Of course.” He makes it sound simple and for him, it is. “Don’t forget to pack your book.” He murmurs. “And your sleep mask. Maybe you can get a few hours of sleep on the flights.” You didn’t sleep last night, but that’s almost expected.

“You’ll have to teach me the military trick for sleeping anywhere.” Zach’s ability to fall asleep at the drop of a hat is fairly spectacular, and you grab your sleep mask from the bedside table as he recommends. It can go in your carryon with the book you’ve been reading. And a spare, for good measure.

He grins at you and drops a kiss on your forehead. "Exhaustion beyond compare." He explains. "There's no other way to describe it."

“I have a feeling I might get there this week.” Slowly, methodically, the two of you work through your packing. Your little hometown right outside of Tulsa, Oklahoma isn’t much to talk about but you tell him little bits here and there. It doesn’t feel real to be going back like this. It doesn’t feel right. But it is what it is and cannot be anymore.

"It'll be alright." He knows you are bouncing back and forth between grief and nervousness, but he lets you talk it out how you need to. "If you need me to do anything at all, you just let me know."

“The fact that you’re coming with me means more than you know.”

"Baby, you are my soulmate." He reminds you. "We are a team, and I know that if it was me, you would be right beside me." He appreciates that and he takes your hand when you turn to him. "I want you to know you can lean on me anytime. I'm here for you."

“If it was you, I wouldn’t hesitate.” And that, you suppose, is his point. So you nod your head and to your head back, pressing a short kiss to his lips. “I love you more than anything.”

“I love you too, sweetheart.” He murmurs. “You’re my world.”

------ Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @haylzcyon   @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73 @iceclaw101 @loveslide @elegantduckturtle @becsworld @julesonrecord @its-nebuleuse @itsrubberbisquit @mikeyswifie @guelyury @lizzie-cakes @for-a-longlongtime @vabeachazn @purplerain04 @weho2kcmo @madnessofadaydreamer

ItSotN: @greenwitchfromthewoods @copperhalfcent @ariavitiellos @spishsstuff @76bookworm76

[luckyduckwrites]

Remembrance Chapter 1-25: Shadow War (Part 1): The Night of Magica DeSpell!

Fandom: DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Lena (Disney: DuckTales)/Original Female Character(s), Della Duck (Disney) & Original Character(s), Huey Duck (Disney) & Original Female Character(s), Louie Duck (Disney) & Original Female Character(s), Dewey Duck (Disney) & Original Character(s)

Characters: Lena (Disney: DuckTales), Della Duck (Disney), Original Female Character(s), Webby Vanderquack, Huey Duck (Disney), Dewey Duck (Disney), Louie Duck (Disney)

Additional Tags: Mentioned Della Duck (Disney), Canon Autistic Character, Canon Disabled Character, Protective Siblings, Brother-Sister Relationships, POV First Person, Original Character-centric, POV Original Female Character, Childhood Trauma, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Slow Romance, Slow To Update, Friends to Lovers

Summary:

My name is Izzy, and I'm Donald Duck's niece. I'm 6 years older than my brothers Huey, Dewey, and Louie, and we all grew up together on the houseboat. My brothers are incredibly mischevious and are always causing trouble, so they can never be left alone, but Uncle Donald almost never lets me babysit them. One day, he brings us to meet our Uncle Scrooge, the richest duck in the world! He seems vaguely familiar, almost like I've seen him before, but that can't be possible. I've never seen him on TV, so where could I have possibly seen him before?

**AO3 & Wattpad links in masterpost pinned to the top of the blog**

It's been almost a week since we moved back into the houseboat, and my brothers just left to get the last of their things. All my stuff is in my room, still in boxes except for my blanket and pillows. I've isolated myself to my room, only leaving when I need to eat or use the bathroom, and I haven't talked to anyone in days. I feel bad about what I said to Uncle Scrooge. He didn't deserve that. Looking back, he was definitely distraught after it happened. I think he did the best he could at the time.

I feel responsible for us falling apart this time, so I've been trying to stay away from everyone. I don't want to hurt anyone anymore. I'd rather be the one hurting than hurt anyone else. Uncle Donald keeps trying to convince me to leave my room to hang out outside, but I just want to be alone. He finally drags me out of my room, and I curl up next to the staircase, staring out at the open ocean as I rub my penny necklace between my thumb and index fingers.

Launchpad opens up a box labelled 'garbage' with trinkets from our adventures, saying, "Hey guys, I think you misplaced this box."

Dewey says, "We're throwing that away."

Webby exclaims, "What?! The Druid's Cup?! This Mt. Neverrest t-shirt?! The Golden Khopesh of Toth-Ra that you conned Launchpad out of?! Those artifacts are special!"

Dewey says bitterly, "It's just old junk."

He tosses his Druid Cup into the ocean, and Huey gently sets down his Mt. Neverrest shirt in the water, watching it float away a bit before shooting it with a flaming arrow and setting it ablaze.

Louie grabs the khopesh and pretends to throw it, hiding it behind his back as he says, "Goodbye. Sploosh!'

Huey asks, "Seriously?"

Dewey adds, "You're still holding it."

Louie groans, saying, "Oh, fine."

He dangles the khopesh over the water, but Huey snatches it out of his hand, launching it as far as he can.

Louie shouts, "No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no!"

He runs inside and comes back out in a scuba suit, Huey and Dewey having to hold him back from jumping into the water.

I hear Webby and Launchpad talking quietly near me, and I don't think they've noticed I'm out here yet, "I can't believe it's really over. I mean, they're falling apart, and they're family! Are we next?"

Launchpad responds, "Don't worry. I've crashed literally hundreds of Mr. McD's vehicles, and he always gets over it. The boys and Izzy will, too."

Webby says, "I don't know. This feels different. They blame Scrooge for their Mom's disappearance, and Izzy's basically removed herself from everyone. I think she blames herself for this."

I sigh, knowing she's right. I do blame myself. My family's falling apart again and I caused it.

Launchpad says, "It'll blow over. They'll be a happy family living in the mansion before you know it."

Uncle Donald bursts out of the houseboat, exclaiming, "Kids! Good news! Where have you always wanted to go?"

Louie asks, struggling against his triplets, "Into the water to go get my Khopesh?"

Uncle Donald responds, "What? No. Cape Suzette! We're moving there tomorrow!"

Huey exclaims, "A new town!"

Dewey adds, "Cape Suzette, here we come!"

Louie adds, "Finally!"

Dewey grabs my wrist, pulling me inside excitedly.

He lets go of me just outside my room, and he exclaims, "Cheer up, Izzy! We're moving tomorrow! We're finally leaving Duckburg!"

I fake a smile, and he runs into his room after our brothers, and I can hear them excitedly chattering behind the closed door. I sigh again, pulling my hood over my head as I enter my room, laying down again. It doesn't matter what town we're in; we're still broken because of me. I'll miss my friends, obviously, but if I'm not near them, then I can't hurt them.

As I was starting to doze off into a nap, I hear a soft knock on my door. I sit up, rubbing my eyes as I look toward the door, but all I see is a slip of paper under the door. I grab it and read what seems to be an invitation written in crayon, inviting me to a farewell dinner in the houseboat's kitchen in an hour, and there are two check boxes labeled 'yay' and 'nay'.

I roll my eyes and grab a pencil from my desk drawer, checking the 'yay' box. Why are they so insistant on making me a part of things? I just want to be left alone. If I just go to this one thing, maybe I can convince them to just leave me alone. A hand reaches under the door, gesturing for me to give them back the invitation, and I slide it back under the door.

Webby and Launchpad cheer, and I hear them high-five. I had a feeling this was their plan. Around an hour later, they're knocking rapidly on my door. They finally stop knocking when I open the door, and I'm immediately dragged downstairs into the kitchen, my brothers coming down soon after.

Webby exclaims, "Come on, guys! You're gonna be late for the greatest dinner of all time! A culinary journey through Duckburg! Every bite reminding you how much you love this town you're leaving behind for some dumb reason."

Launchpad sips on a green drink in a plastic cup, saying, "Mmm, the family-tini, old family recipe. Tastes like the loving embrace of family."

Ok, I see where this is going. They're gonna try to convince us to move back into the mansion. I raise my eyebrow and slump back into my seat, knowing where this is going, and grab a cup.

Huey grabs one as well, asking, "Are these melted popsicles in cups?"

Launchpad exclaims, "The stirrer has a riddle on it! Yeah, you won't get fancy stuff like this in Cape Suzette."

Mrs. Beakley comes downstairs with a bowl, saying, "That's probably for the best. I heard there was a farewell party. I brought ambrosia salad."

Webby takes Launchpad aside, and they whisper to each other with worried expressions.

Webby soon comes back, exclaiming, "A toast! The dictionary defines family as a group of people bound together by commitment and unwavering loyalty, so let's each say one nice thing about a particular relative of ours." She clears her throat, asking, "Boys?"

Dewey sighs, saying, "Ugh, fine. I'll gow kth Uncle Donald, because, well, he's devoted to his family. Unlike others."

Huey adds, "Yeah, and he's thoughtful."

Louie adds, "Don't forget passionate."

I add l quietly, "And he took care of us when Mom left."

Uncle Donald's eyes water, and everyone looks at me in shock after speaking for the first time all week, making me just hide more in my hood.

Launchpad adds, "I like his sailor getup!"

Webby groans, saying, "Ugh, okay, we all love Donald, but how about a relative that is not in this room, who is over 80, and is very, very rich?"

That's way too specific.

Dewey raises an eyebrow, asking, "Why are you guys acting so weird?"

Launchpad nervously says, "Uh, we're not! Emergency bounce house!"

He pulls an inflatable bounce house out of his pocket and pulls the cord, inflating it immediately and squishing everyone against the walls.

Mrs. Beakley groans, her face smooshed into a window, "Webby. Launchpad. A word?"

She helps pop the bounce house with her swiss army knife, and the three of them close themselves into a separate room, talking quietly. After coming back into the main room, Mrs. Beakley starts preparing her own dessert while we snack on the stuff Webby and Launchpad made. Once it's done, she places a hot, steaming slice onto the table with a scoop of already melting ice cream on top.

She explains, "Apple shortbread pie with a scoop of sea salt ice cream. A common farewell dessert in certain parts."

Dewey says, "Finally, some real food."

He reaches for the plate,but Mrs. Beakley pulls it away, saying, "Oh, I'm so sorry. This was Scrooge's favorite dessert. Oh, I don't want to remind you of that horrid man who lost your mother all those years ago, even if it was an accident that tore him up for years, propelling him into a desperate search attempt that left him broken and nearly bankrupt."

Great. Way to make me feel even more guilty, Mrs. B.

Louie asks, "Wait, bankrupt? Really?"

Mrs. B continues, "But I understand. You're upset because you lost one family member,which was terrible and painful, so you decided you should go ahead and lose another. Brilliant. Makes perfect, rational sense."

Dewey smiles, saying, "Yeah. Nailed it, Mrs. B."

She continues, "Yes, distance yourself even further from his life and forsake family altogether. That will definitely fix it."

Launchpad exclaims, "No! It'll do the opposite of that!"

Mrs. Beakley finishes, "Perhaps it's worth considering that the reason Scrooge closed himself off was because the loss of Della was the hardest thing he's ever faced, harder than any adventure. It's not that he didn't care, it's that he cared about family more than anything in the world. And perhaps he still does."

I take a deep, shaky breath as a single tear slides down my cheek, realizing that I did the same exact thing Uncle Scrooge did when he lost Mom. Sheltering myself from everyone in fear of hurting them again.

Mrs. Beakley turns away abruptly, adding, "But I'm just the housekeeper. What do I know?"

Launchpad exclaims, "A lot! This lady knows a lot!"

Mrs. B grabs one of the melted popsicles cups, saying, "Now, let's toast to a fine farewell meal, topped with a dash of perspective."

Dewey's eyebrows furrow, and he asks, "So this whole thing was to guilt us into going back to the mansion?"

I say, "Yeah, duh. I could tell from the beginning with all the talk of family."

Dewey rolls his eyes, saying, "Well, it's not gonna work. Sorry, but it's too late. We're going to Cape Suzette with our real family, and that's that. Right, Uncle Donald?"

Uncle Donald stands up, sighs, then responds, "No. Mrs. B's right. Uncle Scrooge needs us, and we need him. Our family has been apart too long. It's time for us to come together."

I stand up next to Uncle Donald, adding, "Let's fix our family."

Uncle Donald kneels, his eyes watering again as he says, "Come here, boys."

Huey and Louie tear up, running to hug Uncle Donald and I, but Dewey remains seated at the table.

He sputters out, "Wait, wait, wait. But- but the Spear, and Mom, and... and..."

He starts crying, and joins in the hug, sobbing the hardest of all of us.

Launchpad holds up his hand, asking, "Family?"

Webby jumps up and high-fives him, exclaiming, "Trapped!"

Dewey says through sobs, "Let's go back to the mansion!"

Suddenly, our shadows comes to life and float out of the mansion. We follow them out onto the deck and watch them join a large shadow vortex circling over the Money Bin, the walls crumbled. I grab binoculars and zoom in as much as I can, spotting a green duck with yellow eyes and triangular pupils holding Uncle Scrooge's Dime inside the Bin, holding her hand up toward the shadow vortex. I gasp, dropping the binoculars in shock as I realize who it is; Magica DeSpell. I haven't seen or heard anything about her in years! Not since I was little and Uncle Scrooge told me how he deated her just a few months before I hatched.

Uncle Donald picks up the binoculars and looks where I was before saying, "Aw, phooey."

Louie starts backing up slowly, asking, "So... still going to Cape Suzette, right? Cool, yeah, I'll start the boat."

[unforgivendiorgirl2005]

new vibe i'm going for

firstly, the vibe im going for with this is early 20s, new york city, living on her own, young woman, sophisticated. I dress similarily to this now but, I want to fully dive into the look.

Closet Essentials:

bangle bracelets

gold hoop earings

red long sleeve

pale blue button up shirt

white button up shirt

small shoulder purse

fingerless gloves

brown leather jacket

tall brown boots

black kitten heels

red ballet flats

off the shoulder sweater

highneck tanktops

furlined penny lane coat

Makeup/Hair/Nail Looks:

we are talking black liner in the lower and upper lid and full lashes

dark green, purple, red, black, french tip nails

dark red lips and black liplined lips with gloss

box braids, faux twists, and boho goddess braids, slick back half up half downs, and hair scarves

highlighter, bronzer and blush

Vibes:

"she drinks copious amounts of tea and coffee, keeps her annotated books in her overfilled messenger bag along with an assortment of stationary pens and journals as well as an altoid tin wallet filled with random trinkets and her daily lip combo. She spends her weekdays in her maximilist apartment bedroom and her weekends socializing with friends and attending bars at night. She keeps a stable job and focuses on herself, and herself alone."

[rhinozilla]

I was rereading some of the earlier fics in your Detroit 07 series and you mention Connor's box of trinkets and I was wondering if along with the ones you have included in fics (like the mug, snow globe, and the baseball stuff) if there are any other keepsakes you have head cannons for?

He still has the little Tinman figurine from the Wizard of Oz that Chris Miller gave him years ago. It still sits on his desk by his monitor. He has since added framed pictures of himself with his brothers.

He also still has the lucky buckeye that Penny gave him when he established Hank’s garage as his bedroom. Now that the house is Connor and Julia’s, he will move the buckeye around the house, like the window or the bookshelf or the bedside table. Always somewhere easily visible.

He has a friendship bracelet from Bonny Stevens that he never wears out of fear of breaking it or losing it. He keeps it in the drawer of his office desk next to his old coin. It’s stretchy, so he will fiddle with it sometimes instead of the coin. He also kept all of their pen pal letters and all of the subsequent cards (birthday, Christmas, Valentine’s, etc) that she has made for him.

He has an action figure of Lieutenant Commander Data from Star Trek, signed by Brent Spiner. Ben Collins gifted it to him from his personal collection when Connor made Sergeant (which hasn’t happened in Detroit 07 yet, but I can see it already). Connor was so appreciative that he literally jumped on Ben to hug him.

Gavin also gave him an action figure, but of the Terminator, as a joke. Connor was less happy about this gift, but he still keeps it on a bookshelf at home, more as a reminder of how far his and Gavin’s relationship has improved.

Person gave him a set of brass knuckles “for home protection.” Connor found that funny until Julia actually used them when someone broke into their home and sent the guy to the hospital. He’s never been more proud or terrified. He keeps his old Cyberlife jacket folded in a keepsake box at the back of a shelf in the closet. He has thought about disposing of it several times over the years, but he can never bring himself to actually destroy it. It was the first clothing that he ever wore, and it was what he was wearing when he deviated and chose to live. It still has the bullet holes in it, and although the thirium has long since evaporated, he can still detect the stains. He doesn’t take it out often.

[karltface]

I warned you, didn't I?

Boom. Bogleech box. And we're gonna have some mysteries on our hands.

First up, some gimmicky fun. There's a busted pumpkin with a second Jack-o'-lantern face inside of it. Said face rotates (vertically, interestingly enough) to reveal three other faces- a classic Jack, a slightly flame-like face, and Basically Kool-Aid Man. Hopping Pinkeye is kind of hilarious, and the Pocket Screamer doesn't actually scream, but laughs menacingly. My last copy was deader than disco, so this was a fun reveal.

Well, that's interesting. I feel like I remember these stick dolls, but damned if I know where. Hot Topic is probably a safe bet. Anyway, mummies are always cool, and this one looks absolutely stellar within the confines of the line. The skull, I believe, is from one of those excavation kits in the STEM section (it sounds pretentious, but every one is listed as STEM online). Fun, but not the real thing. I'm liking the amber tint of that superball, too.

Proper action figures, kind of. The Ovion hails from Battlestar Galactica, 1979, and while short the bit of doily it used to wear, still looks good enough for the time. All six limbs move, though the head doesn't.

And then there's the Tangle Twist-A-Zoids. McDonald's toys, yes, but fully compatible with the Tangle system, a wide array of curvy tubes that connected to various fanciful body parts, looking like noodly marionettes that could stand under their own power. There could be an enormous, badly-proportioned parody of a bird sprouting from that orange dude's mouth if you wanted. Madness, I tell you.

Apologies for the bad photos, I'm trying to keep these things from scratching each other. Pins this time around were Elbow Squid (and that completes the set!), Mothman, and Mothman Larva. Glowy eyes across the board, I believe. Good stuff.

Figurines, part one! Stoplight Head can't really stand (I'll work something out), so he's just linking arms with Mark the Skeleton like a couple of drunks helping each other out of the bar. Mark is tired of being bonked on the head.

I think I finally got a duplicate Tiny Kaiju, and that's out of like 10 by now. The dogu is blatantly King Joe, finally nailing down their origin: it's all Ultraman characters I haven't seen. Which is a pretty wide umbrella.

And that exhausts all I know about these. The bugs are total unknowns (it's a very wide world of these things), the evil...sumo... Snake Man? No idea.

Part two! An adorable turtle in a cute hat is legitimately fun (oh no, I'm old!), but look at that fishman! The rat-dragon is no slouch, almost big enough for some sort of articulation and very nicely painted. The only things I actually recognize are Axew and Magnemite, which is a good thing in that the rest can fit in just about anywhere.

All in all, worth every penny as always. Even the stuff I don't want will make someone happy; I always have a handful of trinkets on hand for anyone that makes my day brighter in some way, or could use a treat themselves.

Still a few of these to be had, but if you're on a budget, there are still the mini versions as well.

https://www.etsy.com/shop/scythemantis

[im-in-love-with-pizza-bites]

My Best Friend's Family: Chapter 3

Christopher Herrmann x Teen!Fem!Reader, Herrmann Family x Teen!Reader

Series MasterList

Series Summary: When everything seems to be falling apart your best friend, Lee Henry and his family are there to help.

Chapter Summary: CPS comes to talk to you, Cindy, and Christopher.

Series Warnings: Single parent, death of a parent, foster care system, adoption

Chapter Warnings: Foster Care System, DCFS

Reader's Age: 16

This chapter is short but next one will be longer.

You were silent for the next hour. You sat there zoned out staring at the wall. You didn't want to talk you wanted to curl up in bed and cry. But you'll probably never get to go home, let alone to your own bed. Herrmann updated the firehouse before going back to sitting with you. Soon DCFS came and pulled Cindy and Christopher off to talk to them. Lee Henry stayed with you keeping a hand on yours

"My mom and dad will make sure you're safe." Lee Henry assures looking over at where his parents were. "I'm pretty sure they love you just as much if not more than their own kids." He says.

"Whatever you say Lee." You mutter following his eyes to the adults. Herrmann and Cindy both look a mix of relief and worry.

"" He tells you squeezing your hand. Before Herrmann waves you in. You and Lee both get up and go over.

"Y/n? Do you happen to know if your mother had a will?" The DCFS lady, Penny asks.

"Yeah she got it redone like two years ago."

"Do you happen to know if she put in the will what will happen you?"

"No she didnt tell me anything about her will. Just where to find it." You explain.

"Okay. So unless her will says otherwise the Herrmanns are filing for guardianship of you as long as you want that."

"Yeah thats what I want."

"Okay well grab your things. I have to bring you down to the office." You nod going to the chair and grabbing your bookbag.

"The will is in the top drawer of her desk it's in the living room." You say handing Christopher your keys to the apartment.

"Okay. Bye kiddo." He hugs you. You hug Cindy and Lee Henry before following Penny.

———

Cindy picked up the 4 youngest kids and went home while Herrmann and Lee Henry went to your apartment. It was Herrmann's first time being there. It is a quaint little place. Just big enough for you and your mom.

"Hey go grab anything you think Y/n would want kept safe." Christopher says to Lee Henry as he walks over to the desk. Lee goes to your room. Chris opens the drawer, there's a binder labeled important documents sitting at the top of the drawer. He pulls it out before sitting in the desk chair.

He opens it skimming through before he makes it to the will. He reads through it, everything would be yours at 18. Then he sees the part regarding you. He reads it's over before putting it back in the binder.

"You get everything?" He asks walking into your room.

"No." Lee Henry says as he digs through your bedside table drawer. He pulls something out and shoves it into an old ratted suitcase. Herrmann looks around you room before his eyes fall onto your dresser. There's a few picture frames, one of you and your mom, one of you, your grandma, and your mom, one of you, him, and Cindy, then one of you and Lee Henry from middle school. He grabs the one of you, him and Cindy, it was at the middle school talent show. You and Lee Henry put on a dance together for it. You two didn't win but it was fun. He grabs the pictures and put them into the bag.

"I'm gonna go grab her mom's jewelry box." Henry says after putting the stuff bear from your bed.

"Okay kid I'll finish in here." He says as his phone dings. It's your asking him to grab the small girrafe trinket from the bookshelf in the living room. He goes out and grabs it fiddling with it. Lee Henry comes out with the bag. "Ready?" He asks putting the girrafe in the bag.

"Yep."

TagList: @i-spaced-sorry @slutfortaylorswiftandzendaya @luckyladycreator2 @smoothdogsgirl @samanthavitale @aaliyahsinger @random-multifan @queen-ofthe-nerds10 @emery--nicole--morrison @ratcatcher2world @roseelone @justtheodore1 @emme-looou @sande5098 @paieege @levineace @sydkid @thevelvetseries @bisexual dinosaur @fullmoon-94 @transparentparadiseglitterzombie @muffinlimelight @tracysnook @spikerose15

[milstrim]

Home Is in My Arms

Tony Stark had had a daughter.

Her name had been Penelope.

She had had superpowers.

And he hadn't seen her in four years.

The ten year-old had last been seen on March thirty-first, 2012. The day of the Chitauri invasion. Tony had seen her that morning, and he guessed he could at least be grateful that their last interaction hadn't been like his own with his parents. Instead of a fight that was never resolved, the two had giggled on the couch of the newly furnished tower, him and Pepper with glasses of wine and Penny with her mint milkshake. Pepper had side-eyed them exasperatedly, as though their laughs and jokes had been the worst ruckus anyone had ever made.

And then Coulson. And then Steve. And then Natasha and Bruce and a God he had learned about in history when he was younger. And then Loki and the Helicarrier and explosions that had left Tony's head ringing--but nothing had hurt more than the loss of his friend.

Everything had gone by so quickly, so desperately, there had been no time to do anything about anything except gear up and go. The biggest reassurance he had given himself was that his homework had caused Pepper and Penny to leave the city for a couple of days while the girl was on Spring Break. It meant they were safe from everything was about to happen, and that he didn't have to worry past New York.

And they had won. The Avengers had been formed under desperate circumstances. They had saved the world.

And Penny had been gone.

Pepper had left on the plane, but Penny had managed to convince her godmother that she should stay at her friend's house for a sleepover. The aliens hadn't even been able to make it past the perimeter and into Queens, but the hectic of it had been enough. Or maybe she had run off to help. Even at ten she was braver than he was. Better. And equipped with superpowers from a field trip's rogue spider that made her stronger than even Captain America.

But it hadn't been enough.

No body was ever recovered. No trace of her was ever found. No footage or DNA or witnesses. There was nothing. Nothing for him to even try and grasp onto what had happened to her. How she had died. The best anyone could do was assume that a Chitauri weapon had vaporized her and to try to grieve from there.

And by God did he try.

After the Mandarin and almost losing Pepper, he'd put in more effort than he ever had. He visited the grave where no body was buried, leaving flowers and trinkets and books he knew she would have loved. He talked. To people who had known her like he had. Pepper and Rhodey and Happy and even Natasha.

The two had been so close when the woman had spied on him. Closer than he had been, still trying to change and learn to be a father better than his own after Afghanistan. He'd been dying and hadn't focused on anything but himself. About what he wanted to do before he was gone, instead of what would happen to his family afterwards.

So Tony tried. He tried a lot, but trying didn't always end in success. No, sometimes it ended in helicarriers made for HYDRA to control. Or a robot meant to protect only trying to destroy. Or in the fracturing of the Avengers, with Natasha and Steve on the run while the others sat in a max security prison that he spent every living moment trying to get them out of.

Except for now. Or maybe now too. Tony didn't know why Natasha had texted him. Only that she had betrayed him and texted only a couple of weeks later with a location out in Birmingham, England and nothing else but the message 'Get here quick.'

And he had. With nothing but a quick word to Pepper to keep Ross off of his aching back for a day, he'd stepped onto his plane and arrived in just over six hours. From there the billionaire had stepped into a waiting car and zoomed towards the address the spy had sent him, his heart racing just as fast as the vehicle's as he curved through city traffic.

Tony's thoughts strayed to Steve and Barnes and what had happened the last time he'd zoomed off to help his teammate. He swallowed down on his stuttering fear, reassured partly by the guantlet-watch sat snugly on his wrist and partly because he knew Natasha. Well, he knew her better than he ever had Steve anyway. Him and Natasha had fought, and there'd always been room for disagreements and anger, but at the end of the day they knew each other. And they were family.

The mechanic pulled up outside the run-down apartment complex, giving it a onceover before parking, pulling a baseball cap on low, and stepping out.

There was a drizzle, light and cold for the summer, even in England. He frowned, but only pulled his hood up with a shiver and stepped through the rusted metal gate, allowing him access to the first floor of apartments and a set of spindly stairs that he hoped didn't lead to any kind of locked door. He didn't exactly have a key, and Tony would prefer to not draw any attention to himself while here.

The man didn't need anymore grief from Ross. Not while he was desperate to pin something on Tony, and meeting with a violator of the Accords wouldn't exactly do much for his public image.

Biting on a sigh, Tony headed up the stairs towards the apartment number that Natasha had sent him. Thankfully, there was no locked door in his way, and the only person in the hallway that the stairs had led him to seemed to be much too out of it to pay him any mind. Quicker than he really would have liked, Tony was outside Apartment 9B, the number rusted and close to falling off of its hinges. Sucking in a breath, he knocked.

It only took a few seconds for the door to click! and then crack open just enough for him to catch familiar blue eyes and cropped platinum hair interrupted by a second lock's chain.

Natasha let out a short breath of relief, unlocking the door fully and opening the door just enough that he could slip inside. He glanced around the apartment once as she locked the door back up, surprised to see it was basically exactly what he had expected. It was small and old, orderly but not quite well-kempt, with evidence of past fights staining and fracturing the walls.

"Nice place," he commented. "Very runaway."

"Very last minute," Natasha responded. "It's not as easy as you think it is to get an apartment when everyone's trying to arrest you."

"You seem to slip away no matter what. By the way, how did you get away from Ross last week? I've got to know your trick on that, because I could use some pointers."

Natasha stopped beside him, a small smile tugging at her lips as she crossed her arms over her chest. Despite his forcefully loose and nonchalant posture, Tony felt himself freeze up looking at the Avenger. Her expression, no matter what it was, had always been hard for Tony to discern when she was practically the perfect spy. But now, this smile--it was sad and joyful and regretfully guilty.

"What happened?" he asked, his voice dropping to something softer. Rarely sincere.

Natasha glanced away from him to stare at a door for a moment before glancing back at him. Her lips twitched and her eyes threatened tears in a way that he hadn't thought she would express to him.

She swallowed. "Penny's alive. And I found her."

Tony--

Tony didn't react. Not for nearly a minute. Instead he stared, his entire body stilling--even his damaged heart--before he seemed to come back to life all at once like a broken wound-up toy.

The man stumbled back a step, falling into the nearest gray wall. One lonely breath coming in in a strangled gasp as he willed for something--anything--to make sense. 

"She's alive?"

Natasha nodded.

"How?" he demanded. "How--in England? From New York? There's no way anybody could've just taken her while I was--"

The man cut himself off, dragging in another wheeze that rattled through his entire chest. His legs began to collapse under him, but his friend caught him, managing to maneuver him onto the floor slowly. Tony leaned against the wall as Natasha sat beside him, her head propped up against the wall beside him.

Neither said anything. Not for a few minutes at least at Tony's shaking and gasping ebbed. Not until he could force out images and nightmares of Penny his mind had tortured him with for years. He locked them in a box and dropped it in an ocean of useless thoughts, because his daughter was alive. Because she wasn't dead and none of it--a painful death full of fear and confusion while Tony was only blocks away that he had been tortured by for years--had ever happened.

Natasha spoke up when he'd finally managed to take in eight consistent breaths.

"I was raised in the Red Room," she started. "I was taken from my family and tortured for years. I tried to make a family there, and I did. For a little bit at least. But that family was taken too, replaced by the only world I had ever known. One based on pain and dictated structure. A cruel trick to play on a child, but it was normal for the Red Room. What wasn't normal was me not only succeeding more than they had ever dreamed, but succeeding past them. Escaping and deserting. Killing Dreykov was the last step of my defection to SHIELD. It was revenge and justice all at once. The others would be freed and I could clear out my ledger in a life I chose."

She swallowed, taking a moment.

"I failed. I failed and I didn't know." Natasha turned from staring ahead at the wall to stare at Tony. Suffering blue met broken brown, tired and guilty reflecting. In a whisper, she said, "Dreykov lived. He lived until a week ago. And the Red Room, and every Widow in it, lived under him."

Tony was touched to be trusted this much. To be trusted with even a sliver of what his friend had gone through in such a time of suspicion and betrayal. But he was scared. He was terrified, because Natasha never shared just to share. Everything she said had a point, a reason, a direction.

He tore his eyes away, shoving a hand over them and letting his head drop onto his knees. Unwillingly, he croaked, "No... Nat, please don't tell me--"

"Penny's a Widow."

Tony bit his lip, chewing on his cheek so harshly there was the tang of blood in his mouth. He took a moment, letting his head fall against the cracked and stained cement wall. Penny was alive. And she had been trained--no. Natasha's descriptions, however few and miniscule they had been, could not be described as simply training. Penny had been tortured. For four years. And what had he done but grieve and give up? If only he'd known. If only he'd found out sooner.

Natasha continued.

"The Red Room..." She took a breath and licked her lips. "After I escaped, they changed their whole system. Their method. How they hid and how they trained and--and how they controlled the women."

Something about the way Natasha said the last part sent a cold feeling down his throat.

"What did they do to her?" he croaked.

"They um...well, for lack of my understanding of it, they mind controlled her."

"They--Nat what? How would they even--"

"They controlled the brain’s neuropathways through external manipulation," came a new voice, their accent thick. Tony whipped his head around to stare at a woman he had never seen before. Like Natasha, she wore a regular hoodie and sweatpants but still looked as though she could take his life in less than a minute. There was an intensity about her, from her stance to her tied back hair to her ghostly blue eyes that stared at him suspiciously. "It was based off of blueprints for the Winter Soldier. Me and Natasha were part of the mission to retrieve them when we were young."

Despite the insanity of every new piece of information shot his way, he managed to piece it together in his head quickly enough that he opened his mouth to respond with a snapped remark, but Natasha managed to speak before he did.

"What are you doing out here? You're supposed to be looking after Penny."

"I was, but then I heard how badly you were explaining everything and I came to help." Natasha glared. "Relax. I finished braiding her hair and now she's pretending to be asleep so she can listen to everyone talking."

The last part was said with a pointed look down the narrow apartment hall, but everything after Natasha had said "Penny" didn't seem to make sense anymore.

"She's here?" he asked, already scrambling to his feet. He glanced between Natasha and the woman desperately. "Penny's here right now?"

"We found her yesterday," Natasha answered cautiously. "Me and Yelena just started to free the Widows deployed around the world. We managed to give her the antidote during a shootout in Estonia. After that a friend of mine managed to get us here."

"A shoot--is she okay?"

"Just a couple of burns," Yelena said. "She may be enhanced, but she still has plenty to learn. She could still kick your ass, though."

"Thank you. Truly," Tony said, a bite of sarcasm to his voice, before turning back to Natasha, his desperation bubbling. "Which room?"

"Tony, I don't think you need to just go bursting in there. Let me--"

Tony stopped listening, every word his friend was saying dying out on his ears as he spotted a brunette and wide brown eyes poking around the corner over Natasha's shoulder. He felt his breath catch in his throat as their eyes clicked.

Penny had grown. She'd sprouted almost an entire foot from the short ten year old she had been, awkward and gangly limbs that the girl had always seemed to struggle with were replaced by obvious muscle and carefully controlled movement as she stepped out from behind the wall, their stare still holding. Despite the sharper angle of her chin and jaw, she still held baby fat in her cheeks that dwindled the look of her down by a couple of years, not helped at all by the familiar roundness of her deeply brown eyes.

He swallowed. His voice broke.

"Penny?"

—-

“Penny?"

It had been years since Penny had seen her dad. Since she'd heard him. Anything about her father not privy to missions had been carefully shielded away from the teenager for years. Sometimes on the few missions she had been sent on she would catch news clippings and pictures on TV channels before she had to move on or that terrible voice in her mind would force her to ignore him. But, despite the scarcity of which she was allowed to know about her father, she had always thought about him.

Penny had swam in her memories whenever she could. Whenever she needed. She'd think about the games she and her dad had used to play. About lessons he'd taught her and days they'd spent together. About hugs and braided hair and kisses to her head. The memories had felt faint and washed away underneath everything, but she'd clung to them like a lifeline.

That being said, she hadn't expected Dad's voice to sound like that. For him to look like this. He was always so put together in her mind--so strong--even when he was messy from the lab or tired from a long day of work, always accompanied by fond child-like adoration. But now he didn't look it.

There were bruises on his face, faint but still noticeably purple. His hair wasn't as dark or thick as she remembered, growing back just a little higher on his hairline, and more lines grabbed and pulled at his face. But that wasn't what ruined her memory of strength and warmth, people aged after all, that was just reality. It was the expression on his face and glossing over his eyes. It was the way he'd said her name, so unsure and weary.

Penny, finally, looked away from Dad, instead glancing over at Yelena and trying not to look like she was too desperate for help. Yelena stared back, raising her brows and gesturing to Tony with a slight nod of her head, as if telling her to not be a coward. But Penny didn't know how to do that. Not now.

Thankfully, Natasha took over.

"I'm going to go get us some dinner. Yelena?"

Okay, so not the kind of help she'd been looking for.

Yelena gave Penny one last glance, nodded, and then followed the Avenger out of the door.

The door clicked shut and then it was just father and daughter.

"Penny," he tried again.

She hid a flinch at how small and tired his voice was, how broken he felt standing only feet from her. She hid her shock and her fear and apprehension exactly how she'd been taught, schooling her features into something easy and bored. She let her shoulders drop and her posture loosen, but the hardest part was hardening her stare. That had always been the biggest complaint of her handlers. Her senses had been sharp but her expression always so readable by her eyes.

"Hi, Dad," she said, her voice cool and casual on default. The words felt terrible leaving her lips, so she crossed her arms in an attempt to feel more stable. "It's been a while."

He chuckled, short and sad. "Yeah. You could say that."

And then there was silence. It trickled in, slow, awkward, and tense between them. Penny tried not to let it get to her, but she couldn't deny that she wasn't tired and disappointed. When Yelena had smashed the antidote beside her, it was the first time the teenager had seen clearly in a long time, and her first thought had been of her Dad. There had been worries about if he missed her and if he'd been okay, but a fear had stabbed at her so strongly that she was still thinking about it.

Would he still love her? After all she'd done? She had hurt people. She had killed people. Not in defense. Not in good reason. But in fear and control.

"I, uh..." Penny blinked at her dad's voice, beating away her thoughts and instead focusing back on the bruised and stuttering man in front of her. "Sorry. I would've thought of something better to say if I'd known I was going to see you again. Maybe some presents too. Do you still like those peanut butter cookies?"

"The ones we used to make?" she asked. "With the Hershey Kisses?"

"Those are the ones."

She shrugged. "I don't know. I haven't had them since I was with you."

"Oh. Yeah. I guess you wouldn't have..." he trailed off, glancing down for a moment. She stared at him, watching his expression carefully as he loosened and looked back up at her. "Well, we can't make them again? At home?"

"Sure. Sounds fun."

Penny couldn't stand how dull her voice sounds, like she couldn't care less about something that really made her want to cry in happiness. But...she didn't know what else to do. What to say. The Red Room had made sure she always knew what to do and what to say, but that had been for politicians and businessmen and people she was supposed to trick. She didn't want to trick her dad. She just--she wanted to--

Dad stepped closer, brows furrowed and mouth pulled down in a deep and concerned frown. She kept a wary eye on him as he approached, trying to force down feelings of apprehension and fear that she had become familiar with whenever anybody was in her space. But he stopped about a foot short, his reached out hand halting just away from her face as he whispered, "Oh, piccolina. It's okay." His voice broke. "It's okay. I'm gonna make sure it is... I promise."

And finally she broke.

And it hurt. It really, really hurt.

Penny leaned her cheek into his open hand as hot beads of tears caught on her eyelashes, allowing for Dad to cup his other hand around the back of her head and tentatively pull her in. It took the teenager a moment to adjust, so wired on the need to fight and never let her guard down, but then she just--crumpled.

Like a switch had been flicked, Penny buried her nose into his neck and wrapped her arms around him in a tight squeeze, swallowing down tears. Dad pulled her in tighter, his nose pressed into her tightly braided crown.

And then he sobbed.

It was a strangled, inhuman kind of sound that rumbled from his chest to escape the back of his throat. He cleared his throat, as if embarrassed, but Penny wasn't an idiot. She could still hear his heart thumping and feel a tear slip from his chin onto the back of her neck. It all shocked her, but the sound found itself ringing in her ears painfully more than anything.

She flinched in his hug.

"Oh, Penny. I'm so sorry," he apologized, his voice sore with tears. "So, so sorry."

"For what?" she asked. "Not finding me? You wouldn't have been able to, Dad, even being you. Draykov made sure of it."

"I don't care. I should've done something! I should've--I should've--"

"Dad." He fell silent as she pulled away from him, crossing her arms back over her chest as she came back to her training. Dad stared at her, his dark copper eyes as guilty as she felt. "Please, just... Don't be sorry. Because I'm sorry, and if you're sorry then we're both sorry and we can't both be sorry it's--"

"What on Earth do you have to be sorry for?"

"You'd be surprised."

"Penny--"

"I'm not ten anymore, Dad. I don't think I'm even a kid anymore... I've--I've done too much harm. I have a lot to be sorry for."

Dad stared at her, a familiar sadness in his eyes. He chewed his cheek, brows furrowed in thought, and she was brought back to a time when she would watch him solve problems in the lab, or try to answer one of her inane questions that she never seemed to be able to stop asking.

"Let me ask you something," he started. "Do you think I'm a bad person? That I'm at fault for losing you?"

"No," she answered immediately, because her dad had always tried, no matter what. She'd known he wasn't perfect, and that a lot of people hated him for the mistakes he'd made, but she'd always known how much he really cared. How much he really cared and tried for the world. For the Avengers. For her.

"Well, then what makes you a bad person? What makes you not a kid anymore?"

Penny could only stare. She could only answer, "I've hurt people."

"I know. And I have too. But you don't think I'm a bad person, so you're not a bad person either. And what about Nat? Or your new very scary friend?"

"I forgot how much I hated arguing with you," she deadpanned.

"'Trying' to argue with me," he corrected, a smile pulling at his face. Surprisingly, she managed to smile back. Even more surprisingly, it didn't feel fake. Sure, it was small and tired, but Penny couldn't remember the last time she'd actually smiled. "See? Everything's going to be okay."

"How do you know?" she asked. "I'm a violator of the Accords. If it ever gets out that I was part of the Red Room--what I did for the Red Room--almost nothing could keep me out of prison. You'll have to explain how you found me and it would make you a violator--"

"I'll handle it," Dad said. "I always handle it. And just because you don't feel like a kid doesn't mean you aren't one. There are protections for you. And we found protections for Nat. Wanda too, if she would've taken them." He muttered the last part under his breath, the words emotionless but regret and guilt clear in his eyes. He cleared his throat and looked back at her with a raised brow. "And how do you know about the Accords? Do they have a current events class in the Red Room?"

"We do actually have to keep up with some events for missions. But, no. I've been reading old newspapers. Did you know you were on the front page for almost two weeks in June?"

"No. Nobody reads the paper anymore. Unless you're a dinosaur anyway."

"Uncle Rhodey likes the paper," she said with that still small but still real smile. "For the crossword puzzles."

"Yeah. Like I said: Dinosaur." With that, the jokes seemed to slide away as he took on a more serious tone. "But I'll handle it. I've already been trying to handle the Accords. You'll be safe, and free, at home, Penny. I promise."

"I can really come home?"

Dad paused. "Did you think you wouldn't?"

Penny shrugged. "I don't know. I wanted to. I want to. But I just... I didn't know how safe it would be, and I know how to live by myself. How to avoid suspicion. I was...I was prepared for other options."

"If you were planning on running, why did you meet with me?"

"I don't know," she said. But truthfully, there had been a hole in her heart. A knot in her stomach. She'd just--she'd needed to see her dad. To apologize and let him know she was okay. She'd missed her family for so long, she had to imagine they'd missed her too. In fact, Penny had wanted nothing more to know they'd missed her. That those years in the Red Room wondering where her family was hadn't been because they didn't care.

Realistically, Penny knew Dad had missed her. Had loved her enough to grieve and look for her, but being there for so long--so terribly long--had been enough for seeds of doubt to sprout and root itself in her mind. But the teenager didn't tell her dad that. That would make him upset, and Penny was tired of being upset. Instead, she said, "Just missed you. Wanted to know that you're okay."

"Well, now you're gonna know every day," he said. "And you're going to know that Pepper is okay. And Rhodey and Happy. And you're never going to miss us again."

"Never?"

"Nope. Well, maybe when you go to school. But we can homeschool if you would prefer that. Would you?"

"Oh, uh, I don't--"

"Yeah, never mind. You don't have to know right now," he said with a wave. Then he smiled at her again, that genuine smile that squinted his eyes and pulled at his wrinkled laugh lines. "Right now, why don't we just go home?"

"Yeah," she said. And suddenly no other thought occupied her mind. Home was all she could think of. Of tall New York skyscrapers and the bustling city. Or maybe they'd go back to Malibu, even if his house was gone. Either way she'd see her uncle again. And Pepper. And Happy, who were all family to her. Family she hadn't seen in so long. "Let's go home."

Dad smiled, his eyes misty. Penny smiled back, taking his hand and leaning against him in another hug. He readily accepted, wrapping his arms around her and pressing a light kiss to the crown of her head.

The best part: Nothing about him whispered danger. Or discomfort or uneasiness. There was just...comfort.

Just home.

It was the best feeling in the entire world.

—-

“Should we tell Uncle Rhodey we're on the way?"

"Nah. He loves surprises."

"He hates surprises."

"Exactly!"

Penny laughed. And the sound, the feeling, was just like home.

[buckybarnesthehotshot]

Hey love! Can you do a fic where the reader and Bucky are teens in the 1930s and they run around making mischief and cute fluffy stuffs?

Trinkets (bucky barnes x reader)

word count: 1520

warnings: just a guy being an ass

A/N: tysm for the request holy shit quaratine’s been really boring and hopefully this is what you requested :))

       “Buck, c’mon!” y/n, her eyes filled with excitement, intertwined her fingers with Bucky’s as she pulled him through the busy streets of Brooklyn.

       “Doll, what are you up to this time?” Bucky chuckled, wondering how she managed to pull him through crowds with the shoes she wore and the restricting blue skirt she wore.

       “Whatever I want to do, Buck. And this time, you are going to go along with it,” Y/N grinned, peering around the streets for something to do. When she told him, she wanted to go out for a walk, Bucky was skeptical. Y/N L/N just going out for a walk? He should have known she was up to something when she decided to drag him along with her.

       “I thought we were going out for a walk,” Bucky chuckled, admiring the look of determination on Y/N’s features as she looked for anything she could do. He chuckled, knowing damn well nothing good—for anyone who was not Y/N—would come from her antics, yet he allowed it.

       “We’re walking, aren’t we?” Y/N grinned, slowing her pace as she still searched the streets for something to do.

       He noticed the way her eyes lit up at the sight of a small boutique along the sides of the street. Like a lion finding its prey, Y/N ran to the boutique, her grip on Bucky’s hand tightening to make sure she didn’t lose him in the crowds.

       “You’re going shopping?” Bucky questioned, peering through the windows of the small store. Y/N nodded excitedly as she rushed into the store. For the umpteenth time of the day, Bucky smiled at Y/N’s antics as he followed her into the boutique.

       “Can you hold this for me?” Y/N flashed Bucky her best puppy dog eyes as she held out a stack of clothes in different colors. It had been mere seconds since she entered the boutique; how did she manage to pick out that many clothes?

       “You’re buying all this?” Bucky raised a brow at Y/N in shock. She chuckled, shaking her head.

       “I’ve been saving up, and I decided I wanted to help out in the community. These clothes? I’m donating them all after I buy them,” Y/N smiled proudly. This was one of the many reasons Bucky enjoyed Y/N’s company; the girl had a heart of gold. She made him want to be a better person.

       “You’re one hell of a gal, have I ever told you that?” Bucky smiled warmly, taking the stack of clothes into his arms.

       “Every single day, Buck,” Y/N chuckled, turning away from Bucky and picking out more clothes. Y/N’s father was a wealthy man and whatever she must have saved up from her allowance went into buying the clothes seeing as she happily picked things off the shelves.

       After a while in the boutique, Y/N eventually stopped picking articles of clothing off the shelves, and stood in place when she came across a glass display case, her mouth agape. Bucky could barely see what she it was that caught her interest because of the massive amount of clothes he held in his arms.

      “Whatcha looking at, doll?” Bucky questioned, still somehow balancing the stacks of clothes he had in his arms.

       “Oh, it’s nothing. I don’t think I’d have enough money to buy it anyways,” Y/N flashed him a sad smile before leading him to the counter where Y/N paid for everything she bought into large shopping bags, all looking full and heavy.

       Y/N picked up two of the bags, while Bucky held onto the rest of them. When they got out of the store, Bucky noticed a tinge of sadness in Y/N’s expression. She must have really wanted whatever it was she saw in the boutique, but he knew she was too selfless to spend more on herself than she had to. It was then an idea crossed his mind.

        “I think I left my cap inside. Would you mind if I go get it, doll?” Bucky questioned.

        “Buck, I don’t remember you wearing—” Y/N spoke confusedly, only to be cut off by Bucky once again.

       “I was wearing one when I went in. Wait right here, I’ll go look for it first,” Bucky sped off, barely leaving Y/N any time to respond. She mumbled a quick ‘I guess I’ll just sit here and do nothing’ to herself before making her way onto a wooden bench placed conveniently outside the boutique.

       When Bucky got inside, he rushed to the same spot Y/N stood in earlier, and looked through everything in the glass case.

       “Can I help you with anything, son?” a feminine voice came from behind the glass counter. He averted his gaze to see an older lady, clad in a uniform, smiling up at him.

       “The girl I was with, do you have any idea what she was looking at earlier?” Bucky questioned, his hands tapping nervously on the glass.

       “I believe she was looking at this,” the woman pulled out a small box, a shining silver locket. Bucky picked up the box and took in the intricate carvings on the heart-shaped locket.

       “I’ll take it,” Bucky smiled, pulling his wallet out his pocket. He didn’t dare ask for the price; he was willing to spend every penny he had to see Y/N happy.

       The lady took the box from his hands and she wrapped it in a delicate blue ribbon and handed Bucky the box, a smile on her face as he handed her the payment for the locket. He headed out the boutique, expecting to see Y/N waiting patiently for him. He should have known better.

       “I don’t care! With all due respect—which you clearly don’t deserve—I don’t owe you anything, sir!” a familiar female voice was the first thing he heard. He was then met with the sight of Y/N standing angrily in front of a man he’d never seen before.

       “I’m just saying, you shouldn’t be out spending your husband’s money this much,” the man snarled at Y/N.

       “I’m not married, prick!” Y/N yelled dropping the shopping bags onto the ground and taking her shoes off her feet as though getting ready to attack the man. It was an all too familiar sight.  

       “You should really fix that, then, eh?” the man, clearly disappointed upon hearing Y/N wasn’t married, snarked.

       “That’s none of your business,” Y/N chuckled darkly, taking off her other heel and getting ready to attack the man. Before she could move out of her spot, Bucky rushed to her side and held her back.

      “You better keep your girl in check, you’re clearly spoiling her, bud,” the man chuckled before walking away. Y/N was fuming and fought against Bucky’s grip but to no avail.

       “Bucky, let me go, please” Y/N spoke more calmly, all evidences of anger leaving her body.  She didn’t even bother to try wiggling out of his grip. Little did Bucky know it was his arms being around her that calmed her down.

       “Do you promise not to run after that man if I let you go?” Bucky raised a brow firmly.

       “Yes, yes, whatever. He isn’t worth it,” Y/N flashed a tight smile and Bucky chuckled before letting go of her. He went to pick up the paper bags she left on the sidewalk while Y/N put her shoes back on her feet with a dissatisfied grumble. She could have easily shut the man up herself.

       “I got something for you,” Bucky smiled widely, holding up the small box. Y/N’s eyes widened in shock; she wasn’t expecting to receive anything that day.

        “Buck, you shouldn’t have,” Y/N frowned as she stared blankly at the box.

       “Come on, I saw you staring earlier and I figured you deserve something nice for deciding to help out others,” Bucky insisted, handing Y/N the box. She reluctantly accepted the gift and unwrapped the ribbon, opened the box, and chuckled.

        “You’re pretty observant, but the only reason I was staring at the locket was because my mother had one like it. I borrowed it when we went to Coney Island last week and I dropped it when we were on the cyclone,” Y/N admitted shyly, her hands tracing over the patterns on the silver.

       “So, you were planning on buying this to replace the one you lost?” Bucky chuckled, combing his fingers through his hair.

       “Pretty much,” Y/N nodded, smiling shyly. Bucky nearly fell to the ground in a fit of laughter when the words left her mouth.

       “I think you should keep it as a reminder of the day we went to Coney Island, don’t you think?” Bucky suggested, pulling a smile from Y/N.

       “I already have you to remind me of that day, Buck, but sure, I’ll keep it,” Y/N smiled warmly, lockig Bucky in her embrace while the silver chain dangled in her hand. They stayed like that for a moment, blocking out the world until they heard a familiar voice utter very familiar words.

       “I could do this all day.” Bucky and Y/N gave each other knowing looks before rushing to the alley from which they heard the commotion.

TAGLIST: @spatium-viatorem /  @sxphiiwrld / @captainamerica-is-bae

[greenbeany]

TEAM JTBLK DORM

Lemme describe this to you a lil because it's all kinda chaotic and I don't think anyone but myself actually understands the full image.

From the left, Jynx sleeps in the bottom bunk. Black sheets and pillow, owl plushie (Crimson learned not to touch the hard way), and curtains because Jynx clearly needs more privacy than the rest of us. The rule is that if the curtains are closed we can't come in without asking. Beryl has broken that rule many times with no consequences. Key tried once and ended up with an axe wound in her shoulder.

Above Jynx is Crimsons bed. The colour theme is the same as her outfit, and she has a Totoro plush, but mainly for the aesthetic. There's a bedside table next to her with a lightbox and a funko pop (idk let's say it's a Penny funko). Her bed doesn't have a ladder which is bad news in the morning, but she usually gets up by jumping off the windowsill.

Next to Jynx, Beryls bed has white covers and an abundance of fluffy soft things. She added extra pillows and keeps a teddy on hand. She also has a mouse plush that nobody touches, and because it's Beryl people actually respect that rule. There's a dreamcatcher hanging down above her bed. Beryl doesn't particularly believe in dreamcatchers, being able to walk in dreams, but it reminds her of nests and it feels homely. On the windowsill above her, she usually has a coffee mug and a notepad.

Eden sleeps next to Beryl. She kept the regular Beacon bedding like a nerd, but she has a glitter covered dragon on her bed. Key made it for her, saying "now we can sleep together platonically too!" Jynx has not let Eden live that down. Eden is a sensible child and has the group alarm clock above her bed. She also keeps a calendar next to her bed so she can schedule the entire team because Jynx and Crimson don't plan on doing that any time soon. Eden didn't notice this at first but she now knows after experience that her bed is perfectly situated for Key to jump onto every morning. Eden has many regrets.

Above Beryl and Eden, Crimson and Key hung a hammock between their beds and added pillows. The two had intended to use it for midnight feasts while Eden wasn't able to tell them off but it quickly became the group pile on hammock. Many times has Beryl nursed the team to sleep on it. The group have had MANY cuddle puddles on the hammock, but it has also been liability to many pillow fights. It has never fallen down somehow. Key has also hung bunting on her side of the hammock.

Key sleeps on multicoloured sheets on a bed surrounded by tinsel (accidental Jynx repellent). She has lighter sheets because dragon but often she just steals Eden's because turns out Vale is a lot colder than Menagerie. She keeps weird stuff around her bed, like a Rubix cube (she uses it as a fidget toy but somehow she solves it in the process. Crimson and Beryl don't understand.) She also keeps a bunch of shiny pennies and pens by her bed. And a grandfather clock. It chimes loudly at lunch time. Everyone else hates it.

On the bookshelf, each team member has a shelf. Top shelf is Key who keeps more random trinkets on her shelf. To note is a mini coffin box, a replica of Ozpins glasses, literally just a bucket, and a bowl of mettalic fruit. Crimson has the second shelf, she uses it to keep bath bombs and like 50 tubes of bubble bath. Beryl keeps sketch books and pencils on her shelf. Crimson doesn't know if she draws or not but they look cool. Eden has text books on her shelf like a nerd. Jynx' shelf is a box.

Jynx belongs to @judgemental-frog

Eden belongs to @mynameisactuallyten

Key belongs to @insulationsun

Beryl belongs to @ozpins-coffeemug

@adventures-of-the-opps-teams

[cagestark]

Winterspider prompt if you're game! There's a meme about a poor college student being robbed; the robber, upon learning just h o w poor, stopping and giving the (empty) wallet back and being sincerely concerned. "You... you live like this?" What if the winter soldier/bucky barnes breaks into struggling college student Peter parker's apt and all his pre-serum steve instincts are triggered by the state of the place and how /tiny/ Peter is (abo/soulmates/soulmarks/werewolf au for spice up to you)

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five

This prompt came into my house and stole my money. This is CHAPTER ONE. Because I was so inspired that I’m officially making this my first multichap fic. I hope this will appease you for now…And I hope you can forgive me for making it winterironspider (I’m a sucker for starker/winteriron so it all just clicked together nicely). Please come back into my inbox and let me know what you think so far.

Warnings in this chapter: graphic descriptions of being poor. Bucky says fuck A LOT. Peter is 24 but Bucky keeps calling him “kid” because he’s so small. Sickness. 4.1k

-

Bucky can pick a lock in ten seconds flat.

It’s a science: tension wrench goes into the keyhole, the slightest torque is applied, then his favorite pick—the Bogota with three rakes, as of late—goes in and he scrubs the hell out of it until the plug turns. Easy as fucking pie.

The hard part (and he’s not counting the guilt, the horror he would feel if Tony ever discovered how Bucky makes the money he uses to buy his lover trinkets) is scoping out the right apartments. He sticks to NYU residence halls, early mornings and late at nights because the security is usually lax enough to let him through without even checking his ID—if they ask? Oh fuck, I left my wallet in my Uber. Maybe he hasn’t left yet, one sec—and then he’s out of there.

Today, it’s the Lafayette Hall between China Town and TriBeCa, reserved for graduate students seeking their Master’s Degrees in science fields.

It should be empty. On campus is an expo featuring innovators from Sphere Fluidics, Fasmatech, AcouSort, and NanoTemper Technologies which—according to the flier Bucky read online—are huge names in the science industry, all displaying their scientific discoveries from the last business year and scouting for fresh blood.

Any science major worth a shit will be there, he imagines. But it’s mandatory for NYU grad students. Score.  

Content that the apartments will more than likely be empty, Bucky chooses the first hit at random after taking the elevator up: apartment 2B. It’s furthest away from the security camera at the other end of the hall—not that Bucky has ever left behind a reason for those cameras to be checked. It’s the principle of the thing, really. He keeps his back turned, hair in his face, both hands gloved (thank God it’s always cold and dreary in NYC, so his gloved hands don’t draw any attention) while he scrubs the lock. It takes him no longer than it might for anyone with a legitimate key, and then the door is open and he is in.

Bucky can see decently in the dark, the light from the hallway disappearing as the door is carefully closed behind him. Holding his breath, he stills himself, calls upon his enhanced senses, and listens: but there are no sounds coming from the apartment. Empty.

Then he actually takes in the place, and he realizes that that word fits in multiple ways.

The apartment is vacant, he thinks at first. There is the basic furniture all the NYU apartments come with: a refrigerator, a couch, a coffee table. But there is no television, no end tables. There are no curtains on the window across the room—and wow, what a lovely view of the brick building across the alley. The entire place smells musty and unused. Maybe it really is empty—

But no. Little signs of life appear. There are shoes by the door, ones that saw better days many, many days ago. On the wall, a photograph is tacked there, unframed, of two boys on either side of a pretty, dark skinned girl. A plastic grocery sack is dangling off of the drawer handle of one kitchen cabinet, sagging with contents that he can’t make out through the opaque plastic.

Someone does live here, they’re just terrible at decorating.

With careful, silent steps, Bucky moves deeper into the apartment. He doesn’t bother looking for a wallet—that will be with the owner—but usually there is money somewhere else. If he’s really lucky, he’ll find whatever he’s looking for.

Today, he wants blank CD’s. Last night, Tony showed him a movie where the teenage love interest burned—(“why’s it called that, Tony? You don’t burn the thing, do you?”)—a CD with love songs. It was real romantic shit; something Bucky never got to do. Something that he longs to do with this amazing man in his life. He can imagine the look on Tony’s face when he listens to a compilation of all the awesome music he’s introduced Bucky to, and it makes his heart race.

The Best Buy downtown sells a pack of five CD’s for $6.99 plus tax which brings the total to $7.61. That’s all that he needs. He could probably take that and more from any one of these apartments and the occupants would never notice. He isn’t hurting anyone. He doesn’t want to hurt anyone.

Then—jackpot. On the counter is a line of change: neat stacks of quarters and dimes, taller piles of nickels and pennies. Palming it, he cups one hand under the counter and slides the coins home into his hand. A quick count tells him that it’s just $2.30. It’s probably change for the vending machines downstairs, maybe fare for the bus. Nothing that will break this grad student’s bank.

For a moment he contemplates leaving the apartment. He’s almost got a third of what he needs for the CD’s. But breaking into another apartment just escalates the risks he takes, unnecessarily so when the rest of the money could very well be in the bedroom or even in the pocket of some jeans resting on the bathroom floor. No. He’ll press on.

Walking silently, he brings up the floorplan of the apartments in his mind (NYU had all that shit online; didn’t they know how unsafe it was? This world made information so available). The bedroom is on the left, past the kitchen. In the dim light through the window, he can see the door, open, a dark gaping mouth that he slips through soundlessly. It is even darker here, and he stands still waiting for his eyes to adjust further. It’d be no good to go fumbling around in the dark, knocking into furniture.

It only took moments, but as soon as he could make out dim shapes, he heard it. A little whimper. The rustling of sheets. Everything in him went still except for the blood in his veins, propelled by his furiously pounding heart. Someone is here. Bucky broke into an occupied apartment. He is standing in the doorway to a bedroom and there is someone sleeping in the bed.

He gets a glimpse before he can slink back into the living room, and what he sees stops him in his tracks. It is a boy—or a very small man, perhaps, considering these apartments are for graduate students only. The boy is wearing just a pair of boxers, some dark color—red or navy or even black, perhaps, since colors are distorted in this low light—but there is no hiding or distorting how thin he is. The shadows between his ribs are little valleys to the pale, jutting mountains of bone, rising with his fast, shallow breaths. The collarbones protrude, limbs fine-boned and so skinny that Bucky could probably wrap his fingers around an entire ankle or bicep. His face is smushed against one pillow so features are indistinguishable, but the mop of messy curls on top is unmistakable.

There is no bed. There is no bedframe, no mattress, no box spring. A pile of threadbare blankets and sheets are entwined into a makeshift nest, like the kid is some little bird.

After taking in the sights, he takes in the smell. It’s strong—damp and musty, like the windows have never been opened. The pungent scent of sweat. The overly sweet scent of cough syrup, though the two bottles on the nightstand are upended and empty.

Mostly, the acrid smell of sickness. A bucket is beside the bed, and the smell of vomit gets stronger the closer he comes—why is Bucky walking forward? He should be walking away, far, far away.

The boy whimpers again, rolling onto his back more. Sweat coats his skin, and the rapid rise and fall of his chest is even more pronounced in this position, tummy a hollow little thing. This boy is sick, very sick from the smell and the heat that Bucky can feel when he places his hand above the boy’s head, hovering over the skin.

“Ben!” The boy shrieks. Bucky jerks away and nearly topples the trash bin of vomit. His heart is pounding, thinking I’m so sorry Tony, so sorry that I’m going to get caught and get arrested and that you’re the only person in the world I’ll have to call, and if you don’t want to bail me out I’ll understand, I really will—but the boy sleeps on, lips moving. He is dreaming the feverish dreams of the sick.

Carefully, Bucky stands. He backs from the room. On his way out, he takes in more details even if he doesn’t want to: a name-badge for the building and NYU campus (which he takes, which he should have seen on his way in and known that it would be wherever the student was—complacent, he’s gotten too fucking complacent), the silver duct tape on the bottom of the kid’s shoes which holds them together. The past-due notices on the refrigerator. The paper plate resting in the sink, plastic cutlery that has been washed and re-used countless times. The kid is poor. So fucking poor.

And he can’t help that it reminds him of another sickly poor boy from nearly a hundred years ago. He remembers it like it was yesterday, fuzzy memories that Princess Shuri helped turn clear: a thin pale Captain America, the chest-deep coughs that would rattle his whole frame when he was sick, sitting by his best friend’s side through the night just to mop his brow and make sure he didn’t choke on his own sick. His stomach aches, twisting inside out with phantom hunger pains. Stepping into that apartment made him feel like he’d entered a time machine back to the Great Fucking Depression.

Another thought comes: what if the kid needs a fucking ambulance? What if he’s in there, brain frying from his fever? What if he throws up and aspirates? That will be on Bucky. There’s no way that he can walk away from this—not if it could add an(other) life, like a notch, to his murderous bedpost.

Palms sweating, he looks down at the badge he left with. Peter B. Parker. It’s a cute name—Bucky’s always had sort of a thing for alliteration. The picture of the kid is shy with the closed-lip smile and the rampant curls falling onto his forehead. He was skinny to begin with, but not malnourished like he is now. The badge will let him come in through the back doors. Because apparently he is planning on coming back.

Bucky pulls out his cellphone, mostly unused, and makes a call. While he talks, he takes the stairs down so that he doesn’t lose the call in the elevator.

Tony picks up on the second ring. “Hey Bucky, everything alright?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?” In the background he can hear the sound of a door closing, and Tony’s voice grows more familiar, softer and more comfortable. He must have been around company but left.

“You only ever call if you’re about to break the law,” Tony says fondly.

Is he really so predictable? Well, in this case, he’s already broken the law, though that’s hardly a point that he wants to make. “No. it’s—nothing like that. I was just wondering about the credit card you gave me.”

“Oh? Thinking about blowing the dust off it?”

“Yeah,” Bucky mutters. He hates it—hates being like the other million people in Tony’s life who just take his money. The fear that this man who has helped Bucky salvage himself, salvage the will to live life, to carve out a life he wants to live…the fear that he’ll think Bucky is just with him for the money is unconquerable. Tony gave him the leather wallet and the credit card years ago, and Bucky has never once used it. “Just a bit. Twenty dollars. Thirty at the most, Tony, and I swear I’ll pay you back—”

“Hey, hey, no need for the freaking out. Mi dinero es su dinero, polar bear. Buy whatever you need.” He pauses. “Are you in any trouble? I don’t know if you need me to emphasize this, but there’s probably no trouble you can imagine that I can’t get a person out of.”

“I’m not in trouble,” he says, hoping Tony doesn’t notice the unconscious inflection on the word I’m. “But I’ll remember that. I promise.”

“Okay. Great. That’s all I need to hear. Thai, tonight?”

Bucky can’t help but smile. He pushes open the back door to the building and steps out into the street, angling his face away from the security camera at the alley entrance on instinct. The wind is blistery, whipping his hair around his face. “I’ll be there.”

Tony hums. “I can hardly wait.”

They exchange declarations of love and say goodbye. Bucky feels a little choked up, how he always feels after hearing Tony say that he loves him. His eyes sting—but that’s just the wind. Honest. Down the street is a pharmacy and Bucky ducks in, head down. There’s an entire aisle for cold medicines, and he takes far too long examining all the bottles. Thank God there are ones that seem to treat everything: headaches, fever, nausea, cough. Everything except for the kid’s destitution.

He sees the chicken noodle soup and he grabs some of that as well.

Checking out is awkward; Bucky slides the card upside down at first. Then he’s unsure: credit or debit? He clicks credit since it’s first, but then he has to sign and he has a new dilemma. Should he forge Tony’s signature or put down his own? The card has his name on it, but it’s Tony’s money. In the end, he writes his own name. Forging feels too…familiar.

With less than twenty dollars spent, he trudges back down the block to the apartment building, and it isn’t until he’s swiping the key to get into the back door that he realizes he has no fucking idea what he’s going to do. Knock on the kid’s door? Hey, I broke in earlier and saw you were sick and out of medicine, here’s some. I’ll put the change I stole back on the counter. Sorry to fucking bother you?

Bucky Barnes, former assassin for Hydra, absolute dumbass.

Absolute persistent dumbass. Because he knocks on the door. He really fucking does. And when no one answers, he knocks again and again until he hears movement on the other side of the door (a chest-rattling cough that makes him shudder) then the door is cracked open and a bloodshot, honey-brown eye is staring out at him.

“Hi,” Peter croaks. His voice is wrecked, and it immediately does things to Bucky. Things that are wrong, especially considering that his voice isn’t croaky because of a cock nudging too persistently at the back of his throat, but because he is fucking sick. “Can I help you?”

“I’m here to help you,” Bucky says. Peter’s eyebrows furrow. It’s cute. He’s wearing a shirt that is far too large for him, and pajama pants so long they slip down past the backs of his heels. “I’m—visiting one of your neighbors down the hall. You’re keeping everyone up with your cough, kid. I brought you some medicine.”

Peter opens the door wider, so that Bucky is seeing all of him instead of just a two-inch section. He rests against the doorframe because he’s swaying, struggling to keep on his feet, and he is so tiny, so, so tiny. The smell of him is foul, but Bucky would never mention it. “Gosh,” Peter says, and Bucky is horrified to see tears, real fucking tears fill his eyes. “I didn’t know I was keepin’ everybody up.”

“Whoa, whoa,” Bucky says. People say that, sometimes, to horses that are likely to buck off their rider or men who pull out guns in gas stations. Bucky figures that he should probably use either of those situations as reference for what to do now, because how to comfort a crying kid was not in the Winter Soldier’s repertoire. “Don’t shoot.” Fuck. Try again. “I mean—it’s not your fault. You’re sick. Obviously.”

Fat tears roll down Peter’s cheeks. It impedes his breathing even more, until Bucky is afraid that he’s going to choke on his own phlegm. When he speaks, he tries to keep his voice even and clear through his hitching breaths. The shirt slips off his shoulder, bones protruding. “I-I-I know. It hit m-me a-all of the sudden. But now it won’t go away.”

“Have you tried going to the doctor?”

Peter’s smile is downright tragic. He looks like he wants to reach out and pat Bucky on the cheek, call him a sweet summer child, ask him what pipe he smoked to have such a dream. “I d-don’t have insurance. I’m still trying to p-pay off my debt from last year when I had my tonsils removed.”

“And they—what—they won’t treat you? Just because you needed treating once before? They’re fucking doctors!”

“I know,” Peter whines, rubbing a wrist at his leaking nose. The door opens even wider. “Would you like to come in?”

Bucky sees the irony. He really does. A half hour ago, he was in this apartment robbing the kid. Now he’s standing at the kitchen counter watching Peter make ramen noodles (“my aunt always said that when someone is in your house, you should treat them like they live there”). He nearly burns his hand on the pan, and that’s when Bucky moves to take over, stirring when appropriate, adding a packet of flavoring. Peter pulls one bowl down from the cabinet—the cabinet that is unbearably empty from the quick glimpse Bucky gets of it.

“I only have one bowl, I’m sorry,” Peter says, face red, eyes downcast. His hands shake while he ladles the soup and noodles in. He gives Bucky one of the plastic spoons—it’s clean, he knows—but the whole thing is so fucking sad. When Peter glances over the counter, muttering something about some missing rent money, that’s it. That’s it for Bucky.

I’m taking him home with me, he thinks, nudging his spoon against the noodles in his bowl.

“I’m Peter, by the way,” the kid introduces himself. Then his face goes white, shaking intensifies. “Excuse me.”

Bucky hears him vomiting even through the walls between them. There isn’t much to come up, but the retching lasts forever it seems, the boy dissolving back into tears. Instinct says to go to him, but Bucky doesn’t want to be anymore of a fucking creep than he already is. When the vomiting turns to coughing and then to gasping, Bucky decides fuck it. He is a fucking creep. But he’s not going to let the kid pass out and crack open his head.

Peter is in the bathroom, bowed over the toilet, curls matting to his forehead with his fever. Bucky goes through drawers until he finds a washcloth and wets it from the sink, the water stinking of iron, to at least dab at the back of the kid’s neck. He shivers, but sighs into it, his wheezing breaths slowing.

When at last he leans back, his cheeks are red and wet. “Thanks,” he croaks. Bucky just mops at his forehead, avoiding the comical look of relief and pleasure on his face.

“You need a doctor.”

“Can’t afford it,” Peter mutters, reaching out to flush the toilet. Bucky practically carries him back to the kitchen-living room combo, setting him down on the threadbare couch.

“I’ll pay,” Bucky says. Then he winces—because it isn’t really his money. It’s Tony’s money. How can he just promise Tony’s money to this kid? But he can pay Tony back. No matter how long it takes or how hard he has to work. He’s got decades and decades left to live. He’ll spend them all trying to repay Tony’s kindness and love as it is. What is this one extra debt?

“What?” Peter asks, his eyes glassy with fever. “You can’t.”

“Why not?”

“A trip to the doctor costs hundreds of dollars, not to mention if I’m really sick, I’ll need medicine which will cost even more. I’m not taking that kind of money from you.”

“I’m rich,” he half-lies.

Peter looks him up and down, the worn boots, the soft but unremarkable jeans, the gloves that he’s still wearing even though they are indoors. While he doesn’t look destitute, the idea comes across loud and clear: Bucky sure doesn’t fucking look rich.

He sighs. “Fine. It’s my boyfriend. He’s rich.”

“You want me to take your boyfriend’s money? I’m—what? I don’t know you. I don’t even know your name.”

“My name is Bucky,” says Bucky. “And my boyfriend is Tony Stark.”

Peter’s mouth clicks shut. His eyes clear a little, the name cutting through the sickness. “Tony Stark.”

“Yeah.”

“The billionaire.”

Bucky can feel himself smile against his will. “Genius, billionaire, philanthropist, superhero. Yeah, he’s the one.”

Peter reaches out and puts his burning hand against Bucky’s forehead. “Maybe you’re the one who is sick,” he teases weakly.

“I’m serious,” Bucky says. He pulls out his phone and Googles it—hopes the kid doesn’t see the tab of Lafayette Hall dorm room floor plans that was previously open. Then he brings up the tabloids. He and Tony aren’t in the news as often as they were years ago when they first started leaving the Tower together to do couple-things, but the articles last forever. There’s a nice one detailing all about Tony’s promiscuous love life, how everyone thought the bisexual ways of his youth were just a phase. Until Bucky.

The pictures are clear. Peter’s eyes nearly pop out of his head. “You’re dating Tony Stark. Oh my god. I’m—I’m his biggest fan. Oh my god. I think I’m going to pass out. I’ve—” the kid goes red as a beet, “I’ve had a crush on him since I was like, like this tall.”

Judging by the height of his hand when he holds it up, Peter’s been harboring his crush on Tony since ever. And yeah, Bucky gets it. His lips can’t help but quirk upwards—Peter is so fucking cute, even with he way his cheeks are hollow, eyes sunken. He lights up when he talks about Tony. Bucky is the same way. Tony inspires that in people.

“I’ll pay for you to go to the doctor. See? I can afford it.”

Peter gnaws at his lower lip. “But why? I don’t get it. Because I’m keeping everyone on the floor up? That doesn’t—this is weird.”

“Because you remind me of someone I used to know. My best friend, from when I was a kid. He’s—he’s not around now. But you two would have gotten along well, I think. And he would’ve kicked me in the ass if he knew I just walked away when I knew you need help.” He can see the indecision on the kid’s face, the wavering teeter-totter of what he wants to say (yes yes yes) versus what he thinks he should say (no, but thank you). Bucky has an ace up his sleeve: “Why don’t you come back to the Tower with me? Meet Tony. He’ll tell you all this himself.”

“I couldn’t!” Peter nearly shrieks. He coughs, and Bucky waits patiently for him to finish.

“You could. You totally could. You will. I’ll call a car—”

“Oh my god,” Peter whispers under his breath, his whole tiny body going lax and weak like a woman from Victorian times, likely to swoon at any moment. Where are Bucky’s smelling salts? “Oh my god,” he says, soft and to himself. “I’m going to meet Tony Stark.”

Bucky can’t help it. He grins, pats awkwardly at the kid’s shoulder—and Jesus, he’s a tiny little thing, still burning up under Bucky’s grip. “He’s going to be thrilled to meet you.”

-

Peter insists on showering and changing his clothes. Bucky steps out into the hallway to call Tony back and warn him—and ask him to send Happy or one of the self-driving cars. Anything to avoid taking a cab or the subway.

“Twice in one day,” Tony says when he picks up the phone, forgoing a greeting. “Aren’t I a lucky man?”

“I’m the lucky man, ‘s far as I can tell,” Bucky says lowly. If he closes his eyes, he can imagine Tony’s expression, the ridiculous fond face he makes when he looks at Bucky. “I had a favor to ask of you, though. A big one.”

“Anything for you, frosted flake.”

“Send a car to the address that I text you? And—order Thai for three?”

[theparanormalperiodical]

The TRUE Story Of The Dybbuk Box That Inspired The Possession (2012) And The 5 Other Cases Of Dybbuk Hauntings That Will Traumatise You

In 2001, Kevin Mannis went to a local yard sale.

The owner of the estate - a 103-year-old Polish immigrant named Havaleh - had recently passed away and amongst the collection of assorted trinkets and nick-nacks was a box.

Mannis bought the box.

Havaleh’s granddaughter told the antiques’ dealer that the wine cabinet he had purchased was bought in Spain shortly after the Holocaust, an event Havaleh had survived. Realising the box was actually a precious family heirloom, he implored that they keep it.

The granddaughter refused to take it back. She claimed the box had been kept in her grandmother’s sewing room and had never been opened because a dybbuk (a spirit) was living inside of it.

Take a wild guess at what Mannis did first.

Breaking a centuries long protective seal on the box, Mannis found 2 pennies from the 1920s, a lock of blonde hair, a lock of dark brown hair, a small statue engraved with the word ‘shalom’, a small wine goblet, a dried rose bud, and a candle holder.

But according to the following owners of the box it contained something far more sinister. The events surrounding the Dybbuk Box would inspire one of horror’s most infamous possession movies, take up permanent residence in Zak Bagans’ haunted museum, and claim Post Malone as one of its victims.

And it’s time we talked about it.

Today’s post will explore the real haunted Dybbuk Box that inspired the events of The Possession (2012), and the other cases of dybbuk possession that have reportedly taken place.

In 2012, The Possession was released to a mirage of mixed reviews. But this cookie-cutter supernatural horror film wasn’t just crammed full of cliché-choc-chips.

In short, the film follows the passage of a mysterious box inscribed with and containing mysterious Jewish symbols through several owners who face an assortment of paranormal activity.

The film centres on a young girl, Emily, when she buys it at a yard sale. Having opened the box she begins to exhibit strange, violent, and possessive (*stares into camera*) behaviour over the box.

Emily’s family soon discover that she’s bought a Dybbuk Box. It’s here that the movie begins to navigate Jewish folklore and beliefs regarding dybbuks and spiritual possession, a take not often put to the mainstream horror big screen.

There was no Catholic priest questioning his faith as he battled some Christian demon, and there was no holy water wet t-shirt competition.

We are told a story about a Jewish demon from Hebrew scriptures read by a Rabbi from a Hasidic community. We are told a story that is deeply entrenched in real experiences of dybbuk possession, from 16th century Israeli villagers to America’s most famous ghost hunter. But before we talk about Jewish dybbuk possession we need to start with Kevin Mannis’ unlucky impulse buy..

The Dybbuk Box

Thanks to the cinematic debut of the Dybbuk Box, the haunted eBay marketplace has taken off. In fact, the average online shopping basket now contains a handful of knock-off Velvet Teddy lipsticks and a HAUNTED DOLL SO SCARY USED IN SATANIC RITUAL HAS BLOOD ON IT DO NOT TOUCH!!!!!!

Ever since 2012, you can’t move for Dybbuk Boxes. But the thing is, the Dybbuk Box inspiring the movie - the one originally belonging to Havaleh - is actually the first of its kind.

Whilst dybbuks are an important part of Jewish folklore, taking up residence in wine cabinets and alternative objects is not often noted. And this is what makes this tale so unique.

Havaleh warned her family to stay away from the box - a warning that would make sense once it changed hands. And Kevin Mannis was one of the first to experience strange occurrences.

Or rather his mother did.

He gave his mother the wine cabinet as a gift on her birthday (which happened to fall on Halloween). She had a stroke later that day.

He then tried to give it to other members of his family. Shortly after receiving the box each would return it, claiming the doors of the cabinet would suddenly open and refuse to close, and complaining its emitted odours of both jasmine and urine.

Mannis even tried to sell the box to a couple but they returned it two days later. They left it outside his front door with a succinct note: “This has a bad darkness.”

That’s when Mannis’ nightmares began.

He would often dream of his friends turning into a demon and beating him. He would then wake up covered in bruises as if the attacks had taken place. Each and every person he gave the box to would have the exact same nightmare.

“Why didn’t he just destroy the box?”

Like ouija boards, haunted objects should not be burnt, damaged, or destroyed. Just as opening the box unleashed the sinister forces, destroying it can release what is attached to it.

So Mannis decided to sell it on eBay where the largest online marketplace for haunted objects had been growing since 2000.

$140 later and a college student now had his hands on the infamous Dybbuk Box. And Losif Nietzke got what he signed up for.

For the next seven months of his life was, well, cursed. Him and his roommates fell victim to a number of sudden and inexplicable ailments, from insomnia and bronchitis to broken fingers. And if that wasn’t enough, newly bought electronic devices would fail to work and various dead mice would be found in the kitchen cupboards.

He decided to then sell it to Jason Haxton, a museum director in Missouri who happened to follow one of Nietzke’s blogs recounting his experiences.

Haxton reported similar occurrences to previous owners from his house’s lights burning out to a number of physical symptoms whether he had sudden outbreaks of hives or was coughing up blood. From here he consulted with rabbis to investigate the nature of the dybbuk and the paranormal activity and found a way to seal it back in the box.

He hid the box at an undisclosed location until he donated it to Zak Bagans. It is currently one of the most prized exhibitions at his haunted museum. Its reopening was filmed and resulted in a resurrection of its paranormal activity...

Possession In Jewish Folklore

The Possession sticks close to the original story of the Dybbuk Box. In fact, it follows Jewish folklore very closely - and this includes the demon allegedly inhabiting the box: Abyzou.

Although the demon associated with the real Dybbuk Box has not been identified (an old hag was often seen in the nightmares of the various owners, however), Abyzou is a demon associated with Near East and European folklore.

That being said, a dybbuk is not a demon. A dybbuk is defined as a malicious possessive spirit that is the dislocated soul of a dead person; it aims to possess in order to achieve a certain goal. It has yet to reach heavenly judgment and thus lies between heaven and purgatory. Possession by a soul beyond its judgement on the other hand is called a ‘gilgul’ (this is defined as a reincarnation).

Some demonic possession is associated with dybbuk possession, however.

This twins with the haunting outlined in the film. Abyzou allegedly has an interest in taking children and thus wanted to ‘take’ Emily, the young protagonist.

Dybbuk possession - spirit possession within Jewish culture - belongs primarily to the shtetl (small town communities in Europe prior to WW2). Many of the reported cases of spirit possession occur in a similar time frame to the height of christian possession, from the 16th to the 19th century.

And, just like Christian possession, demons or spirits target what they deemed ‘weaker’ or more vulnerable members of society AKA women and children. The dybbuk enters the society through a low-status member of society and exhibits ‘bad’ and mainly sexual behaviour.

But whilst cases of dybbuk possession dwindled in the 20th century, Catholic possession found a new lease of life among modern exorcists.

The symptoms of possession also follow similar lines drawn out by catholic exorcists: disembodied voices are heard, the voice of the possessed victim changes, newfound knowledge of certain events and other things is expressed by the victim, and a moving bulge can often be seen on their body. Special means or an exorcism is required to remove the dybbuk.

Another important trait of reported dybbuk possession cases is that while most victims are female most of the dybbuks are male spirits.

Although the comparisons to Christian possession are evident, Jewish exorcisms diverge completely.

Exorcisms in Ancient times combined poisonous root extracts and sacrifices to release the possessed from dybbuks, but modern exorcisms follow a different ceremony.

A rabbi who has mastered the Kabbalah school of thought performs the ritual in the presence of a minyan (a group of ten men) who gathered in a circle around the victim. Together they recite Psalm 91 three times and the rabbi blows a ram’s horn.

The horn’s sound ‘shatters’ the body in order to shake loose the dybbuk from the victim. This gives the rabbi a chance to communicate with it and assess why it has possessed the person being exorcised. The minyan pray for the dybbuk and perform a final ceremony to ensure it feels safe and can thus leave the person’s body.

The Most Terrifying Cases Of Dybbuk Possession And Hauntings

The Possession might be based on the infamous Dybbuk Box, but Zak Bagan’s newest antique is not the only recorded case of a haunting or possession by the Jewish spirit.

In fact, the Dybbuk Box went viral once again when it cursed one of America’s most celebrated musicians...

#1 - Post Malone gets cursed by the Dybbuk Box

I know I wouldn’t turn down a personal tour of Zak Bagan’s museum - but after what happened to Post Malone’s own experience with the Dybbuk Box, I might give it a second thought…

He was there when Bagans removed the plexiglass around the box and touched it for the first time since it came into his possession. And when he first placed his fingers on the wine cabinet, Post touched his shoulder. The following events suggested the curse instantly passed from Zak to Post in some sort of human-chain.

The dybbuk might not have possessed the American music artist, but it certainly made its presence known in what many deem a curse: his private plane had to make an emergency landing, armed robbers targeted what they thought was his home, and one of his cars was involved in a serious accident.

#2 - The possession by Baal Dovor in Poland

One of the most famous cases of possession occurred in 18th century Poland. A Jewish woman started speaking Polish - not her first language - and the possessive entity caused her great physical pain. She couldn’t pray, she couldn’t study sacred texts, and she couldn’t even use holy words. When she tried to attend the synagogue she created a ‘disturbance’.

Three exorcisms were carried out to rid her of the demon eventually identified as Baal Dovor. The first two partially removed it but it quickly returned.

The final exorcism did the trick and she specifically asked for lamps to be lit during it. But during this exorcism, a third voice was heard - a voice they recognised as a deceased rabbi. He said she was a saintly individual, that she would get better, and then she would give birth to a son.

His prediction was correct.

#3 - The possession of Eidel

In the late 19th century, the daughter of a Rabbi was possessed by a dybbuk - a dybbuk that was her own father. When her mother died she was raised as a boy and in male practices and studies. Her brother took the role of the Rabbi when her father died.

Eidel on the other hand became a Rebbe.

An exorcism of Eidel revealed the voice of her father which accused her brother, the rabbi performing the exorcism, of embarrassing sins. But he later deduced this was a disguise for another spirit. The exorcism was successful, but Eidel never recovered and was depressed for the rest of her life.

#3 - A curse is placed on a mourning Iranian man

After his father died, a man from Iran became impotent. Conventional therapies and medicines didn’t work, but a mysterious dream suggested the cause of his problem was being bound to the vengeful spirit of his father.

His father allegedly didn’t approve of his son not completing mourning rituals properly, and only un-bound him from the possession after a year (when the mourning period ends).

Binding male genitalia via witchcraft or sorcery is a common theme in Iran, and the prevention of male fertility features heavily in lore.

#4 - The dybbuks of Safed

In the 16th century, a young woman in Safed - a town in Israel - started exhibiting erratic behaviour. She was attacked by a spirit, fell to the ground, and began to speak in a strange voice.

Local rabbi Hayyim Vital exorcised the woman, using the ritual to deduce who the spirit was. He discovered it was the spirit of a wicked man who had been denied entry into heaven and purgatory and was thus forced to wander until it became a dybbuk.

But the thing is, this young woman is not the only resident of Safed to be possessed by a dybbuk. In the Middle Ages and early modern period exiles from Spain coincided with a rise in cases of possession. The similarities between christian and jewish exorcisms informed a cultural change witnessed in Safed.

#5 - A modern dybbuk in modern Dimona

Just before the millennium a widow from Dimona claimed she was possessed by the dybbuk of her dead husband. The mother of eight was refused an exorcism by numerous different rabbis until Rabbi David Basri stepped up to the plate.

Against a lot of vocal opposition from fellow rabbis, Basri exorcised the widow on national television. Dybbuk possessions alleged rose after the broadcast of the exorcism but fell back to the minimal amount before the controversial event.

Do you think the Dybbuk Box is actually haunted?

Let me know in a comment below!

Make sure you like, reblog, and then follow this blog if you want to read a new article about the paranormal every saturday.

Want to hear somethin’ spooky right now? Check out this online archive of real paranormal experiences.

[etheralisi]

ρυмρкιη ριε αη∂ αℓℓ тнιηgs ηιcε

Uses references to this fic:<br /> https://archiveofourown.org/works/5832037

And more or less based on this prompt:<br /> http://transcendence-au.tumblr.com/post/160337841310/fluffbird-writing-prompt-s-an-old-and-homely#notes

Alternatively titled ‘Why Gloria Jenkins Should Not Be Allowed Near Candles’, this was the first tau fic I managed to complete back in 2018. It’s undergone a few changes, because ehhh, but I’ll release it into the wild as a short something. It’s doing nothing here, lying around and collecting dust.

𝙰 𝚌𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚕𝚎 𝚕𝚘𝚜𝚎𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐  

𝙱𝚢 𝚕𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚌𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚕𝚎   

 ~ 𝙹𝚊𝚖𝚎𝚜 𝙺𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚛

 Gloria smiled to herself as she sunk into her chair, her heart as toasty as an open fire, and insides tingling with the lingering feeling of contentment. Sure, the darn thing was falling apart, ragged at the edges and probably worth no more than a penny or two in a garage sale. Stuffing was oozing out that very moment. But it was home , and everything she had left of a life lived, with children running and screaming within these walls. Growing up. Living. Thriving. Leaving the coup to fly free.

 But her? The mother hen? She stayed home.

 After such a busy day of rooting around her loft for family photo albums, she honestly felt this time to rest her aching bones was well and truly earned, and no, she won’t take any constructive criticism on the matter thank you very much. What was, however, unfortunate to admit aloud and something she’d never in a million years concede to in front of her family was that her bones weren’t as energetic as they had been once upon a time… much alike her dwindling eyesight. Hazy blobs, it all was. Pretty ones, but hazy nonetheless. Her world became an abstract painting the very second her glasses left her face.

 The elderly woman groaned, realisation dawning like a sledgehammer to the head, full on smack. She knew something had been missing. Her glasses! The darn things! How could she have possibly forgotten such an important item as those? 

 Using as much force as she could, Gloria found it in her to haul herself out of the comfort of her chair, even with her body’s initial protest. She stumbled about the house a bit, the grace of a drunkard or woman in need of glasses, searching for the location of wherever she had last left her glasses case. It had been, what? Two moments ago when she saw them? She’d put down the glasses into the case, taken her seat, and fallen into quiet bliss in her chair. Had it been knocked off and fallen under something? 

 Luck was on her side since her vision wasn’t as bad as it could have been in a few years time, deteriorating as the months wander by, so she managed to make out the basic shapes and colours of her surroundings just fine. No walking into walls for this woman!

 Ah. Wait. No. Luck was very much not on her side at all, the case still having failed to show, and Gloria had to result to “making a strategic retreat” as she put it, deeming it inefficient to keep looking for something which would just turn up sooner or later when she wasn’t really looking for it. Thus is the way of life. Shrugging, she made her way back to her sad but lovable excuse for a couch seat, only stopping when she noticed the basket by the front door that she had placed there little under an hour earlier. Her niece, Juliana, had asked if Gloria had any family photos left in her house that she could share with her immediate family, and she had risen to the challenge by diving into her vast loft. And yes, she meant vast . There’s got to be at least two or three sigils on the walls at least to enlarge the interior to twice that of the outside. It was all new technology at the time she bought this house. All the rage.

 So. The whole place was a disaster zone. Where all those missing trinkets turn up. Lost some socks? Probably go there, somehow. Good luck finding it in the coming year.

 Getting to that album sure took some sweet sweet time. Which is why, on her long perilous journey, family photo albums weren't the only things she had found in her search, the numerous other knick knacks of various interest lying within the basket being an obvious example of this. There had been plenty of things she’d forgotten about, stashed away within the depths of the loft, never to be seen until they resurfaced that very day. Her gaze drifted to the fuzzy, orange sticks lying atop the basket that vaguely looked like fat carrots, if a little waxy if you so chose to chew them. But don’t be fooled by her eyesight, for they weren’t as they seemed.

 She was pretty sure those were the candles she’d found hiding in a box labelled “ dangerous ”. Gloria had no idea why they had been labelled as such (maybe a potential fire hazard? Children’s grabby hands and whatnot) and could honestly never remember buying any candles from the Pine River Candle Company in her life. Yet, she knew good quality candles when she saw them, so she had taken them out of their box and added them to her basket to be brought down and used whenever she wanted to make her home smell like fresh pumpkin pie.

 Hmm… fresh pumpkin pie, huh? It got her in the mood for a spot of baking. Reminded her of all those years back, the big grin her grandson had always given her whenever a plate stacked with her baked treats was laid out before him.

 Alas the boy never really seemed to come visit his ol’ granny anymore, always giving excuses (and oh how he had the audacity to deny them being so — she knew an excuse when she heard one, could sniff one out from a mile away, blindfolded), and barely ever sent her up a Christmas card! 

 Well, it was his loss. He didn’t want to eat her baking anymore, then fine! She knew others, like the postman, for one, who’d take kindly to being fed.

 With that thought in mind, Gloria picked up all six of the candles and made a return back into the living room. She began placing them all around the perimeter of the room, lighting them one by one as she went.

 Her chair made protests of its own as she plonked herself back, age being something they both shared in common. Sadly. But she was no feeble woman, and outright refused to fall apart. Nope, not today. Life was good. Great even. 

 Caught in the moment, she sniffed the now heavily sweet scented air, an aroma that spelled everything she loved more than words could describe. It frolicked, dispersing itself throughout the air, tickling her nose as if it were a feather.

  Ah, perfect.

 Her eyelids began to shut as exhaustion took ahold of her, which is why it can be excused how she completely missed the way the candles in the room flickered, one by one being replaced with a much more menacing azure flame. Nor did she bear witness to the figure who popped into her living room in a plume of smoke.

 What she did not miss, however, was the way said figure grumbled under his breath at the use of scented candles. Just, come on! She may have been old and her sight may have been lacking, but she wasn’t deaf! 

 Gloria wearily cracked open her left eyelid, before blinking twice to snap herself out of her stupor. The peculiarity of a strange man being in her house was something to pay attention to. And complaining about her candles no less?

 Wait…

 That brown blob of hair, that voice… could it be? 

 “Arthur, is that you?” Speak of the devil, had her grandson finally decided to get up off his backside and visit his old lady?

 Somehow, though she didn’t know how, the room seemed to become ever more quiet as if trapped within a bubble of silence where not even time dared to flow.

 “Uhm…” ‘Arthur’ choked out at last, “ Excuse me? ”

 “Aha!” Gloria’s mouth twisted up with glee as she let out a small, victorious laugh which somehow morphed into a gleeful cackle when on the verge of petering out, “I knew it! You couldn’t stay away from my baking forever!”

 “Your- nevermind .” He took a deep breath just before he continued, his words strained. “Look, Gloria, I’m not Arthur. I’m Alcor and I-.”

 “Alcor huh?” She hummed in thought, not noticing how ‘Arthur’ harrumphed at her interruption. “Sounds pretty dumb. Why’d you change it?”

 “And...” Gloria squinted, continuing. “What’s with the wardrobe change? Have you gone gothic, Arthur? That’s a lot of black you’re wearing.”

 ‘Arthur’ didn’t take too kindly to her plethora of questions, already shuffling backwards from her chair. “... Look, this seems like it was some mistake. I’m just going to go..”

 With a speed so fast that she might have even broken the sound barrier, Gloria was out of her chair and had her hand firmly grasped around his arm, “You’re not going anywhere young man! Don’t you dare stop by for two minutes and then leave! You’re coming with me to the kitchen and we’re going to do some baking together just like we used to.”

 She noticed him start to speak, though she cut him off before he could even so much as squeak a word out.

 “Now off you trot, to the kitchen!” She released her hand from his arm and began pushing him through to said destination. “This rocky road cake isn’t going to bake itself.”

 ‘Arthur’ seemed to perk up at the mention of ‘rocky road’ and Gloria couldn't help but snicker at his sweet tooth. Some things never seemed to change.

 “Ro͜cky̶ ͟ro͘àd͏?” He asked with an odd layer of reverb, getting Gloria to begin questioning if hearing was going a little off after all. 

 “Yes.” She sighed, already shovelling him into the kitchen and dismissing the reverb. “Now make yourself useful and turn on the oven.”

  Alcor’s gold on black eyes numbly trailed after the woman’s figure as she left, leaving him alone in some random kitchen and wondering what the actual heck just happened?