#imperator is already a ghost but there's no point in me showing her ghost form. shes just gray and translucent you can use your imagination

[ratgirlcopia]

who's up getting ready to Steal i mean Legally Purchase the sims death pack to play out some psychological torture? just me?

[azureseacloud]

Hidden Messages

Ghost (band)

Part 4

Dewdrop x Reader

Words: 2,727

Warnings: swearing

I’m back! Sorry about the delay, it’s been like almost two months 🫣

Anyway I hope you all enjoy, and as always my askbox is open so if you want to request or even just chat please do! :)

If you would like to be added to the taglist, let me know <3

Tags: @gummy-dummy

@ghoulettess

@viylikescats

You hummed absentmindedly, tapping a pen against your cheek. You were sitting at your desk, working your way through the last changes Sister Imperator had wanted you to make. You’d already sent off the plans for accomodation and venue bookings, choosing to forgo skimming over them to save time. You’d finished them last night anyway.

Cirrus was on your bed, her beautiful form lounging as she idly looked through her phone. She was stretched out, leaning her back against the headboard with one leg crossed over the other.

Another notification popped through on your phone and you looked down to see it was from Cirrus again. You sighed, throwing the phone onto the foot of the bed, away from your reach before it distracted you.

“Really, Cirrus?” You were pretty sure the ghoulette chuckled. She held up her hands in mock surrender.

“You don’t have to check it now. Just think of it as a little reward after you’ve finished your work.” By her wicked smile you knew it was going to be more videos of Dewdrop. Satan below, why had you ever told Cirrus about him?

“You are almost done, right honey?” Cirrus asked hopefully. When she’d first come in you’d been laying on your bed typing. She’d joined you, cuddling into you and rubbing calming circles into your back to the point you had almost fallen asleep. After that you had rolled away, choosing to sit at your desk to finish the last of the documents.

It was almost 10pm now and you had almost finished all of the work that you were going to do tomorrow. Which meant you would have a clear schedule to stay at practice for the whole day, if you wanted to.

“I’ve got a few more things left, then I’ll be done.” Cirrus looked pleased at that. You knew she was waiting for you to join her. It wasn’t unusual for the ghoulette to sleep with you on the nights you didn’t spend in the ghoul quarters. You also had a feeling this had something to do with Dewdrop stealing you from her arms last night.

Cirrus had already filled you in on what had happened during the second half of the rehearsal. Dew had apparently been even more hyper after his interaction with you, to the point that Copia had needed to tell him off numerous times, apparently more than he usually did.

You still couldn’t believe it, and you could already feel yourself starting to hope. What if he did like you—what if Cirrus was right?

Even though you knew you should probably kill that hope until you had solid evidence, you didn’t have the heart to. It had been so long since you’d felt this way about someone.

Your mind kept wandering to how his hands had felt on your body, the warmth that radiated from him, the way he’d called you dearest in that honey-smooth tone. You were going to see him again tomorrow—and if Cirrus was right then he would be showing off for you.

You were well aware of the types of moves that Dew normally employed—having seen more than enough videos. But that was completely different to seeing it in person, let alone as his targeted audience.

You’d been to rituals hosted at the abbey, but only a few. You’d ended up at the very back for both of them, not wanting to fight the sisters for a closer space. Even with the limited view, you’d still been able to watch and admire the ghouls as they performed. Papa had been excellent as well—but your eyes had been elsewhere.

Namely on the lead guitarist. Dew’s energy had been breathtaking, the way he threw himself into each song, drawing the attention of the crowd and feeding off it. He knew exactly what to do to make the siblings scream. You’d wanted to be apart of that front row so badly—wanted to have his full attention on you as he played.

It seemed you were going to get the wish, if Cirrus was to be believed. It left a small flutter of nerves every time you thought of it.

Cirrus sat up, her head turning toward the door. You watched carefully—you’d picked up on some of the ghoul’s behaviours, Cirrus’s especially. By the way she tilted her head, you could tell that she heard something or someone nearby.

An amused smile slipped onto her lips as she watched the door.

You waved a hand and her masked face turned to you. “Who?” You mouthed, guessing that it was a ghoul that she had heard. Surely it wasn’t him…

Dew, she mouthed back, blowing you a teasing kiss.

Of course it was.

Your head snapped over to the door as it opened, revealing the fire ghoul, who hadn’t even bothered to knock. That was typical Dew though.

His gaze landed on you first—giving you a little nod in greeting—then flicked to Cirrus.

“Hey Dew, is everything okay?” You asked as you watched the ghoul. His hand gripped the door and he stared at the ghoulette behind you as she sent a delicate wave back at him.

“Copia needs to speak with Cirrus,” he answered, leaning on the doorway in a way that had you staring.

“What does Papa need to speak to me about?” Cirrus sounded uninterested.

Dewdrop shrugged. “Go find out.”

“Tell him I’m busy. It can wait until tomorrow.” Cirrus nodded over at you as you tore your eyes off the fire ghoul.

“He said it’s urgent, Cirrus.” Dew’s gaze flipped to you, his voice taking on a smoother tone. “Don’t worry, I can keep them company.”

“You should probably go Cirrus,” you added, trying to ignore the excited trepidation at the thought of spending more time alone with Dewdrop. “I’ll still be here when you get back.”

Cirrus sighed, standing gracefully. She let her fingers brush lightly over the back of your neck as she walked past.

“It’s not that I’m worried about,” she said as she passed the fire ghoul, giving him a warning look.

“Is it because my company is better than yours?” Dew sounded amused, still leaning against the door.

Cirrus laughed. “Oh please. I’m the favourite, aren’t I sweetheart?” She nodded her head behind Dew as they both awaited your answer.

“I don’t have favourites,” you said hesitantly, watching Cirrus point at herself. “But if I had to choose, Cirrus is better,” you added, slyly looking at Dew. Cirrus made a heart with her hands at your response, while the fire ghoul crossed his arms, scoffing.

“Don’t have too much fun,” Cirrus said with a teasing wink to you. “And you better be finished all that work when I get back.”

You gave her a little wave as she left. Dewdrop took a step into the room, closing the door softly.

It was his first time in your room—only Cirrus and the ghoulettes had been in here, as well as Rain on one occasion. It wasn’t that you didn’t want them here—rather that you spent most of your time in the ghoul quarters that it was practically home now. This room was more of a storage place where you kept all your belongings and work-related items. You only really stayed in it when you needed a break from the chaos—which was very rarely.

Dew seemed to be taking in your room, walking around as he scanned through your items, though there weren’t that many. He lingered at the small shelf housing your favourite books, running a finger delicately across their spines.

After ensuring he wasn’t up to anything that couldn’t be classed as strangely typical ghoul behaviour, you forced your attention back to the screen.

There was one more document left and then you could call it a night, and you’d have an entirely free day tomorrow to admire the fire ghoul. It was harder than it should have been to ignore him though. It was like your eyes were drawn to him, and you had to keep fighting the urge to look back at him.

You were typing the last part of the document when you suddenly became aware of his presence behind you. You stilled, catching his reflection on the screen.

Dew placed his hands on the desk at either side of you, his arms caging you in as he leant over you. His breath touched your right shoulder as he took in the screen.

“Someone’s eager to watch me play tomorrow,” he whispered smugly. You huffed, unlocking your fingers and typing again, furiously telling yourself to calm down.

“From what Cirrus told me, you’re the one who can’t wait to show off. How many times did you get told off by Copia today?”

Dew laughed lowly, resting his head in the crook of your shoulder.

“You’ve been talking about me, dearest sibling?” he muttered, a teasing tone in his voice. “Seems you just can’t get me out of your head.”

“I’m surprised you fit through the door with that ego. Then again, you are pretty short,” you teased back, hearing a quiet hiss in response.

Dew burrowed his face against your shoulder, his hands running along your arms. The movement jostled your hands as you were typing, turning the next word into a jumble of random letters. You quickly pressed the back button, acutely aware of the way his hands glided smoothly over your skin and the weight on your shoulder.

“Do you mind?”

“You don’t smell like me anymore,” he murmured, sounding disappointed.

Ah. So that’s why Cirrus had given you a whole heap of hugs, and why she had been so eager to cuddle tonight, especially after you’d showered earlier. You wondered if it was to reinforce her claim on you, or an attempt to piss Dew off.

“Well I’m trying to type here.”

“Don’t care. This is what you get for calling me fucking short.”

You sighed dramatically, reaching a hand up to push his head away. He grabbed at your arm, pinning it to the desk with a sound of amusement.

You raised an eyebrow at his reflection on the screen.

“Really?” You flexed your trapped hand, trying to loosen his grip. “Let me go little gremlin, I’m trying to finish this work so I can go watch you practise. You know, like you so desperately want me to.”

Dew lifted his head, watching you through the reflection. He was silent for a moment as you held his gaze.

“How much longer until you’re finished?”

“About five minutes. And don’t tell me that’s too long to wait,” you added, well aware that the fire ghoul was known to be exceptionally impatient.

He huffed.

“Fine,” Dew said as he withdrew, trailing his fingers across your shoulders then your neck the way Cirrus had earlier. He lowered his mouth to your ear. “Five minutes.”

You relaxed as he threw himself on your bed, the phantom tingle of his breath on your ear lingering. Five minutes—then what? Was he wanting to sleep here tonight as well? How long was Cirrus going to take?

You mentally cursed the air ghoulette for leaving you in this situation. You hoped she would be back soon—although you were definitely enjoying Dew’s attention. Maybe he really did...

You would think about that later.

It was silent for a few minutes, the tapping of your keys the only sound. You resisted the urge to check what the ghoul was up to—once you did you knew he would try to distract you again, and you only had two more minutes.

“Has Cirrus been sending you more porn?” You startled, twisting your head to see he was holding your phone. Fuck.

“No she has not.” You tensed—you knew he shouldn’t be able to get into your phone, but you still felt a small fear curling in your stomach at the thought of him somehow seeing your conversations with Cirrus. The ones that were mostly about him.

“Then what has she been sending you?” He mocked a gasp. “Not her own videos?”

You stood, closing your laptop. It’s not like you were going to get anything else done anyway.

“Give me my phone back Dewdrop.”

He twisted around so he could see you, the balaclava under his mask slipping enough to give you a glimpse of a toothy smile.

“Make me.”

You narrowed your eyes, taking in the ghoul on your bed. He stared back at you, lifting his chin slightly in a challenge.

At that moment, the door opened, Cirrus returning from her meeting with Papa.

She glanced between the two of you, bracing her hands on her hips. You shot her a look of relief, gesturing towards Dewdrop.

“Can you help me with this?”

Dew snorted, rolling onto his stomach to face you, the phone still in his hands as he propped himself up on his elbows.

“Told you my company was better,” he said to Cirrus.

“I can see that.” The ghoulette sounded amused. “Now get out of my spot or I’ll tell Mountain it was you who broke his drums last week.”

Dew scowled back. “You wouldn’t dare.”

Cirrus tilted her head, a knowing smile breaking across her lips.

“It would be very unfortunate if Sister Imperator was to also somehow find out about what you did to that shelf of rare books in the library—“

“Fucking okay!” Dew sighed, languidly stretching before rolling reluctantly off the bed.

You watched as he stepped around the bed, wondering just how much blackmail Cirrus had on each of the ghouls. Maybe she was on to something—you made a mental note to hold on to any future information.

Dew stopped in front of you, holding out your phone. You hesitantly reached out for it, expecting a trick of some sort.

Instead, he let you take it, although he made sure to brush his fingers against yours.

“See you at rehearsals tomorrow.” He leaned in, whispering cockily. “I know you won’t be able to take your eyes off me.”

You gave him a small smirk, though your heart was racing. “We’ll see.”

He hummed in response, before Cirrus grabbed him by the arm and pushed him out of the room. She shut the door, cutting him off mid-curse.

You raised a questioning eyebrow at her.

“Don’t tell me you wanted him to stay,” she said, mocking disbelief with a hand to her chest. You rolled your eyes playfully.

“And if I did?” A smile ghosted your lips at the thought of Dew staying—but you also needed to actually sleep, and that wasn’t going to happen with him around.

Cirrus sighed, shaking her head. “Do you believe me now? You definitely have a chance with him.”

You felt red creeping across your cheeks. You really were starting to think that it was possible, but a part of you still held back a little. Before your thoughts could begin to drown you, Cirrus grabbed your hand and pulled you down towards the bed. You flipped your phone onto the bedside table—those videos could wait until the morning.

Cirrus pulled you in close, nuzzling into your shoulder as you wrapped your arms around her. She flicked off the light with her tail, plunging the room into darkness.

“What did Copia want?” You asked quietly as the two of you settled into a comfortable position.

“He wanted to check everything still fit for the upcoming performances, and that there weren’t any adjustments that needed to be made last minute.”

You nodded against her shoulder. That sounded like Copia—he was always remembering something he had forgotten right at the last minute. You thought fittings would have been sorted a few weeks ago.

“Annnd,” Cirrus dragged out the word, a hint of excitement in her voice, “we’re all getting capes.”

Capes? “No way. That’s going to be awesome!”

She hummed in agreement. “They look fabulous too.” You chuckled.

“I’m sure you’ll look ravishing.”

“I always do,” she purred. “Everyone else will have one too, even your little fire ghoul.”

Dewdrop with a cape? Fuck, you couldn’t wait to see that. Wait—

“He’s not my little fire ghoul.” You rolled over a little, peering at her through the darkness.

Cirrus laughed quietly, and you scowled.“He’s not.”

“Whatever you say, sweetheart.”

[gondorosi]

A story of identity, loss and the misplaced children of ASOIAF

Thematically speaking, ASOIAF is one hell of a loaded tree. Even a gentle shake of the trunk is enough to dislodge atleast a couple. But through all these elements, the themes of loss and identity form the foundation, and the children of the saga are inescapably bound to these threads.

In the interest of clarity (and simply because I care about them the most), I’ll focus on Jon, Dany and Arya. And yes, they ARE children. 

Dany 

The shadow of destiny hangs heavy over Dany’s head. She’s almost certainly the centerpiece of the Azor Ahai prophecy (whether alone or in conjunction with Jon remains to be seen). She’s being slowly, but steadily, driven towards a fate much bigger than herself - considering just how many ‘suitors’ are out there vying for her (i.e her dragons) at the point of ADWD it almost seems as though iron pincers are closing in around her. But what brings Dany to this point?

We first come across ‘the house with the red door’ in Dany’s first introduction where she is being prepared for Drogo’s perusal (blech) at Illyrio’s mansion. Dany’s ruminations of home and childhood center around the manse where she and Viserys were sheltered by Ser Willem Darry and the place where she last knew some semblance of carefree joy and childhood innocence.

Dany had cried when the red door closed behind them forever

Ser Willem’s death signaled the end of safety and the beginning of a long journey of wandering the free cities looking for shelter. Through her marriage to Drogo, gradual acceptance within the khalasar, finding her voice and her strength and her dragons, Dany never stops yearning for that elusive sense of home. 

She was walking down a long hall beneath high stone arches. She could not look behind her, must not look behind her. There was a door ahead of her, tiny with distance, but even from afar, she saw that it was painted red. She walked faster, and her bare feet left bloody footprints on the stone.

We may interpret the red door in a number of ways, but they all boil down to a half remembered memory, tinged with nostalgia. It’s freedom, and safety and a sense of belonging. Its something she desperately wants but which seems to slip further and further away from her, and it seems as though every decision she’s ever taken in her life is pulling her away from it in the opposite direction. 

Dany’s search for home takes place on a blank canvas. She has some memory of what home feels like, but no answer to what it looks like. She’s tried to find happiness and belonging with Drogo and the Dothraki under the stars on an endless plain, but that wasn’t to be. As of ADWD she’s TRYING to feel at home in Mereen, but by now she’s fixated on Westeros as home, even though the place isn’t quite real to her. The Iron Throne is only tangentially associated - in her mind the Throne belonged to Viserys and she’s his heir thus its her duty to recover it. But Dany wants to go HOME - in her mind Westeros is everything she is looking for. 

She’s battling with the specters at the back of her mind going 

“See what you were supposed to have? They took it from you and you will never know what it was like. You will never know happiness.’ 

Jon 

Unlike Dany, Jon knows exactly where he wants home to be and at the same time knows with absolute certainty that it will never be. The narrative wastes no time in showing us that there’s no place for Jon behind Winterfell’s walls, and that Jon knows it, resents it and fears it. 

There was no place for him in Winterfell, no place in King's Landing either. Even his own mother had not had a place for him.

He’s just barely 14 at the beginning of his POV and I don’t want to think of a 6 or 7 year old Jon wandering the halls of his home thinking over Robb laughing at him wanting to be Lord of Winterfell. But it is what it is, and by the time the story begins, Jon has already accepted that his path, if any, will lead him out of the Stark castle. In a way, whatever remains of his sense of youthful hope looks upon the wide world outside the walls with wistful longing, since he’s pretty much sealed himself inside a frozen prison.

Winterfell was down that road, and beyond it Riverrun and King's Landing and the Eyrie and so many other places; Casterly Rock, the Isle of Faces, the Red Mountains of Dorne, the hundred islands of Braavos in the sea, the smoking ruins of old Valyria. All the places that Jon would never see. The world was down that road... and he was here. 

Jon’s search for his own place and purpose in the world is strikingly similar to Dany’s search for home even though we’re looking at two seemingly different objectives. Dany knows exactly who she is, but not where she wants to, or needs to be. Jon knows exactly where he needs to be, but has no true sense of who he is. His entire sense of identity is wrapped up in being Ned Stark’s bastard son - but with the bitterness of being unmoored, unwanted and unseen.

He was who he was; Jon Snow, bastard and oathbreaker, motherless, friendless, and damned. For the rest of his life-however long that might be-he would be condemned to be an outsider, the silent man standing in the shadows who dares not speak his true name. 

Jon’s fate is hurtling towards him at a dangerous pace by the time we reach ADWD, even though he’s now started to take charge of his own future. 

The castle is always empty. Even the ravens are gone from the rookery, and the stables are full of bones. That always scares me. I start to run then, throwing open doors, climbing the tower three steps at a time, screaming for someone, for anyone. And then I find myself in front of the door to the crypts. It's black inside, and I can see the steps spiraling down. Somehow I know I have to go down there, but I don't want to. I'm afraid of what might be waiting for me. The old Kings of Winter are down there, sitting on their thrones with stone wolves at their feet and iron swords across their laps, but it's not them I'm afraid of. I scream that I'm not a Stark, that this isn't my place, but it's no good, I have to go anyway, so I start down, feeling the walls as I descend, with no torch to light the way. It gets darker and darker, until I want to scream. That's when I always wake.

The specters in his life are grey shadows and stone figures going 

“This is not yours. This will never be yours. See what you covet, not-Stark and weep for you will never know it.”

Arya

Arya’s path is one which enmeshes both Jon and Dany’s yet in a different manner. Her loss of home and identity has little of the unknown - she knows what she’s lost and she knows who she was before she began her commitment to the Faceless Men. Her uprooting and subsequent fugitive journey comes with an extra helping of poignancy - she’s not looking for something she has never known but desperately hopes for, but she’s literally wishing to go back in time to a place she remembers with ABSOLUTE clarity.

It's just a stupid sword," she said, aloud this time... but it wasn't. Needle was Robb and Bran and Rickon, her mother and her father, even Sansa. Needle was Winterfell's grey walls, and the laughter of its people. Needle was the summer snows, Old Nan's stories, the heart tree with its red leaves and scary face, the warm earthy smell of the glass gardens, the sound of the north wind rattling the shutters of her room. Needle was Jon Snow's smile.

What makes it worse is that we SEE how Arya begins to lose everything dear to her, beginning with Mycah, her notions of justice and fairness and then most heartbreakingly, Nymeria. Prior to the beginning of the story, Arya was the odd one out, but there was no questioning that she was a Stark of Winterfell. post her escape from KL, it is imperative that she sets herself aside from that identity if she is to survive. The road towards Braavos, and No One, begins to form slowly.

But there is no pack," she whispered to the weirwood. Bran and Rickon were dead, the Lannisters had Sansa, Jon had gone to the Wall. "I'm not even me now, I'm Nan.

“You are Arya of Winterfell, daughter of the north. You told me you could be strong. You have the wolf blood in you."

"The wolf blood." Arya remembered now. "I'll be as strong as Robb. I said I would." She took a deep breath, then lifted the broomstick in both hands and brought it down across her knee. It broke with a loud crack, and she threw the pieces aside. I am a direwolf, and done with wooden teeth.

Arya is much younger than Jon and Dany and has horrors heaped upon her in a far shorter span of time. She’s had to watch her father die, get captured by the Mountain and watch Yoren die, serve at Roose Bolton’s side in Harrenhal and arrive just at the time of the Red Wedding and as Nymeria, pulls her mother’s corpse out of the water. It’s understandable that her anger builds up and she begins to reject her father’s words and her mother’s gods.

The old gods are dead, she told herself, with Mother and Father and Robb and Bran and Rickon, all dead. A long time ago, she remembered her father saying that when the cold winds blow the lone wolf dies and the pack survives. He had it all backwards. Arya, the lone wolf, still lived, but the wolves of the pack had been taken and slain and skinned.

I am not entirely sure where Arya’s arc is going to end up since there’s no clear ‘destiny’ guiding her. In that sense her journey is entirely of her own making. 

She’s waging a war against the ghosts whispering 

“See what you had? This won’t ever be yours again. This is what happiness was. It was taken from you and you will never get it back again.”

[whatscallion]

rise: ch. i

//- A Medieval AU with the help of @cptsteven who always encourages my muse to no end.

Chapter Word Count: 1,599

Previous Chapters: Prologue

Tagging: @cptsteven @blackberrywidow ( message / ask to get tagged! )

Strides were swift and light as the man dressed in regal white and silver pressed forward. The blood red sash encircling his form branding allegiance. News would only travel as fast as the one gripping it tightly, but this would prompt outrage, shifting inner workings of The Order on an almost monumental scale. One of the Trinity Bloodlines, Romanova, was due to bring another warrior for the Church into the world. It was not a messenger parting through the sea of red cardinals standing before their leader, the Archbishop Johann. With diligence, he moved, the hood held to frame his features, obscuring them from those offering only a passing glance. Within his gait alone, the lives taken etched weight into his bones, hardening through like molten steel gone cold. Purpose held him upright, the constant baptism in blood staining him as a ruthless Hand of God.

It was duty holding him to offer information on the state of his modest household. Others existed in this bloodline, but none were as fierce as Ivan, the eldest son of Sergei, a boy long ago showing promise of tactics and indifference. Through the generations of these Houses, indifference replaced that of faith once preached within hallowed walls in order to preserve that which was preached.

Upon reaching the front doors of the ornate cathedral, Ivan pushed through without hesitation or permission, drawing an audible gasp from those awaiting an audience with the famed leader. Two guards stood on either side of the worn wood, though neither made a move to stop the ghost from continuing forward across pristine rugs lining the center aisle between pews.

“Ah, Brother Ivan,” bellowed a voice from a falsely decorated altar. The Holy Trinity was portrayed in innocence and worship, yet the feigned holiness fell on deaf ears between the two viable men. “I have not received word from you in a fortnight. Tell me, brother mine, what brings you forth to my modest house of worship this eve?” Pleasantries aside, Ivan knew better than most there lie a vile sarcasm in words spoken with such adhered deliverance. Long strides made little work of eating up the distance between entry and Archbishop.

“The woman has taken ill, Archbishop. Similar to that of Murdoch last winter. I fear she may fall beneath the same curse, bestowing it upon mine own unborn son.” This vessel they spoke of, demeaning in the absence of a name, was the Baroness of the East,Baroness of the East, Katerina Belsky. A wealthy woman who had found a peculiar loophole through social hierarchy, leaving her with her father’s sizable estate. It would be this estate that drew Ivan to her like a moth to flame, with intentions impure as to add everything she owned to that of The Order’s already grandeur wealth. The worry etched into Ivan’s scarred facade was not for that of the Baroness, but of the child still seated within her womb. To create an army, only the Trinity was permitted to add ranks. The courtship of Baroness Belsky had been exhausting, wariness of Ivan’s true motives proving to be arduous at best.

“Worry not, Brother. The Lord will have a just plan for the son you wish to bring into the world.” The Archbishop’s pleasantries were barely tolerated, for the soldier knew better than most what monster lay beneath that ivory veneer. His agitation was noted with the narrowing of eyes, malice coating the man of the cloth suddenly and painting his cheeks a deep crimson in harsh honesty. “Bring the whore here to the Cathedral, and we will see to it that your legacy be preserved better than that of Brother Joseph and his growing disappointment of an heir.”

Plans lain in the darkest of valor would be strictly obeyed, for the Archbishop’s grand plan was several years in the making and coming to fruition so beautifully. The smaller kingdoms would soon fall prey as this polished army of lethality was unleashed to dispatch rulers from this earthly realm. A low bow would come from Ivan in show of reverence, of which Johann stepped down from his almighty pedestal above others and curl skeletal fingers beneath his highest standing assassin’s chin, bringing cold eyes to meet that of his own.

“I trust you are aware of what will become of your woman should she enter the chambers beyond the alter.” Connotation pointed at delicate precision, prodding to find a possible weakness that most tended to fall into: love.

“Yes,” Ivan answered quickly, loyalty displayed without a doubt in the one syllable offered. Johann was satisfied, wickedness curling the corners of his lips into that of something that could only be described as evil. Color blanched from the holy man, preserving that innocence feigned, humility replacing malcontent and unrivaled ambition. Upon straightening, an already cold mask carved of granite grew frigid in steely determination. It delighted the Archbishop to see his Brother go through such a visceral shift in demeanor. “I shall have her here within a fortnight.”

Ivan delivered five night’s after his impromptu meeting with the leader of the flock. The journey had been grueling, but necessary for the Lady Katerina was on the brink of birth upon his arrival in her native land. There was no stopping to rest, no slowing down. It was imperative to get the woman to the cathedral before his son entered the world. Haste edged his every move, but thank the Almighty above, they had made it in time.

The Baronness was assisted into the back chambers, and the fleeting glance over her shoulder, terror framed in curls of crimson, would be the last time Ivan saw the woman. It would remain unknown to him, her fate, but in truth, her death was not from the birth of their shared child. Upon laying eyes on the babe pulled from her, the dagger would slice cleanly across the slender column of her throat, and the child would be coated in the grim violence that would surely immerse its life.

“Brother Ivan.” Johann’s voice held not the congratulatory tone he had hoped, but one of precarious warning. Robes once a pristine white was now tarnished perfectly in the life given and taken as he entered the main hall of his vast abode. Ivan had stood upon hearing his leader’s voice, subtle hope threatening to shatter the remains of a man still clinging to an ideal residing solely in his would-be son.

“Archbishop,” he regarded.

“The woman died during childbirth. Unfortunate, I must say. She was a rather lovely specimen who would have mothered many for our sake.” The lie was there, and Ivan could see through it. Semantics were necessary for even the walls had ears beyond that of his concurrent privacy. “But the curse...it has done the unthinkable.” Ivan’s face blanched at the mention of an unquenched burden. “Your son. He...You have no son.”

“He died as well?” Grief was quick to grip the killer’s heart, but the shake of Johann’s head only served confusion in his wake. “Then what, Johann?” Impatience got the better of the man, removing prideful titles and forcing the Archbishop to deliver a harsh slap across the man’s face. Apologies immediately riddled Ivan’s mask, rosiness blossoming quickly in his cheek. “My apologies, my Lord.”

“Your son,” Johann continued, now considerably less careful in his spat words. “He never was a son. He is your daughter. The cursed whore birthed you a daughter.”

Failure sat heavily on Ivan’s heart, shoulders once held strong with confidence now slumped in defeat. So much work had gone to waste for something as ultimately pathetic as a daughter.

No, this would not go to waste. Determination reignited a fire in the center of his chest, tactics and strategies coming to mind as quickly as synapses could fire. This could be turned in their favor, and Johann noticed the workings behind the brute’s cold eyes.

“Allow me the chance to redeem the Romanov bloodline.” The plea was hidden beneath the subtle demand, Ivan knowing very well that he was more apt to be rejected than anything. “Archbishop Johann, my ancestors have shown that we are the most ideal in this service, outperforming that of Belova and Murdoch combined. Allow me this chance, this exception, to deviate from tradition and show you that any child born from my loin will prosper as the best Instrument of God you could ever hope for.”

For what seemed to be an eternity, Johann did not answer. Instead, cold eyes washed over the man before him, the same who had never crossed him nor let him down in any sense of failure. But to do this would be to announce a sense of weakness. No, not weakness. There was no weakness in favoritism. It would provide motivation for the other bloodlines to step forward and pick up their slack.

“You son was to be christened Nathanial, correct?”

“Yes, your Holiness.”

“Your daughter will be Natalia, and she will bare your surname. But let it be known, Brother Ivan, that leniency will not be given at all. If she is not perfection, she will be dealt with the same as every other birthed girl.”

“I understand, Sire.”

“She will not fail, Ivan,” he stated. “I will kill her myself if she does.” Katerina Belsky. A wealthy woman who had found a peculiar loophole through social hierarchy, leaving her with her father’s estate. And it would be this estate that drew Ivan to her with the motive of adding said estate to the growing tendrils of The Order.

[throughtheglassdarkly]

Missing Pieces, part 4

Welcome back. When last you were here, Evain crashed Pam’s birthday and Yova tried to kiss a ghost. Onward.

A few days after we dealt with the Shepherd of Lonely Roads and felt secure in Pam’s daughter not being at any risk, we all managed to stumble into our next bit of trouble. Yova wasn’t there, but I’m going to blame her for it anyway. You see, it all started on the day she was going to take Marigold out to lunch for their first date. Day had been trying to get a private investigator business up and running and was off doing something for that, but Pam, Bella, and I were all extremely interested in what Yova was getting up to. So we decided to spy on her date. Clearly, it was all her fault for going out when nothing was on TV.

Also, around the time I knew she was getting ready to leave for her date, I sent Paisley flying up to Yova’s balcony with a dental dam. She sent Paisley back with an elegantly written scorcher of a note thanking me for my concern about her health and promising to return the favor and I laughed and laughed and laughed and felt my insides burn with the kind of glee that can come only from Satan.

I knew Yova was planning to take Marigold to a classy bistro maybe fifteen minutes’ walk from our apartment building. So beforehand, Pam, Bella, and I showed up and grabbed a table in the corner nearest the door. We were all very subtly wearing giant sunglasses and scarves and hiding behind menus. Amazingly, Yova and Marigold didn’t seem to notice us and were taken to a table more in the back, where Yova immediately started turning on the charm and Marigold was looking delighted at how Yova was sweeping her off her feet.

Unfortunately, that’s about when the trouble started. Bella was the one who first noticed the guy – a man standing across the street, staring very intently at our table. She wasn’t able to place her finger on where she’d seen his face before, but when she pointed him out to us, I had a moment of horrible recollection: the skin tone was slightly different and he didn’t have a mohawk, but otherwise he looked exactly like Buck, one of the loyalists who’d captured us and taken us to Arcadia in the first place.

I was confused for a second, because we should easily have been able to see through his mask to what his mien was. Pam reminded me that it was possible to spend Glamour to hid your mien, which we figured he was doing so he could remain incognito. Our attention was completely distracted from Marigold and Yova and we started trying to figure out what he was doing and why he would be staring at us. We saw him taking down a lot of notes, then shutting his notebook in a huff, stretching, and starting to walk down toward a bus stop.

We sprang into action. I paid the waitress for our drinks and Pam and Bella headed out to intercept him. Pam managed to distract him by talking to him and asking for directions (leaning very heavily on the Minnesota accent), while Bella slipped into invisibility to try and lift his notes. Since Buck was responsible for me getting captured, I decided to hang out on the patio of the bistro and run after him, if need be. Pam was able to keep him awkwardly engaged where he wasn’t able to end the conversation and leave while Bella slipped up behind him to grab his notepad. And continued being the least stealthy Darkling that has ever walked the face of the planet, as she missed and he felt the pull on his bag. He turned and started looking at Bella, who was materializing out of nowhere. Thankfully, as he adjusted his bag, she was able to grab the notebook and run. He took off running in the opposite direction, which is when I sprang into action.

Bella had a lot of people staring at her because she suddenly appeared out of nowhere. As she ran in the opposite direction of Buck, she started screaming, “Student film! Don’t worry! Everything’s fine!” Pam managed to save the day by starting to clap and getting others clapping, even though they were confused. Once Bella found a place to hide, she read through the notes and saw it was mostly a list of places and times. It didn’t take her long to realize they were places she’d specifically been, as well as notes on her preferred forms of transportation. Tucked in the back was an envelope with a red wax seal that had a skull with no eye sockets and a dagger slicing through the side of the skull. (Yeah, real subtle.) After struggling with the seal mightily for a few minutes, she managed to use all her rock-extracting force to get it open. The letter was complete gibberish that she couldn’t make heads or tails of.

In the other direction, I kept hot pursuit of Buck, who was looking really weirded out at me chasing him. He rounded a corner into an alley and I followed him, cornering him. “Hey, buddy, how’s it going?” I asked him. He looked like he wanted to retort something but was at a complete loss for words. I asked if he was Buck and he scoffed, “Well, if you already know it, there’s no point in denying it.” I asked if he recognized me and he squinted at me, saying maybe, but that he couldn’t place me. As he was doing this, I spotted him eyeing a window that had a dim reflection in it. He bit the inside of his cheek, winced, and spat blood in his hand. I realized at the last second what he was about to do and as he jumped forward, reaching out with his hand, I leapt and kicked out the window, shattering it. I have literally never felt more badass in my whole entire life.

“Fuck!” he yelled. “Nah, not right now,” I said. He facepalmed and I told him that he should remember me because of a bark and dried leaf canape. He squinted again and said, “Oh, yeaaaah! You know, that was Aurora’s idea. I thought it was kind of stupid, but it worked!” He swore that he wasn’t working for Scathach anymore, or for any of the Fae. “I’m in new work now, doing surveillance.” But when I asked him who he was working for, he wouldn’t tell me. I decided to take the honey-over-vinegar approach, offering to put in a good word for him with the freehold if he was willing to talk about what he knows. He seemed to consider this for a second, then rejected it, saying that he’d done too much for them to ever take him in.

Pam showed up around this time and I caught her up on what was going on. Faced with the two of us, Buck finally admitted he was working for a group called the Knights of the Widow’s Walk, who aren’t affiliated with the freehold. I asked why they wanted to know about us, and he couldn’t say because the missions weren’t always wordy. He started digging around in his messenger bag and his eyes got wide. After a second, he yelled, “Shit, my envelope! That little goth freak got it!” He looked up at us and told us he’d find us to get it back and stormed off. Pam and I looked at each other with a shrug. As much as we didn’t want to let him go, he at least didn’t seem to be an immediate threat, so we met back up with Bella.

As we were walking down to where Bella ran to, I heard a voice say, “Hey. Hey, you, tall guy. With the pretty lady. I got the good shit,” and a set of pastel-painted fingernails emerged from the shadows, waving the notebook. “Who, me? My mother always told me not to buy anything from disembodied voices,” I said. Bella slipped out of the shadows and showed us the letter. Pam and I looked at it and we quickly realized it was a cypher of some sort, a message where the letters all stand in for another letter. It would take some time to crack, but we would have to do it eventually, so we went back to my apartment to sit down and try to solve it.

As we got home, I saw that Yova’s crappy pickup was in the parking lot, though given how close the bistro was, that wasn’t any guarantee that she and Marigold were there. I woke Paisley up from her nap and asked if she’d be willing to flit up to Yova’s balcony and see if they were there. She gave me the most indignant expression I’ve ever gotten from a gecko and flew over to her box, settling in and closing her eyes. “Paisley. I’ll make you an extra batch of crickers,” I promised. She raised her head slightly, eyeing me. “With extra ground crickets on top, mixed with sea salt?” I asked. She turned her head and settled in, not having anything to do with it. “Paisley. Paisley!” I said. “This is the unkindest cut of all. What have I ever done to you but love you and feed you and clean out your little box?” She flicked her tail dismissively and that was the end of that.

We settled around my table with a bowl of popcorn and some apple cider. I put The Great British Bake Off on in the background and we set to work on trying to crack the cypher. It took us a solid two hours to do so, but we eventually did, getting the following message:

“I am assuming, my knight, that you have successfully captured your quarry. For that I must commend you. Helldivers are a slippery lot, though I trust the manacles I sent along with the first part of this mission made it significantly easier. They should keep our friend from activating her blessing. I do hope you remembered to wear gloves while touching them. It is imperative that you do not speak with the Helldiver on your own. Do not speak with her at all. Your mission is only to capture and keep her until the Larger Threat has been neutralized. Once this has been done, a more seasoned Knight will come to retrieve her. You will know his coming by the phrase, ‘I say three times, your mission is complete.’ You will receive further instructions after the completion of this task. The Courier will meet you at the usual location.”

Bella, understandably enough, was starting to freak out at this and Pam gave her a reassuring hug. After we cracked the code, we looked back through Buck’s notebook to see what we could understand from his notes. We realized that there were specific notes when she was “with the Big Guy” and “not with the Big Guy.” I wondered if it was the creepshow who was trying to distill their essences back in the Goblin Market – it was the two of them who were captured and he did know Bella was a Helldiver from seeing her silver string. I sent Day a text, warning him about it and telling him to get in touch with us when he could.

Bella was definitely shaken, functional but not feeling great. We agreed that she and Pam could stay at my place for the meantime, and she got in touch with Duke Lamington, Mistress Lilly’s second in command, who told her that if she needed to, she could safely stay at a B&B the Spring Court owned. We all agreed that the Courts would want to know about a former loyalist spying on members of the freehold, so I called Stella, who was the most prominent Autumn courtier I’d been in regular contact with. Her voicemail was typically brusque: “You’ve reached Stella. Leave a message, and if it’s important, I’ll return your call.” So I, being the petty bastard I am, decided to leave her a masterclass in passive-aggressive voicemails.

“Hi, Stella, it’s Derek. I don’t know if this is important enough, but we just ran into a former loyalist who’s been watching Bella like a hawk, saying that he works for some group called the Knights of the Widow’s Walk, and I thought the Court would probably want to know about it. Like I said, don’t know if it matters, but if it does, here’s my number so you can call me back. Bye!” About thirty minutes later, I got a call back. When I picked up, before I could even say hello, I just heard her yelling, “COURT HALL NOW,” and disconnecting. I hung up, looked at Pam and Bella, and said, “She thinks it’s important.”

I activated my Mirror Walk contract (after the bathroom mirror incident when I brought the others to the Autumn lodge, I bought a full-length mirror from IKEA for my bedroom) and took Pam and Bella through. This was the first time Bella had been in the Autumn lodge, and she sadly didn’t look too impressed. “I’m glad I didn’t choose Autumn. This doesn’t go with my aesthetic,” she said. Stella was sitting by the giant fireplace in the foyer with ramrod straight posture, and I couldn’t help but notice the other courtiers were giving her a wide berth. She invited us to sit and apologized for her tone on the phone, explaining she was shocked. As we sat, she was staring straight at Bella, causing Bella to squirm. She said, “There’s no nice way of asking this, so I’ll apologize in advance. But if there is anything you have ever said, thought, or communicated that might indicate you are in league with the Gentry, I need to know that now.” Bella told her that she’d never even considered it and when Stella asked me for my opinion, I backed that up.

Stella seemed to relax slightly at that and said, “Then I’ll chalk this up to misinformed prejudice.” She looked at me and said, “As I’m sure you are aware, my – our – court isn’t exactly looking well right now with the incident at the Harvest Fair, so I would appreciate if you handle this matter with some discretion. If the Knights are operating within the freehold, then there is a loyalist somewhere. They believe it’s Bella. You seem to believe it is not and I am willing to risk trusting your judgment this once.” She explained that Helldivers aren’t common outside Arcadia because they’re often spies for the Gentry, easily pulled back by their silver thread. Because we could see that Bella’s thread was broken, we knew she was free from her Keeper, but external eyes might not be able to see that so clearly.

Stella told us that the Knights of the Widow’s Walk are an independent changeling organization dedicated to rooting out and identifying loyalists, so if they were here, then there had to be a loyalist in the freehold. She told us that we really had only three options: either find the loyalist, try to speak with the Knights ourselves, or keep running. She said she was going to conduct her own investigation and asked that we do anything we were interested in subtly. I offered to pass information we found along to her subtly and she excused herself to make the council aware of what was going on.

Pam and Bella decided to sit down by the fire for a minute and figure out what our next move was. I excused myself, telling them I had an important collaborative research matter to attend to. Which I did. It was collaborative and it did involve research. There were a few Autumn courtiers who had requested certain information from me, and I knew that I could pass that information along and it would get to the right ears. I only found one of them, a man whose skin was made of porcelain and who tended to help fix mechanical issues. Nobody I spoke to ever knew his name, he just showed up when things needed fixing.

So I sidled up next to him discreetly and he looked at me. I leaned in and whispered, “Champagne, strawberries, and oysters were all ordered.” He raised his eyebrows and said, “Niiiiice.” Marigold, as it turns out, was the current baby of the Autumn Court (a title I took soon after), and a few of the courtiers wanted to make sure she had a good time. I told him about delivering the dental dam to Yova via Paisley and he offered me a fist to bump. Yay for making friends!

Back at the fireplace, Bella was actually getting serious for probably the first time since we were all captured and taken to Arcadia. She told Pam that she didn’t want to run any more because that was all we did back there. Pam asked her if she wanted to try and find the real loyalist or talk to the Knights and Bella wasn’t sure. Pam suggested that we try to get in contact with the Knights somehow, though she didn’t want to put Bella at risk. I rejoined them and suggested we go back to the bistro and get something to eat while we planned our next move. They both agreed that sounded good, so I activated my contract again and we went back to my apartment before heading out to get a bite to eat.

Yova and Marigold were long gone by the time we arrived, so we had some time to settle in and enjoy our meal. Bella seemed to feel a trifle better afterward, and we returned back to my apartment. As we were walking up to my front door, I couldn’t help but notice some muddy footprints outside my door. I held up a hand for Pam and Bella to stop and pointed to the footprints. I slipped in to see what was going on. The footprints continued through my kitchen and into the carpeted living room, where Buck was lying on the couch (muddy boots on the pillows, of course), in a serious glaring contest with Paisley. She was perched on the coffee table glaring at him and he was glaring straight back at her.

“I see you met my guard gecko,” I said. “Yeah, I did,” he said dryly, turning to look at me. I saw he had a nasty scorch mark on his cheek and I smiled, telling Paisley, “Good girl.” She fluttered over to me and nestled in my feathers. Pam and Bella came in when they didn’t immediately hear a struggle and Buck asked for his letter back. I told him that if he told us what he was keeping an eye on Day and Bella for, he could have the letter.

“Look, all I have is my mission. I was keeping an eye on the big guy because he seems to like you and I didn’t want him between you and me when I went to get you,” he told Bella. Bella told him that she wanted to scratch his face off. He shrugged and made possibly his biggest mistake, calling her a little girl. She immediately grew her claws out and he flinched back. “Look, we all do what we gotta do to survive,” he said. “So what, they’re gonna kidnap me and Day, interrogate us, only to find out there’s nothing going on?!” Bella snapped.

Tempers were starting to flare, so I cleared my throat and offered a suggestion: that Buck pass a note along to his spymaster from us, asking to meet and discuss what was going on. He shrugged and said he couldn’t promise anything, but that he’d pass it along to a courier. I sat down at my dining table with my journal and started writing a note. As I did, I noticed Buck was still leaning with his boots up on my couch. “You know, there was a mat you could’ve wiped your fucking boots on,” I said. “Whatever. It’s not my house,” he said. The note I wrote and gave to him read as follows:

“Dear Sir and/or Madam Spymaster: We’ve recently become aware of your intention to acquire a member of our motley, whom you appear to suspect of some wrongdoing. We are terribly distressed by this and wish to parlay, if possible, with you or a representative at a time and place that is convenient. We would be more than willing to assist in your investigation if you are willing to cease attempting to capture our associate. Please let us know if this is agreeable. All the best, Derek, pledged courtier of the Autumn Court Greater Freehold of Upstate New York”

Buck took the letter and his envelope and reiterated that he couldn’t promise we’d get the response we wanted, but that he would send it along. He took his leave and I got out the carpet cleaner, starting to scrub the mud off the carpet and grumbling about it all the while. Pam helped me get things cleaned up, but as we were doing so, she spotted another envelope none of us had seen before, leaning up against the closet door.

The envelope had another one of the seals of the skull with no eyes and the dagger in it. It wasn’t sealed as sternly as the one Bella had managed to get open earlier, and inside was a single photo. It looked like it had been taken on the shittiest old cell phone camera available and then printed on a printer that was desperately in need of an ink change. Nevertheless, it was unmistakably a picture of Day, slumped against a wall. A neatly written note underneath it read, “Trade?” with a set of coordinates. I managed to sum up what we all were thinking when I said, “Well, shit.”

That’s probably good for now, so I’ll cut it here. Next time, you’ll get to learn exactly how screwy rescue attempts can go. Until then, may your apartments always have linoleum floors.