#lost it a bit when she mentioned one of them died in a biking accident thats so stupid 😭😭

[pinimi]

so guys do we think it was jon or martin who forgot to wear a bicycle helmet and 🚴‍♂️🚗

[tagthescullion]

I'm imagining an AU where Nico brought Hazel back from the dead but didn't know about Camp Jupiter, maybe leaving the Underworld with her before Hades told him (the timeline as to when exactly he found out about CJ and how this fits into when he brought Hazel is iffy anyway; we don't actually know which one happened first); maybe he didn't even realize she was Roman.

So instead, he brings her to Camp Half-Blood.

Their cover story is that Hazel is from the Lotus Hotel. Nico went back there hoping to find out more about his family, since he doesn't remember anything about his past and hoped he and Bianca had left papers or photographs or something there, found Hazel there instead, and brought her out. This explains Hazel being from the 1940s and also explains Hades not breaking the oath, since I don't think he'd stand for his honor being questioned if the Greeks thought he'd broken the oath with Hazel's mother.

So Nico and Hazel show up at camp, and he brings her to Chiron. Chiron, who can recognize a Roman on sight, just like he did with Jason.

And Chiron takes one look at Hazel and, just like he did with Jason, says, "You should be dead."

To which Hazel and Nico respond, shocked that they've been found out so soon, "How did you know?!"

anon you inspired me, and I am most grateful, I was having a 20s crisis.

Rating: G+ (a bit of swearing)

Words: 2258

AO3 link

Inconvenient Revelations

“We’re almost there,” Nico said between breaths. 

Hazel couldn’t judge him. They’d been trekking for ages, her legs were going by themselves by this point, she’d lost the feeling in them at least ten miles ago.

“Why couldn’t we take a bus?” She asked. 

Nico didn’t stop, but he slowed his pace so he’d be side-by-side with her. “Hazel, I’ve told you, it’s dangerous. I am like a magnet to monsters. I’ve heard stories of monsters in buses, trains, even planes!”

That was all tragic and all, but for starters, Hazel knew Nico would rather swim across the Atlantic and half-way across the Mediterranean to his native Italy rather than so much as sit on a plane; and secondly, she’d seen the boy deal with four different monsters on the way and the chances of a lone, hungry monster managing to murder them on a bus was almost zero.

She gave him a funny look.

“All right,” he said, raising his hands in an appeasing manner. “I thought we’d get to know each other better if we traveled by foot. Central Park isn’t too far from Camp if you go in a vehicle.”

“And, pray tell,” she said. “What have you learned about me in four and a half days of walking?”

Nico shrugged. “You hate pickles, you never learned how to ride a bike, thinking about the past makes you go on a trance, you lived in Alaska but won’t tell me why, you—” He leaned on a tree and held a hand to his side. “I am so not made for exercising.” He said indignantly. “At any rate, I know a million details and nothing substantial.”

She turned so he wouldn’t see her face. She’d avoided talking about stuff she cared too much about, or was embarrassed about, too. She hadn’t mentioned Sammy, or their father’s visit. She avoided speaking of her mother. She had never told him how she had died, nor how she had almost allowed Gaea to rise to power again. 

“I don’t like sharing either,” he assured her. “That’s okay.”

That was also true. She knew very little of her new brother. He liked soccer, he hated mozzarella. He had another sister who died, he was Venetian —and no, that wasn’t the same as ‘Italian’—. He was also born before the War, and had remained in a timeless trance in a place called the Lotus Hotel —which he had only confessed, she supposed, because it was to be her cover once they arrived at Camp Half-Blood—.

Yet Hazel was sure that they had, for better or for worse, found out substantial information out of each other by accident. 

She knew she’d been rescued from the Underworld by accident because he’d called her Bianca too many times to hide the pain he felt from not being able to have his real sister back. While he now was comfortable sleeping in rough places and out in nature, he had clearly had a rather privileged upbringing  —who  the hell asked for silverware to eat tacos?—. He respected, and probably even loved, their father and yet he resented the god, too. 

“What do you really know about me?” She asked. 

He raised an eyebrow. 

“Don’t play a fool,” she insisted. “I know you know more than that.”

Nico studied her with his soft-brown eyes. His eyes, Hazel thought, didn’t fit his face well. They were too kind, even when he hardened his expression to a cold, unfeeling façade.

“You regret something,” he said. “Probably something about how or why you died.”

She tilted her head. 

“In Asphodel, most spirits forget themselves.” He explained, starting to walk again. “Unless they hold dear memories they stick to,” he continued, “or unless they can’t let go of regrets and guilt.”

“What makes you think I don’t remember good memories?” She wondered.

He scoffed. “No offence, Hazel, but you’re miserable.”

She frowned. “How kind. Spoken like the true ray of sunshine you are.”

He huffed a laugh. “You’re not wrong. I have accepted that I'm not happy. But you have another chance at life. Cheer up, Hazel!”

She didn’t cheer up. 

They walked in silence for a few more miles. Gods, she was ready to drop and sleep for two weeks.

“Over there!” Nico stopped suddenly. He pointed towards the North-East.

Hazel barely avoided colliding with him. She followed her brother’s arm to a hill. There was a lone pine-tree standing on top, with something curled underneath it —too far for her eyes to see properly—.

“That’s the place?” She asked. “Do we have to climb more?”

Nico nodded somberly. “I forgot New York had hills.”

She had wondered, on more than one occasion, how her brother could forget places he had supposedly visited a lot. He had painted this Camp Half-Blood as a haven for demigods in danger, and yet he didn’t seem to know jackshit about it.

“Clearly, you walk here often,” she said.

“I shadow-travel,” he told her. “Much faster, but rather tiring. Especially for long distances. Besides, my aim isn’t great.”

She did recall asking how far he’d ever been from his home, and him replying ‘China!’. It probably had to do with the whole being eaten by shadows thing.

When he’d explained to her what shadow-traveling consisted of, he'd also mentioned it was unwise to use that method not knowing if the shadows would claim her again. Needless to say, she’d been uncompelled to try.

Eventually, treading over their tired feet, they managed to get to the hill. Halfway through the climb —not too steep a slope, thank the gods—, Hazel recognized the thing under the tree.

It was a dragon.

“It’s okay,” Nico said, catching her face. “He’s a good dragon, he guards Thalia’s tree.”

Why did the tree have a name, Hazel didn’t know. Why did they have a guardian dragon…? Well, it must have had to do with the shiny pelt on one of the lower branches.

“Why do you have a carpet on the tree?” She asked. 

Nico looked bemused. “Huh? Oh… the Golden Fleece? It’s a long story, I’ll tell you later.”

The dragon raised his head as they got closer.

“Hello, Peleus.” Nico grinned at the beast. “How are we doing today? Still warm for September, isn’t it?”

The dragon let Nico pet him for a bit, and then he saw Hazel.

Immediately, its demeanor changed. It went still, watching her every move with dark eyes.

“What’s wrong with you, ragazzo?” Nico demanded. “She’s one of us, this is Hazel, my sister!”

Peleus didn’t seem to care much for Nico’s opinion. He followed her with his eyes as she walked past him.

Crossing an invisible wall that appeared to be aligned with the tree, Hazel felt a shiver down her spine.

Turn away. 

Her hands felt sweaty all of a sudden.

Get out.

Nico saw her discomfort and gave up trying to convince the dragon of Hazel’s innocence.

Could this place know what Hazel had done? Nico had called it Thalia’s tree. Was Thalia some sort of protector spirit that kept traitors away?

She crossed her arms around her torso, feeling cold.

“Is everything all right?” He asked. “The barrier may know you’re…”

For a fraction of a second, Hazel froze, scared that Nico had somehow figured out her hand in Gaea’s attempted return. Then she calmed herself, he only meant she had been dead.

“Must be.” She tried to sound certain, but Nico’s face let her know she’d failed spectacularly.

“Come on, then,” he said, offering her a hand. “That over there’s the Big House, we’ll get you acquainted with the activities director and with the camp’s director, too —if he’s here, that is—.”

Hazel got a good look of Camp Half-Blood as they went down the hill towards the house. There were bizarre-looking cabins arranged in a horse-shoe shape, some only half-constructed. A sprinkle of Greek-style buildings dotted the valley between the hills, and a big forest went off towards the East. She could glimpse the ocean in the distance, and a lake not too far from it.

It was idyllic, and yet every step further into the place made Hazel feel more and more uneasy.

“I’m not sure this is a good idea,” she warned her brother on the porch steps —the blue house looming over them—.

Nico’s face had closed off, making Hazel sure he knew something was off. Regardless, he tried for a smile and said, “Nonsense, everybody’s welcome at Camp.”

Out the door came out a tall, blonde girl, almost running into them.

“Oh, Nico, hi!” She said. She turned to Hazel with a small smile. “You must be new.”

“Hazel,” Nico gestured at her. “This is Annabeth Chase, our leader.”

The girl rolled her eyes. “Percy’s the leader, not me.”

Nico shrugged. “Is Chiron here?”

Annabeth nodded. “Mr D isn't, though, called to Olympus for who knows what.” Turning to Hazel, she added, “It’s better that he’s not here, actually.”

“He’s not that bad,” Nico argued. “He’s an acquired taste.”

“I’ve been here for eons and I haven’t acquired shit,” Annabeth stated. Realizing she sounded scornful, she said in a softer tone. “But then again, perhaps we’re just incompatible people.”

Hazel had absolutely no clue who they were speaking about. Somebody important enough to be called to Olympus so not someone she’d speak of so lightly as Annabeth had. Of course, she was evidently a seasoned veteran of demigodness, and Hazel’s only life achievement had been to almost destroy the world. Different standards, she supposed.

“I’ve promised Clarisse I’d spar with her.” Annabeth interrupted Hazel’s thoughts. “But welcome to Camp, Hazel! Don’t let Nico show you that crappy orientation video.”

She ran off just as Nico retorted a whiny, “Oh, come on! It’s brilliant. It’s fucking ridiculous.”

Nico opened the Big House’s door and waited for Hazel to go in.

The place was quiet, old-fashioned, and had walls that needed repainting.

Nico led her to a room in the back of the place, it had big windows facing the valley.

There was a man sitting in a wheelchair —presumably Chiron—, reading a blueprint that showed what appeared to be a temple. 

He looked up as Hazel and her brother went into the room.

“Nico, an unexpected surprise!” Chiron said. 

His eyes focused on Hazel. His friendliness vanished in an instant. His small but amicable smile turned into a hard frown, and he gripped the table in front of him tight enough for his knuckles to turn white.

“You should be dead.”

Hazel felt faint, she was vaguely aware of Nico taking a step back, putting himself between Chiron and Hazel.

She swallowed. “How— How do you—?”

But before Hazel could finish talking, Nico said sharply, “What do you mean?”

Chiron pushed the wheelchair away from the table and stood.

No, he didn’t stand up. Hazel —amidst her discomfort and fear— stared bemused as the chair rolled back as a horse materialized from Chiron’s waist down.

He was a centaur! 

Ignoring Nico’s question, Chiron faced Hazel. “You know what I mean, do you not?”

She caught a difference in his voice but didn’t have time to consider it as she debated whether to lie or to tell the truth. There seemed to be little point in dishonesty, the centaur had caught on to their charade inconveniently fast. Could he read minds, Hazel wondered? 

She nodded slowly.

“Wait,” Nico held up his hands. “Are you speaking Latin? What are you, a Catholic priest?”

Chiron looked back at her brother. “Where did you two meet?”

“The Lotus Hotel,” Nico said quickly. “I was searching for clues about my family and I ran into her.”

“Are you sure about that?” The centaur insisted.

Nico huffed. “I know you don’t trust me much, but I—”

“It’s okay, Nico,” Hazel stopped him. “He knows.”

Her brother looked between her and Chiron. Realizing, perhaps, that their game was lost, he sighed.

“I can explain,” he said.

“I sure hope so,” Chiron told him, and Hazel didn’t think the chastising undertone was all that necessary. “There’s a reason why Greeks and Romans have been kept separated for centuries. I should like to know what gave you the impression that it was a good idea to bring one of them here.”

That disoriented Hazel. By her brother’s expression, he wasn’t following the conversation either, but she could also see a gleam of relief in his eyes.

“Roman?” Nico inquired. “Like, an Ancient Roman demigod?”

“I’m not from Ancient Rome,” Hazel argued. “I died in 1942!”

Nico shook his head as a warning, but the damage had been done.

“Died!” Chiron cried. 

He glared at Nico, who in exchange took a step closer to him, and put up what Hazel had baptized ‘the diplomat smile’. Fake as plastic, and not yet convincing in the face of a 12-year-old.

“What have you done?” Chiron demanded. “And don’t lie to me, son of Hades.”

“How about,” Nico offered in an almost-calm voice. “We sit down, you tell us what you mean about Hazel being Roman, and then we share the whole story of how we met?”

Chiron looked exasperated. 

“Gods above!” He muttered.

“Actually,” Nico rebutted. “It’s the gods below we should be blaming for this whole thing.”

“I imagine your father has no idea of your… rescue operation.” Chiron speculated.

“I’d be terribly grateful if you didn’t enlighten him,” Nico said. 

Chiron let out a long, exhausted breath.

“Let’s sit down,” he agreed. “We’ll talk. Then we’ll decide what we do from here.”

[kinglazrus]

Dead Man Walking

Phic Phight | AO3 | FFN

Submitted by @syrren: Instead of making him half-dead, the portal accident makes Danny unable to die. This....changes things.

(or: how canon changes if the accident leaves Danny with deadpool-style regeneration abilities to make for a horrifyingly self-sacrificing vigilante, or with some kind of reset ability every time he dies to equally horrifying implications)

Summary: The accident changes Danny in ways he never thought possible. Sam and Tucker watch him fall from the portal dead and burnt beyond recognition, but he doesn't stay dead for long. He never stays dead. Of all the things Danny expected to happen when he walked into that portal, getting unlimited regeneration wasn't one of them, but now that he has it, he's going to put it to good use. Deadpool AU.

Word count: 3606

The first time Danny dies, his friends bear witness. They will never forget the ominous whirr of the portal as it turned on, the warning crackle of electricity, the final throat-tearing scream of their best friend. There are other things, too, that burned into their minds that day. How his body hit the floor of the lab with a thud, burnt beyond recognition, burnt so bad there wasn't any blood. How it smelled, to their horror, not so different from charred barbecue.

They like to pretend that part never happened. It's easy when all they need to do is call his phone and hear his voice, unaffected by the savage electrical heat that brought him to ruin that day. When he doesn't stay dead, it's not hard to pretend he never died at all. It took minutes for his body to fix itself, blackened skin overtaken by fresh pink muscle, which then sprouted new skin, perfectly unblemished.

Even the scar he got when he was fell off his bike at six years old disappeared.

"I liked that scar," Danny says, pouting when he finally notices its absence three days later.

"I don't think that's the right thing to get hung up," Sam says.

"But it looked like a spaceship!"

"I always thought it looked like an upside-down nine," Tucker muses.

"Or six," Sam says.

"Upside down nine is more fun."

They proceed like this for three weeks, mentioning the accident only in the lightest of terms, joking about their new, shared trauma. They are content to move on with their lives, forget it happened, go on as normal high schoolers. Until Danny dies again.

—

"What do you mean you don't want to hunt ghosts?" Jack exclaims. He gapes down at the trio, wholeheartedly baffled by this confession.

"I'll stick with tech, thanks," Tucker says, holding up his phone.

"Ghosts just aren't cool anymore," Sam says.

"Can I go back upstairs now?" Danny asks. At his question, Sam and Tucker fall silent. None of them make eye contact, and neither do they look toward the portal innocently humming only a few feet away. Danny is very aware that this is his first time in the lab since the accident. The same thought runs through Sam and Tucker's minds.

Jack doesn't notice the sudden change in mood. "Nonsense, Danno! You love ghosts. Why, I remember when you were just a tyke, you wanted to be a ghost when you grew up." He clenches his fist. "It was unacceptable. But that's okay! You can hunt them instead!"

He turns his back on Danny and his friends, eagerly going over the array of tools laid out on the counter. Ghost detectors, ecto-guns, protective shield, and an empty space where a thermos should be. "I forgot the best part! Wait right here, kids." Jack charges upstairs, leaving the kids alone.

Danny glances at the portal, unable to suppress a shiver. "You think he'd notice if I snuck away?"

"Nuh-uh, if you go, we go, too," Tucker says.

No one gets to go. Two sets of slimy green tentacles poke through the portal, probing the empty air. Their soft bodies soon follow, revealing a pair of ghostly octopuses.

"Holy shit ghosts are real." That is all Tucker has time to say before the ghosts attack. They launch themselves forward, shrieking in excitement. One goes for Sam and the other charges Tucker. They try to jump out of the way, but the ghosts are faster. The ectopuses tentacles wrap around them, pinning their arms down.

"Danny!" Sam shouts.

In retrospect, a smarter person would have gone for the ecto-gun lying on the table, freshly loaded and ready for a demonstration. Or, they might have shouted for his father, a ghost hunter who has trained his entire life for this scenario. But Danny acts faster than he thinks. He dives toward Tucker, the closest of the two, and digs his fingers into the ghost's tentacles. It screams as Danny's nails dig into its flesh.

The ghost's body goes translucent. Tucker slips out of its grasp, dropping to the floor in a heap, but Danny's hold stays firm. The ectopus panics, thrashing and tugging, its flailing limbs cutting through Tucker over and over without harming him. No matter what the ectopus does, it can't shake Danny loose, and his nails are starting to cut.

"Dude, you're doing it!" Tucker says, too soon.

As it flails, one of the ectopus' tentacles smacks Danny in the face, making his head snap back. At that moment, he and the ghost have the same realization. If he can touch it, it can hurt him back. The ectopus gives another shriek and its remaining seven tentacles surge forward. They wrap around Danny's arms, his chest, curling so tight his bones ache. The last one closes around Danny's throat.

His throat, weak like the ghost's flesh, crumples in an instant. His air disappears. No sound leaves his mouth, not even a wheeze, and his eyes bulge as panic sets in.

"Danny!" Sam and Tucker scream. Sam struggles against her captor kicking and gnashing her teeth, but her boots can't reach its body. Tucker grabs Danny, tries to pull him away, to bat off the ghost’s grip, but it is no use. The ghost is too strong, and Tucker can't touch it in this state.

Danny loses focus of them, then. His brain goes fuzzy, everything blurring around him while his face grows hot. All he can feel is the burn, the ache, the need to breathe, breathe, breathe damn it! The haze of the ghost looming over him fills his vision, slowly overtaken by red, then black spots.

As everything goes dark, Danny's last thought is this:

I guess I'm dead after all.

—

He hears the sobbing first. It starts off quiet and distant, but quickly grows louder, great hiccupping coughs scattered between heart-wrenching cries.

"Mr. Fenton!" someone screams. It happens fast, after that. Thundering steps, a deep cry of shock and pain that cuts him to his core. A piercing whine followed by two quick blasts.

The ectopuses' retreating shriek cuts through Danny loud and clear. His eyes snap open and air rushes into his lungs, a hoarse, wheezing breath that he holds for a moment. Then he takes another, and another, and he's breathing again, and he's not anymore.

Sam and Tucker, kneeling at his side, cry out as one. They throw themselves on him, blubbering messes the both of them. Danny's father, facing the portal, turns disbelieving eyes on him.

Danny's gaze drops to his father's hand and the ecto-gun clutched in it. "Oh, right." The word scrapes against his throat. He swallows, twice, until speaking doesn't hurt and says, "I forgot we had the gun.

"Danny!" Jack dashes toward them, dropping to his knees beside Danny. Sam and Tucker scramble back, giving him room. "Are you alright? What happened? You looked..."

Dead.

Because he was. Again.

"I'm fine," Danny assures him. "Lost consciousness, that's all.

"Danny, your face was blu—" Tucker yelps when Sam punches him in the shoulder, cutting him off mid-sentence. He rubs the spot, shooting her an offended look, but Sam's eyes are only on Danny.

Danny nods, just enough that she can see, a silent thanks.

"I think you kids should go upstairs now." Jack's voice trembles. He raises his hand, about to run it through his hair, but stops when he sees the gun he's still holding. "I'll take care of things down here. Call your parents and all that."

For the first time, Danny notices the green splotches littering the floor and the wall. Probably from the ectopuses.

Sam loops an arm around Danny's shoulders, hoisting him up. He stumbles when he gets to his feet, bracing himself against her as the room spins. It settles after a few seconds, but he still feels a bit lightheaded. A side effect of choking, maybe?

Tucker helps from Danny's other side. They go up to Danny's room in silence, their steps thumping up the stairs. Only once they're safely behind his closed door, and Danny is lying on the bed, does Sam speak.

"You died again," she says.

Danny touches his throat. "Yeah." Pressing gently, he feels is no lingering pain. Just like before, he healed without a trace. "Can I just not die now?"

"More like you can't stay dead," Tucker says.

"Tucker!" Sam hisses.

"What? It's true! Sorry that I'm not handling seeing my friend die twice very well!"

"Be quiet!"

Danny cuts in before they can devolve into shouting. "Let's just leave it at two, okay?"

Sam and Tucker share a glance over Danny's prone form and nod. The weight of that action is lost on Danny, whose only thought is that he wants to sleep for a very long time.

—

The knives don't kill him. They hurt like hell, but they don't kill him. He sees them flying toward him and leaps out of the way. Something strikes him in the gut, a solid punch that blows the air from his lungs and knocks him back into the walls. He thinks one of the frozen steaks got him, but when he looks down, he sees the handle of a kitchen knife sticking out of his stomach.

He stares at it, stunned, not feeling anything at first. Then, his body jolts, like a shock of electricity is running through him, and his nerves scream, heat building, until every little twitch sends a jolt of pain so deep coursing through him that he can hardly breathe.

"Danny, look out!" Tucker, or Sam, he can't tell which, so lost in his pain, cry out a warning. Danny doesn't move in time and two more knives bury themselves in his body, another in his stomach, and the other through his chest. The Lunch Lady cackles with glee as Danny gurgles. The last knife got his lung, and he can feel it slowly filling.

The pound of Sam's boots on the tiles reaches his ears. She shouts something, but he doesn't hear it. Trembling, Danny grips the handle of the knife in his lungs. In first-aid, they tell you to leave whatever object stabbing you in. It keeps the wound plugged, stops you from bleeding out. But Danny's instincts cry out against everything he was ever taught.

Take them out! Take them out!

He braces himself, then yanks. It hurts so much worse coming out, now that he's aware of the pain, the sharp edge searing as it rips the wound wider. He drops the knife and goes for the next one. All three fall to the floor beside him with a clatter, their blades shiny and red. Danny can't breathe, can barely think through the pain. He presses a hand against his chest, feeling the wound beneath his shirt.

It stitches itself together beneath his fingers. The searing pain retreats, replaced by a dull ache. By the time Sam reaches him and rips his shirt open to see his wound, his chest is healed.

"Technically, I didn't die," Danny croaks.

Sam sobs, covering her mouth with her hand. There's relief in her eyes, beneath the horror, and she makes a noise that might be a laugh, choked and garbled as it is.

Danny dives back into the fight with renewed vigour. Twenty minutes and one Fenton Thermos later, the ghost is gone, but not before half the student body saw some bloody idiot fighting it bare-handed.

"Did you see who it was?" Dash whispers to his friends.

Danny, clean of blood and wearing his gym t-shirt, slumps against the wall nearby, listening. Someone called the police when meat started flying through the hallways, and they apparently called Danny's parents. Ghosts are real and everyone knows it now, but Danny doesn't care about that at the moment.

"No, man. I wasn't close enough," Kwan answers Dash.

"Whoever that was, he totally just saved us all," Paulina says. She clasps her hands together and leans against Star. "He's such a hero."

Hero. The word resonates with Danny. He can't explain it, but it pulls at him. A hero. The school is in chaos, the yard covered in raw meat, the hallways hacked and slashed, but everyone is safe and unharmed thanks to Danny.

"More like a dumbass," Sam mutters from Danny's left.

"Semantics," Tucker says.

Between them, Danny only grins.

—

Jack paces in front of the portal, a tub of fudge cradled in the crook of his arm. Every few steps, he grabs a square and pops it in his mouth, chewing furiously. Between bites, he mutters.

"I'm telling you, Mads. He must have been some kind of ghost," he says.

"I don't know, Jack." Maddie, staring at the computer screen, tilts her head. They managed to grab a few stills from the school's security footage of the figure who fought off the ghost, but they didn't come out right. The surroundings are a little grainy, but no more than a standard security camera, so they know there's nothing wrong with the film itself. The ghost, who called herself the Lunch Lady if Maddie remembers correctly, is little more than a green haze in the image. They expected this. Ghosts don't interact with most technology well, not unless it is designed to interact with them.

But the smaller figure is distorted, a twisted shadow obscuring their form. Not ghostly, but not human either.

She clicks to the next image, getting the same results.

"Are you saying it's a human?" Jack asks without breaking stride.

"It's humanoid, but I don't think it's human, either. Yet it bled, so it's not a ghost. And look at this." She closes the files, revealing a folder full of pictures, all of them taken over the past couple of weeks as ghost sightings increased. "They show up at most fights and leave lots of bodily fluids behind." Jiggling the mouse, she circles a series of four images with the courser, all pictures of significant blood splatters. "But the samples..."

As one, she and Jack turn to the sample tray sitting on the far counter. Where the blood is deep red in the pictures, the samples they took have slowly turned to a dark, murky brown, like thick mud. The oldest sample from the first sighting is black.

Jack grabs a handful of fudge and shoves it in his mouth. "Not to mention," he speaks around the chewy squares, "what does it do with the ghosts?"

The lab door squeaks as it opens. Maddie and Jack fall silent, gazes turning toward the stairs. A pair of red sneakers appears on the top step, creeping down, until the wearer slowly reveals themself. Their son, Danny, with what looks like a thermos clutched in his hand.

"Sweetie, are you only just getting home?" Maddie asks.

Danny yelps in surprise. He jerks the thermos behind his back and swivels to face his parents, freezing on the step. "Oh, hey. I didn't think you guys would be here..."

Maddie narrows her eyes. "What did you do, young man? You were supposed to be home from school an hour ago."

"Nothing! I just got held up." Danny tugs the collar of his jacket.

That's odd. Maddie doesn't remember him leaving with a jacket this morning. The sleeves drape over his hands, down to his knuckles, and he has the collar turned up to cover his neck. It must be cold outside, even though September is only just ending. "What held you up?"

"Uh, that's kind of why I thought you guys wouldn't be here? There was another ghost fight. It got pretty bad." He shifts, pressing his arm against his side. Is his jacket darker there, against his ribs?

"Another ghost?" Jack exclaims. He slaps the fudge down on the closest surface, rattling the test tube samples. "Mads, we gotta go! There might still be some evidence!"

Maddie's eyes widen. "Oh, shoot. You're right! We need fresh samples." They race to grab their equipment, snatching up sample gathering packs from their desks, and charge up the stairs.

Danny presses himself against the wall, offering them a nervous smile as they go. "Stay safe!" he calls. The front door slams as Maddie and Jack make their exit, leaving the house in silence. Still, Danny doesn't relax until he hears the rev of the Fenton RV and the familiar squeal of its tires against the pavement. His shoulders slump and he breathes a sigh of relief.

"That was close." Taking his hand out from behind his back, he looks down at the Fenton Thermos. "Now let's get you taken care of."

As he empties the thermos back into the Ghost Zone, his gaze wanders to the computer screen, still open to the photo evidence. Danny reads the title of the folder. "Challenger?" He snorts. "That's lame." As he skims the photos, a couple jump out at him. In most, he can barely make out the shape of his own body—something he tries not to think about—but in one or two, he can recognize the colours of his clothes beneath the distorting shadow.

Danny slaps the cap back onto the empty thermos before moving closer to the computer, frowning at the screen. "That might be a problem."

—

Danny stands in front of his friends, fists resting on his hips, and shows off his new look. "Well? What do you think?"

Tucker looks him up and down, body shaking as he suppresses his laughter. "Is that a paper superhero mask? Did you spray paint your hair white?"

Danny's hands rise to his head. "It's a spray-on dye! I thought it was cool!"

"Ten bucks says it's super crispy."

"Don't be mean," Sam admonishes Tucker. "I think he looks pretty good. For a discount Jack Frost."

Tucker snaps his fingers. "Emo Jack Frost! The real one would never wear this much black."

"We are no longer friends," Danny says, turning away from them.

"Come on, don’t be a spoilsport."

"Nope, too late. I'm already dead to you."

Sam and Tucker share a confused glance. "Don't you mean we're dead to—" Before Sam can finish the sentence, Danny turns and throws himself out his bedroom window. "Danny!" They scramble after him, falling against the sill as they lean outside, peering down to the alley below.

Danny lies face-first on the pavement.

"Are you dead?" Tucker asks.

Danny raises his arm and gives them a thumbs up.

—

Valerie holds back a startled shout when the metal suit crashes onto the sidewalk next to her. She is not scared, but anyone would be surprised if two tons of metal suddenly fell from the sky. A scream, rapidly increasing in volume, drawings her gaze upwards just in time for a black-clad figure to plummet inches from her nose and land with a sharp crack on top of the suit.

This time Valerie cries out because holy shit, is he dead? Her panic sputters out when she peeks at the possible corpse and gets a good look at exactly who, or what, came falling after. A human figure dressed in all black with poorly coloured hair. It looks crispy as hell.

Valerie sneers. What kind of cheap dye did they use?

She recognizes the Challenger on sight. By now, more than half of Amity Park can, although Valerie can't account for the sudden style change. Maybe they realized how lame their regular t-shirt and jeans are and decided to switch things up. This isn't much better, though. Black hoodie, black pants, black boots, no style.

No one knows their name, but the moniker the Fentons gave them seems to have stuck. Valerie thinks it's a little on the nose, though.

Something wriggles in the corner of her eye and she looks to the Challenger's fist. It clutches a bright green blob, with stubby limbs and a wide mouth.

"Let go of me!" The blob beats its penny-sized fists against the Challenger's thumb. "You are my prey!"

The Challenger groans. "Can you shut up for a second? I think my neck broke." They squeeze the blob until it squeaks.

"Hey. Watch where you're throwing this stuff around." Valerie kicks the arm of the metal suit. "You nearly crushed me!"

The Challenger jolts. Their head whips up, accompanied by a loud crack, and they lurch to their feet. A mask covers their eyes—cheap like the hair dye, probably from a costume stored—but judging by the way their eyebrows shoot up, they look at Valerie with wide eyes.

"Uh, hey, Va—citizen." Their voice drops a solid octave. "Sorry about that! I'll watch out next time." They are about to say something else when a loud squeal interrupts up, the signature sound of the Fentons' approach. The Challenger pales. "Sorry, gotta go!"

They dash into the nearest alley before Valerie can get another word in, leaving her with the empty metal husk and the sound of the Fentons from two streets away. She gapes after them, unsure what to make of the brief exchange.

"Actually, wait a second." The Challenger pops back around the corner, leaping over the ghost's suit to reach Valerie. They grab her shoulders in a cold grip. "Are people really using that dumb name for me?"

At a loss for words, Valerie nods.

"Ugh." The Challenger groans and lets her go in favour of rubbing a hand down their face. "Stop that. It's so boring. Just call me... Phantom. Okay? See ya!" They spin away, too fast, and trip over the metal suit.

Wow, Valerie thinks as Phantom scrambles around the corner once more. We have the lamest superhero ever.

[namjooningelsewhere]

Run Away With Me!!

Pairing : Jungkook x reader

Rating : 18+

Warning- Bloodshed, Killing, Angst, Mentions of killing.

Word count- 1292

Summary- You had narrowed escaped death as a mafias daughter, You had been saved by your brother who died to save you from the death by the rival and sent you out of that world. You lived a simple life until the purple headed stranger whose life you had saved accidently turns out to be the most beautiful accident of your life.

Life had been very unpredictable lately, You worked as a florist in a small yet peaceful village by the sea. It had been a regular day at shop, normal familiar faces who were almost same through out the year until this night.

This night changed very thing for you. You belonged to a mafia family, a ruthless one at that. So when your father killed a member, His family ended up anhilating your entire family. Your brother had managed to make you escape safely while he was being shot.

You managed to build your life with whatever had left and led a comfortable life by saving the rest of the money and investing some. It was curve that life had thrown at you and you were going to make the most of it, at least for your family who had still let you out safe while they died.

That night happened to be like another night, You closed down the shop and started walking home with earphones plugged in your ears as you walked a bit you did not realize about the scene happening right infront of you.

You were so engrossed looking down, You did not look at the situation right infront of your eyes. You almost lost your balance when you hit yourself at something broad. You looked up to see a shabbily dressed man holding a gun. A mother fucking gun.

You had grown up to these toys so it did not panic you even one ounce at the weapon. It pissed off the man with it, "Doesn't this scare you bitch? Got a brave ass right there huh?" He asked almost shoving the gun at your face.

"Hey Davis, we got a brat right here, He signaled the other four to come to him. "She looks delicious man, what say why don't we tame the brat in her today? One of the spewed. It took everything in you to not let go yourself to snap these rats head but since you had left the violence behind you had not preferred going down the line.

Being the youngest you were trained to handle people, weapons', even explosives for that matter and you would never want to hurt anybody on purpose because you were aware of the monster that lied deep beneath your skin, Raging for blood, Raging for red.

The mans pull at your waist jerked you to the other side and made you loose balance you fell on your knees besides a man who had hands tied, looked like they had trashed him but what caught your attention was the shit eating grin he had plastered on his face.

You somehow mirrored the smirk that he had, but you just did not want to show. You were yanked by the men to your feet, That was it. One more touch and you were going to be walking over there dead bodies. "Nice ass you got there slut, Wanna see how it looks while fuck it." The other member said spanking you, "I dare you to touch me again, You grinned. The red was out and you had snapped.

"Look at the guts the slut has." the man with the gun said. He raise his hand to spank you again, But before he could you kicked free from the clutches and dodged the gun from the mans hand and shot him straight for the head, doing the same with the rest of the four.

That's it, Five dead bodies lying right down to your feet, One stupidly grinning man who had somehow hot attractive purple hair was your story for the night. You looked at him questioningly and the grin became even more wider. "Stop before i blow that purple head of yours. You say.

I knew you were a tigress the moment i saw the glean of danger in your eyes, I knew you had a monster hiding right in there. He smiled. You freed his hands and looked at the scratches on that tattooed hands which looked even intense with those tattoos. "You screwed them over?" you asked curiously. "Yeah something like that he said.

You watched around the place and found the building right above you had CCTV and so did the building in the front and also the restaurant marking your different angles. "They belong to a gang right?" You asked poking them with your legs. "Yes they do, He said curtly. "And now they would think i am involved with you since i became a knight in shining armor when you were held captive?" "Most Likely" He said amused at how fast you were putting the pieces together.

You shot both the cameras and turned towards him, "What do you think they will still come back after me?" "Us" He corrected. "they will think us as a team, Unfortunately you are tangled inn this mess." He expected a much bigger reaction than a plain hmm from you to be honest but it did not scare you, instead you went autopilot to think of an escape plan.

You are a gangster aren't you?" He asked back with that shit eating grin on his face. No sister of mafia you said." He looked at you like a ghost but kept walking like nothing. "So your father is going to protect you?" He asked. Well he did by letting me out before he was killed." you sigh.

What am i going to do next?" You sigh in irritation. I might have the answer to that. But lets get hold of some clothes, your passport, My bike and stuff and then il tell you the way out. He snorted. "you agreed picked up his clothes and you got yours from your apartment.

Life seemed to be returning in place with the events of the night but nothing had ever been normal in your life. You waited while the man got his bike, A black bike stopped right infront of you, It was him alright. "Jungkook" He said moving his hand ahead for a handshake. "Eva" you said

About the plan, He said running his hand back of the head, "You now i have something solid in mind considering you are stuck with my name and also as an ally, Why don't we make it real? He said. "As in?

" I asked. "Run away with me! He said with something intense but i couldn't pinpoint it. The offer sounded exciting and seemed like you were meant to live like this.

After six months of that spin, you spent time running living out of a suitcase and travelling the world like a action movie with Jungkook by your side. There were sparks and Jungkook happened to be the best sex you ever had, He had been more of a companion then an ally. But you loved every ounce of it.

"Jeon Jungkook and Jeon Ara? Seriously JK? What are we siblings?" You scoffed. He spat the water he had been sipping with an amused face. I would highly refrain from that considering the things we were doing this morning." He grinned. "Asshole" You smacked his head before deciding on the next destination.

Your life with him was an action movie but there was no other way you'd rather want it to be.

[fascination-street-writing]

Sober to Death | Teenage Au! Risotto Nero x Reader

Under the shroud of the moon, your shadows become ghosts

Content Warnings: Explicit Sexual Content (Not Underage), Mentions of Suicide, Implied Child Abuse, Underage Smoking, & Emotional Manipulation (Unhealthy Relationship Dynamics)

It is the summer of 1988. You have spent the past few days cooped within the shelter of your home to evade the arid, sweltering heat; even the spigots are dry. You long for autumn leaves.

The smouldering faces of painted women stare at you and watch, still, as you glide the twin blades of your mother’s cooking shears through pulp paper. She had promised you for weeks now to buy a new set of crafting scissors for you; your last pair disappeared, seemingly out of thin air. Your father insists that it was the work of garden fairies. You suspect interfamilial thievery.

A dollop of hot glue pools beneath the tip of the gun. A string not unlike a cotton candy fiber chases the glue gun upon separation; a scar on the back of your hand prompts you to not touch the simulant gemstone-encrusted tool. You press the trimmed image of a smoking model against the glue. Turquoise glitter rains down from the bottle and coaxes over the greyscale photograph. Plastic diamonds the color of honey, a magenta feather streaked in silver – you blow over the page of your scrapbook and grin.

The smooth voice of Mina Mazzini echoes from the turntable atop your dresser. Paper trimmings fall to the carpeted floor. Glitter sticks to the palm of your hand. Christy Turlington joins Isabella Rossellini and a nameless American model – the seventeenth page of your third portfolio is complete. You pride yourself in this hobby of collecting the images of women who have been frozen in time by glamour shots and risqué poses. Perhaps immortality truly means to be plastered inside of a teenage girl’s fashion scrapbook and hidden beneath her bed. You fancy yourself a curator – a conservator.

You kick back your feet and breathe in the perfume of the candle that burns on your bedside table. Instead of a pair of proper scissors, you mother had returned from the craft store with the caramel-scented candle. She is, admittedly, a bit forgetful at times.

You hear his fingers rapping against the pane of your window before you notice his presence: a pair of black-sclera eyes with red irises peer into your bedroom. You blow out the candle and turn off the overhead light. He is patient as he waits for you to slip on your Mary Jane’s. The bulge of a cigarette carton peaks out from the pocket of his torn jeans.

Through the opened window, Risotto Nero wordlessly extends his hand to you: yours is dwarfed by his calloused grasp. He leads you beyond your father’s wilting flower garden – you dance over marigolds, asters, and tithonias, careful not to step on the blossoms that suffer in this Sicilian drought.  

Under the shroud of the moon, your shadows become ghosts. Cicadas and katydids sing. Risotto’s brooding, silent form matches your pace as walk towards your rendezvous place. Your legs have memorized the journey: up the hill, past the schoolyard, down the spiraling path behind the market, to the park across from the shoreline.

The wooden plank of the swing creaks beneath your weight. You grip the rusted chains and push, only enough so that your body sways, suspended above the ground. Risotto sits beside you, stagnant. Ashen earthiness wafts through the cloud that forms before his face. The smell of cheap tobacco is so strong that you forget how lovely the scent of the caramel candle felt in the well of your lungs.

The cigarette slips from his fingers to yours. Hot to the touch, you bring it to your lips and breathe in. “Mio padre said he could look at your bike, by the way,” you say to your companion, the first words of the night thus far. He takes back the cigarette. “He says he’ll let you work for him or something, just so you don’t have to pay him back for the new tires.”

He hums with the filter stuck between his teeth. “Thank you,” he mumbles through smoke.

You smile and nod. He had been without his bicycle for nearly a month now, ever since one of the boys in his tenement building slashed its tires. Risotto’s parents had refused to replace them, insistent that their son had purposefully dug his own grave with the older, less reputable residents of their complex – it was his responsibility to lie down and bury himself alive.

If not for his cousin Barolo’s intervention in the matter, you thoroughly believed that your friend would have been thrown out onto the streets. The Nero’s were a temperamental pair, to be sure. You have lost track of just how many times Risotto has come to school with a bruise on his cheek or a busted lip – how many times you have met him at your window in the dead of the night, to be greeted by the aftermath of a blackeye: and always, he blamed the welts on fights with his neighbors, but you knew better. To him, it had never mattered what his parents did – so long as he has his cousin. And you.

His mother and father terrify you, and rightfully so. And yet, a part of you is grateful for their negligence; it means that you have the chance to spend more time with their son, to whisk him away from the strain of his household. You are beholden to the burning in your legs because it reminds you that walking to the park takes longer than a simple bike ride. Though few words are ever spoken between you and Risotto, you savor every moment spent in his company.

His actions tell you that he is appreciative enough of your presence. He drops the spent cigarette into the carton and pulls out a second; the flare of the match glistens in his eyes. You hide the frown that creeps upon your face behind a curtain of hair.

A nicotine high is nothing more than a nasty headache and an upset stomach – you do not enjoy smoking nearly as much as he does.

Although, you have gotten rather good at pretending.

Insegnante di Scuola jailed, charged in Manslaughter

Sordi Fellini, 32, was arrested at his home after Polizia Municipale di Palermo said he fled the scene of the 1:50 a.m. accident. Fellini, insegnante di lettere for Istituto Gonzaga, has been charged for driving while intoxicated, manslaughter, and leaving the scene of an accident involving a death.

Dead at the scene of the 1:50 a.m. wreck was Barolo Nero, 20.

The dried leaves crunch beneath your feet. The wind pulses against your legs, pressing your pleated skirt taut to your stocking-clad skin. There is a certain bitterness that comes with walking home from school, alone. The autumn air becomes more frigid. The journey, longer. The weight of textbooks in the bookbag slung across your back is far heavier.

More than anything, you miss Risotto. You are reminded of him every moment that you catch yourself staring, longingly, at his empty desk in each classroom. Though you consciously leave a seat open for him next to you at your lunch table, as if he might sit down at any moment, you know that it is for naught.

You were not invited to the funeral, because there never was one. Barolo was cremated and scattered along the coast of the Tyrrhenian Sea. Signore Fellini, your estranged literature teacher, has been stripped of his certification – not that a degree would do him any good in prison.

And Risotto disappeared.

His bicycle has become something of a centerpiece in your father’s workshop: a drying rack for freshly cleaned hand towels. Each night that you find yourself hovering over your father – who is typically hunched in his desk chair – to press a kiss to his cheek and summon him for a meal, the bicycle taunts you. It is the emblem of your missing friend.

Tonight, you do not enter the workshop. A detour to the park has set you three hours behind. Your mother greets you from her place at the kitchen sink with a worrying tone. You have missed dinner, though truthfully, you are not hungry. Her water-pruned hands reach for you, yet you bat her away and retreat to your bedroom. Homework assignments wait to be completed. You strip yourself of your uniform and settle for a nightgown.

The evening sky has not yet settled to dusk – the cicadas and katydids no longer sing, for summer has passed and taken everything else with her: the drought, the wilted flowers, and Risotto. Still you sleep, a hand clutched to your chest, as if the meager act of cupping your aching heart might alleviate the dull rhythm that pulsates through you, even while you dream of cigarettes and torn jeans.

And when you open your eyes, jostled awake by the rattling of the window, you know that he has come back, perhaps compelled by devotion. Or perhaps, after all this time, it is that he could no longer bare the self-driven deprival of your affection.

In your room, Risotto’s battered shoes sink into the plush carpet. You close the window and draw the blinds shut. His gaze falls to the record player, then to a neglected crafting toolbox – scattered laundry on the floor, a framed watercolor painting of lilies: everywhere except for you. Your mouth opens, but words fail you. The questions that you have wanted to ask no longer matter because he is here now.

As you study his face, you wonder if his cheeks were always this gaunt. His fists are clenched. You pull him into your arms, crossing a line that you have only ever fantasized of toeing. His hands raise to your spine after a moment of hesitation. Fingernails pry into the thin fabric of your nightgown – he grips you tightly, like he fears that you might drift away if he pulls back. You feel the quaking of his shoulders before his tears fall and collect against the crook of your neck, to pool in the cavity of your collarbone.

Vulnerability has never come easy for Risotto. He wears stoicism like a mask. But here in your room – the forbidden safe haven – he wills himself to let it go; it falls to the floor as you lead him to your bed and pull his clothed body flush against yours, beneath the shelter of a duvet and wrinkled sheets.

“I’ve missed you,” you whisper into the dark. “I was so worried about you.”

His grip on you eases and he settles onto his back before he speaks: “I’m sorry.”

Your face falls. “Don’t apologize. I don’t want you to.” The mattress creaks. You lean against your bent elbow and watch him as he stares at the ceiling. You can practically hear the gears churning in his mind. He is begging for help, but he does not want it – he is drowning, yet he refuses the buoy. “You don’t have to talk about it right now,” you say, referring to Barolo’s death and consequently Risotto’s absence. “Just understand that I’ll always be here for you. Always.”

But he already knew that.

Your eighteenth winter hails no snowfall, but rather gentle rain. You clutch the steering wheel of your hand-me-down sedan, foot coaxing over the pedals. It had once belonged to your father, until your seventeenth birthday. The scenery blends and contorts through the windows and Risotto puffs on a cigarette, exhaling through his opened window. Softly, Christmas carols hum through the speakers. The noise of your tires grinding against the slick roads is muddling.

Midnight Mass was a blur. Tradition demanded your attendance, yet your thoughts wandered. You broke the bread with quivering hands and said your holy words to Mother Mary, fingers and palms conjoined ephemerally. When the bishop dismissed the clergy, you found Risotto in the crowds of embracing strangers and giddy children.

The car swerves into gravel. The scent of sea spray climbs to you. The waves crash against the sand just as the tide beckons them to. You have reached spiaggia di Capaci. The gingham blanket settles into the sand. You and Risotto take your respective positions, a considerable distance left between your bodies. You do not mind the early rain that peppers your face with mist.

Above your heads, the stars embellish the ethereal ink-black sky.

His thumb coaxes over the back of your hand, tracing the grooves between knuckles. Your breath hitches in your throat. It is unknown just how many times your hand has found its way into his grasp before. And yet, you shiver and flush because now it is different – because now, you are an eighteen-year-old woman in love with your childhood friend.

You crane your neck to face him, a question of his intent frozen on your tongue as his red irises meet your gaze. You are motionless, even when his stare falls to your parted lips. The chill that radiates from the ocean holds you in place.

Time stops as he speaks to you: the waves refrain from the shore – the steady drizzle eases – but your heart beats in a fury.

“Can I kiss you?”

You nod and suddenly his lips slant over your own, which remind him fondly of a freshly split strawberry. He bites back the gasp that betrays your composure. He kisses you with such fervor that he pulls his hand away from yours and tethers it to the back of your head, his fingers lost in the matted mound of hair. Like a kitten starved for milk, you explore the caverns of his mouth, the taste of communion wine heavy on his breath.

You find his shifting grasp on your hip daunting. A knee threads between your legs, parting them. A heat pools within you – you grab the back of his neck and pull him closer, closer. You lean into him, keening, desperate for friction.

He toys with your clothed sex and swallows the adolescent moan that you choke on. The hand beneath your dress is cold; goosepimples rise over your tender skin. He separates his lips from yours and pulls back to admire, through half-lidded eyes, as you bite your cheek and squirm while his thumb hooks around your dampened panties. You lie beneath him – your hair splayed around your head like a halo and a red blush stained to your cheeks – and he thinks, utterly and truly, that you must be Persefone herself. 

Risotto’s heart beats, faster still; a contender only to yours. You feel like you might die, blissful that it would be a winsome way to go – on a beach somewhere, echoed only by thoughts of the one you might have loved in time. But when his long finger brushes against your untouched folds and tethers you to your very core, you know that you cannot possibly be dead. He curls himself and retracts. You raise your hips to meet the fever of his palm, eager for the second finger that he has yet to add.

“Please, Ris,” you beg. “More – please.”

He obliges. It is not long before you feel the coil tighten within your lower abdomen – before you fall apart for him.

Through your stupor, you manage to grab his wrist to cease his movements. “We can’t do this here,” you airily insist. “My car –”

He pulls you to your feet. Your shaking legs have you fumbling over sand. The key jiggles in the lock of the backseat door. You shimmy over crinkling faux leather. Your dress falls to the carpeted flooring.

A shirtless Risotto takes in the sight of your naked form. A body once saved for marriage, now prepared for sacrilege. He utters your name and groans: “Voglio scoparti.”

“Per favore.”

He fills you, slowly. Knees bent and tucked beneath his weight; you cry out against the skin of his neck. With little time to adjust, he rocks into you. Your arms wrap around his shoulders, desperate to anchor yourself. Every thrust elicits a gasp from your swollen lips.

You grimace peevishly when Risotto slows his pace. “I can’t do this,” he mutters. “It’s not comfortable.”

He pulls himself out of your folds, only to flip you onto your stomach without a moment to spare. A hand finds its way to the back of your neck, effectively pinning you down onto the car seat. His other arm ensnares your waist and hoists your backend into the air. On bended knees, he enters you again, pounding with a burst of newfound energy and desire.

Condensation coats the windows. The pressure on your neck deprives your lungs; however, the mere thought of Risotto asserting such dominance over your bent form has you reeling towards the edge. Your fingers fly to your sensitive nub, tweaking the it in your own grasp. Your release washes over you, and you cum on his cock with a moan laced in ecstasy.

He finishes on your back, lacquer to your sweat-slicked skin. He rubs something soft against you. You realize, as sand particles fall to the car seat, that it is your blanket. Head flush to his chest, you listen to the thumping within his ribcage. A sigh passes through your lips and your eyes fall to his discarded wristwatch. It is just after 3:00 a.m. – in five hours, you will wake to the sound of your mother’s knuckles rapping against your bedroom door to join her and your father for breakfast before an onerous day of entertaining relatives. But for now, you will enjoy the solace of Risotto’s embrace.

You press a kiss to his cheek. “Bon Natali, Risotto.”

He grins, tired. It is enough to fill you with unadulterated love.

“Bon Natali, bella.”

The early days of the springtime bloom yield the first wave of tourists to Palermo for the season. Market vendors inflate their prices. Restaurants become far too crowded. The beaches – the sacred places – lose their luster as they become a haven for foreigners.

You do not mind the influx of strangers, for you have never found a reason not to. After all, no one comes to your city to gawk at Catholic school students.

The hand pressed to your bare backend feels limp. Even as you trail your finger over his chest, through patches of hair and young muscles, Risotto is unresponsive. Your lips brush against his clenched jaw – he flinches but does not relax. He is perturbed beyond question.

“Ris?” you begin, waiting for him to look at you. He does not. You frown. “Are you alright?”

A stiff nod is his response.

“Well, if that’s the case, can I ask you a something?”

Another nod.

"Would you like to go out for dinner tomorrow night? You know – as in an actual date.”

"No.”

You sit up, tucking the blankets around your breasts. “Oh . . .” you trail off, suddenly self-conscious of the post-sex haze that lingers on the sheets. “Why not?”

Because I’ll be gone – he wants to say. The pair of crafting scissors that he once stole from you years ago, now tucked away within his backpack, is a nasty contemplation. “Because I don’t want to,” he huffs.

“Did I do something wrong? Are you embarrassed of me?”

No. “Yes.” He can feel the splitting of your heart – it feels just like his own.

“I don’t understand,” you insist. He reaches for his jeans, dressing in silence. “You’re just going to ignore me?”

“It’s easier than telling you the truth.” He shrugs on his jacket.

“What truth?”

I’m never coming back. “I’ve only been using you for sex, and now I’m bored – I never thought you were stupid enough to think that any of this was genuine. But I shouldn’t be surprised.”

You bring a hand up to catch the tear that rolls down your cheek. You wait for his rebuttal – for a smile, a shaking of his head, and an insistence that it was only a cruel jest taken too far. But the look in his eyes, that callous sneer, tells you that he is serious.  

You will not cry for him – you will not beg him to stay. “Get out.” You choke over your words. The figs of your tree have shriveled and fallen to your feet, black as death itself. “Get out of my house.”

And so, he leaves you beneath the barren tree you once thought to have planted together. Springtime has left a sour taste in your mouth, after all.

Sordi Fellini Dead in Suicide at Jail, Spurring Inquiries

Signore Fellini, the insegnante di lettere sentenced for his convicted manslaughter of Barolo Nero in 1988, was not under suicide watch at the time of his death.

Signore Fellini was found around 6:30 a.m mercoledì mattina. He posted bail seventeen hours before his alleged demise.

On la Costa Smeralda, echoed only by thoughts of the one he loved a decade ago, Risotto Nero basks atop bloodied sand, dying. A crushed carton of cigarettes lies beyond the reach of his severed hand. The phantom pangs of adolescence remind him of you.

Years of schooling under the scrutiny of god’s eye have turned him away from religion: he was a deist and nothing more. Still, the silent prayer on his lips pleads that he might see you once more – to beseech your absolution, though he knows that he does not deserve it. To prove his fidelity. To give you the life you have always been so deserving of.

No, Risotto was never a religious man. But he worshipped the very ground you walked on. You were his savior – and he denied you like a disciple driven by guile.  

The lump in his throat elicits a painful cough; a blade to his esophagus. He recognizes his folly far better than any man. How differently might things have turned out if he had just stayed by your side – if he had agreed to go on your silly little date; if he had never snuck his way into Fellini’s prison cell to slit the wrists of the man who bequeathed to him an unending grudge; if he had never found Passione.

He might have been a husband, if you would have wanted to marry him. He might have been a father, if you were so inclined to become a mother. He never knew your thoughts of the future because he had never asked.

He might have been anything other than a broken, dead man who has lost everything.

The wooden plank of the swing creaks beneath his weight. He grips the rusted chains and digs his feet into the dried woodchips. A katydid crawls over the mulch next to his sneakers and chirps; Risotto brings the sole of his shoe over the mating insect, ready to squish it.

A pair of Mary Jane’s comes into his view. He leaves the katydid be, which resumes its path to the second katydid beneath the opposite swing. The scent of cigarette smoke wafts through the air.

He meets your gaze. You smile and take your seat in the swing above the female katydid. The cigarette slips from your fingers to his. Hot to the touch, he brings it to his lips and breathes in.

Under the shroud of the moon, your shadows have become your ghosts.

| 3869 Words |

[petersasteria]

💌- sam holland//mad hatter

I don’t write for Sam Holland, but I’ll make an exception.

𝐌𝐀𝐃 𝐇𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑 - "𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐢'𝐦 𝐩𝐬𝐲𝐜𝐡𝐨, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐢'𝐦 𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐞, 𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐬𝐲𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐠"

Warning: it gets weirder and it’s not for the fainthearted. Probably not for minors as well. There’s no smut tho... only mentions of sex. You have been warned. Welcome to the weird side of my mind. 2.5k words

“Hello, Sam.” The psychiatrist greeted with a smile. Sam looked at her and only gave her a nod. “Is there any reason why you’re here today, Sam? A little birdie told me you needed some help. What happened?”

Sam looked at her with fear in his eyes as tears clouded his vision. He shakes his head and whimpered, “I’m not crazy. I’m normal! I swear, I am! I’m not crazy, but she is.”

“No one’s saying you’re crazy.” The psychiatrist smiled. She had a kind face and she was mother-like. The job suited her because her voice is calm and soothing. “Who is she?”

Sam closed his eyes as vivid flashbacks replayed on his mind. It flashed in his mind like it was being played on a projector and he was the only audience. He took a deep breath and said, “She lived two streets away...”

Sam never really went out a lot, but when he would go out, he’d stay out all day. The rest of the family wouldn’t question him as long as he got home safe and sound and unharmed. When he received a bike from his uncle, he thought it’d be best to try it out. After all, it’s been years since he rode a bike and this way, he’d be saving the Earth from pollution if he biked to work instead.

He popped his earphones on and got on his new bike and pedalled. He had no destination in mind and he was confident that he wouldn’t get lost because he grew up in the area and he knew a lot of places like this back of his hand. It was safe to say that he trusted himself and that was important.

He went through a few turns until he reached the other street. There wasn’t much to see, but he waved at a few of the neighbors he knew. When he turned again, he reached another street. It was at this time when he figured that he should go home. Instead of going back the way he came, he just biked straight ahead. He can’t possibly get lost. The streets have names and he knew what his street was and he knew how to get there from different ways.

He eyed at some of the house and inwardly judged at which house he liked best when suddenly he saw an abandoned house. He stopped in front of it and realized that not only was it abandoned, but it was also ruined.

The windows were no longer there and there were shards of glass on the ground. There was no grass and the steps of the front porch were broken. The second floor of the house was nonexistent, but two pillars were there. The walls on the ground floor were destroyed and it looked like the whole place was burned down.

Sam was in shock. He had never seen a house like that before. What he failed to notice was a girl about his age emerging from the bushes that had no leaves anymore.

“Hi there!” The girl grinned. Sam didn’t want to comment about her fashion sense and the way she grinned, so he gave her a small smile and said hello.

The girl moved and stood next to Sam as they faced the ruined house together. No one said anything for a while, but the girl broke it.

“What a shame.” The girl said. She was dressed in quite fancy yet eccentric clothing. She even had a fancy hat and laced gloves on her hands. She was wearing socks on top of her boots as well; another thing Sam failed to notice.

“Yeah, a shame indeed.” Sam nodded. “D’you know the person who lived here?” The girl nodded. Sam asked, “Who lived here?”

“Me.” The girl giggled. “I burned this place down because I’m having a party.”

“I’m sorry. WHAT?” Sam shrieked. He’s never met anyone who would burn the whole place down.

The girl laughed, “All this for a party. How extravagant!”

“What’s the occasion?” Sam asked.

“My whole family died in a tragic vacation accident. I felt the need to celebrate.” The girl grinned.

“Celebrate? Why would you celebrate? You lost your whole family! That must be so traum-”

“It’s the most tremendous news I’ve ever received. They think I’m crazy and I’m glad they’re all gone. That way, no one would judge me and my eccentric ways of living anymore.” The girl clapped happily.

“What’s your name?” Sam looked at her. Despite her weirdness, she was pretty.

“Y/N. What’s yours?”

“Sam.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Sam.” Y/N grinned. She shoved her hand in her pocket and fished out a crumpled card that had very fancy printing. Sam took it from her and he tried to read it, but failed. It was crumpled up really well.

“That’s an invitation to my party later tonight. Wear your BEST attire.” Y/N looked at him up and down, “Don’t wear any of that garbage.”

He was dressed casually. He wore khaki shorts, white sneakers, and a long sleeved shirt, the type of shirt Troy Bolton would wear. On top of that was an old jacket that never closed anymore because the zipper is missing.

Sam nodded and said, “I’ll, uh, do my best then.”

Night time came and he wore a button up and some pants and old sneakers. He hoped it was eccentric enough for the party. He told his family that he was invited by a friend and he went to the party.

Upon arriving at the house, he parked his new bike outside and saw fairy lights everywhere: on the trees, around the two pillars on the second floor, the grass-less ground, the wires and just- everywhere. The party also had balloons, streamers, 

He walked to the backyard because he saw that everyone was there. Y/N saw him and grinned, “Sam, you made it! You’re just in time for musical chairs.”

‘Musical chairs?’ He thought to himself. ‘The last time I played musical chairs, I was about 10 years old.’

Y/N grabbed his wrist and led him to the long table. She made him sit next to her and just when he got comfortable, Y/N and the person on his right grabbed his hands as they all got up and moved around the table as if playing “Ring Around The Rosie”. They all sang a song for about a minute and sat down again. Only this time, on different chairs.

Sam looked around the table and he saw everyone eating and talking. He figured he’d do the same, so he grabbed a cookie and took a bite. He hummed in delight as the sweet flavor of the cookie swirled on his taste buds. When he looked up from the cookie, he saw everyone looking at him.

“What’s going on?” Sam asked Y/N.

“You ate the cookie.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. It’s just that I saw everyone eating and I figured I should... eat as well.” Sam explained. He felt foolish and embarrassed.

“Only females who have the red tide can eat the breast cookie.” Y/N said.

‘Did she fucking say ‘breast cookie’?!’ Sam asked himself while maintaining a cool expression.

“What’s a breast cookie?”

“The one you just ate. It’s made of breast milk. Regular milk is overrated. We all thank Madame Amanda for providing us with such great breast milk.” Y/N smiled towards a lady who sat a few seats across from her.

“And because Y/N’s guest ate the wrong food, we must fix the curse. Move!” One of them said.

Before Sam knew it, his hands were grabbed and they moved around the table once more. When they got comfy on their new seats, Y/N handed him the food he’s allowed to eat. An hour and 5 more times of switching seats later, ‘musical chairs’ was done.

Everyone stood up from their seats and moved to the center of the backyard. Sam followed Y/N’s actions and was surprised to hear that it was time to drink.

‘Finally some alcohol!’ Sam thought.

He was wrong. He seemed to forget that the people around him weren’t like him.

“What are we drinking?” Sam asked.

“It’s actually a drinking game. We’re all split into three groups and whichever group finishes the fastest, wins.” Y/N grinned and clapped her hands excitedly causing Sam to be excited too.

While everything was being set up, Sam conversed with Y/N a bit and then Amanda, the breast milk lady, said, “Split yourselves into three groups! If you wish to not join, you may watch at the side.”

Sam looked around and saw a few people moving to the side. He saw them having a look of pure disgust. He was about to approach one of them when Y/N grabbed his attention, “Sam, it’s rude to stare. The cum shots are ready.”

‘The cum shots? What?!’ Sam inwardly said to himself. Surely, he heard his wrong.

“The what?” Sam asked.

“The cum shots. Alcohol is overrated and this solves over population. Besides, it’s not just anyone’s cum. They’re from the guys here and some of the girls. It’s a wild card.” Y/N said with a grin.

“I’ll pass, then.” Sam said with a tight-lipped smile.

“Pass? Why?”

“I’m, uh...” He thought of a lie quick. “I have a fatal cum allergy.” Sam said and pretended to be upset.

Y/N laughed and said, “A fatal cum allergy? I knew I liked you. Guys with that allergy are so rare to find. Go and stand over there, then. Have fun watching.”

Sam wanted to vomit as he watched everyone down the shots like there was no tomorrow. 

“Disgusting, innit?” A guy next to him said and Sam nodded.

“Very.” Sam said, looking away from it all.

“Run while you can before your mind gets ruined forever. Whatever you do, never come back here after this. People like you end up in The Pod.”

“The Pod?” Sam asked in confusion.

“That’s what we call a mental hospital.”

“Why would they end up in The Pod?” Sam asked, afraid.

“They told everyone what happens here and no one believed them. These people that you see right now? They’re not like this sometimes. They’re actually normal people. Sometimes too normal it becomes creepy.” The guy explained.

“You’ll go insane if you tell anyone because no one will believe you. Run while you can.” The guy said and walked away when he saw Y/N approaching.

“What did he say to you?” Y/N asked.

“Nothing.” Sam lied. “We just talked about my fatal cum allergy.”

“Ahh, yes.” Y/N nodded. “Anyway, it’s time for my favorite part. Popping the balloons.”

“Okay.” Sam said, thankful that there’s a normal activity. Sam went back to the center of the backyard with Y/N. She handed him a gun and said, “Since you’re a guest, it’s your job to pop the biggest balloon.”

Sam eyed the gun and the biggest pink balloon. ”The prize is inside.” Y/N giggled like a high school girl.

Sam nodded and gulped. He aimed at the biggest balloon and pulled the trigger. Lucky for him, the bullet went through the balloon and it popped causing the contents of the balloon to fall.

Inside the balloon were: confetti, condoms, tea bags, heart shaped candies, pregnancy tests, and a small flashlight.

“Go on and pick the ones you want, Sam. You’ll definitely need the flashlight later for another game.” Y/N said as she picked up a few things.

“What do I need the flashlight for?” Sam questioned.

“Us girls are hiding something inside us and you boys have to find it. That’s what the flashlight is for.” Y/N explained before leaning in to whisper, “I’m hiding a small ring inside me.” She winked and smiled.

“What happens after that?” Sam asked.

“Sex.” Y/N shrugged. “It’s not just any sex, though. All the fair light will be closed and we’ll all have sex out here in the dark. The best part is we wouldn’t know who we had sex with. It’s a wildcard.”

“Just like the cum shots?”

“Just like the cum shots.”

Sam never thought he’d say words like that. In fact, he knew he should’ve declined the invite in the first place, but he figured it’d be nice to meet new people. He knew Y/N was weird, but he didn’t know she was bonkers.

“I actually have to go home now. I’m not feeling well.” Sam said politely.

“Oh, what a shame.” Y/N pouted. “I hope you’ll join the orgy next time you’re back and healthy. We’ll be painting white roses with blood on the next party. See you there.”

Sam gave her a tight-lipped smile, bid her goodbye, and left. He never came back, but the thought of keeping everything to himself made him antsy. A few days later, he finally cracked and told everything to Harry.

Then Tom.

Then Harrison.

Then Tuwaine.

The 4 men were concerned about him. After all, who wouldn’t be concerned? Sam told them the most absurd thing. Sam went as far as taking them to the house and sure enough, it was still ruined just like the day he saw it.

The only difference is, Y/N is nowhere to be found.

“I swear she’s here! You have to believe me.” Sam pleaded.

Tom looked at him and asked, “Sam, are you on drugs? If you are, that’s so unlike you.”

“I’m not on drugs! I’m telling the truth!” Sam said. He looked around and he saw Y/N wearing normal clothes and she seemed to be walking her dog.

“That’s her!” Sam pointed.

“Excuse me, miss!” Harrison called out causing Y/N to look over. He motioned for her to walk closer and she obeyed.

“Yeah?”

“Do you know him?” Harrison nodded his head at Sam as Sam looked at Y/N with pleading eyes. “He claims that you drank cum shots and have orgies at your party the other day. He also claims that you threw a party because your family died in a tragic accident. And is it true that you burned your own house down just for the party to make it extravagant?”

Y/N smiled sadly and said, “It’s true that I lost my family, but I would never throw a party to celebrate such loss. I would also never burn down my only living space. It was an accident; I left the oven on and it burned everything.”

“I’m so sorry.” Harrison said. “You may go now.”

Y/N nodded and left without sparing Sam one more glance.

“Liar!” Sam screamed and lunged towards her. Before he could do anything, Tom held him back and nodded at Harry.

“We’re scheduling you with a psychiatrist. You need help, mate.” Harry said, tapping away on his phone.

“That’s why I’m here now.” Sam said and finished his story.

The psychiatrist nodded and told him that it could be a realistic dream or something that linked to his past. To Sam, the psychiatrist didn’t make sense. He nodded along nonetheless. He wasn’t prescribed with anything, but he was told to stay away from the ruined house.

When Sam got home, he checked their mailbox and saw nothing except for a note. He grabbed the note and it read: 

‘I hope you learned your lesson from silently judging people. Just because someone else’s normal isn’t your kind of normal, doesn’t mean it’s less normal.

- Y/N x’

* * * *

𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐘 𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 (bc he’s the twin so why not): @sufwubi @abrielleholland @purplepizza-summerrain @euphorichxlland @marshxx @lizzyosterfield @justanamesstuff @croissantwriting @blueleatherbag @givebuckyhisplumsnow

𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐋 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓: @marvelousell @justasmisunderstoodasloki @rubberducky-jrr @allyz @osterfieldnholland @miraclesoflove @god-knows-what-am-i-doing @drie-the-derp @hollands-weasley @itstaskeen @call-me-baby-gir1 @the-panwitch @iamaunicorn4704 @geminiparkers @holland-styles @calltothewild @fancyxparker @whatthefuckimbisexual @justanothermarvelmaniac @unsaidholland @musicalkeys @lost-in-the-stars03 @hufflepuffprincess24 @hollanddolanfangirl @parkerpeter24 @bellelittleoff @agentnataliahofferson @aqiise @lexirv @blairscott @pearly-pisces @theonly1outof-a-billion @u-rrose @speedymaximoff @theliterarymess @beequeen8020 @justafangirlduh

add yourself to my taglist if you’re cool x

[athingthatwantsvirginia]

hear my stolen lullabies

chapter five of the peter losing wendy series

*inspired by Taylor Swift’s Folklore*

Pairing: JJ Maybank x Original Character (Liz Walker)

Warnings: mentions of parent death and suicide, drug use, emotional/verbal abuse, yelling, PLEASE proceed with caution, smoking

Word Count: 5.6K

Summary: Twice, Liz finds solace at the Chateau during a difficult time.

March 13, 2019

Fiddling with her earring, Liz stared down at her feet as her mother rambled on. Her mother wasn’t exactly screaming, but she was definitely yelling. About how Liz needed to help out more around the house, about how she shouldn’t abandon her mother like her sisters had, about how there was nothing nice left about life. To say it was less than uplifting was an understatement. Liz was beginning to taste blood as she gnawed on her lower lip. After a couple years dealing with her mother’s rage, or her teary outbursts, she had gotten used to tuning it out. Or, at least, trying to. Sometimes, though, it was too loud, too painful, too overwhelming.

“You’re always so fucking mean to me, Elizabeth!” Ruth Walker exclaimed, hands at her sides in exaggeration. “Why can’t you just comfort me? That’s what I need!”

“Comfort you, mom?!” Liz yelled back, finally looking up and tilting her head at her mother. “Jesus, I’ve been comforting you everyday since dad died! Every single fucking day!”

“Excuse me?” Ruth asked, raising her eyebrows. “I’m the mother, and you’re the child! You don’t swear at me!”

Scoffing slightly, Liz shook her head. With her mother staring back at her, brown eyes furious and dark, brows furrowed, Liz couldn’t stomach her anger. As much as she tried to stamp it down, she usually ended with her own tirade creeping up her throat. And the worst part was, she was always wondering if she would one day end up screaming at her own daughter. Full of hypocrisy and bitterness, her life lived entirely different than she wanted. Ruth Walker wasn’t to blame for the way things had turned out, and that Liz scared more than she cared to admit. Her gut churned with anxiety and adrenaline, and she continued despite her better judgement.

“If I’m the child, Mom, why am I the one sleeping in your bed to help you with your nightmares? Why am I the one picking up the milk and the eggs and the bread? And spending every minute of every damn day worrying about you ending up exactly like Dad?” she wagered, pulling out the big guns.

As soon as the words left her mouth, she knew there was no use. They fought about the same things a thousand times over, and neither of them ever changed a bit. But at least letting off some steam might help in the short-term. Liz’s voice was getting louder, and her face redder, as she stood across from her mother in the dingy kitchen. All Liz had wanted was to get a snack to celebrate finishing her essay. Instead, it was an ambush over the leftovers.

“I lost my husband! My life is...my future is ruined!” Ruth screamed, crying through her words.

She knew how insensitive it was, but Liz rolled her eyes. She couldn’t help herself. “Jesus, I know! You think I don’t know that? Your life isn’t ruined, Mom! You’re not the one who died!”

“Sometimes it feels like it,” her mother said, still angry but beginning to deflate. Her energy was waning.

Liz scoffed, feeling completely impatient. Each time they reached this point in the conversation, when her mother would begin to wallow and struggle through her words, Liz would have to sigh, and apologize, and suggest her mother finally go to therapy. The island’s pharmacist, who had once been a therapist, had offered to help the family in the wake of Liz’s father’s suicide. Out of all five Walker women, only Liz had taken him up on the offer. Though she’d only been able to handle about one session a month, Liz was still going. And she knew it helped. But her mother refused to help herself.

“Yeah, well, sometimes it seems like it, too,” Liz muttered, so utterly frustrated she found her filter (which was not particularly strong to begin with) to be totally gone.

Her mother swallowed thickly, but didn’t say a word in response. She only gaped.

Feeling her stomach flip once again, whether due to general anxiety or disgust with herself she didn’t know, Liz turned around and looked out the kitchen window. Bracing herself with her palms on the sink, she looked at the ring stand on the windowsill. On it, her mother’s diamond engagement ring. She had to avert her eyes from it. Before, the ring had been precious, always on her mother’s finger. But Ruth had taken it off after hearing of her husband’s death, and it had sat on the windowsill ever since. Ruth valued it now about as much as a piece of gravel. Liz uttered a harsh, humorless chuckle.

“What an asshole. It wouldn’t be like this if he was still here,” Liz said. “I hate him.”

Ruth’s jaw clenched as Liz turned back to her. “Don’t talk about your father like that!”

“Stop defending him! He fucking lied to us! He was supposed to be there for us...a-and take c-care of us!” Liz argued. “And then he just left! Real fathers don’t do that! At least not the ones who loved their kids!”

“Fuck you!” her mother screamed in response.

Liz recoiled, grey eyes darkening to storms. She gave a thin smile, devoid of joy, and then began to push past her mother. “Yeah, well, fuck you, too.”

She grabbed her bag and tugged on her shoes, then rushed out the front door in the direction of her bike. Ruth stood motionless in the kitchen, watching through the screen door as her daughter rode away. The evening was clouded over and gloomy, the air just beginning to warm with spring. But an involuntary tremble rolled through Ruth’s body as though it were winter. And, when her daughter was gone, she let out a sob. Then, she collapsed in on herself and began to weep.

.   .   .

A violent shiver made goosebumps rise on Liz’s skin as she finally made it to the Chateau, but her cheeks were flushed hot with adrenaline. The daylight was nearly gone, the sky a cold purple-pink, as she leaned her bike up against the tree out front. The air was filled with spring freshness, but it was chilly. The gray cardigan she wore was proving to be a lifesaver. Crossing her arms over her chest, she stomped up and onto the front porch. She could smell the familiar scent of burnt toast (a telltale sign JJ had tried to cook something, which never ended well) as she approached. And she stopped in her tracks when she saw JJ in the hammock, scrolling absently through his phone. He was freshly showered, dressed in sweats and a t-shirt, hair damp. He looked up when her footsteps halted, eyebrows raised and expectant.

“Hey, red. What’s going on?” he asked, not quite concerned, but certainly not indifferent either.

It was Thursday night, and everyone was busy. Sarah and John B were out getting dinner somewhere on the Figure Eight. Pope was working on scholarship applications. Kie was doing a shift at The Wreck. JJ himself had only gotten off of work an hour earlier, sore from an afternoon spent mowing Kook lawns. Liz had texted in their group chat saying she had a big paper to write, which would probably take her until the sun rose the next morning.

Liz blew out a long breath, feeling the tense energy begin to leave her system. She didn’t feel like crying, though. Not exactly. Instead, she felt used up. Trying her hardest wasn’t working. Wringing her hands together, she felt how dry her skin was. She’d been washing her hands too much, using scalding water, despite the harshness of the early spring cold. The breeze was still parched and unyielding. But she couldn’t seem to stop herself. The habits came and went, ones she felt like needed to be done or else the world would end. They had existed before her father’s death, and she had always been what her mother called ‘a nervous little girl,’ but things had definitely gotten worse in the past couple of years.

“I just…” she began tiredly. Pausing, she sighed and took a seat on the couch, facing him. “I got in a f-fight with my mom.”

“Oh,” he said plainly, nodding. And she could tell he understood. He’d spent probably countless hours listening to her vent about her family’s issues. Just as she had spent hours hearing about JJ’s father. They had developed a pretty symbiotic system. “What was it about?”

She ran a hand over her face, narrowly avoiding her eyes, the makeup from the school day she had yet to wash off. Then, she shrugged. “I don’t know. The same shit, I guess. I told her...it seemed like she was dead now too.”

JJ hummed, nodding as he furrowed his brows. He put his phone down on the floor next to the hammock, forgotten. He waited for her to continue.

“I mean...I guess I meant it. I know that...I know her worst fears came true. I know that. But fuck,” she said, her knee bobbing up and down. The fingers of one hand drummed against her thigh. “I’m just so sick of all this. This would all be so much easier if he had just like...gotten into a car accident or had a brain aneurysm or something.”

He noticed her fidgeting, and he didn’t know whether it was because she was still so keyed up from the fight or if she was just cold. “Probably,” he agreed quietly.

She barely cast him a glance before she continued. “I mean, what was the point in having the funeral, and saying goodbye and all that bullshit, if we were still gonna fight about him and think about him every damn day? It’s like...everything is different except for that one thing. He’s the dead one and he’s like...the only thing left.”

Shaking her head at herself, not even understanding her own words, she clenched her jaw. Looking out into the yard, she could vaguely see the chickens walking around behind the wire of the coop. The chipped red paint of her bike shone dully in the glow of the sunset. Above the bike, the tire swing Big John had put up years earlier still swung, weathered with age. Liz wondered if John B ever felt like she did. Home was still home, but it would also never be home again. Her house felt more like a mausoleum to her than anything else. The life she had lived before was never coming back.

“She kick you out again?” JJ asked.

“Not really,” Liz said. “But I probably shouldn’t go back tonight. I said ‘fuck you’ to her. Like, literally.”

JJ raised his eyebrows in surprise.

“I know,” she said, reading his expression. “But only because she said it to me first. I don’t think I’m ready for round two yet. I’ll take the pullout or something.”

“You want something to take the edge off?” JJ asked, taking his weed pen from his breast pocket and holding it out to her.

She waved her hand dismissively and shook her head again. “No thanks. I just...Jesus I hate this.”

Huffing out a frustrated breath, she got up and slipped through the screen door, into the Chateau. JJ wasn’t surprised a minute later when she reemerged with a battered acoustic guitar in her hands. It had been her father’s in his teen years, and she had been playing since before JJ even met her, when the instrument’s body dwarfed her own and her child’s hands could hardly fit around the neck. She didn’t practice everyday or anything, but could still play songs around the campfire or when the restless energy invaded her body and she needed an outlet for it. Without another word, she began softly strumming out a folk song JJ could almost recognize, but couldn’t remember the name of.

“How was your day?” she asked after a moment, eyes not even on the guitar as she played. It had become a distraction, rather than a passion, since her father had died. Playing it would always be linked with him in her mind. Sometimes, it made her angry that he had ruined yet another thing from the grave. But sometimes, she could tolerate the memories enough to enjoy it again.

“You mean since you saw me like four hours ago?” JJ asked, smirking lightly. Most days, John B drove them both home in the Twinkie, along with Pope.

She nodded, smiling just a little. “Yeah. I’m sure it’s been really exciting.”

“Oh, yeah,” JJ said emphatically. “Honestly, it was a pretty life-changing afternoon.”

“Enlighten me,” Liz said, tilting her head at him.

“Okay, let’s see. I went to the Eight to mow the Westerfields’ lawn. But their kid wouldn’t quit trying to help, so I had to make the lawn mower noises while he used his toy one, and he tired out eventually. Added like two extra hours,” JJ said.

Smiling fondly, Liz nodded for him to continue. A light breeze passed by, blowing her bangs away from her face.

“He’s pretty cute, though. And his mom let me in the house to wash up this time. I got this sick utility tool from the garage when she wasn’t looking,” he said, grin growing with excitement. From the same pocket which housed his pen, he produced a shiny red utility tool, complete with a knife, a screwdriver, and a bottle opener.

She laughed. “What the fuck do you need that for, Maybank?”

“Remember on New Year’s when we couldn’t find the corkscrew so you had to open that wine with a screw and a hammer?”

“One of my proudest moments.”

“Well, next time, we’ll have an extra,” JJ said, putting the tool back. “And I gotta say, I think we should add that house to our list.”

“Really? It’s the yellowish one with the hedges in the front, right?” Liz asked, still plucking at her guitar strings.

JJ nodded.

Since they were kids, they had been considering which houses to move into when they went full Kook. The ‘list’ had never been written down, instead existing as more of a living document in both their minds. There were a few properties on the Eight that were serious contenders, known by the families that lived in them: the Westerfields, the Kitteridges, even the Camerons. Liz was always coming back to the Petries’ place, with the cobblestone path and the tiny pond in the backyard. JJ was partial to the old McKinnon place, with the pristine lawn and the well-kempt dock out back.

“The inside is kickass,” JJ continued. “Like, a TV in every room.”

“Okay, it’s officially added,” Liz said with finality and a little smile.

Before she could continue, she saw JJ yawn into his fist. She noticed the tired glaze in his blue eyes and felt a little bit guilty. She had come over after a long day and bombarded him with all her family shit. She wanted to reciprocate, ask about how things were with his dad and why he hadn’t been back home for at least a week, but she bit her tongue. After so many years knowing JJ, she had learned that he wasn’t going to talk about his family until he wanted to.

She began to play “Polly,” not really singing but humming lowly along with the tune. JJ listened, rocking the hammock slightly. They shared a love for Kurt Cobain, and he always liked it when she played Nirvana for him. Even if he was more partial to the screamo electric songs than their acoustic numbers. As Liz expected, JJ was struggling to keep his eyes open by the time she finished.

“You falling asleep, sunshine?” she asked softly, putting her guitar aside. She would have to make sure she placed it back in the corner of the Chateau’s living room when they went to turn in for the night.

“No,” he said, clearing his throat and blinking harshly a couple times. “Are you kidding? It’s only like eight.”

She shrugged. “You can rest if you want to, JJ. It’s just me.”

“You cold?” he asked, eyes lingering on her hands. They were still a bit shaky, even after she played guitar. Usually, that was enough to make the angry trembling subside.

“Don’t change the subject.”

“Answer the question.”

With a stubborn sigh, she relented. “I mean, a little bit.”

He rolled his eyes. She was always trying to put on a brave face, even over something as small as being cold. Even in front of him. “Yeah, a ‘little bit.’ Okay. C’mon, tough girl, you can steal some of my body heat.”

She snorted a laugh as he opened his arms and gestured for her to come lay down with him. “Okay.”

Her cheeks warmed marginally, but he didn’t mention it if he noticed she was blushing. They were touchy with each other. All the Pogues were. But she and JJ had always been a bit more. Lately, it was getting under her skin, in a good way or a bad way she didn’t know. Each time she felt herself crushing, she reminded herself of the perfect, toned Tourons JJ always brought home after a Kegger. She reminded herself that they had known each other forever, and she shouldn’t ruin anything over a silly, fleeting feeling. Recently, though, there hadn’t been as many girls taken home. And there had been lingering looks and moments between the two of them. But Liz figured she was only imagining it. Otherwise, what was it? The whole thing was too confusing to manage.

But she was cold and he was tired. She didn’t feel up to navigating her thoughts on the subject, so she pushed them out of her mind. And one of the comfiest quilts ever to exist was draped over the back of the couch, too tempting to resist. She grabbed it and then kicked off her shoes before she went over to the hammock. She plopped down next to him, taking a moment to cover the two of them with the blanket and settle in. He winced slightly as her elbow grazed his ribcage.

“Sorry, sunshine. Are you okay?” she asked, instantly concerned, noticing as he hissed in quiet pain.

“Oh, yeah, red,” he said, nodding. “Just got a little too sloppy at the Boneyard last weekend. I fell down on the damn dock. Totally knocked the wind out of me.”

“Do you want me to move? You need to tell me if I’m hurting you,” she continued, a hand placed softly on his chest.

“You’re not,” he replied. “I promise.”

He wrapped his arms around her and brought her head to his shoulder. It seemed to be enough to reassure her, and she let the subject drop. Or maybe she was saving it away for a discussion later on. One thing JJ had learned about Liz in knowing her: her memory was pretty damn close to photographic. She breathed out in content as she finally began to warm up, and her body relaxed.

“Did you finish your paper?” JJ asked, remembering what she should have been doing.

“Yeah. It didn’t take me as long as I thought it would. There’s way too much to say about Virginia Woolf,” Liz explained, letting her legs slip between his, tangling them together. It was the closest they had been in a long time, and she could smell his Old Spice. “It actually ended up being like a page too long. I had to go back and cut it down.”

“Good job, nerd,” he teased. English was the only class she regularly got As in.

“Shut up,” she warned, looking up at him through her lashes and smirking a bit. “Just go to sleep, dick.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he said playfully. He pressed a kiss to the crown of her head.

When he pulled back, their eyes met again. Liz didn’t think much. She could only feel what she was doing as she was doing it, a bit surprised at herself. It was like her brain short circuited, flooded with butterflies, and she could only act on instinct.

“JJ?”

“Hm?”

Then, after a moment’s hesitation: “Can we kiss?”

His eyes softened. “‘Course we can, Lizzie.”

Before she knew it, they were both leaning in. They kissed gently, slow. JJ’s lips were surprisingly soft, and he kept a small smile on his face as they separated, dimples on his cheeks. Liz’s brow crinkled. Had that really just happened? When they were both totally sober and not dreaming? She uttered a small hum, nodding.

“Huh,” she said. She had never kissed anyone before, besides Kie. Never a real kiss.

JJ uttered a chuckle. “Yeah. Huh.”

“Are you alright?” Liz asked, a smile to match his own creeping onto her face.

“Mm-hm. Are you alright?” JJ’s voice lilted with nervous, giggly apprehension.

She nodded.

Then, some sort of simple understanding passed between them, smiles still ghosting over their lips. Liz put her head back down on JJ’s shoulder, and his grip tightened on her just a touch. They fell asleep.

.   .   .

October 27, 2019

Again, Liz was high as a kite by late afternoon. They sat smoking on the front porch of the Chateau after the midday dress burning, laughing at the mock sincerity of the ceremony. For once, Liz was happy and giggly in the presence of Sarah Cameron. JJ grinned widely at Liz opening up a bit. John B was always quick to accuse Liz of not liking Sarah, but JJ knew it was simply that she needed time to soften. Even with all her confidence, she was still shy. She didn’t like to show herself to people until she was positive she could trust them. JJ could definitely understand that. Leaning back against the couch, he threw his arm over the backrest. Liz, sitting beside him because she knew he would hog the bowl otherwise, tensed slightly. Looking around self-consciously, she didn’t think she saw anyone reacting to her flinch. Hopefully, they hadn’t noticed. The instinct to pull away from JJ was knee jerk. With a harsh swallow, she clenched her jaw and sat back slightly, trying to lean into it.

“Yo, did you guys hear that new Billie Eilish single?” JJ asked.

“Oh, I fucking loved it,” Liz said emphatically.

John B snickered. “Well, damn, I never would have guessed.”

She flipped him off, rolling her eyes. “You’re a loser.”

“Ditto, man,” John B replied, a smug smirk on his face.

Liz scoffed through a breathy chuckle. Weed made John B a bit of a condescending asshole, though sometimes in a charming way. Each time it was a toss-up. The day was slightly warmer than the one before, but she suspected it would likely be the last day the temperature was above fifty degrees. The thought of the season ahead made her grimace slightly. It was bad to begin the winter with a death. It was very bad. And, even amidst her group of friends enjoying each others’ company, she couldn’t help but feel far away from them. Distant. Alone. Maybe it was just the after-effects of her grandmother’s funeral the day before. She didn’t know.

She took the bowl back from JJ and inhaled a long breath. She coughed slightly as she let it out, listening to the others talk about something or other, maybe what Kyle McCormick had said to the calculus teacher the day before. She stared out into the front yard. When she was high, all her senses were amplified. The colors seemed brighter somehow. They seemed to move on their own, alive. The only thing close to the sensation that Liz could think of was reading Virginia Woolf. And even then, it was just the character who was experiencing it. Being mesmerized, really mesmerized, wasn’t an everyday thing. It felt like falling in love. She hadn’t felt it much since she and JJ broke up.

She passed the bowl, filled with grayish ashes, back to JJ. They reminded her of her father’s ashes. They’d spread them in the ocean, out on a rental boat. She’d held them in her hands, felt the smooth, sooty fragments of teeth. The thought made her shut her eyes for a second. JJ furrowed his brows, watching her as he took his own drag, trying to get the dregs of smoke from the bowl.

“You okay, Lizzie?” he asked.

“Yeah,” she said, rubbing at her eyes with the heels of her hands. Her cheeks were rosy from the autumn chill. “I just have a headache.”

JJ frowned. He felt her forehead, then put the back of one hand to her cheek. He was relieved to feel the redness was from the chilly wind, not from fever. Every time she got sick, it was because she had been running herself ragged, not sleeping.  “Hm. You’re probably still tired from yesterday. You wanna go lay down?”

Clearing her throat, ridding it from the stray smoky feeling, she nodded. “Sure. I’ll take the pullout.”

“Just take JJ’s bed again,” John B said lightly, catching snippets of the conversation.

“Is that alright?” she asked, tilting her head at JJ.

“Yeah. It’s the middle of the afternoon. I won’t be needing it for like eight more hours at least,” JJ answered, trying to pass the bowl to Pope.

Pope waved a hand at the drug paraphernalia. “Maybe you wouldn’t be so tired if you hadn’t smoked, Liz.”

Liz rolled her eyes as she got up from the couch. “Whatever, Doctor Spock.”

“You’re clouding your mental capacity,” Pope continued self-righteously. It didn’t annoy her as much as it once had, since she knew it came from a place of worry. After so long, she was able to shrug it off rather well.

“Good,” Liz retorted, more sincerely than Pope expected.

He shifted nervously, then turned to ask Kie something.

.   .   .

Slats of sunlight shone on the bed through the gaps in the blinds, making the room feel impossibly cozy. Since Liz had slept in there the night before, she had made the bed. It wasn’t really a cleanliness issue. She could have a perfectly neat bed and then not cast a second glance at the piles of books and clothes, and papers in the case of her desk. It was more that if she didn’t make her bed everyday, it made her want to wash her hands more, with hotter water. It made her want to pick off her nail polish and gnaw on her bottom lip. But she found herself feeling totally content as she laid on the bed, atop the fuzzy throw and the smooth comforter, piles stacked properly behind her. She rested her head on her crossed arms, the sleeve of her worn cardigan soft against her cheek. Her sock feet were raised in the air, one calf crossed over the other. She thought about the morning, when she had woken up with JJ’s arm draped over her. It had been the first time she had anxiously made the bed in JJ’s room in a long time. It had been so familiar that it broke her heart a bit. It broke her heart more when JJ had excitedly begun preparing for the dress burning almost immediately after waking up.

Over breakfast, he had enthusiastically gone over everyone’s duties to put together the “funeral for Lizzie’s funeral dress.” She smiled at him gratefully, but her heart wasn’t in it. She couldn’t reconcile the JJ who took care of her after tragedy with the one she had encountered on the last night in August. She thought about the feel of his hand on her waist, dancing with her in the Stoner’s Grove at a party, the warmth of his skin seeping through the thin fabric of her dress. They hadn't kissed, so they could explain it away if anyone asked. That had been before the invisible change had taken place. And she could feel it again where his hand had rested earlier in the day, when they had stood around a bonfire in the backyard, while the remains of her dress smoked in the air and then floated away. She had stared into the orangey flames, so strangely pure against the pristine blue of the October sky, until her eyes were hot and dry. JJ had placed an affectionate hand on her waist for only a moment, giving her hip a comforting squeeze. And she simply didn’t know what to do with it.

But she decided to clear the thoughts of him from her head, running her fingers delicately over the soft throw blanket. Touch, she thought to herself. Touch was her favorite of the senses when she was high. Her feet were up near the head of the bed, her head at the bottom. She had often laid in the same position, feet up in the air, as a little girl. She and John B had made a habit of going out to the edge of the dock and looking down at their reflections in the water, sometimes with their heads leaning completely over the green murkiness below. It was the kind of childhood foolishness you could only see the error in with hindsight. She let herself get lost in the music which played from the bluetooth speaker on the desk. She had turned it down to a medium volume, hoping she could get one of her mellower playlists to lull her to sleep. But the sunshine was too beautiful to miss. She let it warm her back as she laid there, listening to the sound of The 1975’s “Be My Mistake.” Sometimes, it was too sad for her to stomach. When high, though, she could stand it enough to listen. She barely even welled up this time.

The screen door slammed shut, and she could hear the rest of the Pogues reenter the house, likely to finish up whatever homework or enjoy the remnants of the Sunday afternoon. The sound of JJ’s boots approached, and Liz had to prepare herself for a moment before he came in. She didn’t know what instinct she would follow: the softening of her heart or the guarding of her gaze.

He opened the door with a warm creak, smirking when he saw she was still awake, from the way her feet swung side-to-side gently. “Hey.”

“Hi,” she replied huskily.

He shut the door behind him and bent over to unlace his boots. He tugged them off and discarded them in the corner absently before he came to sit down next to her on the bed.

“I was just coming to get my earth science homework, but I guess you don’t need quiet like I thought.”

She hummed in acknowledgement, lost in the song.

“You still wanna go to sleep?” he asked.

She may have had a pretty high tolerance, but she had smoked more of the good shit, and it was likely heightened in effect when she was so sleep-deprived. He was surely the more sober one of the two. The gut instinct to hold her hair back, rub circles on her skin, guide her sweetly through her intoxication, overtook him as it had so many times in the past. But he wasn’t her boyfriend, as she had pointed out one morning after he had fought a Touron. And it wasn’t his job to take care of her, no matter how much he wanted it to be.

“No,” she said softly. Her words came out in a pensive whisper. “I’m just having a nice time listening to the music.”

He snorted a laugh. “You’re so adorable.”

“You can’t say shit like that to me, JJ,” she said immediately, though still in that same gentle tone. Raising her head a bit, she met his slightly glassy, reddish gaze with her own to match.

He shut his mouth and averted his eyes, nodding. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to-”

“I know,” she said. “You just can’t.”

“Yeah,” he agreed.

Then after a moment, she asked: “Do you still wanna hang out?”

He smiled. “Yeah. ‘Course.”

“Alright,” she said, putting her head back down.

JJ got more comfortable, back resting against the wall behind the bed, getting ready to listen to her playlist. Liz’s playlists were, in fact, pretty infamous amongst their group of friends. When she couldn’t afford presents for birthdays or holidays, she made them playlists.

“So, since you’re in earth science, tell me again why they declassified Pluto as a planet?” she asked. “I mean, I know it doesn’t have emotions or anything, but imagine being a planet and having your planet status taken away from you. I feel bad for it, y’know?”

JJ laughed.

[booklover41802]

Could you do a Jurdan fanfic where they reunite post During Jude’s banishment but pre-queen of nothing but Jude is on a date, or Cardan thinks some guy is courting Jude and he jealously glamours the guy to leave her alone. And it leads to angst?

Of course, lovely! Thank you for the request! It turned out a bit longer than I had anticipated, and I tweaked it a bit, but I’m happy with the result. I hope you enjoy it, as much as I loved writing it.

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Jude Durate, High Queen of Elfhame, Wife to Cardan Greenbriar, was on her seventh date with a human boy. The boy was sweet, the complete opposite of the folk in Faerie. The kind of boy you fell for slowly over time until you looked at him one day and realized that you were wholly and utterly in love with him. 

Jude was terrified of him. Vivi had set them up, wanting Jude to heal from the scars of Faerie, and during the month and a half she’d been in the mortal lands, she learned what people meant when they said your heart could be divided in two. Though she loved Cardan, he seemed like a dream, like she could never truly have him. Lucas was more real, more than a daydream. 

Attempting to be discreet, Jude slanted her eyes to study the boy walking next to her, chattering on about mundane things. He was averagely tall with sandy blonde hair and striking emerald eyes. He looked nothing like Cardan. In her eyes, that was all that mattered. He was a distraction, a bit of fun during her banishment. After all, her delightful husband was surely doing the same.

They were walking along the pier near a beach Jude had discovered during the month away from Faerie. It was a quiet spot, away from the worrying gaze of Vivi. The boy, Lucas, suddenly smiled at her shyly, a flush reddening his cheeks to a brilliant flame. “Would it be okay if I held your hand?”

Jude’s heart hammered in her chest, wondering what she was getting herself into. If she said no, his disappointment would simmer awkwardly between them. If she said yes… would it be a betrayal to her vows? She swallowed the phlegm in her throat, trying to shove away all thoughts of what this small gesture meant. Without giving herself a moment to second guess what she was doing, Jude forced her lips to upturn at the corners, as though she was pleased he asked. “I would like nothing more.” She stretched out her hand and laced his fingers with hers, secretly enjoying the feel of his smooth palm against her calloused one. Lucas’s eyes widened imperceptibly at her move. 

Wonderment filling his gaze, Lucas studied her scarred palm. “Where did you get this scar from?” He traced the scar she had received when she pledged her loyalty to Dain with reverence.

What was she to tell him? She couldn’t very well say that she had cut open her own palm in order to gain the protection of the Prince of Elfhame. He would think her mad, and then who knows what would happen to her. She would have to lie, as she did about most things. Her mortal ability to skirt around the truth came in handy once more. “Childhood accident. You know how kids are. Magnets for disaster!”

Lucas chuckled, the fading light of the sun hitting the golden flecks of his eyes as he turned his head towards her. “I know exactly what you mean!” His fingers danced over her scar lightly, lovingly while his other hand traced circles in the sand. “When I was six years old, and learning how to ride a bike, I lost control and crashed right into a big old maple tree! Cut open my arm horribly. My grandma almost had a heart attack with the amount of blood that was on me.” When he mentioned his grandma, his face took on a softened look, his full lips fondly turning up as he reminisced on the past. 

“Both of us are covered in scars, as the two accident prone children we were.” She was deflecting, she knew, from the truth. But it was the only way to keep him safe from her past. 

From the corner of her eye, Jude saw a Golden Retriever huddled up against a building, with the faint shimmer of wings hovering in her peripheral vision. Jude’s pace slowed down as the pixie tormenting the dog smirked at her, taunting her. Even now, far away from Court, her past continued to haunt her, reminding her how she did not fit into the mortal world. She would never be safe here.

Lucas, oblivious to the pixie and her racing thoughts, pointed out a landmark on the far side of the coast. “That lighthouse over there is where I lost my first tooth. I was so excited by the ships, I wiggled my loose tooth a little too hard. Blood gushed all over me, staining my favorite shirt. My parents fussed over me for days. I even had the tooth fairy visit me for the first time. Found a whole dollar underneath my pillow the next morning.”

The tooth fairy. Such a human tradition. Jude had never experienced it, as her parents had been murdered before her teeth fell out. 

A few people moved around the two of them on the sidewalk, not wanting to interfere with the moment they were having. Jude, not aware they would be seen by anybody, blushed fiercely. She looked away from the fond looks people threw her way, and pulled Lucas to a stop. She dragged him over to the sand, far away from the pixie, and made to sit down. Mercifully, he didn’t question it. “What are your parents like?” She asked, trying, and failing, to calm her nerves.

 “They were wonderful people from what I can remember. Every Saturday night they took me to the lighthouse to look at the ships docking in the harbor. My father worked there, and rarely left his post. The sea called to him, as it does to me.” Ships now were now pulling in, guided by the beam of light pouring out from the top of the lighthouse. Lucas watched the boats, a fascinated look taking over his features.

As the sun set over the horizon, glowing softly with pinks, purples, and oranges, gulls crying out in the distance, waves crashing against the beach, Jude felt a sense of peace settle over her, despite the pixie. With Lucas it was easy to feel safe, to let her mind drift away. In another life, she pictured herself with him. Forcing the words out around the memories of Cardan, she softly asked, “Have your parents died?”

With a rueful smile, Lucas looked up at the sky watching the seagulls circle overhead, his eyes far away. “Yeah. They died in a fire when I was eight. My grandparents raised me after that. It was hard to accept that they were gone for a while. I couldn’t even go to the lighthouse without thinking of them, of having the memories crash over me like the waves against the shore.” He was becoming detached, distant.

Jude did something she never expected herself to do. Gently, she took his hand out of hers, pulling his face towards her, so that they were eye to eye. “My parents died when I was seven. I guess we’re both orphans. I was raised by an… uncle after that with my two sisters. You’re not alone. Orphans always find each other, searching for a home in one another, hoping they will finally belong somewhere.”

The sea rocked against the sand, splashing the two of them with little droplets. Neither noticed, too lost in the depthless ache they felt deep in their chests. 

Reaching out a shaky hand, Lucas brushed away a stray strand of hair that was stuck against her cheek. “I think I’ve found my home.”

Knowing she was already damned, Jude leaned forward and drew Lucas into her arms, resting her chin on his shoulder, breathing in his scent. He smelled of cedar, the sea, with faint undercurrents of spices. She shut her eyes, relishing the feel of safety in his arms.

His breath tickled her ear as he moved towards her. “What was your childhood like? You never talk about it.” Immediately she stiffened, memories flashing by of a gentry member biting off the tip of her ring finger, another yanking her out from under a table at a revel and being tormented and glamoured, wearing rowan berries everywhere to avoid her mortality betraying her.

A childhood that was no childhood at all. 

“It was a childhood like no other,” she choked out. 

He pulled back, grasping her forearms and looking into her eyes, brow furrowed in confusion. “I’m sorry if I hit a sore subject, I only wish to know you more.”

Before she could answer she was hit with the scent of roses, citrus and the overwhelming smell of wine. There was only one being with that aroma that she knew. Cardan.

Sure enough, there he glided behind her on the sand, his black eyes boring into her, burning her like a brand. His tail peeked out from his trousers, gently swaying in the wind. A cruel grin bedecked his face, as he narrowed in on the boy who held her in his arms. 

“Jude?” Lucas asked, drawing her gaze away from her husband. Gods. Her husband. The King of Elfhame was here. In the mortal lands. And here she was, on a date.

“Sorry, I-I think I’m getting tired.” Behind Lucas’s back, Cardan snickered.

Lucas nodded, eyes roving over her too bright eyes, the fake smile adorning her lips. “Before we turn in, I have something for you.”

“For me?”

“Yes. Just a moment.” Reaching in the back pocket of his pants, Lucas drew out a necklace with a sterling silver ring hung on the chain. The ring twisted around a small pearl, edged with small gems placed around the base. The ring was simple, beautiful. Perfect. 

She was speechless. “Do you like it?”

“I love it.” But just as she said it, the raven haired boy from her past crept into her vision, patiently waiting for her to go over to him. Lucas didn’t notice, too lost in Jude to see anything beyond. 

Lucas gently swung the necklace around Jude’s throat, carefully securing the latch. He lifted up the hair that was trapped by the chain. Jude smiled softly at the gift, and at the boy who had given it to her without a second thought, attempting to block out Cardan so she could remember this moment without the stain of Faerie. “I found the pearl when I was out at sea a few weeks ago, and I thought of you. I made it myself last night. It’s a promise necklace, since I didn’t know what size ring you wore. A promise that, one day, we’ll be married.”

Jude’s smile slipped off her face. “Marriage?” Unbeknownst to him, she was already married to another, her heart belonged to another. In another life, perhaps, this could have worked, but things being the way they were, it wouldn’t last. She had duties and promises to fulfill.

Behind them, Cardan had gone stone-still, his tail twitching back and forth. A strange light filled his eyes, the golden ring around his pupil disappearing, his mouth set in a hard line. It was an odd sight to see. Cardan standing on the sand on a mortal beach with his extravagant clothing studded with gems and jewels, his crown perched haphazardly on his head. Of course he brought his crown, as though he was reminding Jude of who he was. If any mortals noticed him, they didn’t let on. He must have been glamoured, for everyone casually flowed around him as though he wasn’t even there.

Lucas twisted around to see why Jude kept looking over his shoulder, and found nothing, for he couldn’t see the ghost from her past. “What do you keep looking at? Have I moved too fast?” He turned to look at her once more, a heartbreaking expression on his face. The confusion hurt Jude as she could never tell him the truth. Never let him know who she really was, and where she had come from.

“Just-Just a dog. I like dogs, that’s all.”

Carefully Lucas reached for her forearms and pulled her towards him until they were mere feet apart. Cardan moved closer.

“Jude. I’m sorry if I’ve startled you with my declarations. It’s just that I know you’re what I want. I know I’ve only known you for a little over a month, but with each passing day I fall in love with you a little bit more. Your wit, your intellect, your dimples, that look you get when you think no one is looking, when you look happy and relaxed, your guard let down. I love you, Jude. If you don’t feel as strongly as me, I understand, I do. I’m prepared to wait a thousand years.” He nestled his face into her neck, his sandy hair tickling her skin.

Unconsciously she began to run her fingers through his soft hair, wondering if he could feel her racing heart. “Lucas-” She started, about to break his heart, to let him down easy, but suddenly, he jerked under her touch, as if he were a puppet and a puppet master had pulled his strings.

He pulled back as if in a trance, his limbs rigid, rose to his full height and began to walk away. Jude scrambled to her feet and attempted to pull him around. Oblivious to her, he kept marching forwards towards Cardan, never looking back. She hurried in front of him, to see his face. A glazed look had overtaken his features, a blissful expression on his peaceful face. “Lucas?”

There was no answer, no matter how hard she willed him to stop, no matter how many times she shouted his name, there was nothing. No sign of the boy who had given her his heart. So, defeated, she stopped trying to get him to halt and followed him towards the boy who had shattered her life.

Cardan was smirking at her, his hands placed casually in his pockets. “Hello, my darling Jude. How are the mortal lands treating you?” He purred, as soon as Jude was within range. He held out his arms to her, wanting to draw her into a hug, but she crossed her arms, unwilling to give him what he desired.

When she saw Cardan again, she thought she’d be overjoyed, to leap at the chance to go back. But she was angry. So unbelievably angry she wanted to hurt him as he had hurt her. “After banishing me and betraying my trust, you ask how I am? You show up, unannounced, mind you, and expect me to embrace you with open arms? No. I shall not. And you glamoured my date.” Jude frowned, her lips curling downwards, looking at Lucas’s dazed expression next to the King of Elfhame.

He dropped his arms, a wounded expression on his face. “I come in peace, to offer you a chance to return. I thought after all my letters, you would understand my regret and how much I wish to see you home.”

Letters? There had been nothing but silence. “Is this another one of your tricks? To get to me to sympathize with you? I never received anything. And Faerie is not my home. I am mortal, as I am so often reminded, and replaceable. I have no home, not anymore, not after you banished me. I cannot return.”

Again, the small smile danced across his lips, as if this were a game. “Have I finally outwitted you, Jude Durate, master of tricks and wit?”

“What are you talking about?” The way he looked at her sent shivers down her spine. She had forgotten how he made her feel. Every touch, every look was as though a fire was exploding in her heart. Passion and desire warred over her common sense until she had given in to the whims of her deepest wants. Look how that had turned out.

Love was a fickle thing. It made you lose all sense until you were a love-stricken fool, incapable of seeing the ugly truth, wanting to believe the best of your partner. Love had turned her into the Court Jester. Playing tricks for them all until she had lost her balance and everything came crashing down around her while everyone laughed. A cascade of disaster.

Cardan took a step closer until they were sharing breath, every feeling she had forced down deep rose up again at the close proximity they were in. Cautiously, as if he didn’t want to startle her, he gently ran a finger down his face. “You could have returned any time you wanted. Until and unless she is pardoned by the crown, let her not step one foot in Faerie or forfeit her life. Are you not Faerie’s Queen? Are you not my wife?”

Jude felt the world closing in on her as she realized just what this meant. She could have pardoned herself. She was a fool, blinded by her wounded feelings. “Wife in name only. Who banishes their wife the day after they are married? You could have warned me, at least. Instead you let me go off into the mortal world, thinking I’d never see you again. I thought I knew better than to get involved with a Faerie, a King at that.” Now Cardan turned his attention to Lucas, still looking for all the world a love-sick puppy. “Is this mortal the better option?” Cardan’s lip curled. “A mortal who doesn’t even have decent fashion sense.” Cardan eyed Lucas’s clothes seriously, as if his very existence was an affront to everything Cardan stood for.

“Leave him alone. He didn’t do anything except get mixed up with the wrong person.”

Cardan roughly got hold of Lucas’s shirt and pulled him close in an intimate embrace. “Faerie leaves scars to everyone who passes through. You cannot pass through the fire unburned. So he shall suffer the consequences of trying to marry my wife.”

“Cardan what are you-” Faster than she could follow, faster than she knew he could move, he whipped out a knife from the folds of his tunic and slashed Lucas’s forearm, cutting through fabric - with her own blade for that matter. Lucas didn’t even flinch, the glamour erasing any emotion he felt.

Cardan released the boy, his chest heaving, blade dripping in blood, staining the golden flecks of sand a brilliant red.

She lunged forwards trying to sop up the blood with the edge of her dress that had begun to drip down through the torn folds of his shirt. The only thing she accomplished was soaking the blood into her clothes and skin. 

“Now the remnants of Faerie will forever be etched upon his skin. He’ll always possess the fear of the land and the retaliation he’ll receive if he decides to chase after you again.” He looked proud of himself, as though he did something worthy or noble. “Come back with me, Jude. Let us return, as King and Queen, as Husband and Wife.” 

How dare Cardan believe he had the right to mark a mortal like so, and expect her to be okay with it? Expect her to return to him with open arms. “I will only return with you if you promise to leave Lucas alone. No assassin’s sent after him, no poison in his cup. No harm ever to come to him.” Her heart bled for the boy who had done nothing wrong other than fall in love with the wrong person.

Cardan’s tail twitched back and forth as he contemplated her offer. “If that is what you wish, I shall grant it.” He waved his hand and Lucas lumbered away, arm still bleeding profusely.

They watched the boy stumble his way back to his home, listened to the shrieks that accompanied his arrival. Jude hated it. Hated that she was the reason for his pain. 

“You have me back, but I swear to you I will hate you until I die for what you have done. You will never have me as you once did. I’ll be your Wife and Queen in name only.”

“I brought your sword, Nightfell, back from Vivi.” He held out the gleaming blade, as some sort of peace offering. Blood still dripped from the metal. She took it, only because the sword gave her comfort.

“Thank you,” she replied curtly. “Take me back, Cardan.”

“If that is what you wish.”

Jude reached up and fingered the necklace that lay on her collarbone, comforted by the pearl that slid smoothly through her fingers. 

When they reached the bright green fields of Faerie, Jude was welcomed back with open arms. She smiled politely, accepted the congratulations, but felt an emptiness, as though she was missing a limb.

Faerie would never be her home again, nor would the Mortal Lands. She had been cursed to be a wanderer, never to have a place to feel safe. Once she had thought it was Cardan, but she was wrong. She was alone, just as she always was.

Cardan

As Cardan took hold of Jude’s arm to transport her back to Faerie, he wondered if he had done the right thing by glamouring her date and cutting him on the arm with Jude’s blade. He had thought she’d be proud of what he did, as she often resorted to more violent methods at Court. Perhaps he made an error, acted too rashly. Cardan did not know how he could make it up to her. 

Although he had achieved his goal of bringing Jude home, the cost had been too high. Whatever love had been between them, was now squandered into the dirt, crushed beneath his crown. If he had simply been Cardan, and not Cardan, High King of Elfhame, would she still hate him as fiercely as she did? Was it the crown that made him act so impulsively? Or was it because he couldn’t bear to see Jude with someone else?

The awful feeling of jealousy was like a cancer, infecting his mind until he knew nothing else. All he saw was a boy courting his love, his Jude, and he had never wanted to kill a mortal so much before. He once swore to himself he would never spill blood by his own hand, but for Jude, he would do anything.

Yet now, as they were back at Court, Cardan noticed the distance now on Jude’s face as Oriana welcomed Jude back. Noticed how she kept touching the necklace at her throat.

When Jude looked at him, it was with a cold emptiness, a reserved impasse. He loved her still, but it seemed as though they were enemies once again.

Jude Durate, his wife, his Queen, hated him. He did not know if they could come back from it.

Tags: @webcraft4eveh, @illyrian-bookworm, @highladyofstoriesandmusic

[zeltricstudio]

'THE DINNER'

BRIGHT

MARCH 2013

Rebecca pulled up to the Well’s house and parked her car. Ever since her husband died in a car crash a few months back, Rebecca wasn’t the same. She lost her happy-go-lucky attitude and stopped being social, spending most of her days locked in her home and only leaving to go to work or buy groceries. Many people tried to talk to her, or console her but she would simply brush them off and ignore them. She stopped dressing in bright clothing such as dresses or skirts, instead wearing all black sweats and hoodies. But then she met Alex and Jill Well and suddenly she was her happy self again. Nobody knew why, but they didn’t question it as they were all happy she was ‘normal’ again. Rebecca, Jill and Alex quickly became fast friends and if you saw them at a first glance, you’d think they were friends for years. Like many other nights, Alex and Jill invited Rebecca to have dinner at their home and Rebecca agreed. Now was the night and Rebecca was ready.

Rebecca opened the door and stepped out. While she still wore all black, it was no longer sweats and dirty hoodies that hadn’t been washed in weeks. She was wearing a black dress, had her black hair tied up in a ponytail and had red lipstick and eyeliner applied. Rebecca locked her car door before beginning the small walk to their house. Rebecca brought a box of chocolate as a gift, the perfect gift for when you don’t know what to get someone. She walked up the stairs and rang the doorbell and the classic buzzer noise rang into the night. After a few seconds of waiting she heard footsteps approaching the door, before the door unlocked and opened.

“Hello!” Jill said as she embraced Rebecca in a tight hug

“Hello” Rebecca said, hugging Jill back tightly.

“You look absolutely stunning” Jill said, admiring Rebecca

“Thank you. I feel amazing” Rebecca replied

“Well come on in” Jill said and took a step back and Rebecca walked in. Jill locked the door as Rebecca continued walking down the small hallway before entering the small area that had the living room and kitchen together.

“Hello- oh my!” Alex said, standing behind the counter as he was washing some dishes

“Hello Alex” Rebecca said gleefully

“You know this is a casual dinner party, not a dinner with the queen” Alex joked

“Well I’m feeling great today, so I figured why not go all out?”

“I can see. Glad you feel great” Alex said

“Take a seat and we’ll get dinner ready in a few minutes” Jill said as she began walking over to help Alex

“Oh before I forget, here” Rebecca said as she handed the box of chocolate to Jill

“You shouldn’t have, thank you. These are my favorites” Jill said, taking the box as she went to Alex.

Rebecca walked over to the living room and sat down on the couch, before noticing a man sitting nearby.

“Oh hey, I’m Ben” the man said, extending his hand for a shake

“Hey, I’m Rebecca” she said as she shook his hand

“Oh sorry I forgot to mention a mate of mine would be joining, hope that’s alright” Alex said

“That’s fine, the more the merrier” Rebecca happily reassured him

“So uh, how’s it going” Ben said, trying to make conversation

“It’s good actually. Been in a bit of a rut so it’s nice to get out of the house”

“Yeah, I know what you mean. Work has been kicking my ass. Need a nice night to unwind”

“Where do you work?”

“At Whole Foods, near the school. How about you?”

“In between jobs, but hopefully something to do with accounting”

“Cool, cool”

“So… got any hobbies?”

“Oh, you know. The usual stuff like bike riding, surfing all that stuff”

“Nice”

“This is painful to watch” Alex said quietly to Jill

“Shut up. Remember we were like that as well” Jill said angrily

“Yeah but still” Alex said

“Okay you guys, let’s eat!” Jill announced and everyone slowly made their way to the dinner table. Rebecca was glad dinner was ready as she wasn’t sure how to hold a conversation with Ben any longer.

Jill and Alex sat at one end of the table, with Ben next to Jill and Rebecca at the far end. Throughout the night, Ben and Rebecca got to more and more chatting and soon the two were talking almost nonstop. Alex and Jill were mostly silent but glad that Rebecca was talkative, this was probably the happiest that they have seen her.

“No way!” Rebecca said in astonishment

“That’s right, I picked the spider with my bare hands and gently guided it out” Ben said, feeling pleased with himself

“You make Death afraid of you” Rebecca jokingly said

“Oh trust me I was fucking petrified, but the things I do for love I guess” Ben said

“Your girlfriend is lucky to have you”

“She really is. How about you, got anyone special?” Ben asked as he took a sip but he suddenly noticed the shocked expression at Jill and Alex’s face.

“I did have a husband, Garry but died a few months ago”

“Oh shit. I’m sorry I didn’t-“

“That’s alright, it’s not a deep dark secret I am trying to hide.”

The room went quiet for a moment as no one was sure what to say.

“Car accident. Died on the spot and the driver drove off. I know you didn’t ask but I can see you wanted to ask” Rebecca said, breaking the silence

“Sorry” Ben apologized for being too obvious

“Let’s talk about something else, something more lighthearted” Alex chimed in, wanting to change the topic

“Yes please” Jill agreed

“Oh, have you told Rebecca about the Halloween party?” Ben asked

“No, he has not. What is this?” Rebecca quizzed

“This was years ago, it is quite an adventure” Alex said, taking a deep gulp of his drink

“I hope so. A Halloween story better be good” Rebecca joked

“Oh it is” Jill reassured her

“Here it goes” Alex said, clearing his throat. “So, I think it was 2011? Halloween night, one of my mate’s is having a party and me and Been attend. We call it a Halloween party but secretly it is just an excuse to drink and get wasted. The night starts off normal, we have a few drinks and before I know it I am just smashed. I black out and when I come to, everyone is passed out, the neighbor’s kiddie pool is over the fence and my car is through the fence” Alex laughs as he finishes his story

“Damn, that sounds wild” Rebecca said as she chuckled

“And the best part is, Alex doesn’t remember any of it” Jill chimed in

“Really?” Rebecca asked

“Really really. That whole night is a blur to me” Alex said

“Same here, it was intense” Ben said

“Jill were you there?” Rebecca asked

“Oh no, I was busy working the night shift” Jill said

“I wish I had a story like that. Most of my stories are very tame” Jill replied, sounding a bit disappointed

“How about you? Got any crazy tales?” Ben asked

“Well, since you asked I do have one” Rebecca said, finishing up her drink

“Really? This is new to me” Alex said with a slight chuckle

“I didn’t tell you everything, gotta have a few secrets to keep you on your toes” Rebecca teased

“Let’s hear it” Jill said

“Okay, but you guys gotta pay attention to this one” Rebecca said and everyone sat upright and leaned in, ready to hear Rebecca’s story.

“I’m going to need you to stick with me through this one, it is quite long. You all ready?” Rebecca asked, this time her tone being incredibly happy and joyful.

“Yeah”, “Yes”, “Definitely” Alex, Jill and Ben all replied with.

“So this was a few months ago, before the accident. I had gotten home after a long shift at work. This was around 10 pm and my husband asks me if I want to go for a midnight drive, no where in particular just go out and drive. I am tired, I just want to curl up in my bed and watch ‘Attack of the Phones’ and gorge myself on food.”

“That sounds like a good Friday night” Ben jokingly said

“I know right? I wish I could do that all nights. Anyways he goes off to drive and I begin my after-work routine. I showed, get dressed, have dinner and watch my movie. After the movie ends, I notice he still hasn’t returned which is strange because he is never out for more than a hour or 2 at most. I call him and after a few rings, it goes to voicemail. Now I am a paranoid person, so I decided to get up and go look for him. You know, in case anything happened. Worst case scenario I got out of bed for nothing and he returns home safe and sound, right?” Rebecca asked, still keeping her happy tone and smile.

“Yeah” Ben agreed but Alex and Jill began to get concerned.

“So I begin driving our usual route that we normally would do. He’s not on it so I try a few different ones. Eventually I spot something in the distance, his car. I get closer and that’s when I notice, it is completely wrecked.”

The atmosphere in the room immediately changed. Ben was starting to get worried but Alex and Jill were now scared.

“Garry’s car is completely totaled, his body is crumpled through the windshield, with glass and metal imbedded into his body. I obviously call the ambulance who arrive and take him to the hospital. I prayed but to my horror he died an hour before I found him.” Rebecca says, now her eyes locked on Alex and Jill and still keeping her smile.

“What the fuck?” Ben said, getting worried at Rebecca’s tone

“They do a test and find out he isn’t drunk. So they can rule out it wasn’t drunk driving, but rather a hit and run. I of course am destroyed, my whole life is turned upside. Love of my life gone, all that sad stuff” Rebecca said in a sarcastic tone, much to the disturbance of Alex, Jill and Ben.

“The cops can’t find anything, no evidence of the attackers and no cameras in the area so they can’t do much and the case is put on hold while they deal with other “more serious” matters” Rebecca said, still making intense eye contact with Alex and Jill who are now beginning to sweat. Ben is noticing that they are looking scared.

“Rebecca what-“

“I’m not done yet, please let me finish” Rebecca cut Ben off, still locking eyes with Alex and Jill.

“I decided to take matters into my own hands, do a little investigating. I won’t bore you with the details but I get my results. Turns out, a male and a female decide to go for a few drinks at the club and make the wise decision of driving home, completely wasted. They think it is a good idea to get behind the wheel and drive home, completely out of it and not caring about the safety of others” Rebecca said, with her voice getting louder. Alex and Jill are now scared, realizing that their secret is out. Ben is slowly piecing it together.

“I don’t know the exact details, but I guess they must’ve turned a corner too fast and collided with Garry. They of fucking course were fine, a little ruffled but alright. Garry on the other hand, well you already know how he turned out. The lovely couple decides to drive off, not even attempting to help my husband, leaving me to find him hours later.”

“It was an accident” Alex screamed, standing up

“Alex, what did you do?!” Ben said, also standing up but now backing away from Alex

“We didn’t mean to!” Jill said, also standing up. Rebecca remained sitting down.

“I’m sure you didn’t mean to, but you can’t change the fact that you still murdered him” Rebecca said

“We’re sorry” Jill said, now on the verge of tears

“Save your apology, I’m not here for that” Rebecca said, now standing up

“Then, why are you here?” Jill asked, now scared

“To get revenge” Rebecca said, now dropping her happy persona

“Babe get back” Alex said, pulling Jill behind him

“Rebecca, calm down” Ben said, trying to diffuse the situation.

“It’s too late for that. I’m sorry you have to be here for this, Ben” Rebecca said, still not taking her eyes off Alex

“Rebecca, leave now” Alex said, trying to not make it obvious he is scared

“Not until you pay for what you and Jill did”

“Look, we’re sorry, we didn’t mean for it to happen” Jill said

“I don’t care” Rebecca said, now her voice full of anger

“Rebecca I swear you better leave now or else I’m calling the cops” Alex threatened her

Rebecca simply took a few steps back, before lifting her head and rolling her eyes backwards, making her eyeballs appear completely white before they filled with blood, turning them red. Alex, Jill and Ben all took a few steps back, now concerned. Alex then began noticing that his body was emitting a red glow around him.

“What the fuck is happening?!” Alex asked, as he noticed he couldn’t feel his body anymore.

“Rebecca?” Jill asked, now confused. Alex began walking over to the table and picked up a kitchen knife

“Rebecca, what the fuck are you doing?!” Jill asked, her voice almost breaking.

Alex put his hand on the table, making a star as his other hand lifted the knife high in the air and drove it down, directly onto his hand.

“ARRRGH!” Alex screamed in pain, with the knife firmly lodged into his left hand, but not being able to move his body.

“Alex!” Jill screamed and ran over, trying to lift the knife away but his arm not budging. Ben remained scared stiff, not moving or reacting. The red aura from Alex was gone as he regained control of his body, but his hand was firmly pinned to the table. Then, Jill noticed the red aura began surrounding her as she lost control of her body.

“Rebecca?” Jill said, now terrified. Jill picked up her knife and, the same as Alex, put her hand on the table, before driving the knife onto her hand, pinning her to the table. Jill screamed in pain, much like Alex before the red aura was gone and she was left pinned to the table. Jill’s scream broke Ben out of his trance and he began to make a run for it, until he suddenly stopped still. To his horror, Ben noticed a red aura around him and was turning around, with no control of his body. He noticed Rebecca had her arm extended, with her fingers pointed at him.

“Don’t leave so soon, you haven’t had desert yet” Rebecca said, with a sadistic smile on her face as Ben began walking over to her.

“Rebecca, please-“ Ben stopped talking and he began talking muffled. To Ben’s horror, he began picking up his own knife, before turning to face Jill and Alex and then slit his own throat, standing still as blood began spraying all over Jill and Alex. Jill and Alex were speechless, terrified at what they had just witnessed.

“Such a shame he was here, I liked him” Rebecca said, feeling remorseful.

“Please, let us go” Alex said through tears and pain, as he was trying to lift the knife out, but was able to bring himself to do it.

“Oh, we’re not done yet” Rebecca said, before lifting both of her arms. Alex and Jill had red auras around them again as they lost all feeling in their body. They both pulled the knife out of their hands, but their screams were quickly silenced and all that came out was muffled screaming. Rebecca instructed them to pick up Ben’s body and carry it with them out of the house. Before leaving, Rebecca grabbed a bottle of wine.

Rebecca made Jill and Alex stuff Ben’s body in the trunk and made them both get in the front seat as she sat in the back and instructed Alex to begin driving. After 20 minutes, they arrived at a bridge overlooking train tracks.

“Thank you for the dinner, it was amazing. We should do it again sometime soon” Rebecca said as she got out of the car. Alex and Jill remained silent. As Rebecca stepped out, she handed Alex a bottle of wine and he began chugging it, getting a good half of the bottle before stopping and handing it to Jill, who then finished it off before handing it back to Rebecca. Alex reversed the car and lined it up with the railing, before slamming on the gas and crashing through the barrier, freefalling with the car before it slammed into the ground, the glass and metal impaling and crushing Jill and Alex. After a few moments, the red auras from both were gone. Rebecca could no longer feel their bodies, meaning they were dead. Rebecca began making the long walk back to the house to retrieve her car.

A few days later, Rebecca rocked up to a house in Wicket and knocked on the door. After a few seconds the door opened and there stood a man in a dark trench coat, with most of his features hidden.

“It’s done, thank you for helping me” Rebecca said as she began handing him an envelope of cash

“I got a better proposal. Save your cash, next time I need a favor you help me out and we’ll call it even” he said

“What kind of favor?” Rebecca asked

“The kind that requires your special talents” he said, with a slight chuckle

“Sure thing” Rebecca agreed

“Good. I’ll call you when I need you. Have a wonderful day”

“You too” she said and began walking back.

The man locked the door and retreated to his home. In his living room was a whiteboard that had a lot of photos of the night of the accident, including evidence of Jill and Alex hitting Garry’s car and driving off. He began packing it up, putting all the evidence into a folder and then putting that folder into a filing cabinet. He goes to his desk and pulls out a notebook, before turning to a new page and writing ‘FAVOR #23: The Puppeteer’.

[nuricurry]

Saint Seiya | Hyoga/Ikki; “don’t paint me black when i used to be golden” PG-13

He’s got a flat in Omsk that uses when he needs to run away. It’s small, above a little corner shop, selling liquor and cigarettes and stale chips. It’s where he buys his rolling papers, because the babushka that owns it never asks about his age. She just likes when he’s around, because he looks like her son who went off to die in the war, and he lifts heavy boxes for her and sweeps the stairs without her asking. The room smelled old, but that was mostly because of the books that filled it, crammed into the huge bulky bookcases that Hyoga managed to squeeze in until the shelves sagged and it looked as if they might tip over. Most of the books he’d never read; they were in languages he didn’t speak, Croatian and German and Gaelic and Italian, books about science and the stars and plants and trees, books that talked about wars he had never heard of and places most of the world long-since forgot existed. They were books he had run his fingers over hundreds of times in his life, books that he could remember seeing as a child, all neatly ordered and carefully arranged. In his house, they were fit where they could, shoved on top of each other and stacked on tables and chairs, none of them given the proper place they should. He brought Shun there once, when they were caught between figuring themselves out and needing company. He remembered what he looked like in that small room with it’s peeling blue floral wallpaper and water stained ceiling. His eyes had traveled around, taking it all in-- Hyoga’s unmade bed, his chipped china, the dusty lace curtains that hung in the window-- and he had smiled at him and said it was lovely. What was funny was that he knew he meant it; where Hyoga saw chaos and mess, Shun saw a home, filled with things that Hyoga wanted to hold on to, things that clearly meant something, if he bought a whole apartment to put them in, rather than let them be thrown away. They shared the bed at night, him and Shun, because there was only one and they were beyond a point of awkwardness or shame in being close to one another. They would lie on the mattress on their sides, face to face, and Shun would listen to him talk. He would tell him about how his mother gave birth to him in Moscow, but she grew up here in Omsk and he had come here hoping to find some family of his, only to learn they had all moved away or died. The house she lived in was gone, turned into a shopping center, and the only record to be found was of her was her name at the local church and the day of her baptism. They talked about the books, all collected from the cabin he lived in with Camus out in the wilderness for those eight years. He couldn’t read them all, and honestly, many of them he didn’t want to, because he was never as analytical as Camus was. He didn’t really need to know how the world worked and why it did. He just lived in the moment, he just had to make it through each day, and that was enough for him. Yet, even knowing so many of them would never be opened again, he couldn’t bear to throw any of them away. Camus had touched them at some point, his eyes had scanned them over, which meant Hyoga couldn’t get rid of a single one of them, in memory of him. That was what the apartment really was for, when it came down to it. Storing his memories, trying to hold onto them and make them last by locking them away, as if that would keep them fresh, keep them safe. Shun, as he knew he would be, was sympathetic. He didn’t discourage his hoarding, didn’t criticize or encourage him to put those sorts of things aside. He just held his hand when Hyoga spoke about how he liked when the old lady downstairs called him ‘Pasha’ because it was like having a grandmother for the first time, he offered to get him a drink when Hyoga would get a headache from crying, he wouldn’t say anything about the creaking floorboards and lumpy mattress and leaking pipes and paper-thin walls of Hyoga’s glorified memory box. He just told him it felt like home, and offered to bring him new sheets and maybe a nice rug and a plant to liven up the space. Shun said those things because Hyoga didn’t tell him the whole truth. Shun didn’t know about the box under the bed, the box of Camus’ clothes that he kept tucked away under lock and key. He didn’t tell him about keeping his coat, his shirts, his gloves, because they were things that Camus had worn and touched, they still held traces of his distinctive scent. He didn’t tell him that the chipped dishes they used at dinner used to be his mother’s rescued from the remains of her sunken ship years ago and hoarded in his room where no one could find them. He didn’t mention the book that had dog-eared pages about the Kraken and sirens and Leviathan, creased and folded over by what must have been a young Isaak’s hand. He didn’t tell him about how he kept those things because he believed that they might have even traces of those he lost, a bit of their smell, a strand of their hair, even fingerprints would have been enough, because it was physical proof that they had been alive, that they existed and that once, Hyoga had been able to love someone without being afraid of that love destroying them. It wasn’t like that anymore. Hyoga had learned his lesson, had learned it in the hardest way possible. The only person who knew about Camus’ clothes and his mother’s china and Isaak’s book was Ikki. He had found the box by accident, one time when he came to the flat broken and bleeding, uncovering it when he was left alone after Hyoga went downstairs to ask for a needle and thread to sew up the wound. Ikki claimed he had been trying to find bandages when he pulled out the box. He asked about it, because it was strange for Hyoga to have a box of clothes he never wore that would never fit him, delicate painted tea cups, and a tattered book of fairytales hidden away in a box under his bed. He didn’t know why he told him-- it was not as if Ikki was ever sensitive about those things, not like Shun was-- but maybe it was because he wasn’t Shun or Seiya that he told him. Ikki was not someone who would look at him with pity when he talked about imagining that the books paper had absorbed some of Isaak’s spit from licking his fingers to turn the page, or wanting to find even traces of his mother’s fingerprints on the teapot, or about wearing Camus’ coat because it was the closest he would ever get to being held in his arms again, now that the man himself was gone. Ikki just took in all that information, he just listened, his face impassive, his eyes unreadable, before he closed the chest, and put it back under the bed. The next time Ikki was in the flat was when Hyoga brought him there because they needed to get away from everything and everyone, because he had finally talked about the fire that burned under his skin every time he was within any proximity to Ikki and Ikki echoed those words back. He hadn’t been thinking about the chest, the memories, the mementos; he was thinking about finally trying to work this fever out, but before he could, Ikki asked to see the box, and Hyoga dragged it out for him, though he didn’t understand why. Ikki pulled something out of the inner pocket of his jacket, and placed it in the box, right on top of Hyoga’s things. It was a handkerchief, and when he gently pulled up the corner of it, he saw a dried, pressed flower tucked inside. Ikki put his past inside of Hyoga’s memory box, and he let him, because he knew how much it hurt to carry around the love he knew killed someone. Maybe he thought it would bring them closer. Maybe he just wanted Ikki to find some illusion of comfort and peace like he had, forcing himself to think that compartmentalizing something meant it no longer affected him, when in fact the opposite was true. Maybe he just liked knowing that part of Ikki would always be within his reach, even if that was a part of him he had cut out, like one cuts out a tumor and puts it in a jar to sit on a shelf, a reminder of how terrible life can go, and how short it all is, subjected to the whims and forces of fate. Ikki comes to his flat in Omsk more than anyone else, and it becomes a place that Hyoga defines as ‘for them’. Parts of Ikki’s life navigate their way there, from socks and spare shoes to keys to his bike, and a case of his favorite beer always available in the fridge. They stay there, in the winter, and sometimes in the summer, when they’re allowed to get away and no one is asking anything of them, when they’ve paid their dues and given all there is to give. They eat overpriced takeout at the rickety table, they fuck on Hyoga’s lumpy bed, they sleep side by side together, and when he wakes up in the morning, sometimes Ikki’s still there. They brush their teeth in the same sink and Ikki’s leather jacket hangs on a hook next to the doorway, but lingers there more often than it’s missing, and it feels fragile, like a snowflake made from spun glass, but he holds onto it, as one of the few things he has that he desperately, so badly, doesn’t want to break. But wanting things doesn’t mean they happen. Trying to be better, trying to forget that he has destroyed every person he’s ever loved, does not stop it from happening again. 

They fight. They argue. Hyoga asks him for things that Ikki won’t give him-- things he says he can’t. Ikki snaps at him. He reaches his breaking point louder than Hyoga does. “Just sit here and rot in your fucking mausoleum, Hyoga,” he tells him before he leaves, and Hyoga knows he won’t come back. So he picks up his jacket, his fingers slipping easily over the familiar, creamy texture of the leather. He holds it, he smells it, he tries to find any traces of Ikki’s heat, of his hair or his skin, undeniable proof that this was his, that he lived and breathed in this jacket, and that he existed in a world that Hyoga lived in too, inside this flat. Then, he folds it, putting new creases in the jacket before he puts it in his box, tucking it under his bed with all the other things that belong to the people he destroyed simply by loving them. 

[wizardwomenwisdom]

secret for a secret (or why jj doesn’t like seeing kie kiss other boys)

word count: 1,779

cw: mentions of racism, homophobia, and abuse

summery: jj doesn’t want to go home. kie wasn’t invited to sarah’s birthday. when the two of them commiserate at john b’s, two major secrets come to life. (this is a sucky description i’m sorry pls just read it.)

ships: like bromance jj x kie?

disclaimer: a lot of this content is based off two of my friends’ experiences at this country club near us. yeet.

*****

John B and his dad were off the island, searching for the Royal Mariner. Which meant that no one was home. And that’s just what JJ needed.

It hurt his lungs to try and inhale as his bike sped down the road, but he’d checked. Nothing was broken. He just needed to sleep off the pain on John B’s pullout coach.

That’s what he always did, but he never told John B why. He always had various excuses to employ about Kooks or bike accidents or a mixture of the two, but today he didn’t need one.

He hopped off his bike and started wheeling it up the walk towards the house. Then, he saw her.

They hadn’t talked since late August, and she’d gone full Kook in the meantime, but he’d recognize Kie anywhere. The last few times he’d seen her at keggers, her hair had been straightened just like all the girls she hung with; now it was up in a high messy bun. She looked like his Kie.

He thought about leaving her there, but his ribs hurt and he could already feel his cheek swelling. It was getting darker by the minute. So, he dropped his bike against the side of the house and headed up to the porch.

Kie flinched when the door hit the frame, but she didn’t look up. JJ planned to just move past her, but he realized that her feet were plainly resting on the mat that hid the spare key.

JJ cleared his throat. Nothing. “Hey,” He said awkwardly.

Finally, she looked up. “JJ.” She didn’t sound surprised: in fact, she said it like it was just a fact. “Are you meeting John B?”

She was so far off the radar that she didn’t even know they were gone. “He’s not home.”

“Then why are you here?”

“Why are you?”

Kie looked back down, and didn’t answer. He could’ve just grabbed the key and left her like that. But once upon a time, Kie was his everything: his best friend, his first kiss, his favorite person. He couldn’t leave her like this, even if she left him.

He settled down across from her. “What’s wrong, Kie?”

She laughed lightly. “No one’s called me that in awhile.” Then she glanced up. “What happened to your face?”

“Topper,” JJ replied smoothly, eyes on hers.

“You’re a good liar, J.”

“Maybe because I’m telling the truth?” She tucked a stray bang behind her hair, and didn’t say anything. JJ had the overwhelming feeling that she wasn’t really there on the porch with her. “Penny for your thoughts?”

“How about a secret for a secret?”

It was an old Pogue game, older than his friendship with her. John B started it and Pope instituted the rules and then Kie made them play it all the time when they first met. That’s how he got to know her. The old her. New Kie was different. And so that’s why he said, “Okay.”

“Who gave you the bruises?”

“My dad.” JJ said it just as he’d named Topper, all cool and collected. His brain felt a bit numb from it.

“Fuck.”

“It’s always him. Almost always.” The look on Kie’s face made him back pedal. He didn’t want her pity, he just wanted to say it. So he lied. “It’s never a big deal, just a slap or something.”

“J, that is a big deal. You need to tell someone—“

“And get put in the foster care on the mainland? Fuck that. At least here I have you guys.” He said it without thinking, because, until recently, “you guys” had included her. Maybe it still did.

“JJ, you deserve to be safe. And happy. With a family that loves you.”

“I am, most of the time.” JJ grinned. “Now, you’re turn.” He slid across the space between them, coming to join her on the couch. As he sat, he forced himself not to wince at the pain in his stomach. Maybe he needed to check again for broken ribs, but he couldn’t with Kie there. He didn’t want to scare her.

“Alright, ask away.”

“Why are you here?”

She glanced at him, then leaned back on the couch. “Sarah’s birthday party is tonight, and I wasn’t invited.”

“That’s it?”

She crossed her arms. “What do you mean, ‘that’s it’?”

“It’s a birthday party, Kie.”

“She’s my best friend.”

“I used to say that about you, you know.”

She frowned, and leaned forward again. Her arms rested on her knees, her eyes studied the floorboards. “Last week was her birthday, technically, so we went to the beach.” Maybe it was the pain in her voice, or the way she exhaled before she said it, but JJ could tell that this right here was the real reason. “It was just the two of us, ya know? It was stormy, so everyone was gone, and we didn’t even bring our boards. We just talked.

“And we got to talking about boys and she kept talking about how she hates them. And how they all suck.”

“Ouch.”

“I said I thought it was annoying that boys always roughhouse each other for no reason. And she tackled me. She was on top of my, kneeling over me. Right up in my face.”

“I’m lost.“

“We kissed.” Her voice was small, scared. JJ stared at her. “I kissed her, I guess. And I realized I wanted to. I really, really wanted to.”

JJ didn’t say anything for a long time. Finally, he said, “So that’s why you won’t go out with me.”

She laughed quietly. “Something like that.”

“God, I told John B it wasn’t me. He’s gonna freak when he finds out.” A look of horror crossed Kie’s face.

“No.”

“In a good way.”

“JJ, you can’t tell him. No one can know.”

“What?”

“If my parents find out... If anyone finds out...”

JJ’s brows furrowed. He didn’t get it. It wasn’t like she had his dad. Hell, her parents were liberal. Her mom had photos from pride marches in her youth. “Kie, your parents won’t care.”

“My dad’s the only black man at the country club, did you know that?” She said suddenly. “I mean, there’s Kelce too, but his parents adopted him. They’re doctors. But my dad owns a restaurant. And my dad’s married to a white girl. We get looks at the club every time we’re there together.”

“Kie.”

“Imagine if everyone knew. Imagine the looks they’d give us then. In their eyes, it’s bad enough I’m not a pretty, smiley blonde. But if they knew I kissed her... If they knew that I’m...”

“Gay.”

She nodded. “They’d riot.”

“But that doesn’t mean you can’t tell your parents.”

“My parents always tell me to be proud of who I am, as if that does anything. If they knew I was pretending to be something I’m not for them?”

JJ realized, suddenly, that Kie was crying. And then he realized that he’d only seen her cry once before, when her grandma died in sixth grade. He awkwardly rested his arm around her.

“Promise me you won’t tell?”

“If you keep my secret, I’ll keep yours.”

“Deal.” She rested against him, her eyes closed just slightly. JJ smiled.

“I have one more condition: you come back to the dark side.”

“Fuck the Kooks,” She whispered lazily.

“Fuck the Kooks.”

They sat like that for awhile, arms wrapped around each other, until the sun had gone down completely and they’d retreated into John B’s house.

As Kie fussed around the kitchen, using the little food they had to produce something of substance, JJ leaned against the counter and stared out the window.

“What if we convince John B you’re into him?”

She looked up from the pot she was currently stirring, which smelled entirely too good to come from the Routledge house.

“I’m sorry?”

“It’s the perfect cover. You like John B but you can’t get with him because rules.”

“Why John B?”

“Because he’s an easy target. Sure, he’d be into it, but it’s not like he’s gonna get attached. Pope’s the best of us. Hell, if he falls for you and you pretend to be into it? Game over. But John B’ll just move on.”

“What about you?”

He flexed his arms. “I will never be tied down, Kie.” She rolled her eyes and looked away from him, so he slid to the counter next to the stove. “And I couldn’t with good conscience pretend I like you.”

“Try this,” She held out her spoon for him, and he took a bite. “So, what are you gonna say to him?”

“We’ll hype him up slowly. Just get comfy, ya know? Act like a girl.”

“What does that even mean?”

“I don’t know, just, like, hug him and stuff. Maybe kiss him on the cheek, ruffle his hair. Isn’t that a thing you guys do?”

She elbowed him. “If I’m supposed to come back to you guys, then you can at least drop the toxic masculinity stuff.” JJ grinned. “What’d you think?” Kiara gestured with the wooden spoon, drawing his attention back to the pot.

“Little hot, but hell of a lot better than anything I’ve ever eaten.”

“Except my dad’s surf and turf special?”

“You don’t eat the surf and turf special, Kie.” Hands raised like a preacher, he paused for dramatic effect. “You experience it.”

“That might just be the worst thing you’ve ever said.” She pulled the pot from the stove, and grabbed two bowls from the cabinet. The way she moved around the kitchen reminded JJ that once upon a time, this was a normal night: Kie would make dinner, Pope would work on homework at the counter, JJ and John B would dance around the kitchen to bad country music. He wanted that back so desperately.

“You think we can do this more often?” He asked, as she spooned the thick liquid out. “Bring back Friday night dinners?”

Kie handed him a small metal spoon and a bowl. “If John B ever gets his ass out grocery shopping, sure.”

“And we’ll watch the full original trilogy?”

“If you agree to a John Hughes movie marathon after that.”

“Heathers, too?”

“Sure.”

Kiara started to eat, but JJ just pushed his around with his spoon for a bit. Finally, he said, “Kie?”

“Mmm hmm?”

“I can still flirt with you, right?”

“Eat your dinner.”

[whump-tr0pes]

Honor Bound 2 - 28

This is a series. Start here, continued from here. 

This is a sequel to Honor Bound.

AO3

Cw: y’all, this is where everyone gets their feelings out. Funeral, lots of talking about death: parent death, sibling death, spouse death, brief mention of death of children, mention of fatal car accident, mention of alcoholic abusive parent, aftermath of parental abuse, mention of death due to breast cancer, mention of noncon, mention of blood, mention of death squads killing minors, brief mention of noncon of a minor, self-blame, emesis, disowning, Jesus Christ this got long

Isaac shuffled his feet nervously. “I… I’m sorry. I’ve never done one of these before.”

Tori’s hand rested gently on his shoulder. “That’s okay. Just… say whatever you’d like to say. If you want to talk about him, or… a good time you had together, or something you miss?”

He looked down at the small bouquet of wildflowers he held tight in his hands, crushing the stems until they drooped. “I, um…” He shrugged. “I don’t think I even… remember that much about him at this point. I’m sorry.” He fell a step back. “I should just—”

“Isaac…” He stopped at the sadness in Sam’s voice. “Please don’t go.”

Isaac took a step back into the circle, closer to the fire. He raised his gaze for a moment to Sam, then to Vera. Her face was already glazed with tears and she stared at him with a broken hurt in her eyes. He let his head fall forward. “Okay. I’m sorry. Um.” He swallowed hard and took a deep breath. “So…” He looked at Tori as she squeezed his shoulder again. “My dad’s name was Jonathan. Um. He died when I was… uh… twelve. Um. In a car crash.” He couldn’t help but glance at Gavin, to his left. Gavin was staring into the flames, head bent, his eyes studiously away from Isaac. “He was, um…” Isaac shrugged. “He was a mechanic. He liked his um. Boat. Had a rowboat. And… he would take me out on the lake in it sometimes.” He bowed his head, finished.

Tori looked at him, her hand never leaving his shoulder. “Is that all you want to say, Isaac?”

He felt the sting of tears forming in his eyes and nodded once. “Yeah. I think so.” He held out his hand and dropped the flowers into the fire.

He watched them burn. The petals fluttered and browned, and burst into the flame as the fire licked along the stems, curling them, turning them black. Something very old was rising in him, climbing up through his lungs from his stomach. Tightening his throat. Something he hadn’t felt in a long time. Something that was all wrapped up in blue uniforms and the smell of gin and the very faint feel of his father’s rough hands in his hair. He panicked, tried to push it down. Not in front of them. I haven’t felt this in years, I can’t, not in front of them… He shuddered as Tori reached down and squeezed his hand. He squeezed back and closed his eyes tightly. If I feel it, it’ll level me.

He felt warmth as Tori took a step closer. Maybe it’s okay to be leveled with them. He opened his eyes and looked into the fire. The flowers were burned to ash. Two tears rolled down his cheek. “Um…” He drew in a shaky breath. “Um. He’d take me out on the boat in the summer. We… we couldn’t fish in the lake, but he would have me row, he said it would make me stronger… And sometimes he would row and I’d just, um.” He shivered. “I’d lay in the bottom and stare at the sky and feel the cool on the bottom of the boat and we would just talk. And… he always cooked, not my mom. Except for steaks. She cooked the steaks. But… he cooked for us, all the time. And, um.” Tears rolled freely down Isaac’s cheeks. “He helped me work on my bike. And took us out for ice cream after it would hail.” He sobbed out a laugh and shrugged. “I don’t know why he did that. But he, he would look outside at the hail and say, ‘it’s an ice cream day!’” Isaac licked his lips.

“And when he, um.” Something bitter rippled through his chest. “When he, um. Died. The, the cops, they…” He pushed down a sob. “They um. Came to the door. And t-told my, my mom he was…” He shuddered and whimpered. “…he was… was dead…” His arms wrapped around his stomach. “She um. She screamed and the… cops, um… told me and… they said they were, were sorry, that it was a car accident and someone ran a red light, and I just thought, there’s no way, there’s no way someone could run a red light and kill my dad, he was a good driver, and I didn’t even know you could run a red light. I thought you had to stop.” The words spilled out of him now. “And I, I didn’t understand, he was just here, he went out to buy some milk, and now he was g-gone, and he wasn’t coming back, and he was dead…” He sobbed and trembled as Tori rubbed his arm. Sam pressed against his side and he immediately opened his arm for them. “And I didn’t under, understand that… he wasn’t gonna be there anymore…” Sam buried their head against his chest. “And I… I lost my mom that day, too, because she… she never came back either… After that she was always drunk and never came back…”

Isaac gasped and looked down. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I don’t know if she’s dead, this is… this is for…”

Tori’s hand tightened on Isaac’s arm. “You lost her, too. It’s okay.”

Isaac slid to his knees and pressed his face into his hands. His chest shook with deep wracking sobs, sobs that came from the core of him. Came from that place where he still wanted to feel his mom and dad’s arms around him, their voices telling him they loved him. It was a need he had almost forgotten. It was a need he hadn’t let himself feel in over ten years.

He felt the press of bodies around him. Hands on his shoulders, hands on his head. Whispers. “We love you Isaac.” “Thank you for telling us.” “I’m so sorry.” Sam knelt beside him and pulled him into their arms. He turned and wrapped them in an embrace, burying his face in their hair. Hands at his shoulder pulled him up to standing and he reached out an arm for them, too. He smelled Vera as he pulled her close. She was trembling.

After a while, Isaac pulled away from the tight embraces. He wiped his face with his hands and raised his eyes to the dusky sky. “Um.” He swallowed. “Thank you.” He glanced over to see two figures standing uncomfortably still in the circle around the fire, away from the others. Gavin. Edrissa.

Everyone returned to their spots and Isaac bowed his head. He felt raw. Not torn apart, but like an infected wound had just been cleaned. He raised his gaze to Tori as she started to speak.

“I lost my mom to breast cancer when I was nine,” she said softly, tears standing in her eyes. “We had a good memorial service for her, and I’ve had a long time to mourn her.” She nodded. “But I miss her. I miss her so much. She had the most beautiful singing voice. And she loved flowers. Daffodils, especially.” She glanced down at the wildflowers in her hand. “That’s why I picked these.” She smiled and two tears ran down her cheeks. “Yellow.” She dropped them into the fire.

Vera squeezed Tori’s hand. “Is that all you wanna say, babe?” she said softly. “You can… you can say more, if you want…”

Tori shook her head and rested it on Vera’s shoulder. “No, it’s… it’s alright. It’s been a long time.” Tears ran into Vera’s shirt. “And I’m okay.”

Vera stared into the fire and clutched the flowers in her hand tightly. Tears welled in her eyes and ran over. “Okay. Um.” Her throat worked as she swallowed a sob. “I. Um. Lost my sister. Asa. In the, in the fights.” Her eyes slid shut, sending another cascade of tears down her cheeks. “She w-was killed… two years after I… escaped.” Across the fire, Gavin’s eyes closed. “I didn’t find out un, until… years later.” She opened her eyes and looked down the circle to Gray. “I heard it from one of your friends.” They nodded, remembering. “In the militia we were helping in ’24. She was… was shot… fighting the syndicates.” She blew a breath out through trembling lips. “Doing what she thought was right. Trying to avenge me.” She bit down on her lip and stifled a sob. “And I… regret… being too broken to go back home and, and see my family again.”

She shuddered and a sob ripped from between her clenched teeth. Tori rubbed her back, swaying slowly.

“And… and Ryan…” The word was a sob. “I… I didn’t know… that he was… was dead… this whole time…” She pressed a hand to her mouth. “He, um. He died. Trying to help me.” Her face went horribly blank for a moment. “And Joseph fucked me in Ryan’s blood.”

Gavin flinched. Edrissa whimpered and squeezed her arms around her own waist.

Vera slammed her eyes shut. “Oh, fuck. I’m… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

“It’s okay,” Tori said softly.

“No, I… I don’t wanna talk about that stuff… I wanna talk about Ryan. How good he was.” Vera opened her eyes and laced her fingers through Tori’s, squeezing hard. “He… he was my friend. He was a good man. He never hurt me because he wanted to. He… tried… so hard… to get me out…” She let the tears run freely down her face. “He found my handler, paid the guys to get me out, he was with me every night in that cell. I was never alone.” She lifted her chin and drew in a deep breath. “I’ve been trying to… remember… everything about him. He had light hair and… really clear blue eyes. He… he was taller than me, I remember that… He… We didn’t laugh very much, but he had a nice laugh. And he smelled like some cheap deodorant bodywash thing, I can’t remember what it was called but…” She smiled. “I remember how it smelled.” She let her eyes close. “He always wanted me to be warm. And he… he worried about me drinking enough water. He helped me remember who I was. Remember… there was a world outside the basement he put me in. He would…” Her voice wobbled. “When it got really bad he would clean me up after. And he never…” She licked her lips. “He never let me lose faith entirely. He always promised he would get me out. Right up until… until the moment he died, he was trying to get me out.” Her eyes opened and focused on the fire. “He was a good man.” She dropped the flowers into the fire. They sent up a little puff of embers and ash.

Vera folded against Tori, whimpering softly. Tori smoothed her hand through Vera’s hair.

Gray cleared their throat. “Um. I… I lost a few f-friends. In the, in the skirmishes.” They nodded, their mouth twisting. “Marci. Aaron. Todd. Mike. The other Mike.” They smiled ruefully. “Mike Gates and Mike Johnson.” They pressed their lips together and took a steadying breath. “They were fighting for something they believed in. It doesn’t bring them back. I miss them every day.” Gray sniffed. “But I have to think that’s how they would have wanted to give their lives. I have to believe that.” Their hand opened and they dropped their flowers into the fire.

Ellis was already crying. They let the tears fall as Finn leaned in to press a kiss to their temple. When Ellis opened their mouth to speak, their voice was low and husky. “Um. I… miss… my children. Galen. Chloe. They would be eleven and fourteen now. Chris and I would have been, been married for fifteen years this year.” They whimpered. “And there are some days when I feel like… I can’t breathe without them here.” Ellis laid their head on Finn’s shoulder. “And I will… will always love them. And miss them. And I like to… imagine… they’re all alive somewhere else. Living. Not being afraid.” Finn smiled against Ellis’s hair. “God, I miss them.” They all but threw the flowers into the fire and turned against Finn’s chest, wailing. Finn ran their fingers through Ellis’s hair and let them cry. Their own eyes shone with tears in the firelight.

Ellis’s sobs eased and quieted until they stood in Finn’s arms, weeping softly. Finn wet their lips. “Um… I don’t even know who I lost. After the Junior Defense Corps base got destroyed I… I was too scared to… go back home, even. After a few years I went back home, but… I…” They looked up, blinking rapidly. “My parents weren’t there anymore. I um…” They gulped. “I don’t know if they’re still alive. But my school…” Their face crumpled. “I don’t know who escaped the death squads and who didn’t. My medic education instructor, Instructor Grant…” They pursed their lips and blew out a slow breath. “He, um. Sacrificed him, himself. For us. So we could get away. I wah, watched him get shot.” Ellis’s arms tightened around their waist and they squeezed back. “I wish I knew who was still alive from my class. If any of them are—” Their mouth snapped shut and they heaved a shaking sob. They bowed their head and threw their fistful of flowers into the fire.

Everyone was silent for a moment, watching the flames. One by one, they all looked at Edrissa where she stood next to Finn, biting her lip and keeping her eyes down.

“Edrissa?” Tori said softly. “Is there anything you’d like to say? You can talk about anything you want.”

Edrissa stared into the flames, tears rolling down her cheeks one by one. Finally, she raised her eyes and looked at Vera across the fire. Softly, almost too softly to hear, she said, “I’m like you.”

Vera went still against Tori’s side. “Wh-what?”

Edrissa’s eyes flicked back down to the fire. “I… They… d-didn’t torture me, th-that much. But they… hurt me and I… um…”

Vera stared at Edrissa in horror.

Tori licked her lips. “But you’re a… a child…” she whispered.

“Old enough to know how,” Edrissa said under her breath, with a strange tone to it. She shuddered and focused again on Vera. “But I hoped my, my brother was alive for two years. I didn’t know he was… was dead…” She convulsed forward, her arms going around her stomach again.

A silent look passed between Vera and Tori, and they both walked around the fire to stand at Edrissa’s side.

“Can I touch you?” Vera whispered to Edrissa. She threw herself into Vera’s arms, sobbing like her throat would tear open. Tears ran down Vera’s face as she slowly wound her arms around the girl.

“Can I touch you?” Tori said softly, on her other side. Edrissa nodded against Vera’s chest and Tori wrapped herself gently around them both, holding Edrissa in her embrace. Edrissa sobbed long and hard as they held her together, as if everything she had been through was being torn out of her chest, seeping out of her pores, flowing out with the tears from her eyes. Vera and Tori held her and swayed with her gently, matching their breathing to each other, deep and slow, silently encouraging Edrissa to do the same. After a while, her breathing slowed to tremulous, hitched sobs, then to quiet whimpers. Eventually she was quiet, still wrapped in Tori and Vera’s arms. She lifted a hand to wipe her nose. The flowers brushed her face, forgotten in her hand.

“Oh.” She laughed, a little painfully, and tossed them into the fire. She turned back and wormed her way a little deeper into Vera’s arms.

Sam bit their lip and took a small step forward. “Um…” They looked around the fire. “I… I don’t think I’ve really… lost someone. I… don’t remember my parents, and I… I mean, I’ve had homes but I never really had a… a family before you guys. I’ve known people who died, but…” They shrugged. “I was safe, for a really long time. I was… really lucky I guess.” They looked down at the flowers in their hand. “But I… I do miss them. I miss Corey. He was the one I was closest to in the group I was with when…” They swallowed. “When I had to run. So I don’t know if he…” They gasped softly. “Anyway. This is for him. And all the others I never knew what happened to them.” They dropped the flowers into the fire and watched them burn.

Everyone was silent for a moment. Isaac looked around the fire and saw everyone’s eyes averted from Gavin. Gavin was looking down into the flames, shining lines of tears on his cheeks. His flowers were crushed in his grip. He had his lips pressed together like he was terrified of opening his mouth.

“Gavin?” Gray said softly. Isaac’s head snapped up to look at them. “If you have something to say, you can say it. This is for all of us, including you.”

Gavin raised his gaze to Gray. His eyes looked almost desperate with something Isaac couldn’t place. “How can I—” Gavin’s voice broke and he tried again, shaking his head. “How can I speak when… when the people I’ve lost… destroyed your lives?” He hung his head, staring down at the flowers in his hand.

Gray’s voice was stiff as they navigated carefully. “You still have your grief. It’s alright to have… complicated feelings about it.”

Gavin shuddered and nearly pitched forward in a sob. “I…” He whispered. “I’ve lost… everyone.” He tossed his flowers into the fire, sending up another shower of sparks. He pressed his hands to his face and sobbed.

Isaac stared at Gavin with an open mouth. He’d seen Gavin lose control. When Isaac had beat him. When Isaac had killed that bounty hunter. But it had never occurred to Isaac before that Gavin might… feel something… just like Isaac did. Something besides pain or anger or just goddamn delight in hurting people. Isaac had never realized Gavin might have… feelings. The world permanently shifted a few degrees.

Gavin sank into a crouch, covering his head with his hands as he sobbed. Everyone around the fire stood still, stiff, uncomfortable. Gavin shuddered on the ground, cowering away from the eyes on him, pushing down his sobs until they came out in strangled whimpers.

Sam wiped their hands on their pants, staring down at Gavin. They bit their lip. They took a step closer to Gavin. Knelt down beside him. Gently rested a hand on his back.

Gavin jerked away from the touch, a low wail rising from his throat. Sam’s hand squeezed into a fist. They took a deep breath and pressed their hand to Gavin’s back again, making slow circles.

Gavin slowly raised his head from his hands. When he saw it was Sam kneeling beside him, he dissolved into sobs again and covered his face with one hand. With his other, he reached out and clasped Sam’s.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m sorry, I’m so, I’m so fucking sorry, Sam…” he moaned. “I didn’t, I didn’t know, I swear I didn’t know what… what I did, I didn’t know… I didn’t fucking… I’m so goddamn stupid, I didn’t fucking… realize… the… the damage… I didn’t know what it meant when someone hurt, I didn’t know what it felt like, I just knew it felt good and I… god fucking dammit, I’m so stupid, I should have fucking figured it out, and I’m so sorry…” He pitched forward onto all fours, his face getting close to the flames. He crawled backward and settled back on his heels. “I didn’t know how it felt, I should’ve just known but I didn’t, and I regret it, I’m so, I’m so fucking sorry, Sam!”

Tears shimmered on Sam’s face as they rubbed Gavin’s back. Isaac stared at them both, dumbfounded.

Gavin raised his gaze up to where Vera was clutching Edrissa, staring at Gavin in disbelief. “I didn’t know my dad was doing that to you, I’m a fucking idiot but I swear I didn’t fucking know, I should have, I should…” He shuddered and froze into a full-body tension. “If I had known, if I had, I could’ve helped, I could have, I could have… done something, and I didn’t, and I… oh, fuck…”

Gavin collapsed and wretched into the dirt. He wailed and pressed himself against the ground. “Oh my, oh my god, I didn’t…”

Vera’s face was pinched and tense, like she was holding back tears. Her arms tightened around Edrissa.

“And I… I wanted to hurt you, I know I did, I’m not saying I didn’t want that, but… fuck… And I… how can I miss my dad, how can I miss him when he did that to you… I believe you, I know he did, I know it in my fucking soul, I know he hurt you like that… and how can I… how can I say I miss him, that it fucking kills me that he’s dead, that I watched him die, when he… he strung me up as bait for you, after he…” He keened brokenly into the ground.

“Gavin…” Sam said softly.

“No no no no no,” Gavin sobbed. “I lost my entire, f-fucking family, I’m… I’m fucking dead to them, I can never go home, my mom, my fucking mom wants me dead because she, she fucking blames me…”

Sam’s hand settled on Gavin’s shoulder and squeezed.

“I can never go home, my family, my mom told them all to close their doors to me and I can’t…” Gavin gasped. “I… I’ve lost… everyone…” He collapsed into himself and sobbed. Sam moved their hand in circles on Gavin’s back again, silent.

There was a flicker of moment in Isaac’s periphery and he looked up to see Gray take a hesitant step around the fire towards Gavin. They stopped, their hands tightened into fists. Took a step. Paused again. Finally they blew out a slow breath and made their way around the circle to Gavin.

Gray knelt at Gavin’s side, their hand hovering slightly over his head. They bit their lip. Finally, their hand settled in Gavin’s hair.

Gavin glanced up, his eyes widening when he saw Gray. He looked back down at the ground. His hand went up to wrap around Gray’s wrist and squeeze, keeping their hand pressed gently in his hair.

Everyone else watched, silently. They watched until the fire started to die down.

Continued here

@untilthepainstarts, @womping-grounds, @free-2bmee, @quirkykayleetam, @walkingchemicalfire, @inpainandsuffering, @redwingedwhump, @burtlederp, @castielamigos-whump-side-blog, @insomniacscoprio, @cursedscribbles, @whumpywhumper, @stxck-fxck, @omega-em-z-02, @whumps-the-word, @slaintetowhump, @finder-of-rings, @neutralcinnamon, @thatsthewhump, @im-just-here-for-the-whump, @orchidscript   

[twdeadlysins]

Cherokee Rose: Part One

Season two, episode four (1/2)

Pairing: Eventual Daryl Dixon x Reader

Word Count:  4,793

Warnings: Slow burn, mention of minor character death, the usual walking dead violence, language, blood, and such with possible typos

Author’s Note: I don’t own anything from The Walking Dead, so all credit goes to their respective owners. This is a twd series rewrite with the reader inserted into the mix. I did and will continue to use dialogue from the actual show because I want it to be similar to what you’ve already watched, but obviously have the reader in it.

Sorry it’s been a while since I’ve uploaded another part for this series. Writer’s block, lack of motivation, and just life has been factors in why I haven’t. I’m trying to get back into the groove of things! <3

I hope you like this part!!! I feel like you guys will, but then again I have my doubts lmao ... okay bye LUL xoxo

If you want to be (un)tagged for this series rewrite, don’t hesitate to send me an ask, message me, or leave a comment and I’ll add/remove you. The same goes for any other fics! I’m in no way, shape, or form a writer. Any feedback is appreciated, but hate is a different story. Thank you and enjoy!

The gifs I use aren’t mine, so all credit goes to their respective owners.

MASTERLIST // TWD SERIES REWRITE

When you woke up the next morning, Hershel had wrapped fresh bandages around your forearms after checking your wounds to see how they were healing. He gave you more antibiotics and told you they, along with your hip were healing well before you went to go help Shane, Glenn, T-Dog, Maggie, and Beth with collecting rocks for Otis’ memorial. As you were placing the stones into the wheelbarrow, you heard a familiar motorcycle engine in the distance, making you and the others pause and look. You smiled seeing the motorcycle, the RV and another car approach the farm, your group was finally together again. 

T-Dog had gotten Rick and the others while the rest of you outside walked near the porch to meet up with everyone. You limped your way over, but ended up tripping along the way. Glenn had caught you and slung your arm around his neck while you cussed under your breath. You couldn’t believe you lost your footing, your hip felt kind of better, but it still was a pain in the ass to walk. “Thanks,” you mumbled, earning a nod in return. Daryl swung his leg off his bike, kicking the stand in place as Dale, Carol and Andrea walked up. “How is he?’ Dale asked with concern. 

“He’ll pull through, thanks to Hershel and his people,” Lori replied with an appreciative smile. “And Shane,” Rick added, causing you to peer over at him. “We’d have lost Carl if not for him.” 

“And Otis.” All eyes landed on you as you wandered yours right back at them, feeling Glenn squeeze your waist to comfort you. Otis is dead, but he still saved Carl… he brought you all here in the first place… if he didn’t do that, then Rick and Lori would’ve lost their child. You didn’t want anyone to forget that… that he sacrificed himself to save a life- Carl’s life… unless someone else made that choice for him, either way he died for someone you loved. Dale hugged Rick as Carol did the same to Lori, expressing how worried they were before Dale questioned how it happened it in the first place. 

“Hunting accident. That’s all, just a stupid accident.” Rick glanced over at you and Shane as he said it since you two were with him when it happened. Carol came up to you, causing Glenn to release his hold on you so you could hug her back. You were a little tense given the fact you that she despised you… at least to you it seemed she did for losing her child, so her even acknowledging you was weird. “How are you doin?” You sighed with a slight smile as she rubbed your arm, moving some hair out of your face. “I’ve been better.” Before she could reply, you saw Andrea approach from behind Carol, making her turn around to see what you were looking at. She peeked over at you with a closed-lip smile before stepping aside to go talk to T-Dog. It seemed that Carol was going to apologize since her eyes suddenly glossed over with regret, but you could be wrong… regardless that conversation was going to have to be at a later date. 

Andrea stuffed her hands in her pockets, glancing at the ground before finally making eye contact with you. “Look… I’m sorry about what I said-”

“Good, you should be,” you retorted before she could finish apologizing, making her face contort with a mixture of guilt and shock. “Because believe it or not we care about you, Andrea. I get wanting to go out your way, but next time… if there is a next time that you think about doing it again… think about the effect it would have on all of us.” You understood why she blamed you and Dale for ‘saving’ her back at the C.D.C, but that didn’t mean she was right by doing that. Neither one of you forced her hand like she said, you gave her a choice and if she would have still fought you on it, then you would’ve left her. 

The blonde solemnly nodded her head and walked away once it was clear that you weren’t going to continue the conversation. You felt rude for dismissing her like that, but you’d be lying if you said you weren’t still bothered by what she said back at the highway. From the moment you met her and she pulled her gun on you, you weren’t very fond of her and you still weren’t, but you still cared about her. You cared for everyone in the group, hell you even cared for the Greene family and you haven’t even been on their farm for that long, only a couple days.

Your orbs connected to the archer’s for a split second before he tore them away to follow Rick and the rest of them to the memorial service. You couldn’t tell what flooded his eyes, but you had mixed emotions about him staring at you. 

On one hand you felt shy and flustered because his attention could be captured by a million other things, but it was solely on you… then again that could be because he’s pissed at you… then you were ticked off. He infuriated you after the C.D.C, when he shouted at you for risking your life… like you were careless. Yes, going into a building that was going to blow up in mere minutes was a huge risk, but you knew what you were doing. Daryl then had the nerve to shout at you for chasing after Sophia especially when you had a concussion, but you could care less. Sophia was in danger and you weren’t about to stay put because of your injuries… her life mattered more than you being banged up. 

Everyone gathered around a pile of rocks that were bigger than your hand and each stacked one on top for Otis as Hershel gave a speech. Otis gave his life to save Carl’s and it didn’t matter to you that he had accidentally caused the whole mess in the first place. He was a hero and no one was going to take that away from him on your watch. 

While Hershel spoke, you carefully watched Shane’s behavior, you were still skeptical of the story he told about that night… it just didn’t sit right with you. His head was shaved off and your gut told you it was because of the tiny, but noticeable bald spot he had on his head… he was definitely leaving something out- hiding something. He was staring off into space, zoned out in his own little world, not paying attention in the slightest like he was reliving a memory. His mouth was agape and his brows were slightly creased, but you stopped studying him when Hershel asked him if he would speak for Otis. 

“I’m not good at it. I’m sorry,” he muttered, looking between the doctor and the ground with a sigh. 

“You were the last one with him. You shared his final moments, please, I need to hear. I need to know his death had meaning.” You bit your lip as you fumbled with your belt buckle, staring at the ground while a grieving Patrica pleaded to Shane. 

According to Shane, they were down to their pistols with very little ammo. He was already limping and it was pretty bad with his ankle all swollen up. Otis had said, “We’ve got to save the boy” before handing his backpack to Shane and shoving him ahead. Otis instructed him to run, that he’d take the rear and cover him, but when Shane looked back- he trailed off, not finishing the story and limped to place a rock on top of the stack.

The ending was obvious and you scanned your eyes over everyone, gauging their reactions and Dale didn’t seem convinced and it was evident when the two of you looked at each other. You’d have to talk to him about his thoughts and you still didn’t forget what you interrupted in the woods between the two of them. Daryl didn’t seem to believe it either, so maybe you could try and talk to him about that too. 

“If not for Otis, I’d have never made it out alive and that goes for Carl too. It was Otis… he saved us both. If any death ever had meaning, it was his.” Patricia nodded her head, assured that her husband’s death was not in vain, but to you… he was trying too hard. Okay, that sounded like it didn’t make sense, maybe it didn’t, but to you it did. Shane, at least to you, was praising his death, glorifying even, like he was convincing not only everyone else, but himself that it was okay… that it wasn’t his fault. 

“If not for Otis… He saved us both… if any death ever had meaning it was his” 

Were you making all this shit up? Reading too much into things? Patricia did ask for Shane to assure her that Otis’ death had meaning, but something was up… right? You sure as hell didn’t know and you were afraid to find out if something other than what Shane said did happen. If Shane did get Otis killed, would that be so bad? In the end, it was to save Carl and if you were in his shoes… you would’ve done the same thing or hell, even taken yourself out. But to be fair, you had a more pressing matter to ahead to now that Carl was okay… finding Sophia. 

You and Rick had informed Hershel on the situation and told him today would be three days since she had gone missing. Three days. She’s been scared and alone for three days. Before you could start thinking deprecated thoughts, Maggie unraveled a county survey map on top of the hood of a car with Rick, Shane, Daryl, Hershel, Andrea and yourself surrounding it. The map was a blessing, it showed terrains and elevations, finally giving you guys a visual and be organized to set up grid searches. 

Hershel spoke up and told Rick that he wouldn’t be doing any of that today since he gave three units of blood. He wouldn’t last five minutes in this heat before passing out. The doctor then went on to Shane about his ankle, if he pushed it now, he’d be laid in bed for a month. 

“Guess it’s just me.” Daryl leaned forward to look at the map, but you hurriedly slammed your hand on the hood, blocking the paper from getting moved or studied. The hunter glared at you with questioning brows, wondering what the hell you were doing. 

“Nuh uh. I’m going with.”

“Like hell ya’re woman,” he huffed. “Ya still got a minor concussion, a busted hip and n’ infection in ya arms. Even saw ya trip earlier!” You rolled your eyes before snapping your head to Hershel when he agreed with him. You were in no condition to go out, you were worse than Shane and he had a fucked up ankle, so what made you think you could go out? 

You sighed and threw your ups arms dramatically. “I don’ know, I’m stubborn okay?” Everyone chuckled, saying that was a given which made you squint your eyes at them with crossed arms, grumbling while Daryl proceeded to look at the map. He was going to head back to the creek and work his way from there whereas Shane offered the idea for himself to drive up to the interstate to see if Sophia made her way back. So then it was set, tomorrow you’d all officially start searching for her together and you didn’t care what anybody said… you were going to too.

Shane had brought up a good point, everyone couldn’t walk around carrying knives out there, so you guys would have to train them to use guns. It was a great idea, you thought everyone should know how to operate a gun especially with surviving in this world. The people who were experienced with weaponry can’t be there to save the day for people who didn’t. If you wanted to survive this epidemic, then guns were your best friend. 

“Even though I could help out with the gun training, I think knowing basic knowledge in combat is essential too. So while you and Rick do gun training, I could do hand to hand combat along with some knife training if anyone’s interested?” 

Rick and Shane exchanged glances at each other which made you roll your eyes. “Yes, I know hip, concussion, cuts- whatever! I’ll take it easy, damn.” The two of them smiled and nodded their heads, saying it was a good idea, but Hershel brought up how he didn’t want anyone carrying guns on his property, stating that him and his family were doing just fine without turning into an armed camp. Before you could voice your opinion that disagreed with his request, Shane beat you to it. 

“All due respect, you get a crowd of those things wandering in here…“

“Look, we’re guests here,” Rick interrupted and you knew he was all for carrying guns, but he was trying to be respectful… like he said you all were guests. “This is your property and we will respect that.” Your best friend peered between you, Shane, and at Andrea since you all knew how much she wanted her gun since you have known her. Rick then withdrew his gun and placed it on the hood of the car to show Hershel and everyone else that he was serious and that you all would respect his wishes. 

Shane pressed his lips together and looked away as he set his pistol down as well, not wanting to obey almost as much as you did. You had your arms crossed, leaning on the hood of the car, staring at the guns, not wanting to give yours up. A clear of a throat made you peer your eyes up, not moving anything else in your body as you saw Rick direct his eyes to your gun and to the hood, waiting for you to comply. Everyone else was standing by for you, so you grunted and unholstered your P99 that was at your hip, slamming it on the car. 

“Y/N…” Your best friend prompted, causing you to toss your eyes to the back of your head, loudly exhaling through your nose as you took out the other one that was at your other hip. “Thank y…” Rick trailed off once you reached behind your waistband and set down another handgun. He nodded his head. “Okay-” Rick’s eyes widened as you winced, kneeling down to unhook not one, but two Glock 42 pistols from your ankles, placing it with the others. “... Is that it?” He cautiously inquired. 

“Oh my God!” you exclaimed with frustration picking up your hunting rifle that was leaning on the car beside you, sliding it to the collection. “Ya want my machete?! And my knives too?! ‘Cause if that’s the case we’ll be here all night!” Rick shook his head, thanking you to try and calm you down. You felt naked without your guns, you felt unbalanced… all the weight that you were used to was gone and you hated it. Yes, having that amount of guns might be a little excessive, but you never know. 

“I didn’t even know you had that many,” Andrea spoke with bewilderment as she gawked at the display of the various weapons.

“Weren’t supposed to… that’s the point,” you mumbled, slightly whining with crossed arms. Yeah, you still had your machete and knives, but knives don’t win a gunfight… or a humongous herd of walkers wanting to eat your face off. 

Rick continued to set up a plan, first things first: set camp, find Sophia. “I hate to be the one to ask, but somebody’s got to. What happens if we find her and she's a bit? I think we should all be clear on how we handle that,” Shane brought up, causing you to stop bouncing your leg at the thought of that outcome. Rick clenched his jaw before saying that Shane can do what has to be done, hating the idea of it as well. 

“And her mother? What do we you tell her?” Maggie genuinely asked, earning Andrea to respond that we’d tell her the truth. It’d be difficult, but Carol deserved to have some closure and to know what happened to her daughter… you just hoped it was a good outcome- that someone would find her alive. 

Shane picked up his weapon announcing that he would gather and secure all the others, making sure no one’s carrying until you were all at a practice range off site. He then put in a request of at least one rifleman on lookout which made your ears perk up and hurriedly look at Shane who was already looking at you as if to volunteer you, but then he brought up Dale having experience. Your shoulders slouched and you gave him a hardened look, letting him know you were pissed. 

Hershel didn’t seem to like that either as he thought about it, so Rick put in the extra effort to convince him that your people would feel a lot safer and less inclined to a carry gun. You scoffed in your head not feeling that way, but whatever to get the old man to agree right? Well Rick could mean that, that everyone would feel safe and not feel the need to carry, but not you and he gave you a look telling you he knew. Hershel ultimately nodded his head which was a relief, but damn you wanted at least one of your guns on you. 

You stood there while everyone departed except for Rick, Hershel, Maggie, and Andrea. The doctor’s daughter asked if you guys had anymore bandages, antibiotics or anything of that nature, but unfortunately what she saw was all you guys had. Maggie then mentioned going on a pharmacy run into town since they were running low, she’s done it before, so it shouldn’t be that big of a deal. 

Rick turned around to show Hershel and her daughter Glenn, who was helping Lori set up a tent. The cop had described him as the ‘go-to-town expert’ and for her to ask him to tag along, just to be cautious. Her father gestured his head to go over there, giving her permission to go before you went to rest on the steps of the house. 

You winced as you settled down, stretching your legs out before remembering you wouldn’t need your ankle holsters anymore. While you leaned down to remove them, you saw someone approach you in your peripheral. They sat beside you and took their hat off before asking what you were doing. “Well, Rick, these aren’t much of use to me anymore considering I don’t have a single weapon,” you replied with a bit of an attitude which you instantly regretted. You closed your eyes and exhaled before finally looking at your best friend as you piled the holsters in your lap. “Sorry, I don’t fully support the no weapon rule, but I do respect it and I’m not mad at you for following it. It’s just… I don’t know. I’m so used to carrying and I feel unprotected without them,” you confessed, fiddling with the holsters. 

Rick sighed and rubbed your shoulder to comfort you, showing you he understood by the gesture. “We got Dale.”

“Yeah, I know, but I’m used to protecting myself and others… not others protecting me.”

“Well, maybe ya should let them, Y/N.” Rick scooted closer, your sides squished together as he continued to soothe circles on your other shoulder. You rested your head on his shoulder, seeing a confused Glenn watch Maggie walk away. He must’ve learned about the horses and the thought of him riding one made your mouth quirk up, then an idea struck you.

“Daryl!” The outburst made you slightly jolt up which made Rick hurriedly apologize, but you dismissed it with a wave of your hand saying you had to do something anyways. As you went to push yourself up, the cop grabbed a hold of your hand to aid you while the hunter waited to hear what Rick had stopped him for. You said your thanks, catching Daryl’s eye, feeling a tad bit awkward before trudging off to your destination. 

You knew it’d be better for your hip to rest and not do anything, but that sounded more torturous than just dealing with it and walking. The walk over to the stables made you think about Daryl, how things were still tense between the two of you… you hated it. The two of you were stubborn, so there was no telling when this little feud would end. You could try and put your hardheadedness aside and talk to him, but the last time you did he ignored you. So why would this time be any different? 

“Maggie?” The brunette poked her head out and smiled in the middle of saddling a horse. You swallowed nervously, stuffing your hands in your back pockets as you got closer to where she was. 

“What can I do for ya?” 

“I- uh… I thought since- could you?-” What you wanted to ask wouldn’t come out as you stumbled over your words, mentally cursing yourself for being nervous and you didn’t know why. It wasn’t like it was a bad thing to ask, it was normal, so why were you stuttering so much? 

Maggie stopped what she was doing and worriedly came up to you, touching your arms in concern. “Everything alright, Y/N?” You nodded your head quickly, forcing yourself to swallow before yanking your hands out of your jeans to rub your face. 

“Yeah, I- uh- since you and Glenn are running to the pharmacy… I wanted to… I wanted to ask a favor,” you sheepishly asked, taking a piece of paper out of your front pocket. 

Maggie nodded. “Yeah, anything you need, Y/N. Is that it?” She questioned, pointing to the small note within your grasp. Your head slightly motioned a ‘yes’, handing her the list to which she opened, reading the contents. 

“I was diagnosed years ago, so don’t worry…” Maggie gave you a sympathetic smile before assuring you that’d she get you what was on the list. “Thanks, Maggie, I appreciate it.” 

“Okay, I know you shouldn’t with your injury n’ all, but it’s better than limping back. Would you want to ride the horse back with me?” Maggie inquired with a smile after you were done helping her get both of the horses ready, causing you to grin and your eyes to light up. She helped you up the horse, it was a little painful, but you ignored it. The pain was bearable and the excitement of riding a horse made you feel like a little kid on Christmas morning. Last time you rode a horse was with Rick… and that turned out… great, but this time you got to hold the reins. 

“Know how to ride?” 

“Oh, yeah!” You beamed, wanting to take off, but you couldn’t make the horse race off considering your hip besides you were just taking the horse up to the house… not a town over. “My uncle took me horse riding a lot. I even competed in a horse race,” you chuckled at the memory and even harder when you saw Maggie’s shocked, but impressed reaction. 

“Did you win?” The farmer’s daughter asked as you both slowly trekked toward the farm house, causing you to furrow your brows in confusion and her to giggle. “The race, did you win the horse race?”

“Oh!” The realization hit and you laughed. “Nah, I came in like third, but to me it wasn’t about winning. I just liked the adrenaline rush and the wind, the way it made me feel.” Maggie grinned and bobbed her head in understanding, letting a comfortable, gleeful silence loom between the two of you before you remembered something else to ask her. 

“And Maggie?” Her smile faltered once she heard that your tone was different, more worried and urgent. “Can we keep the things on that list I gave you a secret? I just don’t want everyone knowing or worrying about me.”

“Yeah, of course, Y/N.” Maggie held out her hand and your mouth twitched up at the comforting gesture. You grabbed her hand and squeezed, smiles spreading across your faces as you made it back near the house. 

Despite knowing her for only a couple days, you considered her to be a very good friend. She welcomed you- a stranger, helped you through your panic attack and continued to be generous and nice. Other people would’ve looked the other way, ignored you and not given you a time of day, but not her and to you it showed you could trust her. Trusting people was hard for you, talking to and befriending them, sure, you could do that. You were a people person after all, being one helped with being a good cop, but that didn’t mean you trusted every person you met. The list of people you trusted- that you could depend your life on could be counted on your fingers. 

“Y/N! What the hell!” Glenn scolded with his arms extended out while you rolled your eyes and carefully swung your leg off the horse. “Are you crazy? You’re injured and you’re riding a horse?”

“Will you stop yelling at me and help dimwit!” He rushed up to you and grabbed onto your waist and wrist, aiding you off the horse. You had gotten halfway, but you were scared you’d lose your footing or apply too much pressure to your foot, ultimately hurting your hip. “Glenn, I appreciate your concern, but I’m a big girl. Thanks for helping me.” 

“I know… just be careful, okay?” You smiled and patted his baseball cap. “Also… dimwit?” 

Before you could respond, Dale and T-Dog rushed over and said there was a problem with the well which raised a few concerned brows. Everyone, but Rick, Hershel, Daryl and Carol followed the two men to the well, wondering what the hell was the matter. The answer to your question was answered when you peeked into the well to see a very big and disgusting walker look up at you from below. You brought your fingers under your nose and grimaced. “Ew, what the fuck?” 

“How long do you think it’s been down there?” Glenn asked, resting his palms on his bent knees, staring at the walker with disgust. 

“Long enough to grow gills,” Andrea joked, but with a serious tone, making you smirk regardless. It’s probably been in there since the dead start to rise, it didn’t even look like it used to be a person like walkers usually did. Being in the water did a number on it. 

“We can’t leave it in there. God knows what’s doing to the water.” You peered at Lori with confusion not understanding what the point was. 

“We gotta get it out,” Shane agreed with his hands on his hips before T-Dog gave a simple solution, to put a bullet in its head. Maggie objected to the idea and so did Andrea, saying if it didn’t already contaminate the water, then blowing its brains out would do the job. 

“I’m pretty sure it just existing in the water is contaminating the water. Either way, I’m not drinking it,” you commented, your face contorting into repugnance at the thought of even taking a sip of the water after that has been in there.  

Shane chuckled at you and you looked at him, your facial features still showing distaste. “So it has to come out alive?” T-Dog asked, glaring coldly down at the creature with no emotion whatsoever and not wanting to have to get it out. 

“So to speak,” Shane joked, making you cover your mouth as you involuntarily giggled. You coughed to mask your humor, trying to be serious in the situation and it was especially hard when they tried baiting the walker with a canned ham. A canned ham doesn’t kick and scream, so it wasn’t going to budge unless you used live bait… great. 

“We need live bait,” Andrea said moments after you came to the same conclusion, immediately eyeing Glenn who gazed up realizing that she meant him. He sighed, knowing he had to be the one to do it since no one else would, but the tightening of a rope brought everyone’s attention to you. 

“Who’s ready to make a wish?”

_____________________________________

MASTERLIST // TWD SERIES REWRITE

Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed it! If you’d like to added or removed from the tags don’t hesitate to send me an ask or message! <3

A/N: Omg sorry for the lack of Daryl AGAIN. I know he’s in there for a little bit throughout, but to be fair I’m going by the show ya know? Don’t worry though!! I’m almost done with the second part to this and I’m pretty sure we’ll get more of him!! 

Taglist: @jodiereedus22 @sourwolf-sterek32 @jll72-blog @mtngirlforever  @haleypearce @nikkipea @sombra--speaks @the-three-eyed-ravenclaw @bunnymother93 @holyn0vak @myshakespeareandarling @million-dollar-milkshake @thatsoragan @firehoopinmama @mummy-woves-you @sheebthezeeb @j-a-val @filleinterrupted @gruffle1 @lonewolf471 @youhavemyfantasticbeasts @gabbygurrl @burningsorr0ws @siren-queen03 @intogoode @randomfandommess @dixonluvv @aestheticmattilyn @samlott2202 @freggietale @fandomfanatic97 @lxdyred @ii-chuuya-gravity-ii @dashesoflipstick @bucky-barnes-babies @magnumstyles @selvadorada @jordangdelacruz @evilunicorns4minions @littlefool-smalljester @thelastdragon6 @ellie-andthemachine

[sparklyjojos]

THE SAIMON FAMILY CASE recaps [10/13]

In which we meet a young wordician and the detectives finally stumble upon a breakthrough in the case.

--

PART 7

Three days before August 19th, a few other detectives from Nihon Tantei Club propose they can help with the Saimon Family Case. Ajiro might take them on their word if the next incident doesn’t clear anything up. However, he’s afraid to mix anyone else into this, seeing as a single case stretching for so long is already pulling their attention away from other cases.

In fact, Ajiro reveals to everyone that he’s considering withdrawing from the Club entirely; he’s grateful to everyone who would hate to see him go (especially tearful Kirigirisu), but he still has his pride as a detective. If no progress in the case is made soon, he will be forced to make that decision. Two young detectives, Raiouji and Mikuruma, outright declare that they will quit too if push comes to shove.

Three days later Ajiro and Kirigirisu are faced with a new incident in the Saimon Family Case when Kyuuzou dies from a hornet sting.

On the same day, Raiouji and Mikuruma are killed when a reckless truck driver hits them on their usual bike ride.

As soon as they get the news, Ajiro and Kirigirisu stop their investigation in Tsuwano and return to Kyoto to learn more about what happened. Witnesses testify that the truck driver (who also died in the crash) didn’t even attempt to brake before hitting the two young detectives. The police finds stimulant drugs in the truck’s cabin, states that the man was probably using them, and files the case away as a normal traffic accident.

Raiouji’s and Mikuruma’s joint funeral ceremony is held a day after Fujita Kyuuzou’s wake, and unexpectedly a few Saimons decide to go to Kyoto to attend it: Soga Tensui with Miku, Taishi with his wife Yurine, Hyousen with his son Hyousai, a few members of Fujita-gumi, even shy Takayoshi.

Miku says that they wanted to bring Juku along at first, but decided against it, as him wearing sunglasses throughout the entire ceremony could be seen as rude by other people. It’s still unknown just what made the boy so strangely beautiful after his brother’s death.

(Kirigirisu has had some very outlandish theories about it come to his mind. If we define the twins’ previous beauty as being “90% perfect” for each one, then maybe after one died, the other one now somehow counted for two, and the accumulated value tipped over the point of “100% perfection”… This sort of ridiculous theories. Kirigirisu has no idea why he even thought about it.)

As they talk with the family, Hyousen mentions that he saw Ajiro’s grandfather Soujin yesterday in Tsuwano, showing up in the Fujita household once everyone else left after Kyuuzou’s wake. Hyousen acts quite friendly towards them, what with his late father and Soujin having been sworn brothers and all. There is some uneasiness in Hyousen’s behavior that wasn't there before, but one can expect it from a son who just lost his father... from someone who keeps losing his family every month. He says that his wife Shima couldn't show up, as she's been feeling sick lately.

Takayoshi exchanges a word or two with the detectives, but leaves in a hurry once his brother Taishi approaches (unsurprising reaction, considering the two's past). Taishi isn't as friendly as everyone else and claims that he's only here because he has another business in the prefecture anyway.

"The other Kotensui lives in Kyoto," Taishi says. "That is, the kid that provided Kotensui's voice, Ryuuguu Jounosuke. We have something to do at his house."

Ajiro seems to know the name Ryuuguu. Or rather, he knows about Ryuuguujou, the family’s palace so splendid it’s often called one of the two great mansions of Northern Kyoto (the other being a place called Geneijo). So this strangely named Ryuuguu Jounosuke has to be a young noble. Apparently when his ancestor Yatsutarou was designing the palace grounds, he took inspiration from the Saimon family’s garden, which led to him becoming friends with Saimon Taishin.

The Ryuuguus offered the Circus financial help many times, but the Saimons always refused to take any money from them. However, Taishi can tell that the Circus is pretty much over now with so many performers dead, and wants to ask the Ryuuguus for help—not even asking for money, but for a few of their koi so he can repopulate the depressingly empty pond.

It feels like Taishi’s sense of loss is connected less to their fish, and more to Akio; perhaps his sudden desire to get the pond back to normal comes from subconsciously wanting his brother back.

The bright spot in despair is that Taishi's and Tensui’s relations are getting better lately. Taishi states that if anyone will be able to keep the Circus going in the future, it will be the three child geniuses: Yomiko, Juku, and Jounosuke.

“That boy is a true wordician,” he says of Jounosuke. “A magician of words.”

Apparently Jounosuke has been travelling all over the world with his parents since he was born, which contributed to his knowledge of an astounding number of languages. He likes words so much he even named some of the buildings belonging to the Saimons, like Sanasou and Shakuya. For some reason he also likes to call Tensui yossha no ojisan (well, Tensui kind of is an "alrighty guy", but it's still a strange way to address him).

That last innocuous fact seems to pique Ajiro’s curiosity and he wants to have a word with Jounosuke.

--

And so, on August 22nd, Ajiro and Kirigirisu ride to Ryuuguujou together with Taishi and Yurine. It’s easy to see how rich the Ryuuguus are; their private grounds could probably fit an entire Disneyland, and a sleek limousine takes the guests to the palace, a giant black building with a tall tower in the middle. Ryuuguujou is surrounded by a western-style garden on one side and an eastern-style one on the other. In fact, the entire building was designed to resemble an European castle on one side and a Japanese keep on the other, down to the internal decor.

A butler shows them inside, where they meet Mr. and Mrs. Ryuuguu—Kintarou and Kaguya—who dress like they just got here in a time machine from 18th century France. They welcome the guests in a pretty exalted manner, both seeming constantly cheerful. They are without a doubt the weirdest people Kirigirisu has ever met, and that’s counting all the strange detectives he works with. Maybe that’s just how people living in palaces are.

Apparently Kintarou and Kaguya don’t always dress like this, but choose between many outfits from different eras on a whim (and even invite the detectives to borrow costumes and join their dress-up game if they like). They travel abroad for most of the year and because of that take special care to keep their friendships going whenever they're back in Japan. They like to consider anyone they meet as a potential great companion.

Their endless chatter is a bit exhausting, so even if the couple is extremely friendly, Ajiro and Kirigirisu are glad they can leave for the eastern garden to search for Jounosuke. Kirigirisu is actually a little worried for Mr. and Mrs. Ryuuguu; they seem so trusting and ready to help everyone around that maybe someone could easily abuse their friendship for nefarious purposes.

The detectives find Jounosuke feeding koi in the garden. Even in the summer the boy is wearing all black, including an elegant hat, gloves, and a long cape (but at least the shirt under that cape is sleeveless). He looks at them with curious big eyes, a happy smile on his face.

“Oh, so Mother and Father have made new friends,” he says when they introduce themselves.

Ajiro makes a comment that as expected from someone called a wordician, his speech sounds very intelligent, then asks about his age.

“Ryuuguu is now ten, in fourth grade at school," Jounosuke answers in third person. "Are you friends with yossha no ojisan? You called Ryuuguu a wordician, which means you know people from the Circus, and the one who knows the most about Ryuuguu there is yossha no ojisan, so you probably came to talk with Ryuuguu on his request.”

“This child is quite a detective,” Ajiro comments in amused surprise. “Maybe we should employ him in the future, huh, Kirigirisu?”

“Are you detectives?” Jounosuke puts two and two together quickly.

“Yes, we are detectives. We’re investigating a case and we would like you to help us with something.”

“You want to know yossha no ojisan’s secret? Um… but Ryuuguu promised he wouldn’t tell anyone.”

“I see. Then I won’t ask about it. You were the one who named Sanasou (山鴉荘) and Shakuya (杓屋), right? Could you tell us the origin of these names?”

“Oh! Sanasou has the kanji for raven (鴉) trapped in the word for a mountain villa (山荘), but it should actually be written differently. In the word for sake kasu (酒糟), there's this kasu (糟) that can also be read as sou. And by looking at Sanasou and changing sou to kasu you get Sanakasu (山鴉糟), which sounds like Saakasu—“Circus”! “And Shakuya is where they keep sharks, so it’s a shark room, shaaku-room, shaaku-ya.”

These are… quite the wordplays. Ajiro seems intrigued by the last one.

“I don’t know if you did that on purpose, Jounosuke… but that kanji for shaku (杓) means a dipper. I think the shaku in Shakuya may mean a constellation called the Big Dipper… and it refers to one other thing too, doesn’t it?”

“Um, that one is a secret.”

Ajiro gives Kirigirisu a conspiratory wink. Jounosuke may be smart, but he's still a child, so Ajiro can try and get the secret out of him in a roundabout way, by checking what topics the boy doesn't want to talk about.

“By the way,” Ajiro says, “in the aviary at Sanasou there’s a big dove figure called Onikaru-sama. Was that name also created by you?”

“No, Ryuuguu thinks it’s been called that since a long time ago.”

“Do you know that name’s origin?”

“Ryuuguu knows… and won’t tell.”

“I think that Onikaru-sama is not quite its actual name. Instead of O-ni-ka-ru it should be pronounced On-i-ka-ru, right?”

Kirigirisu has no idea what the difference is, but Jounosuke makes a troubled face. The boy’s not a very good liar, that for sure. Even if he stays quiet, Ajiro is pelting questions at him and presumably reading out satisfying answers between the lines.

“Tell me, did yossha no ojisan tell you anything about the word juuku?”

“Juuku… that’s the name of yossha no ojisan’s son, who’s a few years younger than Ryuuguu. Actually, Ryuuguu has never met him before.”

“Certainly, juuku written like the number nineteen is also Saimon Juku’s first name. But have you perhaps heard something else about juuku?”

“Huh? Ryuuguu doesn’t understand…” This time Jounosuke seems honestly confused.

“Then… have you heard of Golgo 13?” Ajiro for some reason names a manga series about an assassin for hire. What does that have to do with anything?

“Um, no… when Ryuuguu thinks of the shape of the word juuku (十九), the only thing he's reminded of is Senmaru (千丸)...”

That last word sends a cold shiver down Kirigirisu's spine.

Senmaru is a common nickname for the crossing at Senbon Maruta, the same place where Raiouji and Mikuruma were killed in an accident mere days ago. This has to be just a coincidence… right?

Kirigirisu doesn’t really understand what this entire conversation meant, but Ajiro looks completely satisfied and thanks Jounosuke for the help.

“Can Ryuuguu show you an illusion to end with?” the boy asks. “It’s the best, even yossha no ojisan was surprised! Is it okay if it breaks your watch?”

“It’s alright,” Ajiro says presenting the arm with his watch. “What gets broken can be fixed. It’s only fair to help you show us an illusion, considering how much you helped us today.”

Jounosuke reaches forward with one gloved finger, lightly pokes Ajiro’s watch—and it instantly stops working, the hands freezing in their tracks.

“I see…” Ajiro seems strangely satisfied for having his watch broken. “You’re like the opposite of Uri Geller, making clocks stop instead of restoring their function…”

“Jounosuke!” shouts a new voice. A teen girl in a white dress is walking their way with a stern face. “How many times did I tell you not to break other people’s things? I am deeply sorry, we will cover the cost of repairs …”

“No, it’s alright. My watch was already acting strangely and I wanted to repair it anyway. You must be Jounosuke’s older sister?”

“Ah, yes. My name is Ryuuguu Otohime. I’m sorry if my parents and brother were bothering you…” She sounds quite mature and like the only normal person in this family. Well, they do say that children either end up highly similar to their parents or become their complete opposite. “I’m not sure how to explain it, but what Jounosuke just did wasn’t an illusion. He has a strange power that lets him break every mechanical device he touches. It just suddenly showed up last year, around the same time when he started wearing all black.”

“It’s still a kind of magic,” Ajiro states. “As long as one acts like there is a secret method behind the performance, even a supernatural power is illusion. I think it’s wonderful to have abilities that other people don’t have.”

--

Soon, Kirigirisu and Ajiro prepare to leave against the wishes of Kintarou, Kaguya, and especially Jounosuke, who would love for them to stay and hang out all night. (Taishi and his wife do spend the night, since they live in another prefecture).

The detectives get a taxi back to the city. The slightly bizarre frenzied atmosphere from before turns into grim silence as they approach the crossing of Senmaru.

A class of small children is following their teacher through the crossing, and for a short moment Kirigirisu is sure he spotted Juku and Joukei among them—but that can’t be, Joukei is not around anymore. He takes another look. The two children he saw are actually a pair of a boy and a girl, perhaps also twins, both their backpacks having the name TAMEI written on them. [Which implies these two are Dakushoin and his sister from the other JDC books. What a nice little cameo.]

“Boys, be ambitious,” Ajiro says suddenly.

Huh? The popular phrase shounen yo, taishi wo idake? Ajiro doesn't elaborate what he means by it, instead adding another non-sequitur.

“We are the ambassadors solving the mystery of the magic show.” [Ore-tachi wa, kijutsu shou no nazo wo toku taishi nanda.]

Ambassadors? Kirigirisu truly has no idea what Ajiro means by those strange phrases, but has a feeling they aren’t just random gibberish.

--

Ajiro and Kirigirisu return to Nihon Tantei Club’s office, where everyone else (except Shiranui and always wandering Soujin) is waiting for them. Some of the detectives, especially Shiranui’s group, seem fed up with Ajiro doing things on his own and relegating responsibilities of the representative to others; even if he still gets cases solved, he falls behind as a team leader. Arito Tarou points out that Raiouji and Mikuruma were likely killed because of the Saimon Family Case, so Ajiro should at least tell everyone what’s really going on.

Ajiro can’t deny that those two deaths could be connected to the Case; if that’s the truth, he’s taking full responsibility. Even if it was just an accident, Ajiro admits he has to either abandon the Saimon Family Case and go back to his duties, or pursue the Case and abandon his position instead. He decides that if he doesn’t solve the Case until the end of September 19th, or if the deaths of Raiouji and Mikuruma turn out to really be connected to the Case, Ajiro will quit the Club.

Kirigirisu immediately announces that if Ajiro’s going to turn in his resignation, then he’s quitting too.

Soon everyone except for our two main detectives leaves the office for the night. Kirigirisu walks to the nearby Lawson to buy them something to eat. When he comes back, he notices a gorgeous white car parked under the building, then meets its owner on the stairs inside. Short and thin, with a white suit and the atmosphere of the Godfather—it’s Ajiro’s grandfather Soujin, who hasn’t shown up around for over a year. As always, his presence is overwhelming, making it obvious why the man was once called “Ajiro the God”. Soujin is happy to see Kirigirisu, but apparently is so busy he already has to leave.

Back in the office, Kirigirisu discovers that another old detective showed up in his absence, Shiranui Zenzou. Apparently Soujin gave him a lift here. Did the two Ajiros and Shiranui talk about the Case?

“We did,” Ajiro answers. "The Saimon Family Case that’s been confusing us for a year took grandpa all of three seconds to figure out. Well, it’s not that he solved it, but he gave us an important hint. The truth behind the Case that boils down to a single word.”

Shiranui interrupts him, saying that he doesn’t really know what’s going on, and his own method of reasoning (basically “doubting every single detail”) is still focused on whether Kyuuzou was actually stung by a hornet or not. Ajiro explains that while a stinger really was found in the victim’s body, the hornet itself may have not existed; anyone skilled enough in voice mimicry could emit a convincing buzzing noise. It’s possible that the murderer used a prepared stinger to kill the victim, making it look like an unfortunate accident.

Someone skilled in illusion and voice mimicry… Soga Tensui is apparently pretty good at both.

“If we were to guess the truth based on all the data we have gathered, everything would point to Tensui being the culprit,” Ajiro says. “However, a single word from grandpa forced us to abandon our previous theories and go back to the drawing board. This word is kuroyashi. Yashi may refer to the merchants and peddlers of a tekiya yakuza group, such as Fujita-gumi. Kuroyashi would mean “a black peddler”. And if you switch black and white around, what do you get?”

That would be shiroyashi… which sounds suspiciously close to Shiroyasha, the masked murderer.

The Case is finally one step closer to being solved.

--

[>>>NEXT PART>>>]

[brylcighs]

✧·ﾟ(   demeter + maia mitchell + cis female   ) 𝒎𝒂𝒎𝒎𝒂 𝒎𝒊𝒂 !!  have you seen (   bryleigh fox   ) around ? (   she   ) has been in kaos for (   two months   ). the (   twenty-four year old   ) is a (   baker   ) from (   boulder, colorado   ). people say they can be (   stoic   ) but maybe that’s not too bad ‘cause they can also be (   ebullient   ). whenever i think of them, i can’t help but think of (   warm blueberry muffins, black and white movies, and sunny, cloud-free mornings   ).  ·ﾟ✧  (  penned by shiloh, 21+, est, she/her   ).

trigger warnings: mental illness, ptsd, anxiety, depression, a car accident, health problems related to fertility, scars/burns, low self-esteem, drinking. ( i think that’s it, but if you run across something else triggering, pls let me know and i’ll add it to the list. )

THE MUN.

‘lo ! i’m shiloh, but you can call me shy. i’m 28, i live in the est and my preferred pronouns are she/her. 

i’m a school-based therapist and work in an elementary school. with it being summer, i don’t really have a lot going on ! so you’ll see me around quite a bit. 

i have two small puppos, minerva and newt, who are my pride and joy. p.s.: if you couldn’t tell from their names, i’m a huge harry potter fan. i also love young adult literature, i’m a true crime buff and could eat pepperoni hot pockets every day for the rest of my life. 

if you’d like to talk, you can im me on this account, on my rph @shilohrph or ask me for my discord and we can chat there !

and without further ado, allow me to introduce lil miss bryleigh. 

BASIC INFORMATION.

name: bryleigh olivia fox.

age: twenty-four.

gender/pronouns: cis femae & she/her.

orientation: panromantic pansexual. 

olympian: demeter.

occupation: head baker at physis taverna.

faceclaim: maia mitchell.

BACKGROUND.

bryleigh olivia fox was born may 8th, 1995 at 10:12am in kaos, greece to colonel william matthew fox and emma alison stewart-fox.

she has one older brother, lucas daniel fox, who is 28 and an architectural engineer. he’s married to sofia maite valdez-fox, twenty-four. they have a one-year-old daughter,  luciana irene fox. 

bryleigh also has one younger sister, peyton emelia fox, who is 20 and a college student studying communications. she’s engaged to  micah cole butler, twenty-two. they two-year-old twins addison hayley butler and aiden bryant butter. peyton is also currently 10 weeks pregnant.

because of her father’s occupation, the family has lived in different cities all over the world. besides kaos, the fox’s lived in bangkok, thailand, comayagua, honduras, misawa, japan, burkina faso, west africa,  vicenza, italy and pampanga, philippines. i made a handy dandy timeline which you can view here to better break it down.

bryleigh attended and graduated from the auguste escoffier school of culinary arts in boulder, colorado and lived there for about four years.

while living in boulder, her roommate and best friend, sofia, started dating and subsequently married her brother, lucas.

because her aesthetic is running when things get tough/complicated, bryleigh left boulder a few months after ber brother and best friend were married and moved back to kaos, greece. 

she lived in kaos for a year, living above the tavarna where she was head baker. she loved it and kinda looks back on it as the best time of her life. but a rough patch in a relationship caused her to - again - flee, returning to boulder. 

about a month after moving back to boulder, she was in a serious car accident. her vehicle slid on black ice and flipped. she almost died, but managed to pull through.

on top a concussion, many broken bones, several severe burns, some internal bleeding and innumerable cuts, scrapes, and bruises, bryleigh’s pelvis was fractured and her fallopian tubes were crushed. she also later developed  asherman’s syndrome from the surgeries/scar tissue forming. this has basically rendered her infertile. 

after the accident, bryleigh had to move in with her brother and sister-in-law/former best friend. not only did they smother bry trying to take care of her, but sofia was pregnant at the time. this served as a constant reminder of all she’d lost. 

so, as soon as she was cleared to be on her own, she told lucas and sofia that she was going to visit kaos for her birthday.

except that she was actually moving back there and didn’t want to have to deal with their worry and concern and attempts to talk her out of it. queen of running from her problems.

bryleigh has been back in kaos for about two months, and it’s not the carefree, serene place she remembered.

actually, that’s not true. it’s still the place she remembered. she’s just not the same person she once was. no matter how much she tries to pretend she is.

you can read more about her here if you feel so inclined. 

PERSONALITY. 

bryleigh is a bit of a complicated lil nugget. she’s like an onion, ya know ? she has layers. one one hand, she’s this bubbly, happy-go-lucky, upbeat ball of sunshine. but on the other hand, she’s really struggling with ptsd from the crash, as well as a good heaping of anxiety and depression. so she has times where she’s really distant and reticent.

as the ‘mom friend’, she’s always been the person that people turn to. she’s the shoulder to lean on. she’s the one who gives amazing advice. she’s the one who seems wise beyond her years. she’s the one who tells you to stop leaning back in your chair because you’re going to fall over or sets water and tylenol beside your bed after a night of partying. she cares a whole lot. like, an insane about. which is a blessing and a curse. 

what she’s struggling with post-accident is opening up about how she’s doing and how she’s really feeling, beyond the facade that she puts on for everyone. it’s like she’s physically incapable of letting people see that she’s struggling. bry doesn’t want to put that burden on anyone, ya know ? so, she’s kind of suffering in silence and bottling everything up. which is super healthy, i know. 

sarcasm and dry humor are two of her favorite coping skills. she’s also really great at self-deprecating humor !

the accident left her with quite a lot of scars and several skin grafts from having third-degree burns treated, and she’s incredibly self-conscious about them. she covers her low self-esteem up with jokes and humor, but she really is quite sensitive about her appearance. 

as i mentioned, she tends to run from her problems rather than addressing them. and if she can’t run, she makes a joke out of them and doesn’t take them seriously. or she bottles up all the emotions from the problem and pretends it’s not a big deal. i know. her coping skills are so healthy.

the only thing that bryleigh has ever wanted is to be a mom. she’s basically had baby fever since she was old enough to understand the birds and the bees. she always imagined being a stay-at-home mom, taking care of a shew of children and her husband/wife. but since the accident, she’s not sure if that’s what she still wants of her life. she no longer has no direction, and really feels like she’s floundering.

part of her is worried about having kids ( through adoption or surrogacy or on the off-chance that she can naturally conceive ) because the hate in her heart after the accident is so dark and consuming and terrifying. she feels like maybe the car accident did more than break her bones. maybe it broke her as a person. and maybe she’s not capable of loving someone now. or if she is, she’s worried that what she loves will get taken from her. and she doesn’t know if she can stand to lose anything else. 

EXTRA.

she starts every morning with a cup of black coffee and a banana nut muffin and ends every evening with a cup of peppermint tea and two homemade jaffa cakes.

bryleigh has a chocolate labrador retriever named yolo. he’s ancient. she’s not really sure how old he is, but the shelter she adopted him from said that he’d been there for several years. so, she absolutely had to take him home with her. yolo’s very loving and sweet and a lil lazy and he loves pitless olives. she has huge birthday parties for him on his gotcha day, august 12th. 

her walls are covered with abstract art from a bunch of different countries. they remind her of her childhood and everywhere she’s traveled. 

favorite thing in the world to do is have a bunch of her friends over, make a slew of homemade pizzas and desserts, pop open several bottles of rosé wine, throw pillows and blankets all over the floor and watch movies of various genres until everyone falls asleep. 

she loves 80′s music and prefers to listen to records rather than stream music or what have you. it sounds more authentic that way. at least, in her opinion. 

her apartment looks like a forest. she has plants everywhere. e v e r y w h e r e. she’s also a really good plant mom and has named all of her children. she talks to them and knows their favorite songs. maybe she’s a tad bit psychotic. who isn’t, though ?

since the accident, she’s developed a huge fear of driving. she won’t drive. ever. she either walks, rides her bike or takes an uber. if she can get away with not having to ride in a car, though, she much prefers that option. i mean, can you blame her ?

she loves astrology and tarrot readings and ghost hunts and talking about aliens and going on hunts for cryptids. she’s always thought there has to be more to life than what we can see, so she’s open to at least considering most everything, ya know ?

her closest friends call her foxy. everyone else calls her bry. some people call her bryleigh ? but i can’t imagine why. it’s a mouthful. 

send her memes and you’ll have her heart. she has a huge folder of them saved on her phone. there might or might not be more memes on her phone than actual pictures. hint: there totally is. 

bryleigh can speak english, spanish, filipino, greek, italian, thai, japanese, swahili, hausa and a little bit of a berber dialect to varying degrees of success. she’s most comfortable with english, spanish and greek, and least comfortable with the african languages. she can also write in a variety of writing systems, though not nearly as well as she can speak the languages. she’s forgotten a lot of the rules and method that go along with many of them.

PLOT IDEAS.

you can read about all my connection ideas right here !

NOTE: i’m open to pretty much anything, so if you have an idea, run it by me ! more than likely, i’ll approve and start rambling off ideas and headcanons and half-formed thoughts until you politely tell me to shut the fuck up. sounds fun, right ?

THE END.

thanks so much for reading this monster post ! i don’t know how to be concise. i’ve tried. i tried here. obviously, i failed. but i love you all. i can’t wait to write and interact with you all and your lovely, wonderful characters ! hasta la vista, baby.

[ebaeschnbliah]

WESTIE’S  ENGAGEMENT  PARTY  &  JOE’S  CONFESSIONS

“I started dealing drugs. I mean, the bike thing’s a great cover, right? I dunno – I dunno how it started; I just got out of my depth. I owed people thousands – serious people. Then at Westie’s engagement do, he starts talking about his job. I mean, usually he’s so careful; but that night after a few pints he really opened up. He told me about these missile plans – beyond top secret. He showed me the memory stick; he waved it in front of me. You hear about these things getting lost, ending up on rubbish tips and what-not. And there it was, and I thought ... well, I thought it could be worth a fortune.”  (Joe Harrison)

This and a little bit more under the cut ….

About engagement parties

They are held to celebrate a couple's recent engagement and to help future wedding guests to get to know one another. Traditionally, the bride's parents host the engagement party, but many modern couples host their own celebration. It is a party like any other, except that usually toasts or speeches are made to announce the upcoming wedding. While it varies, an engagement party takes place at the beginning of the process of planning a wedding. It is often thrown at the couple's home or at the home of a close friend or relative of the couple.  (Wikipedia)

Why do I have the feeling that Westie’s ‘engagement do’ was a party for two? 

The camera focuses only on the two men. There isn’t even one picture of Lucy Harrison, the lovely bride to be. And the other people in the bar/pub don’t look much like family, friends or even aquaintances either. It’s a bit similar to the stag night Sherlock organized for John, isn’t it? Even the colours are alike … though much more intense.

“It was pretty easy to get the thing off him, he was so plastered.”  (Joe Harrison)

Joe takes the memory stick with the very secret Bruce-Partington Plans out of Westie’s breast pocket ….. 

Is this still the bar/pub? Somehow it looks differenthere …. for just a few shots  ….

Secrets of the government .... or secrets of the heart?

“The M.O.D. is working on a new missile defence system – the Bruce-Partington Programme, it’s called. The plans for it were on a memory stick. We can’t possibly risk it falling into the wrong hands.”  (Mycroft)

“Next time I saw him, I could tell by the look on his face that he knew.“  (Joe Harrison)

“What’s Lucy gonna say? Jesus. It was an accident.  I swear it was. I was gonna call an ambulance, but it was too late.”  (Joe Harrison)

“Then a neat little idea popped into your head. Carrying Andrew West way away from here. His body would have gone on for ages if the train hadn’t met a stretch of track that curved.”  (Sherlock)

“Andrew West, known as Westie to his friends. A civil servant, found dead on the tracks at Battersea Station this morning with his head smashed in.”  (Mycroft)

The Battersea Power Station …. that’s where the track curved … where it passed a point and the transport changed direction …. and a dead body fell from a train …..

Battersea ... the very same disused power station where Irene meets John ... at New Year ... and Sherlock follows them and overhears their conversation. Until that moment everyone thought that Irene had died because there had been a body in the morgue … at Christmas … the face bashed up … and then, she comes back from the dead …  at Battersea …. where the Transport changed direction ….

This happens in ASIB. That’s the episode directly after TGG and the case of the Bruce-Partington Plans. The stolen memory stick with the secret government plans lead Sherlock to the pool where once little Carl Powers died, to John wearing an explosive vest and to Jim Moriarty, Mr. Sex, the criminal mastermind behind that great game. And immediately after the confrontation at the pool, a hiker turns up, just returned from East of GB, with a bashed in head …. because his own boomerang had backfired at him …. sort of a literal boomerang-effect …..

The original characters from ACDs Story

Arthur Cardogan West - goverment employee, twenty-seven years of age, unmarried, and a clerk at Woolwich Arsenal

'West left Woolwich suddenly on Monday night. Was last seen by his fiancée, Miss Violet Westbury, whom he left abruptly in the fog about 7.30 that evening. There was no quarrel between them and she can give no motive for his action. The next thing heard of him was when his dead body was discovered by a plate-layer named Mason, just outside Aldgate Station on the Underground system in London.'  

'The body was found at six on the Tuesday morning. It was lying wide of the metals upon the left hand of the track as one goes eastward, at a point close to the station, where the line emerges from the tunnel in which it runs. The head was badly crushed - an injury which might well have been caused by a fall from the train.’    (ACD, The Adventures of the Bruce-Partington Plans)

Miss Violet Westbury - Arthur Cardogan West’s fiancée

Colonel Valentine Walter -  the man had to pay a  stock exchange dept, needed the money and so he stole the plans of the Bruce Partington submarine and sold them to Hugo Oberstein, a German spy. 

Sir James Walter - Valentines older brother, famous government expert and official guardian of the Bruce Partington plans. He died due to a ‘broken heart’ because of the horrible scandal and because he rightfully suspected his brother to be involved in the heft. 

Hugo Oberstein - the german spy who killed Arthur Cardogan West with a blow to the head. It was him who had the idea to put the body onto the roof of a train.

Examining the window in Hugo Oberstein’s/Joe Harrison’s flat.  Illustration by Arthur Twidle (X) compared to a screenshot from Sherlock BBC The Great Game 

Interesting modifications in Sherlock BBC

It is no secret that names are always important in this story, just as the chosen modifications and the resulting differences between canon and adaptation. And a lot of name-changing took place with the story of the Bruce Partington plans.  (Source for the meaning behind the names (x)

Arthur Cardogan West stays the innocent victim but his first name changes to Andrew and the second name is entirely omitted

ANDREW  (from Greek: man, manly, masculine)  Using the nickname ‘Westie’ draws the attention strongly to the unchainged surname. Considering that East and West seem to be of some significance, this modification is maybe not a coincidence. Is ‘Westie’ meant to be the opposite of ‘Eurus’ (EASTwind)?  Be it as it may, Westie feels very much like a Sherlock mirror.

Miss Violet Westbury - she stays West’s loyal fiancée but her full name changes ... to Lucy Harrison 

LUCY  (from Latin: feminin form of Lucius, lux, light)  Of course, it is John who comes first to mind, whom Sherlock calls ‘conductor of light’ in THOB. Lucy’s words ‘He (Westie) was my good man’ seem to point in the same direction, that Lucy is a mirror for John.

Colonel Valentine Walter and Hugo Oberstein - thief and murderer - are melting into one character …. Joe Harrison, brother of Lucy Harrison. Colonel Valentine’s older brother Sir James Walter is completely removed from the story. If he weren’t, I would call him a wonderful Mycroft mirror.

JOE  (from Hebrew: Joseph meaning ‘he will add’)  Not a Colonel anymore but a cycle courier and drug dealer, which is very interesting. Only one main character uses a bike, and this one is John. Furthermore,  biblical JOSEPH is the husband of VIRGIN MARY. This fits for John as well. It looks very much like the siblings Lucy and Joe are serving as a double mirror for John.

The canon surnames Westbury, Walter and Obrstein are omitted from this adaptation and replaced with HARRISON. Lucy and Joe Harrison … assuming that both siblings are mirrors for John, certain ideas come to mind by the surname Harrison …. especially regarding John’s sibling Harry, who is still a character without a face.

The place where West’s body fell from the train and was later discovered by a plate-layer/tube guard, changed as well ..... from Aldgate to Battersea. As mentioned above, the disused Battersea Power Station plays an important role in the following episode A Scandal in Belgravia.

The last evening together

'We were to go to the theatre. The fog was so thick that a cab was useless. We walked, and our way took us close to the office. Suddenly he darted away into the fog.'  (Violet Westbury, The Bruce Partington Plans)

‘We were having a night in, just watching a DVD. He normally falls asleep, you know, but he sat through this one. He was quiet. Out of the blue, he said he just had to go and see someone.’  (Lucy Harrison, The Great Game)

Lucy and Westie were watching a DVD. It doesn’t say movie or film …. no, it’s  DVD. Not really suspicious, in general. Unless though, one remembers what special role DVDs are playing in this story. (Miss me?)

Westie/Sherlock sits through a DVD, then out of the blue announces that he needs to see someone and runs off ….  Sounds rather familiar to me. 

And while one half of John/Lucy is engaged to Sherlock/Westie, the other half of John/Joe deals with drugs/chemistry of love and finally ‘kills’ Westie/Sherlock. Head bashed in/brain switched off?   Hmmmm …..

The places where they live

The first pictiure shows Westie’s and Lucy’s home. Both times, when John arrives and when he leaves, the front of the house is presented beautifully mirrored in the roof of a car. 

The pic below is Joe’s flat … it has the number 21A. Also an interesting choice.

An interesting engagement party, interesting canon changes, a surprising turn-up at its end, a very interesting case altogether .... this case from The Great Game, that opens and closes the episode .... the case with the ‘missing’ Greenwich pip. 

And it is a ‘dog’ case too

This is probably the most amazing discovery I made when I started to focus on the Bruce-Partington case. There are three scenes in the episode which are visually dealing with that case.

A short review (in Mycroft’s office) of the DVD night, while Mycroft gives John more details about the case

John’s investigations at Westie’s and Lucy’s place

Sherlock and John at Joe’s flat, when they confront the man with his deed and he confesses

In each one of those scenes the barking of a dog can be heard in the distant. That’s not a coincidence, because sounds don’t appear without purpose in films. They are made and added and have a meaning. 

A dog barks at the end of PILOT, when Sherlock walks away from the ambulance and over to John.  (X)

A dog barks at the beginning of ASIP, right after John wakes from his nightmare.  (X)

A dog barks in each of the Bruce-Partington scenes.

Dogs are there from the first episodes onward and in the fourth series a dog - RedBeard - turns out to be a key element of the story. Dogs are important in this very long game. :)

The Connecting Element - an outtake for the barking dogs in the Bruce-Partington case

Shoes for the Hound - a hound theory playing with the idea that Sherlock BBC could be a special adaptation of the Baskerville Hound with the episode THOB embedded in the story and serving as ‘the old tale of the hound’ … the history.

A Case of Identity - old familiy pictures solve the case of the hound

The Big Question - a Reichenbach/Hound Theory

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I leave you to your own deducktions. Thanks @callie-ariane for the scripts.

November, 2018

@gosherlocked @sherlockshadow @possiblyimbiassed @raggedyblue @sarahthecoat @loveismyrevolution @sagestreet @idontneednormal