#phantom fright ready to throw hands

[currentfandomkick]

So idea: phanfam convince Danny to leave Gotham Full Stop and are taking care of him in another city. Ellie is more openly his daughter, and she admits she was made by science and was only stabilized recently to explain the age thing. Its an open secret.

For city options I’d say Star or Central.

If we go with Central, we have Danny and Ellie being more open about their non-standard biology, Jazz is likely in a doctorate program at this point and Danny is in his last semester for his masters in Chemical and Mechanical Engineering with a minor in Safety Engineering.

Danny is not taking any calls from Dick, and Tucker is openly menacing the guy for trying by hacking any device he calls Danny on and hijacking control of it to display “you fucked up, you do not get to contact this person anymore” messages, often loaded with cursed memes.

Sam has blocked Dick on all Danny’s accounts, and anyone affiliated with him. She takes to using magic to do the magical equivalent of a restraining order… and Dick only realizes this when he is physically incapable of visiting Wally in Central.

Ellie has linked her and Danny’s socials. She is often taking pics of them together with little digs (as she doubts Dick doesn’t have backups stalking her father) with comments like ‘glad dad dropped his ex! He thought he was acting like my other dad who made me against his will, and killed all my brothers too! Current dad is best dad, but i deeply question his choice in men.’ With shots of them doing mundane things, and her dad visibly getting progressively better.

Her comments are littered with questions, and she answers most of them—especially about what her dad’s ex did to him treatment-wise, and how their meta-gene does make them a lot more emotionally involved in relationships… and her dad was lucky for his heart strings to not have all snapped in the process :))) and vents a lot about everyone trying to keep ‘the asshole draining her dad’ almost shattering his sanity before he could win custody of her after she stabilized.

Dick is Not having a Good Time.

Jazz is finishing her Doctorate, has a recovering baby brother (legit being stabilized and healed via proximity), and her menace of niece.

Val and Wes, if included, are working in Central too. Wes as a reporter, and I’m not certain on Val unless we have her be an acting diplomat between the Realms and Humans; her being acknowledged as someone that learned the hard way that ghosts work differently and obviously co-parenting Ellie with Danny.

Actually, Danny’s Fright all co-parenting Ellie, and she taunts Dick on social media about their family nights with picks of Val and Danny as ‘the first two people that saw me as Not Other Dad’s Trash, and still argue over who gets me when… q: is parent trapping an option when you are one person?’

Sam is thriving and using her plant power’s to help with local produce, pollen reduction and has danny launch environmentally friendly robot pollution keepers as her preferred present—she suggests the type of pollution to clean up and Danny and Tucker tend to work something out in a few months (including fine tuning) on their own time.

Wes is vibing, routinely dragged into events and tries to remain group photographer. Ellie and Sam fight him for the role often.

Dick is convinced he broke and almost killed Danny (true) and needs to make amends… but is not allowed to in any way.

IF WE GO WITH STAR CITY

Then we can have Danny and Ellie going to a Parent Teacher conference and have Danny meet Roy and Lian there. (Given Oliver got better in comics, I like the idea of Roy moving back into the city, but not continuing with being a hero as frequently as he used to because he has Lian to think of and does not want her making his mistakes or dealing with watching fellow sidekicks and heroes die.)

Lian and Ellie are convinced their dads have bad taste in partners, and decide to set them up. Tucker, Sam and him, possibly with other Amity Parkers, moved to Starr due to Major Ollie’s socialist tendencies, being a tech hub, and the lack of pushback around civilians curb stomping someone assaulting them or someone else.

Danny does have a lot of his fright-mates and old classmates around, and Roy is just as much a mechanic and techie as Danny. They get along well, possibly too well, and tend to run design ideas by the other.

Danny and Jazz likely own part of Fenton Works, with their parents letting them know about their respective shares given their previous contributions—Danny’s is larger as they know Danny is why the portal worked and feel guilty about it and not stopping Vlad sooner.

Danny is given money from Vlad as child support, and Vlad owes Jazz money for the nanites thing due to the fact he did PERMANENTLY put robots in her that can be used to hijack her body.

Important part is Danny and Roy are close, and Lian and Ellie tend to talk about their lives a lot on their alt accounts… and ask for tips on getting their dads together as ‘both are bi, i want a sister, they share a lot of interests and i want another dad that can match mine’s energy’ ect.,

This is fine until Jason finds Lian’s acct by accident and sees Roy laughing with Danny… the same Danny who left Dick for checking out on the relationship and was gaslit by Dick into thinking he was crazy for connecting Dick Grayson to Nightwing and… shit.

Dick finds out Roy is Real CloseTM with Danny, and finds out Danny is part of a former child hero support group online.

If he did not feel shitty before, its A Lot worse now. His ex was worried for him, correctly got he was a vigilante and not checked out of the relationship, only for him to lie to him, make him question reality and… what do you mean he had a daughter made my a nemesis he’d been helping stabilize? He—he was going to tell him about it after they made it a year stabilized and their anniversary was a few weeks before that. Shit.

Bonus if we keep this support group having a subgroup of Teen/single Parent Problems group chat.

If Dick gets persistent in trying to win back Danny? Danny is not having it. He broke boundaries, he acted like a Fruitloop (derogatory) and was becoming everything he hated when he was with Dick. For both their safety, Danny turns Dick down hard.

His core screams at him for it, but it needed to be done.

He talks about it in the Single Parent Group Chat, mentioning that his ex came back and flared the core-cracking he had going on, and his worry that this could result in him falling into obsession madness like his nemesis had after seeing his mom (1) time twenty years after he’d last seen her.

Dealer’s choice of who steps in (part of me deeply wants Danny and co to have the retired YJ girls run up to star—Cissie as she had to put down heroing and gets fearing becoming your worst self, Greta as ghostly solidarity and Bad Exs problems, and Anita as that feels in character for her, and she’d be the one to tell the other two to help Danny ASAP as a member of the Former Hero, Single Parent GC).

End result either way is Dick getting a dressing down by Danny’s large support network. Bonus if Roy and Danny do decide to give dating a shot when Danny is in a way better headspace later, and Jason is Roy’s best man for the wedding, while Tucker and Sam share that honor for Danny.

Also the idea of Anita being able to get back into heroing once her parents are older becuase Danny’s response is ‘do you need a sitter? I can have like, fifteen separate ghosts here to help if you want’ and Anita taking him up on it give me happy wiggles.

Danny Fenton was tired. He was also annoyed, just a little bit angry and disappointed, but mainly he was tired.

Tired of the excuses, of the missed dates, of the nights he waited for Dick to come home only for him to show up in the morning with a sheepish smile and an excuse.

He tried to be understanding, he tried to ignore the instincts that screamed that Dick was leaving him, that he was finally getting tired of him and had found someone else.

The problem was that ghosts were beings of emotion. They loved with all their core, they also hated with the same passion, but Danny ignored that. If their partner was not as dedicated, the ghost suffered, their core tried to reach out, form and maintain the bond all alone. Some ghosts even ended up with cracked or shattered cores because they fell for the wrong person.

Danny foolishly thought he would be spared this, he was still half human after all. He was forced to let go of that illusion today. This evening was his and Dick's anniversary dinner. They had planned this months in advance and Dick never even showed up.

Danny felt his core crack on the way home. Not a big break, just a little barely noticeable nick, but given time it could grow deeper and shatter him. So Danny made the decision and packed his things, left a note letting Dick know and left.

[infinizero]

Ok so

There is this trope about ghosts not reaching maturity until they've been ghosts for several centuries

There is ALSO the trope that ghosts fight as a sort of way to communicate

With the power of these two tropes combined-- I give you this strange headcanon:

Ghosts become mature adult ghosts after 500 years.

Danny and his usual troublemakers are all in the same "daycare".

He's just the youngest + most unique ghost so they like playing around with him the most. In other words, it's the ghost version of older siblings ordering their younger siblings around

As far as ghosts go,

There are blobs, ghost animals, shades (those are ghosts as we know it) and ghosts (aka Infinite Realms Beings) etc etc

The blobs and etc are, well, blobs and etc

But ghosts need a while to fully grow up and be considered adult

And so, if these ghosts are children, they need guardians or caretakers at the daycare right?

Correct

Baby ghosts are under the care of the nearest authority (Ancient or Leader or etc etc)

Except baby ghosts usually stay near where they were born and Danny and Co just so happen to be near Pariah Dark

Pariah Dark is asleep

But Fright Knight is there!

Except Fright Knight is also sealed

And it's one thing to wake up the ultra powerful megalomaniac tyrant kinda parent figure but not really you're supposed to have and another to drag your oldest adult sibling out of their room to touch grass

In other words, the surrounding authorities just went eh the babies can contact fright Knight if anything happens

But then Danny defeats Pariah and inherits his authority

So he technically becomes the caretaker of baby ghosts in the area while being the youngest baby ghost himself

Hence the other ancients visiting and *playing* with him to see if it's ok to leave the babies with this other baby

And since they're ghosts who don't have human guidelines or morals, decide that since he's that strong it should be fine to leave it alone

Besides he has Fright Knight! Good 'ol Frighty will definitely help out this new baby kid ghost with doing everything!

Meanwhile, Fright Knight waiting for Danny to come claim the crown and ring: ...

Cue Danny's rogues coming up to him to show him shit they accomplished

Youngblood : Phantom look at this cool baking soda volcano that spews out real lava!!

Danny: It does WHAT

Youngblood: Look!

Danny: NO

Ember: Hey Babybop wanna listen to the new song I wrote? It compels humans to start cults based on my name!

Danny: Ember, no

Ember: I think you mean Ember YES

Skulker: Ghost boy I have skinned an alien and brought you a pelt turned into a coat

Danny: ...you did WHAt

Skulker: It is nearing winter time and one must always be ready for winter time

Danny, having an existential meltdown after seeing his parents and Vlad get it on together: Desiree what the actual fuck??? Did you do????

Desiree: I merely fulfilled a wish

Johnny: Hey Phantom look we got matching tattoos to celebrate our anniversary!

Kitty: Wait what did you just say?

Johnny: uh, we got tattoos for our anniversary?

Kitty: ...our anniversary is in TWO MONTHS. THAT was for my DEATHDAY.

Johnny: ...oh shit

Danny, about to soup them both: Man, get good

Lunch Lady: Phantom have you eaten your proteins today?!

Danny: uh... Yeah?

Lunch Lady, already throwing meat at him: EAT MORE

Danny:

Box ghost: WITNESS! THE GREAT BOX MECHA!

Danny: oh come on seriously

And on the other hand,

Walker, dumping ten piles of paper in Danny's room: Phantom, here are the latest forms that need revisions

Spectra: What do you MEAN you're not allowing me to open a beauty salon in order to dig into other girls' insecurities and maintain my own beauty?! That's why it's called a beauty salon!!

Cujo and Wulf who are both the best boys and favorites, with smug faces:

Fright Knight still waiting for Danny to accept the ring and crown:

Plasmius: What the heck is this weird feeling my ghost side keeps making me feel??

Plasmius: is it... Is there perhaps a ghostly way I can adopt the little badger??

[immoralimmortals]

A Song With Ten Names

Chapter 13: The Record Player Song

Chapter 1 ☆ Next chapter

Summary of chapter: Who are you? Who do you want me to be? Am I good at playing pretend?

Author's Note: I've had this song in mind for Tobi/Obito for about as long as I imagined him being in the fic. The song is The Record Player Song by Daisy the Great. Record Player with AJR? I don't know her. I'm using the OG iteration.

Minor content warning, perhaps, for disassociation.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

I've got a record player that was made in 2014

Dyed my hair blue, it came out a seasick sort of green

I like vintage dresses when they fall just below my knees

I pretend I scraped them climbing in the trees

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The hands return tonight. She’s weightless with their touch, and yet she is reluctant. There’s such vast difference between them and herself, and it both awes and frights her, like witnessing God. Release me, she prays. Let us, they answer. But how?

The amber ring approaches from her left, laying beside her on the infinite beach of her dreams. His shadowed, undetailed body presses, and though gentle he is yearning. The figure’s sharp teeth hide until their mouth opens. Lips create shapes meant just for the dreamer, but to her ears she hears nothing. Just the waves. Just the breath of the sea.

In…

…

Out...

A body…? There were no bodies last time.

Another head rests against her shoulder in a small, affectionate rub much like that of a cat. Long bangs are not needed to hide a face with no features, and an arm crooks in the chest of his cloak like a sling, red gem slipped over a finger that dangles. He’s so relaxed, like he’s nearly ready to die in peace by her right side.

Ghostly vocals drift above the sea, phantoms that speak from behind, saying something that is supposed to be her name but is not. They’re distant but getting closer. They sound urgent, they sound lost.

In the depths of siren calls and caresses, a movement of her own is finally forced. Her head is tilted back by the skull, one hand cupping each cheek. It keeps her still, a thumb trailing down her skin from temple to chin, pulling it underneath its print, making her lips part to feel the mouth that weeps her melodies. The stranger doesn’t see the man himself, much as the others, but she does see his form: large, jagged spikes against the sky so pale and wispy. Though it wasn’t felt in the dream before, it is known that he was standing behind her the whole time.

Her eyes squint, the weight of a bright world so blinding. The water draws closer.

In…

“Takara-chan!”

Out the dreamer screams, an orange swirl filling her vision. Against her nest of blankets the woman writhes but only traps herself in deeper among the pillows and fabric. In her panic, there’s no choice but to shove off whatever is on top of her. The intruder flies across the room, far further than her strength could have caused, and she has a second to get her bearings with each heavy breath she catches back.

Against the attic wall, her house guest is still. What? There’s no way she knocked him out...right?! She feels a furrow in her brow until he sits straight up like a puppet on strings.

“Oh, goodness me! Takara-chan is easy to scare when she’s asleep, huh?”

Oh.

Right.

It’s this guy.

With no other choice, she blinks away her pride until her lids hurt and she can manage to apologize. “I— geez, I’m sorry!” Concern hits as she sits up herself, adjusting her frilled pajama collar so it no longer twists. “Is everything okay?!”

“Okay?!” he repeats, sounding like the end of the world, throwing his head forward. “How can it be okay when you’re missing BREAKFAST?!”

The last word repeats dumbly back at him.

“Yes! I made you breakfast! You’re gonna love it!” A pointed pause. “...You will have it...right?”

The one thing she can’t get over— beyond the bells and whistles of his loud personality— is how hard he is to read. Is that a threat or puppy dog eyes that eyehole hides?

“I…” The ritual of breakfast hasn’t really been one. Itachi prepared food and they went and ate it. That’s it. Kisame was pretty private about chowing down and the chef himself didn’t eat very much, so everyone said thank you and went their own ways. But she decides to play ball: “What did you make?”

“Your favorite!”

She frowns. There is no memory of her saying she has a favorite breakfast. “I’m sorry, I—” A finger wag interrupts a foolish girl.

“It WILL be your favorite!” The finger draws back into a hand that solutes. “Or my name isn’t Tobi!”

Something in her gut is a bit uncomfortable, a bit like a tummy ache the first morning of school, but, well...how can she say no to that? Since day one—yesterday, to be precise— he’s been nothing but eager to please, trailing in her shadow and jumping ahead in her vision, full of nothing but questions and interruptions. It’s overwhelming, yes, but its intent does flatter. She flickers a smile of gratitude. “I’ll hold you to it.”

What a strange man, thinks the strange girl as he takes her down the stairs.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Wipe my eyes and cut me off

(Wipe my eyes, I'm crying)

I'm just crying for attention

(For attention)

Wish I'd been a teenage rebel

(A teenage rebel)

Never even got detention

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Zetsu must have thought it awfully funny to tease the arrival of two and only give one, not even one of which promised. A remarkable occasion happens again, everyone present in the home gathered at the dinner table. Or at least, about to be—

“Ah, here they are.”

Itachi follows Kisame’s acknowledgment with his eyes only, the traveler nearly tripping over her feet as Tobi pulls her by the arm.

“Hey, slow down, please—!” Her plea is answered, unfortunately, immediately. She bumps into the back of him as the masked man reaches an empty chair.

“Oop?” He freezes in dramatic horror as she begins to stumble. A hand grabs her wrist and the other catches her by the back. The black-clad man couldn’t have done a better dip of a dance partner even if he tried. Her eyes go wide.

“...Oh,” she whispers, having never been held like this before. Tobi chimes down at her.

“You can’t be so reckless! You’re much too fragile for that!” Her brow furrows.

“Tobi, that goes for you too, you know,” Kisame butts in before she can question. “Your excitement is appreciated but it is also a lot—” The shark glances at her, still dangling in Tobi’s grasp. “—For starting out with.”

On a dime and her brief shriek, she’s nearly flipped upright in half a second flat. The gloved hand still holds her by the back while the other interweaves its fingers into hers, raising it beside their heads. Though frantic at first, the pause that follows allows her to study him. It’s a carved mask, almost like a vortex; it curls and caves until it reaches a black hole. Can she see his eyes—?

A thought interrupted as he spins them around in this tango in finale, pulling back her throne and making her sit between the two other Akatsuki. Kisame chuckles.

As a breakfast of messy, runny eggs is served, Itachi says not a thing.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

I don't really love you

I just said that for a change of pace

I'm sorry

Sometimes I don't recognize my face

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Well, if Kisame trusts him, then it’s worth a shot, the stranger reasons.

The next week-so is spent being dragged about from “adventure” to “adventure”. It’s nearly like a summer haze daydream, the sort of thing you remember doing when you’re little, playing around with the neighbor boy.

“Come on the swing, Takara-chan!” Tobi urges, putting her on the toy and pushing her without waiting for consent. There’s no ramping up, no questions of how high: the answers are fast and up to forever.

“Tobi, that’s—” a plea interrupted and punctuated by a shriek. At first, it seems that he mistakes her screams for those of joy.

“Oh my gosh, look how high up you are! I’m so jealous!”

“Eeeeughhhhhhh!!!”

Knees pin together and hands grip for dear life as she flies through the sky. There are too many branches overhead; if she gets any higher, she will simply get concussed. The playmate has no choice but to shout down:

“Tobi, please stop!”

“I—oh?” he peeps, and for a second that mask and silence leave him totally unreadable. Is he angry? Is he upset? There’s no way to know, especially this far away, until he screams himself: “TAKARA-CHAN!”

The noble prince commits the ultimate sacrifice. As the woman swings back down from a height so grand it makes the rope slack in its bounce, he jumps into her path. “I’ll catch you!!!”

He kind of does. It mostly smacks her square into him.

The two kids rock backwards like a tumbleweed with an engine, rolling over and over and over. It’s a lifetime and a couple of scrapes and bruises later, but they do eventually fall still. Reflexively, the woman attempts to remove herself, but bizarrely finds she is stuck. A heavy breath tries to catch itself in her ear, and she finally feels ten fingertips pressed into her back.

“...Tobi?” It is undeniable now. He is holding her in place. Why? She squirms, but not hard enough as he doesn’t seem to be alerted to her soreness.

“...Hew,” the swirled face exhales. “That was a close one!” Before her mouth can open again, she feels a chin on top of her head. “At least you’re safe now.” The sincerity of this statement, as they lay curled together in the grass...is baffling, and yet...

And yet…

The thought drifts away as another day comes to pass.

“Takara-chan!”

He says her name with such affection and poise, a bouquet of roses held in both gloved hands and swung upward like an ax. Her own palms are held next to her head, having been approached abruptly and to her surprise, and the tops of her fingers bend as she begins to analyze the object shoved into her personal space.

“...Huh?”

Tobi slinks. “Wait, you don’t like flowers?! Kisame-senpai! Did you lie to me?!” A carving knife in the blue man’s grasp stills and fish eyes walk over to where the orange stands.

“No, I didn’t,” he huffs, the slightest annoyance on the back of his throat. “It’s probably that you cut those straight out of her garden.”

It’s with this statement that Tobi’s body speaks before his voice, head cocking at a sharp angle and even more of him limping lower to the ground. The traveler is silent, but not for the assumed reasons; she’s thinking again.

His gestures—...it’s like he’s a mime.

And yet more days pass.

Thump thump thump thump.

With no proper door for the makeshift bedroom of the attic, a wrist peeks above the crawlspace door and knocks its knuckles against the floor. The woman opens one eye, glancing out her single window. It is night. The panic at first dampers as the seconds go by, as she recognizes the moonlight slicking fiery color in the dark, as she moves over to lay on the old wood and lower her face towards his. Fingertips holding the edge of the “door,” this hole in her upstairs room.

“T-takara-chan…” The voice behind the mask quivers. “I-I-I can’t sleep. Can I be up here? With you?” Even at night, not one bit of his attire is retired; he is fully dressed, scarf and mask and all. He’s met with a confused hum, half asleep.

“Tobi, I—...it’s going to be darker and noisier up here,” she tries to rationalize to the man. And if anyone knows how much scarier sound gets at night when you’re in a pitch-black abandoned attic, it’s her. But he shakes his head.

“But you’re up here.”

...So she is. Can’t deny that.

“...Tobi, I…”

His hands are held to his chest, much like how she has done before when she is afraid. His face is not visible, but the emotion— the expression— he wants her to see is obvious. An inhale comes slow through her nose before she speaks her decision:

“Okay.”

He scrambles into the storage space no sooner than her permission is given, and the traveler is grateful she sat up and backed out as now arms are thrown around her. The trembling from him is...rhythmic. It reminds her of a cicada.

“I’m safe now...I’m okay with Takara-chan…”

Who is he speaking to? It’s like he’s a narrator…

“I love you, Takara-chan.”

He says it by the seventh day, whispered and airy like sweet cotton candy. She’s done nothing to deserve it. Guilt and beguilement alike wrack her heart. He has a dandelion clutched in two hands instead of a stolen bouquet.

“Tobi...I…” The two words have repeated, over and over again but never lead to anything. Two brows above the same number of worried eyes curl. He bends at the knees and tilts his chin up. The message is clear:

Say it back.

But she cannot. This is so much— too much— and none of it makes sense. “Tobi…” What can she say to this? All week he’s been attached at the hip, like she’s the first person that’s given him the time of day, the only one that has ever said so much as hello, you deserve my attention. Not only is it not good for him, but she can’t discern the origin. Why is he so childish? Desperate? Pressuring?

It’s like he’s—

It hits her, and just as it does, that’s when Tobi presses forward with his script:

“...You don’t know what it’s like to be loved...do you?” The last two words have such a tinge to them, and it confirms her suspicions. “That’s okay.” He is so still, her stare locked on that one black hole.

“I can show you.”

Instinctively, she swallows and her eyes go wide. Too close, Tobi realizes. It’s time to back off. A few steps backwards, stumbling and tripping over his own feet on purpose. “Sorry! I— oh, sorry! I’ll just—” Don’t say too much. Weed in tow, he walks without looking until he can squeeze around the corner and out of her sight.

From one performer to another, she notes how well he plays the boy next door.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

I need a dictionary

Someone look me up and define me

Please remind me

Who I'm supposed to be around you

So you will do what I want you to

I'm always winning the wrong game

I don't remember my real name

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The day has finally come, perhaps for real this time, and she is nowhere to be found. As soon as the traveler saw the cloaks on the edge of her horizon, she turned tail and ran.

“Takaraaaa-chaaaaan?” the saccharine call sing-songs. The others haven’t caught on yet, more wrapped up in the zombies’ arrival than they are the sound of the back door knocking shut. “Oh?”

A hand grabs the end of a green scarf as he passes a thick bramble of berries, the woman’s knees to her chest. He almost walked past. Maybe she should have let him. Her gut said no.

If someone can save her, it’s him.

“Takara-chan!” Tobi has repeated her name over and over and over again, and each time before she has at least shifted expression, gifted her recognition of his excitement. Now, however, almost like his disguise, her face doesn’t change at all, not even as he lowers himself to her level, holding his knees and getting right in her space. “Takara-chan, you gotta come back with me! Hidan and Kakuzu just came to see you!”

Hollow eyes, unblinking, stare up at him. How interesting. He cocks his head.

“Aren’t...you...excited?” After all, she was when the woman assumed Tobi was her old friends. Those eyes bore into him, and slowly, lips part. It is only now, perhaps, that it is clear that she is so tense she is afraid to move.

“Aren’t you tired?”

A question returned from the depths of her soul. The concealment of his tilts the other direction. “Huh?” But he heard what she said, and she knows it. Tobi is, after all, a caricature of herself.

“I’m afraid,” she explains, under her breath. It sounds calm but it is merely frozen. “That I’m losing myself.”

Tobi says nothing. The black hole gapes at her. She repeats herself, if only for emphasis:

“Aren’t you tired? Aren’t you tired of performing?”

…

…

…

An accusation of this caliber warrants a response. He must speak back.

“...I don’t know what you mean, Takara-chan,” he lies in a calculated cadence.

But the performer understands how hard it is to just stop, so she talks under a correct assumption: that he knows very well. “I can’t always tell what face I’m wearing, you know?” A confession, deeper and uglier than any love she could deserve. “How I’m supposed to act.”

Her words tumble one after the other, invisible masks slipping through palms she raises, staring so intensely at. If she stares at them hard enough, will her hands bleed? Will they show the real face they’re hiding from her?

“Who likes what. Who hates who. If-...if I take time to think, people get mad,” she confesses her greatest weakness. It is one that has existed long before the Akatsuki, since the moment the curse of consciousness entered her brain and told her she is bad, bad, bad.

“If I respond before thinking, I say the wrong thing, and people still get mad!” There are going to be so many balls to juggle now, one person to throw up in the air just to catch another. The more people there are, the less time she has to think. The less time she has to think, the more she will fuck up. If you miss one ball, the others will fall.

From one clown to another, how do you do it?

Existing is exhausting, especially when stakes are so high. Her head throws up to look at him, eyes nearly blinded with gobs of tears. They still do not blink, as if they deserve to sting.

“And it’s just so goddamn PATHETIC that I can’t figure out which one to wear for you!”

She’s not a liar, no. Just a people pleaser. That’s most certainly a worse thing to be. She needs advice and she needs it NOW.

“Everyone is so different...and they’re all counting on me to be happy. For me to keep the peace. Tobi...I…” As her throat chokes, she tries to gesture much like he does, much like Tobi needs to when he can’t express with his face. Her arms fling like the fool is trying to guide him into her heart. Help me. Help me. “How can I manage all that?!”

A desperate plea has no easy answer. Slowly, the man drops from his kneel until he joins her on the dirty forest floor. So curious he has been about the newcomer, about her spell. Each prod, each step in this dance, they’ve both just been circling around each other, trying to find the right pace, the right words, the right time. Are they waiting for the other to stumble in this ballet, or has he been enjoying a worthy partner? Who is she…? How did she get here, how can she bring the worst of men under her thumb? She claims she has failed to allude him, and yet, perhaps, the woman is more of a master of the masquerade than he.

If she can lie to herself so well, too.

He should have known all along. He should have recognized the traits he sees in himself. Perhaps it does not matter how on purpose her charm is. In the end, she is just a lost stranger with a bleeding heart, and others around her are starved of love. That’s a lot of responsibility for one girl, regardless of how keenly aware she is of the precarious sword she balances across the tip of. Maybe even more so.

It’s harder to keep going forward if someone tells you don’t look down.

“I don’t know,” he whispers, so quietly as to not betray his real voice. “I’m sorry.”

The masked man wants to speak stronger, so painfully much about a chord struck so loudly that it echoes in his empty soul, but his words must be reserved. If he does it now, they will arrive deep and hollow, and it is not yet the time for him to change his face for her. Perhaps in time, but not now. Even if there is knowledge his is fake, the other performer in their theater of two does not know what is real.

So only in secret, behind the swirl, is he actually another human being, reaching his hand for hers to take.

She doesn’t know the partner in her duet. Not at all. But she knows who he wants her to think he is, and that’s so much they already have in common, so much that can be relied upon.

An audience can only suspend their belief for so long; she cannot hide here forever. The situation will still exist, the dynamics will still need appeasing, failure and success alike will always come, hand in hand. Their fingers interlock as two neighbor kids end playtime, their secret real lives, going back home to names that are not their own. The prince can pretend he rescued the princess, twigs still stuck in their hair to prove it.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Sometimes, I think all I'm ever doing is

Trying to convince myself I'm alive

Sometimes, I think all I'm ever doing is

Trying to convince myself I'm alive

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

[meggiejolly]

For the ship kiss ask: Willex - 19

Thank you for your prompt, I'm sorry for taking so long, my week was pretty busy. Here is my take on the prompt, I hope you enjoy reading it:

A few months after their fateful Orpheum performance Julie and the Phantoms had scheduled their first actual paid gig. They were the main event, not opening for another band and it wasn't and open mic. They had actually been hired, not as a last minute desperate replacement, but deliberately. There were flyers and posters. It had been announced on the club's website and social media and of course Flynn had posted about it on their own social media multiple times as well. Not that Alex really understood all of that, he mostly didn't care and just nodded along enthusiastically whenever Flynn and Julie got excited about how many likes they got or who shared their posts in a story or something. 

It didn't matter, this was their first real gig as Julie and the Phantoms, it was starting in ten minutes and Alex was a mess. There hadn't been time for stage fright before their Orpheum performance with all the zapping and the being captured by Caleb and it felt like he was getting double the dose this time. Also, this time it wasn’t live or death, so to speak. Oddly, that made him even more nervous. 

Alex was pacing up and down the alley behind the club, unable to go back inside and wait in the green room with Julie, Luke and Reggie. He checked his watch anxiously, he would have to go in soon, if he wanted to go on stage with the others and not be pulled in by Julie's… whatever it was that made them appear when she sang. 

Maybe one mare round of pacing would calm him down. Or practicing the trick where he twirled his drumsticks in the air and caught them just in time for his solo. — Of course he dropped them and just as he was bending down to pick them up, he heard the distinct woosh of a ghost appearing. 

"Sorry, I'll be right in, give me just another min…" he mumbled, expecting it to be Luke or Reggie, but when he looked up, it was Willie. "Oh, it's you. I didn't know you would come."

Willie grinned at him in the calming way he did. "Of course I came. You invited me, didn't you. And I haven't gotten the chance to hear you play yet." 

Alex nervously pushed his hair back behind his ear. "Thank you, but maybe don't expect too much from me this time. I haven't been this nervous before a gig since the early 90s. Do you think it's possible of a ghost to get injured by their should bounded object? Because with my luck I'll manage to poke myself in the eye with a drumstick when attempting to throw them."

He was rambling, he knew that, but at least he wasn’t pacing. 

Willie softly put his hand on his shoulder. 

“You’ll be great. You guys are amazing and bursting with talent.” 

“You haven’t heard us play yet.” 

“You rocked the Orpheum, obviously your guys are good. And Caleb is a terrible person, but he knows his music and would never let anyone play at his club who wasn’t good.”

Alex couldn’t help but laugh at that. 

“Interesting point you make there.” 

He took a deep breath and focused on Willie’s hand on his shoulder. 

“Ok, I think I’m ready to go in. Thanks Willie.”

Willie smiled widely. “Anytime Hotdog. And just in case…,” he leaned forward to press a kiss to Alex lips.

“For luck,” he explained before poofing out and leaving Alex speechless and thoroughly distracted from his stage fright. 

You can find it on AO3.

[q-gorgeous]

Why Am I Here

fanfiction

ao3

word count: 1150

Fright Knight has been around much longer than other ghosts. He has seen a lot. And yet this seems to be the most ridiculous thing he's been a part of. @briarlovesu​

ridiculous utterly ridiculous

Fright Knight looked around him as he stood inside the throne room of the king’s castle.

“Why am I here?” 

Phil stopped putting up the streamers he held in his hand as he turned to face Fright Knight. Fright Knight didn’t know he was also a party planner. 

“I already told you, it’s Phantom’s eighteenth birthday today. We are throwing him a party.”

Fright Knight frowned at him. “I heard that part. But why am I here? I’m not particularly close with our king.”

“We are asking all his subjects to attend. We are making it into a royal ball of sorts, albeit a less serious one. Phantom has also never had a big birthday party before and the ghosts that frequent Amity Park seemed very keen on throwing him one.”

“This is ridiculous.” Fright Knight closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. 

“Here.” Phil handed him a stack of posters. “Hang these up.”

Fright Knight stared down at the face. Its eyes mocked him. 

“Why are we hanging up these pictures of Phantom?” 

“It’s an inside joke between him and his friends. Stop asking questions and help us get ready. We don’t have much time left before he gets off of school.”

Fright Knight grumbled as he walked away with the stack of papers. There were all sorts of ghosts here helping set up for the party. But this was something that was beneath him. He’d been a ghost for much longer than any of them here right now. He has seen a lot, but this? This had to take the cake for ridiculousness. 

See! Right there! That cake was huge! Why did they need a cake that big? 

Nevertheless, Fright Knight went about putting posters up. He himself had been around for a long time, but so had Phil. Phil was no ghost to trifle with, no matter how ridiculous he also was. What kind of ghost needed infinite pockets? He heard that there was still an Observant lost in there, that Phil could never find him. Fright Knight shuddered. No, he didn’t want to get on Phil’s bad side. 

He hung up the last poster and he could hear Phil clap his hands together. 

“I believe we’re done! Now we just have to shut off all the lights and wait for him to arrive.”

Fright Knight furrowed his eyebrows. “Wait, does he not know we’re doing this?”

Phil waved him off. “It’ll be fine. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go get his friends so they’re here when we surprise him.” He disappeared into thin air. 

Fright Knight stood around while he waited for Phil to come back. The rest of the ghosts were hanging out together as they put on the finishing touches for the decorations and food. Fright Knight was about to join them when Phil reappeared by his side with four other people.

“Phil!” Fright Knight clutched his chest. 

“Sorry, Fright Knight.”

Phantom’s friends all groaned. One clutched his stomach and sank to the ground. They all looked sort of nauseous. 

“I wanted to throw a surprise party for Danny but is it even worth it anymore?” A boy in a beret whined. “I feel so sick.”

“Suck it up- you nerds.” The tall blonde one said as he gagged, also very clearly trying not to throw up. 

“When is Danny supposed to get here again?” Said the gothic looking girl. Fright Knight liked her style. 

“I think he-” The red haired one started but she got cut off.

“He’s coming! We can see him flying through the zone!” 

The lights in the throne room dimmed and everyone got into position. No one told him where he was supposed to stand so he just went invisible where he was standing in the middle of the room. 

Phantom finally flew into the throne room, landing on the floor.

“Phil? Are you here? What time is that meeting at? And why’s it so dark in here?”

“Surprise!” Everyone leapt out from their hiding places, Fright Knight just turned visible again, and the lights came back on. 

Phantom jumped, startled. “Ah!” 

An ectoblast flew from Phantom’s hand and hit his friend who wore the beret in the stomach. It knocked him down on his back and he groaned.

“Why is it always me? I didn’t even go in for a high five that time!” 

“Tucker?” Phantom took a moment to look around then. He took in the decorations and the cake and all of the people who were gathered in the throne room. “Wait, did you guys throw me a birthday party?” 

“You betcha!” Phantom’s blonde haired friend walked up to him. “Phil here is an expert party planner!” 

Phantom looked at Phil. “How did he keep track of the notes and dates for this? He’s always losing everything.”

“I used the whiteboard that you hung up in my room, your majesty.”

“I knew that would come in handy!” Phantom cheered. 

The other ghosts that frequented Amity Park walked up to Phantom and his friends.

“You guys are here too?” 

“We wanted to do something special for you, babypop!” Ember smiled at Phantom.

“Aw!” Phantom smiled at Ember. 

“We heard about how you’ve never had a big birthday party and we thought that was sad and so here we are to rectify it.” 

“Aw.” Phantom’s smile turned into a frown. 

“But we also haven’t gotten to hang out with you in awhile. Since you banned ghost attacks in Amity Park and all, we can’t just go and have a friendly battle and hang out.”

“Yeah. ‘Friendly battle’.” Phantom air quoted. “But I appreciate the sentiment.” 

Phantom then took his time to go talk to each of the ghosts that had helped put the party together. Eventually he made his way to where Fright Knight stood alone in the middle of the throne room. 

“Hi, Fright Knight. Were you also super excited to throw me a birthday party like the rest of the weirdos here?”

“No. I was forced to participate.” 

Phantom looked appalled. “Why are you here if you didn’t want to be?”

Fright Knight shrugged. “Phil made me. I didn’t want to risk getting lost in his pockets like that Observant did a couple years ago.”

Phantom sighed. “Well even if you were forced to be here, I appreciate you coming. You can go if you want.”

Fright Knight nodded. “I will grab a slice of cake and be on my way.”

Once Fright Knight got his cake, he flew out and away from the castle. Such a ridiculous thing, celebrating birthdays. Most of those people there were dead! Why did they care when Phantom was born?

It must be a young ghost thing. He didn’t even remember when his birthday nor his death day was. 

But maybe birthdays could be nice. He did get this slice of cake after all.

[redrobin-detective]

Ok, I’ve tried and tried and tried to write this fic because I see it so clearly in my mind but it’s just not going no matter what I do. But I don’t want the idea to die with me. The closest this came to being written was exile which was an attempt to bleed out some of the energy of this au.

Anyway, so it starts off vaguely similar to canon only more aggressive. There had been underlying tension between ghosts and humans for a while, the dead jealous/angry at the living for disrespecting them. The successful creation of the Fenton ghost portal (and another halfa) was considered an act of war and so the ghosts responded in kind. So basically all of S1 occurs fairly close to canon except ghost attacks are more violent and have increasingly more consequences as time passes. Also the attacks aren’t just in Amity Park with ghosts becoming a worldwide issue but Amity is a focal point. Regular people know the ghosts hate them though they don’t know why. Phantom is very much a controversial figure as he is a ghost but also clearly is fighting off the more violent ghosts. 

One day, not long after the events of Control Freaks, Amity Park wakes up to find three of their own are gone. Danny Fenton, Sam Manson and Tucker Foley are nowhere to be found. There’s a massive manhunt, the parents go on TV and beg for information but they cannot be found. Curiously enough, town hero Phantom was also missing. There’s some evidence they left of their own volition so the Mansons and Foleys eventually relent that the kids fled on their own. The Fentons are 100% certain the kids were stolen/killed by ghosts as a statement. And the fact that Phantom went missing around the same time means he was the one who killed them. Jazz knows Danny was Phantom but had no idea what was going on and knew her parents wouldn’t listen she just, kept quiet and privately tried to piece together what happened. 

Three years pass and finally it looks like the Ecto War is coming to a close. Young, naive ghosts attempted to raise Pariah Dark in a bid to win. It went disastrously but Phantom (who was periodically spotted around the world, deep in the worst battles of the war) and group of loyal allies subdued the king. By the law of ghosts, Phantom was named heir apparent and he declared that the fighting would stop. Humans and ghosts would have to negotiate and co-exist in peace. But he’s not king yet, no he needs to be crowned at the place where it began, Amity Park’s Fenton portal (”where it all began” has a double meaning of the beginning of the war but also symbolically where Phantom began as Kings assume the crown where their living life ended to show their abandonment of their first life and the commitment to their second). Amity is NOT happy to hear that their former hero is coming home.

Amity has been through the wringer, ghost attacks got pretty bad. The Fenton’s throw themselves into their work to cancel out the grief, they create a group of ghost hunters nicknamed the Reds (for their red blood, ghosts are nicknamed Greens) to control the threat. Valerie heads the young adult division and is considered one of the best, she drops out of school to devote herself to it full time. Oh also her dad is now the Mayor as most have died or didn’t want the job. There are still people who like Phantom and see him as a hero (a lot of Casper Kids) but it’s generally an unpopular opinion in town. Maddie and Jack are ready to obliterate the ghost that took their son’s life the moment he’s within city limits. It’s a powder keg ready to blow. It all comes to a head when Phantom and his entourage arrive.

First off, Phantom looks very different, much less human looking than when he left. He’s clearly aged like a normal teen but his eyes look much, much older.  His skin is dead white with a blue tinge to it from his ice core and his aura is super cold. His hair is longer and is very misty that kind of swirls around him and his has fangs and claws. When he’s deep in battle or his obsession, his sclera turn black and he looks scary af. His entourage is ghosts who have sworn loyalty to him, who he picked up along the way after battling beside them for 3 years. Fright Knight, Skulker and Frostbite are recognizable allies. They are not happy that their future King is back in Amity (secretly fearing they’ll lose him once more to his human life). J&M have a shot and are going for the kill when they see something that shocks them; Sam and Tucker are in Phantom’s entourage.

There had been whispers that Phantom interacted with humans, that humans were in his inner circle but this is something else together. And so are Sam and Tucker. Sam is Phantom’s General, she is talented and collected and half feral. She used to be a pacifist but the trials of war and understanding that peace sometimes needs to be fought for made her compromise. She’s covered in scars and an extremely talented fighter. She’s missing her right hand up to her forearm, she can form a ‘phantom limb’ (basically borrowing ectoplasm from her future ghost) to do some things with some powers. Tucker is the support, he uses human and ghost tech to organize, weaponize and generally keep things running. He’s covered in homemade tech (shields and weapons and computers) and he rarely removes. Both he and Sam have kinda forgotten how to interact with and really BE human after so long among the dead. They had attempted to conceal themselves but they had forgotten how strong parental love and recognition is. J&M want to know about Danny, the teens don’t know how to respond but assure them he’s alive. Phantom can’t bring himself to look at them.

This is where I start to lose track of things but there will be parallels of Valerie/Maddie vs Sam as female warriors on opposite sides who are willing to go behind, possibly compromising the things important to them, for victory. Tucker will be contrasted against Jack/Jazz as the one making weapons but also generally keeping the human parts of the team mentally/physically afloat. *Severe* PTSD for all three of them. They’re also unnaturally codependent on each other, get super anxious when one of the trio is out of sight and sleep in a big cuddle pile. They will fucking Kill You if you look at one of them wrong. Vlad will be involved, he had been jailed for war crimes but convinced Walker to stage a coup to overthrow Danny and take the crown before he’s actually declared King and is too powerful. Vlad is more unhinged here, more ghost than human (a hint on what could happen to Danny if he’s not careful). He is eventually defeated but he sacrifices his life for ghost power which, in the end, is what makes him able to be beaten.

 There’s lots of ideas on what it means to be live or dead and where the divide really is, is it a heartbeat or it is how you choose to use your existence. On how duty shouldn’t mean you need to give up everything. Because Jack and Maddie believe that Phantom killed their son and, in a way, they’re right. Before they left, the ghost war had gotten so bad and the rumors of Dark being resurrected were going around. Amity attacks were at an all time high, people in their school were being killed just because Danny went there. He realized he had to choose between Fenton or Phantom and he chose to protect the world. He abandoned his human identity and went off to fight in war. Tried to convince Sam and Tucker to stay but they followed him through hell and back. Because Danny spends so much time as Phantom, Fenton is severely neglected. His long hair is cool and floaty as Phantom but is unkempt and stringy, hanging in his face as Fenton. He’s wan and underweight and looks like a walking corpse. He knows his human half will give out soon if he doesn’t give it more attention but he just can’t there’s too much to do, too many people to save.

It would end with Danny being outed to the town, not the world, just the town. Jack and Maddie need to recon with the fact that their boy DID leave of his own choice but only because their failure to protect him (from both the portal and ghosts) made him feel he had to take all this responsibility on his shoulders. Danny also has to recognize that he (and Sam/Tuck) can’t do all this on their own and they can trust and rely on the people around him. Phantom is crowned King but he decides Amity will be his base. The trio eat more, sleep some, catches up on school all the while continuing their duties as King and court. The ghosts also see that Phantom’s humanity isn’t a weakness but a strength and will bring peace to the Earth/Zone so they also take some of the burdens off his shoulder. 

Basically I load up heavily with angst at the beginning and end with all the love and comfort imaginable. I just can’t fucking figure out the middle and my motivation will not let me write this shit out. But I can’t let this AU die bc it fucking keeps me up at night.

[person8789]

Adventures through Twisted Wonderland-

The Phantom Bride: Love at First Fright

Part 3/15

Previous, Next

Spoilers!

Click pics for better quality

[insert intro here]

Lmao Leona ready to throw hands

You hear that? Riddle? Epel?

I’ll check back in later to make sure you guys heard that :)

And I was about to ask “if there’s a young Sam does that mean there’s an old Sam?”

Apparently yes, yes there is.

…hot… goss….?

Actually, never mind that isn’t what I wanted to bring up.

I find people’s reactions to Lilia talking about how old he is absolutely hilarious. They’re always confused and like “you say some strange things sometimes Lilia” but never further question why he says things like this it’s so funny.

Damn now that’s some next level shade. Wow. Ok.

Which Yuu should I be today lmao?

Fr though another thing I find funny is the fact that like half the time Yuu is a good person and like morally correct but then the other half of the time they are throwing mega amounts of shade. And I love the fact that this is when those two sides of Yuu decide to collide.

Leave it to Rook to be problematic about it lmao 🚩

You… don’t need to look so happy about that lmao

Oh dear god.

Ascending now, peace until the next part✌️

[werezmastarbucks]

boston

honeymoon masterlist

word count: 2538

music: savage streets by perturbator, you’ll only be safe with me by tuff turf, dark all day by gunship

You stood on one knee, feeling Kai’s fingers under your belt as he held you. You shoved out of the window half way, and yelled,

“I’m good!”

He pushed the gas pedal into the floor, and the car roared angrily, tearing through the night mist.

The black shadows surrounded you, floating out of the metal and brick twilight of the street so suddenly fear shot through you like lightning. You held up your shotgun and aimed, trying to balance with your hip on the frame of the window. Falling out of the window would mean imminent death: zombies were everywhere. They were waiting on the corners, in the windows of the buildings, hiding in the shade, behind the smelly dumpsters and in the middle of the road. As the city lights died out, and the car raced deeper into the district, golden and silver changed into cold blue and electric, the colors of docks and warehouses.

“I got them!”

“Shoot!” Kai yelled.

You exhaled and did not inhale, because the best snipers don’t breathe when shooting. As the monster truck passed by the cluster of black silhouettes, you fired three rounds into them, scaring the gathering and hitting one of them. Then you fell back into your seat and pulled your hair away from your face. It will be a bitch to try and brush after. The car drove out into the narrow quay where black water lay like glistening dirty skin, and Kai’s face was yellow in the passing bleak lights.

“What the hell is that?” he asked, poiting at the figure on the roof on the left. He slowed down a little, and you looked back to make sure nobody’s following you. You set the shotgun on your right.

“It’s Jeepers Creepers”.

“Wha... Y/N. What is Jeepers fucking Creepers doing at our zombie apocalypse?”

“I don’t know, Kai”, you snarled, “maybe he launched it. How am I supposed to know?”

“You’re driving me crazy”.

“I am afraid of Jeepers Creepers, okay? He’s gonna be the final boss”.

“I’m gonna tear his balls off”, Kai mumbled.

“He’ll take yours. That’s what he does”, you reminded him.

Kai snored.

“Get up. There’s more. They must have circled the parking lot. Look”.

Right in the middle of the road, where yellow fog was floating in the air like phantom veil, and the asphalt glistened, sweaty after 10PM rain, the black shadows barricaded the road. Kai stopped the car, and the low grumble slowly faded into the quiet, monotnous howl of the city. Somewhere, trains were moving to and fro on the rails, colliding with each other, creating noise. The factories were working, sending black smoke into the opaque sky, clogged by unwilling cigarrette clouds. The river itself, it seemed, hummed something very low, like a deadly lullaby. This world was a hostile and lonesome place. The only warm thing in here was Kai’s body sitting next to you, radiating humanity. You jerked your shotgun. You knew he was seeing exactly the same thing as you did - a bunch of zombies swaying slowly in your direction. He turned up the music a little.

“Ready?”

“Yeah”.

“Aim better or else we’re gonna drive in circles all night”.

“Don’t tell me how to kill zombies, Kai”.

He mimicked you, starting the car.

Next night, it was his turn, and you did the same thing, racing through the night city, crashing into cardbox fortresses and blowing up the glass forts, shooting the heads off the zombies, until you both have had enough of that zombie apocalypse world. It has been some time until you got tired.

(To get into the right mood, you have occupied the Columbus Movie Theatre for like a week, rewatching zombie movies. Turned out, you can’t just walk into a movie theatre and find all the zombie films piled up neatly in the movie room - or whatever it’s called. You have argued about them again and again, Kai insisting on Evil Dead being immortal classic, but the Day of the Dead was his all-time favorite. You nearly got into a fistfight with him over the Return of the Living Dead.

“Of course”, he puffed and laughed out, condescending as hell.

“What’s that laugh?!” you demanded. Kai shrugged.

“It’s such a girly thing. Return of the Living Dead. The third part is also your favorite, isn’t it?”

And he gave you the nastiest look. You narrowed your eyes.

“You bigot. You absolute fuckface. The first one is my favorite”.

He was enjoying himself too much, obviously agitated by the topic, not entirely there.

“Okay, okay”.

“But for the record, yes, I do think that the third part is the best love story I’ve ever seen on screen. It’s incredible”.

Kai nodded, the smile never leaving his face.

“She managed to fight off her cannibalistic instinct not to hurt the person she loved. She tore herself with needles and hooks to fight the urge to kill him and actually managed to keep him safe although she was literally a flesh eating zombie. How cool is that?”

Kai sighed and looked you in the eye.

“Very cool’, he said, with the tone that screamed ‘you’re silly and I adore you’.

“What other movies came out this year?”

“Not many, it’s only May”, he replied, digging deep into the box with films.

“Is Dream Lover out yet?”

“Yep”.

“We should watch it”.

“Later”, Kai said, throwing a film across the room and allowing it to crash into pieces. You hoped to hell it wasn’t Dream Lover.

“And Freddie Krueger?”

“No, not yet”.

“Damn it”, you looked over his shoulder.

“No Freddie Krueger!” he announced, “that’s it, she draws the line at Freddie. We’re leaving now”.

You laughed.

In the dark movie room, you could choose any row, any seats. You nested against each other, honoring the sacred cinema theatre tradition to gently touch in the twilight. While the action unfolded on screen, you had to shove popcorn into Kai’s mouth because it was the only way you could make him stop talking. When you ran out of popcorn, you had to shut him up with your mouth. It was a great week.)

You looked around the street and then, at Kai. How lucky he was, to find himself in this wretched place with someone as willing to play zombies as you were. You should do it more often. Maybe you should act out Mist next, somewhere in Houston.

You pulled your backpack up, and your eyes darted towards the black tower, ominous, insidious without any light, like a gigantic grave stone. Before Parker cut all the electricity, it was the Hancock Tower, now, it was just Tower. And the path to it lay through the dangerous city filled with brain craving monsters, bloodthirsty, dumb and ferocious, and you were running out of bullets. Besides, earlier on, you fell through one of the cardboard box forteresses and bruised your knee so badly, together with your left hand which you landed on. This adventure would be the death of you.

Kai twitched.

“I hear something”, he said, cocking his gun. You stood behind him, one-handed, unable to shoot. You closed your eyes. Lo, if they attack from all directions, you won’t be any help. A wounded companion is worse than an enemy in this world. You wondered if Kai would leave you alone to be eaten and stall them, or whether he’d shoot you in the head first, to spare you.

He walked on a little, entering a small square, and the black outlines of hairless, clotheless humans frightened you like you weren’t the one who had put them there ten hours earlier. They spooked you every time.

Kai shot three times, hitting each mannequin with one bullet.

“On the roof!” you pointed, turning back. You bowed as he threw up his shotgun, and fired. Heavy plastic body hopped and rolled down, falling on the ground. Kai could see in the dark so well you had to remind yourself he was human. Sometimes you would forget that fact completely. He was so different from everybody else.

He led you towards the tower where you stabbed one of the zombies in the throat. He was good at shooting, but you were very gifted with stabbing. You never missed.

“God damn”, Kai panted, as the mannequin swayed and collapsed on the asphalt just next to the glass door he was holding for you, “you saved my life”.

He took you in the movie gesture, pulling you into a long kiss. Your wrist started swelling and you had to take off your electronic watch temporarily. In the bleak room, it shone with green thin neon light from the bedside table while you had sex on the matrass.

In the middle of the night something fell off the roof, and scared the hell out of you - for real this time. You did not put anything on the top of the Tower since it was your fort. In the morning you came up on the top, while Kai went down and examined the object. Turned out, on the tenth of May, 1994, one single bag filled with files and staplers fell off the roof of the Hancock Tower. There was no way of knowing why.

“Wake up”.

You opened your eyes and rubbed your neck, aching from sleeping on the single mattrass on the floor. You looked out of the window. It has just stopped raining, which meant it was already close to midnight. In the dystopian Boston, you have switched to night regime of living completely because in the daylight, mannequins randomly standing in the streets looked simply stupid.

“The Titans”, he said. Kai’s face was so close to yours, you could feel the words on your skin. His eyes shone nervously.

“What Titans? It’s zombie apocalypse, Kai”.

He frowned.

“And what was Jeepers Creepers doing there then?”

“Oh my god”, you groaned, “let go of it already! You killed him like a week ago”.

“Come on, see for yourself”, he pulled you up, and you walked to the window, and gasped, instantly feeling for Kai’s hand. It couldn’t be happening.

That’s it! This madness finally drove you... mad.

There was an actual silhouette, the one you didn’t put there, and possibly couldn’t. The one that could not be put there for the life of you. The one of proportions too great for anyone to put it in the middle of the city, one foot on the right side of the river, and the other, on the left.

“What the fuck!” you yelled, your fright real as ever. Kai grinned happily, but then his face changed back to the philosophical expression of impending doom.

“This is it, Y/N. The zombies... and that dude... were just omens, but that’s it. The sky people have come to destroy us. It’s the end“.

“Seriously, Kai, how did you put it up... there?”

The sky was blackish-bordeaux, like usual. The river was seen just fine from here, from the top floor of the Tower. You had a pretty good look on the gloomy city and all its post-war industrial charm. The figure was so big it stood almost above the Tower itself; he reminded you of the Colossus of Rhodos, the Bronze Man, or one of the mythical golden gods of ancient times. You could actually feel your heart trying to break the hell out of your ribcage in a desperate attempt to kill itself. You couldn’t breathe for a second, mortified by the size of that thing. It was one of the deepest nightmares of your childhood, one of the visions haunting you from when you were little and kept dreaming about the end of the world.

You told Kai about those, and he now used them against you, but you appreciated the performance. It was all almost like art. It was horrifying and great, but you hated it.

“He came down from the clouds”, Kai said quietly, like a dispassionate narrator. Who already knows what’s coming, and doesn’t give a shit, because he’s already dead.

“To press the earth into the core of the planet, and make all life perish. He shall walk the land... waging his wrath on all that breathes. Including you and me”.

You made an effort to turn away, mesmerized by the statue, and looked at Kai.

“How much magic have you wasted on it?”

“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t break the character, it takes me a lot of concentration”.

“Sorry”, you whispered.

“How do you feel about facing the end of the world with me?” he asked.

It was a damn good question. Parker really did ask all the right questions. After all the time in post-apocalyptic Boston, surrounded by enemy, living in a dark den and barely seeing the sun, it was very easy to actually sense the end coming. You clutched your own elbows, thinking. Strangely, you weren’t scared anymore.

A part of his face was in the shadow. He blinked the way you’ve only ever seen Kai blink, just a little, as if he didn’t want to lose visual even for a split second.

“I’m okay with it. I have lived a fine life, in my totalitarian city, guarded by robots and...”

“...zombies...”

“Hunted down by Harrison Ford...”

“You just jumble together all the movies, it’s actually insane, stop it”.

“But now as Cthulhu has sent its warriors...” (Kai rolled his eyes), “I’m ready to go”.

A lonely honk of a train cut through the distance making you feel melancholic. The trains were just crawling there day and night, filling the air with their lonesome cries occasionally. It would make any reasonable person go crazy, too.

“What will be the last thing you do before you die?” he whispered, his nose almost touching yours. You gave in, hot slow lava crawling up your body. You took Kai’s waist, trying to feel his ribs through three layers of clothing.

“You”.

He probably wore three or four shirts just to see you go nuts as you tried to undress him every time. His street jacket goes, then, a pullover, then a shirt, then another shirt, and you groan with anger as he chuckles at you, his hands snaking under your clothes at once. Your skin went shivering, covered with goose bumps under his fingers, like by magic.

As he pushed you against the wall, the gigantic Titan started melting above the river, looming shadow stepping away from the city, which was flattering. Kai’s whole mind was directed at you now.

You thought about how one loves at the brink of extinction; is it passionate, like when Kai grabbed your shoulder, your hair, pounding you into the floor, or is it gentle and thoughtful, like when you only moved your hips slowly, pressed against each other like two halves of Oreo, or is it impatient, breathless and vile, like when he was fucking you against the wall, talking all the way through your whimpering?

It took the end of the world for you to end up on his dick.

[thephantomessoftheopera]

Notes on Gaston Leroux‘s „The Phantom of the Opera“ - Chapter 8: “In Which Firmin Richard and Armand Moncharmin Dare to Have “Faust” Performed in a “Cursed” Opera House, and We See the Frightful Consequences”

<< Previous Chapter Quite a few elements from this chapter have found their way into ALW’s musical version of the story - the „far too many“ notes from “O.G.”, Carlotta the croaking toad and last but not least, the famous chandelier crash.

On Saturday morning, Moncharmin and Richard receive another of „O.G.‘s“ famous notes (“Are we at war, then?”), in which he sets forth an ultimatum - they will have a „cursed“ performance that night if they do not comply with the following conditions: 1. Box 5 must remain empty, 2. Christine Daaé must be given the leading role in „Faust“ instead of Carlotta, 3. Madame Giry must be reinstated, 4. They must agree to the payment of the monthly salary of 20,000 francs.

Considering the terms that Erik states, only one is dedicated to advancing Christine‘s career - the rest serve to reinstate the necessary infrastructure for his „haunting“: he needs access to Box 5 to be able to communicate with Madame Giry, he needs a trusted ally - and of course, money (to buy stuff for Christine, presumably). He also feels compelled to assert his power since the managers have decided to challenge him. He does not randomly create chaos or terrorize the Opera house just for the sake of it - everything he does serves a necessary purpose from his point of view. Considering the time (”several months”) that he has been haunting the Opera House, Erik likely started the whole opera ghost business only because he fell in love with Christine.

The Phantom‘s note has just prompted another angry outburst from Richard when the stable-head Lachenal enters and tells them that one of the opera’s horses - César, the horse that is habitually used in „Le Prophète“ - was stolen. The stablemen are suspected of the theft, but when Lachenal reports that he saw a black shadow vanishing on a white horse at great speed into the underground, everyone concludes that it must have been the „ghost“. Leroux’s sense of humour really shines through in the chapters dedicated to the managers and their dealings with the Opera Ghost. In this case, the managers seem to be completely unaware that the Opera House even has stables, let alone horses - showing that they are more or less amateurs at running it. And the Opera Ghost is apparently not afraid of making bold moves. But what does a ghost need a horse for? We will see later on that this act also serves a distinct purpose and goal.

Madame Giry comes in, as she has also received a note from the ghost telling her to call at the managers‘ office. Richard is about to explode with fury and literally throws her out of the office, refusing to comply with the ghost‘s demands. When she realizes what has happened, she throws quite a fit and has to be dragged out of the opera house. She is replaced by Richard’s own concierge, who will be in the audience at the opera for the first time during that night’s performance of “Faust”.

Carlotta also receives a note from the ghost in the morning post, warning her not to sing that night, or else a „misfortune worse than death“ will happen to her. She, seeing herself as the victim of some conspiracy, is also willing to defy him and ignore his threats. We also learn that it is actually her who has been slandering and bullying poor Christine in the meantime and using her friends to make sure she won’t be able to repeat her triumph from the gala night. Christine, on the other hand, has few friends apart from Philippe de Chagny - who has been lobbying in her favour simply to please his brother, Raoul - and the opera ghost, of course. Carlotta calls upon all her numerous friends and acquaintances to support her performance that night, telling them that Christine Daaé is conspiring against her. Erik sends her a final warning in the evening post, but she still won‘t be deterred, having secured everyone‘s support previously.

This chapter also gives us a short background on Carlotta, the Spanish diva. She is described as having a perfect voice fit for a wide repertoire, but neither heart nor soul. She is a selfish, wicked and scheming bully, ready to defend her hard-won position as the reigning diva at all costs. She comes from a lowly background, having danced in „disreputable taverns“ in Barcelona, and later in dingy music halls in Paris, working her way up by way of her many lovers.

As no one heeds the ghost‘s threats, that night‘s performance goes ahead as planned. Carlotta sings the role of Marguerite opposite Carolus Fonta in the role of Faust. Christine sings her customary role of Siebel, the young man who is also in love with Marguerite. Despite Siebel being a male character, the role is written for a soprano voice and therefore habitually sung by a woman. ALW turned this into the “page-boy” in “Il Muto”, with the addition of the page-boy being silent, while Siebel is not, although he gets very little stage time.

The first and second act pass without incidents. During the interval, the managers leave the box to find out more about Christine‘s supposed conspiracy. When they return, a tin of boiled sweets and a pair of opera glasses have been mysteriously left there, and they also feel a kind of draught around them.

During the third act, Christine is singing Siebel’s flower aria (“Faites-lui mes aveux” - watch it here) when she notices Raoul in the audience and starts to falter, her voice becoming less clear and confident. Raoul, in turn, is also crying, which greatly embarrasses Philippe and also turns him against Christine because he doesn’t know what kind of games she is playing with his brother. At this point, Christine thinks that there is no future for Raoul and her for various reasons, and she also fears for his safety. Philippe was worried about Raoul‘s precarious state of health following his trip to Perros, and had even asked Christine to meet him, but she had been bold enough to refuse. Christine had also sent Raoul a letter, asking him never to come to her dressing-room again for the sake of both their lives. Supposedly, at this point she still believes the „Voice“ is the Angel of Music, so it is not quite clear in what way she feels their lives are in danger from him.

During the duet between Faust and Marguerite in Act 3, Erik uses his amazing ventriloquist skills to make Carlotta croak like a toad, and the entire audience reacts with horror and dismay to the hellish sounds coming from her mouth. Carlotta cannot believe what is happening at first, and her partner Carolus Fonta is equally confused. Erik‘s idea of a „misfortune worse than death“ is pretty accurate considering Carlotta‘s reaction, but from the point of view of the reader, it is also quite funny especially since we are not meant to empathize with the petty, mean diva too much.

In Box 5, Moncharmin and Richard experience the distinct sensation of the ghost standing right beside them. Leroux later insinuates that Erik is now hiding in the hollow marble pillar beside Box 5. Carlotta resumes her song, but the toad croaks again, and all hell breaks loose in the audience. The managers hear the ghost chuckling, and his bodiless voice says: „Her singing tonight is enough to bring down the chandelier!“ when the chandelier starts slipping downwards and crashes into the audience, causing one death, many injuries and a general panic. The woman who was killed was the concierge brought in to replace Madame Giry, leading to her reinstatement.

The chandelier at the Garnier never really crashed, but there was an actual accident with the Chandelier’s counterweight which happened in 1896 and resulted in a single fatality. Other indications of dates given in the novel suggest though that Leroux does not adhere to this “official” timeline, although it would probably be the most exact indicator of when the story actually happened if it was true. The headline that Leroux quotes - „Two hundred thousand kilos hit concierge“ - is actually based on a real newspaper headline:

Image from @fdelopera​

Within the context of the story, we assume that Erik actively caused the chandelier to fall - which he will later deny when speaking to the Persian. The problem with this assumption is that the chandelier accident actually happened in real life - so unless you assume that Erik is real, too, it is clear that such an accident can indeed happen without someone intentionally making it fall. As such, the case remains finally inconclusive, like many other parts of the novel, and is left for the reader to interpret.

Image from the opening night of the Palais Garnier in 1875 from artlyrique.fr

Next chapter >>

[vampylovesaliens]

Pariah - p1

to the stars

Through the murky skies the Phantom dropped, the slightly-rusty frigate rattling through the thick atmosphere. Payas’drahk was a harsh world, wastelands studded with sulfuric pools and geysers fringed by fungal forests that in turn surrounded the densely-packed cityscape. It was not a pretty world, but it sat just off the edge of a major interstellar commerce route, and therefore provided the Yautja a prime bit of real estate to conduct business and trade with the galactic community they otherwise remained rather detached from.

Glowering through the front windshield, The Ghost flicked a few switches to begin the landing procedure, reaching out to communicate with the control grid below. The intercom crackled--a side effect of the gases in the air--and he reached up to pull on his mask before patching into it, just the sight of the orangish-yellow sky making him very aware of how thick the air, even with the ship’s filtration system, had become around him.

“Identify.” The control officer growled.

“Kh’azu-hlau.” He responded, and he couldn’t help but feel a twinge of amusement at the half-muffled curse on the other end.

“You know you aren’t welcome here, Ghost.”

“Until the Primarchs put out an order for my head, I’m free to resupply and refuel here, Officer.” He stated plainly. “Give me a dock.”

More grumbling, then finally a bitter, “Dock twelve. Do not linger, Ghost.”

“Acknowledged.” He replied, punching in the coordinate before getting up and preparing to disembark while his ship handled the landing process. His gear, sleek but well-armored, stood out starkly black on his pale skin, the ghostly hint of the blood running beneath it glowing through in some spots. Kh’azu-hlau wore his tresses long, bound back in a wild flare behind his sharp-crested skull, the silvery tendrils making his silhouette bristle. Through his visor he watched the cargo bay open as the ship settled heavily, engines humming and popping as they powered down. Even with his mask to filter the air he could taste the bitter sulfur, growling irritably as he strode down the ramp with his rucksack hefted over his shoulder.

Two Yautja stood at the end of the dock, Enforcers making sure he brought no trouble. A redundant sort of measure here on Payas’drahk; Yautja could cause trouble regardless of whether they were under special surveillance or stripped of their weapons. And that wasn’t even considering his own unique capabilities. They stopped him, crossing his path with their spears in unison. “Welcome back to Payas’drahk, Ghost.” One of them spoke, the faint flicker behind the visor of his mask indicating he was running scans on him the whole while. “The Dr’kalla will not be pleased with your return.”

“Last I checked, the Dr’kalla clan were not the prime holders of the hub.” He countered, noting the distinct hum of malcontent hidden behind the Enforcer’s brow that told him he was speaking to one of the Dr’kalla even before he noticed the clan mark engraved on his shoulder-piece. “Am I free to go about my business, or will you be delaying me?”

The guard rumbled, his shoulders squaring as if he were considering throwing the challenge out there, but his partner hissed chidingly, stepping back first and motioning for him to do the same. “Be on your way, Kh’azu-hlau. Your ship will be fueled and ready for you soon.”

Thankfully he faced no further interruption, stalking through the market to make his purchases, the hum of drones that ferried supplies to the docks they were being purchased for and the snarling, hissing bickering of the other Yautja making a steady commotion around him. Everyone gave him a wide berth; the merchants eyeing him warily and speaking in quick, curt tones, unwilling to prolong their transactions. The pale-skinned hunter they called The Ghost, who belonged to no clan and followed no Code, was a frightful presence.

Finally he stood off to the side, his head canted downward as he flicked through the different displays in his visor. Ensuring he’d gotten everything he needed; it would be a great pain if he had to return so soon. He felt the approach before he heard it, the prickle of another’s consciousness that was fixing on him, someone familiar.

“M’tendris.” He spoke, the word purring in his throat as he lifted his head, and there she was, tall and strong and glorious as the last time he’d seen her. Maybe moreso; a new trophy adorned her shoulder, the great fanged skull of one of the sulfur-eating beasts from this world. She clattered, her face hidden by her mask, but her mind spoke more than her face ever could; her happiness to see him, her relief at his safety--but something else too, something...fearful, which did not suit a mighty huntress like her. But before he could question her she pulled him away from the sight of the market, into the murky alley between shops where she could press her brow--despite the clank of their masks--to his and purr her affection loudly as she wove her claws into his pale tresses.

And then he felt it, their closeness allowing him to feel more clearly, to sense beyond the touch of their skin as he lifted his claws to her sides, the muscle flexing smoothly beneath his hands. “Are you--?” He pressed his palm flat to her belly and she chuckled, clicking her amusement as she nodded. “Yes, mei-jehdin.”

Kh’azu-hlau said nothing for a moment, collecting his thoughts. Then, “...Is it mine?”

She let out a chastising growl, one hand freeing from his tresses in order to knock her knuckles firmly against the side of his head. “Hulij-bpe, you idiot. Yes, of course it is.”

He growled in dismay at the knock, before chuckling at her. “It’s a good thing I did not delay my visit, then. Still early; do they know?”

“No.” She sighed, finally releasing him in order to step back, tossing her own long tress, inky black tendrils sliding over her shoulders as she regarded him levelly. “But they will soon. The next time someone thinks to scan me…” She trailed off, then shook her head with a growl. “They will know it’s yours. It could arrive looking nothing like you, and they would know.”

“Such is the price of loving me.” He remarked dryly, unable to help but admire her even in the foul murky light of the alleyway. “...You must come with me, then.”

She sighed tensely. But he knew any protest was simply out of habit. She would protest because she had to; it was not fitting of the Code for her to abandon her clan, her family. To bear a Clanless’ child. But he could see the decision had already been made in her mind, likely well before he’d even arrived. “Come with me.” He repeated anyway. If he insisted, then it was not completely on her shoulders. He could be the villain, the dishonorable Clanless who spirited her away--fitting considering his moniker. But not entirely believable, as she was certainly not one to be easily spirited anywhere if she did not damn well please.

Her things were already packed; it was a small matter to get a drone to transport them to the Phantom for him. More concerning was the Enforcer at the dock who was one of her clan, the Dr’kalla. As they paced across the deck to the waiting Phantom, Kha’zu-hlau reluctantly held himself back, allowing M’tendris to take the lead. The Enforcer’s ire was already apparent, his mind humming with aggravation and unease as he witnessed his clanmate--a cousin no less--approaching in the presence of the infamous Ghost. “M’tendris.” He barked. “What are you doing here?”

“I am leaving. And you will not stop me, To-vekh.” She stated curtly. As tall as she was, she positively towered over him; Kha’zu-hlau had to resist the urge to laugh as he watched the Enforcer in all his specially-relegated armor quailing before her. It was glorious, and he mused to himself that were she not already carrying his child, he’d certainly make sure she was later.

“If you leave, they will strike you from the Dr’kalla. You will be labeled Clanless.” The Enforcer warned, but he and his partner stepped back, making no move to stop the pair as they headed for the ship. M’tendris did not flinch and did not look back, striding aboard the ship and taking a seat behind the cockpit where Kha’zu-hlau took his place as pilot. To be Clanless was lonely, he knew that much. Able to live on the edges of Yautja society without ever being embraced by it, supported by it. But it was less lonely now, together aboard the Phantom as they sailed skyward and left the sour planet behind them.

They coasted through the stars, the ship calm and quiet when they retired to his sleeping quarters--THEIR sleeping quarters now, Kha’zu-hlau reasoned. And as they lay together, her skin a deep tan, streaked with red and white markings, and his such a solid pale white with the ghostly hue of his green blood beneath, he lay his hand across her belly and listened quietly, his mandibles tapping gently across her collar as she breathed steadily in her sleep, strong and fierce and soft for him, only him. The child blossoming in her would never know the comfort of a clan, he knew. It was a bitter truth, for a mutant’s child. Would they hate him, for being what he was? Would they hate M’tendris, their mother, for loving him enough to choose him, when there were so many better prospects, surely. His claws traced old symbols gently over her skin, and he pressed his mandibles to the hollow of her throat, a kiss that even in her sleep she rumbled warmly to. There were too many questions, too many unanswerable things to think of. For now, they would sleep, and tomorrow they would plan. And they would be together.

[mhdiaries]

New Scaremester Invisi Billy Diary

8.1

I am not a ghost, or a spirit, or a phantom. I am invisible. I was at the die-ner today with Scarah just hanging out, having a piece of pie, when Nefera accidentally locked her keys in the car. Nefera came inside, marched over to our booth and asked me to stick my arm through the window of her car and hit the unlock button. I told her I would be happy to if she would just roll it down so I wouldn’t hurt my hand. Then she totally yelled at me and pulled the “Do you know who I am?” card. I tried to be calm and tell her that I wasn’t a ghost and I couldn’t help her the way she needed me to, but that I would be happy to call a tow truck for her, which only made her angrier, “I’m going to have my father buy this place and you’ll never be allowed to eat here again!” Some days it seems like I just can’t be invisible enough.

8.3

I got to go to the set with dad today. He’s been working on this big action film that’s all about who will be the next king to sit on this throne made of bones. There are lots of frights in shining armor and castles and battles and stuff. It’s pretty clawsome! Today he was doing a special effect for his big scene where one of the heroes throws a dagger and cuts a rope that drops a drawbridge so the good frights can come in and save the day. The director is totally old ghoul, though, and doesn’t want to turn the dagger into a digital effect. So my dad basically “flies” it to the target. I’ve watched him do things like this since I was little, and I still think it’s scary cool. It’s what I want to do, too, when I’m finished with school. I think dad is okay with me disappearing in his footsteps, but he’s pretty hardcore that I concentrate on school first. I can see his point of view, so I’ve taken what I’ve learned from him and I try to use it in our MH stage productions. Mr. Where has been pretty creeperific about choosing productions that have special effects so I can use my skills.

8.5

Since I’ve unlived here my entire life, and I’ve gone through both the elementary and middle schools before starting at MH, I’m pretty familiar with the school and all the teachers; because I am so familiar, Headmistress Bloodgood asked me to be a student ambassador. It’s fun to meet the new ghouls and guys and help show them around so they don’t feel so lost on the first day. Today, as I was waiting for my first group to show up, three upcoming student bodies walked walked by playing the “super powers” game. It’s the game where you get to choose one and only one super power from the list of super speed, super strength, flight or invisibility. Once you chose your power you have to tell why you picked it and what you would do with that power if you had it. I always wanted to replace invisibility with invulnerability, buy you don’t just go changing rules on a classic because you don’t like them. Anyway, I usually picked super speed ‘cause I thought it would be creepy cool to get all my chores and homework done in under a minute, which would leave 23:59 in a day to do whatever I wanted. I definitely have never thought that invisibility was a super power unless being ignored, forgotten, knocked down and accidentally sat on would qualify. Some of the guys use to say, “Dude! Invisibility must be the bomb - you can sneak into movies and concerts, listen in on the ghoul’s conversations, leave class early or whatever you wanted.” All that’s true, but then I’d be a super villain, and I always wanted to be one of the good guys.

8.9

Met Twyla at MH to find out which new students we would be the ambassador/tour guides for. I didn’t recognize the monsters Twyla was guiding, but I heard they were an unusual group of creatures that were transferring in from another school. I ended up being the ambassador/tour guide for Gigi and Catt, and I was really nervous only because Gigi was once a powerful genie that could grant any wish and Catty was/is an international pop star. I’m surprised I only managed to get embarrassed twice during the tour. The first time it was because I had a really hard time not calling Catty by her full name, and apparently I must have been referring to her by both names during the whole tour because at one point she and Gigi started giggling and Catty said, “Billy, if we’re going to be friends it’s okay for you to just use my first name.” Embarrassing moment number two came as a result of me saying, “I wish!” several times when they asked me questions. Gigi obviously picked up on this and kept saying things like, “I’m not sure you’d like the way that would turn out,” and “Nope - you can’t have that one, either.” Finally I realized what I was doing and I got totally flustered, but they’re both so creepy cool about it that I started laughing, too, and before the tour was over it wasn’t like I was giving a tour, it was like we were old friends just fanging out.

8.10

Today was student ID picture day, and I told Scarah we’d meet up at MH, get our pictures taken and then go grab a coffinccino at the Coffin Bean after we were done. When I got there Scarah was in a bad mood about something she didn’t want to talk about. I made it my mission to cheer her up. Now I can become visible when I want to, but I usually stay invisible because it’s easier since I don’t have to think about it. I became visible when I sat for my picture, and as the photographer got behind the camera I faded away. He snapped a picture, looked at it, looked at his camera, made a little grunting noise and asked to take another one. I could see Scarah’s mouth start to twitch. It was totally on after that as I made everything disappear except my right eye, then my left ear, then half of my face, then half my body. Scarah was barely keeping it together. The photographer had changed lenses three times and was mumbling about vampires and ghosts. Finally I heard, “Invisi Billy behave!” I looked over to see Headless Headmistress Bloodgood standing in the doorway. She was trying to look stern and not doing a very good job of it. I finally appeared, got my pic taken, and when Scarah got hers she was ready for that coffinccino and a chance to talk about what was bothering her.

8.17

I opened my locker today, and a four-leaf clover fell out. I picked it up, touched it to my nose and then put it in a little box with the others. Scarah always leaves one for me if she knows I have an upcoming test or big event where a little “luck” would be helpful. Then again, sometimes she just leaves one to let me know she’s thinking about me, which is pretty cool considering she’s a telepath. That’s how we first met...kind of, sort of. I was dodging through the hall trying not to get knocked down/run into, and Scarah was dodging through the hall trying not to read anyone’s mind, and bam...our thoughts met head on. I’m not an innate, or trained, telepath, but Scarah says I project what amounts to an SOS (Sorry-Oops-Sorry) signal when I’m trying to navigate through a crowd. She stopped right in front of me, and we did the thing that happens when you try and dodge someone but end up dodging in the same direction. We both laughed, and as I walked past I heard a voice in my head saying, “Of course I’d say yes if you invited me to the Coffin Bean.” I’m pretty sure I blushed through my invisibility that day. We’ve been dating ever since, and I hope she doesn’t have to read my mind to know how I feel about her.

[pawsnread]

Untamed Fall Fest Day 20: Spice

Someone’s skewed sense of taste gets him into trouble now and again.

Part of the Camp Fire Tales From Cloud Recesses ficlet series.

The family reunion of sorts was going just fine. Lan Xichen and Jingyi had come over from the Berkshires with Lan Zhan after the end of Friday classes. The plan was for the Lan-Weis, the Jin-Jiangs, and the Song-Xiaos - along with Xichen, Jiang Cheng, and a couple of Nies in tow - to spend a bright, warm autumn day together. It was a playdate of sorts for all the kids, chasing each other and Sugar around the huge backyard while the adults talked and relaxed, forgetting for one day work and other troubles.

Everything was going fine, until…

“Wei Wuxian! Who let you into the kitchen?!”

“Of f…fudging course,” Jiang Cheng muttered. With an irritated sigh, he handed Jin Ling off to his father before following Xichen, Mingjue, and Lan Zhan into the house. In the large kitchen, they found Jiang Yanli at the stove, shaking her head as she stirred a pot of soup. “What did he do now?”

“See for yourself,” she replied with a wave. The four men followed her gesture to witness the standoff occurring across the kitchen isle. On one side, Xingchen was busy putting the finishing touches on what looked to be a pie. Song Lan stood next to him in a protective stance, an apple in one hand ready to throw.

“I was only trying to help,” Wei Wuxian protested from the other side of the kitchen isle. “You know, spice things up a bit.”

“Cinnamon,” Song Lan ground out through his teeth, “nutmeg, all spice. Cardamon. Sugar, a little bit of salt. That’s what you put in apple pie. Not chili powder.”

“Or sriracha powder,” Xingchen murmured as he finished with the pie crust and dusted off his hands.

“Maybe a little?” Wei Wuxian asked.

From the other side of the kitchen, Jiang Cheng let out an exasperated groan and hung his head. Xichen turned to his brother, some silent conversation passing between them before Lan Zhan gave a small shrug.

“Seriously?” Mingjue asked. “What is wrong with your sense of taste?”

“Just trying to make things interesting,” Wei Wuxian said.

“Oh, interesting,” Song Lan huffed. He still hadn’t relaxed his posture, ready to chuck the apple in hand at a moment’s notice. “Like the time you snuck into the camp kitchens and spiced up the mashed potatoes?”

* * * * *

“Baked chicken, mashed potatoes, steamed broccoli, wheat rolls, ambrosia salad.” Jiang Cheng made a face as he read off the Cloud Recesses lunch menu. There wasn’t anything wrong with the menu, per se, but all the food sounded very bland considering the camp’s stinginess with seasonings.

“Streamed broccoli again?” Nie Huaisang bemoaned from behind him. “Isn’t this what we had for lunch yesterday? Where’s the variety?”

“It’s a healthy menu,” Lan Xichen argued as he and Lan Zhan lined up behind Huaisang. “A properly proportioned dose of lean protein, fiber, complex carbohydrates, and vitamins and minerals needed for growing adolescents.”

“Are you or are you not a teenager?” Jiang Cheng asked. “You need more than just rabbit food when you’re growing.” He gave Xichen a once over, eyes roaming him from head to feet. “Especially since it looks like you just had another growth spurt.”

A faint color brightened Xichen’s cheeks at the comment and Jiang Cheng’s scrutinizing gaze. Before he could respond, he was interrupted by a loud groan and the appearance of Nie Mingjue at his elbow, Song Lan and Xiao Xingchen appearing shortly after.

“Chicken again?” he groaned. “Can’t we have some beef or something? Xichen, please talk to your uncle about the choices. I’m sure my dad could draw up a contract for some organic meat or something for the camp.”

“And the academy, please,” Song Lan interjected. “There’s a lot of athletes to feed. A steak now and again will do us some good.”

Xichen could only give a nod as they proceeded through the lunch line, more campers and counselors appearing after them. None of them spoke again as they accepted the food ladled onto their trays.

“Um…” Huaisang blinked down at the scoop of mashed potatoes that dropped onto his tray. “Why are they red?”

Whispers of curiosity and wonder flittered through the campers as everyone stared down at their serving of potatoes and the distinct red coloring they sported.

“That is new,” Xingchen said.

“Is that…paprika?” Mingjue asked, poking at his potatoes with his fork.

“Maybe someone decided to spice things up,” Song Lan said. With a shrug, he lifted his fork and took a bite. One moment, his face was expressionless as he chewed; the next, his cheeks had turned bright crimson as a coughing fit overcame him.

“Zichen?!” Xingchen called in alarm. His fork clattered onto his tray as he dropped it, food forgotten as he began speaking to Song Lan in a low soothing tone as he rubbed his back.

The sounds of surprise, shock, and pain started sounding throughout the cafeteria. In some far corner of the room, someone began to hiccup. Huaisang had gone pale before reaching for his glass of juice, chugging the liquid down in a matter of seconds before fanning himself furiously. Mingjue’s grip on his fork had before so tight the metal was beginning to bend. Xichen was experiencing the same uncontrollable coughing fit as Song Lan, face and neck turning pink with his efforts. Lan Zhan seeming unphased but his ears had gone an alarming shade of red.

Jiang Cheng blinked in confusion at the commotion around him before glancing down at his tray. Dark eyes narrowed suspiciously as he took a tentative taste of the potatoes. A deep frown pulled at his lips as the numbness began to overtake his tongue.

“He did not,” Jiang Cheng muttered.

“Who…” Song Lan choked out before another fit of coughing overcame him.

“Eh…they could be better.”

All heads turned to Wei Wuxian, who had suddenly appeared at Huaisang’s side. He was calm, sanguinely eating the mashed potatoes as if there were not moans of pain and curses sounding all around him.

“What?” he asked, chomping noisily on some broccoli. “It’s just a little seasoning.”

“What kind of seasoning?” Mingjue ground out, voice hoarse as if he had been yelling all day. Large beads of sweat had formed on his brow as he pawed at the front of his chest.

Wei Wuxian shrugged, his fork making a scraping noise as he scooped up the last of his potatoes. “Red savina…no, wait, that’s the wrong color. Ghost pepper, I think.”

“How many did you use?” Xingchen asked. Although he sounded calm, his eyes were wide with a look akin to fright.

“Three…four maybe.” He gave another little shrug before using the last of his wheat roll to mop up what of left of his food.

Horror slowly crossed everyone’s faces as they watched Wei Wuxian push his empty tray aside before pointing at Huaisang’s.

“Are you going to eat that?”

* * * * *

“They were still a little bland,” Wei Wuxian argued.

“You added four whole ghost peppers!” Song Lan nearly shouted. At the other end of the kitchen, Yanli blinked in confusion as identical expressions of revulsion passed over Xichen, Mingjue, Jiang Cheng, and even Lan Zhan’s faces. “Half the camp had indigestion and Wen Ning had the hiccups for three days straight!”

“Please don’t remind us,” Mingjue mumbled, one hand rubbing at his chest as he remembered phantom pains.

“They were still a little bland,” Wei Wuxian repeated. “Maybe I should have used Reapers instead.”

Before Song Lan could speak, Jiang Cheng stomped over to his side. Grabbing that bright red apple, he lobbed it at his brother, the fruit smashing into the floor as Wei Wuxian ducked.

“Why are you like this?!” Jiang Cheng asked, not for the first time in their lives.

“Do not throw fruit in my wife’s kitchen!” Jin Zixuan’s voice echoed from the outside.

“But…”

“Out!”

Everyone froze at the sound of Jiang Yanli’s shout, heads slowly swiveling in her direction. She stood with one hand on her hip, the wooden spoon she had been stirring with brandished in her hand like a sword ready to strike. There was a fury in her eyes that made each of the men shrink back when her gaze fell on them.

“Out, all of you,” she ordered, pointing to the door with that spoon. “If you’re not helping, then leave. My kitchen, my rules.”

“But sis…” Wei Wuxian tried to protest. He darted behind Lan Zhan as Yanli leveled her gaze on him.

There was another moment of silence until, starting with Jiang Cheng, one after another they left until only Xingchen remained. With a sigh, her gaze softened as Yanli turned to him, wiping her hands on her apron.

“Boys, all of them,” she murmured. “Now, really, ghost peppers? Four of them?”

“Unfortunately,” Xingchen said with a shrug.

“Did he try to spice up anything else?”

“Well…there was the incident with tapioca pudding.” As the soup simmered and the pie baked, filling the kitchen with their enticing scents, Xingchen regaled Yanli with stories of that fateful summer no counselor or camper - or their taste buds - was likely to forget.

[orthodoxydaily]

Saints&Reading: Sat., Jan. 30, 2021

Commemorated on January 17_by the new calendar

Saint Anthony the Great ( 356)

     The Monk Anthony, a very great ascetic, the founder of wilderness-monastery life and as such the father of monasticism, is entitled "the Great" by Holy Church. He was born in Egypt in the village of Coma, near the Thebaid wilderness, in the year 251. His parents were pious Christians of illustrious lineage. From his youth Anthony was always serious and given over to concentration. He loved to visit church services and he hearkened to the Holy Scripture with such deep attention, that he remembered what he heard all his entire life. The commandments of the Lord guided him from the time of his very youth. When Saint Anthony was about twenty years old, he lost his parents, but in his care remained his sister, a minor in age. Visiting the church services, the youth was pierced through by a reverent feeling towards those Christians who, as it relates in the Acts of the Apostles, sold off their possessions and the proceeds thereof they applied in following after the Apostles. He heard in church the Gospel passage of Christ, spoken to the rich young man: "If thou wouldst be perfect, sell what thou hast and give it to the poor; and thou wilt have treasure in heaven; and come follow after Me" (Mt. 19: 21). Anthony understood this as spoken to him personally. He sold off his property that remained to him after the death of his parents, he distributed the money to the poor, he left his sister in the care of pious virgins in a monastic setting, he left his parental home, and having settled not far from his village in a wretched hut, he began his ascetic life. He earned his livelihood by working with his hands, and alms also for the poor. Sometimes the holy youth also visited other ascetics living in the surrounding areas, and from each he sought to receive direction and benefit. And to a particular one of these ascetics he turned for guidance in the spiritual life.

In this period of his life the Monk Anthony was subjected to terrible temptations by the devil. The enemy of the race of man troubled the young ascetic with thoughts, and with doubts about his chosen path, with anguish over his sister, and he attempted to incline Anthony towards fleshly sin. But the monk preserved his firm faith, he incessantly made prayer and intensified his efforts. Anthony prayed that the Lord would point out to him the path of salvation. And he was granted a vision. The ascetic beheld a man, who by turns alternately finished a prayer, and then began to work – this was an Angel, which the Lord had sent to instruct His chosen one. The monk thereupon set up a strict schedule for his life. He partook of food only once in the entire day, and sometimes only once every second or third day; he spent all night at prayer, giving himself over to a short sleep only on the third or fourth night after unbroken vigil. But the devil would not desist with his tricks, and trying to scare the monk, he appeared under the guise of monstrous phantoms. The saint however with steadfast faith protected himself with the Life-Creating Cross. Finally the enemy appeared to him in the guise of a frightful looking black lad, and hypocritically declaring himself beaten, he reckoned to sway the saint into vanity and pride. But the monk expelled the enemy with prayer.      For yet greater solitude, the saint re-settled farther away from the village, in a graveyard. On designated days his friend brought him a scant bit of food. And here the devils, pouncing upon the saint with the intent to kill him, inflicted upon him terrible beatings. But the Lord would not allow the death of Anthony. The friend of the saint, on schedule taking him his food, saw him as though dead laying upon the ground, and he took him away back to the village. They thought the saint was dead and began to prepare for his burial. But the monk in the deep of night regained consciousness and besought his friend to take him back to the graveyard. The staunchness of Saint Anthony was greater than the wile of the enemy. Taking the form of ferocious beasts, the devils again tried to force the saint to forsake the place chosen by him, but he again expelled them by the power of the Life-Creating Cross. The Lord strengthened the power of His saint: in the heat of the struggle with the dark powers the monk saw coming down to him from the sky a luminous ray of light, and he cried out: "Where hast Thou been, O Merciful Jesus?.. Why hast Thou not healed my wounds at the very start?" The Lord replied: "Anthony! I was here, but did wait, wanting to see thine valour; and now after this, since thou hast firmly withstood  the struggle, I shalt always aid thee and glorify thee throughout all the world". After this vision the Monk Anthony was healed of his wounds and ready for renewed efforts. He was then 35 years of age.      Having gained spiritual experience in the struggle with the devil, the Monk Anthony pondered going into the deeps of the Thebaid wilderness, and in full solitude there to serve the Lord by deed and by prayer. He besought the ascetic elder (to whom he had turned at the beginning of his monastic journey) to go off together with him into the wilderness, but the elder, while blessing him in the then as yet unheard of exploit of being suchlike an hermit, decided against accompanying him because of the infirmity of age. The Monk Anthony went off into the wilderness alone. The devil tried to stop him, throwing in front of the monk precious gems and stones, but the saint paid them no attention and passed them on by. Having reached a certain hilly spot, the monk caught sight of an abandoned enclosed structure and he settled within it, securing the entrance with stones. His faithful friend brought him bread twice a year, and water he had inside the enclosure. In complete silence the monk partook of the food brought him. The Monk Anthony dwelt for 20 years in complete isolation and incessant struggle with the devils, and he finally found tranquillity of spirit and peace in his mind. When it became appropriate, the Lord revealed to people about His great ascetic. The saint had to instruct many layfolk and monastics. The people gathering at the enclosure of the monk removed the stones sealing his entrance way, and they went to Saint Anthony and besought him to take them under his guidance. Soon the heights on which Saint Anthony asceticised was encircled by a whole belt of monastic communities, and the monk fondly directed their inhabitants, teaching about the spiritual life to everyone who came into the wilderness to be saved. He taught first of all the need to take up spiritual efforts, to unremittingly strive to please the Lord, to have a willing and unselfish attitude towards types of work shunned earlier. He urged them not to be afraid of demonic assaults and to repel the enemy by the power of the Life-Creating Cross of the Lord.      In the year 311 the Church was beset by a trial – a fierce persecution against Christians, set in motion by the emperor Maximian. Wanting to suffer together with the holy martyrs, the Monk Anthony left the wilderness and arrived in Alexandria. He openly rendered aid to the imprisoned martyrs, he was present at the trial and interrogations, but the torturers would not even bother with him! It pleased the Lord to preserve him for the benefit of Christians. With the close of the persecution, the monk returned to the wilderness and continued his exploits. The Lord bestowed upon His saint a gift of wonderworking: the monk cast out devils and healed the sick by the power of his prayer. The multitude of people coming to him disrupted his solitude, and the monk went off still farther, into the so-called "interiour of the wilderness", and he settled atop an high elevation. But the brethren of the wilderness monasteries searched out the monk and besought him at least often to pay visits to their communities.      Another time the Monk Anthony left the wilderness and arrived amidst the Christians in Alexandria, to defend the Orthodox faith against the Manichaean and Arian heresies. Knowing that the name of the Monk Anthony was venerated by all the Church, the Arians circulated a lie about him – that he allegedly adhered to their heretical teaching. But actually being present in Alexandria, the Monk Anthony in front of everyone and in the presence of the bishop openly denounced Arianism. During the time of his brief stay at Alexandria he converted to Christ a great multitude of pagans. Pagan philosophers came to the monk, wanting by their speculations to test his firm faith, but by his simple and convincing words he reduced them to silence. The Equal-to-the-Apostles emperor Constantine the Great (+ 337, Comm. 21 May) and his sons deeply esteemed the Monk Anthony and besought him to visit them at the capital, but the monk did not want to forsake his wilderness brethren. In reply to the letter, he urged the emperor not to be overcome with pride by his lofty position, but rather to remember, that even over him was the Impartial Judge – the Lord God.      The Monk Anthony spent 85 years of his life in the solitary wilderness. Shortly before his death, the monk told the brethren, that soon he would be taken from them. Time and again he instructed them to preserve the Orthodox faith in its purity, to shun any association with heretics, and not to weaken in their monastic efforts. "Strive the yet more to dwell ever in unity amongst ye, and most of all with the Lord, and then with the saints, so that upon death they should bring ye into eternity by their blood, as friends and acquaintances", – thus were the death-bed words of the monk passed on in his Vita (Life). The monk bid two of his disciples, who had been together with him the final 15 years of his life, to bury him in the wilderness and not arrange any solemn burial of his remains in Alexandria. Of his two monastic mantles, the monk left one to Sainted Athanasias of Alexandria (Comm. 18 January), the other to Sainted Serapion of Tmunta. The Monk Anthony died peacefully in the year 356, at age 105, and he was buried by his disciples at a treasured spot glorified by him in the wilderness.      The Vita (Life) of the famed ascetic the Monk Anthony the Great was written in detail by a father of the Church, Saint Athanasias of Alexandria. This work of Saint Athanasias is the first memorial of Orthodox hagiography, and is considered one of the finest of his writings; Saint John Chrysostom says, that this Vita should be read by every Christian. "These narratives be significantly small in comparison with the virtues of Anthony, – writes Saint Athanasias, – but from them ye can conclude, what the man of God Anthony was like. From his youth into his mature years observing an equal zeal for asceticism, not being seduced by the avenues of filth, and not as regards infirmity of body altering his garb, nor the any worse for it in suffering harm. His eyes were healthy and unfailing and he saw well. Not one tooth fell out for him, and they only weakened at the gums from the advanced years of age. He was healthy of hand and of foot (...). And what they said about him everywhere, all being amazed at him, whereof even those that did not see him loved him – this serves as evidence of his virtue and love for God in soul".      Of the works of the Monk Anthony himself, there have come down to us: 1) his Discourses, 20 in number, treating of the virtues, primarily monastic, 2) Seven Letters to monasteries – about striving for moral perfection and regarding the spiritual struggle, and 3) a Rule of life and consolation for monastics.      In the year 544 the relics of the Monk Anthony the great were transferred from the wilderness to Alexandria, and later on with the conquest of Egypt by the Saracens in the VII Century, they were transferred to Constantinople. The holy relics were transferred from Constantinople in the X-XI Centuries to a diocese outside Vienna, and in the XV Century – to Arles (in France), into the church of Saint Julian.

© 1996-2001 by translator Fr. S. Janos.

Matthew 11:27-30

27All things have been delivered to Me by My Father, and no one knows the Son except the Father. Nor does anyone know the Father except the Son, and the one to whom the Son wills to reveal Him.28 Come to Me, all you who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. 29 Take My yoke upon you and learn from Me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls.30 For My yoke is easy and My burden is light.

Hebrews 13:17-21 

17Obey those who rule over you, and be submissive, for they watch out for your souls, as those who must give account. Let them do so with joy and not with grief, for that would be unprofitable for you. 18 Pray for us; for we are confident that we have a good conscience, in all things desiring to live honorably.19 But I especially urge you to do this, that I may be restored to you the sooner. 20 Now may the God of peace who brought up our Lord Jesus from the dead, that great Shepherd of the sheep, through the blood of the everlasting covenant, 21 make you complete in every good work to do His will, working in you what iswell pleasing in His sight, through Jesus Christ, to whom be glory forever and ever. Amen.

[chunhua-s]

 APPLE SEED  ➽  ATTACK ON TITAN

genre: angst, fantasy

warnings: canon-typical gore and violence, hella long text

Chapter 1: In A World Where Little Girls Dream 

Li Meixiang's laugh rang out like a chiming melody as she ran away from her older sister, her little toddler feet making heavy pitter-patter noises across the paved walkway. Not too far behind her was one Li Yiran, her dark eyes alight with mirth and childish glee as she pretended to growl with her hands stretched out in front of her in grabbing motions. "I'm coming to eat you, Meixiang!" Threatening in a noise caught between a snarl and cheerful laughter, she bared her teeth and made long, exaggerated footfalls that were meant to mimic how she thought a titan would move. Though she wasn't sure if she was doing it justice since she'd never seen one, it seemed to do the job perfectly, because her little sister squealed even louder and ran as fast as her tiny legs could carry her.

    "Giant! Giant!" Meixiang, between giggles and laughter, cried out in tones and syllables of a language uncommon within Shiganshina as she hurriedly tried to escape the approaching 'monster.' However, in her excitement, the little girl stumbled over a pebble stone, and her squeals of joy turned to a single exclamation of shock and fright as she fell down on all fours, skin cutting against jagged rocks and drawing red lines across pale skin. Immediate in her reaction, Yiran rushed to pick her little sister up from her fall, stretched her hands out to lift her off the ground with a grunt just in time for her to start crying loudly. The older girl, with practiced expertise, used a hand to wipe the coming tears, body bouncing with Meixiang resting in her other arm.

    "Where does it hurt?" She cooed lightly, couldn't help the grimace that formed on her lips as she glanced down at scraped knees. Scabs would form within the next few days, she bemused, though brushed an open palm comfortingly against her sister's chubby cheeks and pressed a soft kiss to one. "Let's go home and clean this up, hm?" she suggested, switching to the same Shuiguolian language that Meixiang had been crying out in so excitedly, if only for the benefit that she would at least feel comforted by the familiarity of tonal words spoken within their family. A pout formed on the younger girl's face, though she wasn't crying anymore, and simply nodded her head as Yiran turned around to begin the journey back to their home.

    A sort of peacefulness hung over Shiganshina district on that warm, Spring afternoon, light breezes fluttering her skirt as she passed through gathering crowds, women with baskets full of fresh produce and men with watered down beer on their breaths. Little children younger than Yiran herself ran after one another, calling out carefree 'you're it—'s and 'the last one to get to the spot's gonna have to stick their shoe in cow poop—'s that had their friends hurrying to catch up. The marketplace, as was typical for a Saturday afternoon, bustled and overflowed with life, and while voices rang high in chatter and laughter, the world was made to appear as if all were right in it; as if there was no looming threat, no dark shadow that could ever threaten to pull the people from peace.

    And yet, the entire market held its breath at the toll of the bell. All sounds of cheeky flirtations and passing gossip drew to a halt, and soon enough, the sounds of wagons and horse hooves could be heard against the rock pavement. Something heavy and suffocating replaced the cheer of mingling wives and gambling husbands, tinging the air with a sourness and disparity that clung to the green cloaks of bleeding men. The gate shuttered closed, a loud and ringing noise that drove through the hearts of every man, woman and child as the crowd parted down the middle, people moving to the side as the horses dragged in the men who danced so carelessly with death.

    Here was the Scout Regimen, smelling of blood and rot, with hollowed eyes on haunted faces.

    By now, Meixiang had stopped crying entirely and stayed docile in Yiran's hold, allowing the older girl to find a place close to the front where she could see the returning squadron. Around her, everything seemed to have gone silent so that the click-clack of the horses, the squeaking of the wagons would be the only thing heard among them. Every breath was drawn, every smile wiped clean, and even Meixiang didn't dare make a noise; the men and women who returned seemed to bring along with them the death that asphyxiated the world outside Wall Maria, left nothing in its wake save for the giant devils who were said took man's face. Yiran watched, with guarded yet curious eyes, the faces of the people who came back, saw the handful that were missing arms and legs; an eye, an ear; the carts filled so high that the white sheets blotched with old blood seemed about ready to flutter away with the next coming wind, to reveal just how large the piles of bodies that they were hiding were. Of those that had, not a single person raised their eyes, kept them glued to their feet or to the backs of their horses; even then, the glaring abyss that swallowed their gazes was not something lost on the girl of ten. Gaping pits of a cold, destitute something that was not quite emptiness, a void overflowing with a darkness that followed death, it stared back at her, reaching black tendrils out to wrap around her neck and pull her within its depths. What, she wondered somewhere inside that dark fog, through the haze of despair that took her breath away, was so worth throwing oneself into the jaws of hell; to gaze into eternal damnation, that these men and women rode on the backs of their horses, wings fluttering on an invisible wind and throats torn raw from their shouts for freedom.

    She drew the breath that she'd neglected to take, as if she was suddenly pulled out from that cold, cold place and up to the surface when a woman pushed through the crowd from the other side, a frail old lady with greying hair who called out a name. "Moses, Moses!" She looked all over, quivering eyes trailing over defeated faces, and with each one she passed over, Yiran could see her becoming more desperate. "Where's my Moses? My son?" The woman pleaded with a wavering tone, lips drawn back in what was a hopeful smile that quickly withered away with every unfamiliar face she passed over. "He should be with you all, he—" Yiran swallowed hard, the reaction unbridled as she anxiously bit the inside of her cheek, "He said he was coming back to me?"

    The commander was a tall man, brooding and like a tower, but his presence before the old woman seemed so shrunken, as if he would sink into himself and crumble at any given moment. Golden eyes were dim in the sunlight, lacking the lustre and vigour with which they had departed only three days ago. Before them was not the man who cried out "For Humanity—" at Maria's gate, but the shadow of one who had lost hope for a better future, one that considered that, maybe, there was nothing beyond the Walls but despair and desolation.

    His cries, just like they had been on the day of departure, were thunderous, rang through the otherwise quiet marketplace, thrummed in her chest like a second heartbeat. Here, under the burning sun and the disdainful eyes, his own voice rang high with the woman's scream, both of them collapsed to their knees as Moses' purple arm hung clutched tightly in her grip, her shoulders held so that she could look into this shameful commander's face. "It's my fault he's dead—" came from his lips in hoarse shouts, his voice cracking in places where the guilt wrapped its hand around his heart and squeezed tight enough to stop his breath. "I lead them to their deaths and we have nothing to show for it!"

    In that moment, it was as if the world herself stopped spinning, observed with odium as this reproachful servant pleaded with her for forgiveness. 'Forgive me for all those lives I ended,' he would beg, neck wound tight in the hands of the dead men who walked in his shadow, squeezing and clawing until the phantom sensation would leave him gasping for air. 'Forgive me, forgive me, forgive me, forgive me—' but he knew that there would be no mercy to be found for a devil like him, that he would never be able to atone for the deaths of his soldiers. Since the day he took the position of commander, he had already claimed for himself a special place in hell, and he was too far gone to ever have a chance at redemption.

    There is no rest for the wicked, he learned that lesson quickly.

    It was only after the last of the green cloaks disappeared well behind the crowd when Yiran finally let her breath go, a heavy exhale that staggered from her lips as her heart began beating again. She blinked her eyes rapidly, shook her head to clear out the fog that had begun to settle in her mind, to break away from the trance she seemed to fall into. As she did, the rest of the people began to move as well, though in place of the amiable smiles and laughter that rang through the market before, there were frowns and murmurs from the tax-paying public, shared dissatisfaction against the band of fools who insisted on searching for what lay beyond the Walls. "Always good to see what my money's being wasted on," one man grumbled to another, contempt lacing his words as he ran a hand through brown hair. His companion agreed, though Yiran didn't hang around to hear their response as she worked her way through the dispersing groups. The heavy atmosphere surrounding her was beginning to make her head feel clogged, oppressive in a way that made her feel as if she had her head under water the longer she stayed.

    An unintelligible gurgle from Meixiang did well to quell the emotions rising up in Yiran's chest as she found herself within the more residential parts of the outlier district, the noise sounding close to her ear while her younger sister busied herself with gently pulling at strands of black hair. A smile found its way to her lips, a familiar feeling of fondness replacing what ugly sentiments settled on her tongue as she hoisted the two-year-old toddler from one hip to the other. Absentmindedly, she mused at just how much the little child who she used to lift up with ease, had grown; it felt as if she had suddenly gone through a growth spurt over the past year, leaving behind the tiny baby in place for a rapidly growing girl. The thought of it made her feel nostalgic. "You must be ready for lunch now, huh?" She mused, meeting Meixiang's gaze, laughed when she nodded eagerly. "I'll look after something for you when we get inside."

    No sooner than she said so had their house finally come into view, not dissimilar to the ones surrounding it and identifiable by the weathered dreamcatcher that hung on their front door. Blue feathers were faded to an almost white, and the silver coating had lost its shine, to a dull rust, deep red against an earthen brown. The door swung open under her palm, the ornament chiming softly as Yiran let herself in. Small dust particles fluttered about in a familiar dance, the sun's rays lighting up the small dining room for them as they moved around, carefree and elegant in their performance. The house smelt strongly of soup broth, the aroma floating softly on its way to the doorway. Ah, that's odd, Yiran contemplated, brows drawn together as a puzzled frown pulled at her lips. She hadn't cooked before she took out with Meixiang, and even if she had, she didn't remember having any of the mushrooms she would have needed for the broth.

    It took her by surprise when Meixiang hopped out of her hold, inspiring a quick second of fear in poor Yiran as she worried that she would hurt herself yet again. Despite her worries, the child stomped on with loud footsteps, wooden floors creaking under her little toddler feet as she giggled and squealed happily.

    "Mama! Mama!"

    There was a responding laugh from around the corner as Meixiang disappeared behind it. No sooner had she gone, Yiran heard her cry out again as a woman's cheerful voice sounded out in Shuiguolian tongue.

    "My baby girl!" Mirth and joy sounded true in Li Tao's voice as she held her younger daughter to her chest, took delight in the cheerful bubbles of laughter that rose from the tiny body. Yiran felt her own lips stretching with a smile at the sight of her mother standing in their kitchen, though she held off on throwing herself at the woman who was still dressed in her khaki pants and dress shirt. Instead, she pulled her hands together behind her back and allowed her fingers to find purchase in the folds of her red skirt. She took to rocking back and forth on the heels of her feet to keep herself from pouncing.

    "When did you get back?"

    With her ever present smile and endearing expression, Tao looked to her older daughter. "About an hour ago," she answered as she let Meixiang down from her arms to set her on top of the wooden table, checking the wounds on her knees when the child poutingly pointed at them. "Oddly enough, we haven't been seeing too much traffic in the forests these past few weeks, so the big shots decided to cut back on our hours until activity picks up again."

    That puzzled Yiran: the Forest of Giant Trees was always most popular in the spring time, flourishing with wildlife and nature as the winter passed away and animals began to venture out from their hiding places. The forest was Shiganshina's main tourist attraction, a blessing that it grew close enough to the district for the officers to take advantage of their impossible heights and advertise them as a popular tour hut. Her mother worked as a tour guide there, often left early in the mornings and returned well into the evenings. It was worse during the spring and autumn seasons when the forest began changing itself to face the oncoming weather: as life returned to the branches in the warmer months before their leaves would scatter across the forest floor in picturesque shades of browns and oranges. During those days, Tao would be gone for days at a time, leaving Yiran to take care of her younger sister by herself. This spring, it seemed, would be different.

    The woman was lean and of average height, her hair pulled behind her neck in a low ponytail and a fringe that hung across her brow, cut sharply to frame a youthful face. Obsidian eyes shined deeply in the dining room's light as she turned to meet Yiran's gaze to just her thumb out to somewhere behind her. "Could you go get the ointment from the bedroom and put some on Mei's cut, please dear?" She asked sweetly, a grunt coming from her lips as she straightened her back. Briefly, her lips pursed and brows furrowed, making a muted show of the exhaustion that must have been pressing down on her body. "After that, come help me in the kitchen — I picked up some stuff for chicken mushroom soup."

    At that, Yiran's face lit up, a grin threatening to spread across her lips as she mock saluted — "On it, Ma'am—" before she hurried past the table and to the bedroom. Upon crossing the threshold, she made a beeline for the dresser, spent a few seconds glancing between different bottles of cream before she finally found the little brown jar, the words "cut ointment" written on top of the cover in the common tongue. As she reached out for it, her eyes trailed to their shared bed where a little grey blanket lay strewn atop the thin spread. Meixiang's favourite blanket was time worn and dirty, brown spots were obvious even from this distance. Yiran grumbled to herself, the expression without malice as she wondered just when the sneaking little girl found time to dig her most prized possession up from the pile of dirty linen and laundry. With a huff, she retrieved the blanket and turned to the hamper in the corner of the room, took great care in hiding the tiny thing beneath the pile of sheets that needed to be washed soon. Very soon, Yiran bemused, because it was only a matter of time before Meixiang would be looking to recover her blanket once more.

    She made quick time on dressing her little sister's scratches, planting a healing kiss on each of her cheeks before she washed her hands off and stationed herself by her mother's side. Immediately, she was made busy with slicing up the ingredients that Tao hadn't yet done, hands moving just a bit slower than she would have liked them to as she tossed what was finished into the broth. Her mother, between their hustling, recounted stories about the tourists and her colleagues from work, laughed at silly Sheenian travellers who came dressed in oversized coats and gasped in horror for the poor boy who somehow got stuck way up on one of the highest branches— "We had to wait for one of the Garrisons to come take him down with his ODM gear!" Tao chuckled, hands busy with chopping pieces of the chicken to fry before they would join the broth. Somewhere behind them, Meixiang was making herself busy with running around the dining table; no matter that she had only just had her knees dressed up, she was back to whisper-shouting "Giants, giants—" in her inside voice.

    "The commissioner's thinking of having employees train to use ODM after that incident," Tao heaved a sigh, gaze thoughtful as she lifted her attention away from her task to look out at something outside their window. Yiran winced at the idea, pulled her lower lip between her teeth as she said,

    "But isn't training for that supposed to be dangerous?"

    The woman glanced towards her daughter, and it was now that Yiran could see the lines beginning to form on Tao's face, noticed how her body leaned ever so slightly against the countertop. She hummed in affirmation as she returned her attention to the poultry on the cutting board, "It is, but I think they're worried that the next time something like this happens, we might not be lucky enough to wait for help to arrive."

    It wasn't a baseless concern, Yiran noted, ignoring the question of how the child would have gotten up one of those trees in the first place. Still, she didn't feel easy about the training that her mother would have to undergo. She'd heard more than enough horror stories of soldiers in training who lost their lives, due to some malfunction with their gear or from falling to their deaths. "Of course it's just a precautionary measure," Tao added belatedly, as if she could hear her daughter's thoughts, "so I imagine it'll only be a handful of us that will actually need to do it."

    Yiran didn't add anything to that, didn't speak out on the relief that Tao's words brought her and instead kept her hands busy with chopping vegetables to add to the broth and allowing a not quite silence settle over them that was only disturbed by their work in the kitchen and Meixiang's playing. Softly, she began to hum the tune of a lullaby that Tao had taught her, the melody of it soothing and familiar in its sad tale as she went through the motions of bringing her knife down on the cutting board.

    "Shan gui," Tao's voice was warm and wistful as she recalled the melody's name, a sigh falling between her words and her smile curled into a melancholic expression. Her gaze found that of her older daughter's, and, for the second time that day, Yiran could see clearly the weariness that sapped the woman of her youthfulness. It was during those moments when it would seem as if the woman bore the weight of the entire world on her shoulders, as if she was fighting against an invisible force that no one else could see; it dragged her down and chipped away at her spirit, and she would always be left looking a bit smaller than she really was.

    The girl took a breath, hesitant in her next words as they fell from her lips in a whisper:

    "Do you... miss home?"

    Onyx eyes wavered for a split second, exposing the lake of raw feelings that hid behind their dark colour before Tao shook her head once to recover. "A little," was her truthful answer as she finally cut the last piece of the chicken. The resounding sound of the knife chopping down against the wooden cutting board was nearly deafening. With pursed lips, she reached beneath one of the counters, coming back with a frying pot and a bottle of olive oil, one that thankfully lasted them for a long time since she bought it over half a year ago. ("It's too expensive to waste it all," she had said with a firm tone. Yiran didn't disagree.) "I don't regret leaving though."

    Meixiang's incoherent gurgles seemed so loud within those next few seconds, ringing out like church bells in an empty courtyard that served to drive Tao's resolve home. The woman turned her eyes upon her little girl and Yiran followed after a moment's grace, having watched her expression simmer out of the stress lines and markings. No longer was her smile bitter and hurting, but instead became brilliant with something so overwhelming that it felt as if it would fill Yiran's chest up and spill over. It was the same one that she had worn on her face, two years ago, when they ran away from that little village by the lake. Hopeful and promising, telling of a young woman's deepest prayers.

    "That night when I took you and Meixiang," Tao was almost whispering, as if she feared that an eavesdropping wall would capture her words and scatter them to the winds, "I was so scared that I wouldn't make it far with you two... I was scared that they would catch us and bring you right back to your father—" The words caught in her throat, threatened to choke her; she took a deep, gasping breath, "But when I thought of you, of how you'd have to grow up only to bear someone's children before you were ready— I didn't want that life for you... I didn't want you to have to turn into a slave for your husband and his family—"

    "I know, mama," Yiran said, her voice just as hushed as she reached out her hand to hold her mother's, "I know." When the woman's eyes met hers, she smiled softly, hoping that it would show everything her heart felt. Although she had only been eight years old at the time, Yiran was old enough to remember what life had been like in their lake village. The life they left behind, one where little girls and women were hardly any more than servants and child-bearers; where they were sold off at a young age to be an older man's wife; where they would have no value unless they gave their husbands a son, and would be cast aside in favour of a second wife or a concubine if they remained unsuccessful... Yiran had grown seeing the way that her mother was treated in the village, shunned and disgraced especially after Meixiang was born. Women who had their little boys suckling on milk, others who were big enough to be running around freely, they all turned her into an outcast, scorned her as if she was cursed; and truly, they must have believed it. After all, how could any woman be so unlucky to give birth to two daughters and not a single boy?

    She believed that the tipping point must have been the day when Yiran first flowered and her grandparents began to talk about finding her a husband. It hadn't even been more than a day before they started planning, readying themselves to find a rich man who was looking for a wife; she remembered feeling terrified, on the verge of tears as her mother held her tightly and talks of her marriage spread about in a horrid kind of excitement. A week later, they ran away in the dead of the night; Tao pulled both of her daughters on a wagon, didn't stop until she reached the outlier district of Shiganshina two days later.

    Here in their kitchen, Yiran no longer needed to marry a man who would treat her as nothing more than a slave. Here in Shiganshina, her mother didn't need to suffer because of her failure to have a son. They could choose their future, wouldn't need to abide by cruel customs and live only to serve their husbands and their would-be families.

    Here, they had the chance to be free.

    Tao was on the verge of tears as she hastily wrapped her hands around her older daughter's body, her grip full and encompassing despite how awkwardly she held her with her messy hands. "I love the both of you," she said. Her voice broke off in places, overflowed with so much emotion that it could have choked her. "So, so much... I only want the best for the both of you, you know that right?"

    It was all Yiran could do to nod, fighting back her own tears as she brought her hands around the woman's figure. "I know."

    There was the sound of padding feet before they both felt Meixiang throwing herself at their legs, a delightful giggle sounded from her as she looked up at them with the biggest smile. "Jiejie, mama! I love you!" She squealed as Yiran bent to lift her up, wasted no time in slapping two chubby hands across her older sister's cheeks with innocent laughter tumbling out of her tiny self and straight into Yiran's swelling heart.

    "Oh!" Tao cried after a moment had passed, lifting a finger as if she had a lightbulb moment. With a widening smile, she turned to give Yiran her side, tutted her hip out in an awkward-looking gesture. "Reach into my back pocket — I brought something for you!"

    Curious, Yiran lowered her sister to wash her hands in the sink, then once her hands were dry, did as Tao had told her. When she pulled back her palms, she held in them three silver coins. Yiran's eyes widened as she looked back up at Tao's smiling face. "Mama, isn't this too much??"

    The woman made a 'psh!' noise, using a hand to fan away the girl's concern. "We're not supposed to take tips, but a nice old tourist gave me this before she left," she nodded to the coins in Yiran's hands. "Go out into town for a bit, I'll handle the rest of the food."

    As if sensing her growing uncertainty and reluctance, Tao's smile turned gentle, eyes warm with reassurance as she said, "Seriously, don't worry about it so much. Think of it as a small allowance?"

    Yiran sighed, relenting under her mother's insistence and knowing that she wouldn't be able to return the money without a fight. "Thanks mama," she chuckled wearily and retired from a fruitless battle, at which Tao's face immediately lit up in youthful triumph.

    "Leave Meixiang here," she said before Yiran could turn to get her sister. When she began to ask if she was certain, the woman eagerly nodded, making 'shoo' motions with her hands as if to hurry the girl out of the house. "Yeah, yeah it's fine! Go enjoy some time alone for a bit!"

    Sighing once more at the woman's insistence (truly, sighing was all she seemed to be able to do these days), Yiran only had a few seconds to give Meixiang a parting kiss on her forehead before Tao began to shoo her out of the house again. "I'll try to bring something back for you two!" She promised once she stood outside the door, laughing lightly at her mother's responding "Forget that, just spend it on yourself!"

    The sun had already begun to fall behind the horizon when she returned to the market, the dying light scattering across the sky in bright oranges and deep purples in the picture of an ancient oil painting. Whatever dark sentiments that had settled over the district's people earlier in the day seemed to have been swept up by the season's wind, and what was left behind was a day's-hard-work type of exhaustion as people packed up their stalls and waved away at the last of their customers. Yiran, bemoaning the fact that Tao had made her go out at such an odd time when most stall owners would be returning to their homes, walked aimlessly by the different vendors, eyes quickly scanning over the few who remained and the items they sold. For Heaven's sake, she sighed through her nose, she didn't even know what to buy. How was she meant to spend three entire silver coins? More importantly, what kind of tourist walked around with that kind of money, only to turn around and give it as a generous tip to their tour guide? A cross between astonished and incredibly amused, Yiran could only imagine just how rich a person would have to be to not worry about the kind of money they handed out so carelessly.

    Grumbling, she messed around with the coins in one palm, slowed her pace until she came to a complete stop in the almost deserted marketplace. Sounds of easy laughter and satisfied exhales fell around her in ambience, painting Shiganshina district as a peaceful picture under the darkening sky. In a couple more hours, after the pleasant cheers and smiles have been shared over a nice, warm dinner, patrons and soldiers would gather in crowds by taverns and alcohol houses to laugh with each other in careless spirit, flirt freely with the serving women and complain about their troubles. It was the easy, familiar pattern that let the people breath so calmly, that allowed them to kick their legs back and bask in the serenity of mundane life.

    "Ay, young lass!"

    There was a voice that called out somewhere behind her, deep and a bit throaty that had her turning to look in the direction it came from. What she found was a slightly overweight man who grinned behind a large beard, the smile broadening when her eyes met his. Eagerly, he beckoned her over with a meaty hand, and when Yiran finally came to stand before his stall, she was able to see the items he had scattered across the blue tarpaulin sheet. Fine jewellery and stones of different colours; ruby reds and deep lake blues, silver rings and more ornaments than she could ever imagine being in one place. "Yah looking to buy somethin' nice?" The vendor proposed with his wide smile, didn't even give the girl a chance to respond as he held his hand out to his collection, "Yah ain't gonna find any lower prices 'roun here for these fine things, I tell yah! A real easy deal I'll make with yah so long as yeh got the money on yeh!"

    Giving the man a polite smile whilst trying her best not to be overwhelmed by his enthusiasm, Yiran took some time to consider the array of glittering rocks and jewels out on display. The colour variation was almost dizzying, even under the dimming light of sundown, and the girl felt her head swirl a bit from all the different shades of greens and yellows. It was a near relief when her eyes fell over to one silver necklace, the thin chain looped through a small, silver band. Compared to everything else the man was selling, it was almost so ridiculously plain that Yiran wasn't sure how she didn't spot it sooner. "How much is this one?" Fighting back a wince at her accent, she pointed out the silver necklace, followed the man's hazel gaze as he found the jewel in question.

    "Ah, that one's got a twin," he hummed, thoughtful before he turned around to a wooden crate behind him to rummage around in for a few seconds, during which Yiran respectfully looked away from his glaring bald spot. When he turned around, there was another silver necklace hanging from between his fingers, similar to the first with a slender, silver ring on its chain. "How much do yah have?" He asked instead of naming a price, at which Yiran took a moment of pause before reaching into her skirt's pocket to pull one single coin. Hoping (and further doubting) that the man would ask for more, she maintained a façade of innocence when the man's eyes widened and his mouth fell slack.

    "Is this enough?" Heavens, she really needed to improve her use of the common tongue; she inwardly bemoaned the fact that, although not as thick as it had been two years ago, her accent still persisted in the way that the words fell from her lips. Certain combinations felt uncomfortable, entirely wrong in their pronunciation as her lips curled around new vowels and syllables. No doubt she would need a longer time to feel even the slightest bit confident in her speech.

    "Blimey, where'd yeh get that kind of money from, lass?" The vendor appraised, taking the lone silver coin from her fingers and turning it over a few times in his own hand, "'s not often yah come cross one o' these here in the district." Once he was satisfied that it wasn't some type of counterfeit, he pocketed the money before happily handing over the pair of necklaces. Yiran thanked him politely as she searched for and located the clasps on each, lifted her hands to close them around her neck. A wince slipped from her as the second one snagged painfully on her hair, pulling taught at a single strand. Ah, she pondered within herself, it had been a while since she last cut it. Now, black strands had grown well past her shoulder blades, edging a little too close to her mid-back for her liking. She would ask Tao to trim it back to just below her shoulders when she returned, later when Meixiang would be sleeping so that she wouldn't cry. The little girl, for a reason that was lost on her, always preferred that Yiran grew her hair long for her to play with, and would always make a fuss if she ever caught sight of a blade close to her older sister's person. Yiran couldn't help but smile fondly at memories of the girl pouting, arms folded over her tiny chest with such thick accusation in her face that she could only lift her up and smother her with raspberries until she would laugh again. Then Meixiang would move on from the betrayal, content with making do with the shorter strands until they would grow back in the following months; admittedly, she was the reason that Yiran didn't cut it all the way to above shoulder length in the first place.

    "A gift for someone?" The vendor asked harmlessly, at which Yiran returned his smile as her hands felt for the little rings. They were cooling against her warm fingertips.

    "For my little sister," she nodded her confirmation, watched as the man's expression eased into something warmer, gentle and full of endearment as he put a hand on his beard.

    "Y'know, I've got two kids m'self," the man told her with a bit of boastfulness, that and the sound of fondness ever-growing in his tone and eyes lighting up with the same sentiment. "One of em's gone off to become a soldier, the other one's about yer age." A sigh falls from his lips as his gaze falls somewhere beside him, distant and reminiscent in memories that Yiran wouldn't see. "Close as thieves, them two," he chuckled, "The lil' one's hell bent on goin' off to train just like his big brother."

    That drew the smile on the girl's face into something friendlier, her guard coming down as the man told her about his sons. "Real troublemakers, I tell yah," his laughter rumbled through his chest and into the emptied market, echoing with his strength and vigour, "Coulda neva kept themselves quiet without causing a ruckus somewhere... They'll do well to learn some discipline up with them soldiers. Speaking of, what'cha planning to do when yer big, girlie?"

    The question pulled some sense of gravity over Yiran as she met his gaze with a sheepish grin. "Well," she muttered, averted her gaze to the cobble stones beneath, "I want to become a scholar..." It had been her ambition ever since she'd learned about the idea back in her village, having easily become enamoured with glorified promises of more knowledge and understanding than could be contained by one person alone. But, as was the case for every endeavour that didn't tell of raising sons and marrying young, women and girls wouldn't even dare to dream to rise to such power. As far as their customs dictated, they would have no need to learn themselves in matters outside of childbearing and servitude, weren't even taught to read in their own language. Her mother warned her to lock her dream away when she'd first told her in the middle of a hot summer's day, while her stomach was swollen with her second child and other wives gossiped about the chance of it being another girl. "Don't let anyone hear you say something like that," she said, voice hushed yet frantic, desperate, beseeching. "I mean it, Yiran — don't mention it ever again!"

    Another exuberant laugh from the man shocked her out of her thoughts, returned her to the present where the vendor held a hand over his large stomach. "Ambitious, aren't yah?" His grin lacked the doubtful, judging edge that she expected, instead only bearing with it the same friendliness and light-heartedness that he boasted during their talk. "I'll say, that's a mighty pricey dream you have there, lassey," he said, and Heavens, Yiran didn't need to be reminded, had heard enough stories of young, dreamy eyed men and women who set their sights on the innermost wall, only to find themselves with a mountain of debt for their pursuit of knowledge. "Although, you'll have plenty o' time to rack up yer funds if you start saving now." His eyes closed with his gentle expression as he gave her a thumbs up, his next words ringing loudly enough that it filled up the entire street.

    "Ain't no dream too big, kid — do what yah feel is right for you."

    Something swelled up in her chest with his encouragement, big and all encompassing and she smiled brightly up at this vendor. So many things were different here, she couldn't help the thought that intruded her mind; so many opportunities and chances had all opened up to her when she fled with her mother and stepped behind Maria's inner gates. It was such a heavy contrast to the world she grew up in, and even now she finds herself breathless at the vastness of it all — a life where little girls could dream, could rise above themselves and hold their own futures.

    This, she considers as she stands in the empty market, smiling with an old man who didn't ridicule her for her aspirations, must be the most beautiful moment in life.

    Before she could utter words of gratitude to the vendor, something lit up the evening sky, struck straight through the purple and orange with a vibrant, dangerous yellow that was just too out of place, too sharp and piercing against gentle strokes of sunset. A loud, ringing explosion shook the jewellery stand with incredible force, threatened to turn Yiran from off her feet so that she had to grasp the edge of the wooden frame to keep her balance. A glance with the old man revealed him to be just as disoriented, just as confused by the sudden tremor, a "what in the world—" tumbling from his lips in a shaky breath before he made haste to the edge of the district. Confused and worried, Yiran followed him in short, shaky strides to where a crowd had already gathered in front of the wall, where the world still seemed to tremble in the aftershock of the explosion. A quick survey of their faces left the girl with a sinking pit in her stomach; lips drawn over their teeth in the beginnings of a scream, eyes blown wide enough that they could pop out of their skulls. A few had even begun crying, falling to their knees in something so akin to helplessness and despair that it had Yiran's gaze following to where they were looking.

    What she saw immediately sent her into the same crippling terror.

    Standing over the wall was a behemoth, a monster whose face bore nothing over its muscles, the red so horrifyingly stark against the backdrop of sunset clouds and fading light. Steam rolled from its body in waves, hailing in flickers of smoke and embers that seemed to roll over the entire town, suffocated the inhabitants with a profound, absolute relentlessness. Yiran felt as if her body had been doused straight into a pit of hot water when its eyes found her own, couldn't dare to bring herself to look away if even for the slightest moment. No thought could formulate over the pure, undiluted fear that locked her in place, no words would dare fight past the talons that gripped at her throat and crushed her very breath from her soul.

    For the second time that day, the world stopped spinning, turned her eyes to gaze upon the cattle in condemnation and scorn as the Devil reared its great head, her smile wicked just as it is punishing. For the first time in her short, ten years of life, Yiran knew a kind of horror that surpassed even the helpless fear that she felt in her little lake village, one that easily outclassed the nightmares that chased away her dreams and ambitions.

    This kind of fear... it was enough to cut her throat a hundred times over, rip her to shreds until she was nothing but a screaming, shivering mess.

    A loud rumble, another tremor; the first chunk of rock that was set flying, it fell on the kind vendor, squished his large body so seamlessly, splattered his insides across her face, her clothes, her hair. The first scream tore from her own lips as Shiganshina's blanket of peace quickly dissolved into the oppressive waves of a waking nightmare.

[arelya-andaria]

Star-crossed lovers Phantom AU

Erik and Christine finding - and losing - each other - across time. Rated T - for @littlelonghairedoutlaw‘s contest =) contains also a bit or Erik/Daroga - Christine/Raoul - Christine/Meg.

*-* Immortals across time, they find themselves again and again.

It begins at the dawn of time, when they are both from different tribes. Not at war with each other, but keeping a safe distance.

He is rejected by his own, after a hunting accident leaves him deeply scarred. He saves the life of several others, but is shunned for it. No one would mate with him.

Wanders the wild alone, learning to survive, and finding relief in music. That’s when she hears it for the first time. His music, the twin to hers, the echo of it in her heart.

They spend a summer together, but death finds him first, and they make a promise to each other: they will always find one another.

She mates with a gentle, adventurous soul. He’s not the twin to her soul, but he loves her, and she learns to love him too.

*-*

When she’s reborn, hundreds of years later, the sun shines heavily on her brown skin, the high-born daughter of a great scribe. Set to marry one of her friends. But one day, as she leaves her home of shadowed patios and delightful fountains, she hears him. He wears a beautiful, golden mask, and his fingers on the harp are agile and fascinating. She stays to listen to him when his eyes fall on hers, golden like the gods’.

Later that night, she finds him, and they run together to the river, joining their voices as their souls beat against one another.

Early that morning, as the dawn finds them sprawled on the grass, an adder finds her, and she’s dead by midday.

Broken by grief, he throws himself in the Nile.

*-*

By their third incarnation, in the beautiful cities of Greece, they both know they are not destined to be with each other. But how can they resist true love’s call?

This time, they try to be cautious. She’s a priestess to the god Apollo, blessed by him with a fabulous voice. She’s dancing and singing during the yearly festivities, barely 16, when he sees her. A retired, scarred warrior, become poet, he’s already had a young lover, a brown skinned man from the other side of the sea, with a name as sweet as honey, and he, too, makes beautiful, exotic music. But his heart knows his mate, and when their eyes meet, so do their souls.

They know the penalty for their love, but are ready to pay it nonetheless.

They’re both found poisoned, on the last day of the festival, entwined in each other’s arms.

*-*

It is a new continent, and a different culture. Her hair is black and soft as silk, and his eyes are wonderfully deep, black as the night sky. He was born for honor and duty, keeping his love for music for the time he is home, and not away fighting for his Emperor.

She is raised a proud daughter, her gaze unblinking, even as she gracefully pours her new husband tea. She is happy she shares him with a friend. Older than her, she teaches her young protégée all that she has to know in the ways of love, and perhaps her touch is not what girlfriends are supposed to share.

She doesn’t care.

They are not supposed to meet. And she knows, when her husband brings his new friend home, saying he has saved his life at the expense of his own beauty, that it’s the start of the end.

She makes him music, to show him her appreciation, as they meet under the cherry trees, the wind a gentle sound tangling her careful coiffure, as she dances and sings. Once again, their souls meet, and entwine.

Once again, their music binds them.

And it defeats them in the same blink.

A katana through the heart, when he’s found with his friend’s wife, and given the choice of death or dishonor.

She cries herself to death, hidden in the ancient forest, his blood is all over her kimono.

*-*

Early medieval times. A beautiful fair, and a young girl learning the violin, from her papa’s hands. Running through the forest with her two friends, a gentle boy with golden hair and a dazzling smile, who she kisses on a dare, and a witty, fierce dark-haired dancer, who loves to climb up the trees as the tiniest, darkest human chipmunk.

She meets him then, an old man who reads her stories in the dark tavern. When she sings softly to thank him, his eyes close, and he thanks her deeply. He feels what she cannot, and though she’s gone the following morning, to play somewhere else, he knows his heart is gone with her. For the first time, she hasn’t recognized him.

When she goes back to the same village, ten years later, she goes to the tavern, feeling her heart called out by another.

But then her feet lead her somewhere else, by the small town’s heavy church, and the small graveyard next to it.

There he lies, headstone simple and white against the green earth, and she cries out for him. She plays the violin, to appease her heart, and his own.

She never returns afterwards.

*-*

It is a time of changes and discoveries. Disguised as a boy, she sets out to the new world. She has nothing and no one left waiting for her in the old one.

The voyage is long, and the waters treacherous. Not long after they’ve finally spotted land, the ship hits the deep rock hiding the entrance of a safe harbor. She can swim, sets out for the shore, and there she finds him. He saves her from drowning, and she recoils from him at first, believing him a monster from her homeland stories, his face hideous and deeply scarred.

But he sings for her, tends to her, and her heart recognizes him at last.

Together at last, nothing to separate them.

Or so they believe.

Later that month, as she’s fully recovered from her near-death, a settler’s party finds them, and frightened by his sight, fires at him. He bleeds out in her arms, and she’s taken away from the monster.

She runs away, tears in her eyes, and finds comfort in a Native tribe. Understanding is hard, but with perseverance, she settles down with them, those who love her and soothe her aching heart. The chief’s youngest daughter is her dearest friend, her name the sound of the wind in the trees, the color of the river flowing next to the village, and there she finds peace, heart beating to the sound of the drums.

*-*

A party, for the late Duke’s only son’s birthday. A ball, where the young ladies are throwing themselves at him. It is a masquerade, after all, and the plagued face that made his own father despise him is at last hidden away.

Here, he talks and charms, knowing he is to find a bride. If not out of spite, he must still have an heir.

He plays the violin and the piano and composes and he’s an architect, a scientist, ladies. Oh, he sings too? What a worldly young man… How is it he never found a bride, they whisper around him.

She’s not supposed to be here. She’s only been invited by her dear aunt, who took pity on her and dressed her up for the occasion, and threw her to the pit of snakes. She hears their whispers too, how a country girl should appear here, how obvious she is, from her rough hands, and her tanned skin. Still, when she sings, they listen, and so does he.

He feels her arrive, knows her heart as he knows his own.

But their time, as usual, is short.

Beneath the moonless sky, as they walk through the gardens, drunk on their love and watching the fireworks over the fountains, her ridiculous gown a giant thing keeping him at an arm’s length from her, they sing out their hearts.

At peace, if only for a moment. The mask falls out before they kiss, and her cries of surprise bring the whole of the castle to them.

Ashamed of her reaction, she leaves, and hides herself in a convent. He endlessly looks for her, but never succeeds.

*-*

End of the 19th century.

He’s a Music ghost hiding away in an Opera house, and she’s a delicate, broken young soprano dreaming of better times and red scarfs and Angels.

They meet on a lonely night, and he teaches her how to wield her voice, sending her out on a journey to Prima Donna.

She gives him her soul, and finds her old lover, childhood sweetheart, returned from his travels overseas.

She does not recognize him, either, this time, until it is too late. Chaos has been brought to their doors, from grief and too much passion.

Only at the end does she recognize what her heart and soul were telling her, and she gives him back his golden ring, as he lies there, dying.

Fleeing with her friend has never been so hard.

*-*

By luck, they escape the great wars, and are born at the turn of the century.

They are both weary, finding love only to lose it painfully, and refuse to acknowledge what is between them, as they meet in a cold beach, in December. The waves are crashing on the shore, seagulls crying over their heads.

She’s sitting on the damp sand, wind tangling her hair, grey light blinding her, and she feels him.

Fear and shame rush through her veins, as the memories of a hundred different lives come back to her.

How she loved him, and always lost him.

He’s there by sheer luck, turned away by an editor too frightful to publish his music. He thought it would be better to hide away on a deserted beach than drunk at home.

Mask on, and scarf around his head, a nobody in Northern France.

Their eyes meet, for the first time. For the latest time.

He can feel her music, in his soul.

She can feel his melody reaching out to her.

They sing, and are home.

For the first and latest time, they embrace.

Now the spell is broken.

They’ve spent several lifetimes apart, finding love with others, losing love, losing hope, but this time, they’ll share one love.

This lifetime is theirs, and theirs alone.

[rainbows-fanfics]

Two Dearest Friends (Chapter 22)

Summary:

Jack Skellington, the Pumpkin King of Halloween Town, meets Sally, a ragdoll created by Dr. Finklestein. A friendship blossoms between them as he introduces her to the world outside of her tower. Sally is falling for him as their relationship grows into something more, and Jack finds the same is happening to him.

A story where the Christmas incident never happens, and Jack and Sally find their happiness on their own.

Pairings: Jack Skellington/Sally

---------------------

The Doctor's aroused suspicions are even further confirmed when he finds his ragdoll chipper about absolutely everything he gives her. Whether it'd be scrubbing the tower's toilet or sweeping the bedrooms, Sally is very willing to do anything he says. And from the few times he watches her, secretly from the side, he finds her smiling and humming...at one point, he even found her singing! Something certainly has her attention, and it gnaws at his brain that he doesn't know what it is. He is very certain it is something from outside - something she drugged him for to see, or something to do.... Now he is sending her off to do some homework, all of which seems to be have been completed these past few days. He had the hardest of times getting any actual work from her before, but now everything seems to be completed on time, and very accurately...everything about this situation keeps him on his toes, and as he looks at Sally up-and-down while she stands in front of the ramps, waiting for his final word to release her into her room, where he wouldn't see her figure for hours beyond her room's door....Finklestein actually hesitates. Wonders to himself if he should ask, to pry, to demand this information out of her -- so he could know what has finally made her happy, after trying all this time, to have her content at home... "Doctor?" She asks. He is drawn from his thoughts as her voice curiously interrupts him. "Can I go, now?" "What? Oh, yes. Yes, you may leave, now." Her figure starts to leave and he taps the armrest of his wheelchair in thought. "-Sally?" She stops and turns around. "Yes?" "I'd like to have a talk with you tonight. In my Laboratory. Just you and me." "....Okay, Doctor." She doesn't sound pleased nor interested. In fact, he finds her speeding up the ramps so he can't stop her again. And that is exactly Sally's intention, as she rushes into her room and shuts the door behind her tightly. She feels the weight pressing against her back lift the moment she's in the solitude of her own confinement, and releases the breath she'd been holding in. She had been breathing through her teeth...as she always does around the Doctor. But when she sits in her chair and looks at the mansion far across the tower, it's as if she's breathing fresh air. She turns to open her textbook and begins working through math problems, tapping her finger against her leg and humming while she works diligently. She progresses through the problems at a good rate, and stops to take a break. She wishes she could be answering questions about Halloween. Questions about the outside world, of her friends, or the man she loves...Sally sighs as she stands from her chair and stares out of the window. Her eyes lock on the only interesting thing outside at that moment, at the study where he's usually in. She tries to picture Jack in there at this moment - looking through his own window, and staring at her own figure. Her body longs for him again, and her phantom heart aches knowing how far they're separated. She walks over to her bed and rests her head in her hand, daydreaming of this better world. She sits there until a noise interrupts her thoughts. It's the sound of a dog barking -- somewhere near the tower. Jumping up, she heads towards her window and looks outside to see. She recognizes that sound anywhere - the bark of her good friend, Zero! But where can he be? She doesn't see him anywhere. As Sally shifts her gaze around, she hears the barking getting louder. "Ruff!" "AH!" The ragdoll jumps in surprise when the sound of yapping erupts from beside her. She quickly turns her head and finds Zero in her room, looking up at her with attentive little eye sockets. She places a hand on her chest as she tries to get her breath back, calming her nerves as she squeezes her eyes shut. It's only Zero... She assures herself. It's your good friend, Zero...it's Jack's dog....Jack... "Arf!" "Shhh! Zero! Dr. Finklestein will know you're here..." She goes down on her knees to look at him better. Once she's close enough, she sees that an envelope is tucked in his mouth. "-Huh?" The ghost dog nudges his snoot closer to her face. She realizes what he's doing and takes it from his mouth, turning it over in her hands. In neat writing, from the man she loves and has thought about endlessly for these past couple of days, reads: TO SALLY. Her leaves do several flips inside her body as she opens it with eager hands, and finds a folded sheet of paper inside. As she unfolds it, she finds the same writing inside, written largely and legibly so she could read. Meet me in the pumpkin patch. -Your secret admirer

Sally giggles as she holds the note close to her chest. An invitation...from Jack again! She can't wait to meet him there, to see him once more, to speak with him again....she wonders what this is about, but it matters very little to her. All she wants is more time with the skeleton man she loves, and she knows for certain that this is from him. She looks up from the paper and pets Zero on the head, giving him very good pats for delivering this message to her. "Thank you, Zero! Who's a good boy?" He pants excitedly as she runs her hand along his ghostly form. He gives her one final yap, to which she tells him to keep quiet. He then disappears through her window and flies back to his master's home. Sally watches as the dog's form disappears, then grins brightly at the note held in her hand. She should be leaving soon - she can't have Jack waiting too long! Quickly, she skips over to her closet and goes through some of her completed dresses, wondering which to wear for this occasion. She goes with one of her newer ones, a simple green dress. She likes the trim, and ensures it fits snugly on her figure as she twirls around in her mirror. As she opens her window and gets ready to jump out, she suddenly remembers the Doctor's request. To meet with her that night in his laboratory -- will she be back before then? He'll truly be upset with her this time if she doesn't make it before sundown, but...oh, she just has to go! She'll have to be very aware of her time outside. She did make a promise to him, and as unfair as she's been treating him lately...he deserves a little of her attention. But Sally's going to make sure Jack has the majority of it, as she throws herself out the window with nothing more but the intention of seeing him again. -------------------------- She rushes past the Graveyard gates looking in every direction, trying to spot Jack's skull right off the bat. He isn't on the Spiral Hill nor is he anywhere near the entrance, so Sally continues looking by following the implanted trail and skimming through the graves. At the end of the trail, she'll soon find, is where he is - situated on a tall piece of stone, resting one leg on the other and twirling a black rose in his left hand. When he hears the crunching of leaves, he turns on the tombstone and finds Sally approaching him, modestly brushing her hair behind her shoulders and clasping her hands down at her waistline. He notes her dress right away, taking a moment to admire her in the new attire. "Why, Sally! You look beautiful." He compliments. He helps himself off the grave and offers her the rose in his hand. "-This is for you." She takes it and admires it. "It's very lovely. Thank you." "A lovely rose for a lovely lady. I thought of you the moment I saw it." Her cheeks grow hotter as she looks back at the flower in her hand. She gets an idea and pretends she's searching around, coyly eying Jack from the corner of her eye. "My secret admirer said he'd meet me here...do you know where he is?" "Hmm. Quite the question." The skeleton places a finger on his lip. "Would he happen to be the King of Halloween? The demon of light? The master of fright?" He moves until he's back in her peripheral vision. "...Or would he happen to be the one standing in front of you right now?" She smiles coquettishly. "I don't know. Is he?" He closes his eye sockets and grins. "Did my little messenger send you the letter? I had him send it to you on the account that it was a last-minute invitation. I would've delivered it personally, but, well, I was already here..." "Zero did bring it to me. I slipped out without the Doctor even noticing." She states proudly before her face changes. "-Why did you invite me out here, Jack?" He comes forward to hold her hands, squeezing them excitedly as he asks, "Sally, would you like to go on another date with me?" Is the sky orange? She wonders, and nods right away. "Well, of course! But when-" "-Right now." His grip tightens. "Today is when everyone begins carving pumpkins, and I was just wondering if you wanted to join me? Traditionally, I'm always there for the first day, but...I just don't think I'll enjoy it without you there." "I'd love to, but..." She knits her eyebrows together. "I've never carved one before. I wouldn't know where to begin-"" "I can teach you! It all works out perfectly." His grin is so cute, she has a hard time keeping her eyes off of it. "What do you say?" What else can she say to the Pumpkin King's invitation of a date? She nods firmly, allowing him to take her hand and lead her out of the Graveyard. He seems excited as he pulls her along on the way into town, occasionally glancing back at her just to give her an excited smile. She can tell he's looking forward to this date - and she most certainly is as well. She can't imagine a better afternoon than one with Jack. And now they're going to do something together...something that involves Halloween. Something she'd never done and he is going to teach her - something she is sure to be wonderful, because everything is whenever she's with him. ----------------------------------------------- They both arrive in the plaza at the heart of the celebration, where the long table running through the square is filled with residents and pumpkins. Sally can make out only a few available spaces as her and Jack pass by. She can hear everyone calling out to him, and listens as he greets them back. She notices the puzzled looks from the few who realize the ragdoll is with him, as well as the shocked looks from some of his admirers. It causes Sally to hold her head up high and grin with confidence, her heart doing several imaginative flips at the fact that he is with her and no one else. "Would you like a small pumpkin or a bigger one?" She notices he is reaching into the crate filled with them, and replies politely, "A smaller one, please." His skull nods as he leans down further. Then he shows her a quaint pumpkin, perfectly her size. She takes it from him and finds it light to carry. Then she watches as Jack takes a much bigger one. One she'd assume he'd have trouble carrying, but he acts as if it's the lightest thing in the world. He stands up straight and glances around, presumably searching for a spot they can sit down at. This is confirmed when he motions in a direction with his skull. "Let's sit at that table in the corner, shall we?" She follows his direction and finds a table near the walls. It's purposely separated from the long one where everyone else is at. They both arrive and Sally gently places her pumpkin down, taking a seat on the bench closest to her while flattening down her dress. Jack follows suit - carefully bringing his own pumpkin down and sitting right beside her. They're close enough that their knees are touching underneath the table, and Sally is very thankful that this is concealed by the blood-colored tablecloth. "It feels like it's been ages since I've carved one of these," He confesses. He sets down some tools, including a big spoon, a couple of knives, and a few other instruments she doesn't recognize. "-I know it hasn't been that long, but...well, you know what I mean." "I've never carved one myself, so I guess I know how that feels." She finally glances away from the table and notices the eyes aimed at them. They are all intently gazing at Jack, but she notices the few that are in her direction. The skeleton seems completely oblivious to the stares while the ragdoll sinks into her shoulders. It feels...odd to be the center of attention. She tried desperately to avoid such a thing before, but now it's inevitable. She just hopes no one suspects anything... "Jack?" She whispers to him. He seems so unaware; she feels as if he should know. "Everyone is looking at us." He doesn't bother looking from the table. "Is it bothering you?" Her look turns troubled. "Well, I-" The skeleton finally looks up from their pumpkins and meets with the gaze of his citizens. Seeing as his attention is now on them, they all turn away at once - minding their own businesses and resuming what they had been doing before. The conversations pick back up, replacing the tense silence that was once there before. Sally gawks as the skeleton returns to his work, side glancing at her and smiling. "It's that easy. You just have to let me know," He informs her. "But why did they stop looking?" "They just wanted my attention, is all." He shrugs. "But I would much rather give that to you. Now, watch. This is the first step..." He makes sure he has her attention before grabbing one of the knives. He begins to cut a circle around the top of the pumpkin. Her stare is attentive, and she takes many notes as she watches him do this. He eventually revolves around the pumpkin until he successfully cuts the top off, lifting it and revealing the seeds hanging from the inside. She is amazed at how easily he completed such a task, as well as looking at the insides of a pumpkin. She's never seen it before...and she is very fascinated with what she sees. "Wow." "Try cutting yours. And a little tip of advice - don't do it straight down because you'll never get it back on. Try doing it at an angle." She notices the knife left right beside her own pumpkin. She grabs it and picks a spot to cut. She finds out that the pumpkin is extremely harder than it looks. She makes a few grunting noises as she attempts to puncture its surface. She tries to follow his advice and enter the knife in at an angle, but when her arms begin to wobble and her grip loses its strength, she only manages to make a small cut. Her hand fumbles and she drops it altogether, slapping the side of her head in frustration. His voice consoles her from the side. "Hey. Come on. It's nothing to be upset about. I'll help you." She peeks through her fingers and finds him giving her a warm smile. The same one that lets her know things are going to be okay. She perks up as she slowly removes her hands, and he takes this opportunity to take the knife from her hands and finish cutting for her. His large hands look funny working with such a small pumpkin like hers. She giggles to herself as he finishes, lifting the top up and setting it back into place perfectly. "What I do is I make a little indent." He points to a small 'V'-shaped cut made on her top. "That way, you'll know which direction to put the top back on. I can't tell you how many monsters will cut down directly and make a hole that the top can't rest on anymore. And if they get lucky, getting it on just right is a challenge. So, the indent makes that a lot easier." She admires its placement, pulling the top off for herself and setting it back down. It fits right into place. She looks back at him and giggles. "I suppose it makes sense you'd know all this stuff...being the Pumpkin King and all..." "They say I'm the best carver in town." He boasts proudly. "They also say you're the best at everything." He smiles coyly, as if taken a little off guard. "You flatter me, Sally....truly." Then he clears his throat and removes the top off of his pumpkin. "The next step is to remove all the fibrous strands and the seeds from inside. To make it clean and have room for your candle inside. Usually, monsters use their claws, but I like using these." He picks up some of the spoons and other things from the table, then begins to scoop out the insides. She watches him intently and mentally takes notes on what to do. When she goes to remove her top and peek inside the pumpkin, she finds herself distracted with what's inside. These strands look....very peculiar. She goes to touch it and cringes slightly. It's very cold and wet. It also feels sticky...like some sort of orange goop...not to mention it makes very moist sounds, like when the Doctor scratches his brain. "It looks funny," She says aloud. He glances over and notices her shivering the moment her hand clenches a handful of the stuff. She discards it right away and hesitates to grab anymore. The way she's biting her lip is very cute, but even he can tell she's having difficulties. "Do you want me to do it for you?" He offers. "Oh, could you?" She nudges her pumpkin closer to him. He pauses with his work to empty out hers, scraping the insides. It takes only a few minutes until he's finished, where the inside of hers looks completely clean. He empties his own then cleans off his hands with a napkin. Sally inspects his work and claps in excitement, relieved and looking forward to continue on with the process. She's having a lot of fun with him - it feels very natural to her, to participate with these things and doing something she'd never thought of doing before. She's very glad he invited her to do this. "What's the next step?" She asks. "Now, we pick out the designs." He throws the napkin to the side. "This year's plan is to carve an eyeball...but between you and me, anyone can take creative liberties. So, go with any design you want." "Whatever I want?" She echoes, tapping her chin uncertainly. "Well...what are you going to carve?" "I think I'm going to carve a bat. It's fairly simple, and easy to do." "Really? Then...then I think I want to make a cat." "Do you need help drawing the design? I can do that for you real quick." "Will you?" He sees her perk up and nods, moving himself closer to her and grabbing a marker off the table. He turns the pumpkin out of her view and works on the design. It takes him only a couple of minutes until he's done, where he sits back and returns the cap back on the pen. Sally learns over to look at it and finds a simplistic cat drawn on the pumpkin. But she notices the style about it, its thin body reminding her of her own alley cat. "Now, see, you're actually going to carve the lines outside of the cat." He points at it. "Except its eyes, of course - cats have wonderful, glowing eyes...but the figure you leave as it is. It'll look like a shadow. Or a black cat." "I want it to be a black cat," She decides. "Alright. Just make sure there's enough room for the candle, since you picked a small one and all." He suddenly holds up his knife. "Watch this." She does. And she very well may have witnessed what might be the most interesting thing she'd seen in her life. He cuts the lines perfectly in only a matter of seconds, maneuvering his hands carefully and keeping a watchful eye to follow the lines rhythmically. It doesn't take long until he pops the cut parts out, leaving a large figure of a bat in its absence. She can see where the light of the candle will shine through. It looks perfect. She can't fathom how quickly he had made it. Pointing at it, she notices a similarity. "It looks like the one on your bow tie." "You think so?" He takes a quick glance down at his bow tie and back to his pumpkin. "Hm. You're right. I didn't realize that." She gets busy attempting to carve her pumpkin. She does her best while Jack goes on about something in the background. She tries to listen to him as she works, his voice calming her every time she feels overwhelmed. But her clumsiness is inevitable - her hand begins to slip and shake every time she follows a line. What was once a perfectly-symmetrical moon now has jagged lines. Even the figure of the cat looks like roadkill. She sets down her knife to stare at it sadly. The eyes look far too much like triangles... Her love, meanwhile, applauds. "I like it." "I ruined your design." She lowers her head in defeat. "No! Just look at the lines you made on the cat." He points at them. "It looks like it's scared out of its wits! That's a very good job, if you ask me." She tilts her head. She can see it now...it looks like a cat when its back is hunched and hissing. She looks back at the skeleton and smiles. He always knows how to make her feel better. "I think you're right..." She feels prouder of her creation the longer she stares at it. He gave her confidence that she didn't know she needed. It looks perfectly fine for a first try...it must be exceptional if Jack likes it. But, then again, maybe he's a little biased...no, his opinion is always sincere! She glances over at him and notices he's adding a few finishing touches to his own, sharpening some areas and dulling others. She can't help but follow the movement of his hands with her eyes. It's as if he's done this hundreds of times before... "So," He begins, finally tearing away his gaze from his work. "How is someone enjoying their first time carving a pumpkin?" "I like it. The insides feel very...wet...and it's a little hard moving the knife, but it's very enjoyable." She waits before adding, "I think that's because I'm with you." "Mm. Am I that good of a teacher, Miss Sally?" She holds in a giggle at the new term. It sounds so...classy. And it makes her feel very good. "-The best I've ever had, Mr. Skellington." He pauses in his process to give her a meaningful smile, finding something endearing hearing that name out of her mouth, then sets down his knife to wipe down his hands once more. "Would you like to do this again?" She recalls something very similar from before -- his invitation from their first date, insisting they'd have a repeat of their wonderful evening that time. It makes her wonder if he really means it when he wants to do these things again, and wishes for nothing more herself. "--Why, Jack...I'd want to do anything with you." "You know, Sally, I feel the same way." His hand grips hers from under the table, then returns his gaze to their pumpkins. "I think we're just about done here. Would you like to know the final step?" "What is it?" "We display it!" He grabs his pumpkin then places it on a nearby mantel proudly. "Horrible! Don't you think so?" "It looks even better from a distance." She picks up her own pumpkin and hesitates before sitting it next to his. She notes right away the difference in detail - hers very much looks like a child had made it, while Jack's was more than incredible...Despite this, he admires them both from beside her, turning and speaking with usual enthusiasm. "What do you know? It's look better when it's in a pair." She fiddles with her hands timidly. "I think so, too..." He looks at her for a moment or two before glancing around them again, smiling and leaning down, quietly asking, "...Would you like to take a stroll, now? Just the two of us?" She was hoping he'd ask. With her nod of encouragement, he begins leading her out of Town, through the gates, and into the more secluded alleyways - holding her hand once they are out of sight, and never letting go. The two talk more of what had just happened, and in the midst of their conversation, find themselves naturally heading on the path towards their favorite hill... ---------------- Dr. Finklestein, coincidentally, is on a very similar route. But this isn't a merry trip nor is he on a casual errand to the grocery store. No, he's absolutely seething as he guides his small hand on the controls of his chair. After a restless hour of fighting with his thoughts, struggling with his insecurities accompanied by the endless curiosity of what has exactly happened to his ragdoll, he decided to ask her himself. But that plan hadn't gone as predicted, as the moment he opened up her door, he found the window open and Sally gone yet again. Not that he was surprised, of course, but it enraged him after their promise they had made an hours prior. What an unfaithful, wretched girl... He scowls inwardly, lips twitching as they always do when he's agitated. He can feel a little of his drool finding its way down his neck, which he promptly wipes away. She's probably out in the town...or with Skellington....who knows? I can't bother with these details anymore... Ordering his assistant to oversee everything while he was gone, Finklestein decided to go with a...new approach while searching for his missing ragdoll. He was not to yell for her, nor exclaim her name while out in public. That just draws more attention to himself, he finds, and from that, Sally hides before he can even find her! So a more quiet approach is necessary, and he must make himself as invisible as possible so she won't bail the moment he's in her sight. Being one of the palest residents in the town, he knows how difficult this task is, as he covered himself with an old jacket he found in one of his closets. The wheelchair might be a giveaway, but moving himself through the shadows has made him unnoticed thus far. "When I see that Sally..." He mutters to himself before feeling a sudden pain in his chest. He clenches at it with his free fist. "Augh... That woman's torturing me without even trying! Does that girl know how much trouble she IS?" Enduring these sudden chest pains and shortness of breath, the Doctor continues on his way until he hears voices from afar. He stops his wheelchair entirely and lifts his large head, trying to find the source of the noise. He eventually realizes it's several yards in front of him, and sticks himself to the walls while creeping forward. He eventually comes upon two figures - both tall, and situated almost too comfortably among themselves. His fingers twitch as he recognizes the two of them, his glasses shimmering in realization as Jack Skellington's voice coos to his ragdoll, who is pressed gently against the wall with the skeleton's arms pinned against her sides. From his position, he can see his chest barely grazing against her own, evoking a growl-like noise from his own throat. No doubt an inviting gesture, The Doctor thinks, fingernails pressing against his gloved palm. What does that boy think he's doing? Encouraging her rebellious behavior! I should come forward and stop this-- His body stiffens as the two lean in and lock lips. His jaw falls open as his hands release themselves. He can't even think of a word at this moment! Seeing his beloved King perch himself on his creation...the beautiful woman he made promised to himself, in the hands of another man - a man much more attractive, suave, and talented than himself...The embodiment of his insecurities, all formed into a skeleton he once believed to respect -- kissing a woman knowing who she is promised to...An act of such indecency... As Jack pulls away, Finklestein finds her giggling and smiling. Batting her eyelashes at him. He notices the way her shoulders bunched up and the leg that lifts when the Pumpkin King trails a finger along her chin. He feels like a dirty old man who has stumbled upon an innocent young romance -- but that's not the case, he reminds himself...this is his woman, HIS supposed-fiancée! He wandered into something most unpleasant for himself...a situation he knew he was bound to see, but the sight of it just makes him repulsed. A man he once respected has taken something that was rightfully his...he is angry, and he has every right to storm up and break whatever it is that is happening here. But why isn't he doing it? The man takes several moments to consider this. He's trying to be hidden. Absorbing the scene with only his eyes. But that itself is questionable...he is finding no pleasure from this. It is the exact opposite. He's filled with hate and resentment, but he finds no urge to bring that upon either of them. Which is very odd...he made it very clear to Sally that she was made for him, where she belongs, and what she is to do...but something different comes when he has this feeling. When he finds that smile on her face - one he has never seen himself, yet only exists because she is around that boy. She is happy right now. And he has never seen that himself. He's never given her that feeling. And now, he realizes, how horrible this realization feels... A tear finds its way out from his glasses, and he wipes it away without thinking. He feels more of them fall. His eyes are fixated on the figures as his mouth pulls into a low frown. But the anger has faded from his eyes, and in its absence are the gray pupils of a man who has lost something. Not something -- but someone. More thoughts are pouring in, revelations that have been hidden from his eyes for so long now, are causing the tears to grow. They fall until his cheeks are completely moist, and by that time, Jack and Sally have already left. They're continuing on their way, but Finklestein remains where he is. Even a genius like him knows this is obvious. He is stuck in a position of naiveté and stubbornness. Everything he hoped for, the future he envisioned for this girl...it was no more. They are no more. He has fought and struggled through his process, this process of losing her...he has rejected it for as long as he has known. He's spent such little time believing he was to marry her and instead spent longer denying her feelings for another man. He moves his hand to his chest and gently places it over his heart. His heart that no longer beats, but the pain it feels is unfathomable. Sally has done something to him he didn't deem possible within himself-- He is heartbroken. As the tears find their way onto his lips, he recognizes the taste. It's salty. The dead fish that was so prominent is gone now. He received his answers - but not all of them.  But the rest will all have to wait. For now, all he wants to do is soak in these feelings of neglect and distress. He turns his wheelchair slowly in the opposite direction, retreating back to his tower in defeat. He thinks nothing more of Sally or even Jack. He instead thinks of his dinner, and how the poison will taste tomorrow. ------------------------- "I love you, Jack." How she adores these words. She has wanted to say them for so long now that they feel almost foreign slipping off of her tongue. She even still has this little fear of his reaction. But this is suppressed as the skeleton easily replies, merely moments after the words left her own lips, does she hear the answer she has dreamed of hearing for so long. "I love you too, Sally." There. She melts again. He leaves a kiss on her forehead and her eyes gleam dreamily at him. They are sitting in their rightful spot on their favorite hill as they always have. They had a very long talk on the way over here, and exchanged some...new things during their slight detour. Hearing the words he said to her in those moments, being pinned against the wall, with no escape and no options but to face the man who had her trapped between his arms...Oh, God...Sally is head over heels for this skeleton man. He excites her. He always has. But now she's truly feeling it -- her heart racing in her chest, the exhilaration she can feel in her fingertips... She wants this feeling to never end. "It's very strange, being in love like this," He confesses to her, snapping her out of her daze. "But not a bad strange. It's a good strange. If you understand what I mean?" "I believe I do." She comes forward to nestle her head on the side of his neck. "It's very new. The Doctor never taught me about love." He turns his head slightly, interested. "Really, now?" "I didn't even know what marriage was until you explained it to me. Then you said something about being in love, and I only read about that in books. The Doctor...I've never felt like this around him. It's because of those stories I knew what it's like to feel this way..." She closes her eyes. "But it's one thing reading it and another experiencing it..." "Oh. You have no idea." He laughs slightly, gripping her hair gently in his hand. "I read those books about a man falling in love with a beautiful woman...to think about her in the mornings and wanting to be by her side...I thought it was hopeless for myself, but here I am feeling the exact same things." Her ruby lips curl into a smile. Her hand clutches at his suit. She still can't fathom how real this all is. "-You said something about doing things you wouldn't think of before...well, because of you, I feel happier back at home. Like I have nothing to worry about. I can do things without feeling scared anymore." He perks up. "Re-Really?" "I ate breakfast with the Doctor and Igor. I never did that before." She laughs. "And then, I realized...it's because I was thinking of you. I felt so happy. I didn't have a reason to worry about what they'd say or what I'd be punished for...Just thinking of you kept me strong, I-I guess is what I'm saying..." His hand slithers its way into her own, which she happily squeezes. She takes another inhale of his cologne. This feels almost too real. "You give me confidence, too, Sally...Why, I finished all my work the other night because I moved my desk closer to my window. Every time I looked at your place, it gave me this...good feeling. Knowing you were somewhere there." "You mean it?" "Yes. I do. And that good feeling is what I need to continue working. I haven't been this invested in my work for a long time." She becomes tense hearing that last part, and turns her head to look at him in wonder. It's been some time since he last hinted to his feelings with Halloween...the time he found her in the Graveyard, she could pick up on his mixed feelings with the holiday. And she recalls asking him about it. What could've been troubling him like with her and the Doctor. But he told me it doesn't matter... She thinks to herself. But...did he really mean that? "Jack..." She begins slowly, taking herself off of him and looking at him seriously. "Can you be honest with me, for a moment?" "I'm always honest with you." He affirms. "Well, yes, but....I'd really appreciate it." She holds her breath, fearing this will finally overstep a boundary of his. "D-Do you really....love Halloween?" "What do you mean?" "You've told me how you love it, but at other times, you tell me how troubling it is for you. How much work it is and how that causes you to come here...how i-it's troubling you. But...you've never told me that honestly. Or why that is. And I just want-" "--I do." He realizes he interrupted her and waves a hand apologetically. "I-I mean, I do love Halloween...but it's --- complicated." He notices her look of concern and sighs. "I suppose honesty wouldn't hurt now...hell, you're the only one who might understand." She flutters her eyelashes worriedly. No one understands? What can he mean by that? She watches as he shifts uncomfortably, and she feels her chest turn cold when he averts his gaze. At least he is opening up about this...she's always wanted to know. He's always been the kind man who dealt with her problems, but never has she heard of his own or helped him...and that's what she'd like to do. As his love, after all. That's what partners are for, aren't they? "What I mean by it's complicated is that I've...lost my passion for scaring. But just a little bit! Not entirely. I still feel all kinds of thrills and chills when I get someone to scream, but it just doesn't feel the same anymore. Like I've done the same thing before. And I realized that, after repeating the same plans year after year...doing the same routines, hearing the same old screams...I really am in this sort of loophole. Nothing seemed to change, and I was finding less meaning in what I was doing." She holds her hands together, feeling nothing but sorrow for her dearest friend. She can feel the emptiness he must be experiencing. As if his problems were her own. She comes forward to lay a comforting hand on his shoulder, and he looks at her to smile. But then, when his gaze shifts again, it falls and he's left to dwell more on the matter. "Being the Pumpkin King is wonderful to me. It really is. I get to take care of my people and give them something to look forward to, but...I never had a choice. I didn't choose to become the King nor did anyone pick me. But they love me anyway. And I appreciate them. But as excruciating as Halloween has become...I couldn't find the right change. Sure, the Mayor and I would come up with new ideas and they'd be exciting, but they just became a routine like everything else. The passion doesn't stay as long as I want it to. And at one point, I wanted to give it all up. I didn't want to keep doing this if it meant I had to repeat the same things every year. But I can't. I can't give up my crown or step down. I'd leave my people in the dark, and I want nothing more but for them to be happy, even if it meant I wasn't. I was stuck doing this, and for the longest time, I just dealt with it. But it took a toll on me through the years, and by this point the planning all just feels like one big chore. A 364-day responsibility left in my hands even if I never asked for it." She rubs her hand along his arm, her eyes filled with sadness from this information. "Jack...why didn't you tell anyone about this before?" He almost laughs. "They wouldn't understand. Why would they? This is all they know. Halloween is our purpose, our fun, our connection we share. Why would anyone question something they've done all their death? Who would get tired of this custom we love? I'm their King, and in their eyes, I'm this perfect embodiment of Halloween...no one understands what it's like to dream of something more than what you already have. They can't relate to what I'm going through - not when everything is perfect to them." "Well, I-I'm sure you could've found someone who related to you...someone who wasn't as happy with where they were or what they were doing. Someone who-" "--Someone like you." He finishes, ending her rambling. "Sally, do you realize what you've done for me?" She shakes her head. "You've given me a reason. A purpose. I wanted something new in my afterlife after going through this for so long, and...you're it. I've never fallen in love like this. I've never felt this way about somebody, and it feels so...new. I'm having new experiences with you, and I'm...happy. I'm content. I'm finally finding something to enjoy with Halloween now that you're in my death. And I-I don't know if you know that." "I do, now..." She grows breathless, desperately trying to find more words. "I...I do....I feel-" "Can I kiss you? Please?" The yearning in his voice makes her grow very warm. "Ye-yes, you can always kiss me, Ja-" Her words are interrupted when his lips press against hers, and that's all that is needed to make Sally turn into jelly again. The kiss is intimate and leaves her grasping at his lapels to get leverage. She has felt desire in their previous kisses, but there's something...new in this one. She can feel the longing in his body, and the passion igniting in her own. But she only truly feels this effect once he manages to gently press her body closer to the ground, resting himself above her. She grasps at his suit to keep herself involved with the kiss, until they both eventually break away. Then, her head is left to rest on the ground, where she can look at nothing but his face. "I-I need you..." He confesses, lowering his skull until it's next to her ear. "I've always needed you, Sally. It took me so long to find you. When we met, there was something so...different about you...I honestly couldn't believe you wanted to know about me. And ever since then, I...I felt a lot of things about you." Her cheeks feel hot, but she's unsure if it's because of their closeness or what he's saying. "Jack, I felt the same way when you said you wanted to-to be my...friend...even though you didn't know anything about me." "Are you kidding?" He lifts himself up to look at her. "A beautiful woman who saw me as more than the Pumpkin King? Who wanted to know what I did in my free time and what I thought of Romeo and Juliet? Just what did I do to deserve you, Sally?" Her jaw begins to tingle as she pulls his skull forward to her, brushing her nose against his nasal bone. "How about taking me away from the Doctor?" "-You did most of that yourself, you know-" "Kiss me, Jack..." She waits no moment further to press her lips against his, and he happily returns it by pressing his against her own. His hand finds it way to the back of her head, bringing her closer as they momentarily switch positions on the ground. As Sally continues to kiss the man who has confessed to her changing his own death for the better, she feels a sense of purpose as well as her growing love for Jack Skellington.