#i know i can still be spooky year round but ugh | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

phykios · 3 years

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honesty and promise me part 9, co-written with @darkmagyk [read on ao3]

He doesn’t text her later. He doesn’t text her for two weeks. On day fifteen of no contact from Percy, Annabeth begins to accept that whatever they had might be over now.

That’s alright, she reminds herself. She had been working up to breaking it off with him for a while, and he just went ahead and did it for her. Saves her the trouble, really.

October rolls on, wet and cold, inching ever closer to Halloween, and Annabeth finds herself seeking refuge at Piper’s, lending her body and her skills to help her friend finish her collection before her self-imposed deadline. At least the work provides a nice distraction from her silent phone--when Percy stopped texting her, Thalia did, too. Well. That’s that, she supposes.

Still, the fact that they were never officially dating doesn’t stop Annabeth from scrolling through his Instagram at 2 AM like some pathetic ex-girlfriend, screenshotting all her favorite photos so she can look at them later without the threat of accidentally liking them. He’s been posting a lot of stills from that fucking music video again, the divinely crafted muscles of his body on full display in cool, blue light, brown cheekbone and jawline sharper than ever. Beyonce herself even liked a few of them.

God damn she’s a fucking idiot.

It must be the self-pity that’s making her crazy, because when Luke calls her up to be his date/eye candy to some fancy semi-costumed party that weekend at an art gallery on the Lower East Side, she agrees without even thinking about it.

The gallery isn’t that far (certainly much, much closer than the Lincoln Center) but Annabeth has not worn heels in probably up to a calendar year, and she just cannot make herself walk that far. She will not. Her tiny-ass cross-body bag isn’t big enough to hold a separate pair of walking shoes. So she ponies up the exorbitant cab fare to the Lower East Side, asking the driver to drop her at the Seward Park Library so she can elegantly sashay down the sidewalk with the rest of the rich and glamorous.

No one spares her a second glance, which is both relieving and strangely disheartening. She’s become too used to turning heads, she thinks.

Well. One head in particular.

“Hey, Annabeth!” Luke appears from thin air, dressed immaculately as always. His sandy hair has come a long way since business school, now tamed and laid perfectly, but with the faintest touch of dishevelment, like he couldn’t completely fix it after someone’s hands had been all over it. He looks even more handsome than he had on her birthday. He kisses her on the cheek, right on the sensitive skin of an old, failed piercing, and she shivers. “You look incredible.”

Before she left Piper’s apartment that day, Annabeth had raided her small stash of designer clothes and had rediscovered her old faithful that Piper had tried to bury, the midi-length Valentino dress she had worn to the unveiling of her and Leo’s collaboration. It’s a light, powder blue, which can’t be helped, but the lace collar and three-quarter sleeves cover most of her tattoos. She had dug out her tiara, too, making herself a low-key Halloween costume out of the spring season dress. Though the dress doesn’t fit like it did a year ago, Which is depressing as all hell. “Thanks. You, too.”

He beams at her, holding out his arm. “Shall we?”

“Who did you say was the artist, again?” she asks, taking it.

“I didn’t. Something with an ‘L,’ I think. Levelle? Levique? I don’t remember.”

The white gallery walls have been draped in shades of inky blue and midnight purple, all the better to see the crystal sculptures on display: beautiful renderings of swords and skulls, deadly weapons and human bones. There’s something mind-numbingly obvious about holding a spooky, macabre-themed gallery show on Halloween night, entitled “Death and Riches,” but she has to admit, the artwork is stunning. The crystals take what little light is cast from the weak ceiling lamps and multiply it, casting the dark velvets in rainbow reflections. Annabeth feels like she’s walking through the night sky, like she could reach out and rearrange the stars in the constellations. “Look at this,” she murmurs to Luke, stopping them in front of a sculpture of an ancient cavalry sword. “This is incredible.”

He grunts. “Yeah, it’s cool.”

Annabeth fixes him with a look. “‘Cool’? Seriously?”

“What? It’s just a rock.”

She shakes her head. “You are wasted on an art gallery.”

“I am,” he agrees, swiftly. “I wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t for my bosses.”

“What do you mean?”

Luke steers her away from the sculpture, moving them onward. “One of our assistant executives, he’s about to close a huge deal with some big wig from Europe who runs this massive import/export, but before everything is made official, he wanted to meet all of us.”

“Why here, though?”

“He’s in town for this gallery opening; the artist is his niece, or something.”

Ugh. This is why she swore off business bros: always an ulterior motive with these people. “Hey, I’m going to go look for something to drink, do you want anything?”

“No, I’m good,” he waves her off.

Annabeth, teetering on her towering heels, has to make her way against the current of the crowd towards the refreshments table along the edge of the wall. She feels ten pounds lighter without all the metal in her face, her center of gravity completely out of whack--not to mention she’s having trouble seeing with all this hair in her face. To better disguise her undercut, she had brushed all her hair over her head in one big, voluminous side ponytail on the wrong side of her face. It’s disorienting, to say the least.

Her stomach roils at the display of food, even as her mouth waters a little bit at the bruschetta with olive tapenade. Rather than risk it, she decides to just go with a glass of sparkling cider. She’s been feeling sick and anxious all day long, dreading every moment of this gala; the last thing she wants to do is exacerbate it with champagne.

Before she makes her way back to Luke’s side, however, she wants to take another look at the actual art. Or at least find out who the actual artist is. Whoever they are, they are phenomenally talented.

“Excuse me,” Annabeth says to the staff member manning the food table. “Do you have any more information about the artist? I’d love to see more of their work.”

“Sure!” she chirps, turning round to grab something off a stack of pamphlets beside her. “You can read more about Ms. Levesque here.”

“Thank you,” says Annabeth, taking the glossy brochure. Levesque. Levesque Levesque Levesque. She knows that name, she’s sure of it. Penny in the air…

Slowly, like she’s walking a labyrinth, she makes her way around the gallery. The booklet has descriptions of each piece of art on display, contexts and histories and prices that make her sweat a little. But by the time she returns to the cavalry sword, her head is swimming--probably from the lack of food--her eyes straining in the dim light. She has completely lost track of Luke. She has completely lost track of the time. Annabeth puts her hand to her head, pressing her fingers against the bone of her forehead.

“Hey, are you okay?”

She jolts at the feel of a hand on her shoulder. The owner of the hand pulls away immediately, holding it up in a placating motion.

“Whoa, hey, it’s okay. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

Annabeth blinks at the person in front of her. He’s blond, tall, with glasses and a scar on his upper lip, and she cannot shake the bone-deep feeling that she’s seen him before.

“You look a little pale. Do you need to sit down?” he asks, electric blue eyes shining with concern.

She shakes her head. “No, no, I’m okay, just a little… the light, you know. Makes it hard to read.”

“I know how you feel,” he says, nodding sagely. “The lighting setup here is absolute murder on my glasses.” Then he sticks out his hand, proud and jutting. “I’m Jason.”

Furiously, she blinks away unbidden tears, turning her sudden sob into a light laugh at the thought of the last time she had met someone named Jason. Or, someone she thought had been named Jason. “Annabeth.” His grip is firm and congenial, like a senator. “Are you with Mercury Exchange, too?”

“Oh, no,” he says, “I’m just here to support the artist. She’s my cousin.”

“Well, congratulations to your cousin on a beautiful gallery opening,” says Annabeth, inclining her head with a smile that he returns. “These sculptures are incredible.”

Jason follows her gaze, and when she looks at him again, he’s smiling. The scar gives his smile an adorable edge. “Hazel is very talented.”

Penny drops. “Hazel Levesque?” Annabeth asks. “Your cousin is Hazel Levesque?”

“Yeah!” Jason beams. “You ever listen to a band called Pluto’s Daughter?”

“You’re Jason Grace?”

That takes him aback, blinking in shock. “Yes… how did you--oh, you know Thalia?” he asks.

No. No no no, this cannot be happening. “Um, not-not really, I just--”

“I just saw her, like, ten minutes ago--”

No no no, she cannot be here, she can’t see Annabeth, not like this-- “Actually,” Annabeth cuts in, “I should really get back to my date, I’m sure he’s worried sick, it was nice meeting you!” And she bolts from the conversation in the general direction of the exit, leaving a very confused member of the cousin consortium in her wake.

Stupid, so stupid, how did she not look this up beforehand, how did she not put it together sooner? She can’t let anyone see her like this, dolled up and--and downright clean. The crowd has turned into an impenetrable wall, the gaps between patrons too small for her to slip between. The dark walls close in around her, suffocating her, and her panic rises, stomach churning, bile crawling up her throat.

From the crush of people, a hand shoots out to grasp hers, and she jumps a foot in the air. “There you are!” says Luke. “Come on, I want you to meet the big wig.”

“Oh, Luke, I don’t know,” she stammers, “I’m-I’m not feeling very well, I think I had a bad burrito earlier, and--”

“It’ll just take a minute,” he wheedles, “We just gotta show up, make some small talk for a few minutes, then I’ll get you home. Sounds good?” But she can’t resist as he pulls her deeper into the gallery.

Like fucking Moses and the fucking Red Sea, the crowd parts before them, laying out a clear path to the three very well dressed men in the center of the room. Even from behind, she can tell that they’re all related: three copies of the same broad build, the same thick, black hair, peppered with grey, the same radiating aura of power and influence, engaged in deep, important conversation.

“Mr. Olympianides?” Luke politely interjects.

As one, the three of them turn to face him, identical gazes sizing them up, pinning them in place. “Yes?” intones the oldest-looking one, his earth-brown eyes cold and dispassionate.

“I think he means me, brother,” says the middle-looking one, jovial. “You’re with Mercury too, if I’m not mistaken?”

“Yes, sir,” says Luke, holding out a hand. “Luke Castellan, it’s an honor to meet you.”

“Ah, of course!” he says, taking Luke’s hand. “I’ve heard great things about you from Prometheus. I understand I have you to thank for the success of the Saturn deal?”

Luke, wholly in his element, smiles his perfectly practiced sycophantic smile--just the right cocktail of humble and arrogant, gracious and gregarious. You can tell he double majored in theater. “It was no trouble at all, really.”

Then he turns his gaze to Annabeth, and she just about faints.

Those eyes. She knows those eyes. Perfectly blue-green, like the waters of the Mediterranean in the sunshine, beneath thick, black eyebrows, with an aquiline nose and a full, salt and pepper beard--she is, without a doubt, looking into the unimaginably handsome face of Percy’s father.

“May I have the name of your lovely lady?” He takes her hand, bringing it up to his for a kiss.

Annabeth’s eyes practically bug out of her head. This is what Percy will turn into in twenty years? Good lord.

“This is my…” Luke trails off, sparing her a glance. “This is Annabeth Chase. She’s an architect here in New York. Annabeth, these are the gentlemen I was telling you about: Hades, Poseidon, and Zeus Olympianides.”

Oddly enough, part of her relaxes, even at Luke’s little fib. If Percy’s father is here, then that means that Percy might not be. She would still have to duck Thalia, but if Luke lets her leave within the next few minutes, that shouldn’t be too hard.

“Chase--like the Boston Chases?” the oldest brother asks. She’s seen those dark eyes, as well, lined with black, and sometimes with glitter.

Annabeth smiles, just a little vacant. She hasn’t had a conversation like this in two years, but back in Boston she’d had them nearly weekly. “That’s the one,” she agrees, letting a giggle out at the end. With business bros her age, they preferred a little bit of a too cool attitude, they’d loved her with all the metal in her face. But the older ones like a giggle. From the corner of her vision, she sees Luke give her just a little bit of a side eye.

“You’re Randolph’s daughter?” Asks the other brother. His eyes are electric blue. Even if Annabeth hadn’t just met Jason, she’d have known this was Thalia’s father from twenty paces.

“I’m his niece,” Annabeth says. “Frederick is my father.”

“The middle one?” Percy’s father says, with a little bit of a grin.

“Yes.” So far, so good--and no one has asked about her mother. It doesn’t exactly take a genius to see that she is not her stepmother’s daughter.

There’s maybe the slightest hint of snideness when Zeus says, “Another Harvard graduate, I assume.”

So there are a lot of Chases at Harvard. On a whim, one night while she should have been writing her Modernism final instead, Annabeth had spent several hours making an academic genealogical chart, inordinately pleased when she found out that her old, decrepit freshman history professor had also taught her father, way back in the day.

“Guilty,” she titters, “but I did attend Miss Minerva’s here in the city.”

“So your Randolph’s niece,” Thalia’s dad asks again, “And Frey Vanir is married to your aunt.”

“Yes.” She bites down on the “sir.” She’s got to have some standards.

“Good families,” Nico and Hazel’s father says, nodding at her, “Chases and Vanir.”

Annabeth has some very, very hazy memories of meeting her own fabulously wealthy extended family, just after her little cousin Magnus had been born. She doesn’t recall much, but she can remember the high, vaulted ceilings of her aunt’s apartment on Commonwealth Avenue, the view of the Public Gardens just down the block, and the very big, very sharp-looking sword hanging above the mantel. The Chases are a well-off family, it’s true, but the Vanir, old money from leftover Nordic peerage are very much on the Olympianides' level, even if Annabeth is the one wearing a tiara that allegedly once belonged to the crown jewels of Sweden.

Athena Pallas is on that same level, too, but Annabeth would rather run into Thalia then talk about her mother. Especially with these people.

Then Poseidon’s gaze fixes on something behind her, and he breaks into a broad, heartbreakingly familiar grin. “Ah, Percy, there you are!” he calls.

The smile drops from her face, and her blood freezes. Caught in the gravity well of a black hole, she turns.

A huge mistake.

Her only thought is How dare he be so handsome.

He’s in a suit she’s never seen before, crisply pressed, but comfortable, simple black but with pearl cuff links, to match his father’s. The sharp lines of the suit hide his beautiful form beneath them in a way that makes Annabeth understand the appeal of lingerie like she never has before. He looms, back discipline-straight, his face scrubbed clean and eyebrows perfectly shaped, and to cap it all off, a pair of simple, classy diamond studs in his ears. Percy Jackson remains, as always, unfairly gorgeous, the perfect specimen of male beauty, and Annabeth is powerless under his gaze.

And he’s just heard every word of their conversation.

“Percy,” his father says, “have you met Annabeth Chase?”

Percy stares at her, mouth open a little. She watches those eyes take her in from top to bottom, hairstyle to clean face to conservative dress to high heels. Never, ever one to hide his emotions, she can see his inner monologue playing out on his face: shock and awe, bewilderment and confusion, jerkily transitioning to… to a politely blank face. Like the surface of the ocean, the wave of his feelings disappear beneath his skin, leaving no trace that they were ever there. “No,” he says, in a tone that broaches no argument. “No, I don’t believe I’ve ever met Annabeth Chase before.”

He takes her in again. Percy was never above leering, but he was always pretty situational about it. He would wait until sex was explicitly on the table, wait until she wanted to see him go just a little bit crazy for her. He doesn’t leer now, cataloguing the dress, the shoes, the tiara.

“Cinderella?” he asks, before the conversation can become awkward and their audience can notice something else.

“Yes,” she says, unable to force the smile she’d used on his father just minutes before. “What girl doesn’t want to be a princess for Halloween?”

“Cinderella was always your favorite, wasn’t she?” Percy’s father asks him. Then he laughs. “Once we went to Disney in Paris, I think, and Percy, all of ten years old, cried because he didn’t think he was going to be able to meet her.”

Percy’s face stays blank. “I was six, Dad.”

Annabeth winces, internally. That was the year, he’d told her, that he’d spent in shoes that didn’t fit because his new ones had been destroyed by bullies taunting him over ballet, and he didn’t want to tell his mother because trying to buy him a second pair of shoes would have been a struggle. She wonders if maybe he was crying because he’d spent the day walking around Disneyland in shoes two sizes too small, and no one had noticed.

His father laughs again. “Still,” he says, “Cinderella is your favorite.”

“I don’t have much use for princesses anymore,” Percy says. “Fairy tales and true love are kid stuff.”

His uncles laugh along with his father, and Luke just frowns at Percy, like he’s not sure what to make of him. But his family seems convinced it's the wisdom of youth.

“Oh,” says Poseidon, “You never know when you can find someone special.” He does leer at Annabeth, just a bit. There isn’t a lot to leer at in this dress, but it's unmistakable. He’s very handsome, but the leer is perhaps the first time she’s thought he didn’t favor his son.

“Were you the one who dated the princess of what it was called?” Thalia’s father asks. “Or was Triton? Or was it both of you?”

“No,” Hazel and Nico’s father says, “no, they both dated Atlas’s girl. Right?”

“Yes, Uncle Hades,” Percy says.

“Zoe?”

Calypso, Annabeth thinks, just before Percy says it out loud and they all nod.

“Is she here?” Thalia’s father asks, glancing around. “Or do you have a different date tonight?”

Annabeth hasn’t even considered Percy having a date. But the idea of it causes a wave of nausea to come over her, of a beautiful woman on Percy’s arm, one of his fellow dancers, or perhaps some heiress, who he could take to fancy parties and show off to his father and uncles.

That could have so easily been you, says a voice in the back of her head.

I’m no one’s arm candy, she wants to yell at herself.

But she can’t, because she’s literally resting on Luke’s arm, while three powerful businessmen ogle her.

She breathes through her nose, and tries to keep from throwing up. Or crying.

“Percy knows its best to come to events like this stag,” Percy’s father winks at him, and then unmistakably at her, “you never know what sorts of lovely creatures you might run into.”

Percy frowns, clearly uncomfortable. “I think Miss Chase definitely came with her boyfriend.” He nods to Luke, and gives him a smile Annabeth has never seen. So forced and fake and clearly unhappy.

She wishes she could stop everything and scream at Percy that Luke’s not her boyfriend. That he could never be. That she does not want Luke, not the way she wants Percy.

But time goes on, and so does Percy. “I don’t like coming to these sorts of things alone, if I can help it.”

And the world nearly collapses out from under her feet.

“The buddy system is important.” He turns his head, clearly searching the milling crowd for someone. Annabeth doesn’t follow his gaze. She doesn’t want to see the woman he willingly shows off to his father. She glances at Luke instead. His face is still placid, but she’s known him a long time, in all sorts of states. He’s clearly uncomfortable.

“Thalia,” Percy’s voice says, not a shout, but a request. Annabeth doesn’t look over at him, or the direction he shouted, but Luke does. He breaks away from her gaze and actually unlinks their arms. His mask slips a little bit more.

At the last possible second Annabeth looks over too.

Thalia Grace looks exactly like the Thalia Annabeth has always known. Her hair is slicked down in some old fashioned pin curls, and she’s wearing a cocktail dress and red soled heels that are too big for her, but you can see the tattoos up and down her arms and legs, underneath her ripped fishnets. Her facial piercings are all still in, and her eyebrows and ears are full of safety pins and the necklace around her neck is made of them too. She’s wearing the same beat up leather gloves as always.

For just a second, Annabeth hates her. Because Thalia is clearly so Thalia, so comfortable in being Thalia, and she can walk around this fucking gala, with buisness bros and old money, and look totally comfortable and confident.

And Annabeth keeps adjusting her sleeves and hair, worried that somethings going to move wrong, and it's going to become obvious that she’s… something?

Then their eyes meet, and it's almost as bad as when Percy showed up. Thalia looks lost, and then she glances to Annabeth’s side, at Luke and her face settles into a frown not unlike Percy’s.

She stops beside Percy who smiles at her, “Thalia and I always use the buddy system.” He says. Then, as he holds out his hand to her, his smile becomes the closest she could ever refer to as cruel. “Thalia, have you met Annabeth Chase? Of the Boston Chases? Her uncle is Frey Vanir.”

Standing tall, bright eyes ringed in black, Thalia takes in all of Annabeth. She’s done this before, when Annabeth was drunk and crying on a dirty bar floor, with a couple hours old tattoo on her arm and a couple of days old ring in her eyebrow. Annabeth had seen her mother on Wednesday for lunch and had destroyed her life by dinner. She doesn’t really remember what they’d talked about, in the wee hours as Friday became Saturday: not being good enough for your family, how New York took your dreams, chewed them up, and spit them out, how your father would never understand you and your mother would never love you. That sort of thing.

She’d been a gross, pathetic mess. But Thalia had seen something in her that night. Had lifted her off the floor and out the door and eventually onto the mattress in the place she’d been renting weekly at the time. She’d taken Annabeth into her world.

Now, it doesn’t look like she sees anything good in Annabeth Chase of the Boston Chases, in designer heels, with a designer bag, wrapped in a designer dress and dripping in jewels. Annabeth knows she looks like a dozen other girls at this event, girls that Luke’s (and maybe Thalia’s and, God, maybe even Percy’s) eyes have wandered over with interest.

“Miss Chase, despite being from Boston,” Percy says to Thalia, “was mentioning some of the schools she went to in New York. I thought maybe you might have known each other through one.”

Percy’s face has gone perfectly blank, but Thalia’s… Thalia’s is angry.

“No,” she says, “we did not go to school together. But Luke and I did.”

It’s Annabeth’s turn to gape, eyes wide as she turns to him, shocked.

Luke tries to smile. “Yes, we did, but--”

Thalia doesn’t let him finish. “Are you still sending weekly audition tapes to Lorne Michaels?” she asks, a snarl that only an idiot would mistake for a grin on her face.

Annabeth would laugh, if she felt like laughing at anything right now.

Luke tries to speak again, but Thalia talks right over him. “No, of course not. You’re doing some business thing.” She eyes his suit and then her three older relatives. “Why else would we be here? I know you never really had the brains for the arts. You were always more interested in the carnal passions of acting.”

Annabeth actually does laugh, just a bit, both because that’s clearly something Luke had once said (and Annabeth remembered him coming straight out of NYU, a Yankee transplant to Boston, she could totally believe it) and because Thalia got Luke’s cadence and tone down perfectly.

But it does nothing to relieve the tension. If anything, it's gone up.

Percy’s father forces his own laugh. “It is so much fun when you run into old friends like this.” He offers, clearly sensing the storm brewing. Percy has at least tried to force it down. “And it's good to see you, as well, Thalia. It's been a long time.”

“It has, Uncle Poseidon,” She agrees.

“Mr. Castellan has left the world of acting for our bland business and finance meetings, but are you still acting?”

Thalia goes very still.

Annabeth, in the two years she’s known Thalia Grace, has never even once heard her so much as allude to acting in anything. She set up equipment and tended bars for cash. The only acting she ever did was pretending not to be hungover.

It’s a slight movement, but she sees Thalia reach out and grip Percy’s arm. He meets it, holding on. Steadying.

He understands what’s going on here.

“She’s not,” Thalia’s father says. He’s been polite so far this evening, but now he sounds annoyed. “All that talent and all that promise, and she’s thrown it all away.” He looks at Thalia, electric eyes to electric eyes, and shakes his head. “You could have been just like your mother.”

Percy, Luke, and Hades all let out a sharp breath.

Thalia’s smile, sharp, turns acidic. “I can't be,” she says. “I don't drive. So I couldn't drive myself into a tree.”

Her father narrows his gaze, mouth tight. Annabeth has actually seen that look on Thalia’s face before. Poseidon looks suddenly very sorry he ever opened his mouth.

Thalia turns to Percy. “Do you think Hazel would mind if I committed a murder and ruined her big night?”

It's a very Thalia thing to say, but Annabeth has never really considered the theatricality of her before. This is an artist working her craft, taking words and turning them into daggers.

“Hazel loves performance art,” Percy says. “And it is on theme.”

Thalia nods and then looks at her father. She smiles. “That sounds like a lot of work, so, instead, why don’t I do just what you want. I’ll be my mother. I’ll go get fabulously drunk and embarrass you horribly. Unfortunately, this is a 21+ event, so I won’t be able to endanger any children in the process. But you never know.”

She spins on her heels, and walks away.

“I'm going to make sure she doesn’t enganger any children just to prove a point,” Percy says. “I'll see you later.” He nods to his family, and then offers Annabeth a very formal handshake. “So nice to meet you.”

She’s missed his hands on her. She doesn’t want to let go.

But she lets him, and he moves over to give Luke one, too. He leans in, just a little bit, and lowers his voice so only Luke and Annabeth can hear. “You shouldn’t make a scene in a public place. But you deserve to know, she’s been cheating on you since May.”

Annabeth can’t breathe for a moment. The perfect man, handsome and charming and crueler than she ever believed possible.

Her stomach rolls again.

Behind her, she hears Poseidon say, “Do you often tell women whose mothers’ acting career dried up and then descended into substance abuse that you hope they have the same career as said mothers? Because wow."

“I’m sorry,” Luke whispers. “I’m not sure what’s going on, but I’m very sorry.”

He turns to speak with the three brothers, to formally and probably seamlessly untangle themselves from all of this, and she tries to turn too, but the effort to spin gets too much.

She’s still nauseous, feeling light-headed. The stiletto heels only add to the problem. She shakes and stumbles, right into Luke, who catches her on one arm, Poseidon on the other. Annabeth has to work very hard not to yank herself away from him.

“Are you alright?” Poseidon’s accent isn’t the same as Percy’s at all, his hands too smooth. There are differences between the two that she can focus on.

“I haven’t been feeling well tonight,” she admits, if it will get her out of here faster.

“Do you need to sit down?” Asks Poseidon. “I’m sure there is a medical professional around here.”

“No, no, thank you,” she says. “I should probably head out, If that’s okay,” she tells Luke, apologetically.

He nods, finally complying with her need for escape. “Of course.”

When Poseidon lets go of her arm, she basically falls into Luke. It's embarrassing. Her eighteen year old self is probably cheering. Unfortunately for her, that crush was killed two great heartbreaks ago. Now, it’s just quiet and awkward as they walk away. “Sorry,” she says.

“Sorry? I should be thanking you. That was a really good excuse.” Then he looks at her--really looks. “It wasn’t an excuse, was it?”

She shakes her head, miserable.

“Is it because of that guy? Percy? Do you know him?”

She nods.

“Why does he think you’ve been cheating on me since May?”

“Because he thinks you and I are a couple, and I’ve been sleeping with him since May.”

Luke lets out a low whistle. “You and those business bros.” He shakes his head. Sometimes he doesn’t quite have the self-awareness that he should, she thinks. “I blame myself. If I didn’t invite you to that MBA party, maybe you wouldn’t have lost your virginity to that asshole in my cohort.”

“Percy’s not a business bro,” she says, defending him, though for the life of her she doesn’t know why. “He’s a ballet dancer with NYCB. It… ended about 3 weeks ago. I’d tell you about it, but I do actually feel pretty horrible.”

Luke frowns at her. “You want me to get you a cab?”

Annabeth shakes her head. “I know you have more business bro things to do. I can get myself home.”

He waits several seconds, before giving her a hug and a kiss on the forehead, wishing her goodnight, leaving her in the middle of the mingling crowd and the crystal displays.

Annabeth shuffles towards the exit, passing the food table. Even the smell makes her feel like she’s going to throw up. Walking faster doesn’t exactly help.

Eventually, she manages to get out of the main gallery, where the lobby and coat check had been set up, very much regretting letting Luke go. Right now, walking outside and finding a cab might as well be like attempting a quick little jaunt up Mt. Everest. Head aching, stomach rolling, she slumps against the wall outside the coat check, laying her warm cheek against the cool wall.

That’s when she hears the muffled shouting.

Two voices she knows intimately.

“How can you say that?” Thalia whisper-screams. “In what possible universe are they the same?”

“How are they not?” Percy quietly shouts back. “They’re exactly the same.”

“I can’t even believe you’re defending her. She lied to us--she hurt you, just like--”

“Don’t you dare try and tell me you’re doing this for me. This is about you and your problems. Like always.”

“I don’t have to listen to this shit.” Then comes the telltale clacks of Thalia stomping about in her high heels. She flings open the door of the coat closet, and comes face to face with Annabeth--who probably looks about like death warmed over. Thalia takes one look at Annabeth, sneers, then stalks away, anger sparking off of her like static shock.

Hot on her heels comes Percy, equally furious. "Then find someone else’s couch to crash on tonight!" He shouts at her retreating form.

Then he sees Annabeth.

She hopes she never has to see him that angry ever again.

It takes a couple of pounding heartbeats, but he visibly dials it back down, rage giving way to something a little less intense, the bitterness bleeding out of him until he’s only just annoyed. “Oh,” he says. “It’s you.”

There’s a million and one things she wants to tell him; her mind is a hurricane, every thought and feeling moving at a hundred and fifty miles per hour, sentences forming on her tongue in one second and ripped away the next. She wants to tell him that she never meant to hurt him, but all that comes out is, “Luke isn’t my boyfriend.”

“What, he dump you already?”

“We’ve never dated,” she says. “He’s just a friend. I haven’t cheated on anyone.”

“Oh, so you’ll get all dolled up for some guy that isn’t your boyfriend, but you couldn’t be bothered to find a pair of jeans without holes in them to come see my show?”

Her stomach lurches, in both anger and regret. She did do those things. “You told me that you didn’t care what I wore.”

“And I didn’t, because I thought you didn’t either.”

“I don’t!”

“Oh yeah? Is that why you parted your hair on the wrong side? Because you didn’t care if someone would see your undercut?”

She can’t say anything to that, because of course, he had hit the nail on the head.

“I mean, Thalia may be messed up, but at least she has the guts not to hide it, but you--” he sputters, gesturing angrily to her head, “you put on a tiara and pretend you haven’t been gutter trash for the last two years.”

Indignation rises in her. Gutter trash? “You’re one to talk--you can’t go anywhere nicer than Antonio’s for dinner but you own a custom fucking Italian suit and diamond earrings?”

He scowls. “Oh, I'm sorry, just so we're clear, Kym got me this suit so I would stop, and I quote, 'embarrassing her with my poverty.' I borrowed the earrings from Nico. But you're right. The same Christmas I had my power and heat turned off in Paris, my dad got me these pearl cufflinks.” He raises his hands, brandishing them. “Just what I always wanted!”

“Don’t give me that--the man takes you, his bastard,” she spits, “on the family vacation to the Greek islands every goddamn summer! You think he wouldn’t drop a couple million for you if you asked? Meanwhile, I had to grovel at my mother’s feet for years for even the barest hint of support--”

“That is not even remotely the same thing, and you know it!”

“It isn’t?” She laughs, cruelly. “Because from where I’m standing, we were both left at the mercy of our shitty parents, but you’re too much of a coward to tell your father to fuck off when you really want to.”

That just about sets him off. His eyes darken like sea storms, raging and thunderous. “Don’t you dare try to pin this on me. You’re the one that lied to me for months, to Thalia for years--Jesus, Annabeth, was any of it real? Was everything you said to me over the last five months just some game to you?”

“How dare you,” she hisses. “How dare you even ask me that when you know full well you’re the only person I’ve shown my designs to in years.”

“Oh, really,” he says, and she goes cold. “What about the one that won the Eta Industries award? Did you not show that to anyone? Or did you get that one because they knew you were Annabeth Chase of the Boston Chases.”

Clenching her fists, she growls, standing up against the wall. “Leo and I put our hearts and souls into that project, and we won, fair and fucking square. I wouldn’t expect you to understand, seeing as you probably only got into NYCB because someone cashed a seven figure check.”

She doesn’t know if she’s ever said anything she believes less.

Percy laughs, an ugly, bitter thing. “If it had been that easy, I would have asked him to do that five years ago.”

Then he frowns. “Are you… feeling okay?”

She is not, as a matter of fact, but it’s no longer his fucking business, now is it. Annabeth opens her mouth to tell him so, then abruptly closes it as a little bit of vomit erupts from her esophagus. She covers her mouth, pressing against her teeth, trying to will it back inside.

Warm hands encircle her shoulders, holding her up as her legs threaten to buckle beneath her. “Come on,” he says, gruffly.

Together, they stagger into the single-stall bathroom, when Annabeth rips himself from his grasp, dropping to her knees before the toilet, and hurls. Faintly, she hears the lock of the door click behind her, then jumps at the feel of his hand on her back. “Leave me alone,” she spits, hocking bile into the toilet.

He doesn’t answer, only gently repositions her braid behind her shoulder so she doesn’t get any vomit on it.

She will not admit that his hand on her body is the best she’s felt all day. She will not.

“Ugh,” she moans, in between bouts of bile. “Fuck me.”

“Jesus, what did you eat?”

Annabeth has barely eaten all day, so it’s mostly sparkling cider and a bit of the olive tapenade from earlier.

Finally, after several excruciating minutes, it subsides. She feels twenty pounds lighter, like she’s vomited up all of her organs. Now if only she could have barfed up her heart as well. She’s sure Percy can feel how hard it’s beating, just from being around him again.

When the hell did she let herself get this worked up over a fucking guy, anyway? She hasn’t felt like this since she was nineteen, moping over a missed connection. But she’s not nineteen anymore, she’s a grown woman who doesn’t need anyone taking care of her. She can handle it herself.

“Feeling better?” he asks.

She coughs, attempting to clear her throat, throwing him a glare over her shoulder. “Leave me alone.”

“I’m not leaving you alone like this.”

“I said,” she growls, fingers tightening around the bowl of the toilet. “Leave me al--” Her genius retort is, sadly, cut off by another bout of vomiting, so forceful that her tiara comes flying clean off. It would have landed straight into the bowl, were it not for Percy and his lightning reflexes, snatching it out of the air before the crown jewels of Sweden landed in a puddle of barf.

When she comes back to herself, she realizes that she’s crying.

The second wave passes, and she can breathe again. Her awareness returns to her in pieces, starting with the pinch in her knees from kneeling on the cold, hard floor for too long, then the cool porcelain of the toilet, oddly soothing against her flushed skin. Her mouth tastes like you’d expect, and she spits, trying to clear it in vain.

“That’s it,” Percy murmurs behind her, rubbing gentle circles on her back. “Just let it out.”

Her chest heaves on a sob, quickly disguising it as a cough. Why won’t this man just leave?

When another five or so minutes pass without any more upchuck, she pulls away from him, practically crawling back until she hits the bathroom wall, the floor pressing up against her bones, and she kicks off her heels. Everything is too cold and too hot, Annabeth practically shaking out of her skin, taking in huge, gulping gasps of air. Faintly, she hears the door open and close, softly and carefully.

Good. He’s gone.

Her whole body shudders. Stubborn tears force their way out of her, crawling down her cheeks, mixing with the taste of vomit and lipstick.

But she can’t wallow in it for too long, because a minute later, Percy comes back, crouching down next to her, offering her a plastic cup of water. “Here.”

She takes a swig, swishing it around her mouth. Staggering to her bare feet, she shambles over to the sink, spitting it out.

There’s no way Annabeth can avoid looking at herself too closely in the mirror, but she tries, her eyes skating over her smeared mascara and running foundation, taking in her (thankfully) vomit free braid and her bare head. “Where,” she coughs. “Where is my tiara?”

“I got it.” In the mirror’s reflection, Percy holds it up. “Wouldn’t want the crown jewels of England to wind up in the toilet.”

“Sweden,” she says, on reflex.

“What?”

Why can’t she just shut her stupid mouth, for God’s sake-- “They were part of the Swedish crown jewels.”

He stares at her in the reflection, his eyes unfathomable. “I just don’t understand.”

“Understand what?” She asks, a question to which she really doesn’t want to know the answer.

“How I keep letting this happen.” Percy closes his eyes, shaking his head, raising his chin to the fluorescent lights of the bathroom. Like this, all the angles and contours of his stupidly beautiful face are thrown in sharp, brutal relief. He looks thin, somehow, the quiet sadness of his expression carved into the lines of his frown, of his squeezed shut eyes and the grim line of his lips. “I thought I was done with letting rich girls fuck me to make a point.”

Funny, how a simple sentence can feel like a knife in the stomach.

Percy, always so tall, slumps his shoulders, running a hand over his face. In seconds, the sadness is gone, replaced with a blank void of expression. “Will you let me call you a cab to take you home?” He asks, because of course, he’d never leave her alone like this. He’s too fucking good.

Annabeth nods into the mirror.

He sidles up to her, slinging her arm around his shoulder. In his other hand, he carries her shoes and her tiara, dangling limply from his fingers. For a wild second she wants to turn and kiss him. She’s wanted to do that for weeks. She wants to wipe the tears and vomit off her face, stick back on her tiara, and go back to the party on his arm. They could make a beautiful picture, she thinks, Poseidon Olympianides’ son and Annabeth Chase of the Boston Chases. But when she tries to move, maybe to make a big mistake, she sways, unsteady. His grip on her waist tightens, holding her close, but his face is turned stubbornly out. He won’t even look at her.

The cool night air and the smell of city dirt is a welcome balm on her flushed face. In no time at all, Percy has hailed a cab, letting her hang off of him as she falls heavily onto the seat. With the utmost care and precision, he gently places her shoes and her crown on her lap, as controlled and careful as when he puts down a fellow dancer. There is no mistake here, she knows. Their little dance together is over. It feels like the end of one of those romantic movies from the 50s her dad used to love to cry over.

“Take her home, please,” he informs the cab driver, giving him her address, then without even sparing her a glance, he closes the door on her.

But greedy for one last look, Annabeth presses her face to the window as the driver pulls away from the curb. The night is dark and the streetlamps are unhelpful, but she can still see him as he cups his hands to his face, glowing like he holds a little star between his fingers, can see him tilt his head up and exhale, sending cigarette smoke up into the heavens.

#this one's a long boi folks #long and sad #but this is as bad as it gets! we've hit rock bottom!#it's all uphill from here i promise #pjo au #ballet au #percabeth #pjo fic #the rivalry ends here

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loveydoveyfrog · 4 years

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fallingforyou pt.1

Um hi I haven’t written anything in years I’m sorry if this sucks. I might continue this? idk yet I’ve just had this particular scenario stuck in my head for days. I tried to make it as inclusive as possible, but if you notice me doing anything that really limits that, please let me know! I’m always always looking to improve :> thank you!! (also if u find a grammar/spelling mistake plz lmk so i can fix)

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Pairing: Atsumu Miya x Reader Words: 1.7k Warnings: None? Tripping on stairs but you don’t get hurt. Part 2

You gathered your notes, breathing a sigh of relief as your long morning lecture finally came to an end. You loved your course, of course. You wouldn’t be paying to study it at university if you didn’t, but you had to admit a three hour lecture on a Monday morning could feel more like a chore than a passion.. Your best friend and faithful study buddy joined your side as you grabbed your fleece lined denim jacket and shrugged it on, slinging your bag over your shoulder, eager to leave. Before you step forward, your friend stops you in your tracks.

“Hold on, your hair clip is all crooked,” they attempt to fix it, but instead unclip it and hand it to you instead. You take your Halloween pumpkin decoration and clip it back into your hair, posing a little for your friend, wordlessly asking how does it look?

“Perfectly spooky” they said with a thumbs up. You and your friend had a shared tradition of wearing Halloween accessories throughout October in celebration of the best and spookiest holiday. Today you wore a small, sparkly yet quaint pumpkin clip in your hair, whilst your friend opted for some novelty socks. You thank your lecturer as you leave, yet the second the two of you left the room and were out of earshot, your friend sighed loudly and began to whine about this section of your shared course.

“Did you get ANY of that?” they asked as you headed for the doors that led to the staircase.

“Which part? We covered quite a bit.” you respond idly, pushing the doors open and letting them pass first.

“ALL OF IT. Ugh, I miss our lecturer from last year, he made everything so much clearer.” they continued to complain as you started to make your way down the stairs after them. After a few steps, lost in conversation regarding the class, you accidentally misplaced your footing on the stairs. Your breath hitched. The next few seconds seemed to slow down to a painful crawl as you felt every sensation in detail; the way you didn’t feel the security of the next step beneath your foot, the way your centre of gravity shifted and tipped you forward, the way your stomach dropped and your eyes shut instinctively to avoid looking at the quickly approaching ground, the way a hand caught a firm grip on the back of your jacket’s collar, keeping you suspended in mid fall.

Huh?

Your eyes blinked open, heart hammering as the lights suddenly seemed too bright, every sense amplified from shock. You immediately notice you didn’t feel the harsh impact that you were expecting. Instead, you felt a tension around your neck and shoulders as your jacket was pulled taut to keep you somewhat upright. Your friend’s eyes were equally wide with surprise, not having time to ask if you’re ok before their eyes shifted to the figure behind you. Their stunned expression was met with a deep chuckle, one you felt rumble through you as they pulled your form back to press ever so gently against their chest, hand placed firmly on your shoulder now, as if to prevent you from falling again. You turned your head to thank whoever caught you, though given they were quite a bit taller than you, you had to slightly twist your body out of their grip to face them (though you noticed their hand moved from holding your shoulder to resting against your arm).

If your face wasn’t hot from embarrassment already, it sure was now. Your thank you was caught in your throat when you turned to face your mysterious saviour. You definitely heard a quiet wow go through your head when you were met with warm, amused brown eyes, and a smile that melted into another round of chuckling as his hand left your arm to brush through a mass of bleached yet brilliantly blonde hair. He seemed… somewhat familiar, but you didn’t recognise him from any of your classes. Either way, your heart was flooded with relief that he happened to be behind you. You took in more of his appearance; the way his dark eyes looked as though they were liquid honey when the light hit them just right, and the way his dark green hoodie matched said eyes perfectly, and the way… those glowing eyes followed yours as his humoured expression altered, a new kind of tone present in his smile, one which made you realise you were staring at him as though he was made of gold. You quickly snapped out of it, your face growing even hotter for having been caught looking at him for so long without even saying thank you.

“Sorry- I mean, thank you,” you stuttered. The boy before you smiled again and let out a pleased hum. His eyes caught the sparkly, Halloween themed clip in your hair. Cute, he thought to himself as his eyes met yours yet again.

“No worries, ya just need to be more careful, Pumpkin,” he mused. The nickname made you flush yet again as you tore your eyes away from his intense gaze. This interaction seemed to last forever. “Do you need me to walk you down the stairs? We’ve still got quite a bit to go,” he teased, though his voice didn’t seem to be laced with the malice of a typical bully. He sounded playful.

“No, thank you,” you responded curtly, walking down the last few steps to where your friend still stood. Their eyes glinted with entertainment and poked you in the side. You lightly slapped their hands away and nudged them to continue down the last set of stairs.

“Well, I’m right behind ya if ya need me,” he said leisurely, walking a couple of steps behind you. You didn’t respond, only walked in embarrassed silence as your friend tried (and failed) to hold back their giggles at the boy’s comment. He had a proud grin on his face, basking in the attention and laughs from your traitorous friend. The journey down seemed to last a century, but eventually you made it down safely. Heading out the double doors, you breathed in the crisp Autumn air as it cooled your warm cheeks. You readjusted your jacket as you and your friend regrouped. You avoided their eyes, though in the process you caught the attention of Stair Boy. He flashed you a smile and waved as he passed the pair of you.

“See ya ‘round, Pumpkin.”

You watched him till he turned a corner and disappeared behind a building, after which you promptly slammed your face into your palms, muttering incoherent nonsense as your friend finally lost it and doubled over and cried with laughter. You groaned, dragging your hands down your face, tugging your lower eyelids and cheeks with dismay.

“Oh my Goddddd, I can’t believe that just happened” you whined, growing more and more annoyed with your friend’s incessant laughter. “OKAY I get it, it was funny, shut up now.” you snapped. Your friend started walking as they took deep breaths to calm down. You followed, arms crossed.

“Okay, I’m sorry, you just really. You really FELL FOR HIM,” they managed to choke out as they spiralled into another fit of laughter. You punched their arm.

“He was BEHIND me! I couldn’t have fallen for him if he was behind me, I didn’t even see him!” You exclaimed as you tried to defend yourself, waving your arms around madly trying to illustrate your point.

“Alright, alright… Pumpkin,” they teased. Had you not been outside, you would have thrown a shoe at your supposed best friend. They saw anger flash in your eyes and dodged your oncoming attacks as they ran away a giggling mess. You chased them a few meters then jogged to a stop, panting in the burning cold air. You waved an arm with a dismissive whatever. The two of you approached one of the campus cafes, the entrance adorned with paper bats, window sills draped in cotton cobwebs and the door guarded by a pair of crudely carved pumpkins. The two of you entered, the door’s usual bell drowned out by chatter that filled the small, cosy space. You flopped into one of the seats, shrugging off your now infamous jacket and rested your chin in your hands, letting out a long sigh. Your friend sat beside you, mirroring your actions.

“Well, hey, at least no one else saw,” your friend bargained, attempting to lift your low mood.

“True,” you admitted nonchalantly, your eyes still trained on the wall before you. Your friend elbowed your side playfully,

“And he was cute, too,” they quipped. This caused you to groan and lay your head on the table. After a few miserable seconds you turned to face your friend, not lifting your head from the wooden surface,

“Yeah, he was” you agreed with a pout on your face. “And now he’s gonna think I’m a clumsy fool forever and I’m probably never ever gonna see him again.” You planted your face back on the table in defeat. Your friend, on the other hand, shrugged in response.

“You never know, y/n. Sure the campus is big, but he WAS in our block today, so you might see him again. On Mondays at least,” they suggested. You sighed and rested your chin on the table, shoulders slumped.

“Yeah, maybe, I guess… maybe,” you mumbled.

“Besides, he definitely thought you were cute too.” This made your head shoot up in curiosity a little too fast. You tried to feign disinterest when you asked,

“What makes you say that?” you looked at your friend expectantly when they gave you a look.

“Pumpkin. Seriously?”

“Ugh,” you gave them another dismissive wave, “That didn’t mean anything. That was only because of this stupid clip.” You pointed to the orange ornament on your head.

“Y/n. He said it twice. Besides, he could have called you nothing at all. Not to mention, didn’t you see the way he looked at you?”

“It just seems like he was teasing me and messing around,” you argued. Your friend sighed and turned to pull a notebook and pens out of their bag.

“Whatever you say, y/n,” they said as they began to summarise their notes from your previous lecture. You tapped your fingers on the table, waiting to see if they’ll make further comments, but they seem to have finally given up. You retrieved your own notes, though the only thing you seemed to be able to focus on was a particular set of brown eyes.

#atsumu x reader #atsumu miya x reader #atsumu miya #miya atsumu #haikyuu!!#atsumu haikyuu #haikyuu imagines #idk what else to tag lol

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ayankun · 4 years

Text

WandaVision episode 6

FIRST OFF

Whenever I go back to pause things for clues, and find exactly what I’m looking for, I don’t feel justified, I feel that much more insane:

It’s really hard to make out, but I had an alright look at it on my folks’ QLED, and it’s definitely a flying saucer doing an alien abduction on what looks to be a person inside an old CRT TV (with some kind of robot head/boombox on top???) There are secret aliens in this show, you guys, the facts don’t lie.

HmmmMMMM I wonder if Agnes is as innocent as she looks:

Also, I didn’t see that she was wearing the brooch in this ep, and I was majorly disappointed in that.

Two things here:

No, that’s not a twins joke.

Another Moonmen Confirmed

I know green is his color or whatever, but that hat is literally 10 years ahead of its time

Also, I took the playing-DDR-at-home scenario at face value, and only on the first rewatch did I realize it was a very pointed turn-of-the-century reference. I am an Old.

There’s a good, subtle Rule of Threes in this ep. The Setup:

The Sokovian Halloween flashback works on so many levels. It’s so funny:

The fact that they went trick-or-treating at all

The “speaking Sokovian”

The treat being a fish

They have to share the fish

The concept that this event gave them an infectious disease

“You probably suppressed a lot of the trauma” -- it’s a good sitcom joke but. the trauma is the joke. The joke IS THE TRAUMA!!!

Elizabeth Olson is a dream with all her wonderful faces she has this ep.

Vision’s unsettling passive-aggression-sitcom-cooperation whiplash is WOW, consider me unsettled!!!!!! “Be. Good.” UGH.

(Just noticed one here, but there are a number of continuity errors in this episode, enough to be distracting later on, and is this a deliberate choice? Please let it be deliberate. I didn’t watch a whole lot of Malcolm in the Middle, is it known for its continuity errors?

)

“It’s their first Halloween.” LOLOLOL they are TEN YEARS OLD and this is their FIRST halloween I LOVE IT

DOUBLE RED HERRING CONFIRRRRRRRRMED!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Agent Jimmy Woo accidentally identifying himself as the sassy best friend added 20 years to my life.

Found. FOUND. Not “created,” “manifested,” “willed into being using my insane witch powers.” Third Party Confirmed.

I like that it’s the 90s and we can swear on TV now. “Hell” “kick-ass” “damn it” “fu---dge”

I think the most biting part of Vision finding the whacked out folks is that the soundtrack just kind of ... ignores that anything’s wrong. Yeah, it’s kinda-spooky Halloween music, but it’s still 100% in-world kinda-spooky-sitcom-Halloween-episode music.

OKAY LET’S TALK ABOUT THE AD:

As a 90s child, let me tell you, this is a blisteringly accurate representation of children’s marketing from the period. The shark is wearing sunglasses AND he has a surfboard!!! And he’s selling you yogurt of all things!!!!! This is the supreme distillation of what being a child in the 90s was like.

How disappointed I am that they went with crab instead of lobster.

Heard it through the grapevine that this is a representative of Wanda’s imprisonment on the Raft. That happened in Civil War, right? So the next ad is The Snap? We’re running out of iconic decades, too. so, hold on, new thought.

90s: Civil War

00s: Infinity War

10s?????: Endgame???? or?????????

??: Whatever happened between Endgame and WandaVision, given that the ads are stepping forward through Wanda’s IRL life events!!

I don’t want to know how many episodes are planned/announced, but I don’t know what to expect from the format after they run out of decades from which to draw. Maybe there are only one or possibly two “sitcom” episodes left. Maybe after that it just breaks down and they can pick and choose from the worlds/styles we’ve already established. That’d be p neat. A very unique kind of chaos.

god she’s so cute

Okay, somebody explain to me Pietro. I honestly walked away from last week thinking he was just some townsperson chump, but then I was reminded that this is the Quicksilver actor from all those X-Mans movies I never watched, soooo people are saying Multiverse Confirmed? But, if this is X-Mans’ Pietro, then why did he die the same as MCU Pietro? Or is he literally MCU!Pietro’s corpse, given that he looked all dead same as when she saw Vision’s corpse? If MCU!Pietro, then why different face???

????????????????

Also I found him highly suspicious, what with all the questions he was asking. But the only sort of person who would truly want to know the answers to those questions would be someone who already had them ... so I think he was just asking on behalf of the audience, and the delivery was all wonked out.

Rule of Threes - The Reference:

Ok, real talk, whenever computers/networks/data/encryption/servers/mainframes et al come up in mainstream media, I just look away. I don’t need the kind of psychic damage that comes with such egregious mishandling of the topic.

That being said, does Hayward having eyes through the barrier mean that he could possibly be involved in getting it set up? Because look. If Hayward-after-Hayward’s-Villianous-Ends is one antagonizing force, then is there really room for the Third Party (Confirmed) antagonizing force that’s lurking in the negative space silhouette of the Inciting Incident? With Wanda as the Red Herring antagonizing force, that’s just. There’s just too many villains, alright? We gotta start merging these plotlines.

(then again, when I just said “eyes” I realize probably understanding the true nature of his new secret “CATARACT” project will clear a lot of things up. I’ll wait for enlightenment)

Agnes’ license plate in this episode is 0A1-B2C, which I think is a reference to the way reality is getting pared down to bare bones at the edge of town. Note that this is not the same license plate number as seen last ep.

ALSO, I drove home behind a NJ plate just an hour ago, and was staring at it for a long time, trying to fit it into the puzzle before A) realizing that this was Real Life and not part of the show and B) WTF is a NJ plate doing in front of me in California. In any case, I can confirm that NJ plates do not appear to have this number-letter repeating format.

So let’s talk Agnes.

Demonstrated knowledge of the situation in ways others haven’t (”There’s the star of the show” “kids, you can’t control ‘em”)

Shows up when needed most (explained as being Wanda’s doing, but is it)

When Wanda was having her babies, though, who was trustworthy enough to be summoned? Was it Agnes?

Wanted to babysit REAL BAD

Was in the opening credits framed possessively with the twins

Doesn’t appear to have an IRL identity according to Jimmy’s crime board

Keeps talking about her husband but we’ve never seen him. Highly unlikely that he’s real

Was the one to find Sparky “dead” - internet thinks she was lying to Wanda about how or possibly if he was dead (I’m trying not to read the theories, so idk exactly what the angle is there)

In an episode where everyone is wearing their original comic outfits, Agnes is dressed as (and laughs like!) a witch

She name-drops Wanda as the one controlling everyone; Norm (or the guy playing Norm) only said “she” and “her” -- meaning Agnes?

Naughty

So we’re 99% sure Agnes is Agatha Harkness, right? I never read no comics, so I’m taking the internet’s word for it, but from what I can tell, I think we must be right. If that’s the case, then I’m thinking it’s not impossible for her to be pulling some strings around here (giving Wanda a justification for her “that wasn’t me” doorbell ring, for example, and pulling a double red herring on the fact that she shows up whenever the narrative Wanda her nefarious scheme calls for it).

To devil’s advocate myself, though, we also have Monica’s word that it was Wanda in her mind, lessening the impact of Agnes falsely confirming what Norm only implied. Also she’d have to be acting for Vision’s sake (and ours) and, if so, then what did Vision’s brain-touch really do, and how did she know he’d find her there, and what did she intend as the result of that interaction etc etc.

If Wanda’s (or Wanda + Third Party Confirmed (Agnes??)’s) powers aren’t enough to sustain the simulation of life on the edges of town, how much worse is it going to be now that there is even more area to try to control???

I don’t know if this is strictly an intended read, but the idea of Halloween as a fun, scares-for-entertainment’s sake type holiday, the rounding off the edges of concepts like “skeletons and ghosts are what people are after they die, let’s decorate the town with them and have a good time” kind of is a haunting parallel to the nature of Wanda (et al) covering up the horrible truth of the situation with this happy-go-lucky sitcom glamour.

How much does one hate seeing Vision giving his life for the greater good (the greater good) for the second time? In other news, I think I’m seeing some specifically Mind Stone type energy-colors coming off of him, and very little Wanda type energy-colors. Third Party Confirmed.

Also, I was thinking from last week that perhaps Hayward’s Villainous Ends included capturing the reanimated Vision to be one of those Sentient Weapons his organization is all about, but I Do Not Think his reaction to seeing that sought-after prize disintegrate in front of his eyes really matches up with that theory. Again, will be patiently waiting for Jimmy to check his email to see what CATARACT is all about!

Rule of Threes - The Payoff:

Also, anyone ID the movie playing in the background?

Ok, final thought. I watched this about four times today, and on the big-ass TV at my parents’ house finally paused and got up close to see what that white shape is in the reflection. Thought it might be a skull, but, it’s worse.

These caps do not contain enough data to verify my claim, but I PROMISE YOU it’s a TV

A square old thing with a round screen and antenna on top.

I SWEAR to you, when I looked into the TV, into Wanda’s eyes, only to see the reflection of a TV, of her looking at me looking at her I had a visceral fear reaction. Like. LEGIT nauseous skin crawl.

(All the other episodes have ended with our POV as the fourth wall, from the general (or exact!!!) position their household TV is known to be.)

This is my favorite show Of All Time.

#WandaVision #1x06 #All-New Halloween Spooktacular!

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surveys-at-your-service · 3 years

Text

Survey #399

“i was raised by the devil’s own kin, taught me that a good time was never a sin”

Do you like wine? NOOOOOOO that shit is gross. Explain the grossest thing that's ever happened to you? Having an infected pilonidal cyst drained. Would you rather go on holiday somewhere warm or somewhere cold? Cold, for sure. What would be your ideal pet? I reeeeaaaally want a very visibly sunset morph ball python one day. The really pretty ones are expensive as fuck, but omg, I want one so badly. What was the last book you were required to read for school? The Handmaid's Tale by Margaret Atwood. It was fantastic. Would you chew somebody else's gum? EW FUCK NO. What was the last type of meat you ate? Chicken. How old were you when you had your first kiss? 16. At what age would you allow your kids to dye their hair? Whenever they wanted, as long as a professional did it. Which fast food place do you eat at the most? Probably McDonald's. Bats are not spooky or are they? I adore bats. Do you like the song "Womanizer?" Unabashedly, yes, haha. I love the beat and it's really catchy. Do you know how to change a tire? Nope. How big is your backyard? Very small. What is your favorite Nintendo 64 game? I've actually never played a Nintendo 64. If you want children, what are some of your reasons for wanting them? I don't want any. Does a career in finance sound interesting to you? Absolutely not. When you cook a dish that has beans in it, do you prefer to use canned or dry beans? I. HATE. Beans. What’s something that makes absolutely zero sense to you? Those that deny the existence of dinosaurs. Fossils don't lie. Do you like strawberry shortcake? No. What’s your favorite dessert? That's so hard, but probably cheesecake. What’s the last you got out of the freezer? Vanilla ice cream. Do you know anybody who is ambidextrous? Sara. Have you ever been 4-wheeling? Yes. Will you be attending any weddings in the near future? No. If you have glasses, have you ever smashed them? No. What was the last thing you got a really good deal on? My APAP mask. Insurance covered it way more than even the women in the office were used to so had to look into it. Insurance has been nice to me lately, from TMS to this. What was the last reason you took medicine? I had a massive headache. Any important birthdays coming up? My older sister's was today, and her eldest daughter's is in two days. Mark's birthday is the 28th, and that's like a holiday in my book lmao. What colour are your headphones? These earplugs are pink. How do you express your creativity? I mostly write RP and rarely poems. I also like to draw sometimes, and I'm big into photography. Gypsies or gnomes? Gypsies. Dragons or fairies? Dragons are my favorite mythological creatures. Elves or pixies? Elves. Where is your favourite place to get breakfast? Maybe Cracker Barrel? Or Waffle House. What was the first sport you learned how to play? I want to say soccer. I hated it. Nickname you’re called the most? "Britt" is the most used. Do you sleep on your stomach? I can't now with my mask. -_- That's how I usually slept. Have you ever been called a bitch? Yes. Would you ever want a super-realistic baby doll? Fuuuuuuuuuck no. I don't like dolls, never mind realistic ones. Ladybugs or bumblebees? Ladybugs. <3 What is the best thing that ever happened to you? My first round of a partial hospitalization program and meeting my psychiatrist. Both that therapy and proper medication is the reason I'm alive. What is something really hurtful someone you love has said to you? That I was an "ungrateful bitch." What Facebook groups have you found the most helpful? One for advanced ball python husbandry. There are some SERIOUS elitists in there, but it does have great information. Did your mom ever own a typewriter? I think she did? We used to have one, so. What would you have your bridesmaids wear? Maybe orange. I want to wear a black dress and get married in the fall, so, Halloween vibes! :') Where do you want to go on your honeymoon? I think Alaska. Do you wear a watch every day? I never do. Have you ever personally been a victim of homophobia? No, thankfully. Not yet, anyway. Do you think you’d be happier if you had a pet? I am much happier with pets. Were you ever hospitalized as a little kid? No. Have you been hurt more by friend break-ups or romantic break-ups? Romantic ones. Who is/was the best friend you have ever had? Sara. Do you own a trenchcoat? No, but I wish. They're badass. Name the hardiest piece of technology you own? My iPod that I've had since middle school. That bitch STILL works, and I use it heavily. Are you currently in a smoking environment? No; people aren't allowed to smoke in our house. Have you ever owned a tire swing? No. Does anyone you know own a bird that can talk? My old friend Alex did. I don't know if I can call her my "friend" anymore because I haven't seen or heard from her in well over a year at the bare minimum. Do you ever not speak to someone because you’re afraid you’ll annoy them? STORY OF MY LIFE. Is there any drama going on in your circle of friends? No. But I don't really have a "circle" of friends to begin with. Have you ever lost your luggage at an airport? No. Have you ever been on a rollercoaster that actually scared you? I don't go on rollercoasters. If given the opportunity, would you act in a commercial? No. Do you believe in finders keepers in most situations? No. How many pills do you currently take a day? Ugh... Now keep in mind this number encompasses medications that I just have to take a larger dose of that particular med; I don't take this number of different prescriptions. AS a whole though, I take uhhh. Somewhere around nine or ten in the morning, and six at night. I might be off about my morning pills. What do you take medication for? Bipolarity and depression, anxiety, OCD, severe heartburn, even more intense nightmares, uhhh... maybe I'm forgetting others? Idk, man. I'm on too many. Have you ever had a bag stolen? No. What class from high school did you love the most? Art. What class did you hate the most? Economics. If you don’t have a car, do you wish you did? Not at this very moment, because it'd be useless as I don't currently drive. Have you ever had a job you loved? Nope. What, if anything, do you substitute for fries? I just eat normal fries when they're offered. Have you ever been in a building that was on fire? No. Have you ever written a poem for someone? At least twice. Have you been best friends with someone of a different race? Yes. Who’s the last person who cussed you out in anger? I think only my grandmother has done that. Who is the person you are closest to that you’ve meet online? Sara. Have you friended your parents on FB? Mom, yes, while Dad doesn't have one. What do you absolutely have to have to make your birthday feel special? My family. Mice or roaches? I love mice, but roaches creep me out. Have you ever received a gift and truly did not know what it was? Yes. A family friend is good at that. Is there anyone whose grave you visit? No. Do you like being in pictures? NO. Do you travel a lot? Not at all. Have you ever eaten a dog treat? No. I've eaten a guinea pig treat though, haha. And it wasn't awful. Have you ever wanted to get drunk and get your mind off everything? Yes, but turns out my alcohol tolerance is too high while only liking weak alcohol to begin with. Have you played cards recently? No. Is there a certain song you like to headbang to? I don't do that, I'd get way too dizzy, and besides, I don't want a headache. Anything you might be giving up on soon? I've been wondering if I should (for the most part) abandon human photography. I've lost so much passion for it, and besides, I feel like I'm going nowhere with it. I know I really, really shouldn't, though. Have you ever captured a moth? I put a caterpillar in one of those little plastic habitats once as a kid that grew into a moth. I then released it, of course. When was the last time you changed your picture on Facebook? It's been months. Do you have a really fat cat? No, he's healthy. Do your initials spell a word? No. Have you ever made a business card for yourself? No. Did you love playing hide and seek as a kid? Yes, that was my favorite! Are there any recipes you have memorized? No. Do you know your multiplication times tables? No. Do your parents allow you to have your privacy? Yes. Have you ever been severely burned? No. Did you ever dream that you had a baby? I've had many, actually. Guess with who. What was the weirdest thing you've ever seen cross the road? I want to say a turkey? Or maybe it was beside the road.

#survey #suveys #random questions #lyrics: ''boss's daughter'' by pop evil

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lablass-2882 · 3 years

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The Links vs Amusement Parks

A modern Au where the Links go to an amusement park. Enjoy the chaos.

Part 1 The Coaster!

Why me?

Twilight sighed as he slowly approached the rollercoaster with Wild and Wind. Why? Why did it have to be me; he asked himself again. Why did he have to go on this death trap with his most mischievous younger brothers? Why couldn’t War, or Legend go with them?

Twilight didn’t have to ask himself twice, he already knew the answer. It was equal parts, Wild being Wild, War and Legend being in the midst of another betting war and Twilight being the most responsible of his brothers. Argo. He, had to ride the deathtrap with Wind and Wild. But he asked himself again anyway. Why me?

Wind was absolutely gitty with excitement. Almost to the point where Twilight thought he was going to vibrate through the metal guardrail that lined the walkway. He had been waiting weeks for this brand-new coaster to open. And for weeks, Twilight dreaded another visit to the Amusement Park.

He could not fathom why Wild and Wind loved this place so much. Granted, he was one of the few who didn’t like this place. Most of his brothers loved going here. He however really wished that he was somewhere, anywhere else.

Wild punched him on the shoulder. Come on Twi, it’ll be fun.

Tell that to my already curing stomach.

Really, already?

I don’t do coaster, Wild……

Yeah…. But this one will be different.

Different how?

Different by how fast it flings you up and over that peak. Wind pointed towards the peak of the coaster. It's 400ft in the air and you get shot up it like a cannon! AND-

I know Wind! It is all done by water pressure. You’ve nagging me about it for weeks.

Wind pouted. It's cool. That’s all.

Twilight sighed again.

Sorry, Wind… I just-

Don’t like coasters, we know. Wild finished. BUT! Look on the bright side. It’s better than doing chores, right?

Or drills, or being grounded? Wind added.

Twilight groaned. He’d rather be mucking out the stables than being flung up a straight incline on a slingshot.

Meanwhile, near the carnival games….

I cannot believe that we lost to Sun. Again!

YOU lost to Sun. Again. I demand a rematch! Best 37 of 75! Legend’s eyes were set ablaze with anger and determination. War, on the other hand, looked utterly defeated and pleaded for mercy.

~Okay Legend~, Sun sang in her usually sugar-sweet tone. One more round. War you want in? She glanced back a Warriors with a cunningly sweet smile. War wisely opted out.

Nope. I wasted enough money for one day. Legend you are on your own.

Traitor!

Nope! Not falling for it. Nope, I am out. I have already wasted 200 bucks on these stupid games and I am done. Warriors stomped over to where Time and Sky were sitting. Time merely raised his eyebrow as Warrior sat down next to him.

Don’t even ask.

Fair enough. Time shrugged and watched another round of chaos with Sky and Warriors.

He’s going to be broke by the end of the night. Sky hummed.

I’m surprised he's not broke already. Time questioned.

He is. He keeps phone his boyfriend for more money. Warrior grumbled.

Oh! Are he and Ravio finally official? Sky beamed at Warriors with a hopeful smile.

No. Legend lives and breathes deniability. They could be married and Legend would insist that they’re “just friends”

Not that you're doing any better there, playboy. Time pointed out.

Okay first off, Rude. Warriors dramatically scoffed. And second. Just because you’re the only one of us that’s married doesn’t mean that you get to stand on any moral high ground here. I still remember all the trouble you and Ruto got into, mister.

I was twelve and it was a schoolyard crush. Malon’s my wife and that the end of it.

Um… Sun and I are engaged so-

Doesn’t count yet Sky. Warriors cut him off. And “school yard-crush” my ass! That “crush” lasted until high school buddy.

Freshmen year hardly counts as high school

So, you admit that it wasn’t just a schoolyard crush. Anything else you want to own up to? I’m all ears.

War… this isn’t the time nor-

I saw you kiss a guy, last week. Time added smugly. And knowing you… there was probably some tongue.

Warrior’s face was beet red in embarrassment. He was also stuttering and flaying about; searching for a response.

Oh! Do we get to know his name this time? Sky leaned over knowingly, with a mischievous look on his face. Or was it just another taste?

Meanwhile at the waterpark with Four and Hyrule.

I am not too SHORT! Four shouted at the teen managing the water slide.

I’m… sor…sorry…s..sir. The teen stuttered out. My man.. man.. manager will fire me if I let another kid go down the ride. The last two near broke their arms in a fight.

KID?! Four was beyond riled up by this point

Let it go Four, we’ll just find another ride.

But?!

There’s no need to risk anyone's job, let's just…. go…. Before we cause another scene. Hyrule tried to quiet down his angered brother, while also not thinking about the growing number of eyes staring at them.

FINE!

Four stormed off back down the steps. With Hyrule on his heels, quietly trying to not meet anyone’s gaze as they did. Once at the bottom and well out of sight of the crowds, Four unleashed his anger.

Can you believe this?! KID? KID! Just who does that guy think he is? I am not a kid. I’m goddess dammed sixteen years old for goddess’s sake!

Four… just…. Take a breath…. And … calm down…..

NO!

Please? Hyrule whined. I really don’t want to get banned from another ride. Especially after what Wind and Terra did last time we were here.

Yeah, yeah, I remember. They got into a huge fight and dragged half of the kids in the park into it. Broken bones, and pride all around.

And they both got banned from the waterpark. Not to mention we’re food court, the video game lounge, the petting zoo, the-

I get it. Four stopped Hyrule from listing all the places he and their brothers have been banned from for… questionable behavior.

Honestly, I’m surprised they haven’t banned us from the park altogether.

It’s because the other parks are paying them to keep us so that we don’t go to any other park. Four joked.

Hyrule laughed. Yeah, you’re probably right. All the other parks quake in fear of the Link brothers. Ooohhh spooky. A family of nine brothers that cause utter chaos where ever we go.

Speaking of spooky, Four pipped up. You want to ditch this place and go check out that new haunted house? I heard that is super scary.

Ha, you know it. Let’s jam! Hyrule pointed finger guns at Four and did his best Cowboy Bebop impression.

Ugh. Hyrule, we got to work on your reference game.

Hey, I thought I did pretty good this time.

Four just shook his head. Why his brother loved 90’s anime, he would never know.

Back at the coaster.

Twilight looked up at the looming coaster. He tried not to think about it.

He tried not to think about being flung at high speeds up a vertical incline while being strapped into a metal cart. He tried not to think about how the safety bar is essential a thin and a very breakable metal bar across his waist. He tried not to think about the computer that calculated the weight of the cars messing up and not launch the cart up the slope with enough speed. Causing the cart to come sliding back down to the platform only to recalculate and be launched up again. As Wind was so kindly explaining to Twilight as they stood in this goddess forsake long line.

You think we’ll crest the top on the first try? Wind oh so innocently asked with his best “I’m-not-causing trouble-voice”.

Maybe? Wild shrugged. He tuned out Wind ramble about an hour ago. He was too busy texting new recipes to Sidon to notice Twilight growing paler with every passing minute.

Goddess, I hope not. Twilight sighed. One ride is enough

OH, come on Twi. It's not that bad. Plus, we get a free ride out of it. Wind quipped back.

We have membership passes, Wind. All the rides are free.

Okay…. We get a second ride without having to wait in line….?

Twilight sighed again. Can this line move any slower? I want to get this over with before my stomach upchucks from worry.

HA! You’re becoming a worry-wort just like the Old-Man. Wind teased.

Well with brothers like you, who can blame me.

Hey.

Gess, Twi. Calm down. We can ride one of your favorites when we’re done. Maybe go to the Petting Zoo? Wild tried to calm down him down, finally registering how pale he had gotten.

We’re banned from the Petting Zoo. Twilight glared.

Well…

And the Food Court, and the Video Game Lounge and-

We get it! You don’t like it here, alright. Don’t blame me for wanted to have some fun. Wind pouted.

Twilight grimaced. Sorry, Wind. I know you’re excited and you’ve been looking forward to this. I’m…. just… not a coaster fan.

Then why’d you agreed to come? Wind glared back with puffed-out cheeks.

Because you two are my brothers and I like spending time with you two.

And, Malon would kill you if you left us unsupervised? Wild added

And Malon would kill me if I left you two ding-bats unsupervised. Twilight repeated

Wind snickered. Nah. You could just use your puppy dog eyes and blame it on Time. Malon listens to your lies.

Hey! I don’t lie.

Wind and Wild glare at Twilight with raised eyebrows.

Often……

Back with Legend and Sun.

GGAAHH!!! How! HOW! In the NAME of the Goddesses! Do you keep winning! Legend yelled with all the fury of a sore loser.

Better luck next time, Legend. And no more calling your bf for more funds. We made a deal. Once you’re out, you are out.

GGAAHHH!!

Sun giggles.

AND! Ravio is not my Boyfriend. We are just friends. Got it. Legend was pointed at Sun with a crimson blush across his checks.

Aww Legend, you don’t have to deny your feelings. You know (Sun enters scheming mode.) Sky and I can offer some love advi-

I don’t need your advice.

I can flirt just fine on my own. AND! Ravio and I are JUST friends. I don’t need your mettling.

ME! Mettle in my future brother-in-law’s affairs? Never. Sun playfully scoffs.

Says the woman trying to set up Twilight with her classmate and Warriors with her personal trainer.

I can’t help it if I have an eye for match-making.

You really don’t.

Sun’s eyes narrow. Okay! Mister Denial. If you and Ravio are not together… Then you won’t mind if I post these pictures of you two from Warriors Party last week? Or on longs walks? Or at your sister Aviary?

Your lying! There is no way that you have pictures.

Oh! But I do. Your sister and I text quite often. She takes out her phone and waves in front of Legend.

Legend face blushes an even brighter red. Your…. Your lying….

I think this one this the cutest. Sun chimes as she shows Legend a picture of him and Ravio sitting happily on a bench holding hands and drinking coffee.

Delete that!

Nope.

Sun!

Never! Sun takes off in a run.

Sun get back here!

Meanwhile not paying attention to a nearby Bench….

Okay! But you have no room to talk here, Time.

I can and I will. You are far too judge.

It’s called standards!

It’s called being a damn prick! You’ve been sleeping around with strangers for months now.

I have not!

You’ve had three different partners in the past two months, War. Sky leaned in. We’re not judging. We’re… just… worried that’s all.

You don’t need to worry. I am fine!

You’re in as much denial as Legend.

That’s a low blow coming from you, Mister. Warriors pointed at Time. That’s a grand statement coming from the man that took two years to pop the question to Malon. Even after you bought that damn gaudy rings.

I wanted the perfect moment! Sue me, for putting thought into purposing to the love of my life.

Two. Goddess. Damned. Years.

That was a lot of time…. Time….. Sky pipped up again.

Sky. Stay out of it. You wanted to purpose to Sun after the second date.

Hey. Sky shrugged. When you know, you know.

Warriors rolled his eyes.

And pry tell how you even describe that feeling, Sky? You fall in love with a cup of coffee every morning.

Sun makes really good coffee. Sky chimes in.

Of course, she does. Warrior sighs.

Malon makes good coffee…

Not you too!

End of chapter one.

The rest of it is posted here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30189333/chapters/74384583

I’ll update it soon.....ish....

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punkscowardschampions · 3 years

Text

Edie & Billie

Edie: You’re not at home, are you?

Billie: Why?

Edie: ‘cos Rih has to babysit and you are the last phone a friend that needs to be eliminated 👾

Billie: 💀🔋 if anyone but you is asking

Edie: that’s the 👻

Edie: Even convinced Jun to get the fuck out

Billie: with what 👻? 👽 ?👾 🤡 ?🎃 🤖? madness

Edie: 👻 ish

Edie: there’s some exhibit at some museum, idk, it actually wasn’t my idea so I can’t take cred

Billie: 🦖 🦴 🦕 was next guess

Billie: safe that the 👻 🔮 came through with a plan

Edie: 👽 more like

Edie: that’s the best I can do with emojis anyway

Billie: 💬 💬 💬 💬

Edie: I met the most perfect boy

Billie: Dude not you catching a dose too 🚱

Edie: I’ve gone outside of the gene pool so it is not the same thing at all

Billie: 👍 start

Billie: Go on, what else has he got going for him?

Edie: Only everything

Edie: he’s perfect, I just said

Edie: You know that really tall, ridiculously good-looking boy in Rih’s year

Billie: 🤨 💭 ?

Billie: it’ll come to me

Billie: Aha! The one who [some rave story she’s heard of something wild he did]

Edie: I don’t know how you didn’t just KNOW but yeah

Edie: that sounds like him 🤩

Billie: he’s been working at ⛽️ [the location of said petrol station like whatever road it’s on] nights I’ve gone in

Edie: That’s good to know

Edie: I can go in too now

Edie: 💡

Billie: 👻

Edie: It’s so weird how we met actually

Edie: the thread has 90k people on it, what are the chances, how does that happen

Billie: spooky how many posts you could’ve missed before, weird if he ain’t wrote any til today & then replied to yours 🔮 🛸 🧲

Edie: He’s deffo been on there before, I recognised the username

Edie: but he mentioned somewhere in Dublin so then I knew he was at least from around here

Edie: I’d have never talked to him before, it’s deffo fate

Billie: fated if he agreed the monster was a copout reveal

Edie: He’s not 12, so duh

Edie: He’s so cool

Billie: It’s defs him?

Edie: Come on, like I’m gonna get catfished

Billie: this is wild odds, all I’m saying

Edie: It would be weirder if they worked out where I went to School, and then picked some boy who also went to that School to use

Edie: anyway, he’s sent me stuff today so I know it’s really him

Billie: he does look like someone to use for 🎣 but I can picture him on that thread loads

Edie: 🤤🤤🤤

Edie: Do you think he’ll come see me

Billie: yeah, why not

Edie: Aforementioned hotness, he could get ANY girl

Edie: I don’t know who he has gone out with before

Edie: didn’t he go out with one of Rih’s friends for a while?

Billie: [a pause while she has a convo with her friends about this because she has many and they’re mostly lads so at least some of them must know him or have some info]

Billie: Last seen with Lexie but that was time ago & nobody since

Edie: Hmm

Edie: I’m nothing like Lexie

Billie: he ain’t still with her & wasn’t for long, I’d assume he’s looking for different

Edie: and that’s me 🥴

Edie: charming 😏

Billie: 👽

Billie: She hasn’t said anything ☢️⚠️ I’m hearing now, that’s chill

Edie: she’s a bitch anyway, I wouldn’t trust her

Billie: if Blips is accurate on his timeline, even she couldn’t be that much of a bitch

Edie: ?

Billie: Everything with his sister was fresh then, apparently

Edie: Oh

Edie: I remember her, she had a nice smile

Billie: I don’t think I ever met her, it’s gone out my head if I did

Billie: the memorial he made for her is sicker than anything the teachers would’ve though, we hang there constantly

Billie: Take this info with 🧂 yeah? the source is Blips

Edie: She was a lot older

Edie: would’ve been, your paths probably didn’t cross

Edie: makes sense

Edie: he would’ve wanted someone around

Billie: makes sense he’s not thinking straight to pick Lexie to be that someone, but idk man, you can have your fill of pity quick enough

Edie: Maybe someone in her family died? I can see that and making that connection

Edie: not a sibling obviously or we’d know but she’s pretty dramatic, like all Rih’s friends are

Billie: not above milking a dead nan, bet

Edie: 💭 exactly

Edie: Poor Liam, that’s kinda fucking gross

Billie: bad taste in my mouth from being the messenger

Edie: I won’t say it was ages ago because that’d feel a bit like spitting on her grave but you know

Edie: fuck Lizzie or whatever her name is

Edie: she’s probably had 100 lads since then

Billie: Yeah, fuck Lizzie

Billie: what’s next for you & him?

Edie: I don’t know

Edie: I sort of asked him to come ‘round but not just like that

Edie: so his answer was as open-ended, I guess

Edie: I really hope he does though

Billie: he doesn’t know you’re unshockable & didn’t wanna freak you out by coming through the window on a real dark & stormy night

Billie: tracks if Lexie is his point of ref, she’s known for saying what she don’t mean

Edie: ugh, she’s really fucked that up for me

Edie: I should go cockblock her too

Edie: that’s a good idea actually

Billie: You could roll up if he’s working, let him know you’re not alike

Edie: If I roll up on her, he will 😈

Billie: 😶 cos idk how he rolls

Edie: You think he’ll be 😱 / 🤬

Billie: He could think you’re jealous, which would put you looking like her 🤡

Billie: lads always go to that headspace

Edie: most lads

Edie: like your mates who can’t spell their own names without checking with their ma first

Edie: I don’t think he’s like that

Billie: I’ll bite, what’s he like?

Edie: emojis weren’t covering it but I dunno if I even can with actual words either

Edie: he’s like no one else I’ve ever spoken to, I wasn’t bored, and he wasn’t weirded out

Billie: You weren’t even a bit bored?

Edie: nah

Edie: I felt like I was barely keeping up

Billie: 🤯

Edie: but he wasn’t trying to be impressive how lads do, because that isn’t

Billie: he was waiting for whatever he sent to impress you, which worked

Edie: he sent me lots of stuff

Edie: not 🍆 pics

Billie: he looks like he’d be a fuckboy

Edie: right?

Edie: he’s got too much about him though

Edie: I would’ve gone with it if he wanted, he had the chance

Billie: 🤯🤯

Edie: come on

Edie: you can see him

Billie: & I can hear you, you don’t say this kinda shit about anyone

Edie: I know, I’m deadly serious

Edie: 💀💀💀

Billie: What a day

Edie: Don’t tell anyone else yet though

Edie: I think he feels it too

Edie: but just in case

Billie: 🤐

Billie: he blatantly does, but that’s up to yous two to broadcast if you want, how you want

Billie: I’m just excited for the reveal 🎟 🍿 📺 🕹 📷 💻 📼 💿

Edie: He makes films too

Edie: and I’m writing a song right now

Billie: link me

Edie: [do, at least the ones that are clearly not private or whatever]

Edie: 😍

Billie: Cool, I’m gonna check these while you go 😈 on Lexie

Edie: If you hear her scream, no you didn’t

Edie: 😘✌️

Billie: not her 🩸 🦷 🦴 got it

Edie: only partly

Edie: she’s only 3rd on my shit-list, after-all

Billie: if I give you away with a new tic, no I didn’t & they’ll never convict 🤪✌️

Edie: so lucky you can shout ableism if it comes down to it

Edie: ADHD is an excuse for nothing except maybe being five minutes late 🙄

Billie: I’m not going for that with a free pass to shout out at the law 🐷 🐽 🐖 🥓

Edie: you can brag about your free pass, I only get caught when I want to ☠️✊

Billie: not a humble brag you can throw out to your new man, going off these locations I’m recognising, he’s got skills at never getting caught

Billie: How’d he get into [somewhere he should not be]?!

Edie: that’d be telling 🤫

Edie: I told you, he’s really smart

Billie: How didn’t we have a clue about him pretty much?

Edie: because he looks like a fuckboy, I suppose

Edie: you know Rih is gonna act like he’s a decade older than me because she thinks she’s so mature

Billie: 🙄

Edie: I can’t wait to call her out on her bullshit again with something new to add

Edie: can’t wait for the opposition like she’s got a leg left

Billie: She’ll run out fast, he’s cool

Edie: She’s not

Edie: but whatever, she can’t do anything

Billie: No chill, but he’s barely older, so if that’s her only 🔫

Edie: and he went out with Lexie ages ago, well, basically

Edie: she can’t act like she’s really good friends with him, I KNOW she isn’t

Billie: & she wasn’t in Lexie face not to go out with him, couldn’t cos there’s nothing wrong with him 🤷🏼‍♀️

Edie: you act like she’s rational but yeah

Edie: I don’t care, I know this is right

Edie: and what I want

Billie: She’s not, like, irrational enough to be hating on your happiness

Edie: I hate on hers

Billie: that’s different

Edie: not to her

Billie: Yeah but in terms of you & Liam

Edie: If she tries to be nice that’ll be even worse 😷

Billie: minding her own business isn’t gonna happen

Edie: I wish she’d keep hers to herself

Edie: I can’t stand it when he’s here

Edie: I’ll kill Lizzie and steal her bed

Billie: least you can stay at his soon

Edie: 😋

Billie: [frames of one of the videos cos the location is some end of summer event, why not] & you’ll be there together this year

Edie: You really think?

Billie: I don’t think you’ll be dumped quicker than Lexie

Edie: Damn fucking right

Edie: even if he was after one thing, I could do it better than her

Billie: [deletes that message like I don’t wanna read about your sexcapades thank you]

Billie: 🎧 🔊

Edie: [retypes it more vividly which I won’t subject you to lmao]

Billie: NAH

Edie: 😂😂😂

Edie: you’re alright, I’ve got another level to my mission now

Edie: [deets of the scavenger hunt thing]

Billie: Did he sort it for you?

Edie: Yep 😍

Billie: this lad

Billie: unreal

Edie: I think I’m in love

Billie: Someone offer to make him for you in a lab? getting sus otherwise

Edie: That would make sense

Edie: he’s way too perfect

Edie: not that I’m mad

Billie: 🏩 💕 💐 🧸 💞

Edie: 💍💒👶

Billie: [deletes that like calm down lol]

Edie: 👶👶👶👶👶👶👶 maybe

Billie: When’s the [some meteor shower or comet that’d feel very fated and cosmic and therefore we must]? invite him to that first

Edie: 🛸

Edie: I just need to think of a way to tell him where and when

Billie: You’ll be looking up for it, makes sense if he has to 👀⬆️ to find out

Billie: I’d put something on his roof

Edie: About the only place he’d genuinely have to look up to see

Edie: might be less literal

Edie: 💻

Billie: that’ll work too

Edie: plus if you reckon he’ll think I’m mental for hitting up Linda, finding out where he lives without asking will really tip it

Billie: romantic gestures are mental, less of a public ambush than most are

Edie: Everything fun is

Billie: Yeah, but nothing’s fun about getting asked out in the hallway between lessons or whatever 💩 is meant to pass for 😍

Edie: Well yeah, that’s too American teen drama for words

Edie: are his friends gonna be standing there pissing themselves at you believing it even for a sec

Billie: if it’s me his mates are stood about meowing cos some tics refuse to 💀

Edie: That’s cute

Edie: at least you aren’t saying some embarrassing untrue shit

Billie: my true form is 🐱 🐈 & I’m saying the truest shit since 👶🏼 🧒🏼

Edie: I know enough not to throw out suggestions for your head to grab but I’ve seen people saying wild things that you’d get eaten alive for

Edie: but duh, how else did we end up with you

Billie: I know not to watch that shit & maybe 🐦 it but yeah, love to my non-verbals 😝 😜 🤪 ✌️ 🖕 👍

Billie: & to ma for never meeting a stray she didn’t love

Edie: I’ll wait ‘til you wrong me ‘fore I add you to the shit list and send ‘em your way

Edie: tRIGgeRd ❗️❗️❗️❗️

Edie: 💗

Billie: Well I ain’t gonna develop a convenient new 👊 one OR pull a Lexie & wheel out my dead relative to steal your bf 💚

Edie: Ha, don’t

Billie: wouldn’t know what to do with him after using him as a 🛹 ramp & 🚴🏼‍♀️ jump

Edie: I’m the only one allowed to jump him tah

Billie: 😷

Edie: Okay I need to focus on this last one

Edie: see you at home

Billie: k

Billie: see you soon 🏴‍☠️

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snappedsky · 4 years

Text

Fanatics 79

A mysterious threat is making it's way towards Earth, and the Battalion have to work fast to destroy it.

*Links to previous and next chapter in reblog*

Trouble through the Milky Way

Pluto. An adorable, little planet beloved by many on its far off neighbor, Earth. It floats quietly in its cold, dark orbit around the sun, minding its own business.

Then it’s blown to bits.

A small ship flies by. It would be nondescript, if it weren’t for the giant plasma cannon grafted to its underside.

A few lightyears away, Lard Kio watches the vessel through her distance viewfinder on the Resisty ship. She immediately calls Zim.

On Earth, the sun is just barely peeking over the horizon. Zim is sleeping lightly in his bed when a beeping sounds through his base.

“Master,” the Computer says while Zim’s eye cracks open. “You are receiving a call from Kio.”

“Transfer it to my phone,” Zim orders as he sits up and grabs his cell phone. He answers the call and Kio’s face appears on screen.

“Zim, we got a big problem,” she says sternly.

He listens intently as she quickly explains the situation.

An hour later, Dib, Gaz, Tak, and Pepito gather sleepily in Zim’s lab- except for Tak, who is wide awake.

“There better be a good reason for waking me up before 6,” Gaz growls.

“There is,” Zim replies from his chair at the main computer. “Pluto has been destroyed.”

“No! Not Pluto!” Pepito cries in distress.

“What could destroy Pluto?” Dib asks.

“Not ‘what’. ‘Who’,” Zim explains as he pushes a button on the keyboard. A blurry image of a small grey ship with a disproportionately large cannon appears on the screen. “We’re not sure who they are, but they appear to be heading straight for the Earth. And with firepower like that, they can cause a lot of damage to the planet. At their current rate of speed, they will arrive by tomorrow morning. But because we do not know the range of their cannon, we have to assume we have less time than that. We have to stop them before they can get close.”

“How do we do that?” Pepito asks.

“Can we use the Epic?” Gaz suggests.

“It doesn’t have any weapons yet,” Zim replies, “and going up against a ship in space without our own vehicle is just plain stupid.” “So we gotta stop it from the surface,” Dib muses, “do we have any weapons that’ll work?”

“I have an Irken Surface Cannon at my base,” Tak replies, “I just don’t have any mortar shells for it.”

Dib rubs his chin with consideration. “Can you load it with other things?”

“If they fit properly, sure.”

“Then what about…the Blissful?”

“The Blissful?” Gaz scoffs, “you mean that giant bomb you, Tak, Squee, and Maddie made for that science fair a couple years ago?”

“Yeah,” Dib replies, “presumably it should be incredibly powerful.”

“Presumably,” Tak repeats emphatically, “we were never able to test it.”

“But it is highly unstable,” he points out.

“You say that like it’s a good thing,” Pepito grimaces.

“Shouldn’t we tell Squee first before we try to use it?” Gaz suggests.

“That would be the polite thing to do,” he agrees, “I wonder what he’s doing right now.”

Squee is fast asleep in his bed, his face pressed into the pillow. Beside him, Nugget is also asleep, her claws restlessly kneading Squishy Pete.

“There’s no time to call Squee,” Zim points out, “what if he doesn’t answer? We can’t wait for a response. We have to act now.”

“Fine,” Tak groans, “where is it?” “I helped put it in Squee’s basement,” he replies, “it should still be there. We will have to remove it and transport it to Tak’s base.”

“So we have to get into Squee’s house,” Pepito’s states, “I think Devi has a key so she can clean while they’re away.”

“We need to work fast,” Zim declares, “let’s go.”

They leave quickly and fly the Epic across the city to Devi’s building. After setting down in the parking lot, they hurry up to her apartment and knock until she answers, looking none too pleased.

“Ugh, it’s you guys,” she groans, rubbing her tired eyes.

“Hi, Devi,” Pepito waves, “sorry but this is an emergency.”

“What is it?” she asks impatiently.

“We need into Squee’s house,” Dib replies, “you have a key, right?”

“Yeah, hang on,” she says and ducks back into her apartment. She comes back after a few seconds with a single, bronze key. “Here. Just give it back to me later.”

“Thank you,” Pepito chimes and they hurry away as Devi closes the door.

Wasting no time, they fly over to Squee’s house and park at the curb. They rush up to the front walk and use the key.

The kids stand uneasily on the front step as the door loudly creaks open. It seems to echo ominously throughout the dark house, the early morning sun barely filtering through the boarded-up windows.

“Wow,” Dib comments, “this place is uh…kinda creepy without Squee here.”

“Let’s just get into the basement and get the bomb,” Zim orders and steps into the house. He freezes, a chill shooting up his spine. He suddenly has the feeling that he shouldn’t be here. But he quickly shakes it off and glares at the others. “Let’s go. Hurry up.”

Zim marches through the living room and Tak, Dib, Gaz, and Pepito quickly but cautiously follow. As they head to the hallway, they’re all constantly glancing around warily. They’ve been to a lot of haunted locations before but somehow this feels worse. Not haunted exactly, just…forbidden.

They finally reach the basement door and Zim pushes it open. It creaks open even slower than the front door did, revealing a much darker room.

“Where’s the light?” Gaz asks.

“There isn’t one,” Zim replies as an electric torch pops out of his PAK, illuminating the area. It’s a completely empty room with a sudden drop near the opposite wall. Zim points to it. “The bomb is down there. I remember Johnny and Squee bringing me down there.”

They quickly cross the empty room and peer over the gap. There’s just a ladder leading down into more darkness.

“Right,” Tak grunts and nods at Zim. “After you.”

Zim glares at her for a second before descending the ladder. One by one, the others follow.

It’s only a couple feet to the bottom floor and they all look around as they hop off the ladder. They’re in another mostly empty room that leads to a large hallway, lit by flickering, fluorescent bulbs in the ceiling. Somewhere down the ladder, the normal drywall of the house changed to cement blocks that make up the entirety of the hallway. There are stains on the walls and floor that the kids try to ignore as Zim points to the only object in the room.

“There it is,” he says.

The Blissful: a giant, round, silver bomb with a purple smiley face with closed eyes painted on it. Five feet in diameter and over 150 pounds, it is practically just a container sloshing with volatile, explosive liquid.

“It should fit in my cannon,” Tak says, “now, how do we get it out?”

“The same way I got it in,” Zim replies as he extends his spider legs. Using lasers, they cut out a large section of the ceiling and set it aside, creating a hole to the surface. The kids are all slightly relieved to see sunlight.

“Tak, you stay down here while I-,” Zim starts to explain before he’s cut off.

“Why do I have to stay in the creepy basement?” Tak snaps.

“What, are you scared?” he jeers.

“Of course not.”

“Then stay down here while I lift everyone out,” Zim orders, “once I’m out, you’ll help me lift the bomb up to the surface and Dib can bring the Epic around.”

“Fine,” she huffs and eyes the spooky hallway. “Just…be quick.”

Dib, Gaz, and Pepito hold onto Zim’s spider legs as he lifts them all up to the surface. Then he crouches next to the hole and lowers his spider legs down.

“Okay, Tak, gently lift the bomb and pass it to me,” he demands.

She seems to ignore him as she stares suspiciously down the hall.

“Tak,” he says louder.

“What?” she questions, looking at him. “Oh. Right.”

Using her spider legs, Tak gently lifts the Blissful and passes it to Zim. He carefully lifts it through the hole and rests it on the ground.

“Alright, Dib get the car,” Zim orders. Dib nods and quickly hurries around the houses back to the street. “Tak, let’s go.”

Again, she doesn’t reply. She just stares down the hallway, her eyes narrowing.

“Tak!” Zim snaps but she doesn’t hear him.

Far down the hall, a bloodied hand slaps down on the floor just barely in view, clawing at the stone. An inhuman groan echoes off the walls.

Tak’s eyes widen and her spider legs shoot up, hoisting her out of the hole.

“Seal it, hurry,” she orders frantically.

Not knowing what she saw, Zim is slightly taken aback, but nevertheless he obliges. He quickly picks up the section of the ground and slips it back into its hole.

With the basement sealed off, everyone suddenly feels more at ease, and they heave a heavy sigh.

“Okay. Let’s agree to never go down there again,” Gaz says and everyone nods.

After Dib comes around with the Epic, Tak looks at Zim and asks, “now what?”

“Now is the really tricky part,” Zim replies, “you and I are gonna have to ride on the roof and hold the Blissful steady while Dib flies to your place.”

“Good luck with that,” Pepito comments as he and Gaz get into the car. Then Zim and Tak climb onto the roof. With their bottom two spider legs, they hold onto the vehicle while the top two hold the Blissful in between themselves.

“Okay, Dib, take it slow and steady,” Zim orders.

Dib carefully raises the Epic into the sky and flies slowly over the buildings. Everyone is tense during the ride. If they drop the bomb, it could very well decimate the city. Dib just tries to focus on keeping the car steady and hopes a bird doesn’t fly into them.

Thankfully, they reach Tak’s base with incident and Dib parks on the curb. Everyone gets out while Zim and Tak carefully lower the Blissful to the ground.

“Alright, ready up your cannon,” Zim orders.

“Already on it,” Tak replies as she grabs a remote from her PAK and pushes a button.

The roof of her house folds up as a giant, silver gun rises up on a tall pedestal. In front of the gun is seat with a monitor and control panel. Tak pushes another button on the remote and a space opens up at the bottom of the pedestal, just big enough for the Blissful.

“Let’s load it up,” Tak says and they shove the big bomb inside and seal the door. As it rises up the pedestal and loads into the cannon, she climbs up to the monitor and sits in the chair. Zim quickly follows her and hangs off the side to watch, leaving Dib, Gaz, and Pepito to stare up at them.

“Okay, just have to find the ship,” Tak muses. As she searches through coordinates on the control panel, the monitor displays different parts of space until finally landing on the familiar, grey ship.

“They’ve blasted a hole into Jupiter!” Zim cries, “we have to hurry.”

“Locking on,” Tak says and a crosshairs appears over the ship on the monitor. “Let’s hope this works.”

She hits the big, red ‘FIRE’ button and a loud *boom* echoes over the city as the Blissful is shot out. The kids watch it fly into the sky until it disappears.

It breaks through the atmosphere, the friction causing its volatile fluids to heat up, and flies through space at an extremely high velocity. The passengers on the ship just barely see it coming.

The explosion can be seen from Earth as a star that lights up then quickly dies out. The Battalion immediately erupt into cheers, jumping up and punching the air.

“I can’t believe that actually worked,” Gaz remarks.

“I knew it would!” Dib grins.

“I cannot wait to tell Squee about this,” Pepito exclaims.

While they celebrate, Zim and Tak watch the explosion on the monitor, satisfied with the smoke that fills the screen. But as they start to hop off, Tak notices something.

“Wait,” she says, “something’s happening.”

Zim looks back at the screen just in time to see five objects exit the smoke.

“The passengers survived,” he snarls.

“They must’ve used escape pods,” Tak exclaims as they look up at the sky.

Dib, Gaz, and Pepito don’t realize right away that something’s wrong until Gaz notices the Irkens. “Something’s wrong,” she says.

They all look up and watch for something. For a second, nothing happens. And then they see five things appear in the sky.

“They’ve broken through the atmosphere!” Zim exclaims.

They watch the objects plummet like tiny particles in the distance, each landing in a different spot. Then Zim and Tak jump to the ground.

“We got an alien invasion,” Zim declares, “one of them seemed to have landed not far from the city. If we leave now, we might catch them.”

The others nods and they quickly clamber into the Epic and take off. Zim flies them quickly towards the site of the closest crash. As they near it, they spot a plume of smoke.

A small, round pod has crashed into field just outside the city, causing a small crater. The Epic lands and the Battalion hops out, weapons at the ready, just as the hatch opens.

Out tumbles a short, black alien with a pair of large, compound eyes and four spider-like legs. She hasn’t noticed the Battalion yet as she coughs and picks herself up.

“Hey, I know you!” Pepito exclaims, “it’s Uu!”

The alien looks up at them in surprise before crying out in an alien language. She attempts to scramble back into the pod, but Zim’s and Tak’s spider legs lash out and grab her. They hold her overhead, and she glares at them.

“You’re one of Carcas’ soldiers,” Zim says.

Gaz groans exhaustedly as she rests a hand on her hip. “I hope Squee’s at least having a good day.”

Most mornings start early in Cammie’s house; especially when the smell of waffles is wafting down the hall. Everyone quickly gathers in the kitchen as Squee readies their breakfast.

“I hope they’re good,” he says as they dig in.

“So good,” Johnny chimes with a mouthful.

“Crispy outside, fluffy inside,” Cammie remarks.

“You should do the cooking more often,” Thomas comments.

The Night Terrors are too busy quickly stuffing their faces to say anything, which is complimentary enough.

Squee beams happily before sitting down to enjoy his own breakfast.

#invader zim #invader zim fanfiction #johnny the homicidal maniac #johnny the homicidal maniac fanfiction #iz jthm crossover #myart #myocs

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punkandsnacks · 4 years

Text

Between Wolves & Doves, Chapter Thirteen; Delirium.

Author: @punk-in-docs & @adamsnackdriver

Also on AO3-

Masterlist-

Trigger Warnings: !!! illness and swooning again in this chapter !!! Fever type dreams that get spooky and deathy

Synopsis: Vampire!Kylo x OC love story. Inspired by BBC’s Dracula. Also inspired by Austen’s Pride & Prejudice.

He’s been stalking this earth long since civilizations can possibly fathom. Before records even began. He sneers at the fact that this pitiful young world has only just begun to see his reign of it.

He’s dined with moguls, emperors, princes. He’s consorted with bloodthirsty ruthless Queens in their courts, and whispered into the ears of powerful King’s, whose names still echo through millennia.

In his myriad of centuries gifted to his immortal self he’s been many many things. He’s been a lowly pauper. A crusading knight. An assassin. A sell sword. A soldier. A wanderer. A simpering suitor and a voracious unyielding lover. Aimlessly lost in time- besieging this earth. Ripping it apart and drinking what’s left.

He was made in the hinterland between snow and dirt and pine trees. Crusted with ash and blood and gouged from battle. Born anew. Sired from the hell-mouth of war. He was made in 789 AD.

He’ll come undone, one bitter winter night, in England, in 1816.

~ ~ 🥀 ~ ~

Kylo was losing his mind.

It’s been known to happen to vampires of certain ages. Possibly ones even older than him, if any such do exist. Alive so long they start to rot and fester in their own bodies.

Brains blown and shattered apart from all the violence of things they’d done. Drifting and flaking apart like much too dried clay. The horror of the acts some vampires committed to feed. Not everyone could face or stomach it for so long. Drove them cackling into the worst sort of madness.

He’s seen men fall apart too. Mortal men. He’s seen entire armies and countries of men perish. Losing their heads to the last breath, infected with illness, or pox or the plague.

Deformed and rotting away already, before death had even come to them. Life clung on to them like some leeching disease. Decaying their bodies before their spirit had left their flesh.

He’d seen scores of roguish men who’d dallied with pox ridden girls. Perishing with no control nor use of their bodies and no eyesight to help them. He’d seen many many men succumb to it for some cheap penny’s worth of indulgence with some infested whore up against a tavern or brothel wall. Those men end up as dribbling and demented fools. Turned into deformed madmen.

It was hell. It was as close to any hell as he’d seen. The Black Death. He can remember that aswell. That rot.

How it bittered the air of every rust red Italian street. He’d been in Italy, in when it first struck. The hacking wet of sloppy coughs until blood comes frothing up.

Bloated bodies of peasants - men, women, children and infants - swelled green with festering flesh, dumped in the river, clogging up the Arno. Crows pecking at the bobbing corpses, ripping off flesh and eyeballs like wet peeling paper.

So many bodies-

Worse than ever, Kylo remembers the stench of plague. Rotting meat writhing with maggots, but candied with something of the human flesh, somehow. He’ll remember it for eternity. That cursed stench of putrefaction cloying the rivers and streets. It would stay seared into him for all his time still to come.

He recalls how some walled themselves into their own homes. They stayed inside to fester. Or drink themselves to death. Or pray. The illness took all of them before too long - faith or no faith. He could hear the wails of the nearly dead bleed through the thick red walls.

Blackened fingers, the fever and the boils, the salty sweat of rot and the reeking decay of death in every house. Everything the sick body excreted, be it sweat, spittle or breath, exuded an overpowering stench that he will never forget.

Whole towns emptied. Abandoned. Their population now lay rotting in the swallowing of the soil.

The doctore de la peste roamed the streets with their unseeing round glassy-eyes. In their beaks packed with sweet dried roses, mint leaf and carnation petals. The sickle of it trailed behind them like smoke cutting through the gloom. The ripe perfumery of plague.

By the end. The river was overrun with corpses. Couldn’t see the water for the rotting swill of flesh and bones. Rats scampering over them feeding. Gnawing. Birds plucking out what they liked to feed on.

It’s enough of a sight to make a man want to put out his own eyes with a red hot poker after seeing such illness, pestilence and misery.

It’s happening to him right as of now; in fact. Losing his mind. He’s certain.

They could mark this, 1816, as the year that he relaxed his firm hold on his sanity. It only took a thousand and twenty seven years.

It only took the sight of his sweet dove, in his bed, writhing and sweating with fever. Delirious and dangerously ill.

She collapsed after dinner and he swept her upstairs right away. Mrs Jones sent a note for the local doctor. Sent their bravest rider out on Erland, into the storm by the safest road. Jomar fetches her a cold cloth from the anteroom. Kylo can’t leave her side. He won’t.

He sits on the bed and watches over her diligently. When Jomar returns with a bowl of icy cold water, stands it on the bedside and wrings out the cloth. Kylo takes it from his offered hand without even casting an eye in his direction. He takes the sopping linen and pastes it across her clammy brow.

She’s splayed back in his bed, weak and insensate. To hell with liberties. He took the gown and shawl off her himself, and bundled the white cotton and red velvet sheets over her. She sank back onto his pillows. Sprawled limp.

Her lovely pale face sheened in sweat. Whole body shivering and her breathing was shallow. Brow creased and wrinkled up in pain.

Kylo’s sitting near. Pulling sticky strands of hair off her cheeks. Hating the sight of her like this. He’s banked the fire and had extra blankets put on the bed. But he’s unsure. He’s never sat at a sick bed for a mortal before. Well- not like this. He’s attended a death bed. But here? He doesn’t know what to do. How to act.

Her eyes are open but she doesn’t see him. He’s certain she can’t see him or anyone else in the room. She’s dazed. Lost to sense.

And he’s frantic. He’s mopping her brow but he doesn’t know what good that might do. She keeps twisting her head away from him. Fingers twining into the sheets, fisting them in her hands. Gasping and shuddering breath. Her chest is moving up and down so fast it hurts him to see this.

Mrs Jones timidly knocks on his bedchamber door. Kylo’s voice is strained when he answers the knock. She comes in. Her face pinched and the very sight of it hurts Kylo’s nonexistent heart.

“The doctor can’t attend her, my Lord. He’s trapped a county over delivering a baby.” She says breathless and pink from running up the stairs. Her skirts still picked up in her hands.

That was Kylo’s last hope. He dismisses her with a curt nod. Not ill tempered at her news. Merely overshadowed by this whole room. All this grave pressing silence and illness.

The very air in here feels tense. Made dry and hot by the fire. Stale with human exertion. And Still. So still with anticipation and uncertainty.

Jomar returns with another icy bowl of water, a fresh cool cloth. Kylo reaches and swaps it for the clammy warm one. She groans and tries to twist away.

Kylo soothes her. “Dove. It’s alright it’s alright.” He hushes her as she fidgets and tosses around. Knees tugging under the blankets. Hands still fisting in the sheets. She’s whining. She’s pleading with him. The hysteria has gripped its nasty hold tight.

“No... no. Ugh. Please. No.” She gasps. Head looming far back. Neck stretched out. Dewy, and by the darkened light of his room, her long supple neck and throat is now shimmering amber. Kylo’s hand take the cloth away and she sighs a lungful of a groan in response.

“She’s not talking to you My Lord.” Jomar insists. “It is the fever.” He assures Kylo.

His butler is now washing his hands in the water jug across on the dresser. Scrubbing soap and his nails with a harsh scratching brush that sizzles at his skin. He dunks his hands under the cloudy milk of the water and washes away the soap suds.

“What do I do?” Kylo’s pleading to them both. To Jomar and Mrs Jones. He looks like a little dark haired boy. An infant. Helpless and terrified.

Sat there, teetering on the edge of his bed, starry silver tears in his eyes. It might be the only time they’ve seen him truly weak or scared. Wracked with agony with something even he can’t control.

Powerless to help the woman he loves.

Mrs Jones knows of that look. She sees the russet sparkle in his Lordships eyes. And it aches her. Sees the pain in his creased brow and displayed in the openness of his face. He is used to having power over so many things - this is not part of his influence. It does not share in being intimidated by him as most things and people usually do.

This vampires one weakness; terror for the frailty of mortality. That she could and might slip away to a place beyond his mighty reach.

Jomar crosses back to the bed, takes her wrist and feels for her pulse. His clever kind hands were cool on her feverish skin. Still she shivers in his grasp. He fixes his gaze downwards as he holds her frail arm. Returning it gently to her side when he’s done.

“Her heart rate is very fast.” He says with veiled emphasis. He then leans up and peers over her face, gently cupping it to see her eyes. “Her eyes are unfixed also.”

“I think it may be an affliction on her lungs. A chill caught from the rainstorm.” He suggests to Kylo.

“How do we treat her?” Kylo’s demanding with every note of his voice laced with hope.

Jomar shares an anxious look with Mrs Jones. “We don’t. Your lordship.” Jomar tells him gravely.

“We can only wait now for the fever to break. But we can do everything within our power to make her comfortable.” He insists to his Master and friend. Laying a kind hand on his shoulder.

Lord Ren looks up at him. Lost in his gaze. His silver bangle catches the light. A darting glimmer. Like a silver scaled fish swimming in dark inky waters. His butlers hope and goodness always shone great through the darkest of times.

Jomars bronzed eyes melt for him like crushing gold honey and warm cocoa. Tries to bolster him kindly for this devastating news.

“Is there truly nothing I can do?” Kylo chokes out. His voice hadn’t the bravery to rise beyond a whisper. He just had to watch her suffer like this? Twisting and delirious and unconscious with fever.

“I’m afraid so M’lord. In the meantime-“ Mrs Jones says. Crossing the wide dark room to the window. Batting away the crimson drapes. The battle axe she was is on the warpath. She’ll see this right. Kylo wouldn’t trust anyone else.

“We might try to keep her cool. Fever burns you up something wicked. So I won’t have her stifled. Loose blankets are best. And we are to mop her brow and her neck every hour. On the hour.” She commands. Jomar nods in agreement.

“I’ll see to some laudanum for her relief, from the medicine cupboard.” He insists. Bowing his head to Kylo before slipping away.

Off out the door. Picks up the lit candle holder in his hand from the side. The long ivory taper of it flickers a warm marmalade in the dark of his Lordships crimson room. Kylo watches the glow of it, and him, disappear down the dark hall. Swallowed up into the blackness of the house.

The treads of his boots crushed silent and dead on the rug in the corridor. The hazy fog of champagne yellow coated the walls of Hellford like thick gold dust. Shining off every polished wood door and dark floorboard. Grows fainter and fainter as he moves away.

Kylo turns back to his dove. Takes the cloth away. Re-wets it. Puts it back on her brow. He takes it away again once the cool is gone. Replaces the cloth with his own cold hand. All of his fingers dwarfing most of her head. He slips around and cups the nape of her neck and she rolls her solid head onto the arch of his arm.

She’s so warm it almost burns his hand. His chest aches to feel her that way.

She protests at the cold. “Leave me.” She sobs. “Leave me alone...” She cries. Eyes shut. Denying him the alluring cloudy grey gaze of those eyes he admires so much.

“I will do no such thing...” Kylo says lowly. Stroking wet tamped hair off her forehead. Looking at her flushed cheeks which burn hot. He presses the back of his hand to them. To soothe them. The crinkle in her brow lessens a little at his icy touch. The only time his coldness has ever come in handy.

Mrs Jones grabs the bowl of water from next to him but before she scurries downstairs to replace it she offers. “Your Lordship, I can send for a maid to sit with her. If you need some rest.”

“I will stay.” Kylo presses. “I won’t leave her side until this wretched thing breaks.” He insists with stony determination.

He looks back to Iris. Cupping her cheek in his hand. Watching her breathing pant rapid. She leans into his touch.

With no clear action before him, other than to comfort her. His mind, denied of a task, emptied of all things, now fear began to fill it.

Mrs Jones says nothing. But she gives him a trembling look of affection that attempts at bolstering him. She takes the bowl and she too pads softly out the room. The creaking whine of the door being softly shut was the final announcement to their being availed of company.

Kylo turns back to her. A terrible weight squeezing down on his chest. He’s sat at a fair number of deathbeds in his life. He’d watched some human friends fade away. But that was certain. War or disease took them from him.

This is not certain and it’s killing him all over again.

It’s that night on the battefield in the snow again and again again. Draegan finding him. Coming across Kylo as he lay dying. The burning dripping searing blood leaking down his side. His wound was by the abdomen. The worst way to die. It could take days. The white hot agony searing his bones in acid all over again. Scarlet snow. Scarlet wet snow everywhere.

He can remember cool slender fingers cupping his neck. The whisper across his cheek like a kiss of the icy north wind. “You know you will not survive this.” He explained. Unsticking Kylo’s leather gloved hand from the wound that ran along the entire side of his stomach. Silver eyes, like precious moonstones, looking at the blood laying black and thick on his palm.

To the very last. Kylo fought like a warrior. When he often had resolved, as a Viking soldier, of pondering his own death. He had envisioned a glorious end. Sword in hand cutting down his enemies until his very last breath.

He never imagined in his wildest dream that death would smile handsomely at him first. Never believed he’d be side by side with the devil - and that he would love him with the passion of a thousand burning suns.

Never thought he’d love again - until he laid eyes on this beautiful creature. He lusted for her first of all. That instant carnal attraction. But that had masked how she truly made Kylo’s soulless body ache to love her.

She brought him to his knees. And now he’s choking on his grief.

“Please don’t leave me, Little Dove.” He begs in a whisper as she writhes and sweats into his bedsheets. Gasping and dulled.

“Don’t go to the one place I can’t follow.” He begs. Laying his big hand over where hers was limp and stretched out atop the velvet covers. His hand dwarfed hers utterly. But his touch was so gentle. Unsure.

“I told you if anything happened to you. It would kill me.” He says. Looking at her earnest face. So dewy and flushed.

“I meant my words. Iris, If I have to spend an eternity without loving you then, I-“ His throat claws up. Suffocating his words. He shakes his head.

He brings her limp arm up. Back of her clammy hand pressed to his mouth. Nuzzles a kiss to her skin. Tastes the salt of her sweat. Tastes her agony. He’s certain it reflects his own.

“I won’t leave you.” He vows solemnly. A silky whisper that he speaks into her skin. He always takes his vows seriously.

Treads rattle louder in the hallway. Coming back to the room. Jomar enters again with the bottle of laudanum and a spoon to hand.

Kylo will be the one to feed it to her. He gently cups her face and slips the silver spoon to her lips. An oddly intimate act. He feeds the opiate into her mouth, she twists her head and some of it runs down her chin. Kylo wipes it away with the cloth. Taking up the task of the lowliest maid. Seeing so tenderly to her in her illness.

He’s calmed a little by the fact of the laudanum taking away any pain she might be feeling. Her breathing settles. As does his worry.

He retires to the chair by the fireside across the room. The same deep wine red velvet as covers his bed. He pulls it close to the end of his huge four postered bed. Drapes hanging heavy down all four mahogany posts. Protecting the pale infirm form of her within. He’ll watch over her from his bedside. Cradled in the comfort of the chair.

Some ineffectual matronly mama of the ton may argue that this was most improper. A single man watching over the bedside of an unmarried girl. Worst still- an unmarried girl on the brink of an engagement.

Kylo snorts to himself. Wondering if the deuced snotty boy of a Sergeant would even care that his intended was gravely ill. Probably only cared that she had fallen ill in Kylo’s manor.

It didn’t matter that she was unconscious and insensate. She was in the very room with a man who compromised her honour, and Hux’s. Making a fool of him. In in Lord Ren’s very own bed, no less.

Well. Not that either of them were in any fit state to be compromising the hell out of each other. But he doubts strict society will see it that way. This was enough impropriety just being within touching distance.

One thing that does prevail upon him a tiny shred of bright happiness in all this darkness. Is the fact that he knows how desperately fuming this whole situation would make Iris’s mother.

Him protecting her. Rescuing her. Keeping her safe. He’s sure the old harpy would be frothing at the mouth like a rabid dog knowing where her daughter was. She’d likely spout out nastiness, how it was all a concoction for the dashing dark Lord Ren to seduce and spoil her eldest daughter. To ruin their hope of an advantageous marriage.

Little did that termagant know, but it was far too late for that.

Iris was worked her sweet steady way under his skin from every outing they’ve shared. Every look across a crowded ballroom. Every touch of their hands, gloved or not. Their dance. Their kiss. It was the inferno that brought their affection and regard for each other to a fever pitch.

She trembles whenever he comes close. When their eyes meet he always feels the delighted shiver that runs the full length of her spine. The blush that prettily decorates her cheeks. Finer than any jewellery he could bestow on her gorgeous body.

Funny how such a thing as her blush made him think of so many things.

It made him want to whisk her away in the dead of night. Back to Bavaria. Install her there as the Lady of his castle. Sharing his land. Sharing his title. Lady Ren. He’d have her dresses tailored by the finest Dressmaker in Bavaria.

Dust off the family jewels and then bedeck her in them. Head to toe. Nothing less would do for her. She’s suffered such a life of penury and scraping together to make her as bait to men for marriage. He’d see to ending that sad facet of her life. He’d let her choose what she wears. Whether or not she had to pay calls or deliver baskets to the infirm.

He’d let her lounge in a boudoir parlour, reading books, and accomplish nothing in her day apart from having a sumptuous oiled bath if she so desires. He just wants to see her happy.

He’d open the whole castle for her to explore room after room. Every tapestry. Every oil painting and marble statue. Every suit of armour he’d fought in over the years. Stood proud and polished silver on display. All of it he’d let her have.

How he misses it... his home. Ranlor Castle.

He misses the way the castle feels to step into. The scent of it. The edifying old thick stone halls of musty brick and how the smell of green and pine like the forest surrounding it, seeps in every window. Hanging upon the very air.

He misses the warmth of the fur pelts on his bed on a stormy night. The sky flurrying with snow, wind howling at tiny lead crossed windows. He was so used to hearing the wolves cry out for the moon in the woods at night, as he fell asleep in his big soft bed. Missed the way flame and shadow danced up the thick exposed golden-bricked walls. It lulls him to sleep.

The locals rightly call Ranlor the ‘devils rock.’ A dark superstition has long lingered over the land ever since Kylo had been in residence there.

Named because of the way the - many - turrets either end of the castle rear out the landscape like two sharp pale fangs. Looking over all the local villages and tenants. The shadows of those turrets reach far and wide. Everything is eclipsed in it’s shade. Grisly things were said to happen too, in his woodlands. Strong men go missing and not even so much as their bare bones are ever recovered.

Local folk legend blindly believes when the moon is full, that devils roam the woods. Black wolves turn into foul hungry demons with claws, ready to hunt upon the flesh of men. When the moon is its full eye of pearl in the sky, people are warned to stay off the forest. And stick to their homes. Bolt the doors and draw the shutters. Cower in their beds and listen to the wolves howls rise faintly over the snowy horizon. Piercing through the snow.

Kylo’s work providing for his lands and Ranlor’s tenants so ably puts shame to most of the rumours.

He is a generous Lord and master of the lands. Nothing is beyond his notice. He holds a ball for the local villages every year, near Yuletide season. Amidst the bitter winter. The staff bring in great log garlands made from the holly in the forest to decorate the hall. They serve brandy and punch and Kylo mixes among everyone to see how their year has been as his tenants.

If families struggle, too many mouths to feed. He absolves their rent. Ensures they are kept stocked with food from the castles own kitchen to tide them over- He has no need for it after all. His servants eat handsomely too, Kylo makes sure of that.

If bouts of illness flourish among his tenants and among those less fortunate than him, he puts up the money for the doctors bills. He takes care of his own. Even if they are not his kin. They are under his protection on his territory.

He is remarked on being a very gallant and fair man. No one on his land would dare observe that he was frightening and cruel.

Only if he is gotten on the wrong side of that is. If poachers steal from his lands and steal the food supplies belonging to his people. Or if he sees any drunken men take advantage where they shouldn’t with a passing maiden, outside the taverns. If a violent and ill tempered brute of a man who drinks his families wage away, so much as dares to raise a hand to his suffering wife or children- then does Kylo reveals his nasty side.

He’s sure there are still gossips that believe the superstition of his home. In local taverns at night over pitchers of ale, some men lean in, to whisper and wonder and gossip if he is entirely as human as he seems.

He rarely eats. Never drinks to excess. Had never taken a wife and he doesn’t dally with whores. He stalks the forest alone most nights. They sometimes remarked that he was not human. There was little humanity about him. But they never suspected for a moment that the bloodthirsty demon unleashed by the full moon, was in fact him.

The reason some of the bones of missing men were never found? Because Kylo drains them of the blood and leaves the drained corpse for the hungry wolves to tear apart.

Kylo ruminates on memories of home as he watches the firelight kiss across her pale form on the bed. Her breathing still shallow.

“I’d so much like for you to see Ranlor. Little dove. You’d adore it.” He says. Speaking to her as if she were awake to hear him.

He tells her about the forest. About the bitter winter gales that blow through. And how it thaws so prettily in spring. Woods full of blue hyacinths and pink scented stocks. Sugary and sickly perfume of them in the warm pine of sun-baked air.

He tells her how she’d like the wildflowers and the baby roe deers and the lake when it’s warm enough to swim in. To dip into the fathomless sapphire ink of water. The graceful swans that dance across the blue waters surface.

He tells her she’d like the local life. Much like here, people were humble and simple. Salt of the earth. People who make no pretence to be more than they are. How refreshing he finds that compared to all the Janus faced civility. Velvet draped over daggers, and dripping censure that falls from lord’s and ladies mouths, in a savage English country ballroom.

He describes the villages nearby. On the road to Ranlor. The tall narrow houses built of walnut timber and smothered in white paint. Closely set together on cobbled grey streets. Some of the neighbouring villages were walled cities also. Keeps from medieval times. Set high up in the rocks.

Quaint little hamlets were dotted along the Bavarian alps near his castle. He tells her of the nearest one to Ranlor.

Brimming with taverns boasting the most excellent beer and joints of game, roasted on a spit, a flagon and a hunk of meat for no more than a half a gold florin. Cafes and shops there were, a florist also. He recalls the waxy punchy-coloured tulips and how they always always always caught his attention in the window. The striking eye-catching scarlet of them. He likes seeing it, as he often rides past on Erland. Or in his rattling big coach.

There were coffee houses, bakeries and patisseries selling Austrian cakes and puddings. Butchers or other general stores selling the local cuisine of smoked or cured meats and sausages and cheeses.

The spectacular wares always for show in the haberdashers window. Great voluminous hats with sprouting great feathers and dripping trimmings galore. Her silly sisters, he fancied, would adore to see such fine frippery. And most of all, there in that precious little village that somehow has found a warm place in his heartless chest, there are always vendors with their braziers, hawking roasted or candied nuts around the town square.

He tells her how touched he was in her gesture of giving him a paper bag of roasted chestnuts, the day after they first met.

He admits something to her then; of how he doesn’t often indulge in human food. But those he did eat. The buttery sweet burn of them reminded him of home. Lifting his nose to the bag to smell the smoky nutty scent sent him ricocheting right back to thoughts of that little Bavarian village. It touched him profoundly in more ways then he could say. She could barely spare the capital to buy them and she bestowed on him, such a gift.

She bought it with her last penny and that truly astounded him. He was a veritable stranger to her then. He is so much more than that now. She’s so much more to him. And him, to her.

Kylo will see out this lonely frightful night. He watches over her. Hopes the morning will bear better signs. Hopes that the tumultuous storm passes.

It dies well enough. By the pale pink of a wet lilac and gold dawn, shining over the windowpane and into his chamber. Shrouding his sickbed in rosy gold, she is unfortunately in much the same state. Unchanged. Not progressing nor worsened.

He sits and keeps a diligent eye on her. Had done all night. He requires little sleep. And so he talks to her. Mops her brow when she starts sweating again. Jomar and Mrs Jones flit in and out. Bringing provisions. And fresh cold water. More laudanum.

Mrs Jones brought him a plate of roasted meats and a glass of wine. It went untouched. She takes it away without saying a word. Gives the scraps to the hounds.

Jomar checks on her every few hours. With his slight grasp of medical knowledge. They try sending for the doctor again. But he is still unavailable. Fixing broken bones from men caught up in last nights storm. Kylo curses the inflexible man every name under the sun.

He doesn’t even retire from her side to take luncheon. Mrs jones had tried to tempt him with a grilled chop at breakfast. And still he refused. Tempted him with roast capons and a carafe of wine now, and still he declined. He’d gone longer without food before in his time. It wouldn’t hurt him. Three years he’d once gone without indulging.

“You need to keep your strength up. My Lord. You’re no good to her if you starve away to skin and bone.” She chides as she carries out another bowl of water. Refreshing it.

“Hardly likely.” Kylo’s insisting. Tugging at the rumpled linen of his shirt.

Sleeves rolled and cuffed. Waistcoat he shrugged off some time in the night. Just in black braces, dull boots and dark breeches now. He’s sure he’ll be a malodorous wretch in need of a shave and wash. But he won’t leave her in this crisis. He won’t so much as go to splash cold water on his face. He’s not leaving this room.

Hellhounds with glowing red eyes and slobbering gnashing teeth, couldn’t drag him away.

Mrs Jones makes a move to put a matronly hand on her hip and chastise him some more. But there comes a groan from the bed.

Kylo leaps from his chair and bolts across to her. “Dove?”

He seeks for her hand. He listens to her breathe.

It was now a shallow drag accompanied by a slight rattling wheeze when she breathed. The affliction had spread to her lungs. And he knows the opium will have suppressed her lungs as a result.

A trickle of blood leaves her mouth and smears on the pillow. A wheezing hacking cough comes from her. It’s such a weak sound it hurts to hear it. He mops it away with the damp cloth. Smears at her pale cheek in its wake.

“Oh no. God no. Iris...” He seeks louder. Trying to see if she responds. She’s limp as ever. Lost to him. Blood leaking from her lips.

“Fetch Jomar.” He orders urgently to his housekeeper. She runs for the door and brings back the Butler. He checks her over and his face is grave.

“Your lordship. Her temperature is rising and I believe it appears as if the infection is worsening.” He says softly.

Kylo’s face falls. His throat bobs with worry.

He knows she’s strong. She can temper the foul spitting words of her mother. She can temper this. She must. Or he doesn’t know what he’ll do.

“Will she die?” Kylo asks outright. Face like steel. Eyes wet.

“I’m not a doctor. My Lord. I cannot say. But she needs a miracle to fight this affliction that’s taken hold. It looks like consumption.” He tells honestly.

Kylo nods. “I’ll call you both if you are needed again.” He dismisses them.

They file out the room with sorrowful faces. Such a sweet girl. And their Master is clearly so cut up by seeing her in such a state.

Kylo wraps his fingers around her hand.

“Fight it little dove.” He urges her. She was shivering earlier. But now she’s stilled. Sweating and clammy. Burning up more than ever. She was getting worse.

“Please. Please fight. You’re so strong Iris. My god, you don’t know how strong...” He begs as he cups her hand and one hand cradles the side of her face.

“The first time I saw you, I saw your strength. Your resilience. You held your head high even though you didn’t want too. I felt your pain. I felt your back breaking under all that strain.”

Her head stays limp on the pillow. Eyes blind to anything. Shut in unrest. He wishes more than anything that there was something he could do to aid her before this got even worse.

She looks pallid. Ashen. More so than before. Sweating buckets and more blood leaks out her mouth. He wipes it away with the fresh handkerchief Jones left by the bed. He looks down in his hand and sees the sticky red staining the white cloth.

Like a bloodied paw print in the snow. It doesn’t even call out to his hunger. He’s too beyond it. This is too perilous. Too serious to measure his animal instincts.

Blood.

The room grows cold. All warmth drops as if the sun had been snatched out the sky. Kylo feels the chill pinned along his skin as a ghost of a phantom breeze sweeps over him.

His cool blood turns to prickling ice. The candles on the bedside flicker, the fire wanes. He knows what comes next. He hasn’t felt this in centuries. He hears the voice, as crisp and as sharp as frost in his head. The voice like silver coins and honey dances into his ear. Notes as fine as a dark deep concerto.

“Your blood, My fierce one. Or have you forgotten. All life is in the blood.” Comes Draegan’s soothing mellow voice.

The tone that was like feather down and silk to listen to the way he crooned. Every part of his manner was charming. The deep of his sharp eyes was piercing. Intoxicating.

Kylo’s not been alongside mortals as Draegan had. He was a healer. Though he was a demon, he always conceded that there was no death without life. All life as such, is therefore to be treated as precious. Humans fascinated him. And he moved freely and happily among them. Whereas Kylo scorned most all of them.

He strides from the bed to his unused escritoire across the room. Situated by the window for light. Not that he had any letters to write or close acquaintances to send them too. He considered leaving notes for Iris but there’s always a risk his letters would be discovered. He’s got a stack of them all written - tied up with a grey silk ribbon and hidden away.

He rifles through his drawers until he finds it. A knife. A silver dagger with a weighted carved handle. He rounds the bed again, crosses to her and sits near her hip. He holds out his left hand and rips the knife across his index fingertip.

Crimson beads up. He holds his hand aloft and watches it drip. Looks back to Iris and gently cups her face.

“I know this won’t be pleasant. But it will help.” He tells. He doesn’t even feel the sting of pain. It’s nothing to him. Nothing to the pain of seeing her suffer like this.

He gently holds her cheeks and rubs his bloodied fingers across her dry lips. Smearing crimson onto her tongue. She frowns and tries to move her head away, mumbling in distress. But Kylo doesn’t relent until he’s sure his ichor coats her tongue. Slips silken down her throat.

He takes his hand away and rubs the blood from her mouth that spilled down her chin. Leaving her as pale as she was before. The rose of her cheeks still glares awfully bright.

He bunches the cloth around his hand. He’ll heal up in no time. He wishes he could say the same for her. Only time will tell...

He holds her hand. Strokes over her dainty little clammy knuckles. “Twice now he’s saved you.” He remarks to her.

“If I didn’t know him any better....” He sighs, trails off in his words. The very breath gets punched from him. To what end could Draegan be saving her? Whatever for?

One idea occurs - it’s because he’s felt all that she means to him.

That tears agony at him like animals claws tearing down his chest. Shredding flesh. When he thought how he turned his back on him, and scorned his love. And here he was, centuries later, calling out to keep her safe. To protect her.

Kylo lets himself feel shamed.

Ashamed for the ways he bypassed his feelings for Draegan, and let anger fill him so completely up instead. Now he’s met Iris? He understands what he put Draegan through when he left. Because she might leave him now, and he thinks he might just wither away to ash, to nothing, for agony of loving her so much. Unable to help her through this pain.

Though now, perhaps he’s given her the catalyst to help her fight what ails her. He can only wait. And pray.

He paces the room. Paces and then sits. And then he’s treading worn holes in the floorboards again.

Before he knows it, night falls again. He watches out the window as the sun bleeds into blue.

Night washes a filmy indigo over the landscape. Trees turn to dark gnawed fingers of branches. The grass shimmers with evening dew and the pond out front in view of his window, turns to gloopy blue ink.

He stands with his back to her. Surveying the view out the window. Arms folded behind his back. He’s listening to the fire crack and the wind groaning outside on the cold glass, splashing hard against the house. And suddenly she speaks. Gasps out. Cries out.

“So cold.”

He whips around fast. She’s twisting from side to side and he sees the fire sheen off her brow. She repeated herself “It’s so cold...” He hastens to the bedside and takes her hand again. “Iris?” He asks.

She’s still dazed. Still delirious. Twisting her head on the bed.

“Snow. And blood. Why is there....so much blood...” She frowns. Her face all contorted. Her palms knot her fingers into her pillow. She’s writhing again.

Kylo looks down at her. Puzzled.

Her reality had became quickly spliced with odd fevered dreams.

Snippets of actuality broke through the haze. She felt herself fall after she stood up from the armchair after their intimate dinner. She dropped but her body didn’t hit the floor. She’s moving again. And those lovely strong arms of his, are around her.

She’s burning. Was she on fire? That’s what it feels like. She’s dripping sweat and trying to claw at her dry throat. Loosen her strangling clothes. Get some blessed sweet cool air on her skin.

A cold chest she’s cradled into again. Widest muscled chest she’s ever beheld. And she’s moving. Her eyes are shut, it’s all dark, yet she feels weightless. Being carried.

Then it all goes soft. She’s laying on velvet as gentle hands guide away clothes from her body. She’s aching so much her bones ring with it.

She tries moving but she feels cemented. Every word she tries to croak is difficult. Making speech is like trying to let thick hot syrup drip off her sticky tongue.

There’s this pain in her lungs. A thousand knives stabbing in when her chest expands. Kind hands touch her arm and her head. Their warmth scorches her already blazing skin. She tries to wriggle away. But she’s too weak. Her body won’t comply to the requests of her mind.

There’s feather and down at her back. It crinkles and crumples, and she’s relieved the bed is so cool. Something bittersweet is dropped down her throat. Trickling down her melting tongue. She barely feels the rest. She drifts in and out.

And the thing is, she’s not entirely sure she’s alone. She hears voices. A voice. Dark, deep, like a granite walled cave.

She can’t feel much. But she feels cold thick fingers wrap around hers. She knows who those might belong too.

The fire in her blood doesn’t stop. It doesn’t wane. She feels like she’s drowning and she’s not even in the rain anymore. Prickles and knives and all manner of horrible sharp things stab at her chest. Spears, lances, thorns and needles.

It feels like her lungs rattle with poison and shards of broken glass. She wants to cough but it’s too much for the infirm state she’s in.

In between her swimming head and trying to crack open her heavy eyes. Between bleeding crimson and a blazing twitching flame she can make out very little.

Time and sensation are lost to her. But she feels how someone diligently holds her, cups her face, cool on her cheek, feeds her spoonfuls of water so she doesn’t dehydrate. Dribbled water and laudanum - spiced with honey and saffron to cut the bitterness - down her neck with a cold silver spoon perched on her lips.

The dreams are the worst. She dreams about rain. About rivers and heavy crushing things, tar, black and rotten, squirming on her chest. Crushing her.

Of fangs ripping pale flesh off bleeding necks, how that haunts her. Wine red blood and she’s laying in a sticky hot pool of it. Unable to move.

Foul black demons with claws and leathery black wings and red eyes, drooling maws with gnashing teeth rip at her nubile skin. She screams but no sound comes. They throw her screaming into hell and brimstone, and the flames lick higher around her.

She’s dying. She must be dying. She can see it. Lying under a chiffon veil draping her body. Dried white flowers, rustling and dead sweet, are placed on her chest. Hands crossed over her chest. A figure in hooded cloaked black looms over her.

She squirms. She tries to bat them away. Tries to twist out their reach of these monsters. She calls and begs them, but to no avail. Cold splashed on her again. On her brow and on the back of her neck. She sighs and gladly welcomes it.

A low melodic buzz murmurs in her ears like a thousand bees zipping and bobbing about her head. She can’t understand what it is. But it’s somehow a nice sound to listen too.

It causes a gentle hum to seep into her aching bones and calms her heavy head. It’s like a balm. Salve on a wound. She doesn’t realise that it’s Kylo talking to her.

When the fire in the hearth across the room crackled and spit sparks up the chimney, it felt like splits opened in her skin, forming like cracks in stone, and insects crawled out. Black scurrying beetles, She started itching at her arms. Clawing. But nothing was there.

The cold soothe of her harbinger of peace is there to hold her hands and stop her nails raking her flesh away.

More voices move around her. Tumbling around the air in the room. Cracking and snapping like zapping silver lightning and thunder. The mumbling grows in volume. Slithering along her spine. One of her arms feels like it’s been left in ice water - it’s where he’s holding and kissing her. Begging her to fight it. Pleading with her.

She’s so tired. So wrung out. She just wants all this pain and fevered madness to stop. She’s soaked through to the sheets and her skeleton grates with ringing hot agony whenever she dares to move. She’d cry if her brain would grant her that meagre request.

Her lungs have worsened. She knows it. Filled and clogged with dry sand, and salt. Sluggish and wet like a briny beach. It rattles when she breathes, and something she can’t name dribbled out her mouth. Drooling onto the pillow. She doesn’t know that it’s blood.

She only knows that she’d quite like to fall away to her fever dreams and never come back.

Iris so wants the lingering darkness to take her.

However, one tiny shred of her feels cheated; she would’ve so liked to kiss Lord Ren again. One last time. The nicest thing that’s ever happened to her. She’d have liked to have tasted his kiss and drown in his loving attentions just one more time. Just one.

It didn’t seem like a lot to ask of fate. Seeing the crummy hand it had dealt her in her wretched little life, thus far.

Time passes. She’s not sure if it’s seconds, or minutes. For all she knows she may only have been lying insensate for an hour. Or it may have been days. Weeks. She can’t focus. She could have been lying stretched out there for Methuselah’s lifetime. She’s none the wiser.

Then something else happens, something unexpected. Something wet is pushed past her lips. Only it isn’t water. And it isn’t the bitter saffron alkaline of laudanum.

She doesn’t recognise this taste; it’s salty sweet. Hot metallic, and a blend of sour-saccharine burst. She doesn’t recognise it. It’s not unpleasant. But it’s not what she’d describe as palatable.

She tries to twist. But her head is thumping and those flames are curling at her toes again.

And then some distinctly odd things begin to happen. Even more odd than demon dreams or the bugs crawling out crevices in her skin.

Where she swallows, the substance dropped in her mouth starts rolling down her throat. Carving away the pain in its path.

Before long it reaches her swollen lungs. Slowly. One by one, each knife and needle, shard of glass, spear and lance is dragged out of her. Pulled away. Tugged out her pinching flesh. Relaxing her ribs.

Gradually, all her pain lessens. Stickiness in her lungs, grating of her shallow heavy bones. It all fades. Agony slowly dies like a starved candle flame.

The unknown liquid rolls through her like milk and crushed honeycomb. Ambrosia nectar. It tastes like gold. Like sunshine warming her bare skin after feeling nothing for months, but cutting winter frost.

Fever dreams start to come back in full force. And they feel more real than before.

She opens her eyes and there’s suddenly snow. It’s cold. It’s so very cold she’s shivering. Standing there, looking around a milky snow blotted forest.

The trees around her reach vast, thick and tall. Trunks wider than her body. She cranes her head and she can’t even judge the tops of them. It’s just foggy grey up above. Heavy snowfall closing in.

But all around her there are splotches of dark seeping in the snow. Dark jagged shapes lay misshapen in the thick thick icy drift.

She feels it all. The squishing shift of the powder beneath her feet. Cold little stings of flakes melt onto her cheeks and eyelashes. Turning to tears that rain dewdrops down her skin. Her breath spirits silver out her mouth.

There’s no stars up in heaven. No moon. Not tonight. Nothing to cast over this glum gloom and darkness.

Noises patter and clang in the distance. Metal scrapes and hollow clashes. She peers around her and that’s when she comes to realise what all those shapes are...

Bodies.

Laying dead and still in the snow. As far as her eye can see. Men lay broken and scattered across the forest floor. Clad in simple dark armour. All wearing the same crimson coat of arms: blood and death litters them. That is their uniform.

Crimson is still shimmering down the bark. Splashed there from the slash of swords across parts of anatomy she didn’t want to think about. She cannot imagine how her brain can conjure up such carnage. Such mayhem and suffering.

Seeing a thousand, or more, dead men, pulled and carved to pieces. Violently separated from limbs, or heads or legs. Bleeding into the snow. Slumped sat against trees or piled on each other. Some studded with arrows. Some not.

Splayed where they’ve fallen. Viscera exposed, stubby limbs chopped in half. Throat slit. Holes punched in their chests and bloodied organs tumbled out. Some men held it in their arms like dirty washing. It’s an awful thing to witness. Such savagery.

What kind of beast could cause this? Could leave men dying and dead in this horrific way?

She scans around. Unable to fathom it. These poor souls. Mouths gaping. Eyes wide and staring, unseeing, at the clouded heavens. Like sticky pearls shimmering in the dark. Death hadn’t been long in taking them. The blood leaving them is still warm. She can feel the blaze of it under her feet. Melting the snow.

She sees no movement in the trees. Save for the snow heading down from high above. Settling like natures own confetti on all these fallen soldiers. Weeping over them, yet nothing else can be done but show them to their graves.

Then she does make out something.

A tall, lean, and strong figure moves through the trees away from her. Strong trunks of long legs. Sinewed arms. Even in his dazzling armour. Slender. So slender and elegant for a man. Most men lumbered. This one practically glided.

Though he is scarcely standing out amongst them. Silver and white. Clad in brilliantly kept armour. The only thing that stands clear is the crimson splattered across this soldiers body. Gleaming down his silver armour. He comes to a standstill.

If he was the last man standing; she suddenly realises with horror exactly what that means in odes to all the death surrounding them.

She moves slowly towards this destination. Somehow desperate for a look. In the dim, she steps carefully and slow over the slaughter of mangled bodies and crimson hot snow. He has his back to her. Now she can’t see his face.

She crosses this battlefield. Comes closer and closer. As if stalking a cautious stag.

He was devastating in his height. Lean but not a man to be mistaken as being powerless. A long bloodied sword drips from his left hand. Even in this suffocating slim darkness, the curtain of white hair spilling long down his back is entirely obvious. Like a silk curtain. It’s braided too. Twisted into intricate plaits. Fixed with silver cuffs and wound with jewellery.

There are silver coiled serpent decorations wound around some of his braids. They gleam in the night like far off stars. He moves as devastating as a supernova.

If his hair moves like silk, so does he. Movements so supple yet languid. Certain. A great degree of confidence.

He turns his head. She hopes to catch a glance of his profile. Wanting to see if his face is as handsome as his hair, or his impressive built frame.

She’s curious. Somehow this is familiar for her; this white haired stranger.

He turned only a fraction. Not enough for to show her anything. Not his face. Not his eyes. Though it seemed he was looking in her direction. She’s been caught.

She freezes entirely and a smooth voice dances like honey wine and satin across the butchered dead and the snow.

“Go back to him. Little spark. He’s waiting for you.... this isn’t how we meet.” He tells her.

She cannot contest. She can’t even fight. Or speak. White fog swallows her up. Clouds her eyes. The blood and the soldiers and the snow falls away. Like she’s being dropped out of a white haze and sent tumbling down to mushy blackness. Spat out of heaven.

She falls. Jolts. Her heart leaps in her chest as adrenaline spikes through her body. She gasps...

And then, miraculously, she finally wakes.

She stumbles back to life with a rattling gasp. Kylo didn’t even hear it. It was nearly ten at night. He’s sat by the fire in his bedchamber, watching the logs within crackle and sinking and burning to amber and ash. Unaware that she’d opened her eyes until;

“Kylo?” Comes a weak little voice from the bed. Her voice.

He stands and turns so fast his head swims. “Dove?”

He strides so quick for the bed it makes her dizzy. He frets about stupid things, like the fact he hasn’t washed and shaved. He’s been too occupied in his avowed duty of sitting and watching over her sickbed.

He kneels by her side. Happily cups the cheek closest to him. Her eyes are clear, hooded, but clear. No longer shimmering bright with fever. And her cheeks have calmed. Less glaring red heat, now just a kiss of pink.

He places his knuckles on her forehead and had never been more relieved to feel her cooled. She shuts her eyes and smiles. Appreciating his touch. Savouring it.

“My god. I thought I’d lose you.” He insists quietly when she opens her eyes again. He takes her dear sweet hand and kisses it.

She takes a lot of energy to swallow and unsticks her dry cracked lips to answer him. Smiling. “Might I trouble you for some water?” She croaks. Her voice a strained crackle bleeding out her throat.

He pours it himself. Hands it to her. Helps her sit up a little and tip the glass to her parched rosebud lips. She takes dainty gulps of it. Drains the glass and has enough. It’s not overly cool, but Iris swears it’s the best thing she’s ever drunk.

He mops her brow again when she’s finished. Wipes the wet coils of hair away off her brow. It feels awfully nice and even though it’s shockingly intimate. She relaxes back onto the damp pillows and lets him comfort her.

“How long was I?-” She seeks.

“Two days, little dove.” He tells her gently. Placing the linen cloth down where it belongs. She swallows again. Refinding her lost voice. “It’s almost eleven at night.” He answers.

“I’m afraid I’ve been a dreadful imposition on you.” She starts. Picking nervously at the covers.

Kylo’s smiling again. Yesterday everything had been so grim he thought he’d never crack a grin ever again.

“Think nothing of it. I’m merely happy to see you so well recovered.” He says as he squeezes her hand tighter.

She casts her eyes for a second over the way his chin is flecked in onyx stubble. The way shadows linger under his eyes like heavy saddle bags. His hair doesn’t look unkempt. But his shirt is rumpled and faded cologne lingers around him. He’s been worried about her, than his appearance.

“You need rest and sustenance. Fevers leave you weak. So I’m told.” He reaches for the head of the bed and pulls the bell cord. The hidden crimson panel of fabric that called down to the kitchens.

“I wouldn’t turn down a cup of tea.” She sighs weakly. Beaming gently. No self respecting English woman would dare seek after anything else so fortifying.

“I imagine my housekeeper will furnish you with a banquet.” He suggests.

“How do you feel?” He seeks. It hasn’t escaped her notice his hand still twines through her own. It feels awfully nice. Cold. But not repulsive. She felt his touch even in her fevered state. It’s calming.

“Like I’ve been kicked by a horse.” She sleepily admits.

“Jomar said the affliction was on your lungs from the sound of your breathing. Do you need anything for pain?” He asks.

“I Thank you. I am well. I cannot deny the fever was.., draining. But, it was the vivid nature of the dreams I couldn’t stand. It all felt so, real.” She confesses.

“Delirium can be an odd beast.” Kylo agrees. He’s suffered blood delirium before. And that was like his own skin trying to willingly crawl off his own bones. It was beyond dreadful.

“The most odd one was... wandering through a forest. After a battle, I think it was. Horrible. Such death and slaughter. And then I saw this man through the trees. A tall man in silver armour...”

Kylo’s eyes are glistening dark. She carries on.

“He spoke out to me. I could never forget his voice it was-“ She searches for a word. “Melodic. Nearly. Utterly enchanting. And he had this hair, very long hair. It looked like white silk.” She explains.

“What did he say to you?” Kylo’s asking. Knowing full well what she saw.

“Told me that someone was waiting- And it... wasn’t how I would meet him?....” she declares. Finding the whole thing bizarre. Then again; what sense could be made out of perplexing dreams?

She looks bewildered. But Kylo knows the truth in it. He knows the various demons and reasons behind her channeled thoughts. His blood had taken its toll too.

“Dreams are confusing at the best of times.” He states in comfort. She nods in agreement. But she looks like she barely has the strength to hold up her own head.

She clasps his hand back. Her fingers and little strength she possessed, held onto him. “I’m very glad you were here.”

“I’m always there for you. Iris. And I always shall be.” He promises.

“What I did, scampering out into the rain like that. It was so foolish of me. And I don’t like to think of myself as acting like a fool.” She starts.

“I thought I was going to die it hurt so much. But I didn’t want to. Because I didn’t want to leave this earth - without kissing you one more time.” She explains.

“I know I shouldn’t say it. I shouldn’t even think it.” She swallows weakly.

Twines her fingers through his. Clutches onto him all the more. Showing him the depth of her affection that she had always smothered deep down. She doesn’t want to suffocate it anymore.

Kylo sees the wet of tears in her eyes.

“I’m very glad of your improprietous wishes. They well reflect my own.” He admits. Kissing the back of her hand. He wouldn’t throw himself and his passions upon her whilst she’s recovering in a sick bed. He’s not that much of a letch.

The door creaks open across his chamber and Jomar is the one to answer his summons. Kylo twists around where he is knelt. And when his butler sees his smile, and the calm of his expression. He hears his sigh all the way across from the door.

“Might Miss Ashton have a tray of tea and some of that broth Mrs Jones had cook prepare?” Kylo asks.

Jomars smile lightened up the whole room. “I shall fill the kettle myself. Your Lordship.” He beams. It makes Iris smile wide too.

“Thankyou. Mr Jomar. You’re very kind.” She rasps across to him. He nods a grateful smile.

“Ever your attentive servant. Miss. You got his Lordship to crack a smile for the first time since the dark ages. I feel like we ought lay roses at your feet.” He insists.

“Just the tea. For now.” Kylo reiterates.

“And might I ask you keep an eye on Miss Ashton whilst I retire to my washroom for a moment?” He informs.

“Yes of course. Your Lordship.” Jomar steps into the room and aside so Kylo may pass.

He squeezes her hand in comfort before he slips away. Off to go shave and wash himself and redress in a clean pressed shirt. And new breeches and small clothes. He felt quite rumpled in his current dress.

The kind butler lingers by the bed. Handing her some more water even though she hadn’t requested it. She needed it. He could tell.

“You all like his Lordship a great deal...” She comments.

Jomar can’t deny it.

“We love him. Miss. Though he may be stubborn and pigheaded sometimes. And most think him to be arrogant or savage. We are, all of us, so very proud to serve his house and his title.” He insists with not so much as a hint of false note to his tone.

“He depends on you a great deal. It’s nice to see a man and his butler on such friendly terms.” She states.

“We do make fun of one another. But it is enjoyable in its own way. He teases me. I rib him. And demand a payrise if he steps too far over the line. I have to remind him of his place...” He jokes in detriment. It draws a laugh from her.

“If I may speak candidly. Miss Ashton. And do censure me if it is above my place to say so; but he admires you a vast vast deal. In a way I have seldom seen of him.” He openly admits.

Iris’ heart feels like it wants to burst. So crammed full of potent emotion. It made her chest glow warm.

“I could never censure anyone for such a admission. Mr Jomar.” She gives him a wobbly smile so full of love. Moved by his plea.

“And I feel you should also know he hasn’t left your side these past two days. Hasn’t left this room. He administered medicine. Water. All himself. He didn’t even take the time away to eat or bathe.”

Her eyes water. “So you see? He really is the most stubborn man. I doubt he’d have let that illness take you either.”

“Most stubborn.” She agrees. And she cries happily. Heart so bursting full at the seams, of love for him.

Seeing how much his staff admire him. How he’s surrounded and inundated by people he warmly regards. How respect from either party cuts both ways.

He’s the most honourable man she’s ever had the good fortune to meet. She can’t ever imagine how or why she had once considered Lord Ren a monster.

For her heart is quite sold to him.

~ ~ 🥀 ~ ~

11 notes · View notes

forever-rogue · 5 years

Text

Autumn Dialogue Prompts

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

1. “It’s spooky season! Finally! My favorite time of the year!” “It’s August...it’s still summer?!”

2. “Who ate all my candy?!!”

3. “You’re too old to go trick-or-treating.”

4. “I hate costumes. There is no way in hell I am dressing up.”

5. “Time to get spooky!”

6. “After being freaks, are we gonna get freaky?”

7. “What are you supposed to be?” “A mortician, obviously.” “Can you be a sexy mortician?”

8. “Well, one of us has to change and it’s not going to be me.”

9. “And just what exactly are you supposed to be?”

10. “Nope, I’m not scared. Not at all.”

11. “Is that red syrup? Please tell me it’s syrup.”

12. “I paid $50.00 for this haunted house. I better die.”

13. “You should hang out with me later. I’m gonna marathon a bunch of movies.”

14. “I came in here expecting a trick, but you’re a real treat.”

15. “Making out in a graveyard?”

16. “Did you seriously injure yourself carving a pumpkin?”

17. “Can you please help me carry this pumpkin inside my house. It’s like three times bigger than me.”

18. “Oh, pumpkin spice. You make me so happy. You’re the love of my life.”

19. “Let’s split up.” “Let’s not.”

20. “Why are you just sitting there, RUN!”

21. “We should do a couples costume.” “We’re not a couple though.”

22. “How many caramel apples do we need? Two? Twenty? Four hundred? I’m buying four hundred.”

23. “There’s nothing quite as satisfying as stepping on a super crunchy leaf.”

24. “You ever realize that the fall smell everyone loves so much is just the scent of dying plants?”

25. “It’s staring at me.”

26. “Remember that IOU you gave me? Well this is it. You are wearing this couples costume.”

27. “I’m going to presume that dead body in our garden is a decoration.”

28. “Why have I woken up in our car, in the middle of a graveyard, in the middle of the night, may I ask?”

29. “You are NOT having a pumpkin spice latte after what happened last year.”

30. “No?? Of course I’m not scared…who gets scared of…floating objects or…um weird sounds? Not me, that’s for sure.”

31. “Can you help me rake? I’ll let you jump in the leaf pile.”

32. “I don’t usually do anything for Halloween.”

33. “I’ve got a collection of horror movies and pizza delivery on speed dial. Want to come over?”

34. “Let’s go for a walk. The trees are beautiful.”

35. “Million dollar question: Nightmare Before Christmas or Hocus Pocus?”

36. “If you carve a dick on this pumpkin, I swear to god.”

37. “Is it too cliche to visit a cemetery on Halloween?”

38. “Gourds are so ugly but also so cute. I want a thousand of them.”

39. “I’m just not in the Halloween spirit yet.”

40. “A ouija board on Halloween: what could go wrong?”

41. “You left your candy unattended and therefore it is now mine.”

42. “The candy is for trick or treaters! Stop eating it all!”

43. “Why does the dog have a leg bone? Please tell me that’s a toy.”

44. “Why are the dog and cat covered in toilet paper?” “One word - mummies!”

45. “I hate the woods…especially at midnight on flippin’ Halloween! How did we get so lost?”

46. “OH MY GOD SHUT UP THEY’RE GOING TO KILL US!”

47. “So babe, how do I look?” “Honestly I can’t tell a difference. You look like a zombie most days.”

48. “Why does that pumpkin look like me?” “Well you wanted something spooky?”

49. “There’s blood on your shirt.” “Oh, babe, don’t worry, it’s not mine. I’m not hurt.”

50. “Is that a pumpkin carving tool in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?”

51. “The house is not haunted.”

52. “Mmm, I appreciated that little murmuring you did in my ear.” “….That wasn’t me.”

53. “There will be a lot of screaming tonight.”

54. “Did someone spike the punch?”

55. “UGH, why am I stuck with a bunch of babies?”

56. “Halloween is my aesthetic.”

57. “What are you gonna do? Burn me at the stake?”

58. “Get the blankets, we’re going star gazing!”

59. “My famous recipe, White Chocolate Pumpkin, with a dash of bat wings,” ‘Really?!?” “Nah, just some cinnamon,”

60. "If you say Halloween one more time-” “You’ll kiss me.”

61. “Would you rather kiss me or die?”

62. “10 pumpkins for our porch? That seems excessive…”

63. “It’s hand holding season.”

64. “Get the flashlight! We’re telling spooky stories!”

65. "Tell me the scariest story you know!”

66. “How did you manage to get us lost in a corn maze?”

67. “Has that scarecrow always been out there?”

68. “I just drank a whole gallon of cider by myself! I regret nothing!”

69. “Look! There’s a bat hanging from the doorway. Better kiss me under it.” “Nice try, never going to happen.”

70. “I don’t do horror movies- no, puppy dog eyes are against the rules, you can’t make me- fine, I’ll watch a scary movie with you.”

71.“Look, a full moon!”

72. “You’re beautiful. uh, u-um i mean the weather. It’s beautiful. Not that you’re not beautiful, because you are. I’m just gonna shut up.”

73. “I thought you said you knew how to start a fire!” “I said I could probably figure it out.”

74. “I think my fangs are coming loose, ugh.”

75. “I hate Halloween! EEEKK!! Don’t scare me like that!!”

76. “You have bits of leaves all over in your hair! Let me help you.”

77. “Did you hear that?”

78. “Lock the doors!”

79. “This can’t be the zombie apocalypse. I’m not caught up on my favorite shows.”

80. “Should we be drinking this much?”

81. “I’d let you haunt me all night long.”

82. “Do you think this is Harry Potter or something?”

83. “Dead men tell no tales, but we do bend the truth alot.”

84. “Oh, this isn’t a costume. This is my natural state of being.”

85. “We all know, that you will be the first to die.”

86. “What are you doing?” “Decorating for Halloween.” “It’s not even September yet…” “Halloween is a year round tradition.”

87. “Okay, no more cider for you.”

88. “Your laugh does not sound like an ugly witch cackle now will you please open the door.“

89. “You know, you have really pretty eyes but they’d look so much better without… all the blood.”

90. “What kind of childhood did you have if you never ate Halloween candy?”

91. “Black cats and pumpkins and stuff, it’s all just based on old superstitions and legends.”

92. “A walk in the woods seems like a bad idea. Ever seen Blair Witch Project?”

93. “How do you still look beautiful in zombie makeup?”

94. “The scariest looking houses always give the best candy, it’s fact.”

95. “Wouldn’t you like to see something strange?”

96. “I think our house is haunted.”

97. “Was that someone knocking? It’s not time for trick or treaters yet.”

98. “You almost scared me to death. I’m never going to forgive you for that.”

99. “What are you going to do? Sue the ghosts?”

100. “It’s Alive! It’s Alive!”

#prompts #writing prompts #challenge #challenge prompts #autumn #fall #halloween #halloween prompts #fall prompts #autumn prompts #spooky season #spooky prompt #writing challenge #dialogue prompts #dialogue #sentence starters #prompt starters

790 notes · View notes

rubyredsparks · 4 years

Text

An Imposter’s Heart

Relationships: Anxceit (Platonic), everyone else is just friendships

Characters: Virgil, Janus “Deceit”, Patton, Logan, Roman, Emile, Remy, various ocs

Tags: Among Us, Video Games - Freeform, Magic, Friendships, Queerplatonic Relationships, Cursing, Platonic Relationships, Chronic Illness, Card Tricks, Mentions of Quarantine, mentions of burn scars, mentions of vitiligo

Word Count: 3175

Summary: Quarantine sucks, especially if you're a chronically ill streamer and let's player. But it's nice to have friends and partners there to support you all the way.

And to accuse of murder.

AO3

"Is this your card?" Janus smirks when he holds up an eight of hearts, his audience clearly freaking out when it inevitably becomes clear that it is in fact their card. “I thought so, goodbye.” He clicks the button that takes him to the next participant.

“Hello,” he says, tipping his hat. While it has become difficult in getting gigs booked when he’s an amatuer magician (he’s not so much amatuer but young) becoming a MeTuber actually has become a much more entertaining way of living his dream and fucking over other people’s minds with illusions.

It’s much more fun, and much more lucrative.

“You’re that— that magician snake guy. Uhh, Deceit, right?” the participant says, clearly recognizing him. “I recognize you because of your whole—” a hand waves in front, gesturing towards a cheek.

Janus has never been one to shy away from his scars or his vitiligo, embracing them as his aesthetic and as much of his character as he can. And Virgil says it reminds him of scales and he definitely plays that up with makeup, adding to the whole snake character.

Janus nods in the affirmative, “I’m just here wondering if you can guess how I do this card trick. Would you like to guess?”

“Yeah! My grandpa was a magician and really liked to do card tricks. Maybe I can guess it!” they say eagerly.

Janus chuckles, flipping a card back and forth with his fingers. He doubts it. This trick he came up with all on his own. “Wonderful,” he murmurs. He singularly flips one card between two hands, forming a diamond with his thumb. He does it a few times, making sure that his participant sees the card appear and reappear a few times.

“Oh! I know how you do that. You— you take the card and put it between your fingers on your other hand behind your palm—”

“Really?” Janus says, doing it again. He looks down at his hands, feigning looking them over, spreading his fingers wide and then turning his hands back and forth to show that no card rested behind his fingers. “How do you do that?” he scratches his head, biting down a smile when his participant gawks at him.

“No, really, how do you do that?” Janus says with a faux sincere smile.

“I cannot,” his participant says, ducking their head and logging off to show the loading screen.

He chuckles, logging off of Omagle. Turning towards his camera, he smiles mysteriously. “Thank you for watching, I hope to see you on the morrow.” With a flirtatious wave, Janus turns off his camera.

With a sigh, he slumps back into his chair, groaning at yet another video he has to edit soon if he wants to make his weekly update. Being a MeTuber, as fun as it seems and is at times, is utterly exhausting. Not to mention what his roommate and partner deals with on a constant basis.

While he has gotten a bit of a subscriber jump ever since he played a few games of Amidst Us with the Sanders Shows gang, he won’t even begin to explain the hoops and valleys that his roommate went through to get such a jump.

Virgil, or as called by his online persona Corpse Emo, has gotten a 3 million subscriber jump ever since the normies as Janus liked to call them got addicted to his deep and soothing voice. Generally anxious, Virgil had freaked out. A Lot.

But Virgil loves being a MeTuber, Janus knows. He loves reading scary stories and making conspiracy theories about cryptids and other spooky things. But Janus also knows that Virgil gets freaked out by large numbers and performing if he doesn’t have everything handled.

Which is why he’s a faceless MeTuber and just a deep, soothing voice that people love to listen to. Something that Virgil is able to handle and control, to an extent. He obviously can’t help the fact that he has an incredibly recognizable voice or hair or hands.

So he compensates by being the main source of income and stays home while Janus goes out and gets the groceries and food. The little shit is lucky that Janus cares for him.

He hears the door to Virgil’s recording room open, and he blinks lazily. Groaning, he pulls himself up and stretches on his way out, only wearing half his usual attire and layers. With a scratch to his cheek, he leaves to meet Virgil out in the hallway.

“Gamer bladder?” Janus asks dryly when he sees Virgil zip through to the bathroom. He looks much too freaked to truly be in need of the restroom, eye bags darker than usual, so Janus assumes that Virgil needs to de-stress and take a moment to himself. The needs of the people too great and demanding. Janus can sympathize, fans can be the absolute worst sometimes.

Virgil flips him off, closing the door with a sharp thud. “Go entertain my chat,” Virgil’s words come out muffled behind the door, “they keep asking when Snake-Eyed Deceit is coming back on to play. It’s so fucking annoying.”

Janus would believe the indignation if Virgil doesn’t sound so fond. “You know I’m not much of a gamer, Virge,” Janus reminds him patiently.

“Just talk to them,” Virgil mutters, and Janus imagines Virgil curling into their bathtub with his hoodie drawn tight around him, lights turned off to complete the room. “Play a game if I take too long. It’s proximity anyway.”

Janus raps on the door lightly, “Just remember to drink some water. Did you take your meds?”

“Yes, mom,” Virgil rasps out, voice scratchy. “Fuck off.”

With a sigh, Janus raps an affirmative on the wood door and meanders his way down to Virgil’s recording room. He taps out a few greetings in chat, and then moves Virgil’s character blob in game.

“Emo, you’re back!” one of Virgil’s streamer friends cheers, doing a little wiggle in game.

“Not exactly,” Janus says into the mic lowly. A glance down at the chat shows them exploding in greetings to him with which he responds back politely. Doesn’t hurt to try and get new followers.

“Oh, it’s the Snake guy,” another says, and this voice Janus knows all too well.

“Hello to you, too, Roman,” Janus purrs. “Or should I call you Valkyrome? What a particularly creative name. Combining mythologies. Tell me, did you want to be a Valkyrie as a child.”

Roman puffs up, voice flustered, “Perhaps, they are one of the greatest warriors in Norse myths.”

“Oh, yes, I’m sure,” Janus says. He moves into the customization section of the game, changing from Virgil’s signature black and cat ears to yellow and a top hat. He keeps the name however, too lazy to change that. “How is everyone? It’s been a while since I’ve talked to you all. Yes, hello to you as well, chat.”

“Salutations, Snake,” Logic or Logan says monotonously in greeting. “I’m doing well.”

“HI, JAN!” Cupcake Harts, otherwise known as Patton Hart, cheers. Janus can’t help but twitch at the exorbitant cheerfulness, grating on his nerves a bit. Nothing against Patton, but the relentless sunshine can burn just a tad overwhelming sometimes.

Nevertheless, fondness tugs at his heart, “Hello again, Cupcake.”

“Is Corpse okay?” he asks, concern lacing every word. “He didn’t sound so lively last round. Is the kiddo good?”

“The Emo will be alright, but he gave me permission to play a few rounds as his little character for a bit if that would be alright.”

“Of course!” Patton says happily. “We don’t mind, do we?” Everyone else starts to overlap with words of reassurance at that, and Janus smiles. If anything, Janus is glad that Virgil was able to make friends this year. It has boosted the man’s confidence much more than it had been even if there is still some of that self-consciousness and anxiety that lingers.

“Alright, let’s start.” Logan cuts through the cacophony and the game counts down from five to begin.

---

“CUPCAKE WAS FAKING TASKS!” Roman screams when the meeting is called up, repeating it as much as he can. He clicks to vote instantly, not letting Patton explain.

Janus snickers at that, knowing for a fact that he was the imposter along with Remy.

“Roman, kiddo, do you really think that I would fake tasks with so many people in the room? I mean I could be the imposter, but I was alone so many times with Jodie.”

“He was,” Jodie confirms, “I don’t think that Cupcake is the imposter, he could’ve killed me so many times in specimen.”

“No, no Jodie, I mean I could be the imposter but that doesn’t mean that I couldn’t marinate you. I could just be playing a long game.”

“Ugh, he’s doing that double speak again,” Roman groans. “Cupcake, are you the imposter or not?”

“No, but I mean I could be,” Patton says with a mischievous tone that made Janus roll his eyes.

Janus skips his vote quickly, “Let’s just skip, there’s only one person dead.”

A murmur of agreement follows Janus’ declaration.

“Let me postulate this, but I think that the imposters are Deceit and Sleep.”

“How dare you—?” Remy immediately starts in on Logan, false offense filling up his words and making him much louder. Incessant clicking from their keyboard as rage fills their heart. “I will have you know that I was nowhere near the kill. You know what, I think it’s Specs, actually, he keeps framing me.

“Well, let’s settle down now,” Emile, otherwise known as Dr. Stitch, tries to intervene. “It’s only the first round of the game after all.”

“Uh, no can do, doc, not when my integrity is on the line.”

“What integrity,” Virgil mutters, and Janus whirled around in Virgil’s desk chair to see him leaning on the frame of the door.

“Is that Emo??” Patton squeals happily, “Hi! Are you taking over for Deceit? The game’s just started.”

Virgil shakes his head even though the only ones who can see are himself and Janus, his thick purple-brown curls falling in front of his brown eyes, “Nah, let Dee have a turn murdering everyone, I know he enjoys it.”

“Liess and slander,” Janus hisses, purposefully elongating his ‘s’ to make him seem more snake like.

“Does that mean Dee’s an imposter!?!” Roman screams as the meeting panel falls away and the little characters start running around crazily.

“I’m not the imposter, I’m not the imposter,” Janus lies reassuringly, shooting a dark glare at Virgil behind him as the taller one stifles his giggles, hiding the amusement in his eyes behind his hair.

He settles into Janus’ lap, completely obscuring the screen and his view of the game. “Emo, please let me play the game.”

“Hmm,” Virgil hums, tucking his head underneath Janus’ chin, a feat in and of itself given the height difference, “no, I’m comfortable. I’ll just sit here and talk to chat.”

With a sigh, Janus continues the arduous task of running around in the game with the much difficult challenge of having an emo in his lap. Virgil, for his part, looks very content and Janus can’t help but run his fingers through curly purple-brown hair.

“Hello, Roman.”

Roman yelps, “Who said that? How can you see me?” The lights in the game have been turned off and have been for a while, and Janus is taking advantage of the fact that Roman has been left in the far left hand corner of the map where people rarely go.

“Oh, Roman, Roman, Roman,” Janus says, tongue curling on his name with a knife. Roman screams, protesting and shouting for Janus not to do it. “Sorry about that, Ro,” Janus says with a manic giggle as he slices through Roman’s character.

“Big yikes,” Virgil murmurs. “No, chat, I’m not gonna do that, stop suggesting it. Anyway, yeah, I’m gonna be having some major collabs soon with some artists and I have so many cool projects on the way. Thank you guys so much for everything. We wouldn’t have gotten this far without you.”

“Aww, is that you, Emo? Are you talking to chat while Deceit plays?” Leslie pipes up, running close and in circles around Janus’ little blob character.

“Yup,” Virgil pops the last letter, “and guess what?”

“What?” Leslie asks just as Janus’ kill cooldown hit zero.

Janus clicks kill and Leslie screams in protest, her outrage cutting off when the body flops down onto the map. Virgil snorts out a laugh, cackling as Janus smiles indulgently, running around crazily on the map.

A new meeting is called up, this time two people have been killed, clearly shown on screen as having died: Roman and Leslie.

“Guys, guys, guys. I think Remy is the imposter,” Patton is saying. He’s the one who reported Leslie’s body“I’m pretty sure I saw him vent in electrical.”

“Excuse me, Kingdom Hearts!” Remy interrupts rudely. “I wasn’t even in electrical this round. You should get your prescription checked.”

“We needn’t vote here,” Logan interjects sagely. “We are, after all, on seven. But, need I remind you that Remy has been suspicious two rounds now and this time two bodies have been killed. I believe it would be wise to vote him off.”

“Uh uh, glasses here. I know you’re Mr. Big Brain and everything, but I am telling you that it ain’t me,” Remy takes a large sip of whatever drink he has on hand to emphasize his point.

With almost agreed silence, everyone votes and it’s an almost unanimous decision to vote off Remy, causing him to squawk.

“Oh no, you guys really voted for him? You guys voted him off?” Patton is saying as Remy starts screaming curse words and regret.

“What do you mean? You’re the one who said that you caught him venting—”

Janus starts to walk off, the conversation dying out the further he went. He walks to a secluded side of the map, making sure that no one can see as he waits for the cooldown.

“Think you can pull it off?” Virgil asks.

“Without a doubt,” Janus responds.

“What are you guys talking about?” Jodie walks up, suspicion in her question.

“Oh nothing,” Virgil starts, “except this—” and Janus clicks to kill.

Virgil starts talking to both chat and the other players as Janus starts his murder spree quietly. The two of them work as partners, Virgil talking and distracting the players as Janus offs them one by one.

Janus accidentally kills a person in front of someone else, but luckily he didn’t seem to see. “Okay, so I think this was Dragon,” Jace is saying.

Dragon immediately protests, “What do you mean? Where’s the body?”

“Emo, you just walked into admin, right? Did you see Dragon run out?” Jace asks.

“Um, maybe, I think so, yeah?” Virgil says, playing dumb.

“Then it’s Dragon. They were the one to kill, I saw them run out of admin just as the body flopped. Emo, back me up here.”

“Wait, what? I wasn’t even near—”

“AND they were sus last round, so.”

Quite easily, Dragon is voted off, but the game continues.

“I don’t get it, I thought it was Dragon and Sleep,” Jace says.

“Unless it was a self-report,” Logan posits. “You could’ve been caught by Dragon or Emo and you just reported to throw suspicion off yourself.”

Janus called up the meeting button, and Virgil got ready to speak, “Well, we could always 50/50 it. One of them has to be the imposter, right? We’re sure we got out one of them earlier with Remy and if it wasn’t Dragon, then it has to be Jace.”

“No, listen, Emo, I am begging you. I am on my knees, literally in real life right now, don’t vote for me, I am innocent. Please, I’m literally on my knees right now! It’s not me!!”

“Patton, I’m trusting you here,” Logan says. “Do you really think it’s Jace and not Emo?”

“Emo wouldn’t do that to us,” Patton says, though a bit unsurely, “and here’s the thing if Emo’s the imposter then he’ll win and get his video, but if he’s not then we win as crewmate. Either way, it’s a win-win situation!”

“What? Guys! That’s not how this works,” Jace pleads. “Please, it’s not me! I’m serious.”

But too late, the votes come in and Jace is voted out, his character yeeted out into space. And the game continues.

Logan screams in realization, “Patton, I trusted you! It’s Emo, it’s Emo. Oh my goodness. Patton, run! Run!”

“Logan, I have been waiting for this moment my entire life—” Virgil says manically as Logan starts to lose it, running around and screaming at Patton that he trusted Patton and that they voted off the wrong person.

Virgil calls a sabotage and starts to really race after Logan.

“Logan, I was right!” Patton says, slowly trailing after them just to keep up with the conversation. “That means Emo does get to have his video. And I get to be in it! Either way, it’s a win!”

Janus loses it, laughing just as hard as everyone else when Virgil finally manages to click the kill button, the victory screen loading up just as quickly as everyone’s voices come back loud and cheery.

“Good game, everybody—”

“Emo, that was hilarious—”

“Patton, I trusted you—”

“YOU GUYS VOTED ME OUT???—”

Virgil smiles up at Janus from his perch on Janus’ lap, contentment swimming in those brown eyes. Janus is helpless to smile back, even if he’s a bit overwhelmed by the noises. He nuzzles the top of Virgil’s head, burying his face in dark purple-brown curls.

“That was an amazing game, oh my gosh—”

Virgil buries himself into Janus’ warm body, a catlike grin stretching across his face. “Good job, Jan,” he whispers, making sure that chat doesn’t hear the name.

“I think you should be getting that congratulations, little Emo nerd,” Janus says dryly. “You got the final kill of the game after all.”

“Hey, Emo and Dee cheated! They worked together—!”

“We were using one character, jackass! It’s not our fault you guys didn’t think it was us!” Virgil yells back in retaliation, laughter edging on his words. More protests and compliments and whatnot continued as the gamers started arguing over each other again.

Warmth wraps around Janus like a warm hug and he wraps his own arms around Virgil as he continues heckling and joking around with friends, a new game already started. Virgil squirms in his hold to sit in his lap properly so that Virgil’s back is to Janus’ chest, moving to get comfortable.

“Alright, we won’t play together again—” Virgil is saying. Janus just holds Virgil in his lap tightly, contentment curling around him and settling into his stomach like a warm meal.

Sometimes life sucks, giving you chronic illness or vitiligo and burn scars. But sometimes life doesn’t suck so much when you have friends by your side and laughter surrounding you.

A/N: @sanderssidesgiftxchange Hi, @emo-does-things!!! I was your Secret Sanders this year and I hope I was able to fulfill your wish! I honestly couldn’t decide between the two things that I wrote, so you get two fics! Happy Winter and I hope you’re staying safe and that you enjoyed this!!!

#anxeit #anxiet #virgil sanders #janus sanders #roman sanders #logan sanders #patton sanders #various ocs #among us #emile picani #remy sanders #sleep sanders #secret sanders gift exchange #my writing

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ibelieveinahappilyeverafter · 5 years

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Danny Phantom - belief does not make it real (but fear does)

The first of my Patreon drabbles that I wrote last year and am now posting here to my Tumblr! I hope you guys enjoy it and, remember, to check out my Patreon page so you can see more great drabbles like this one year round!

Summary: Danny, Sam, and Tucker decided to test a few common myths to see if there’s anything that really can repel ghosts. Blood blossoms had managed, after all, and they’d rather not be taken off guard again. Some of the items, though, has Danny amused more than worried - at last until he realizes that some stories are true.

Fandom: Danny Phantom

Characters: Danny Fenton | Danny Phantom, Sam Manson, Tucker Foley

Rating: Teen Audiences

Word Count: 2,219

Check out my writing commission information here! Pledge to my Patreon to get exclusive content like this drabble!

⁂

“There’s absolutely no way that this is going to work.” Danny stared at the array of objects on his bed, Sam and Tucker on either side of him with Tucker’s phone still held out in front of his face, screen starting to go dim. “It’s not that I don’t believe in it, it’s just that this is stupid and it’s not going to work. Period.”

“Danny, you know I hate agreeing with Tucker, but he might actually be right for once.” Sam’s serious expression twitched into a smile, Danny trying to keep his stern expression at Tucker’s scoff.

“Thanks, Sam. Thanks a bunch,” Tucker grumbled, waving his phone screen in Danny’s face. “Just read this, okay?” The screen was black due to inactivity. “It seems pretty promising!”

“You literally googled ‘ways to repel a ghost’ and clicked one of the first results. How is that promising?” Danny moved to fall into his computer chair, rolling across the floor and relaxing a bit at the sound of wheels over a wooden floor. When he looked back up, Tucker was sitting on the bed and near drowning in his hoodie of the day and Sam was kicking her feet from where she was on his desk, dress flaring out with the movement. “This is stupid.”

“Yeah, but that’s what you said about your parent’s ghost portal when we were fourteen.” Tucker had a point and Danny hated it. “C’mon, man.”

“He’s got a point,” Sam sighed, kicking at Danny’s chair when he rolled back over. “We didn’t think anything but your parents’ weapons could hurt you, and then that whole blood blossom thing happened.”

“Ugh, thanks for reminding me of that,” Danny shuddered. He was now seventeen and even though that event was years away in the past, he still remembered how much those had hurt. It was almost the same feeling as when he had been stuck in the portal when it had turned on. “You think this stuff is gonna work, though?”

“Won’t know until we try,” Tucker shrugged, picking up a few objects from the pile that had been dumped onto his bed. There were a few pencils and notebooks scattered in there, but Danny had a feeling that was more from the fact Tucker had turned his backpack upside down on his bed. Then again, they could be using homework as a way to ‘repel him.’ It’d probably work. “Okay, first up is protection objects.”

“You’re going to hate this,” Sam ‘whispered.’ Half a second later she caught the object Tucker tossed at her without even looking. There was a reason Danny was afraid of his best friends, sometimes. “Okay, so first we’re going to try crystals.”

“Sam’s gonna do it since she’s the witch.” Tucker ducked the boot that was tossed at him, sticking his tongue out as Sam squirmed around and kicked her other one off, managing to nail Tucker in the knee. “Jesus are those things made of steel?”

“Just the tips,” Sam smiled sweetly, hooking her foot under Danny’s arm and pulling him back over to her. Danny let himself roll across the floor, trying not to laugh as he bumped into Sam’s table, the girl’s feet, covered with bright purple tights, settling in his lap to keep him there. “The website said black tourmaline, so we’re going to try that one, first. I’m also going to try some of my own crystal quartz, though.”

“Are we sure you’re not a witch escaped from Salem or something?” Danny settled back in the path of sunlight that fell over him and his desk, ready to take a nap as his friends got their weird curiosity out of their system. “Alright, hit me with it.”

“Sure.” With that, Sam proceeded to throw what she was holding at him and hit Danny in the middle of his chest with it. Danny caught the stone before it could hit the floor, rolling it around in his hand. The sunlight caught and held in the cracks of the stone, Danny unable to describe it better than a piece of charcoal that didn’t crumble beneath his fingers.

“Can I keep this?” Danny finally asked, Sam pouting while Tucker slumped and mumbled to himself as tapped something on his phone. He was probably making notes that the stones didn’t seem to work against him. “It’s pretty cool.”

“Yeah, yeah, you can keep it. You sure you don’t feel anything, though? Not even an urge to throw it away?” Sam asked, nudging at his stomach with one of her feet. Danny didn’t bother swatting her away, instead fidgeting with the crystal.

“I mean… It doesn’t hurt, but I guess it sort of feels like more than just a rock, maybe?” Danny stared down at it, almost captivated at noticing the sleek sheen the sun brought out in it. Holding it almost reminded him of how it felt moments before he created a shield. “It’s cool.”

“Hm. Let’s try my quartz.” Sam dug under her shirt and tugged out one of her many necklaces, Danny trying not to laugh at the fact Sam was just wearing something that was supposed to repel ghosts. “I’ve had this for almost three years, now, and I cleanse it in moonlight every few weeks.”

“And you’re telling us you didn’t escape from Salem?” Tucker snort laughed, beaming at Sam’s glare and lack of things to throw at him. Danny ignored them and tucked away his own new stone before looking at Sam’s. It was crystal clear and looked almost like glass, a piece of metal wound around it and threading it onto a leather cord. “So, what, you’re going to throw this one at him, too?”

“Yeah, why not?” That was all the warning Danny had before he was scrambling to catch the necklace, eyes widening as he felt something the moment it touched his skin. It took a moment to convince himself not to drop it, Tucker and Sam noticing at once. “Danny? What’s wrong?”

“Dude, you okay? Did the magic crystal thing actually work?” Tucker sounded shocked, which, considering he was behind this, was not reassuring. He had probably done all this because he was bored.

“No, it didn’t- I mean, it’s not hurting or repelling me or anything, really.” Danny swallowed, looking down at the crystal and carefully reaching it back up to Sam, slumping when she took it back. “It felt like it was heavy, I guess. I dunno, it felt like you dropped a ten-pound rock into my hands.”

There were a few beats of silence between them, Tucker finally mumbling a soft little, “Spooky.” It was all it took to send Danny and Sam into a fit of laughter. “Okay, okay, we have a bunch more stuff to get through! Think fast, man!”

Catching the newest torture device tossed at him, Danny laughed at seeing it was a cheap dreamcatcher made of bright pink colors. He didn’t feel anything while holding it beyond a sense of amusement as he fiddled with it, fingers skimming against cheap plastic and cheaper strings.

“I mean, some pretty bad memories are cropping up, but other than that, I think I’m good.” There was a snicker from Sam and a little mutter about capes. Danny ignored her and tossed the dreamcatcher on his desk to give to Jazz later. She’d get a kick out of it, if nothing else.

“Maybe we should be testing these in your ghost form, too,” Sam said, Danny groaning and wiggling away from her before rolling his chair over towards Tucker and the bed.

“That just means this will take even longer, though. Tuck, wouldn’t you rather finish this soon and go play some video games at your place?” Danny grinned as Tucker started to waver before he sighed and slumped, defeat in every inch of his posture.

“We should really check everything in case we run into trouble like this in the future. We need to know what to look out for, man.”

“What’s she got against you?” Danny narrowed his eyes, looking to an evilly grinning Sam, who had her legs crossed. The fact she was wearing a black dress more suited for the daughter of a Disney villain was not helping matters.

“She promised to buy me a new tablet,” Tucker gave in with a completely slump of defeat, Danny rubbing at his back as he ‘glared’ back over at Sam.

“Temptress,” he hissed, trying to keep in his laughter as he let freezing cold energy build up in his chest before it snapped, form spiraling around him and changing him into Phantom. Beneath his now gloved hand, Tucker gave a sharp shiver. “Oh, sorry, man.”

“No big deal, just wasn’t expecting it. Alright, bring out the stones again, Sam!”

As it turned out, there was a bit of a difference between Danny’s ghost form and his human form. The tourmaline actually had him making a shield on instinct and the quartz was heavy enough that he couldn’t even hold it. Once they established that, they went into everything else and Danny learned a few things he hadn’t been expecting to learn.

Holy water, as it turned out, made him feel energized and refreshed and had him flying a few laps around the room, papers and books fluttering in his wake.

Burning sage, however, had him sneezing repeatedly and forced them to open his windows as he tried to stop his eyes from watering.

Sam’s herbs didn’t seem to have any sort of effect, Danny even eating a few to prove that he was fine. They were all relieved when nothing happened beyond a confused tongue due to all the varying tastes because, even Danny could admit, he hadn’t thought that one through.

Praying had ended up with all three of them in a circle on the floor laughing as they prayed to: the Nasty Burger, Lancer’s true or false tests, Sam’s favorite shade of lipstick, and the gaming controller Tucker had been using for the past seven years.

Meditating and cleansing their auras had left Tucker asleep against the bed, Sam in a deep, serene state on his only nice rug, and Danny feeling surprisingly lighter as he floated in the air. Although, it was odd that he found himself messing with his new crystal when they finally opened their eyes after fifteen minutes. They used some water to wake Tucker up, though.

The helpful article step telling them to ‘try and stop believing’ only had them looking at where Danny was floating over the bed and on his back. It had taken them almost half an hour to stop laughing.

“Okay, I got one last thing.” Tucker held up a shaker of salt, Danny unable to stop his snort. “Hey, it’s in Supernatural, so that’s got to mean something!”

“Oh, right, the horrible show that makes no sense, has poor story structure, and is culturally insensitive.” Sam’s words only had Danny laughing again, Tucker looking like his very life had been attacked. “Oh, calm down. You really think salt is going to do something?”

“Tuck, we literally drowned our fries in salt yesterday,” Danny managed past his laughter, floating down to sit beside Tucker, the two knocking into each other from the dip of the bed. “And I’m not anymore dead than I usually am.”

“Aha! We’ve never had you exposed to salt in this form, though!” Tucker held out the salt, Danny snorting and tugging off a glove and then rolling up his sleeve. “I’m just going to pour it straight on there, okay?”

“Sure, since nothing’s going to happen. Hey, think we got some fries downstairs? That would be great with this,” Danny said, beaming when Tucker gave a dry, single laugh while Sam burst into giggles. “Alright, alright, hit me with it.”

“Don’t blame me when this hurts,” Tucker grumbled, trying to hide a smile as he wrapped his fingers around Danny’s wrist to keep his arm steady before tipping the salt shaker over to allow a thin stream of salt to fall.

There was a single moment where Danny was relaxed and at ease because nothing was going to happen, and then it suddenly felt like his arm was being held up against an open flame that burned. It felt like pinpricks of molten fire were sinking down into his flesh and searing him straight down to the bone, squirming and digging their way in to melt everything touched.

By the time Danny realized he wasn’t on fire, he was on the other side of his bedroom and shoved up in a corner on top of some dirty clothes, staring at where Tucker and Sam were watching him with wide, startled eyes. All three looked down to where Danny’s exposed arm was a bright, fiery red in the pattern of small dots that mirrored the specs of salt that had touched him.

“Well, then.” Sam’s voice was as faint as Danny felt. “I guess we figured out something that hurts besides blood blossoms.”

“Yeah.” Danny let go of the gathered cold in his chest, pushing it out slowly and letting his ghost form fade away. When he looked back to his arm, it was smooth and pale, the only pattern visible the small patches of sun freckles. “I guess we did.”

#danny phantom #tucker foley #sam manson #eternal trio #my writing #my patreon #original

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kusunogatari · 4 years

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[ ObiRyū October | Day Seventeen | Trick or Treating ] [ @abyssaldespair ] [ Uchiha Obito, Suigin Ryū, Hatake Kakashi ] [ Verse: Best Years of Your Life ] [ Vulgarity ]

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“Is he here yet?”

“No, not yet.” Very carefully, Ryū applies the last of her makeup. Funnily enough, it doesn’t take much. Just some gaunt, dark makeup around her eyes to make them look sunken and ghastly. She doesn’t even need a wig, her white waves straightened to make a foreboding curtain around her face.

“Ugh, I swear that guy manages to be late at every turn…” Scowling, Kakashi descends the stairs. His own costume is...mostly applied. Ryū just needs to finish wrapping his head, the rest of his mummification already complete. He claims the holiday is lame and for kids, but...she totally noticed him spiffing up what she’s already gotten done.

He might claim Obito’s dragging them out, but she knows he’s actually glad his friend asked.

“It’s not that late yet,” she gently retorts, turning her face to look for anything she’s missed. Just a little black lipstick, and she’ll be done! The second hand store had the perfect white dress, which she’s (temporarily) dirtied for effect. Some carefully tacked-on gauze gives her a spooky look, and just like that: she’s a wraith! “Want me to text him?”

“No, I’ll do it.”

Ryū gives him a glance, a brow perked. He’s standing at one of the windows by the front door, clearly keeping watch. That seemed a little...odd. But she soon shrugs it off. “I hope it doesn’t get too cold...it’s gonna ruin our costumes if we have to wear coats…”

“It’s pretty cloudy, we should be fine. You sure you don’t wanna go to Rin’s party? She said you could go.”

“I know...but I can’t let you dorks go anywhere on your own,” she replies, carefully applying her lipstick. “That’s just asking for trouble.”

“...uh huh. Doesn’t have anything to do with Obito going with me?”

“If Obito weren’t going, you wouldn’t be going. So I guess you could say that,” she counters cheekily.

Kakashi scowls, hidden behind the wrappings on his face.

“Besides, they’re all older than me. It’d be weird. Can’t I just go trick or treating with my brother without being interrogated?”

“Okay one, they’re only about a year older than you. And two, Obito and I are their age, so what’s the difference?”

Ryū turns, pouting. “I’m the odd one out! They all think I’m just a little tagalong. Doesn’t matter that it’s only a year, they still think I’m a twerp. I can tell, they don’t like me…”

Kakashi rolls his eyes. “They like you just fine. You’re just too sensitive.”

“And you’re not sensitive enough!”

It’s then a frantic knock sounds at the door, and they both look to see Obito peeking in the window. “Let me in!” he calls, muffled through the glass.

“About time,” Kakashi mutters under his breath, opening the door. “What took you so long?”

“I had to fix my facepaint, it started melting!” Staggering through the door, Obito arrives in all his zombie glory. Scars left uncovered, he instead has a fake wound on his forehead, and...well, it looks like it’s actually bleeding, given that the paint is indeed starting to ooze.

“Oh, jeez...here, lemme see.” Ryū crosses the gap, a makeup remover napkin in hand. “I can make a new one with some makeup that won’t run. You’ve got it on here way too thick, that’s why it’s being goopy, silly.”

“Uh -?” Not given a chance to refuse, Obito finds himself dragged to the mirror in the main hall, Ryū quickly getting to work. “...you know how to do that?”

“Yeah, duh. We did a workshop on it in theater class, remember?”

“I didn’t do that one, I did props!”

“Well maybe you should have done makeup instead,” she teases, cleaning his forehead. “Now hold still.”

Kakashi, arms crossed, watches the pair with a halfhearted glower. “Hurry up, it’s almost dark. We’re gonna run out of time.”

“It’ll just take me a minute! Obito should get to look the part, too. Have a little patience big bro.”

“Yeah big bro,” Obito echoes, grinning.

“Shut up or I’ll give you a real wound, instead.”

“What crawled up your ass and died, Kakashi?”

He heaves a curt breath, not wanting to admit it. “...nothing. I just want to get this over with since it was all your idea.”

“Says the guy who can’t stop fiddling with his costume to make sure it’s just right,” Ryū retorts. “Admit it, Kakashi - this is gonna be fun! You don’t have to be such a stick in the mud all the time.”

“Trick or treating is for kids.”

“And we’re still kids,” she reminds him, leaning out past Obito to look at him. “Stop trying to grow up so fast! We’re not gonna think any less of you for letting loose and having fun sometimes.”

“...okay maybe I will, but that’s just cuz I have to make fun of you,” Obito offers, pretending to flinch as Ryū lightly baps his arm. “Kidding, kidding!”

Kakashi just rolls his eyes. “Someone around here has to have some sense.”

“Hey, Ryū’s got plenty of sense, and she’s not a jerk!”

Blinking, she flushes a light pink.

“She’s also too easily swayed by your shenanigans, so that doesn’t count,” Kakashi counters dryly.

“Well maybe she just likes to have fun!”

“Okay guys, c’mon, enough arguing,” she cuts in with a sigh. “Obito, how’s that look?”

Not realizing she was done, he leans in toward the mirror. “Whoa! That looks so cool!”

Her pink cheeks get pinker. “Think that’ll work for tonight?”

“Yeah! Thanks!”

“You’re welcome!”

“Okay, now are we ready to go?”

Ryū holds up a hand. “One sec!”

Kakashi groans, head tossing back as she dashes upstairs.

“Y’know, you didn’t have to say you’d go,” Obito offers, crossing the room to stand beside him.

“Ryū wanted to go.”

“Doesn’t mean you have to.”

“Yeah, actually, it does.”

“Why?”

Another grumble. “...cuz I’m her brother. I don’t want her out alone after dark with anybody.”

“What, you don’t trust me?”

“I trust you the least.”

“Aww, why? You know I’d never -!”

“Just nevermind,” Kakashi mutters, edging too close to a rather sensitive topic.

“Okay, back!” Ryū hurries back to the main level. “Here!”

“What’s this?”

“They’re trick or treating bags, duh! Gotta have something to hold all our goodies, right? We made them this week in Home Ec for the elementary school students. I had some extra time, so...I made us all some! They’re based on our costumes.”

“Dude, this is awesome - thanks!” Obito holds out his bag, which sports a felt zombie face on it. “Is there anything you don’t know how to do?”

Kakashi deadpans as she blushes again. “W-well yeah, plenty of things.”

“...okay, anything else, or are we good to go?”

“All right all right, let’s hit the street!” Bag in one hand, Obito holds his aloft, staggering and dragging a foot toward the door.

“Obito, come on! We won’t even make it to the neighbor’s if you go that slow!”

Rather than replying, he just groans.

This is going to be a looong night, Kakashi can’t help but mutter mentally.

Once they get outside, Ryū pushes against Obito’s back to speed him along, earning a laugh as he breaks character. “Save that for when we’re closer to the doors!”

“You don’t like my zombie walk?”

“I like it just fine, but you’re too slow! Kakashi’s right, we don’t have all night. Don’t be a walker, be a runner!”

“What, like...this?!” Spinning around, Obito makes a wild sound, reaching out and making Ryū squeal in surprise as he starts chasing her.

“I’m a ghost, you dork - I don’t have a brain for you to eat!”

“That makes two of you,” Kakashi calls from behind them

“Hey, shut up!”

“Don’t run ahead.”

“First I’m too slow, now I’m too fast. Make up your mind, Kakashi!”

They reach the first house, everyone huddling up on the doorstep as Ryū rings their doorbell. A young couple opens the door, marveling at their costumes before giving them each a heaping handful into their bags.

“Hey, so are we gonna trade each other for stuff we don’t like when we get back?” Obito asks, looking into his bag.

“Maybe, if we have enough time.”

“Kakashi do you even like candy?”

“I like the sour ones. And dark chocolate.”

“I like mint and chocolate!” Ryū pipes up. “Ooh, and peanut butter!”

“Eh, I’m not too picky. Sweet is sweet to me.”

They slowly make their way around the neighborhood, visiting house after house and dodging gaggles of younger kids pursued by their parents. They even manage to cross paths with a few others from their classes.

“See! I told you we’re not too old,” Ryū teases her half brother with a grin.

“Obito and I are still pushing it,” he counters. “Most of our classmates are probably at parties instead.”

“And yet you’re here with the cool kids.”

He snorts. “Debatable.”

They even manage to cross paths with a teacher from the school, his wife helping take their son for a round of trick or treating. Ryū hoists the little blond to her hip, cooing over his fox costume. Naruto is quickly a bundle of giggles at her attentions.

“She’s pretty good with kids, huh?”

Kakashi glances to his friend. “She’s been babysitting for them.”

“Whoa, really?”

“Mhm. It lets her earn a little spending money, and she’s learning some responsibility.”

“And practicing for being a mom.”

The Hatake’s expression sours. “If she wants to be one, sure.”

“She’d be a great mom! She’s super sweet and patient.”

“Good thing, since it lets her put up with you.”

“Hey!”

As the evening ages, the trio decide to call it a night. Each of their bags are rather swollen with goodies, and Ryū digs through her own eagerly.

“Wow, there’s a lot more here than I thought we’d get!”

“Good thing we went down that side street - they had the best haul!” Obito agrees, peering into her bag. “A lot better than my neighborhood. Everyone’s so stingy…”

“So you’re just here to loot ours?” Kakashi asks, brow perking as Obito goes pink.

“No!”

“He’s just teasing,” Ryū assures him, rolling her eyes. “Come on, let’s get back and trade!”

They return to the Hatake household, sitting in a circle on the living room floor. Each dumps out a little candy mountain at their front.

Right off the bat, Kakashi hands over everything but sours and dark chocolates to his sister, who in turn gives hers of his favorites. He’s left with a bit of a small pile, but he doesn’t really care. Sweets aren’t his thing.

“Okay Obito, what can we trade?”

“Uh…” He rummages around. “I’ve got some chocolate and mint stuff. Not much with peanut butter, though.”

“Okay! What do you want that I’ve got?”

They start haggling, Kakashi unwinding the bandages on his face enough to chew some sour Starbursts. He can’t help but be amused at how seriously they take it. Unlike himself, they both sport some pretty hefty sweet teeth.

“But that’s not fair!”

“I don’t want them!”

“Then take some more of these!”

“It’s fine!”

“Ryū, he said he doesn’t want them,�� Kakashi cuts in, getting tired of their babble.

“But -!”

“Are we going to watch a scary movie?”

The question acts as the perfect distraction. The other two teens blink. “...are we?”

“Might as well sit and watch something while we eat all this, huh?” Kakashi pops another Starburst.

Obito glances to a clock. “It’s kinda late, though. Should I head home?”

“Aww, already?” Ryū gives Kakashi a pleading look. “Can he stay?”

“What?”

“Tomorrow’s Sunday, it’s not like we need to be up for school! He can just sleep over after the movie. We can put the inflatable mattress in your room!”

A hint of suspicion colors his gaze. “You’re gonna have to make extra breakfast.”

“I don’t mind! Pleeease? We’re having so much fun, I don’t wanna quit yet!”

Ugh, she’s too convincing for her own good. “Fine...I’ll make some popcorn. Go find a movie.”

“Yay!”

...he’s going to regret this, isn’t he?

Throwing a bag of popcorn into the microwave, Kakashi subtly watches into the living room. Ryū and Obito both look over Netflix, trying to find a good movie.

“No, not that one! It’s too scary!”

“I thought that’s the point?”

“I wanna be able to sleep tonight!”

“Nothing to be scared of! Kakashi and I will be here, right?”

“W-well, yeah...but -?”

“Okay, let’s keep looking. Scaredy cat.”

“Am not!”

Obito just chuckles. “How about this?”

“...okay.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

Kakashi just rolls his eyes, splitting the popcorn three ways. “Here.”

Lights turned out, they start the movie.

Like most horror films, it starts out slow. Ryū, wedged between the boys, sinks into her seat and subconsciously munches her popcorn, staring at the screen. And despite his usual boredom with the genre, even Kakashi pays attention.

And then the first jumpscare happens.

“Eep!”

Kakashi flinches as Ryū shrieks, shying back from her slightly as his ear complains. But then he glances over to check on her.

And she’s curled up into Obito’s shoulder.

His eye gives a slight twitch.

Obito, watching wide-eyed, hasn’t really reacted. But a few minutes later, when another shot of the movie’s monster flashes across the screen, he lifts an arm without breaking his stare at the screen to let her closer.

Maybe this was a bad idea.

By the end, neither of them have moved. Only once Kakashi flicks on a light do they both jolt, realizing their positions.

“...time for bed,” Kakashi then mutters. “C’mon Obito, help me set up the air mattress.”

“Uh...right.”

Ryū scurries to the bathroom to brush her teeth, the boys awkwardly heading to Kakashi’s room.

Kakashi doesn’t say a word, letting Obito stew in it for a while.

“So, uh...Ryū really doesn’t like scary movies, huh?”

Here we go. “She likes ones with ghosts. Gore bugs her, though.”

“Really? Doesn’t she want to be a nurse?”

“Mhm.”

“...then -?”

“There’s a difference between real world injuries and overdone movie wounds,” Kakashi sighs as he throws some blankets over the temporary mattress. “If it’s too over the top, it freaks her out. Besides, she’s only sixteen. She’ll get over it before she actually gets into med school.”

“...right.”

More awkward silence.

“Does she, uh…”

“Does she what?”

“Does she...like me?”

Oh brother. “She seems to tolerate you pretty well, yea.”

“That’s not what I mean! I mean does she...like me?”

“How should I know? Ask her if you’re so curious.”

“I can’t just ask her that!”

“Why not?”

“Cuz -!” Okay, he doesn’t really have a reason. “...it would be weird.”

“Weird.”

“Yeah!”

“What are you, twelve? No wonder you’ve never had a girlfriend.”

“Maybe I haven’t wanted one!”

Kakashi deadpans. “...do you like her?”

Obito flashes pink. “...I dunno. I...I guess so.” A pause. “...is that...bad?”

“You tell me.”

“I mean, you’re her brother, and…” Something seems to sink in. “...oh…”

“Yeah. ‘Oh’.” Finished, Kakashi just glances to his friend. “...you’re an idiot, but...apparently she’s into that sort of thing.”

“...wait, she -?”

“Yeah. If you weren’t thick as a brick wall, you’d have noticed by now.”

Suddenly Obito is far more nervous. “...are you mad?”

Kakashi sighs. “...no. I just worry. That’s what big brothers do.”

“...sooo…?”

“...so...just don’t fuck it up. Then I won’t have a reason to get mad.”

“Er...right. Okay.”

“Okay guys, bathroom’s free! G’night!”

Obito fumbles for a moment. “G-goodnight!”

“Night,” Kakashi calls back. Once he’s ready for bed, he slips under his covers, hearing Obito do the same.

...well, breakfast is going to be interesting.

Well this is...late and a bit on the short side, but I ran out of time. Today was busy and I ran out of steam =w= But it’s done! Also got to rest run the sub-verse idea of Ryū and Kakashi being related cuz I just like the vibe :3 Anywho, just some silly fluff with out favorite dorks. Makes me sad trick or treating won’t really be a thing this year (if people are smart, anyway). ...I’d say more but I’m tired :’D Thanks for reading!

#obiryū october #abyssaldespair #uchiha obito #suigin ryū #hatake kakashi #best years of your life [ au ]#vulgarity //

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adie-dee · 5 years

Text

Friday Night Fights

In which Faith interviews a Vampire.

I saw this prompt by @promptsforthestrugglingauthor and was immediately inspired, so I knew I had to join in on this weeks round of Friday Night Fight. The prompt is also in bold below, mixed in with my own text.

I hadn’t expected my night to go like this.

My plan had been simple. Hit up a bar, find some random who smelled tasty and seduce them into being my dinner, then leave before anyone noticed. It had worked without drama every other time, particularly once I’d learned how to leave my meals alive so that I didn’t have to worry about disposing of the body, but this time...

I hadn’t meant to confess what I was to the tiny pink-haired woman tending the bar, only she’d been so easy to talk it had just slipped out. I certainly hadn’t expected her to believe me when I had - she wasn’t part of the magic community, I could tell that much, and there was no way she was a hunter - but to my utter mortification it seemed like she had.

“A vampire!?” She frowned. “Well you certainly don’t act like one. Give me some fancy details about the past, something so weirdly specific no one but someone who lived it would know.”

It was always the same when people found out - when they weren’t screaming that I was going to kill them, anyway - and to be honest, it was getting annoying. Everyone always assumed vampire equaled old, when the reality was most of us only had an average lifespan of 10 years past our turn date. The hunters were remarkably efficient at their jobs.

I let out a huge sigh. “I was only turned in 2011, what do you want from me? A recitation of “Party Rock Anthem?” My feelings on the first Thor movie? My horrific shame that I was living fucking Twilight while teenage girls everywhere were searching for a vampire boyfriend?”

Was it me, or did she actually look disappointed?

“I’ve got fangs though,” I told her, letting them become visible. Why I felt the need to please her I didn’t know, but I didn’t like seeing her sad. “Does dat help?”

Her eyes widened. “That’s so cool.”

“It’s really not,” I said once they’d retracted. I hated them. Hated the weird feeling in my mouth, and the way they messed with my speech when they were out. Most of all, though, I hated the way I kept accidentally piercing my own damn tongue with them. Like biting your own tongue with normal teeth wasn’t bad enough.

“But you’re a vampire,” she breathed. “A creature of the night.”

I groaned at that.

“You’re going to be young forever, and strong, and mysterious and like, super rich. Why do you seem sad about it? Do you want a drink?” The realisation of what she’d said hit her immediately. “Oh my god-- gosh-- I can’t believe I said that! I mean alcohol, obviously. Not blood. Whoops.” She let out a nervous giggle.

“Look-- sorry, what’s your name?”

“Faith.”

“Faith, you’ve got nothing to worry about. I can smell the negative RH factor in your blood from here, and… ugh.” I couldn’t stop the shudder that went through my body. “I’d rather not.”

“Oh good! Does that taste bad or something?”

I picked up the coaster in front of me, spinning it between my fingers. “Would you believe I’m allergic? Didn’t think it was possibly for vampires to be allergic to blood, and yet here I am.” It had taken a while to work that one out, and longer to learn to identify the trigger. Didn’t matter how delicious Faith looked, there was no way on earth I was going anywhere near her neck.

“Yeh ok that’s def a downside.”

“Yep. Sucks.”

Faith laughed, and too late I realised what I’d said. If I’d been capable of turning red, I would have.

“You’re so funny,” she insisted. “Stay right there - I want to know everything! I just have to close up first.”

I hadn’t noticed that the bar had emptied out while we were talking, and I sat there waiting for her to collect all the empty glasses. I should have been going - I was still hungry, and getting hungrier by the minute, only I was enjoying talking to someone about all this for a change. I rarely got the chance. My social life had died the same time I had, and the other vampires in the area were so full of themselves I rarely wanted to be around them.

When Faith returned she immediately poured herself a drink. “You want one,” She asked, shaking the bottle in my direction.

“Damn I miss tequila,” I groaned, shaking my head at her offer. “There’s another downside. Can’t have human food or drink. Closest I can get is drinking from someone who’s drunk, and trust me, that is nowhere near the same.”

“Ouch, yeh, I hadn’t thought of that one. What about flying? Is that fun at least?”

“I can’t fly.”

“Lame. Can you turn into a bat?”

“Can’t do that either.”

Disappointment returned to her face.

“It’s really not as fun as the movies make it out to be,” I groaned. “It’s not like I got turned and was handed the keys to a creepy mansion full of priceless antiques or bags of case. I still have rent to pay, which means I need to work, and my job prospects are limited by my sun allergy, yeh? I was a surf lifesaver before all of this happened, and there’s really no call for one who can only work when it’s dark.”

“What about a--”

“Please don’t say crypt.” They always said crypt. “They are cold and damp and full of religious items and I’m allowed to have standards. And electricity!”

Faith held her hands up in a defensive motion. “I didn’t mean to upset you! I’ve just never considered any of this.”

“Most people don’t.”

She had a sip of her drink, and I swore I could see the gears in her mind turning.

“Yes, the counting compulsion is real and annoying, and if you throw anything to test it I will snap your neck. The silver allergy is real too, which sucks, because platinum is out of my budget and gold does not suit my skintone. And the thing with crosses and holy water, unfortunately.” I’d never believed in God when I’d been alive, but apparently they believed in me. “And no,” I added when she went to speak, “I can’t read minds either. I just know what you’re going to ask, because it’s what everyone asks.”

Her mouth snapped shut.

“It sounds like you don’t want to talk about any of this,” she said, rallying quickly.

“No, I do, I do… I know I’m complaining. It’s just there’s so many more downsides than upsides, and other vampires are the worst… just… ugh. Wish I was still mortal. Was so much easier and I had a better lifespan then…” I trailed off, trying not to think of everything I’d lost.

“Yeh but… you died already.” There was more sadness in her voice than anyone in my family had expressed at my funeral.

I dropped my head into my hands, letting out another groan. “And it was the dumbest death ever,” I said, looking up at her. “‘Go into the spooky mansion’, my friends said. ‘It’ll be fun,’ they insisted. And I was young enough and drunk enough that I didn’t consider the fact that I was being the white woman in a horror movie. Got turned within 10 minutes of stepping into the joint.” it had not been a pleasant experience, and was one I was determined not to do to anyone else.

“Mmm yeh, that does seem kinda dumb. I’ve got a friend who’d do the same thing though. She loves doing stupid things like that and--”

“Are you talking about me?”

I turned to see who had spoken. An attractive white-haired woman had walked in, keys to what I assumed was the bar entrance in hand. Standing close to her was a fit looking man with a scowl etched into his face. Even at this distance I could smell how delicious he was, only there was no way in hell I was going to make him my dinner. I knew who these two were, and as much as I hated being a vampire I didn’t have a death wish.

No wonder Faith hadn’t been scared of me. If I had friends like these two, I wouldn’t have been scared of me either.

“Bee, you’re here!” Faith ran over to the woman, practically tackling her with a hug, then glared at the man she was with.

“You have to meet my new friend,” Faith insisted to Bee, dragging her over. “This is…” she frowned again, staring at me. “I never got your name.”

“That’s not important,” I told her, standing up. I needed to get out, my fear outstripping my hunger. These two may not have been hunters, but that didn’t mean they wouldn’t take issue with me. Not if they thought I was a threat. “I should be going, anyway. Thanks for the chat.”

“No worries,” she chirped. “Come back whenever!”

I fled before they had a chance to stop me.

#my writing #My OC: Faith #friday night fights #fnf #disaster cameo

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obsidiancreates · 5 years

Text

Not The Usual Kind Of Haunted Manor

(Did I write the prompt I meant to respond to? Nope. Did I write the fic I meant to write? Nope. Did I go to sleep like I should have many hours ago? Nope. Did I write a really long crossover fic for two of my favorite YouTube channels? You bet your ass I did.)

“Okay okay! Johnny, I’ve got the camera out!”

“Oh, are we rolling sir?”

“Yeah, yeah, do the intro!”

“I- oh dear, I’ve forgotten it again.”

“Johnny!”

“I’m sorry sir!”

“Well just- just make one up, I guess.”

“Alright, um... HELLO! Hello all our... little... bites of P.I.E...”

“Oh, gosh. That’s terrible.”

“You put me under pressure!”

“Okay, just keep going! Explain why we’re here!”

“Ah, yes, right! Um, I am Johnny Toast, and I’m here with my friend Johnny Ghost, and today, we are investigating this haunted mansion. Ooooooh, spooky!”

“That’s good, that’s good!”

“Yes, today is a truly paranormal adventure! This place, known as... um...”

“Oh, uh, Markiplier Manor.”

“Yes! Markiplier Manor, is said to be extremely haunted!”

“Okay, and... cut!”

“Did I do alright, sir?”

“Yeah! I mean I’ll have to edit out a lot of stuff in post but I’m- I’m sure it’ll be fine! Now, let’s go inside and get some cool creepy footage!”

“Right, sir.”

Johnny Ghost lowered the camera and walked into the manor, Toast following close behind. ghost looked around, and then sneezed. “Ugh! It’s so dusty!”

“Well, it is haunted,” Toast said, walking over to a broken mirror in order to inspect it.

“Why do haunted places always have to be all dusty and gross? Why don’t the ghost’s just clean up a bit?” Ghost looked down at the floor. His eyes fell on a dark stain marring the wood. Then they traveled up, to a balcony just above. He shivered. He had a very bad feeling about this place.

“It would be pretty awful to be dead and still have to do chores.” Toast peered closer at the mirror. Something... it almost looked like something was moving inside of it...

“I guess so.” Ghost spotted the staircase leading to the balcony. “I’ll be right back, just going to to shoot some b-roll!”

“Alright, sir.” Something was definitely moving in the glass...

Ghost walked up the stairs. Come to think of it, they really shouldn’t have lead to that balcony. They just weren’t in the right spot. But somehow, they lead directly to it.

Another dark stain greeted him, this time splattered on the wall. He got out the camera and filmed it for a second, and then he filmed the hallway. He kept filming as he descended the staircase. “Johnny! I found some more blood! I think you should stand in front of it... while you... talk...”

Ghost crinkled his eyebrows, confused. “This isn’t the same room from before...” he mumbled.

He now stood at a... a different front entrance? But there was no mirror, and no Johnny.

He stepped off of the staircase and into the front hall. To his left was what was maybe a living room, and to his right was the front door. He couldn’t tell if it was the same front door, but it was a front door. In front of him was a different staircase, one that curved a bit on it’s way up.

“... Johnny?” he called, nerves making his voice quiet. “Johnny?” he tried again, louder.

Nothing.

“Okay. No, sure, this is fine.” He straightened his posture and put on his most confident voice. “I am Johnny Ghost, paranormal investigator extraordinaire! It’ll take a lot more than weird moving rooms to scare me!”

He turned around and was met by the face of a rotting corpse.

“AHHHHHHHH!” He ran to the curvy staircase and ascended, still screaming. He ran into a room at the end of the upstairs hallway and slammed the door shut. “Holy crap,” he breathed. He leaned his head against the door. “Holy crap, holy crap, holy crap.”

He stood up straight again and cleared his throat. “Ahem! Right! Not scared at all! Professional ghost hunter. I’m fine.” He turned around to look at the room he was in, and his shoulders sagged. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

The room was decorated for a seance. A table stood in the center, adorned with a spooky tablecloth, tarot cards, and a crystal ball. A crumbled piece of paper lay on the ground beside on of the two chairs, small but somehow attention grabbing. Dark green curtains covered a window behind the chair with the crumpled paper.

Ghost pursed his lips. “You know what? Fine! Sure! Why not? Of course I ended up here.” He checked to see if the camera, which he’d somehow kept hold of the whole time, was still recording.

It was.

He panned it around the room. “I mean, might as well while I’m here,” he muttered.

Then, for a split second, two figures sat in the chairs.

One was a woman, glowing red, watching the other figure intently.

The other figure was... human, that’s all Ghost could tell. It had a face, and eyes, and a nose, and a mouth, but they weren’t... they weren’t proper features. They didn’t make a person’s face, they just made... a face. Anyone’s face, no-one’s face. They’re eyes were closed, and they seemed to be concentrating on something.

They only lasted for a second before they blinked out of existence. In that time Ghost jumped back and started to yell, but it died in his mouth when they went away.

“What the heck...”

Toast put his hands on his hips. “Hello? Hellooo in there? I can see you moving around.”

The shadow in the mirror stopped, and... well, he couldn’t be certain, but he was pretty sure it turned to stare at him.

“Ah! Hello! I am Johnny Toast, of P.I.E! Me and my friend are here investigating all the reports of hauntings! Are you a friendly ghost?”

The shadow didn’t speak. It didn’t move. It just stared.

“I’ll... take that as a yes. Um, can you speak?”

It stayed still for a moment. Then it shook it’s head.

“Oh, darn. It would have been a lot better if you could. Well, may I ask how long you’ve been trapped here?”

The shadow took a moment, and then shrugged. It seemed almost like it was on a delay, like it wasn’t experiencing time the same way Toast was.

“You don’t know? Oh dear.” Toast pat his pockets. “One moment, sorry.” He pulled out a small pink notebook and a pen with a macaroni shaped clip. He wrote down a few notes. The shadow watched patiently.

“Right then! Sorry about that, I want to make sure I remember this for when Sir gets back. So, did you live here, when you were alive?”

The shadow shook it’s head.

“No? So why were you here?”

The shadow traced a triangle shape in the air over it’s head. Toast blinked, confused. The shadow repeated the motion, paused, and then shimmied it’s shoulders.

“A... party?” Toast guessed.

The shadow nodded.

“Oh! Was it a good party?”

He couldn’t see the shadow’s eyes, but he could feel the condescending glare. A no to that question, then.

“I should have guess as much, I suppose. Did you die on accident?”

The shadow stayed still for a lot longer this time. Toast began to wonder if the mirror had lost connection. Maybe Ghost Skype was having some issues.

Then the shadow shrugged.

“You... don’t know?”

It held up both it’s hands, palms open flat and facing up. It raised one palm, and lowered the other, then repeated in reverse.

“Both at once?” Toast tilted his head.

The shadow nodded.

He wrote it down. “Oh my... what happened here?”

Ghost had left the creepy seance room, The layout of the house was even more confusing to him than why Spooker still worked for P.I.E. Hallways lead to more hallways, doors on the first floor opened to doors on the second and vice versa, windows were on walls that should have lead to the outside...

He opened another door. He stepped through, and found himself standing by a pool.

He was still filming. This episode would for sure get good ratings. Then maybe he and Toast could stop making this dumb TV show and go back to actual ghost hunting. If only...

He looked at the pool. “Okay... Ahg!”

A body appeared in the pool. It wore a red robe and stared at him, unblinking. Ghost gave a little wave, unsure of what to do.

Then the body vanished. Ghost nodded shakily. “Okay. Okay.”

He felt an arm sling around his shoulder. He jerked away and point the camera, shouting yet again. A man in some kind of... old timey military uniform was looking at him. He had a big, bushy mustache, and round yellow-tinted glasses.

“Life needs a bit of madness, as I always say!” the man said. Then he faded away, though Ghost’s fear remained firmly fixed on his face.

“Okay, no! No, I’ve had enough of this place, and it’s creepy... hologram ghost, or whatever! JOHNNY!” He ran back inside. “JOHNNY!”

He ran down a hallway. And then suddenly he wasn’t in a hallway, he was in a small library or office room. Paper and books littered the desk, and a corkboard with cards and yard tacked up on it immediately drew his attention.

“What the heck is all this?” he whispered. He put the camera down so he could look closer.

There were a few cards that seemed to be about... whoever had lived in the house. All the names were scratched out, as well as the faces, leaving only the people’s titles as identifiers.

The Actor, The Mayor, The Colonel, The DA, The Seer, The Butler, The Chef...

Clearly there had been a detective as well, given the amount of information the board held.

Arrest records. Personality profiles. Lists of motives, opportunities, possible accomplices...

One Post-It had a drawing of someone dabbing. Ghost decided to ignore that.

He turned to the desk. An old typewriter was barely visable under all the paper. He picked one up and read it.

‘Don’t trust The Seer, Don’t trust The Seer, Don’t trust The Seer-’

The sentence repeated itself, the only thing written on the page.

The only thing written on any page.

Ghost dropped the paper like it was on fire, grabbed the camera, and ran out.

Toast looked up from his notepad. “So, you attended a party here a number of years ago, were accidentally mur-”

The shadow frantically shook it’s head and put a finger to where it’s lips should have been.

“Oh, okay then, um... accidentally killed?”

The shadow nodded.

“Right. You became trapped in this mirror somehow, and are now stuck here. I’ve got that all right?”

It nodded again.

“Did someone trap you here?”

Another nod.

“Was that an accident too?”

The shadow stared at him, and Toast felt a sort of sadness coming from it. It slowly shook it’s head, the feeling of despair becoming much stronger.

“Oh... it was someone you knew, I’m guessing?” Toast said softly.

One quick nod.

“I’m so sorry.”

The shadow shrugged.

“I wish there was some way for me to know what really happened,” Toast said. “Is there maybe... a journal or something, laying around?”

It shook it’s head.

“Darn it. More yes or no questions, I suppose.”

Ghost stopped.

He’d somehow gotten back to the balcony that had started his whole ordeal.

Now three people stood before him, though none of them seemed to see that he was there.

One was the military man from before, that must be The Colonel. One was the featureless figure, but when he peered closely he could see a pin with the letters DA on they’re chest. One was... okay, that had to be the detective, he was wearing a funny detective hat and everything.

The Colonel and The Detective shouted at each other, both point guns at the other. The DA was standing beside The Colonel, pulling at his sleeve, seemingly begging him to stop. Ghost couldn’t tell what was being said. It all sounded muffled, and echoy, like they were in a cave and their mouths were full of cotton.

The Colonel shot The Detective, who slid down the wall, leaving behind the dark stain Ghost had seen before. The DA tried to wrestle the gun away from The Colonel, but it went off, shooting a bullet into the DA’s stomach. The Da started to fall back, and then fell off the balcony. The Colonel reached out, trying to grab onto them, and this time Ghost could understand the words that were shouted.

“It was an accident!”

There was the sound of a crack, and then the scene vanished.

Ghost stood, mouth agape.

That was only part of the story, he knew. There was still The Actor, The Mayor, The Seer, The Butler, and The Chef.

What had happened to them?

He was snapped out of his thoughts when a familiar voice reached his ears.

“JOHNNY!”

He ran over to the railing and leaned over. Toast appeared below him a moment later.

“There you are sir! You’ve been very quiet!”

“Johnny, you will not believe what I’ve just been through! I’ll tell you on the way home, we’re getting out of here!”

“Alright, come down sir. I just need a moment.”

Ghost looked over at the staircase and squinted at it suspiciously. Then he looked down again.

Yes, there was a bloodstain on the floor. Yes, he was pretty sure that crack had been the sound of a breaking neck.

But... he really didn’t trust those stairs.

He jumped up over the railing and braced himself.

“OW!”

Toast looked away from the mirror. “Are you alright sir?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine! I think I just broke both my ankles, and I can taste my own socks, but I’m fine!”

“Oh dear.” He turned back to the mirror. “Thank you for all your information. I’ll try to visit again another day and see if I cn help get you out of that mirror.”

The shadow shook it’s head.

“What? Why not?”

The shadow pointed at him, then at itself, and then put it’s hand on the glass. It tried to pull away, but it acted like it was...

“Stuck? I’ll... I’ll get stuck here? Like you?”

The shadow nodded.

“Well... if you insist. Ghost might send one of our interns when he hears that, though. Fair warning if he does, Spooker can be a bit... um... loud. And not um, not the smartest.”

The shadow nodded. Then it waved.

“Right, yes. Goodbye to you too.” Toast waved, then walked out into the front hall.

“-and then the DA fell over the railings and down to the ground. I think that’s where the blood stain came from.” Ghost kept his eyes on the road as he drove and spoke, but they flicked over to Toast for a second to see his reaction to the tale.

Toast nodded, deep in thought. “I wonder who the person in the mirror was. Could have been any of them.”

“I mean, only the DA didn’t have a real face. Maybe it was them.”

“Maybe...” Toast turned around and looked at the camera sitting in the backseat. “Do you think we should air this one, sir?”

“What? Why wouldn’t we?”

Toast looked at him. “Something just feels very off about the whole thing. More... serious than our other cases. I don’t think it fits.”

Ghost scoffed. Then he thought about having to edit that footage, having to put Toast’s voice over telling the story over the shots of the never-ending hallways, having to relive that whole experience again through the screen...

“Maybe not,” he relented. “But that mean you’ll have to get another load from your grandmother.”

“Oh, I’m sure it’ll be alright with her,” Toast said.

They both fell into silence for a few miles.

Finally, Toast broke it. “Can I drive for a bit?”

“Wh- no! I don’t want the tires all covered in roadkill again!”

“I got that fixed!”

You got- how do you fix being a roadkill magnet?!”

They lapsed into their usual bickering as they drove farther away from the cursed mansion, not knowing how lucky they were that they hadn’t met the other attendees of that party from so, so long ago.

Or rather, what the other attendees had become.

#VenturianTale #Markiplier #Who Killed Markiplier #wkm district attorney #Johnny Ghost #Johnny Toast #Markiplier egos #(sort of... not really but sort of)#P.I.E #fanfic #my attempts at fanfic #This took me *hours*#And it's not even close to what I meant to do #But ah well

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