#last year I looked forward to ghosts more than opening presents

[clockwayswrites]

City Pigeons Bleed Green, part 30

masterpost

It was easy to see why a super hero powered on the sun was from Kansas. Danny had spent more time outside over the last few days than he had in years. Miss Martha had started joking that Danny was turning into a lizard by the way he had taken to lounging on any warm surface if things were still for more than a minute. He couldn’t really deny it either; his favorite spot was the metal roof of the barn.

“Brother!” Damian called from somewhere down below.

“I’m up here!” Danny shouted back.

“Yes, of course you are,” Damian said, the words more a grumbled aside than anything.

(Danny thought that Damian was a little sulky about not being able to fly like him and Jon could.)

(But Damian was way better with the animals, so.)

A little bit later the doors on the hay loft opened, followed the sounds of Damian climbing up onto the roof. Danny stayed right where he was and waited for Damian to settle next to him.

“What are you even looking at?”

“The clouds,” Danny said with a little shrug and wave towards the distant thunderheads.

“Why?” Damian said, as incredulous sounding as he ever let himself be.

“Because it’s fun to see things in them.”

“…is this a ghost thing or have you fallen off the roof and hit your head?”

Danny laughed.

Damian scowled.

“Nope. It’s just, like that one there, to the right of the really big one,” Danny pointed. “It looks like stegosaurus.”

“…right, so you have fallen off the roof and hit your head.”

“Hey guys!” Jon chirped as he floated up over the edge of the roof. “What are you doing?”

“Cloud gazing,” Danny said at the same time as Damian said, “Engaging in delusions.”

“Oh sweet,” Jon said and sat down between Danny and Damian. He always seemed to like that, to wedge himself between the two of them so that he was touching both of them. “Oh, that one is totally a boa constrictor who ate an elephant.”

Damian turned to give Jon such a look of being done that Danny dissolved into laughter again. Danny didn’t think Jon got why he was laughing, but that never stopped Jon from joining in. The sounds of their trailing giggles were a distinct contrast to Damian’s long suffering sigh.

“Why do you enjoy being up here so much?” Damian asked, eventually. He didn’t lay down like Danny and Jon but leaned forward onto his knees.

Danny hummed back in question.

“Both of you can fly. You can be so much higher than this roof with ease,” Damian said, “so why do you enjoying being up on a roof like this?”

“Oh, well, it’s like you being up on the Manor roof, isn’t it?” Danny asked after a moment.

“I can’t fly, Brother,” Damian said as if Danny had stupidly forgotten that.

“Duh, but you swing. You can’t fly but you can fly. It’s some of the same reasons you like to be on the Manor roof even though you can be up on top of skyscrapers,” Danny said. “The Manor roof is somewhere safe.”

After a moment, Damian gave a little noise of understanding.

“And also,” Danny continued, “I miss the sun. I didn’t get to see it for so long that I think I’m still making up lost time. The sun here is closer to the type of sun I used to remember. It’s different in Gotham with the clouds and smog and ocean.”

“You can always come here!” Jon said. “Ma and Pa both like you so they wouldn’t mind. Like, if you need sun like this, you can come here.”

“I can’t just show up here,” Danny said, even though the offer made him smile.

“Sure you can! Seriously, they love you already. I can totally tell because of what they got you for your birthday.”

“My what?” Danny asked. It wasn’t his birthday, his birthday was in—oh. His new birthday. Annalise’s death day.

“Wonderful job, Jon,” Damian bit, more harshly than Danny thought was really fair. “The party was supposed to be a surprise.”

“I never said there was a party!” Jon argued. “You’re who just gave that away!”

“Birthday presents, or so I have learned, necessitate a birthday party where family is involved.” Damian said.

Danny thought it said more that Damian had to learn that fact.

Jon huffed. “Ma and Pa aren’t Danny’s family! Though, like, okay, they would have totally adopted Danny if Bruce hadn’t so that might not be the best argument ever.”

“How about I just pretend that neither of you mentioned a present or party or anything,” Danny said, hoping to cut off any arguments. Even though Danny secretly thought that they enjoyed arguing with each other, when Damian and Jon got going they really go going. It was getting late enough that Danny wanted to head it off before the argument was the rest of the night.

Jon snapped his mouth closed before cautiously saying, “That would be easiest.”

“Tt. Fine, that will work,” Damian said.

Danny nodded definitively. “Good. Now come on, Dami, tell us what one of the clouds look like.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“N—”

“Come on, Dami,” Jon urged.

“Just one,” Danny bargained.

“One cloud,” Damian agreed after a ridiculously long pause. After an even longer pause he pointed to a cloud with the tiniest of smirks and said, “That one there looks like a cloud.”

Jon and Danny both booed so loudly Clark came out into the porch to see what was going on.

(There may have been a cow tipping incident early on in the visit that Danny blamed Jon for.)

(Mostly.)

---

AN: Big time skip this chapter! But it gets us to the last parts we need to cover~ This = the first part of chapter 19. I think we will have a short epilogue after this chapter.

[j1nx-l0v3r]

Jinx x Winged!User

-Short idea, based on a c. ai bot of my property. Probably only part.-

Wings of Zaun

[🐋]

The lab was cold, sterile. The air thick with the sharp tang of chemicals and metal. You had known nothing else but this place—Singed’s laboratory, his experiments, his unyielding pursuit of progress. He had taken you in when you were a child, an orphan with no past and no future. He had chosen you, molded you, altered you over the years. And now, at last, his work was complete.

You were no longer just a person. You were something… more.

"Perfect," Singed muttered to himself as he observed you, his sharp eyes scanning every inch of his creation. His gloved hand adjusted his mask before he turned away, seemingly satisfied. "You are ready."

Ready for what? He hadn't said. But soon enough, you found out.

[🐋.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.]

The dim light of the office cast long shadows along the walls, the scent of cigar smoke and damp stone filling the space. Silco sat behind his desk, his mismatched eyes cool and calculating as he regarded Singed.

"You've done impressive work for me before, Singed," Silco said, fingers steepled beneath his chin. "But I must admit, I'm curious. You claim to have created something... extraordinary?"

Singed stepped aside, gesturing toward you as if presenting a finely crafted weapon.

"A being beyond natural limits," the scientist said. "Unbroken by side effects. A true success"

Silco's gaze shifted to you, sharp and assessing. His eyes flicked over your wings—feathered, vast, unnatural in the grimy depths of Zaun. He said nothing at first, only studying you with the same methodical detachment he used when evaluating a new recruit.

Then—

The door burst open.

“Dad! That ogre—”

Jinx stormed in, her voice high with frustration, but the moment her wild, vibrant eyes landed on you, the complaint died on her lips.

She froze.

You saw her pupils dilate, her expression shifting from irritation to something entirely different. Wonder. Awe.

She took a step closer, blue braids swaying with the motion, her grin widening.

“Ohhh," she breathed. "Now that’s new.”

You remained still, unsure how to react under her intense gaze. Then, before you could even think to move, she darted forward, circling you like a curious child inspecting a new toy.

She reached out, fingers ghosting over the edge of your wings, slightly tapping them making you squirm unused to the physical touch. Then snapped them back with a giggle. "You look like an angel. Well, not the prissy, goody-two-shoes kind. More like… a Zaunite angel. A badass one.”

Silco exhaled sharply, rubbing his temples. "Jinx—"

"Can she fly?" she interrupted, eyes gleaming as she turned to Singed. "She can fly, right?"

Singed merely inclined his head. "Her wings are fully functional. Strengthened beyond natural durability. They are far more than an aesthetic success."

Jinx practically vibrated with excitement. “Oh, this is the best thing I’ve seen all week.”

Silco finally stood, stepping closer to you. His presence was like a vice, his scrutiny pressing down like a weight. "And their loyalty?"

Singed answered before you could. "Her understand who they belong to. She raised at my laboratory, she doesn't know anything more but to obey my orders and now yours"

That made Jinx frown, her excitement briefly dimming as she tilted her head. "Pfft. That’s boring. We gotta find them a real name, not just ‘Silco’s pet project’ or whatever."

She turned back to you, flashing an impish grin.

"What d'ya say, wings? Wanna raise a little hell with me?"

Silco sighed. "Jinx—"

But she was already laughing, twirling around like she’d just won the best prize in a game only she understood.

And as you stood there, feeling the weight of three different gazes—Singed’s, Silco’s, and Jinx’s—you realized something.

You had been created in a lab. Shaped by cold calculations. Gifted like a mere object.

𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘑𝘪𝘯𝘹'𝘴 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯'𝘵 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘢𝘯 𝘦𝘹𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵

𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘦𝘭𝘴𝘦 𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘺.

𝚆𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎, 𝙼𝚈𝚂𝚃𝙸𝙲𝚎𝚝𝚊𝚌𝚎𝚊𝚗...

Well, that's all...

[invis-o-william]

Dannymay 2025 - Day 21: Tremors

When the ground trembled, making buildings and the earth itself shake, Amity Park was usually nonplussed about it. Situated near a minor fault line, the city was used to seeing between 5 and ten earthquakes a year. Typically, these were incredibly small. People would feel the earth shake a bit beneath their feet, maybe some taller buildings would sway just a hair. Occasionally, there would be a larger quake, causing buildings to quiver and items on shelves to fall from where they stood. Still, the citizens of Amity Park would just brush themselves off and go about their day.

When ghosts began to arrive in the city though, that’s when people started to notice some changes. The occasional tremor every month or two started to become every few weeks. In addition, the quakes were slowly increasing in intensity. It had taken nearly a year for people to realize once datasets were gathered showcasing the information, and the science department at Amity Park State University had grown quite concerned. 

It was on a Wednesday when it occurred. Dr. Gabriele Abara, head of the APSU Earthquake Center, was on her way to a meeting with the city council. She was planning to present the center’s research on the area’s increase in earthquakes, as well as different ideas for damage mitigation should stronger ones occur in order to try and get ahead of the situation at hand.

Unfortunately, the ideas her faculty had developed would be too little too late. As she was walking up to the Council Chambers building, portfolio in hand, yet another earthquake hit Amity Park. Dr. Abara stumbled as the ground shook like never before. This was no small quake, like the ones earlier observed. The earth around her emitted a terrible groaning noise as it began to tear itself apart, the crevasse it made ripping its way down Court Street. 

It only lasted about a minute, but that was enough for the devastation the earthquake left in its wake to wreak havoc upon Amity Park. Car alarms were blaring, a water main had burst, and rubble filled the street.

Dr. Abara managed to right herself, and against her better judgement, stepped closer to the gap that had formed in the road. The fault rupture was huge, the bottom of the newly formed gorge stretching down at least thirty feet. Eyes widening at the immense scale, she looked down the road to see where the destruction ended. The rupture had traveled down Court Street almost perfectly, going for several blocks and forcing cars to a standstill at many intersections.

There were many others out on the road, and she could see cars stuck in the bottom of the gorge, some stuck upside-down. There were people stuck down there, and who knew how many had perished. Absently, the research papers still held firmly in her grasp slipped from her hands as she scrambled forward. There was no reason for her to call emergency services, the lines were more than likely clogged with how many people there were around her calling for help. Instead she ran to the nearest car that was hanging just enough over the edge of the rupture to cause concern. 

The driver’s side was too close to the edge, but through the back window she could see that the driver was thankfully alive. It looked like they were trying to get a sense of their bearings, so she moved into action. Carefully, she opened the back passenger door and called out to the driver.

“Sir! Are you alright?”

The man jerked his head towards her, clearly caught off guard and in shock.

“I, no, I mean, what the hell just happened?!” He managed to get out.

“An earthquake, we need to get you out of here,” Dr. Abara said as calmly as she could muster. Panic would definitely not be of help in this situation. “Can you climb over to the back seat to get out?”

The man glanced around, but nodded and carefully shuffled himself over the center console, all the while Dr. Abara offered reassuring words. Once the man was safely outside the vehicle, the two backed up from the rupture, the vibration of aftershocks starting to run through the street keeping them on their toes. 

“What the hell do we do?” The man asked, but before an answer could even be thought of, the two were distracted by the sound of screaming. Looking down the street, people were running en masse. Cries of ‘Where did they come from?’ and ‘Ghosts!’ were heard. 

The two glanced at each other in confusion, noting that those around them were also frozen in shock and terror of the events. Either they hadn’t noticed the screaming masses, or were unable to process it all. As the crowd drew closer, a faster woman in the lead made it to the front of the Council Chambers building. The man from the car acted fast though.

“Hey! What’s going on? What ghosts?” The man asked, snagging the sleeve of the woman fleeing the scene.

“The earthquake, it split the ground open in the old Settlers Cemetery!” She cried, eyes wild and full of fear. “Hundreds of ghosts are crawling out!” The woman tore her sleeve from the man’s grasp and continued running away from the scene. 

“Wait! Hold on!” The man cried after her, but it was useless. People were now running through the area, causing those who had been in the vicinity for the initial earthquake to follow in fear like lemmings. Dr. Abara, though, had kept her eyes trained on the origin of the chaos. She watched now as glowing greenish figures began to emerge from the fault rupture, getting closer to where the crowds now were. Following those that fled. Instinctively, she grabbed the man’s hand.

“What’s your name?” She asked, voice barely heard over the cacophony. 

“Richard,” he said, catching sight of the mob of ghosts before he could think to ask her why.

“Ok Richard, I’m Gabi. I think we should run.” She sprinted off, hand still clutched in Richard’s as he followed her on her path, weaving in and out of the crowd. They didn’t dare look back at the ghosts, only praying that ghost hunters or the local hero would arrive in time to help before it was too late.

[shanadraws]

Looking for America

Warnings!: strong language, angst, depressive thoughts, canon reality scene, mentions of sensitive topics, mentions/description of teen pregnancy, r@pe, SA (I'm sorry...), implied trauma, threatening a child, hallucinations

Character: Jemíma Ámbar del Mar Hernández.

A/N: After a year—yes, a 1 year—we are finally back on the track line to write Jemíma lore. Who the hell wants to read it all at once, so I'll try posting it in parts. Unless I decide to carry on with the lore fanfiction, the years will not be in chronological order (we know Ghosts timeline is pretty much fucked up). I don't want any of my fics to fail again. I won't be able to finish it soon either way lol.

"United States of America

Here I am, standing on the other side of the border, in the land of freedom they say. People from all over the world seek refuge and opportunity here in America. I wonder if I have what it takes to not only survive, but perhaps even thrive. I'm all alone, and I'm not sure what the future holds. But I have to keep pushing forward, no matter how difficult it gets.."

«<October 20, 2008

Eagle Pass, Maverick County, Texas, USA.

8:45 a.m.>

An adolescent girl no more than 19 looked out at the vast landscape of America. She thought back to the journey that had brought her here, the gruelling trek through the desert and the fear and uncertainty that had dogged her every step. Now, on the American side of the border, she could hardly believe the sight before her - the sprawling landscape felt a mix of emotions, both hope and despair bubbling just beneath the surface. This land held the promise of a fresh start, away from the chaos and violence she had left behind.

She rummaged through her faded denim jacket, fingers closing around the small packet of birth control pills. With shaking hands, she opened the packet and counted the pills. Just two left. The reminder that supply would run out soon weighed heavily on her mind. The girl slipped the packet back into her jacket, taking one last look at the border before taking a step forward into the unknown.

“This is my chance to rewrite the story to leave behind the pain and trauma of a troubled adolescence. Even though I had no family here, no friends, and no one to call on for help. The thought was both liberating and terrifying. I knew that crossing the border would be dangerous, but I never expected it to be like this, it was a nightmare.. The coyotajes who were supposed to guide tried to take advantage of me, they were holding me at gunpoint, demanding all my money and threatened to harm me if I didn't comply. I was both scared and alone, and I had no choice but to give in, agreed to his terms just to make it out alive. My entire savings, gone just like that. As I watch my last shreds of hope for a new life disappear, I'm filled with a deep sense of helplessness and despair. They may try to fool you with assurances that they will take you across in a few hours… This is not true! They can risk your life.. He is the only one who knows the terrain and, therefore, the only one who can lead you across. I was free from the threat of that fucking bastard, but at what cost? I had no money left, no possessions aside from my nearly empty backpack, and no idea where to go next. I moved from place to place, constantly on the run, always on edge. The journey was itself leaving me weak and famished, every step riddled with the threat of Border Patrols could be lurking around any corner, who could either arrest or gunpoint at me. I was tired and starving, and desperate for a safe haven, but it seemed there's no safe route, just treacherous rocky terrain and ever-present danger.

Every day is a struggle for survival. I'm constantly searching for shelter, trying not to get caught by the patrols, scraps of food to eat, and water to quench my thirst and in the worst situations... It was a living hell. But I knew that with every step I took towards the north, I was getting closer to America.”»

«<October 24, 2008.

Eagle Pass, Maverick County, Texas, USA

2:18 p.m. >

“As I was on the run, my mind drifts back to the small birth control pills I had them stashed in my denim pocket, just two left. I held onto them desperately, knowing that they were my only line of defence against the possibility of being raped. I knew that if taken immediately, the pills could prevent pregnancy, but the problem is, these pills don't work instantly; they only start to take effect after a week, and they need to be taken every day, otherwise they might not work properly. So, I couldn't afford to miss a day, or else I would be in real trouble. But now, with nothing left, I'm feeling vulnerable and anxious about the possibility of getting pregnant and.. I don't want that to happened...

I still recall the situation at the pharmacy in the last town before the border. I had lied and told the pharmacist that I was 17, but she asked for ID and discovered I was a minor. I needed those pills desperately, but the pharmacist refused to sell them to me. I tried to explain that it was an emergency, but it seemed like she couldn't understand. I was stuck, feeling helpless and desperate for something that should have been accessible to me. I'm very scared of how women don't get the proper help to prevent a pregnancy.

It all started with that stupid Border guard. I thought I could trust him, pleading that he would help me. Instead, I became a victim of his assault. How was I supposed to know he would take advantage of me like that? But then I started to wonder if it was my fault? Maybe I shouldn't have been so trusting because I was so desperate to escape this place..

“What can I do in case I'm raped, and I don't want to get pregnant.”

«<October 24, 2008.

Eagle Pass, Maverick County, Texas, USA

3:02 p.m. >

“Each step felt heavier than the last. How long had it been since I had a proper meal? Since I had a full bottle of water instead of desperate sips from puddles and leaky faucets behind gas stations? I reached a point of almost collapsing from dehydration. I started hallucinating, and I swear I saw my best friend, Elena. She looked just like she did back in our hometown—messy ponytail, a smudge of dirt on her cheek from where we used to climb the rooftops. Her soft brown eyes filled with warmth and concern.

The hallucination spoke to me.. “Don't let this place break you. You're strong and you've made it this far, don't give up now. I'm still with you, even if I'm not physically here. You got this, Jemíma”

Oh, what a fucking motivation... I thought

It felt real. Too real. But I knew she wasn’t here. She was thousands of miles away, safe. I hoped she was safe. None of it was. She was gone, and I was alone.

A distant hum of an engine made me freeze. My body tensed as I ducked behind a crumbling stone wall, heart pounding. Border Patrol? A rancher? Or worse—someone looking to take advantage of a girl alone in the middle of nowhere? My body tensed. It wasn’t thunder—there were no clouds in the sky. I turned, scanning the horizon. Dust kicked up in the distance. The truck passed without slowing down. I let out a breath, but I couldn’t shake the paranoia gripping my chest. I needed a plan. Somewhere to rest. Somewhere safe.

But safe didn’t exist in a place like this.

Then—voices. I froze. My body tensed, adrenaline flooding through me like ice water. Men’s voices. These were Americans, judging by their pronounced accent. Border Patrol.

The man—one of the Border Patrol agents—paused, shifting his weight. He muttered something to his partner, who let out a sigh.

“Probably just another damn coyote,” the second man said.

For a moment, she thought she was safe. That they would turn around, get back in their vehicle, and drive off.

But then, the first agent took a step closer. “Still,” he said, voice laced with suspicion. "Better check it out."

Boots crunched against gravel. He was coming right for her.

Panic surged through her veins, every nerve screaming at her to run. But she knew what would happen if she did—if they caught her.

Think.

She reached for the nearest rock, gripping it tight. It wasn’t much, but it was something. If he grabbed her, if he got too close—

“Shit,” the second agent said suddenly. “Look at the time. Shift’s almost over.”

The first man hesitated. “You really wanna go digging through the brush for some stray fuckers?” his partner continued. "Or you wanna clock out and grab a lunch?”

Another pause. Then, a scoff. "Fine," the first agent muttered. “Let’s go.”

Their footsteps retreated. A car door slammed.

And then—silence.

She didn't move until their voices faded into the distance. The girl stayed still, counting the seconds in her head. Ten. Twenty. Thirty. Then, and only then, did she exhale, a shaky, silent breath. She couldn't afford another close call like that. Slowly, carefully, she pushed herself onto her hands and knees. Her tiny body was trembling—exhaustion, dehydration, fear. The encounter with the Border Patrol had left her shaken, but she had no time to dwell on it.

She trudged forward, her sneakers—now caked with dust—barely holding together. The landscape stretched endlessly before her, dry and unforgiving. The Texas sun continued to burn overhead, relentless and cruel.

«<October 24, 2008.

Eagle Pass, Maverick County, Texas, USA

5:18 p.m. >

Hours passed. She wasn’t sure how many.

Her stomach cramped from hunger. Her last real meal had been… how long ago? She couldn’t remember. A stolen piece of bread back in Mexico? A can of something she had scavenged days before?

It didn’t matter.

She had barely been able to keep it down with how sick she felt. The teen girl hesitated, scanning the area. The gas station sat alone off a deserted stretch of road. Her heart leapt. Gas stations meant people. People meant food. Water. A chance. But they also meant risk.

There would be unusual people. Cameras, maybe. And if she got caught, if someone recognized her as an undocumented migrant, they could call the authorities.

Steeling herself, the girl moved toward the station, keeping to the edges of the lot, her steps careful and silent. She reached the side of the building, pressed her back against the warm concrete, and took a slow, measured breath.

Through the smudged window, she could see the inside—a lone cashier, a middle-aged man scrolling through his phone. Shelves stocked with snacks, bottled water, energy drinks. Her throat tightened at the sight of the water.

She just had to be quick. So, she pulled the hood of her jacket up, casting a shadow over her face, and stepped inside. The cool air from the AC sent a shiver down her spine, kept her head down, moving swiftly around the aisles, took some snacks sneakily inside her bag without being noticed and then towards the refrigerated section.

Her fingers wrapped around a bottle of water. Then another.

She turned, heart hammering. The cashier hadn’t looked up.

Good.

The girl started toward the exit, keeping her pace even. Not too fast, not too slow. Just a normal customer. She was almost there.

Then—

“Hey!”

She froze. Her fingers tightened around the water bottles, pulse thudding in her ears. Slowly, she turned her head, trying to keep her expression neutral. The man had finally looked up from his phone. His brows were furrowed, suspicion flickering for a moment in his eyes.

“Forgot to scan that,” he muttered, nodding toward the bottles in her grip. He didn’t know. He hadn’t recognized her as someone who didn’t belong. He was just doing his job.

Forcing a nod, she stepped forward, laced the bottles on the counter, mind racing, pretending to fumble in her jacket pocket as if she had money. Of course, she didn’t. Every cent had been stolen from her before she even made it across the border. Not a single dollar. She could feel the sweat trickling down her back, mixing with the layer of dirt and exhaustion clinging to her skin.

Think, Jemíma. Think.

She had seconds. If she hesitated too long, he’d get suspicious. Her eyes flickered toward the counter. A pack of gum sat near the register, the bright packaging nearly blinding under the fluorescent lights.

“Sorry,” she murmured, voice hoarse from thirst. “Thought I had cash. Guess not.” The cashier didn’t look convinced. His eyes scanned her—her dusty clothes, the way she avoided his gaze.

Run.

Then, in one swift motion, she snatched the bottles and bolted. A chair scraped against the floor as the man shouted, lunging toward the counter, but the girl was already out the door, sprinting into the burning Texas heat.

“Thief!” the cashier yelled. “Hey! Somebody stop her!”

She sprinted across the lot, ignoring the sharp pain in her legs, the burn in her lungs. Behind her, the cashier shouted something—maybe a curse, maybe a threat—but she didn’t turn back to find out.

The only thing that mattered was getting away.

She tore across the lot, darting behind the station, lungs heaving. An old dumpster sat against the wall, the stench of rotting garbage curling into the air. She didn’t care, threw herself behind it, pressing her back against the rusted metal, and clutched the water bottles to her chest.

The cashier had followed her. “You little—where the hell did you go?” His voice was closer now, irritated, but not alarmed enough to call the cops.

The girl bit her lip, forcing herself to stay silent. She heard his steps slow. Then a frustrated sigh.

“Whatever,” he muttered. A second later, she heard him walking away. Only when the sound of the gas station door chime echoed in the distance did she finally exhale. Her hands trembled as she unscrewed the cap of one bottle, tilting it to her lips. The water was warm, but she didn’t care. It was the best thing she had ever tasted.

She wiped the sweat from her forehead, eyes scanning her surroundings. The gas station was small, tucked along a quiet stretch of highway. No sign of the cashier. No cops and no major patrols in sight. That was good. Just the empty stretch of road and the occasional car kicking up dust as it sped by. Then, she spotted it.

An RV truck sat idling near the small market across the road. Parked just off the highway, it looked like it belonged to travellers—maybe retirees or a couple on a road trip.

A middle-aged couple stood outside, browsing a stand selling homemade jams and other goods. The man, tall and broad-shouldered, held a plastic bag while his wife compared labels on jars, chatting with the vendor. The girl pulled her hood lower over her face and stood up, forcing herself to walk toward the market with purpose. If she looked like she belonged, no one would question her.

She kept her distance from the couple, pretending to examine a small display of roadside trinkets and hear bits of their conversation, their accents unmistakably American.

“Last stop before we hit Austin,” the man said to his wife, stretching his arms. “Better grab what you need now.”

Austin.

Her mind worked fast. That meant they were leaving Maverick County—leaving the border behind.

A radio played from the vendor’s booth, static crackling between country songs.

“That should be everything,” the woman finally said, handing over cash.

The vendor chuckled. “Y’all sure you don’t wanna stay a little longer? Get some lunch?”

The man shook his head. “Nah, gotta get back on the road. Long drive ahead.”

Jemíma’s pulse quickened. This was it. If she could get inside that RV, she’d be far away before they even noticed.

The couple turned, walking toward the RV. The door was left slightly ajar as the woman took her time organizing their purchases.

Jemíma took a slow breath. Then, when she was sure no one was looking—She moved. Quick and quiet, she slipped toward the back of the vehicle, searching for a way in.

The back door locked. A window—slightly open.

Her heart pounded.

Without hesitating, she reached up, gripping the edges and hoisting herself up. It was a tight squeeze, her limbs protesting, but she forced herself through. She landed inside with a soft thud. Then, silence.

She didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. Outside, the couple continued chatting, oblivious as she stayed low, crawling toward the small sleeping area with a bed and storage compartments sat at the far end. She slid underneath, pressing herself against the wall, heart hammering.

Inside, the air was thick with the scent of coffee and something sweet—maybe cinnamon. The interior was cozy, filled with personal belongings: blankets draped over the seats, a small bag of fresh groceries resting on the counter.

This wasn’t just a vehicle. It was their home on the road.

If she played this right, she’d be halfway across Texas before they even knew she was there.

“Alright,” the man said, setting the bags down. "Texas, here we come.”

The RV shifted. Jemíma squeezed her eyes shut, praying they wouldn’t check the back.

Then, the engine roared louder. The vehicle lurched forward.

They were on the move.

She had done it. But what now? Trapped in a stranger’s RV, she had no idea what would come next...

[outofconcheol]

Exit West (LMH x F!Reader) - Teaser

pairing: Minho x f!reader (afab) genres/au/rating: angst, smut, some fluff, post-apocalyptic au (based on the Netflix series Sweet Home), 18+ summary: Even when the world is plunged into its darkest hour, you find the faintest light in Minho.

warnings: mentions blood and injuries, food scarcity

word count: 580 for the teaser, anticipated 3k-4k for fic

a/n: happy valentines day, i'm here to break your heart! this was just an idea I had after I finished Sweet Home 2 (let's not talk about it ok). i'm not sure when this will be out, but i am trying to work on it every day so pls look forward to it (and let me know if you want to be tagged)!

The sharp wire of the metal fence cuts into Minho’s palms, digging into his mottled skin, and he braces himself for the jump. Leaping over, Minho lands silently on his feet, skills honed from many years of observing his cats take the same leap from couches or counters. But none of that existed anymore.

His eyes remain sharp, taking in the cover of woods around him, and he remembers that while the trees helped him stay hidden, they hid the monsters from his sight as well. No sooner than he’s managed to calm down the ever-present racing of his heart, he’s swinging the door to the bunker open, closing it quietly behind him.

Wincing, he examines the cuts on his palms, tinged with dirty specks of rust. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep doing this, knowing the small supply of rubbing alcohol he’d managed to collect over the past few months was now down to the last bottle. And there was no more to be found.

The small bit of sunlight that streams in through the barely-qualifying window illuminates your sleeping figure nestled amongst a pile of dirty blankets, and Minho almost hesitates to disturb you like this. You look so peaceful like this, a stark contrast to the emptiness that fills your eyes when you wake, the pain of living through two starkly different lifetimes contained in their depths. He knows his eyes hold the same.

“___,” he shakes you awake gently, watching you stir. The gashes that mar your face have begun to scab over, leaving ugly scars in their wake.

“I brought dinner.”

That gets you to jolt up, rubbing sleepily at your eyes. 

“Are you okay? Anything hurt?” You shake your head, a small frown on your face when you see the fresh red marks that litter his palms. He has the feeling you’re lying to him again, but he doesn’t push it. A lot went unspoken between you two.

Minho wordlessly hands you over a full sleeve of crackers, your eyes lighting up. You chomp down eagerly on one, before pausing, holding it out to him.

“I already ate,” he lies, knowing he didn’t want you to sacrifice any kind of meal for his sake. He’d eat the less full sleeve when you fell back asleep.

Moments of silence pass between you, the soft sounds of your eating lulling Minho’s tired eyes to fall, becoming heavy with sleep. He rests his head on his knees, fighting back the shiver that night brought with it. 

A deafening roar breaks through the stillness, and you freeze, dropping the crackers to the ground. Minho is by your side in an instant, hand tentatively reaching out towards your shoulder. But he never closes the gap.

“Ten seconds,” you croak out, so softly that Minho thinks he might not have heard you. “If the distance that sounds travel is 343 metres per second, then ten seconds means that it’s far enough away from us.”

The ghost of a smile twitches at Minho’s lips, and he wants to praise your sharp skills, considering he’d only ever been a pabo, but you’ve turned around and fallen asleep again, your back to him.  Minho settles into the blankets across from you, watching you for a few minutes before his body is weighed down by the exhaustion of the day, knowing the exact same thing waited tomorrow.

The end of the world was more boring than he’d expected it to be.

a/n pt 2: i hope you’re as excited as I am! i don't really have an anticipated release date for this, but it's just something i'm working on for fun!

[doiefics]

no regrets

pairing: jihoon x gn!reader

prologue: when you finally open up your heart, jihoon has a logic. perhaps things can be made better at a ghosted book store.

genre: fluff + friends to lovers

wordcount: 897

warnings: slight age difference even though both are adults

"No! That's mine!" You whined at the older male as he teased you by threatening to devour the chocolate bar in his hands.

"Maybe it was." He commented, emphasising on the past tense.

"If you don't give it to me I won't think twice before ruining your white shirt with this weird mix of yellow, blue and green paint. It's acrylic." You warned him with an evil smirk.

"Will you?" He teased you again.

You inched your paintbrush's tip dangerously close to his clothing, and Jihoon's eyebrows started to furrow in response.

"There you go, all right." He gave in right away.

He offered you a bite since your hands were preoccupied with the colours in front of you.

"Don't drop it, they are gonna charge you for the amends." He warned you in a whisper. Perhaps painting at a bookstore was a bad idea.

"Nobody is listening, there's no one here." You spoke casually.

The atmosphere was filled with the smell of old paper and wood emanating from the dozen shelves that were arranged all around you. Jihoon leaned against one of them, using it to support his back while you sat next to him. The owner of the place wouldn't mind you two being there when no one else was here either, you were never the type to draw on books.

You had known Jihoon ever since you were a toddler, he was your neighbour's son. Even though he was four years older than you, you both enjoyed great chemistry.

The differences in preferences, from conversation topics to lifestyle choices, were noticeable in the younger years but given the present time they were more or less similar, you both were now adults, after all. 

Jihoon's attention from his book was diverted at the sight of you struggling to keep your hair in place. 

"Did you shampoo your hair today?" He mocked again but his laughter was quickly brought to an end as you raised the brush again.

"Which book are you reading?" You leaned your head to the side to have a better look as you peered into the pages.

"Something your dumb brain wouldn't understand." He spoke, without lifting his eyes from the words that were tying down all his interest.

"Tskk!" You voiced as your hair flicks slid through and in front of your eyes, again, caused by the motion of the head

Jihoon closed his book, tipped his body in your direction, and reached out to tuck your hair back in place.

His face was close, albeit not too close or too far away, giving you a view of his face. In a snap of a moment, you felt different, even though on the inside you knew you had been suppressing what you felt for him.

Ever since you came of age, Jihoon seemed more than just a friend. 

As he fixed your hair, you poked the heart-shaped mole on his cheek. He made eye contact with you and grinned in response to your action.

Maybe this was the right time.

You leaned forward, pressing your lips against his soft, pink ones. It was only a peck. The two of you paused for a brief second, not moving. You softly slammed your lips to his again, this time the contact lasted longer, the lips started to move in sync with each other, eyes closed and an odd surge of hormones was coursing through your body.

Jihoon abruptly pulled back as he shook his head. "No!" He breathed, his eyes never meeting yours. "This is not right, Y/N. You’re younger than me." He reasoned. 

"I'm an adult. I know what I am doing." You protested back.

"I'm four years older than you!" His voice held emotions.

You backed off, showing him a subtle yet apologetic smile. "If you think that's right."

Jihoon was buried in thought, so he remained silent for the next few minutes, increasing your tension. Would this act end all of your past dynamics? For some reason, however, your gut held no regrets. 

The hands of the clock moved to indicate the passing of more time. Silence still prevailed, and you joined Jihoon in staring into a blank space.

"What are you thinking about?" You asked.

"About us." He said.

"Huh?" You gained back your focus.

"This is so wrong." He repeated. 

"I'm sorry. let's just forget it happened-"

He cut you off. "I can't convince my heart." He confessed.

"I like you Y/N, but I can't help but think of how wrong it would be."

"Why would it be wrong?" You questioned again, proceeding to give him a reason by yourself. "We are both adults, and what's wrong with loving each other? It's not a crime." You explained.

"The age difference. What if you regret being with me after some years?" Jihoon was very emotional yet serious about this.

"Then I'll have to call you grandpa for the rest of our lives." You said playfully, taking his hand in yours. 

"No regrets." You promised.

"No regrets." He repeated as he opened his arms, and heart for you.

You wasted no time in falling into his embrace, without taking notice of one thing. The paint.

"This was my favourite shirt!" He whined, again. 

"Oops." You pouted.

Jihoon took the brush away from your hand, using it to make a heart shape on your cheek, making you both blush like idiots.

masterlist please refrain from plagiarising, translating or posting outside of this platform

[macravishedbymactavish]

Equinox (Simon "Ghost" Riley x GN! Reader)

TW for symptoms of depression and mental illness. It has some loving fluff, though!

| Blog HQ | Modern Warfare 2 Masterlist |

Loving Simon definetly wasn't an easy task, it was never linear or smooth. Some days it reminded you of skateboarding down a sidewalk, the small bumps in the concrete vibrating the wood under your feet. Other days, a ship sailing through a storm. Find something stable to grasp onto and hold on tight until the storm resolves. Hills and valleys, loving someone is a series of hills and valleys.

Loving someone who lost their way, felt an equinox.

Summers bringing warmth, new growth, lasting memories. Never wanting to stay inside for too long, late nights spent talking, cuddling and planning your future as the air smoothly dropped in temperature.

Winters bringing a stark reminder that you'll never quite know what you have until it's gone. The warmth replaced by chilling winds, the world now hidden under a blanket of white. Beautiful to look at, but motivated you to stay inside under warm blankets. Listening to storm warnings as you planned the holidays with family and friends. Who's hosting, what should I bring.

One could argue that both times of year had positives and negatives (sunburns vs frost bite, bugs vs ice); this never seemed to help the phases between when you knew change was coming. When all you could focus on is the positives you're going to miss, and the negatives coming down the line.

For him, summer was filled with laughter and a touch of happiness. It was a time of personal growth, he'd leave the door to his heart open just a crack. Enough for you to peek in, whisper words of affirmation, give him the smile that makes him melt. He loved with everything he was willing to give, basking in the feeling. Things just felt lighter.

Without much warning, after a short autumn -- his winter would come. A storm kickstarting the season full force. He would sleep more, a few more hours each day until he realized:

It's getting bad again.

Winter was heavy, much like the wet snow in the driveway. His bone marrow replaced with led, his mind transported to the past, his heart colder than the weather outside. Memories of what was followed him during every waking hour, reminded him of the life fate had chosen. God, what he would do to not be the main character for once.

With tortured eyes, he would watch you suffer the consequences of such an abrupt change in season. Emotional whiplash that caught you off guard, even years later. You would never admit to him how much it hurt, having him withdraw from you entirely. From sharing body warmth between the sheets, to barely being in the same room. You would never tell him how difficult it was to love him. Because loving someone who's bound to a life of loss, without losing yourself in the process is a near impossible task.

But anything is possible if you put your mind to it.

"Tom used to sit like that all the time, could never understand how it was comfortable" he commented once, spring on his horizon. This was the first time he told you anything about Tommy, about his family. You froze in shock, the offhand comment reminding you how little you knew about your lovers backstory. The guilt that followed ate you alive for days.

From that day forward, he would give you small seeds of information. Nothing major at first, mostly small parallels he made between his past and his present.

Sounds like what Tommy always said

Mum always loved those flowers. Would comment on 'em everytime when we passed the flower shop

While still a rarity, and mostly superficial observations you cherished every piece of his past he entrusted to you. It took more will power than you were proud of to keep yourself from asking the burning questions in your mind. Wanting to know more about those he cherishes in his memory; heart begging to help him carry on their memories. But you never pushed. He'll let you in when he's ready.

Simon would never admit it, but you brushed off on him in the time you spent loving him. Rubbed away some of the hardened mud and blood that caked over his soul. Let a little bit of light shine in to the darkened room; dare he say it you started making him hopeful again. In his eyes, it was nothing major. Softly whispering "when I come home..." instead of "if I come home" before being deployed. He'd stopped shutting down the ever ongoing questions about marriage asked by distant friends as quick, now playing it off with a light shrug. You became his ray of sun through the clouds. Never faltering, never allowing yourself to be closed off by the clouds, and somehow reminding him of all the love you think he deserves.

You made him think of the future again. One without an assignment leading him through every point, one where he felt at peace again. One where he would grow old, complaining of joint pains and asking when the grandkids would be coming by again.

You became his anchor in the storm that was his mind. When the nightmares from his upbringing and memories from missions would sink their claws into his conscience -- the thought of you kept him above water. Kept him sane.

Simon was your destiny, your endgame. Through hell or high water he was yours. You've never had a partner quite like him. You've never had an equinox.

Loving Simon wasn't always an easy task... but love never is.

Taglist: @bloodonmyhands-1221 @v1naco @bowtruckleninja

[she-posts-nerdy-stuff]

AGGGTM NOTES - EPISODE TWO

Spoilers ahead! 🖤

03:00 - I love the intro

04:11 - she's categorised all the colleges in Cambridge by age, applicants per year, and future prospects of graduates... I love her. Not that I applied to Cambridge, but her attitude to things like this and her discussions about it with her mum are kind of relatable tbh so I don't know if that's the only reason that this is really helping with the realism because I feel like I've lived it or if the realism is genuinely really well executes. There was a slight moment when her mum first came into the room where the dialogue felt a teeny bit clunky in the exposition of it, but other than that the closeness of this scene, the realism of the bedroom set, and the relationship dynamic they're portraying seems really nice, I'm a fan

04:39 - The discussion about Trinity college has definitely added a nice layer to what I said above about the realism, and also it's jsut so refreshing to have a show that doesn't have some sort of dialogue like "Dad's been dead for X years, remember?" or whatever because I get so fed up of that, nice to see a show actually trusting the audience for once

07:34 - the reconciliation scene between Cara and Pip seems to be being handled really well and I like it; again I think all of it is in the realism and the believability of it all.

08:41 - see I like the sort of random presence of Eliot because it makes him feel kind of omnipresent and potentially threatening from a position of foreknowledge, though I do think that for very small scenes so far it's maybe a little telling of his involvement that his name in the opening credits and also, again, I can't quite tell if the ominous nature comes from knowing the outcome or if it is a new framing of him by the show

10:04 - okay so immediately, at the tennis match Eliot's presence just seems very 'parent-y' and it relaxes the framing we had before, which to be fair I think as well was relaxed with the joke at the end of the last scene. His little "let's be sportsmanlike, please" was just brilliant idk why I can't explain it.

I'm looking forward to seeing some more of Nat

12:25 - very interesting introduction to Nat, I remember her being a lot more resistant to Pippa but I might be remembering something that follows this initial meeting

16:47 - He called her Sargeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee

17:48 - I might have missed/misremembered context here but if Cara and Pip have been friends since they were four and Ravi remembers Pip from school, wouldn't he and Cara also have met at school? Oh or maybe it's just because of the age difference; he remembers Pip for a specific reason but wouldn't have reason to know everyone in her year group, that makes sense

19:05- I love the friend group presentation, the packing of the car and now them driving together is all brilliant

20:37 - again with the lake and the campfire, loving it

20:51 - DT KILLER MENTION??? I lowkey just made the 😱 face

22:05 - god I can't stand stupid ghost summoning games my spine feels weird why am I watching this at night

24:11 - oh godddd there's a figure in the woods I literally had the thought process 'don't watch this in the middle of the night' and now I'm watching it in the middle of the night ffs what's the matter with meeeee

Also I thought it was in agad that they camped and she got the threatening "stop digging, Pippa" note am I just mixing it up with all the threats she got in that one?? Because I'm assuming that's what this is about to be

25:04 - okay maybe it wasn't the note. Wasn't fun though oh god why am I watching this at night I'm scared of the fucking dark I shouldn't watch mysteries at night I know this about myself but I was too excited for the next episode

25:28 - "It's called the foetus. It's a defensive pose used in a lit of combat situations" pleaseeee I'm giggling

25:50 - oh it is the note isn't it?

26:07 - it's the note. Okay, I must have got that muddled up then - I remember two specific threats in the books scaring me the most out all of them, one was this and the other was the bluetooth speakers in agad so I probably just mixed them in my memory

28:23 - loving the conversation between Pip and Cara in the car

29:38 - One of the things about agggtm as a trilogy that for me sets it apart from other mystery series featuring young detective characters is the handling of Pippa's ptsd, which is often overlooked in the genre. This scene where she comes into the house and is afraid to open the note on the table has honestly made me feel like they're going in with the intention of eventually presenting that well because we're so quickly genuinely expressing concern and importance for Pip's emotional responses to the situation rather than only using her as a vessel to tell the story and uncover the mystery; the tension that was built up and dissipated so quickly but did not vanish entirely and leave her feeling herself, with her now coming to her room in fright and pressing against the door then closing her curtains, makes me think of Ravi holding Pip's hand in ggbb and her thinking that he squeezes her so tightly her fingers might break like ribs did under her hands and having to remind herself that she's safe and concentrate on that and on Ravi to ward off her flashbacks

40:15 - god Henry Ashton does a really good job of making me physically uncomfortable

Ooo I think it was a similar thing at the very end there with the flashbacks being the only scene that Pippa wasn't in, though giving us less information this time. If that's what they're keeping up I think it could be a really interesting structure

[darkcrowprincess]

Goldenlight week 2023: 💜💛 Day four Human Realm/School

"Trrrrrrrrrrring." Went the school bell, signaling the last class of the day was over. That the school day was finally over. It's Friday and all the students of Gravesfield high school had a whole weekend to look forward to. Anticipation and teenage excitement was relentless in all of the student body. In Luz's class everyone else jumped out of their seats. Some talking to friends while walking out, others grabbing their stuff and bolting out of class. Quickly to leave school behind. Luz wasn't. She was lost in her head and being purposely slow. Stuck in a day dream about this or that. She would have stayed in her daydream, vaguely staring out the window if something hadn't hit her head.

"What?" Says Luz confused, than she notices a paper airplane stuck to her curles. Written on it in neat handwriting was the words "Read me." Next to it a really cute drawing of bird in flight.

Luz turns around to see who threw it, but other than the math teacher packing up their stuff, eerily no one else was here. Luz quickly gathers her stuff, pulling the note out of her hair as she does it. Slipping her blue backpack with stars and little clip on figurines of the good witch Azura she heads outside. No one was waiting outside for her either. So walking mindlessly down the locker strewn hall with out paying attention, she opens and reads the note.

If your not ready to go home yet, come meet me at my secret spot. Go to the school auditorium, and meet me on the stage.

-Hunter.

Luz blinks at this, reads the note again to be sure. "Hunter," hums Luz. Hunter is one of her friends. Though honestly he's her best friend. Though even more honestly the feelings she's has for him are confusing and strange. But not in a bad way. The problem is, well it's hard to explain. No one would probably believe her.

It doesn't take her long to walk to the school auditorium. Opening the big wooden doors, everything is quite. From the long rows of orkastra seats, to the balcony seats above. It's dead silent. 'A ghost town.' Luz laughs at that thought. Walking between the isle she looks up on the stage, where the big red curtains are closed. "Hunter? I'm here?"

Walking up the stairs to the stage, she moves to part the curtains. Something taps her on the back before she can.

"Ahhh!"Luz yells, surprised. She almost trips and falls off the stage if someone didn't grab her. Catching her in his long strong arms. As if doing a salsa dance dip. Luz blinks at not falling and looks up at her savior.

"Sorry, couldn't resist," Hunter says with a sheepish smile.

Luz pouts at him, grumpy but still happy to see him. "You need to stop doing that."

Hunter brings her up and out of the dip he has her in, but doesn't let her go. "Can't help it. It's in my nature."

Luz continues to pout at him for a moment or too. Than remembers why she's here.

"I got your note, what did you want to show me?"

Hunter smiles in mischief. He finally lets her go to disappear through the curtains into unknown darkness. Than he sticks a hand out back to her. One finger makes a come here motion. "Do you trust me?

Luz puts her hands on her hips, but can't help but smile, "Despite the present situation, yes." Than she takes his hand, no hesitation at all. Hunter pulls and gives her in darkness. She can't see at all, but him being him, he's use to it. His gold brown eyes glow in the dark. The only light, and leads her to a wall to flick several switches.

Out of the darkness comes soft blue light. Like moonlight. Luz also finally sees why the curtains were closed. To hide what the theater club was painting for this year's musical Aladdin. A dark blue starry night sky sparkles back at Luz. Full of glitter and sparkle, it looks magical in the soft blue stage light.

"Woooow!" Luz says amazed, stars and wonder in her eyes.

"That's not all."

Hunter hits another switch and soft music starts playing. And instrumental theme of "Whole new world," Soon fills the tiny room. Luz turns to him, but before she can say anything,he has her in her arms and in a moment they're floating. A few feet up. Luz holds tight to him. They start to rotate slowly, as if in a slow dance. But Luz still feels safe. Hunter always makes her feel safe. Hunter than brings her even closer. They are almost nose to nose. Hunter with his eyes half lidded and with a hopeful look on his face, "Can I keep you?" Even if Hunter wasn't a ghost, and hadn't been lonely for a long, long time. He still would have asked Luz the same question. Luz says nothing. Just closers her eyes and kisses him. His kiss a little cold, but still solid, firm and real just for a moment.

[transitranger327]

Ehn’yuste: the Three Ways, Chapter 4: Building Ranks

Summary: A flashback to the beginning of Sabine’s journey as a Jedi. In the present, Shin and Sabine contemplate their future. Sabine offers guidance to a struggling Bo-Katan.

Notes: This chapter kept growing longer and longer, until I couldn’t finish a scene. Then I realized I could just move the scene to the next chapter. So I did. Did you know there’s an S in Vizsla? I didn’t!

A Mando’a glossary is in the end notes (below the cut), but you should check it out, I did a bit of linguistics

Eight years before the Ignition

The former Jedi stepped off onto a cold desert moon. The remnants of the Jedi holy site still breathed, but it was a halting, wheezing breath. She couldn’t bear to venture to the crater formerly known as the Holy City. Instead, Ahsoka turned to the outskirts, where the crew of the Ghost were assisting the remnants of Gerrera’s Partisans trying to expel the remnants of the Imperial presence. Not exactly a welcoming place for a meeting, but she supposed it would do. As she approached the rebel camp, she heard familiar voices shouting from tents. “I’ve been playing with explosives since I was a TODDLER! I know EXACTLY how much rhydonium we’ll need for a bomb that size!” She saw a Mandalorian woman storming out in a huff, whose mood improved immediately upon seeing the former Jedi. “Ahsoka! You made it!” she said as she embraced an old friend. Sabine radioed her crewmates to join her in the Ghost, then turned to Ahsoka, “Come on, let me take you to the family.”

The freighter-turned-rebellion symbol was at once familiar and yet distinct. Kanan and Ezra’s absences were palpable, yet a new kind of joy had begun to take their place. The former imperial Kallus (she was looking forward to learning how he became a turncoat) had taken Ezra’s old bunk, and Zeb seemed to be a lot warmer to his presence than the young Jedi. Rex now seemed to be living on the Ghost full time, and he was using Kanan’s old room. And this new member, Omega, well…

“Commander! Ezra told me you survived Malachor, but I couldn’t believe it until I saw you with my own eyes.” “Rex, what did Kenobi always say?” “Yeah yeah, I know, ‘your eyes can deceive you’, but not all of us have force powers. Anyway, this is Omega. Omega, this is Ahsoka, my old commander I always told you about.” “Another sister? Older, I sense?” “Wait how did you know?” Omega was surprised, very rarely had anyone guessed that correctly. “Like I said, looks can be deceiving. Anyway, so glad to meet you.”

Allegedly, Omega was staying with her brother in Kanan’s room, but more of her personal effects seemed to be in Hera’s room. A story for another time, perhaps, when they didn’t have war plans to make. After making their plans to liberate the Kyber mines, the crew began to ask what Ahsoka had been up to. She began to explain her recent travels, “There has been some disturbances in the Force lately. Not significant exactly, but concerning. Sabine, Ezra said you were with him when he visited the World Between Worlds. Can you tell me more?”

Sabine thought back to that day, the last days of Lothal’s occupation. The last days she saw her dad and brother. “Ezra and I were investigating the Empire’s looting of the Lothal Temple. We discovered a mural, one that could be changed to open the gateway Ezra used.”

A mural would line up with what Ahsoka had discovered on Malachor. “Can you show me the mural?” She assumed Sabine had made either a copy or her own art inspired by it. 

As Sabine went to her room to grab a sketchbook, Omega worked up the courage to inform Ahsoka of her own personal history. “For 3 years after the Empire started, there was a secret cloning research program focusing on m-counts. Kids my age and younger subjected to a bunch of medical testing. My brothers and I staged a breakout that destroyed most of the research, but do you think it could have anything to do with what you’re dealing with?” She hoped she wasn’t making a bad impression, and had learned how to be a bit more tactful since meeting Ventress all those years ago.

Ahsoka was intrigued. “It’s certainly possible. The Empire has a habit of kidnapping kids who would’ve been Jedi younglings. Would you be willing to put me in contact with the ones you rescued?”

An offer to be in contact with a Jedi for more than just generic rebellion? Omega leapt at the chance, “Of course, some of them still live with us.” 

Sabine returned to the commons, sketchbook in hand. She projected up a page featuring a charcoal illustration of three figures. “The mural looked mostly like this, but the arms of these three moved depending on if the gateway was opened or closed. The imperial leading the looting was convinced they were gods of some sort.” 

Ahsoka frowned. “He was right. I’ve met those gods. They called themselves The Ones: Father, Son, and Daughter. The Son was the embodiment of the Dark Side. The Daughter was the embodiment of the Light Side. The Father attempted to keep them in balance. I found a mural of just the Son, deep in the Malachor Temple. It helped me start to piece together how these mysteries work.” Sabine asked what happened to them. “They’re dead. But their legacy lives on.”

—

As the impromptu conference came to a close, and the crew of the Ghost dispersed to prepare for the fight, Sabine lingered with Ahsoka. She was trying to find an angle to ask for Ahsoka’s…help? Guidance? Tips and tricks‽ “ugh why does this ha—”

“Sabine, do you have something you want to ask me?” The Mandalorian’s silent pleading could’ve been noticed by anyone, but the Force made it much easier for Ahsoka to sense the intentions. Curiosity, not sorrow. 

For a moment, Sabine was thrown mentally off balance. She had known Jedi could read minds, but it had been more than a year since a Jedi was close to her (The Skywalker kid was off hanging out with Rogue Squadron), and she had forgotten. So the story started spilling out of her mouth “EzraGaveMeHisLightsaberOkay? AndAnd, ItFeelsLike, LikeHeWantsMeToUseItOkay? iHaveDarksaberExperienceBut, ButItDoesntFeelEnough?”

Chuckling, Ahsoka replied. “All right, okay, slow down. Does the lightsaber call to you?” Sabine’s face changed, as if digging deeper into memory than she was used to, then nodded “Yes.” Smiling, Ahsoka proposed a solution. “I may not be able to train you as a Jedi, but I’m more than willing to train you how to connect and wield a lightsaber. Especially one as connected to you as a parting gift from family.” 

—

One and a half years after the Ignition

Two Jedi were meditating together. If you had told either of the them two years earlier that they’d be meditating with their wife, neither would’ve believed you. For Sabine, the idea of meditating was far-fetched, much less meditating with someone else. “Been there, tried that” had been her mantra when it came to the Force. Shin had no such misgivings. Steeped in the Jedi traditions of her master, she had a deep connection to the Force. But a wife? She had never fallen so deeply in love as she had with Sabine. The taunting of enemies had become a teasing between lovers so subtly that she had barely noticed the change. The more they competed, the more compelled to each other they had felt. And now their spirits were intertwined, feeling the air and the water and the beskar and the trinitite around them together, a small pocket of a thriving world. 

But Sabine sensed some nagging doubts in her wife’s mind. “Cyar, what’s wrong?” A simple question that could be answered as simply or complexly as Shin needed. 

The question was unexpected. Shin didn’t think that those feelings were notable for even a Jedi to sense. But if anyone was good at reading people, it was her wife; an abnormal Jedi whose strength arose in relationships and attachments. “I love how we’re teaching each other. I really do. But…I think I need to find a Padawan of my own. Like you and Grogu.” 

“Waitwaitwait, Grogu isn’t my padawan. He’s just…” Sabine tried finding the right word, but the implication of being a traditional Jedi had short-circuited her. 

Shin decided to fill the space. “Baby, the Dins practically live at our apartment now.” Sensing her wife’s defensiveness, she pivoted. “We can call your mentor-student relationship something different, if you want. But I would like to also be teaching someone new. I think the Galaxy can use more Jedi.”

The ideas started solidifying for Sabine. “Are you suggesting we start a new Jedi Order?” A small smile and nod came from Shin. Sabine started brainstorming out loud, her preferred method of planning. “I think we can do that. It would still have to be Mandalorian. I don’t think I can disentangle my heritage from my training. Which means family and relationships would be allowed and encouraged.”

A laugh emerged from Shin, “Well I certainly wasn’t planning to be hypocritical. I definitely want to be your riduur.” She kissed her wife, with all the feelings of love and support she could offer. “But we would need a temple. We can’t just have everyone in our apartment.”

Sabine remembered something Ezra had found. “Temples tend to be built around vergences in the Force. What about that small one Ezra and Jacen discovered? Were you able to learn anything about it?” After her brother and nephew found an anomaly, she and her wife occasionally visited, trying to understand what and why it was, but Shin was also researching historical documents to learn more. 

“I think it was Tarre Vizsla’s childhood home. Something about his connection to both the Jedi and Mandalore left a small knot in the force there.” Shin understood the immense irony of starting an order where you didn’t have to choose between Jedi and Mandalore at the place where that choice was first made. “Do you think the Vizslas will give us any trouble for wanting to use one of their family’s homes as a Jedi temple?” 

“Didn’t the old Jedi Temple have a massive library? If we established our own library there dedicated to preserving Jedi and Mandalorian history, and made it open to everyone, maybe they would see the temple as an honor to their family and not a desecration.”

—

“Stars, I really need more advisors.” Bo-Katan sat on her throne-turned-conference-seat, exhausted from the sheer amount of decisions she had to make. Her beloved Armorer was willing to advise, but even she looked to the Manda’lor for final decisions. A younger her, the one that joined Death Watch, would’ve relished in the power. But now the weight of tradition was starting to crush the Duchess, and most people were unwilling to share the burden if they couldn’t have all the power for themselves. 

Footsteps approached the old throne room. “You’re stressed.” A woman in purple and teal walked thru the doorway. “I would ask if you have time for me, but I know you’re ani’ures’hukaan”

Bo-Katan snorted, “trying to Jetii’layari?” She had been friendly with some Jedi for years, but occasional caf meetups with Ahsoka was very different from multiple self-avowed Jedi running around on Mandalore. Even as she grew more accustomed to them (Sabine was a family friend, after all), most of her people were still unsure. Whether it was traditionalists who opposed Jedi on principal, the remnants of her sister’s faction who hated their hypocrisy, or the select few who were close enough to think the Jedi could’ve helped during the purge and didn’t. 

“No, you accidentally sent me your entire schedule for the next week and it’s booked.” Sabine hoped she could ease some of the stress Bo-Katan was under, so showing off her Jedi skills wasn’t an option. “How did this not happen when you were governor all those years ago?” 

The older woman sighed, “You might be too young to remember, but we used to have an elected assembly. We had a council and a prime minister, the duchess never ruled alone.” She tried to not feel hurt while remembering her sister. “Gar Saxon and the Empire destroyed all that. We never knew peace afterwards. We had to function purely as a military, and look where that got us.” Her souring mood would’ve been evident to anyone, but she knew Sabine could feel the deeper despair. “Even now, everyone looks to me like I’m their general and not their duchess.” She felt two hands on her shoulders and another forehead press against hers.

“Hey, hey, hey, ner vod, you’re fighting too many enemies alone.” Sabine could tell Bo-Katan was surprised by her physicality, but not opposed. She reached out in the Force, not to communicate, but to build a sanctuary where Bo-Katan could feel safe while vulnerable. 

She felt safer the longer Sabine remained. “I want to do the most I can to rebuild Mandalore, but the more I succeed, the more work there is.” For some reason, it was now easier to rummage thru her feelings. “I love Mandalore and I love that we have so much history and I’m scared that if anyone else tries taking over they’ll try ignoring all of that in favor of their personal vendetta.” Tears started silently dripping out of the corners of her eyes as she tried to catch a breath. “Stars, why am I crying over this?”

The younger woman heard that thought loud and clear, but tried to craft a response that wouldn’t come off as knowing-too-much. So she produced a small handkerchief from a belt pouch and offered it to Bo-Katan with, “it’s okay to be overwhelmed with running an entire planet.” She watched as Bo-Katan wiped away her own tears, then continued. “I find it helpful to meditate; to clear my thoughts and refocus my energy, both at the beginning and end of the day. Even the middle sometimes.” When Sabine saw the older woman’s grimace at the thought of doing something Jedi, she added, “this isn’t just sitting, legs crossed, connecting to the Force. It’s also spending time free from distractions, like target practice alone. Ahsoka and her master often meditated by tinkering with machinery. I’m willing to bet the Armorer achieves a similar state of mind while smithing. It’s all about letting go of your conscious self and acting on instinct.”

“That doesn’t sound so bad,” mused Bo-Katan as she relaxed back into her throne. “That’s nice, but I only have a finite amount of time in the day. Do you have any suggestions for my practical needs? Not just my spiritual ones.”

Sabine understood the gravity of Mandalore’s situation, and considered how similar it was to the Rebellion. “Elections for an assembly would take a while to set up. Why not start with a council of the heads of each clan?” She realized, too late, that this would mean more responsibility for her. “Then we build a consensus on how an assembly would run.” She glanced at her chrono, and saw her meeting with the Vizslas was fast approaching. “Anyway, I’ll let you get back to your work.”

“Hang on you can’t just come in here, listen to me pour my heart out, and walk out!” Bo-Katan was now shouting at the unexpected departure.

Sabine retorted from across the room, “Actually Duchess, I can!” 

“Once a rebel, always a rebel I guess,” Bo-Katan sighed, before realizing she had no idea what Sabine was up to. “Wait, why did you come here in the first place?” 

“Shin and I are planning on starting a Jedi temple, just wanted to let you know!” The doors to the throne room closed behind her.

“Stars, she’s gonna be the death of me.”

—

Deep in the Unknown Regions

A Mirialan man was strapped to a hospital bed. His blood was slowly being drained for Imperial research. He bore stitches where large tissue samples had been taken. His only hope was that his longtime friend would be able to find him before it was too late.

—

Mando’a Glossary: Cyar: love Riduur: spouse Ani’ures’hukaan: in over your head. This one I spent a lot of time on, because it really wouldn’t make sense for a Mandalorian to say “swamped” because there are no swamps on Mandalore. So I figured “exposed during a fight” would make sense, so this is literally “completely without cover” Jetii’layari: showing off Jedi powers, lit. “Jedi-swagger” Ner vod: “my friend/sibling”

[dontforgetoctober3rd]

Spillways (Chapter 2) A Gilded Age fanfic

(The title is taken from one of my favorite Ghost songs, which is about confronting old wounds and pain in order to heal so you can move forward.)

Faceclaims for George and Randolph Stewart

Contents: Prologue, Chapter 1

Word count: 1441

Summary: All of New York society is in a tizzy over the news: The Earl of Galloway is in town with his son, the 30 year old (bachelor) Randolph.  Marriage-minded mamas are on the prowl but the Earl and his son eschew most of the lavish parties and teas they’re invited to...except to a certain tea with Agnes Van Rhijn and her niece, Marian.

Rating: Everyone (Ratings will be *by chapter*, so subsequent installments might differ in their rating.)

Author's Notes: This is a canon-divergence story beginning a few months from episode 5 of Season 2. This is obviously not going to be historically accurate, also I'm from America and I've only gleaned a cursory knowledge of the Scottish peerage from my reading and basically am just using the titles, locations and names as vehicles for these characters please just go with it lmao

DISCLAIMER: I am not affiliated with The Gilded Age in any way beyond being a fan, I do not own the Gilded Age characters nor am I using them for any commercial purposes or making money from this, this is just basically word fanart of the show

Lovely divider is by @muchomago

—Five months ago—

Every time the letter came, she set it aside.  As usual, she waited for Peggy to finish up for the day before dealing with it herself.  Just seeing his name made her blood boil every time.  Not even bothering to open it to read, same as all the others, Agnes Van Rhijn angrily ripped up the letter from George Stewart. 

Since the death of her husband Arnold many years ago, the letters had begun coming regularly, like a bad case of the influenza.  Instructing the servants to always throw out the letters from this George Stewart would have invited gossip, the last thing she wanted.  She suspected Bannister already knew but he would never be so crass as to divulge Agnes’s history with the man to the rest of the servants. 

 “It is another solicitation for patronage.  From Scotland, this one.” she had said in the beginning, in a noncommittal manner, to hide her anger.  Bannister had merely nodded.

She had never written back (she refused to give him the satisfaction) but he had kept at it, sending a letter yet again.  And Again.  She tore up his letters.  Again and again.   Today was different, however.  The sting of the reminder, the annoyance of it, his sheer audacity to keep trying to communicate…it mocked her now more than ever.  Really, after Marian’s humiliating betrayal of having secured employment at a school and then for it all to become known at Dashiell’s welcoming tea the other week… she had had enough.  No more.

With an efficiency she hadn’t possessed since boarding school, Agnes sat at her desk and smoothed out a crisp sheet of paper and quickly dipped her pen several times before beginning to write.  Peggy would have been unable to properly convey the seething hatred she felt, this written rebuke to George Stewart must come from herself.

Agnes scribbled furiously, almost missing the inkwell several times, managing three sheets before finally packaging them in a sturdy envelope.  Bannister was instructed to see it reached the Post Office Department steamboat before it left the harbor that week.  

Enough was enough.

Let that wretched letter I got today be the last I ever hear from him…Agnes thought to herself. 

—-- Present Day—--

“Father, I don’t see the issue.  Marian Brook is from a great family.” Randolph Stewart stood before his father in their suite’s parlor, having just relayed his intention to call on Marian.

Lord George Stewart was not pleased.  “Her breeding is not the issue.  I did not bring you here with me to go prowling around for women.  You’re to shadow me as I look over my investments in lumber and petrol-driven carts. Your future sources of additional income when you become Lord, might I remind you.”

Randolph was indignant.  “Marian Brook is not the type of woman one goes ‘prowling’ for!  Do not speak in such a way.”

“I will speak as I please.” 

“Oh? What of your business with Mrs. Van Rhijn?  It's quite rich of you to be berating me for calling on a lady when it is the sole reason we have sailed to the states.”

“I am not berating you.  Furthermore, I am not going to call on Agnes Van Rhijn, I am going to meet with her.  It’s a very crucial difference and not at all social, there’s no comparing the two situations.”

“So you say.”

“ENOUGH.  Enough.” George huffed.  “I am not going to bicker with my own son about this! We have several business meetings to attend to.  You will not have time for your little tea with Miss Brook.”

“Oh, but you will have time for yours with Mrs. Van Rhijn?”

“I do not have a meeting with her yet but I will soon. I will figure out a way, never you mind.”

“Hmm.  I am still going to the tea with Miss Brook.” Randolph said.

“As I have stated several times now, though, that is quite enough.  I do not have to explain myself to you and you’re not to dismiss any of our appointments for something frivolous.  You will do as I say.”

“Or what?” Randolph smirked.  He knew where this argument was headed. His father would eventually give in, as he usually did these days.

Ever since their shouting match the day before George had finally received a response from Agnes, Randolph felt closer to his goal: living life on his own terms.  

After they had ceased their screaming in that fight, Randolph had threatened to leave forever.  He had said he would not return even if George would pass away.  It would put the Earldom of Galloway in the uncomfortable position of trying to wrangle their new Earl back to Scotland while having a chosen family member looking after their holdings, like a common steward.

Randolph didn’t know what this Agnes Van Rhijn had written to his father, but after reading that letter he was a changed man.  An out of character, sincere apology was given to him by his father the next morning.  No longer did he bark orders at his son or moan about his many projects for the betterment of the poor.  George Stewart’s contempt for Randolph’s hunger to change things in society seemed to have evaporated.  He still made cutting remarks, yes, but as one would after reading a particularly bad book or having sat through a very boring play and not as if helping the less fortunate was something…revolting.

George Stewart had begun to finally behave like father, a person that Randolph admired instead of growing to hate.  Better late than never, he supposed.

As for himself, Randolph felt changed as well.  He could finally see that something horrible had eaten away at his father for many years and caused him much anguish.  That had been the source of his anger and bitterness, and he had finally made a decision to confront it by coming to America.

Randolph was proud.  He planned to thank Agnes Van Rhijn in person, even if she had no clue what her letter had accomplished, but he had another idea..one that could very well make Marian’s aunt direct her fury to him.

“You know, father, you could come with me.  To this tea.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Father…if you must meet with Mrs. Van Rhijn, why not come with me?  I can send a note to Miss Brook and ask for our upcoming visit to be at their home on 61st Street.”

“An Earl does not just foist himself upon events he is not invited to!  It is unseemly!  Where are your senses?”

“An Earl should also not deny so many invitations to promenade or dine.  Accepting only the one to Mrs. Astor’s luncheon hardly seems proper to me.  People might think we lack the funds to socialize around town as befits our station.” Randolph said idly, fiddling with a flower arrangement on a nearby table. “I can ask Miss Brook to send a formal invitation and include you on it.”

“Are you mad?  Agnes Van Rhijn will never agree to it.” George stated. 

“Yet Miss Brook was at a school, teaching a class on watercolors.  I’m told her aunt wasn’t agreeable at first but eventually caved to the idea.” 

George Stewart still was not persuaded. “If Agnes is as I remember her, she rules her house with an iron fist.  Miss Brook would have better luck trying to part the red sea.”

“Miss Brook will do it, I know she can.” Randolph insisted. “So, shall I do it?  Send her a note?”

When George remained silent, Randolph knew he had to go in for the kill.

“Of course, if you’d rather people think our family are paupers and can’t afford to-”

“Fine!  Fine. Very well. Send the girl the note.” George said dismissively, rubbing his temples.

Randolph walked over, taking his father’s shoulder.  “Father, you needn’t act as if you’re about to have your teeth pulled.  Whatever this business you have with Agnes Van Rhijn is about, I’m sure that facing the issue head on is better than letting it fester any further.”

George covered his son’s hand on his shoulder with his own.  “Randolph…you cannot know the shame it brings me.  I don’t know if I can do this.” 

“Of course you can!  I will be there with you.” 

George Stewart smiled briefly before standing from his chair, shuffling his suit before heading to their balcony.

Randolph felt elated.  He was going to see Marian again and his father might finally get closure for whatever was plaguing him. It seemed too good to be true.  Hopefully Agnes Van Rhijn was more accommodating when Marian came to her about this invitation. 

NEXT: Chapter 3

[angelofrainfrogs]

Spend the Night: Ch. 31

~Coauthored by @zeitghest~

Fandom(s): Five Nights At Freddy’s: Security Breach

Description: The familiar melody of Grandfather’s Clock chimes through the echoing halls of the Pizzaplex…

Charlie wakes up in her Puppet’s vessel yet again with one goal in mind: to stop William Afton’s reign of terror for good. She enlists the help of Glamrock Freddy, the emphatic leader of the newest iteration of the Fazbear Band. But there seems to be more to this bear than meets the eye—and the same goes for the mysteriously familiar kid the duo find tinkering with animatronics down in Parts & Service.

With some help from friends new and old, Charlie’s journey into the bowels of the Pizzaplex will unravel mysteries none of them ever expected. 

Rating: T

Read on Ao3

Unserviced servo turning Refurbished fur perturbing It doesn't matter where you go They'll find you

~They’ll Find You by Griffinilla~

Hannah was quick to take Charlie’s offered hand, sparing a lingering glance over her shoulder at the fading purple substance before turning forward. Whatever that stuff was, she decided she didn’t want to know. To distract herself from thinking back on her untimely demise, she asked Charlie: “So if you’re staying in Freddy’s room, does that mean he’s helping, too?”

The bear seemed amiable enough for a robot purely from the small interaction and other info Hannah had absorbed about him over the years. Although she couldn’t quite see him assisting with taking down a child murderer… maybe he was just letting them borrow his room as a safe space?

Silently thanking Vanessa for leading the charge back upstairs, Charlie glanced down to the younger girl.

“Freddy? Oh man, I don’t know what we would’ve done without him,” she laughed, jovial and affectionate at the mention of the superstar bear. “Freddy’s been protecting us. He also happens to be my personal favorite character—at least from the Glamrock line.”

As they approached, Charlie hoped Gregory wasn’t at the door to psyche her out with a false demand for a password that didn’t exist. Last time was stressful enough. “Everyone should be inside; don’t be shy…”

It was Freddy himself who answered the door, his usual smile bright and welcoming. It stayed present as he took in the newest addition to their little band of misfits, nor did it slip when a cursory, non-obvious health scan revealed that this girl didn’t have a heartbeat.

“Hello, there,” Freddy greeted, crouching to Hannah’s level and resting his arms on his knees. Unfortunately, his facial recognition software didn’t seem to work that well on ghosts; he couldn’t get a read on who this girl was. “I have seen you around the Pizzaplex before! I did not catch your name, though—mine is Freddy. What is yours?”

Hannah giggled at his formality, her tension easing at the bear’s friendly demeanor. Still holding Charlie’s hand for the time being, she replied: “I’m Hannah… Nice to officially meet you, Freddy!”

“Likewise!” he replied, standing again and ushering the group inside. “We have many things to share with you, Charlie. But first, as you all heard, this is Hannah.” He gestured to the girl, then to the two boys near the couch, looking as if they’d been playfully fighting over who got more room to sit moments before Freddy opened the door. “Hannah, this is Gregory and Michael.”

Mike gave her a jaunty little salute, his gaze hooking onto Vanessa over Hannah’s head. The guard’s shameful nod told him everything he needed to know—this girl was indeed one of his father’s latest victims.

As the group entered the backstage bedroom of Freddy Fazbear, Charlie gave Freddy a quick hug. She was happy to see her friend again after the emotional rollercoaster of finding those lost souls. She was sure Vanessa needed the break, too.

“Go take a breather, Ness,” Charlie murmured, sounding less formal than she had before they'd left on their journey.

On the couch, Gregory and Michael had been needlessly attempting to dominate their sides. Gregory was pinned, shoved, and squished into the corner as he was overpowered by Michael easily. Though once his silver eyes landed on Hannah, he ceased all retaliation. He grasped for a pillow and press it hard against his face as if he was hiding from her.

Was he shy? Charlie hadn’t expected such a trait. Then again, Gregory never mentioned friends before. Or perhaps his bashful mature stemmed from his newly acquired… condition.

“Gregory!” Charlie attempted cheerfully. “There’s a new friend I’d like you to meet! Come say ‘hi,’ buddy!”

This only seemed to make Gregory sink into himself. He wanted to be friendly, but the first normal-looking girl here was only going to pick on him—he just knew it. A thoroughly muffled “…Hi.” was muted into the bowtie pillow, something he’d hug close to his head for comfort.

“He’s being a little shy,” Charlie murmured to Hannah. She let go of the girl’s hand to allow her freedom to roam about. “He’s a good kid, though! Promise.”

“Yeah, don’t mind him; he’s just a weirdo sometimes—hey!” Michael let out a surprised laugh as a tiny hand shot out fast as lightening to smack him on the arm. Mike quickly retaliated with a rather intense ruffle of Gregory’s hair, which spurred Freddy to intervene.

“Boys, please relax,” the bear said in a measured tone, coming to stand next to Hannah. He’d just locked the door after a quick chat with Vanessa, who opted to sit right outside the room to play lookout and subsequently give everyone else time to bond. She’d only feel like an uninvited guest if she stayed with them, anyway.

“Your accent is cool!” Hannah said after a moment of the boys separating and resituating themselves. She looked to Michael, a small smile tugging up her lips. “I’ve only heard people talk like that on TV before.”

“Oh—uh, thanks,” Michael replied. He gently nudged Gregory with his elbow, trying to toe the line between encouraging his brother without pushing too far and making him upset or shut down further. “Come on, she seems nice, right?”

“I’m not gonna bite you or anything!” Hannah started to laugh, although this quickly trailed off as she realized the very obvious reason why the boy might be afraid of her. Looking to her shoes, she clasped her hands behind her back and admitted: “Oh… I feel like you guys already know this somehow, but I’m kinda… a ghost. Sorry if that freaks you out or whatever.”

She didn’t want to scare off potential new friends, especially the only one who seemed to be around her age, but she couldn’t help her unfortunate circumstances.

A ghost? Gregory was roused by his brother’s nudge, and the pillow was pulled back down to his chest in an instant. His startling eyes looked right away to the girl, and found nothing wrong with her. She looked the same as Cassidy—in the sense that she looked just like a normal child, save for a slight transparency coating her skin. Gregory felt his face heat up in embarrassment. He should’ve known it was just another ghost.

“—Man, that’s a relief,” he said, now reclined and relaxed. He figured that Hannah couldn’t judge him for the way he looked no more than he could judge her. He took stock of her, then quickly ruffled his hair back into place.

“I’m Gregory; this doofus is my brother!” he’d say before Michael’s hand lurched out to mess with his hair again as he was often want to do. “—Noooo! Dad said stop!”

Gregory laughed, batting fruitlessly at Michael’s arm. Charlie could only watch as the boys made fools of themselves in front of the newest ghost. She hoped that Hannah found it as endearing as she did.

The boys were strange, to say the least. Brothers that shared some vague facial features if one looked hard enough, but spoke in opposing accents. They didn’t seem shocked Hannah was a ghost—in fact, Gregory was outright relieved.

And not to mention the elephant in the room—or maybe “bear” was the correct term. Hannah might be young, but she was smart enough to piece together that Freddy Fazbear was the one who’d told the boys to stop messing with each other… so why in the world did Gregory call him “dad?”

“Do not pay their antics any mind,” Freddy murmured, almost as if he’d sensed her thinking about him. Hannah glanced up at the tall robot, seeing a weirdly articulate look of fondness on his face as he offered her a smile. “I am sure you will all get along quite well.”

Hannah nodded, turning back to the pair. Emboldened by Freddy’s vote of confidence, she stepped a little closer to the couch. She opened her mouth to say something, but the words were replaced by a gasp as she got a clear look at the flash of silver she’d seen earlier when Gregory appraised her.

“Whoa—your eyes!” she breathed, staring intently at the boy’s face. Michael instantly stopped his brotherly torment, ready to either comfort or vouch for Gregory based on Hannah’s reaction. The room itself seemed to wait with baited breath until Hannah added with an excited grin: “They’re awesome! Are those contacts?! I wanted to wear these bright red ones for Halloween but my mom wouldn’t let me… The silver ones are way cooler though!”

Gregory was ready for it. He could take it, resigned to the fact that he would forever bear the mark of death on his face.

Then, Hannah surprised him. He stilled on the couch and with fluttering eyelids, giving her a confused look. It then turned to relief, followed by the feeling of caterpillars crawling inside his guts.

“You think my eyes are cool?” he asked with a scoff, trying to play it cool. He crossed his arms, leaning back to take the compliment in stride. “Y-yeah—” he’d say, coughing when his voice cracked to clear it up. “—they’re my real eyes! What was your Halloween costume going to be?”

He could relax; Hannah was an alright person but there was something about her that made Gregory want to conduct himself a little different than he had been earlier. Much to the benefit of Charlie’s weary conscience, she was glad that Gregory and Hannah were getting along. Gregory was in need of a friend his age anyway. She came to the couch and sat next to Michael, balancing herself on the armrest to watch them interact.

“Your real eyes?! Whoa…” Hannah sounded more impressed than before. She paused, thinking of the dozens of costume options she’d gone through before finally deciding on the perfect one.

“I was gonna be a vampire!” she announced proudly. Her ponytail swung two and fro as she quickly shook her head with the need to clarify. “Not one of those lame ones that sparkle or don’t really look like vampires or whatever—I’m talking red eyes, fangs, and my sister was gonna help me put fake bite marks on my neck! She’s good at special effects and stuff.”

A bit of the sparkle left Hannah’s eyes as she thought of her sister. Man, she and her mother must be worried sick wondering where she was…

“That sounds awesome!” Michael chimed in, also able to spot the telltale signs of someone falling into their dark thoughts from a mile away. “Hey, who knows—maybe we’ll find a way to make the vampire look still happen.” He shrugged, the not-quite-promise the best he could do. It did its job to get Hannah out of her head though, as she nodded at Michael with a tiny smile.

Charlie sent Michael a glare that could only last so long before it broke into a smile. It was hard to even pretend to be mad at him. Her attention turned then to Hannah’s anecdote, then at Gregory’s face. He leaned on his hand, listening to her intently.

“You’d make an awesome vampire.” Gregory agreed, and Charlie was sure she hadn’t ever heard Gregory speak with such conviction before. He thought it was important for her to know that her being a blood-sucking demon of the night would suit her well.

“Oh yeah! There’s gotta be stage make up around here. When we have free time, we'll find a place to play dress up!” Charlie reassured. Hannah won’t ever get to see Halloween outside the Pizzaplex again but the four of them could still make it fun for her, she figured.

“…I want to dress up like a clown. ‘Cause Mike hates clowns.” Gregory grinned, tenderly mocking him.

Charlie rolled her eyes. “Do you guys ever stop picking on each other? Or did it get worse while I was gone?”

“Oh no, it for sure got worse,” Michael said matter-of-factly, then shot his little brother a glare. “And I don’t hate clowns in general, I just hate a few very specific clowns.”

“Ennard is being quite helpful, Mich—”

“Nope, I don’t want to hear it, Freddy.” Michael cut the bear off with a raised hand, then offered him a strained smile. “Sorry—let’s just talk about that whole situation later, okay?”

Freddy nodded in deferment, knowing it best not to press the matter. Hannah simply stared between the group, realizing there was a huge ton of contextual information she was missing. Well, hopefully if they actually became friends they’d tell her in time.

“Anyway, don’t worry about how all this is connected Hannah, but speaking of clowns… we have news for you, Charlie!” Michael continued, eagerness filling his voice. “We found out who else is in the basement with your dad and Cassidy: it’s Evan and Lizzie. Don’t be mad, but… we took a trip down to see them while you girls were wandering around.” He grimaced, folding back into the couch slightly as he waited to get an earful from his best friend about visiting their old families without her.

Michael’s gut feeling about Charlie’s reaction turned out to be accurate. There was a heavy gasp before she leaned over and shook his shoulders. She was over the moon now knowing that Liz and Evan were waiting for them! But of course, Charlie was guarding Vanessa and collecting the soul of a lost child—so of course she missed a reunion with her childhood friends.

“AHH! Lizzie and Evan?! I miss those guys like crazy!” she admitted, unable to stay mad for long before letting go of his shoulders to give him a break from sudden vertigo. “PLEASE tell me you gave them hugs for me.”

Gregory laughed at this exchange before his gaze flickered back to Hannah. He stood, stretching his legs and giving Charlie a chance to fully seat herself into the couch. While she and Michael caught up, Gregory went to get Hannah’s attention.

“Do you want to play Freddy’s arcade game with me?” he asked, fishing around in his pocket for his tethered coin. He flashed it to her, then swung it on the clear string it was attached to. “It’s on me!”

“Of course I gave them hugs and said you missed them.” Michael sounded offended at Charlie’s suggestion that he wouldn’t do such a thing. As Charlie settled on the couch next to him, a look of decades-long relief fell upon his face.

“We… all had a good talk,” he murmured quietly, leaning in so his more intimate feelings weren’t overheard. He didn’t care about Gregory and Freddy, as they’d witnessed his entire slew of weekend breakdowns, but Hannah had been through enough recently—she didn’t need to see his emotional trauma fifteen minutes into their first meeting. Mike let out a soft laugh, looking sidelong at Charlie. “They told me I was being a dummy and they’d forgiven me for everything eons ago…”

And this was exactly what Charlie had been trying to tell Mike the same thing this entire time. She snaked an arm around her best friend, pulling him in for a hug. She could tell that there was a weight lifted from him now—a semblance of normalcy had returned to Mike's life. It was amazing what forgiveness could do.

“How do you feel?” Charlie asked, imagining that it couldn't all be okay, but things were better. They were similar to how they were before—

Fixing the broken parts of their shattered lives bit by bit.

“God, it… it’s so much better, knowing for sure they don’t hate me, Charlie,” Michael echoed his friend’s thoughts, leaning onto her shoulder and allowing her to hold him close. He never thought he’d receive forgiveness from anyone, let alone his siblings.

Let alone Evan.

By this point Hannah had eagerly followed Gregory over to the arcade machine, slightly in awe as he showed off his handy-dandy coin trick for endless fun. She couldn’t help but glance over her shoulder at Freddy who, to her surprise, did not come over to lecture them about cheating the game with fake money. In fact, he wasn’t even paying attention to them, moving to the door to have a muted conversation with the night guard through the closed metal. Only when they were done talking did he turn and catch Hannah’s eye, smiling warmly and making his way over.

“I’m surprised Freddy lets you get away with that,” she said, watching as Gregory began a game. Hannah flashed a grin, shrugging slightly. “Not that I’m complaining—it’s cool you get to hang out with him! Did you get to meet all the other animatronics, too?”

She had no idea how long Gregory had been here, but from his mildly disheveled appearance she guessed a while. Hannah certainly wasn’t judging though—her body was currently frozen stiff as a board in a random secret room in the basement. Appearances didn’t matter all that much once you were dead…

Gregory stepped aside to let Hannah go first, as this would be his fifth time this night trying to beat his own personal high score at the leader board of Superstar Skater. Gregory's hair was coated in a slight sheen of sweat and grease; in fact, he'd been slicking it back this past night due to the grime. Again he raked a hand through his hair before smirking wryly.

“Freddy loves me, dude. He doesn't care what I do,” he bragged—even if that last part was somewhat of a fib. Freddy didn't let him get away with just anything. It was all within reason. But if such an ideal impressed Hannah, then sure, Freddy would let him get away with murder if he wanted.

At the mention of the other animatronics, Gregory rolled his eyes.

“Those guys are such tools. But... They're not themselves right now. So—I don't know,” Gregory remarked with a defeated attitude before showing Hannah the controls on the game before them. Then, he stepped back and allowed her to take the reins.

Hannah had stepped up to the console, absorbing Gregory’s instructions and meshing them with everything she already knew about how these arcade games worked. She wasn’t the most skilled player, but she enjoyed the console platformers nonetheless.

In the midst of their momentary peace there was a sudden commotion outside the room, though with the curtains drawn the group could only listen and guess what was happening. It started with a loud banging in the vents that led from Rockstar Row directly to Freddy’s room. A low, simulated laugh echoed through the walls, making Vanessa shoot to her feet with her flashlight pointed towards every grate she could find. She raised a fist to knock on Freddy’s door and warn them of danger, but there was an even louder noise that caused her teeth to grind together.

The surprised and then terrified scream from Monty was quickly overshadowed by the shrieking of tearing metal. Seconds later a vent cover in Freddy’s room busted open, clattering to the ground mere feet from where Vanessa had been quickly ushered inside. She jumped at the sight but didn’t have time to process before Monty’s head came shooting out of the opening, skidding across the floor to smack into the base of the couch. Whatever efforts Vanny made to get him back in commission were all for naught—it was clear by his stillness and features mangled worse than before that the gator was not getting up again tonight.

This was proven further when his upper torso fell from the vent opening, seemingly pushed out by an unseen force… Which Vanessa quickly discovered as her shaky flashlight beam moved back up just in time for something to stick its face out with a grinning clown mask and too many wires.

“Holy shit!” she yelled, pressing her trembling good hand over her mouth. “What the fuck is that?!”

Charlie had all but jumped into Michael's lap, frightened by the sudden commotion. She hadn't realized who was in the grates helping them and figured it was something worse than Monty. She shielded Mike before the rest of Monty's torso came out of the vent, busted beyond repair. Just like Roxy...

“It's cool! Guys—chill! Chill! It's just Ennard up there!” Gregory shouted, aimed mostly at Charlie since she had to deal with the alligator head landing not two feet away from where she sat. Cupping his hands around his mouth, Gregory shouted towards the open vent. “Thanks, Ennard!”

“YOU ARE WELCOME...!” It was so hard to hear them, especially when their voice had even more distortion and echo from being inside of the air ducts.

Gregory went over to Monty, inspecting his busted pieces with curiosity. After a quick nudge with his foot, Charlie got off of her friend and told the boy “—Dude don't mess with him like that.”

“Why?” Gregory questioned, smirking at the gator’s weak attempt to get the drop on them. “He's busted. Look! Look how busted he is.”

Looking over his shoulder, he glanced at Hannah nonchalantly. “Oh yeah—don't worry about it, but there's like... robots after me. No big deal.”

He spoke as if he hadn't been internally screaming this whole weekend wondering if he would live to see the next day outside the Pizzaplex.

“Um… okaaaaay?” Hannah breathed out in a voice rife with skepticism. This little event prompted so many questions, but honestly she didn’t even know where to begin.

“What the hell is that thing?!” Vanessa reiterated, eyes fixed to the dark hole in the wall. Her heart was still racing, so Freddy guided her into his vanity chair so she could sit properly.

“You really don’t want to know,” Michael replied with a heavy sigh.

“Ennard means us no harm,” Freddy assured, gently patting Vanessa’s shoulder. She simply shook her head, then massaged the bridge of her nose as if to relive some tension.

Hannah had wandered close to Gregory, staring down at the decapitated gator with a pinched expression. “So like… is Monty dead or…?”

“Huh?” Gregory seemed almost confused by her question at first. After glancing down at the dismantled bot, he gave a shrug. “Nah—he'll be fine. Eventually.”

He didn't really know that Monty would be okay. They might have to scrap the whole model… Though Gregory knew all that made Monty up was a line of coding, several data points and some fixed personality traits that could be downloaded into any endoskeleton.

Bumping, Hannah's shoulder he reassured: “He'll be good as new come tomorrow. I'm sure of it.”

“Okay,” Hannah relented, because really what else was there to say about everything? She was no expert on robotics, but surely there were failsafe’s in place in case the main animatronics malfunctioned. They were too important not to have backups. After a lingering glance at Monty, she shrugged and moved back to the arcade game, wanting to distract herself from her new, very weird reality with familiar animated graphics.

Charlie laughed at Michael's brief warning about Ennard, quiet and under her breath. Despite the robot having actively saved their asses so many times now, he’d forever remain bitter and salty when conversing about them. Not that she could exactly blame him.

“It's best not to think too hard about all of it, you know?” Charlie said to the group, having finally chilled out about the busted Monty being shoved past the metal grating. “You alright, Ness?”

“Yeah… I’m fine,” Vanessa replied after a brief pause, giving Charlie the faintest ghost of a smile. “Everything’s just—a lot, you know?”

“You are already helping a great deal,” Freddy reassured, smiling down at the guard.

Vanessa let out a wry laugh, rolling her eyes. She really hadn’t done much except lead Charlie to William’s lab and find the missing kids—but it was already too late for them. She hadn’t even been the one to bring Hannah back… that was all Charlie. At least Vanny was no longer a threat; that was probably the best thing to come out of this whole fiasco of painful memories.

“So did you find anything down there?” Michael asked, directing the question more towards Charlie. His gaze briefly flickered to the kids at the arcade machine. “Besides Hannah, I mean.”

Charlie glanced away, thinking about the backroom and hidden stash of Remnant just waiting to be used. Two jars, with one already used up... Two kids still astray, with one successfully made immortal. It wasn’t hard to understand exactly what William planned to do with the rest.

Charlie didn't want to think about it.

“Remnant. There was a lot...” She looked down at her hands where they rested on her lap. “There's a backroom full of endoskeletons. They're programed to—to deal with the kids after they're brought to Parts & Service.”

She reclined into the couch, hugging herself with her palms on her elbows. It was hard being this distant about things sometimes. “I... don't want to say more than that.”

With their present company, she felt like it would be far too graphic to share, not to mention rude.

Michael leaned back into the couch as well, slipping an arm around Charlie’s shoulders to pull her into a side hug. He knew how hard this topic was for her to discuss, despite how well she hid her discomfort—no amount of time would ever make up for the pain and torment Charlie and all the other restless souls of William’s victims went through.

“We’ll get rid of the Remnant and the endos once my father is dealt with,” Michael reassured, rubbing Charlie’s upper arm reassuringly.

“The Remnant’s taken care of,” Vanessa chimed in from the vanity chair. When the group turned to her, one corner of her mouth quirked up in a smile. “Charlie smashed it.”

Michael let out a hearty laugh, squeezing Charlie tightly against him. The gesture said everything he needed without words. Freddy’s expression softened into relief now that the risk for anyone else to be subjected to an immortal injection was gone.

At the arcade console, Hannah let out a groan of frustration as she lost her last life. She’d held on as long as she could, but a slight misjudgment of where the platform edge was caused her character to plummet to their doom.

“Aw man!” she lamented. “I’m not good at these games…”

Charlie cracked a smile, content to relax on the couch for just a bit longer. Now that all of them were together, she’d take a few moments of peace before starting their ultimate plan.

Then she looked to Gregory, watching him as he played with his new friend. As he gently reassured her about how much he used to suck at the video game, he showed her what to do.

“It's all about memorizing the platforms! I was pretty bad until I stayed the weekend here,” Gregory told her, hitting the start button for one more try.

Charlie almost didn't want it to end for him. But if they didn't do anything about William tonight, there may not be another day for Gregory to play.

“So, now that we're all here...” Charlie began, subtly getting the ball rolling as she leaned her head into the flat part of Michael's shoulder. “We should probably get this over with... Right?”

In an instant, the room grew thick with tension as the stark reality of their situation came crashing down. They couldn't keep pretending like they were a happy family—not yet. Not until William was purged from the face of this earth so he couldn't hurt another soul.

Michael held onto Charlie for a moment, bracing himself for the encounter ahead. He wasn't nervous or scared of meeting his father again. He felt quite the opposite, in fact—it was going to take all his strength not to try and rip that rabbit apart with his bare hands the moment they set eyes on each other. As Michael looked to Freddy, who was watching Gregory with a reluctant expression, he had a feeling the bear might not be so docile either when faced with the man who'd tortured his new family and used his best friend's body as a puppet.

“Yeah...,” Michael admitted somberly, looking back down at Charlie. He shifted to embrace her in a proper hug, holding on tightly for as long as he could. Eventually he let her go, offering a tiny smile that he tried to inject as much confidence into as possible. “So, the plan is: you'll take Gregory down to the basement to wait with the others. Meanwhile, Freddy and I will track down William and act like we're pissed at ‘Evan’ and are trying to get him, causing William to chase us right where we need him to be—that's the gist of it, right?”

“I'll stay here with Hannah,” Vanessa offered, half-heartedly raising a hand. She grimaced as she looked at the little girl still involved in her game world. “I think I'll be more of a burden than anything if I go with you; I'll make sure she stays put and let you know if I see anything go down around here.” Vanessa patted the walkie on her belt, and Michael nodded.

“Sounds good. Oh, damn it—what should we do with Ennard?” Michael asked, shooting a frown up towards the vent. Not five seconds after their name was called, an eyeball on a wire stuck out of the opening to stare at Michael and Charlie.

The eye dropped down on a long cable, staring at them before batting its eye playfully. This made Charlie laugh, having to cover her mouth so she could actually hear what Ennard had to say.

“UNT-T-TIL THE BASEMENT, WE—E ARE YOUR BACK-UP. IF THE—THE PLAN GOES SOUTH...” Ennard paused, their voice slowing down to an eerie, glitching lull. “We rip him apart...”

The even and clarified tone of their voice sent a chill through the room. It was like every robot in the entirety of their system had agreed for once, unanimous in their hatred. Charlie nodded slowly, glad not for the first time that Ennard was on their side.

The eye blinked at Mike, its gaze turning deferential. “IS THIS-S-S A GOOD PLA-AN, MIKEY?”

Michael heaved a sigh, hating that Ennard actually had a good, solid idea. He stood, moving near the vent and looking at up the amalgamation with a stern expression.

“Yes, being back-up is good,” Michael confirmed, but before Ennard could get too excited he went on a little louder. “But listen—you've got to forget your obsession with me for this to work, okay? I need you to focus on protecting everyone else first and foremost—especially Gregory. Do you understand?”

Whether Ennard would actually take this direction into account if the situation turned dire, Michael couldn't be certain. He just hoped that if it came down to saving himself or Gregory, Ennard would continue their trend of obeying Mike’s instructions and help the child first.

Said child was currently being tapped on the shoulder by his father, who smiled down at Gregory and Hannah when they turned to him. In a light, friendly tone, Freddy said: “It looks like you two are having fun!”

“Mm-hmm!” Hannah nodded, her own grin bright and excited. “Gregory's showing me all the tricks to get the best score!”

“That is wonderful—do you mind if I borrow him for a moment?” The paw on Gregory's shoulder indicated that they didn't actually have the option to say no. Still, Freddy kept his tone measured, not wanting Hannah to sense any of his rising concern. “Perhaps you can try out some of those new tricks for yourself!”

“Oh, uh... sure.” Hannah shrugged then promptly turned back to the game, deciding it best not to argue with the giant robot. If Monty was clearly on the fritz, who knew if Freddy was being affected by the glitch too.

Freddy took Gregory's hand and led him over to his siblings so they could catch him up on the plan and make sure they were all on the same page. As he was reluctantly pulled away, Gregory made sure to impart a last piece of advice. “Make sure you get that balloon; it's more points! Okay, bye—”

Ennard’s excessive eyes trained on Gregory as Freddy led him over. It was clear to anyone that Ennard was calculating the risk in their mind. Keeping Gregory as a priority meant that Michael, in the event of an emergency, could lose his skin. This would be bad for Ennard as Michael's skin was rather homey—even if this one was made of silicone. But if Ennard let Gregory die due to neglect, then there would be no way to ever convince Mikey to potentially lend Ennard his skin someday.

Choices, choices...

“GREGORY IS TOP PRIORITY... YES,” they decided resolutely.

Charlie made a pyramid with her fingers, resting the side of her index finger against her own nose as she reiterated her part of the plan aloud. They couldn’t afford to make any mistakes in these final hours. “So I'll be running with Gregory, pretending that you're both chasing us? And we'll be meeting again in Henry's workshop. Correct?”

“Correct,” Freddy confirmed, resting both paws firmly on Gregory's shoulders and squeezing them in comfort. He would love nothing more than to leave Gregory here to get lost in the world of video games with his new friend, but unfortunately the boy was an integral part in the plan.

“We'll try to keep as much distance as we can between you guys and William,” Michael said, coming to stand next to Gregory and running an absent hand through his hair. “We'll try to bring him straight to the workshop, but if anything goes wrong... I'm sure you'll know soon enough.”

Despite his best efforts, Mike's anxiety was peeking through his façade of overconfidence. His fingers shook, snagging a lock of Gregory's hair which made the boy flinch. “Crap—sorry.”

With an annoyed huff directed towards his own self-doubt, Michael crouched and wrapped his arms around the boy in a tight hug. Freddy released Gregory's shoulders, letting the boys have their moment. As Michael felt Gregory's telltale warmth of life, he was able to take a deep breath—soon, this would be all over and the worst thing they'd have to worry about in the near future was which hotel they'd try and finagle their way into staying at so everyone could get a nice, long rest.

“Keep Charlie safe, kid—she needs at least one strong brother to look out for her...,” Michael murmured into Gregory's ear, managing a smirk.

Gregory's eyes were clamped shut as Michael hugged him. He managed to squeeze his arms around the elder boy in a strong hold. It felt different being told to be the one to protect Charlie. Normally it was the other way around. This made Gregory feel the need to put his best foot forward and to be brave for the both of them, despite having the utmost confidence Charlie would always have his back.

“Are you ready to do this?” Charlie asked, watching as Gregory took a deep breath. He patted his brother's shoulder, knowing if he stayed any longer that he would never leave the comforting glow of his family.

“Yup. Let’s go. Love you guys—and don't let the stupid rabbit bully you.” After stepping away, Gregory glanced to Hannah and sent the girl a smile. “I'll be back to play video games with you later. You know, if you want to...”

“Mm-hmm,” Hannah replied absently, fully immersed in her game world. Vanessa watched her from the vanity, deciding it best to wait for the tension in the room to ease before revealing that she was going to be Hannah's babysitter. Hopefully the girl would just play on the arcade machine for the rest of the night anyway—at least she didn't need to worry about taking a break to get some food...

“Love you, too,” Michael said to his siblings, shoving his hands in his pockets as he watched Charlie and Gregory head for the door. Freddy was still at his side for a moment, but as Michael looked up at him the bear suddenly rushed towards the pair and scooped Gregory into his arms in one fluid motion.

“I am sorry, I could not help myself,” Freddy apologized, clutching his son in a grip almost too tight for comfort. “Stay safe, superstar—I love you so much. We will see you both again very soon and put all of this at an end.”

Michael had to look away or else he'd join the hug... and then Charlie would surely add herself to the pile and they'd just end up standing in a huddle until daybreak.

Gregory was robbed of his breath from the intense squeeze. His dad was worried, but with good reason. It wasn't long before Gregory hugged him back, knowing the bear wasn't likely to let go until he felt a smidge of returned affection.

“—Love you too, Dad!” Gregory grunted. It wasn't an annoyed grunt, more like one that struggled for breath. The hold betrayed how scared Freddy really was for him with these strange new emotions. “I'll see you again real soon...”

In the vents, some muted thumping was heard as Ennard retreated. They were to move into the hall, set on following the pair. At the door Charlie had to look away, unable to bear watching them say what could be their collective and final goodbye.

Satisfied that his affection for his son had been thoroughly expressed, Freddy set Gregory back on the floor. Though he wore a smile, his bright blue eyes betrayed his worry of all the things that were to come. However, Freddy was designed to see the light at the end of the tunnel, and this time was no exception. A simultaneous wave from Freddy and Michael was the signal for Charlie and Gregory to slip out the back door. The boys watched until the pair were out of sight, then turned to each other.

“Ready, big guy?” Michael asked, holding up a hand to Freddy for a high-five.

“Ready,” Freddy confirmed, smacking his palm against Michael's without hesitation. As Michael moved to the front door, Freddy paused a moment before going to Hannah's side. He bent slightly, speaking softly as he told her: “Hannah? We to step out for a little bit, but we will be back shortly—Vanessa is going to stay here with you until then.”

The name ripped a jagged hole in Hannah's 8-bit world. Her eyes widened in fear as she looked back and forth between Freddy and the night guard. “C-Charlie's gone, too...?”

“Just for a bit,” Freddy reassured, placing a hand on top of her head to provide some comforting pressure, his expression nothing but sincere. “Vanessa will not harm you—I promise.”

Hannah sniffled, and for a horrible moment Michael thought she was about to cry. Then, confident in the animatronic's word she gave a little nod, shooting Vanessa a warning glare not to mess with her before returning to her game. With that task out of the way, the bear met Michael at the door.

As one they exited the sanctuary of Freddy's room and stepped into the cold, foreboding air of the main Pizzaplex.

***

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[roland-emberlain]

Remnants of Gilneas

-Effect and Cause-

“P-Please. Don’t.” The boy puttered out, his voice both hoarse and breathless. They were the last gasps of someone who was not long for this world. He looked up to the figure looming over him, but his vision was beginning to go. He could no longer see clearly. The figure was just a blur as his vision lost focus.

“S'already done.”

The boy raised his hand towards the figure, and even as the shape of his hand slowly lost its form, he could tell something wasn’t right. His hand was short three digits. His thumb was barely hanging on. It nearly looked like a stump. His hand trembled. The rest of his body fared no better.

The formless figure began to take shape as he moved closer. It bent down, and the boy could only make out the two glowing orbs of his eyes. They were a golden orange, filled with hate, disgust and rage.

“We..” the boy licked his lips, “Made a m-mistake. P-Pleas-e..”  His eyelids became heavy, and it became harder and harder to keep them open – or was it the blood from his forehead that was beginning to pool in them?  “Mercy.. Ser..” he gasped out. It was becoming harder and harder for the boy to speak, as his throat dried up and tightened. His breath was labored. He was a dead man ten minutes ago, but he just didn’t realize it yet.

“Did you show my people ‘mercy’ when you slit their throats while they slept?”

He tried to explain himself -- That it wasn’t his idea. That he was just following orders.  He opened his mouth, but no words came out. Just guttural gurgles followed by a deep inhale, which offered no reprieve. The world was black, but he could still hear the figure walking a circle around him. The heavy thud of each armored footstep almost hurt his ears.

“Can’t promise you mercy.”  The figure spat out, “Can promise you’ll die here tonight in this courtyard, an’ I can promise that it’ll be slow an’ painful.. Yer lungs will fill up with fluid, an’ you slowly suffocate with each ragged, wretched breath you take.. But you wont be the only one who dies here tonight. Can promise you that.”  

He just wanted to see his family once more. He would give anything for it. He didn’t care about the riches of Gilneas. He would have never come here to hunt the Worgen. He would have never come to pillage. He’d have never bought into this whole bloody idea. The Worgen were supposed to be mindless beasts.. He would give anything to go back and change things. Maybe things would have been different. He should have left when he was given the chance.

The footsteps of the figure slowly sounded further and further away, until all that the boy could hear were distant screams and his own rattled breath.

He would suffer there, lying in the middle of the burned courtyard, for an eternity until his lungs filled with fluid and his body gave out. By morning, he was gone.

-Present Day-

Roland pulled his hood up as he made his way into the Old Gilnean territory. It had been some years since he’d last been back, though he thought of it often. More often than he’d like to admit, perhaps. His eyes scanned the landscape and felt his blood boil as he surveyed the destruction which lay before him. An eternal rain covered and oppressed this Kingdom of ruin. The last time that the Worgen had left this area, the din of battle raged all around him. But now he was met with a deafening silence. He walked familiar paths through a warzone whose front had long since departed. Abandoned siege machines, armaments and forward camps littered the grounds.

We can’t leave, Roland. This is our home.

For a moment, there was an overwhelming sense of comfort as he heard her voice. But as reality washed over him, the comfort was replaced by overwhelming anger. The scowl on his face darkened.  There were ghosts everywhere around Gilneas, no matter where he looked. Coming back to this place pained him. But still, he carried on down the path beside the Northgate Woods.

-There’s No Home For You Here-

“We just can’t, Roland.  I refuse to budge another inch!” Anilla pleaded as she grabbed onto his wrist and dug her feet into the ground in defiance among the trees of the Northgate Woods. She looked back at the others and lowered her tone, “We want to fight. We want to help!”

Roland looked over the band of survivors – it’d been weeks since the Wall fell, and while the worst of it was over, it was still incredibly dangerous. They were being hunted. By Forsaken. By opportunists. One by one, they were being picked off as they tried to defend their home. It made Roland feel utterly helpless, and that was a feeling he loathed more than any other.  Their pack of fourteen was now down to eight. Most of them were not warriors – they were merely common folk who’d never held a weapon in their lives. They’d maybe held a shovel, not a sword.

He pulled Anilla away from the group, his voice was hushed but firm, “They aint fighters, Anilla. They’re scared. They’re hungry. They’re tired. They need to get away from this place an’ seek refuge.”

Anilla stood determined in her defiance and shook her head, “You’re not giving them a chance, Roland!”

Roland pinched the bridge of his nose in growing frustration, “I’m tryin’ to give them a chance, Anilla! Look at them!” He motioned back to the group, which got their attention as the Worgen raised his voice. They cast their heads down, “This lot aint turnin’ no tide of battle. You’ll have them throw away their bloody lives. Be realistic.”

“They want to fight, my love.”

Roland grinded his teeth as he was pulled in two directions. He understood where she was coming from. He, too, was going to fight for his home. He knew these people would give their lives for that, too, when push came to shove. But they would be fodder. They needed to survive, so that his home could carry on.

“We’re goin’ to the Emberstone Mines. Can hide in the tunnels until I can find us a path out of Gilneas. Safely. That’s that.”

Anilla’s frown deepened, “You can be a real asshole without knowing it, Roland. Or maybe you do know and just don’t care. That makes it worse.” She turned on her heels and stormed back towards what was left of the pack.

Roland’s hardened gaze broke, if only for the smallest moment, before he steeled himself once again. Her words cut him, as they always did. He knew she spoke true. He would take her ire, if it meant that she and the rest of them survived.

The Pack quietly made their way into the Emberstone Mine.

It had been some days since the group had found themselves settled within the winding caverns of the Emberstone Mine. There had been a few close calls – Forsaken patrols which had dared enter the territory, but the group managed to stay one step ahead of them and remain hidden.

There was still some game on the plains outside of Tempest’s Reach, but Roland found the area too open for his liking. He couldn’t risk it, no matter how plentiful the bounty. Instead, he opted to hunt in his old territory – the Blackwald.  There was less to be found, but enough to get by. Through the evening hours, Roland stalked his prey until he’d collected enough to satisfy the hunger of his pack of eight. The rest was doing them good. He saw their spirits slowly returning as they ceased being on the run.

Those days in the Mine were as good as it got after the Wall fell. Until they weren’t.

Somewhere ahead of him in the Blackwald, he heard the snap of a fallen branch. His ear’s flicked instinctively, honing in on the direction. He set down the carcass of the deer that he’d just slain, got on all fours and dashed through the forest.

Crack, crack, crack, shuffle

The animal was close now. But it was on to his presence – after all, how could it not be? He was an armored Worgen rushing through the Blackwald. He could tell the animal was frantic by the way it moved towards the exit of the black forest. With each moment that passed, the closer the animal got.

“Please! No!” a Human male, possibly no older than eighteen, turned in his tracks and cowered in fear before the Worgen.

As Roland descended upon the human, he came up just short of the boy before looming over top of him. He was taken by surprise for a moment, his eyes widened as the boy curled into a defenseless ball. Roland quickly looked around, observing his surroundings. If there was one, then there were more likely in tow.

“P-please! Don’t!”

“Quiet.” The Worgen snarled out.

The boy screamed, but Roland was swiftly upon him. He grabbed the boy by the collar of his shirt and lifted him up to his face. His mouth opened to a snarl, large deadly fangs before eyes filled with pure hatred.

“I said quiet!”

The boy quieted to a whimper in response, his entire body trembled in Roland’s grasp.

“How many more are with you?”

 The boy could hardly get a word out, he was terrified.

“Answer me if you value havin’ a lower half..” Roland growled, his grip tightened on the lad.

“J-Just o-one other.”

Roland’s ears twitched as he heard the click of a Pistol’s hammer.

“Drop him now, Dog, and place your hands in the air..” A confident voice came from beyond the trees behind him, “We don’t want any trouble.. We’re just here for the goods you lot’ll no longer need.”

Roland turned, holding the boy up between him and this newcomer. His eyes were alight with rage. He remained silent, but stood defiant.

“Thata boy. Now lower him and I won’t have to put a bullet in that mutt skull of yours..” The man took another few steps towards Roland. He was an older human, perhaps in his 40s. He had greased back hair, with a mustache that curled at the ends. He looked every bit of the piece of shit that he was. “Do it.”

Roland slowly lowered the boy until his feet dangled just an inch from the ground.

The man fired a warning shot into the air. Roland didn’t flinch, but the boy began to wet himself.

“I wont ask again, you dirty fuckin’ dog.”

Before the man could pull the hammer back on the pistol, Roland dropped the boy and lunged for him. Roland grabbed for the wrist which held the firearm and jerked it up into the air. The gun let off another shot, but now Roland held the man by both the wrist and the throat.

 “You don’t want trouble?” He exhaled in a deep, irritated huff, “You come to my home. You pillage an’ steal from my people.” The Worgen again breathed deeply, readying himself for the next few moments, “Oh, you’ve found trouble.”  Roland sunk his claws into the man’s wrist, causing him to let out a piercing scream. The man’s finger futilely pulled the trigger again and again before the pistol fell from his grasp and clattered to the ground.

Roland’s grip on the man’s throat tightened. The profiteer began to gurgle and choke. He began to kick and thrash. Another futile attempt as the human body began to fight against its own impending death. The Worgen stared the man down, who couldn’t meet him in the eye. He looked all over, perhaps for salvation, but there would be no salvation. There was only the brutality of his own final moments. Before long, the man ceased struggling. Roland’s grip tightened and there was a crack before the man’s body fell limp to the ground.

Roland turned back to the boy, who cowered against a tree, whimpering and muttering gibberish. Perhaps it was a prayer to his God. The Worgen stalked towards the boy.

“I-I-I j-just want t-to see my mother.” The boy blathered, “P-Please..”

Roland looked the boy over. He was a pathetic thing. Weak and frail. He had no mettle. No will. No purpose.

“What were you doin’ here?”

“H-hunting f-for food, S-Sir. F-For the camp.”

“Where’s the camp?”

“I-In the city. B-by the cathedral.”

“How many others are there?”

“Twelv—er—Thirteen.. Maybe fifteen.”

Roland’s patience grew thin. He slammed a fist into the trunk of the tree that the boy cowered against.

“How many?!”

“Fifteen!” The boy curled back into a ball before the Worgen.

“Fourteen now.” He looked back at the human corpse behind him, “Thirteen if you get the fuck out of my lands.. Am I understood, boy?”

“Y-Yes! P-please, Sir. T-thank you! Thank you!” the boy was panting so hard, it was clear he was somewhere between a mix of a panic attack and shock. Likely shock. The boy stood up and ran. He ran harder than he’d ever ran in his life. Down the path, out of the Blackwald, he tripped, barely touched the ground and was off again.

Roland searched the corpse, taking the pistol and anything else which might help his people. After gathering the animal carcass, he headed back towards the mines.

In time, Roland would come to regret showing sympathy for the Devil.

-Take me with you when you go-

It had been days since the incident in the Blackwald, and while things remained quiet within the Mines, it still nagged at the back of Roland’s mind. He held watch himself the first night, and again on the second and third. There was no sign of anyone but the occasional Forsaken patrol. That was a good sign, at least.

The group would soon need food, and it would be up to Roland to hunt once again. The Blackwald was now out of the question, as much as it pained him. For all he knew, they’d been lying in wait for him to return these past few days so that they could finish what the dead man started. He couldn’t take that risk. The Worgen was then forced to do what he preferred not to do before, and that was to hunt among the open, but under the cover of night.

As night fell and it drew closer for his time to depart, Roland began to make his way to the entrance of the Mine.

“Roland. Wait.” A voice from behind called out to him. Roland’s ears perked and he sighed. He knew Anilla was going to try to get him to move their group once again. He knew she would argue that they needed to leave the safety of the Mine and go on the offensive. She was impatient and she was also angry. Angry at feeling helpless. Angry at her home being destroyed. Angry at the loss of her people. Anger often clouded judgment, and it was often a bad combination. If only he could see that anger was clouding his vision all the same.

Roland stopped at the mouth of the Mine and waited.

“We can’t stay here forever, Roland.”

“I know.”

“Then let’s move.”

“The mines are the best shot we got at defendin’ ourselves, Anilla. Until we find a lull in the front line to get past the wall, we’re stuck.”

She let out a frustrated sigh, “We’re stuck because you refuse to act.”

Roland turned, finally facing the girl and narrowed his eyes upon her. He grinded his teeth as he looked for the words to say to her. He’d long since known her stubborn nature -- it was what he’d admired about her and fallen in love with. It was her strength and resolve, no matter the odds -- However, it meant she could be a royal pain in his side from time to time.

“Just need you to trust me.” He said softly.

Anilla’s brow furrowed deeper, if only for a moment, before she looked into his eyes and then her frown softened. She huffed and grabbed his arm, giving it a squeeze, “Roland, I just have concerns.. The longer we stay, the more of a target we become.”

Roland knew she spoke truly, however, their options were limited.

“I’m not sittin’ here idly, I promise ya. I’m workin’ a plan to get us out without losin’ anybody else. I can’t lose..” his mouth became dry and he found himself lost for words. Anilla squeezed his arm more tightly.

“Okay. But please.. Talk to me about it when you get back, okay?” she released her grip on Roland and stepped back.

Roland nodded, “We’ll talk when I’m back. Ask Shelby to keep watch while I’m out, alright? The rest of you lot oughta get some sleep.”

Anilla nodded and without another word, made her descent back into the mine. Roland stood there at the exit of the Mines for a moment. He let out a sigh and steeled himself from the biting exhaustion which grew with each passing day.

He departed into the night.

-

After an evening of hunting, Roland finally returned to the mines -- Though something felt off. By all accounts, nothing seemed to be disturbed in the area. But there was something in his gut that felt off. Feelings like that often meant something. He learned early to trust his gut with such things. He quickened his pace and came to the mouth of the Cavern. There was nobody sitting at the post inside. 

There should have been.

He dropped the carcass to the ground and drew his blade, weaving his way slowly through the mine. 

He listened. 

There was nothing. 

He quickened his pace, soon coming to the antechamber that his pack had been using as their home. It was there that he saw the bodies. Crimson blood stained clothes and matted fur, as his people were slain. Their throats cut from ear to ear, horrified looks on their faces as they were likely woken from their sleep as the blade passed over them. He stood there for a moment, in disbelief, before a voice called out to him from the back of the dimly lit chamber.

“Well, well. He finally returns. You’re a hard beast to track.”

Roland couldn’t take his eyes off of the corpses. His gaze shot from corpse to corpse, almost frantically, as he searched for Anilla. She wasn’t there. 

“We’ve been watching out for you for days now. You know why we’re here, right?”

There was a soft, gagged whimper at the man’s side. Roland’s eyes finally snapped in his direction and settled on a bloodied and battered Anilla, as she was bound at his side. Around him were three other men, all with cocky shit-eating grins on their faces. Roland took a start towards the men almost immediately.

“Oh no no.” The man drew his blade and pressed it against Anilla’s neck, “You’ll stay there.” Roland froze, though his body shook with rage. He wanted to, and would rip this man limb from limb when given the slightest chance.

“You killed one of my men, so I’ve killed some of yours. I’m thinking we’re starting to get close to being even now. This one we’re gonna have fun with.” The man said with a wicked smile.

“Let ‘er go..” Roland growled, “It’s me you want, fine. You’ve done yer damage. Leave her out of it.”

The man gently ran the tip of his bloodied blade along Anilla’s throat, “No, I don’t think I’ll be doing that. I think I’m gonna let this one watch me gut you, and then I’ll do her in after. All of your pelts fetch too nice a price to let any of you go. It’s why we’re here, after all..” he whistled with glee. His cronies laughed.

Anilla looked to Roland through bloodied eyes. Though she could not speak, she didn’t need to. Her amber eyes, filled with both rage and defiance, told him everything that he needed to know. She mustered her strength and swiftly rose to her feet, jamming the top of her head into the bottom of the man’s nose. It sent him snarling back, howling in pain. 

Then time slowed.

Battles like this were often decided in a few short moments. To an outsider, it was over in almost the blink of an eye. To those in the fight, however, it could feel like an eternity -- depending on if you were the one who survived or not.

As the Hunting Party leader recoiled back, his men all lept from their positions to descend upon Anilla. She ran towards Roland, and Roland towards her. His blade was drawn, and each step he took seemed to lunge him further and further forward. 

The quickest hunter of the three was able to gain ground on Anilla, and grabbed her by the shoulder. As she spun around, she again drove her head into her attacker’s face. The second time must have been the charm -- as an audible pop was heard, and the man grabbed at his nose before collapsing to the ground. His limp body twitched, as Anilla seemed to jam the bone of his nose into his skull.

As the second hunter caught up with Anilla, there was the momentary realization that something was amiss, as Roland’s sizable blade bit into his neck, and continued right through it. The man’s head was taken clean off and clattered to the floor, where his body followed.

The third hunter, having seen all of this unfold, broke off from his charge towards Anilla and Roland, and tried to scramble out of the antechamber. He wouldn’t make it far, however, as what felt like five daggers sank into his back and then dragged him to the ground. He seized in agony, as blood dripped from Roland’s armored claws. There was a brief moment where he looked up towards his attacker, and saw Roland standing above him. Everything went black as he felt a sudden severe pressure against his skull and Roland’s plated foot sank into it with a crunch.

That left one. The Hunting Leader was on the ground, still nursing his wound. His face was a mess, as his nose leaked blood, “You mother fuckers!” He hissed out from the floor, and scrambled against a far wall.

Roland looked to Anilla and cut the bindings on her hands. She immediately wrapped them around his neck, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry..” she repeated, over and over. The shock that her body was experiencing was beginning to set in. 

He held her closely and shook his head, muttering against her ear, “I should have listened to you..”

Roland pulled away and looked into Anilla’s eyes. There was tremendous pain at the loss of his pack -- of his friends. But also a tremendous relief that he hadn’t lost her. 

The man continued to scream at them from afar, but Roland paid him little mind. He would get his due shortly.

As Roland turned to finish the man, there was a deafening bang, which echoed through the antechamber. And then second and then a third. In the next moment, life drained from Anilla’s eyes. Her body spun almost completely around, staggered forward against Roland and then slumped to the ground. Her body limp and lifeless.

Roland sank to the ground with her body, both frozen and immobile. He cradled her body, “No, No..” He muttered frantically, “Anilla. Please.” Her body was a ragdoll in his grasp. Her death was immediate. A thousand thoughts and feelings ran through his mind at that moment. Anger. Hatred. Blame. Loss. Doubt. He would never hear her laugh again. He’d never hear her call his name again. Those eyes of hers would never shine with delight, and she would never be able to tell one of her awful jokes. There would be no future in which she was by his side. 

Roland felt the gun barrel press against the back of his skull. He came back to the present.

“Guess we had a change of plans, eh? Said I’d let her watch you die, but this’ll do just fine.” The man blew his nose, a wad of blood shot to the ground beside Roland and Anilla. 

“Get up.” He commanded, “Drop the weapon and the bitch and just get the fuck up. I’m bringing you back to the Camp and we’re gonna string you up for what you did.” He stepped back as Roland gently placed Anilla to the ground and stood. He dwarfed the man by several feet. 

“You made the mistake of letting the boy go, you stupid fucking mutt. We woulda assumed the Forsaken got our guys in that forest. We’d be none the wiser to you and yours. Guess that’s why they say no good deed goes unpunished, eh?” 

The man pushed Roland with the tip of his gun barrel, “Start walking.” Roland complied and began heading towards the exit of the Mines. His gaze lingered on Anilla, and then his fallen friends as he passed them.

The man continued to goad the Worgen, gloating at his defeat. “What’s wrong, Worgen? Got the fight knocked out of you?” He pressed the barrel into Roland’s back, but Roland made no struggle against it. “If you’re not gonna make this fun for me, then I guess I’ll have to make it for myself. You know what we’re gonna do to you when we get back? We’re gonna string you up, and then I’m gonna have the rest of my people bring the bodies of your friends. We’re gonna skin each and every one of em in front of you, piece by piece.” he chuckled at the thought, “I aint gonna kill you until you’re begging for it to end. And I aint gonna make it quick either. I oughta let the boy do you in, as a reward. Let em prove himself.”

Roland looked ahead as they weaved in and out of the tunnel passages through the Mines. They were coming up to a tight bend, and that would be where he would shut this one up for good. As they rounded the bend, Roland stumbled forward to his knees, feigning a trip.

The man laughed and pulled the hammer back on his pistol, “Get up, you fuckin’--” before he could finish his insult, the man’s breath was knocked out of him. The Worgen used his force to slam backwards, sending the man careening into the cavern wall. The pistol clattered to the floor, and in one brief movement, Roland kicked it away and descended upon the man.

Hatred flowed through Roland’s veins as the man scrambled beneath him to try and regain his footing. Roland held the man down with one hand, and then brought a plated fist down upon him. There were no words he could say. His mind held no capacity for that in that moment. He saw red, and wanted to end this man who had caused so much suffering. There was the soft crunch of bone breaking, as a series of blows turned the man’s face into unrecognizable gore. The man squirmed and squealed in horror. The squeals turned to bloodied gurgles and then.. Stopped. The Worgen wouldn’t stop, though. He couldn’t. Not until this man was grinded down to paste against stone.

He wasn’t satisfied and would never be satisfied. However, the agonizing pain eventually caught up with Roland, and he collapsed to the ground in a roar of utter anguish. He’d never see her again. He’d never get to see the outside world with her. He’d never get her to safety.

He would, however, have his revenge.

-Cause and Effect-

The Worgen watched as the Hunting Camp went about their evening. His eyes transfixed on the boy he let go. He was laughing with the others in camp. Oh, how those laughs would soon turn.. He'd leave that boy for last..

They were all woefully unaware of the fury that was about to descend upon them.

“P-Please. Don’t.” The boy would putter out, his voice both hoarse and breathless..

-Present Day-

Roland looked out across the sea to the setting horizon. Though it rained in Gilneas, as it always did -- out there, among the ocean, it seemed both peaceful and serene. He’d traveled across continents and seas, fought battles and tried to find peace. With each step he made, he’d always felt as though something was missing. It was her. 

With a sigh, he placed a flower down beside the grave marker. It was one grave among too many others in Gilneas, and one that he hadn’t been back to since he’d laid her there to rest. He was afraid. Afraid of his mistakes. Afraid of his guilt. Afraid of his blame. Afraid of having to come to terms with the loss of her.

He inhaled deeply and took a seat beside the unmarked stone, which sat among itself among the rolling plains of Gilneas. He grinded his teeth and looked for the words to say -- but the right ones escaped him. They often did when it came to her. But she loved him for it regardless.

So he would start with the truth.

“I’m sorry I’ve been gone for so long..” 

He spoke as the sun set and continued well into the night. He spoke of the things he’d done in the time since he’d left Gilneas. He spoke of the things he was proud of, and the things he wasn’t. He spoke of the journey he’d taken, and where he thought it might lead. He spoke of his regret, and his fear of having failed her. He spoke of the home he longed to regain, and how he wished it was with her. Most of all, he spoke of his love for her, which had never left him. Not even for a moment.

End

[yoongiblunt]

I’ve been running my mouth a lot lately

I kinda closed up hard for a few months

Folks commented on hour quiet I got

I didn’t really notice, I’ve been dealing with a lot of stuff and sort of stopped going out/stopped being active in various friend groups/stopped throwing parties and bar crawling

A lot of people just sort of assumed I was doing really well w my sobriety tho and left me to it apparently

Mic told me that was sort of what the vibe felt like a couple of days ago when she asked me why I wasn’t hanging out so often

I really just haven’t had the time/energy with all of the constant changes I’ve been going thru

But over the last few weeks I’ve been having a surprising up swing, but I think it may just be mania. I find myself saying things that I normally wouldn’t say, telling people information that I usually would keep to myself? Tonight I jumped forward to warn a girl that the guy she was talking to was the same one who hit me up after I was literally told by a 17 year old that he was flirting with her. Now, usually, I would tell the girl in private and let her know, but in a bathroom full of girls I overheard her while I was pissing and got up and literally opened my stall door while I pulled my pants up to tell her to ghost him.

On top of that, earlier tonight one of the guys in my friends band told me that they were not thinking of going with the new bassist that they picked up, who is also a guy that works at my bar. He soft offered me a spot on the forgotten few, though it’s been soft offered to me multiple times. Obviously we hung out and talked a bit, but he told me that the new bassist oversold himself and couldn’t even find the notes he was looking for and that someone else would be filling in for him at the next couple of shows. He then told me that if there was ever a project I wanted to work on with him, that I could text him.

Later that night he popped up and bonked my shoulder with his kids hand and introduced me to his wife. That’s all besides the point, just prior info for my drunk brain.

For whatever reason, I felt the need to tell that nixed bass players bestie (my friend who is staying the night) all about this whole interaction.

I usually wouldn’t run my mouth about anything like that

Those are all things that the passive version of myself would keep my mouth shut about until the proper time or place for those sorts of conversations. Not at a bar or ina crowded bathroom. I’ve also just been saying things that are more abrasive than I used to. Not necessarily at anyone, but in reference to others.

I don’t like how messy and mean that feels. I wanna keep a better check on that kind of behavior because while honesty is important, and often times helpful in situations like with that guy and the minor, there’s a level of tact to it that I’ve been lacking.

Id like to be more careful with how I present information and who I present it to, because lack of tact has cost me many a decent friendship. I don’t want to ruin the ones I have with lack of growth

[theficblog]

NO REGRETS

PARK JIHOON

Prologue: When you finally open up your heart, Jihoon has a logic. Perhaps things can be made better at a ghosted book store.

Genre: Fluff + Friends to Lovers

Wordcount: 888

Warnings: Slight age difference even though both are adults

"No! That's mine!" You whined at the older male as he teased you by threatening to devour the chocolate bar in his hands.

"Maybe it was." He commented.

"If you don't give it to me I won't think twice before ruining your white shirt with this weird mix of yellow, blue and green paint. It's acrylic." You warned him with an evil smirk.

"Will you?" He teased you again.

You inched your paintbrush's tip dangerously close to his clothing, and Jihoon's eyebrows started to furrow in response.

"There you go, all right." He gave in right away.

He offered you a bite since your hands were preoccupied with the colours in front of you.

"Don't drop it, they are gonna charge you for the amends." He warned you in a whisper. Perhaps painting at a bookstore was a bad idea.

"Nobody is listening, there's no one here." You spoke casually.

The atmosphere was filled with the smell of old paper and wood emanating from the dozen shelves that were arranged all around you. Jihoon leaned against one of them, using it to support his back while you sat next to him. The owner of the place wouldn't mind you two being there when no one else was here either, you were never the type to draw on books.

You had known Jihoon ever since you were a toddler, he was your neighbour's son. Even though he was four years older than you, you both enjoyed great chemistry. The differences in preferences, from conversation topics to lifestyle choices, were noticeable in the younger years but given the present time they were more or less similar, you both were now adults, after all. 

Jihoon's attention from his book was diverted at the sight of you struggling to keep your hair in place. 

"Did you shampoo your hair today?" He mocked again but his laughter was quickly brought to an end as you raised the brush again.

"Which book are you reading?" You leaned your head to the side to have a better look as you peered into the pages.

"Something your dumb brain wouldn't understand." He spoke, without lifting his eyes from the words that were tying down all his interest.

"Tskk!" You voiced as your hair flicks slid through and in front of your eyes, again, caused by the motion of the head

Jihoon closed his book, tipped his body in your direction, and reached out to tuck your hair back in place.

His face was close, albeit not too close or too far away, giving you a view of his face. In a snap of a moment, you felt different, even though on the inside you knew you had been suppressing what you felt for him. Ever since you came of age, Jihoon seemed more than just a friend. 

As he fixed your hair, you poked the heart-shaped mole on his cheek. He made eye contact with you and grinned in response to your action.

Maybe this was the right time.

You leaned forward, pressing your lips against his soft, pink ones. It was only a peck. The two of you paused for a brief second, not moving. You softly slammed your lips to his again, this time the contact lasted longer, the lips started to move in sync with each other, eyes closed and an odd surge of hormones was coursing through your body.

Jihoon abruptly pulled back as he shook his head. "No!" He breathed, his eyes never meeting yours. "This is not right, Y/N. You’re younger than me." He reasoned. 

"I'm an adult. I know what I am doing." You protested back.

"I'm four years older than you!" His voice held emotions.

You backed off, showing him a subtle yet apologetic smile. "If you think that's right."

Jihoon was buried in thought, so he remained silent for several minutes, increasing your tension. Would this act end all of your past dynamics? For some reason, however, your gut held no regrets. 

The hands of the clock moved to indicate the passing of more time. Silence still prevailed, and you joined Jihoon in staring into a blank space.

"What are you thinking about?" You asked.

"About us." He said.

"Huh?" You gained back your focus.

"This is so wrong." He repeated. 

"I'm sorry. let's just forget it happened-"

He cut you off. "I can't convince my heart." He confessed.

"I like you Y/N, but I can't help but think of how wrong it would be."

"Why would it be wrong?" You questioned again, proceeding to give him a reason by yourself. "We are both adults, and what's wrong with loving each other? It's not a crime." You explained.

"The age difference. What if you regret being with me after some years?" Jihoon was very emotional yet serious about this.

"Then I'll have to call you grandpa for the rest of our lives." You said playfully, taking his hand in yours. 

"No regrets." You promised.

"No regrets." He repeated as he opened his arms, and heart for you.

You wasted no time in falling into his embrace, without taking notice of one thing. The paint.

"This was my favourite shirt!" He whined, again. 

"Oops." You pouted.

Jihoon took the brush away from your hand, using it to make a heart on your cheek, making you both blush like idiots.

LET ME KNOW YOUR VIEWS + ALSO SEE : MASTERLIST

PLEASE REFRAIN FROM PLAGIARIZING ,TRANSLATING, OR POSTING OUTSIDE THIS PLATFORM.  

[mr-lancers-english-class]

After Death, After Life

Phic Phight 2022 here we go! I am one phic in and already have churned out more words than all of last phic phight, so that's something :D

Prompt from @going-dead: Ghostking!Danny meets one of his parents in the afterlife.

ao3

“Mom?” The word was out of the King’s mouth before he could even think to stop himself, strangled and pained. He hadn’t even said it all that loud, but it carried across the throne room of the Keep, twisting and coiling into the ears of every one of his subjects present today. The light muttering that always dominated the slower of the open court days disappeared in a moment, every ghost present turning in uncanny synchronicity to the throne at the one end of the hall, and half a beat later, to the grand doors thrown open to the courtyard.

The weather had been nice lately, and King Phantom much preferred natural light to the eerie glow of the ghostfire torches.

Of the two ghosts in the doorway, only one reacted as the King spoke. The taller of the two, not The Fright Knight but instead a younger fear knight in their own right, flinched slightly. Glancing between the smaller ghost slumping next to them and King Phantom at the far end of the hall, the knight steeled themself and began to float forward. They passed between the rows of ghosts from all across the zone with back straight and head held high. The smaller ghost followed close behind, light steps still managing to ring out through the hall. 

Not a single word was uttered as the two traversed the length of the room.

When the knight reached the bottom of the throne, they dropped to one knee, bowed their head, and finally broke the silence.

“My King.”

“Sir Ofn.” The knight, Sir Ofn, inclined their head at the acknowledgement, quiet as it may have been.

“I discovered this new ghost in the upper levels of the Realms.” Sir Ofn glanced at the ghost next to them. There was no indication she was processing anything happening around her; she was still slumping slightly, feet planted firmly on the floor of the courtroom, eyes dazed and unfocused. “I know it is not habit to greet every new citizen of the Realms, but this one was a hunter in life and it felt prudent to bring her-” Sir Ofn cut themself off with a light cough. They took a moment to collect, a moment that normally would have been filled with murmurs and whispers from the courtesans over whatever the latest gossip was, a moment that stayed as silent as the moment just before it.

Sir Ofn raised their face to look their King in his eyes, etiquette of the court be damned. Their voice suddenly soft, no longer ringing with the authority of the Knights of the Realm but instead with the care of one who does not wish to see a friend in pain, Sir Ofn said “My King, I’m so sorry. You needed to know as soon as possible.”

The King tore his eyes away from the doors at the end of the hall to finally look at Sir Ofn. He didn’t so much as glance at the smaller ghost, instead holding the knight’s gaze. Sir Ofn didn’t break the eye contact, not until their King seemed to collapse into his throne; his body went completely slack as a marionette doll cut loose from it’s strings. Any breath he might have had left his lips in a pained sigh and he closed his eyes.

Sir Ofn stood, fully aware of just how much they were breaking the rules of the court today, and as the temperature in the throne room began to drop, they turned to the waiting crowd.

“I need to speak with His Majesty alone. You may all take your leave.”

The assembled ghosts shuffled out without so much as a grumble.

It was common knowledge that the new Ghost King was not a full ghost. Not that anyone really cared: it had no bearing on his ability to lead the realm, and while he had been young and naive at the start, the past five years of ruling had sharpened his mind and spirit until he had earned the respect and trust of his subjects. There was not a single ghost who would say anything against him on the questionable status of his death, nor against those in the lands of the living who were just as much his allies as other leaders in the Infinite Realms were.

Even still, it was quite easy to forget just how much of his heart and mind the young King had among the living. His parents were never spoken of in polite company; being descended from hunters was about as shameful a heritage as any ghost could have. His sister was not an uncommon sight in the Keep, but few had ever spoken to her. His two closest friends traveled all across the Zone and were friendly with many of the leaders of the smaller realms and general populous alike, but everyone knew they didn’t entirely belong in the world of the living anymore either.

To see the King’s mother as a new ghost was a stark reminder of everything human about the King of the Dead.

And yet, now alone in the throne room with the King still slumped in his throne and the new ghost next to them just as unresponsive as ever, Sir Ofn couldn’t help but wish that their King would look just a little less like death.

“Your Majesty-”

“Just, drop the title.” His Majesty, King Phantom of the Infinite Realms, cut the knight off. “Please just, Phantom right now.”

“Of course, Phantom.” Both King and knight could hear how awkward Sir Ofn felt using the King’s personal name, but it was not the first time.

“Where did you-” Phantom let out a low exhale. “Where did you find her?”

“The upper levels of the realm, not far from your own portal. I didn’t recognize her, not at first, but,” Sir Ofn shrugged, unsure of how to explain.

“She’s strong. And distinct.” Phantom stood from the throne, unclasping the flowing cape of the King and setting the Crown of Fire on the seat.

“That she is, Phantom.” Sir Ofn snorted without humor. “She seemed… confused. Lost.”

“You could feel her fear.”

“Yes.”

“Has she said anything?” Phantom stepped down off the throne dais, feet just as firmly on the ground as the new ghost’s. “Or, y’know, done anything at all?

“She was quite talkative when I found her. She asked me where she was, who I was, what was happening. When I explained that she was a ghost, she shut down. She hasn’t said anything since, merely followed me.”

“I should call Jazz. She needs to know.” Before Sir Ofn could respond, Phantom had turned away and pulled out a set of Fenton Phones. From where, Sir Ofn could only imagine.

“My King- Phantom. Should you not confirm that this is actually-”

“What, Maddie?” Phantom glanced at the ghost in question for perhaps the first time since she had fully entered the throne room. “I don’t need to. It’s her. I know it.”

He tensed then, body closing off as he spun away from Sir Ofn and brought his hand up to his ear. “Hmm, Jazz? What? No, it was open court today, you know I have everything on silent for that. Jazz, Jazz I need you to slow down. You want me to come back home?” A pause on Phantom’s end as he listened to what his sister was saying. “Yeah, I get that you say it’s urgent, but something came up here and I don’t think I can leave just yet- it’s about mom?”

Phantom froze, hand still raised to his ear. Whatever his sister was saying, it was hitting him hard.

“She’s- yeah, Jazz, I know.”

Sir Ofn could have sworn they heard the yelp on the other end of the Fenton Phones as Phantom’s sister reacted.

“That’s why- that’s what- Jazz I can’t leave. No, I get what you’re saying. That’s- ugh don’t you get it? That’s why I can’t go home! Not right now!”

There was a long pause in which Phantom didn’t speak but it didn’t appear he was listening to anything either.

After far too long for the knight’s liking, Phantom nodded. “Yes. She’s- well, she’s here.” Another pause. “I don't know what I’m gonna do! But I can’t just leave her, not like this. Jazz, I won’t ask you to cover for me, not through this. Just, I don’t know, deflect to Sam and Tucker. I’ll let them know what to expect.”

Phantom glanced back at the two other ghosts as his sister spoke again, but Sir Ofn had the distinct feeling he wasn’t really seeing either of them.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to come yet. She’s- I don’t think she’s handling it well. What? No, she hasn’t actually said anything to me yet. No, one of my knights found her- yes, one of the Knights of Fear- no that’s not- just, don’t come yet. I’ll- I’ll let you know when. Please Jazz, I need you to trust me on this.” Phantom’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Thank you, Jazz. I’ll, well I guess I’ll let you know if anything changes.Stay safe. I love you.”

Phantom pressed a button on the side of the Fenton Phones and turned back to the other duo.

“That- I mean- I can-” Phantom stopped to draw in a shaky breath. “Jazz wanted to tell me that mom-” He cut himself off again, voice trembling.

“I understand. You don’t need to say it, not if you aren’t ready. Should you alert your friends?”

“Hmm? Yeah. Yeah no, I need to do that. I’ll just, uh,” Phantom began to turn away again, pulling another device out of another hidden pocket. “It won’t take long, I’ll just be right over-”

“You said Jazz.” The voice was quiet and unsure, but both Phantom and Sir Ofn froze. “Why did you say my daughter’s name?” Maddie Fenton’s ghost finally, finally looked up. She ignored the knight next to her whose hand had drifted to their sword, and instead locked eyes with Phantom. He didn’t say anything, one hand clenching the little communicator tightly. After a moment, Maddie continued. “Is she dead too?”

That was enough to shock Phantom into a response. “What? No, of course not. She’s- Jazz is fine. She just, she called to tell me that you were- that you’re-”

“That I’m dead?” Maddie’s voice was still quiet, but her surety punched Phantom in the gut. “Why was she calling you?”

“I-”

“How do you know my daughter?”

“It’s- she’s my sister? Mom, it’s me. Danny.”

“Danny?” Maddie tilted her head a little, as if to size up the ghost in front of her. “You died too?”

“No- yes- sort of- ugh, kind of, but it’s been a few years now- Mom, I need you to look at me.” Danny took a step towards Maddie and held his hands out in front of him cautiously. Sir Ofn tensed, hand now resting firmly on the grip of their sword.

“Okay.” 

“Mom, can you tell me what you see?”

“I see you, Danny,” She paused, her brow crinkling slightly in thought. “Why do you look so different?”

“Mom, I’m Pha-” Before he could finish the word, Maddie’s eyes widened, her body tensed, and Danny felt himself flying across the room to crash into the base of the throne. Maddie was on top of him before he could get to his feet, pinning him to the floor.

“You’re not my Danny! You’re not- Who are you!” She screamed, less a question and more a desperate cry. “Where’s my son? Where is-”

Danny threw up a shield, hands held above his face as if they could protect him from his mother any better than the sheet of energy. Slowly, he pushed the shield up and away, forcing Maddie to back down as he stood up. He threw a glance to the rest of the hall; Sir Ofn resheathed their sword and backed away a few steps.

“Mom, I swear it’s me. Please can you- Mom I’m gonna let the shield go, but I need you to promise me you won’t do anything. Please, can you promise me that?” 

For a brief moment, there was no response. Then, after an eternity that lasted less than a second, Maddie nodded sharply. Danny dropped the shield and set his feet back on the ground.

“Mom, I promise you, it’s me, Danny. It’s always- It’s always just been me.” Maddie’s eyes ran up and down him in a frantic search. “Mom, can you see? It’s me. It’s me, and I can- I can help you, but I need you to stay calm, and then we can talk about this. Please, we can just sit and talk and I can explain everything.” Danny lowered himself to the edge of the dais. He set his feet to rest over the steps, and slowly, without looking away from his mom, tapped the spot next to him.

Maddie hesitated a moment, throwing looks around the hall now. Sir Ofn glanced back at the open door leading out to the courtyard, and when they felt Maddie’s eyes on them, looked at her with a slight shake of their head. They hoped it was comforting.

“Mom?” Danny asked one more time. Maddie sat next to him, her own feet mirroring his on the steps below them.

Sir Ofn bowed low to their King, and left the hall. Light whispers sounded behind them, and if they had listened any closer, they might have heard crying, but that was not for them to say.