#red desert 5 seconds of summer

[visceral--feeling]

Pink Cloud Over Mountain - Charles Courtney Curran // Red Desert - 5 Seconds of Summer

[1ns1deyourm1nd]

[bestgaslighter]

Song of the day:

Red Desert - 5 Seconds of Summer

[nakedlilac]

lovin' you

⛓🌩🏜❤️‍🔥

[andtherestishistory13]

I love all of 5sos albums but Calm is probably one of my top favorites. Mainly because of Red Desert

[ramprule]

red desert

song: red desert, 5 seconds of summer

this song is so desertduo! wanted to capture scar's willingness to submitting himself to grian's blade (hypothetical). i think that they'd look back on the days in the desert as 'twilight memories' of dancing in the desert night breeze, with only each other on their minds. such a beautiful song for a beautiful ship. here are the stills for this;

fyi, the @ in the video is my twitter (X) handle.

[visceral--feeling]

Un Témoin Muet - Évariste Carpentier // Red Desert - 5 Seconds of Summer

[edge-oftheworld]

this!! this is what they did in both songs. D, Am, the rest of the chord progression is not shared. 5sos like to do this. andrea stolpe on instagram unpacks really well why you might want to do this!! basically if the song is in a major key if you pick a chord that would usually be major and make it minor the song sounds super funky. same if you do the opposite way around (song in minor key, pick a chord that would usually be minor and make it major) which they do in red desert!

It's probably been noted before, but this must be a musical sibling of Complete Mess.

I don't really know how to articulate in musical terms (similar chord progressions for sure) but it sounds like it might have come from the same starting point.

@edge-oftheworld, your thoughts (and musical expertise)?

[astra-ravana]

The Signs: Correspondences

Aries♈

Symbol: The ram

Affirmation: "I am."

Dates: March 21st - April 20th

Day: Tuesday

Element: Fire

Colors: Red, orange, black, white

Body: Head

Ruler: Mars

House: First

Modality: Cardinal

Polarity: Positive

Gender: Masculine

Number: 9

Metal: Iron

Birthstone: Diamond

Season: Spring

Tarot: The Emporer

Exultation: Sun

Fall: Saturn

Detriment: Venus

Plants: Hops, thistle, red clover, honeysuckle, holly, hawthorne, garlic, nettles, cayenne, locust, geranium, saffron, spruce

Crystals: Diamond, rutilated quartz, carnelian, pietersite, bloodstone, citrine, ruby, jasper, super seven, herkimer diamond, Libyan desert glass, danburite, topaz, garnet, hematite, obsidian, sardonyx

Animals: Rams/sheep, tigers, dragons, hawks, wolves, foxes

Archetypes: The Warrior, The Pioneer, The Daredevil, The Survivor, The Child, The Creative, The Adventurer

Keywords: Pioneering, fearless, energetic, impulsive, adventurous, courageous, assertive, brash, optimistic, honest, independent, restless, fiery, fool hardy, forceful, combative, competitive, daring, crude, confident, enterprising, demanding, direct, resilient, dominant, impatient, reckless, loud, rash, stubborn, arrogant, temperamental, humorous, creative, friendly, authentic

Taurus♉

Symbol: The bull

Affirmation: "I have."

Dates: April 21st - May 21st

Day: Friday

Element: Earth

Colors: Green, blue, pink, brown

Body: Neck

Ruler: Venus

House: Second

Modality: Fixed

Polarity: Negative

Gender: Feminine

Number: 6

Metal: Copper

Birthstone: Emerald

Season: Late spring

Tarot: The Hierophant

Exultation: Moon

Fall: Uranus

Detriment: Mars/Pluto

Plants: Wheat, mint, apple, sorrel, foxglove, thyme, rose, sage, daisy, crypress, ash, poppy, basil, violet, dandelion, fig, pear

Crystals: Emerald, rose quartz, malachite, rhodonite, kunzite, peridot, jade, chrysocolla, kyanite, amethyst, pyrite, selenite, turquoise, lapis lazuli, adventurine, tiger's eye, moss agate

Animals: Bulls/cows, elephants, flamingos, turtles, camels

Archetypes: The Earth Spirit, The Musician, The Silent One, The Sage, The Hedonist, The Stabilizer

Keywords: Steadfast, reliable, sensual, patient, practical, loyal, grounded, stable, nurturing, tenacious, stubborn, possessive, materialistic, enduring, committed, devoted, calm, dependable, inflexible, resistant, over-indulgent, caring, resilient, persistent, overly cautious, tranquil, resourceful, sensible, unyielding, pessimistic, jealous, insecure, focused

Gemini♊

Symbol: The twins

Affirmation: "I think."

Dates: May 22nd - June 20th

Day: Wednesday

Element: Air

Colors: Yellow, blue, teal, grey

Body: Arms/hands

Ruler: Mercury

House: Third

Modality: Mutable

Polarity: Positive

Gender: Masculine

Number: 5

Metal: Mercury

Birthstone: Agate

Season: Early summer

Tarot: The Lovers

Exultation: North node

Fall: South node

Detriment: Jupiter

Plants: Anise, lavender, marjoram, hazel, caraway, myrtle, fern, valerian, lily-of-the-valley, bittersweet, chestnut

Crystals: Agate, moonstone, aquamarine, pearl, sapphire, apatite, howlite, alexandrite, chrysophase, celestite, sodalite, lemon quartz, opal, labradorite, tourmaline, onyx

Animals: Horses, dolphins, deer, butterflies, chameleons, monkies

Archetypes: The Witness, The Teacher, The Storyteller, The Journalist, The Messenger, The Unholdable

Keywords: Adaptable, outgoing, curious, intellectual, impulsive, versatile, flakey, gossipy, enthusiastic, indecisive, loving, nosy, open, excitable, flighty, bubbly, fun-loving, verbal, smart, judgemental, nervous, distracted, giving, popular, gentle, emotionally aware, persuasive, intuitive, empathetic

Cancer♋

Symbol: The crab

Affirmation: "I feel."

Dates: June 21st - July 21st

Day: Monday

Element: Water

Colors: White, silver, grey, blue, green

Body: Chest/stomach

Ruler: Moon

House: Fourth

Modality: Cardinal

Polarity: Negative

Gender: Feminine

Number: 2

Metal: Silver

Birthstone: Pearl (moonstone)

Season: Mid summer

Tarot: The Chariot

Exultation: Jupiter

Fall: Mars

Detriment: Saturn

Plants: White rose, verbena, tarragon, water lily, lotus, willow, alder, saxifrage, lettuce, acanthus, jasmine

Crystals: Moonstone, pearl, selenite, calcite, chalcedony, opal, amethyst, emerald, chrysophase, coral, larimar, howlite, peacock ore, blue kyanite, rose quartz, blue lace agate, angelite

Animals: Crustaceans, frogs, whales, rabbits, seals

Archetypes: The Mother, The Healer, The Invisible, The Hysteric, The Counselor, The Psychic, The Maiden

Keywords: Emotional, loving, sensitive cautious, sympathetic, moody, touchy, protective, unpredictable, charming, loyal, tender-hearted, creative, caring, over-emotional, resentful, drastic, nurturing, generous, ardent, consistent, aloof, codependent, coddling, dramatic, hysterical, shrewd, imaginative, possessive, changeable, defensive, clinging, vindictive, devoted, motherly, soft

Leo♌

Symbol: The lion

Affirmation: "I will."

Dates: July 22nd - August 22nd

Day: Sunday

Element: Fire

Colors: Gold, yellow, orange

Body: Heart/spine

Ruler: Sun

House: Fifth

Modality: Fixed

Polarity: Positive

Gender: Masculine

Number: 1

Metal: Gold

Birthstone: Ruby

Season: Late summer

Tarot: Strength

Exultation: Neptune

Fall: None

Detriment: Uranus

Plants: Sunflower, saffron, peppermint, walnut, rosemary, St. John's wort, borage, orange, lemon, bay, olive, marigold, dandelion

Crystals: Ruby, carnelian, citrine, sunstone, spinel hematite, rhodochrosite, rutilated quartz, peridot, pyrite, herkimer diamond, golden topaz, honey calcite, apache tear, tiger's eye, black onyx

Animals: Lions, cats, peacocks, horses, phoenix, eagles, tigers

Archetypes: The King/Queen, The Performer, The Clown, The Golden Child, The Victor, The Magician, The Guardian

Keywords: Confident, loyal, passionate, arrogant, dependable, strong, domineering, vivacious, honest, sociable, warm, self-focused, vain, determined, giving, charismatic, attention-seeking, ferocious, joyous, fun, jealous, inflexible, brave, born leader, kind, reckless, shallow, hospitable, flirtatious, outrageous, wild, cocky, confrontational, magnetic, chatty, luxurious, extravagant

Virgo♍

Symbol: The virgin

Affirmation: "I analyze."

Dates: August 23rd - September 23rd

Day: Wednesday

Element: Earth

Colors: Green, white, brown, navy blue

Body: Abdomen

Ruler: Mercury

House: Sixth

Modality: Mutable

Polarity: Negative

Gender: Feminine

Number: 5

Metal: Nickel

Birthstone: Peridot

Season: Early autumn

Tarot: The Hermit

Exultation: Mercury

Fall: Venus/Neptune

Detriment: Jupiter/Neptune

Plants: Valerian, elder, skullcap, flax, buttercup, lavender, dill, blackberry, morning glory, forget-me-not, hazel

Crystals: Peridot, jade, sapphire, fluorite, sodalite, lapis lazuli, mookaite, zicron, sardonyx, moss agate, nuummite

Animals: Owls, bees, doves, squirrels, mice, salmon

Archetypes: The Perfectionist, The Servant, The Martyr, The Analyst, The Alchemist, The Messenger

Keywords: Analytical, hardworking, meticulous, practical, fussy, judgemental, modest, patient, artistic, critical, attentive, picky, humble, industrious, polite, proper, shy, intelligent, distant, harsh, conservative, anxious, sensitive, dedicated, subtle, curious, classy, responsible, repressed, trustworthy, altruistic, gentle, ethereal, wise, independent

Libra♎

Symbol: The scales

Affirmation: "I balance."

Dates: September 23rd - October 22nd

Day: Friday

Element: Air

Colors: Light blue, pink, green

Body: Kidneys

Ruler: Venus

House: Seventh

Modality: Cardinal

Polarity: Positive

Gender: Masculine

Number: 6

Metal: Copper

Birthstone: Sapphire

Season: Mid-autumn

Tarot: Justice

Exultation: Saturn

Fall: Sun

Detriment: Mars

Plants: Mint, rose, dahlia, feverfew, thyme, ash, burdock, parsley, blue lotus, daisy, poplar, apple, grape, white sycamore

Crystals: Sapphire, jade, sardonyx, opal, turquoise, moonstone, lapis lazuli, rose quartz, larvakite, obsidian, auralite, prehnite, pink tourmaline, morganite

Animals: Ravens, swans, dragonflies, dogs, deer, pandas

Archetypes: The Lover, The Artist, The Peacemaker, The Socialite, The Flirt, The Designer, The Mediator

Keywords: Diplomatic, charming, easy going, fair, balanced, sensual, lazy, indecisive, idealistic, manipulative, dreamy, intellectual, harmonious, influential, friendly, entitled, engaging, likable, melodramatic, gossipy, vain, tactful, witty, funny, tempered, pragmatic, sincere, fickle, bossy, ambivalent, generous, insecure, lovable, creative, optimistic

Scorpio♏

Symbol: The scorpion

Affirmation: "I desire."

Dates: October 23rd - November 22nd

Day: Tuesday

Element: Water

Colors: Dark red, maroon, black

Body: Genitals

Ruler: Mars/Pluto

House: Eighth

Modality: Fixed

Polarity: Negative

Gender: Feminine

Number: 9

Metal: Steel (iron)

Birthstone: Opal

Season: Late autumn

Tarot: Death

Exultation: Uranus

Fall: Moon

Detriment: Venus

Plants: Hawthorne, witch hazel, aloe, catnip, birch, ginseng, onion/leek, heather, geranium, brambles, milk thistle, rhododendron

Crystals: Opal, topaz, malachite, garnet, ruby, labradorite, smokey quartz, beryl, Apache tear, moonstone, shungite, citrine, auralite, super seven, bloodstone, amethyst, abalone, que sera

Animals: Scorpions, spiders, eagles, serpents, panthers

Archetypes: The Detective, The Sorcerer, The Hypnotist, The Witch, The Temptress, The Mystic, The Protector

Keywords: Determined, forceful, intuitive, powerful, magnetic, secretive, ambitious, obsessive, hardworking, emotionally intelligent, creative, seductive, possessive, honest, blunt, passionate, intense, jealous, protective, resentful, tenacious, thrilling, sardonic, stubborn, dark, strategic, loyal, stoic, obstinate, fearless, disciplined, skeptical, self-reliant

Sagittarius♐

Symbol: The centaur/archer

Affirmation: "I see."

Dates: November 22nd - December 21st

Day: Thursday

Element: Fire

Colors: Purple, royal blue, red

Body: Hips, thighs, liver

Ruler: Jupiter

House: Ninth

Modality: Mutable

Polarity: Positive

Gender: Masculine

Number: 3

Metal: Tin

Birthstone: Topaz

Season: Early winter

Tarot: Temperance

Exultation: South Node

Fall: North Node

Detriment: Mercury

Plants: Sage, dandelion, mulberry, cinnamon, wood betony, star anise, mandrake, mallow, oak, thistle, carnations, ash, calamus, orchid

Crystals: Topaz, labradorite, amethyst, azurite, corundom, carnelian, spinel, sugilite, tanzanite, iolite, chalcedony, blue goldstone, yooperlite, lapis lazuli, garnet, blue apatite, quantum quatro

Animals: Horses, stags, falcons, foxes, crows, unicorns

Archetypes: The Gypsy, The Student, The Philosopher, The Psychiatrist, The Seeker, The Comedian, The Guide

Keywords: Adventurous, philosophical, free-spirited, intelligent, direct, impulsive, scatter-brained, forgiving, curious, jovial, good-humored, idealistic, unfiltered, blunt, impatient, preachy, accepting, authentic, energetic, non-committal, compassionate, friendly, unfocused, conflict-avoidant, spontaneous, enchanting, musical, stylish, detached, trusty, pioneering, sophisticated, open-minded

Capricorn♑

Symbol: The sea goat

Affirmation: "I use."

Dates: December 22nd - January 20th

Day: Saturday

Element: Earth

Colors: Dark green, grey, black, brown

Body: Knees

Ruler: Saturn

House: Tenth

Modality: Cardinal

Polarity: Negative

Gender: Feminine

Number: 8

Metal: Lead

Birthstone: Turquoise

Season: Winter

Tarot: The Devil

Exultation: Mars

Fall: Jupiter

Detriment: Moon

Plants: Hemlock, ivy, poppy, beetroot, comfrey, hemp, elm, willow, henbane, knapweed, pansy, yew, onion, hellebore, horsetail

Crystals: Turquoise, onyx, black tourmaline, corundom, smokey quartz, clear quartz, sodalite, jet, larvakite, hematite, pyrite, citrine, aragonite, azurite, malachite, black kyanite, kiwi jasper, tiger iron

Animals: Goats, bees, elk/deer, woodpeckers, penguins, sturgeon

Archetypes: The Hermit, The Father, The Prime Minister, The Miser, The Judge, The Administrator, The Mentor

Keywords: Tough, uncompromising, dedicated, capable, responsible, tenacious, stubborn, practical, wise, persistent, pragmatic, honest, arrogant, controlling, ambitious, steadfast, strong, successful, minimalist, stoic, careful, reserved, mature, dry, pessimistic, disciplined, driven, prudent, shy, greedy, miserly, moody, competitive, moralistic, cynical, harsh, logical

Aquarius♒

Symbol: The water bearer

Affirmation: "I know."

Dates: January 21st - February 18th

Day: Wednesday

Element: Air

Colors: Sky blue, teal, violet, indigo

Body: Shins/ankles, pineal gland

Ruler: Uranus/Saturn

House: Eleventh

Modality: Fixed

Polarity: Positive

Gender: Masculine

Number: 4

Metal: Aluminum

Birthstone: Aquamarine

Season: Late winter

Tarot: The Star

Exultation: None

Fall: Neptune

Detriment: Sun

Plants: Orchid, rowan, mandrake, passion flower, lotus, myyrh, hops, elder, pepper, amber, frankincense, golden rain, bergamot, chilli, saffron

Crystals: Aquamarine, amethyst, moonstone, angelite, sapphire, labradorite, arfedsonite, turquoise, charoite, super seven, Libyan desert glass, lepidolite, que sera, herkimer diamond, lapis lazuli, indigo gabbro, aqua aura,

Animals: Dolphins, snow leaopards, condors, salamanders, snakes

Archetypes: The Genius, The Revolutionary, The Truth Sayer, The Exile, The Scientist, The Rebel, The Outlaw

Keywords: Individualistic, clever, analytical, assertive, innovative, humanitarian, optimistic, eccentric, obstinate, aloof, open-minded, intelligent, unpredictable, impulsive, creative, impulsive, tolerant, social, calculating, chaotic, enigmatic, contradictory, independent, idealistic, unique, humorous, restless, inquisitive, unyielding, detached, lonely

Pisces♓

Symbol: The fishes

Affirmation: "I believe."

Dates: February 19th - March 20th

Day: Thursday

Element: Water

Colors: Sea green, mint, blue, cyan

Body: Feet

Ruler: Neptune/Jupiter

House: Twelfth

Modality: Mutable

Polarity: Negative

Gender: Feminine

Number: 7

Metal: Platinum

Birthstone: Moonstone

Season: Early spring

Tarot: The Moon

Exultation: Venus

Fall: Mercury

Detriment: Mercury

Plants: Water lily, chicory, fig, echinacea, angelica, moss, hazel, fern, eyebright, primrose, willow, iris, seaweed

Crystals: Moonstone, fluorite, aquamarine, larimar, jade, moss agate, amazonite, blue lace agate, blue adventurine, amethyst, dumortierite, tourmaline, apatite, mother of pearl, citrine, kunzite

Animals: Fish, chameleons, butterflies, deer, octopuses, mockingbirds

Archetypes: The Mystic, The Dreamer, The Poet, The Guide, The Medic, The Creator, The Dancer, The Guru

Keywords: Intuitive, creative, brilliant, loving, empathetic, intense, anxious, animated, romantic, soft, adventurous, needy, scatterbrained, mystical, addictive, unmotivated, sentimental, spiritual, compassionate, lighthearted, flexible, forgiving, supportive, kind, sweet, childish, stingy, charming, blunt, self-indulgent, apathetic, fun

[edge-oftheworld]

they couldn't release CALM in 2019 even though it was finished then because between it and youngblood the late twentyteens couldn't handle that much angst and bass

[no-phrogs-in-hats]

Sweet as Sugarcane

Chapter 3: The Journals

Agatha Harkness x Fem!reader Old West/Oregon Trail AU

Word count: 3,350

Summary: As a New York politician's daughter, you're accustomed to a way of life that many people aren't privy to. But after your mother dies and your father sells everything, the only life you see ahead is on a dusty, deserted trail out west--until you meet Agatha.

Warnings: gross men who can't take no for an answer, depictions of postpartum depression

Spotify playlist here

Ao3 here

Masterlist

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 |

January 1845

The red brick house was one of the smaller few on State Street’s Mansion Row, but still, the estate sale brought in a large crowd. 

Your father’s decision to emigrate west didn’t come easily, but according to him, “Someone needs to govern them out there.” And with a distant cousin’s promise of having a new home built for the family by summer, he was convinced. But you weren’t.

You aren’t.

You stand against the wall of the foyer, holding tight to your ten-almost-eleven-year-old brother’s hand. Now at the tail end of the mourning period, colors are slowly returning to your wardrobe, accompanied by the luxury fabrics you were used to before. 

Your chest tightens watching the men and women scour through your home, picking up knick-knacks and turning them in their hands. No room in the home was safe from the auction. Your room had been ransacked as well, with tags on the pink ivory wood tables and bed frame, listing their prices and ages. Even your wardrobe is marked for sale with some of your day dresses in the upper 200s.

You listen to murmurs of “This would look wonderful in the parlor” and “This could go above the mantel.”

Household heads are wandering through the halls, flitting from one room to another while bargaining prices with your father. Your entire life has been torn apart in the span of eleven months. Your possessions, things you had grown up seeing every morning–paintings in the hallways, rugs that your bare feet would walk over, and tapestries that your mother embroidered herself. 

It would all be gone within a matter of weeks.

The city would be a distant memory, left in the past with your mother. 

__________

You can’t sleep. The clock on your bedside table reads almost three o’clock. 

Despite the fire still blazing in the hearth, there’s still a chill in the room. You sit up and plant your feet on the cold wood floor and reach for the shawl draped over the footboard of your bed. 

With your father in the capital for the week, life moves slower. Silas and Charles have gone back home–Silas in Virginia and Charles in Washington D.C.–and all that’s left is you, Felix, and the twins, leaving you to entertain them, but mostly keep them out of trouble.

It wasn’t the hardest task. They spend most of their time outside at the parks and leave you to your own devices. And today, with the cooks and housekeepers out, you wandered aimlessly around the house that you’d soon be vacating. 

This time, you end up in your parents’ bedroom. Since last February, nothing’s felt the same. An uncomfortable weight sits over the premise. The vanity on the far side of the room hasn’t been touched. Aside from the jewelry and accessories left to you, everything remained in its original position. Dust has begun to settle on the bottles of perfume that your mother once used. The only difference that stuck out was the red tag on the leg of the table reading SOLD in black, bold letters.

You had never gone through the vanity. Your mother was always keen on her privacy, instilling you with the same values from a young age. 

But she’s gone now. If you didn’t go through her things and save them, they’d be tossed out or sold. So, you opened the top drawer and you sorted through the items. Jewelry you had never seen her wear lies still at the bottom collecting dust. An old jewelry box accompanies them in the back of the drawer, empty upon opening.

The second drawer contains more accessories: neatly folded bonnets and shawls, but when going through them, you notice something at the bottom. It’s a book bound in leather, ties on side keeping the yellowing pages closed shut. You pick it up carefully and open it.

Your eyes meet her delicate, slanted writing. Your lip begins quivering, having seen her writing for the first time in almost a year. Writing that you had never seen before. Writing that you never knew existed.

A diary.

Dates that went back to 1841. And beneath more of those shawls and bonnets are more journals. Worn through covers and crinkled and torn pages filled the leather-bound books. There were three of them, dating back over ten years.

When you open the original diary, the first entry is from July 1834–a month postpartum after having your youngest brother.

She was miserable, come to find out. She was exhausted, run down, and being part of high society in New York City wasn’t helping. She had no one. No one to help her. 

She seemed so happy, so content with her life around you and your siblings. But inside was a different story. You keep reading and it gets worse and worse.

In one entry, she admitted to being sick of your newborn brother. How he cried endlessly and how the nanny couldn’t even help. 

‘I want to love him so badly,’ she wrote, ‘but I cannot bring myself to. I’ve never felt this resentment toward my other bairns.’

‘Guilt rakes me every day.’

‘My child–my children–deserve a better mother. I cannot provide the life a mother can serve.’

The fourth, and final diary stopped on February 5th, 1844: Just days before she became sick.

It breaks your heart as she reflects back on her previous entries.

‘My plan is to burn them. I cannot bear to look at the diaries that I held in my darkest days. My heart breaks for my children and I bleed with sorrow reading the words I wrote against them. I desperately wish I could retract them and I pray they never see these as I could not bear to look at them after.’

You read on and the last sentence to close the final entry of her life was truly bittersweet.

‘Simply put, I love my children far too much to put into words, and I only wish them the happiest of lives.’

The journal in your hands is barely half-way full. The earliest entry is from the summer of 1843. You look at the previous three diaries and back to the one in your hands. Then you think of the fire down the hall in your room. You close the drawer and make your way over with all four journals in hand. 

Your room is warm as the fire rages in the hearth. You sink to your knees in front of it, listening briefly for anyone who could be home. You’re only met with silence.

Taking a deep breath, you set the journals on the cold wood floor and stoke the fire. With hesitant hands you take the oldest journal and toss it in the fire, watching it burn slowly. You take the second one and do the same and follow it with the third. The fourth one however, you look at it and mull your decision over.

You look at the other journals burning in the charred logs. It’s half-full, barely used by your mother. And these entries in the final diary are nothing but love for you and your brothers. Regret and wishes of going back are scrawled onto the parchment. Yes, you would burn the ones filled with sorrow and loneliness, but not this one. 

You wouldn’t burn the one with the entry where she confessed to finding it funny that Miles and Henry would switch places–even if it was annoying. You wouldn’t burn this one, the one that contained the entry saying how much she loved you and how proud she was of you when you took care of Felix after he came down with a cold. 

You wouldn’t burn the last physical evidence of her love for you.

You have no idea what to write, just that you need to say something–say something to your mother, to God, to whoever your mother was writing to, you don’t know. But you want to keep your mother’s memory alive. 

So you don’t burn it. Instead, you stand up and walk to your father’s study. You take a careful seat at the desk and rummage around for a pen and inkwell, setting them up carefully in front of you.

You open the diary and turn to the next clean page. And, dipping the pen into the inkwell, you press it to the paper, writing out your first entry.

January 15th. 1845

I haven’t a clue what to write, let alone who I’m talking to. In my mind’s eye, I suppose part of me is talking to you, Mama. I’ve burned your past three journals. I understand why you wouldn’t wish for us to find them, but I want you to know that I hold nothing against you.

We’re moving out west toward the Oregon territory. Papa’s cousin will have a house ready for us by the summer and we’ve sold most of our possessions. I feel like a little girl again, trying on your jewelry and slippers–those of which still don’t fit. 

I miss you terribly to the point where I don’t know how I’m able to bear it. I’ve always questioned the possibility of a God, but I hope, whether it’s His kingdom of Heaven, or an alternative, you’re at peace in a wonderful place.

With all my love, 

Your affectionate daughter.

__________

June 1845

It’s hot–scorching hot and you’re exhausted.

The past few months have been hell. Your feet ache with every step, your tongue feels like cotton, and you have to wipe your brow of sweat every few minutes.

Your youngest brother lays in the covered wagon, dehydrated and weak. You continue walking alongside the wagon in your muslin dress and linen bonnet, your hair tucked up tightly in braids–clothing that you’re not quite used to yet. Miles and Henry walk up front with the mules and your father, keeping them on the right path. Other travelers that you came upon at the beginning of your journey have stuck with you since, claiming that traveling together is safer.

It’s been three months since you left, almost half way through the trip now. You had survived river crossings, freezing in the coming springtime, and now, the heat of the west is becoming unbearable.

When you climb into the back of the wagon, seeking just that bit of relief from the shade, you plant yourself next to Felix who’s half dressed.. Beside you is a canteen of the remaining water you have left before the next river crossing. You open it carefully through the rocking and bumping and gently tip it into his mouth.

“Slowly,” you mumble. “Not too much at a time.”

He mutters something incoherent and closes his eyes, breathing the thick air in slowly. You sit there with him for a while, keeping home close as you scribble in your diary.

You tell your mother everything–your feelings, the hardships you’ve entailed the last three months, how you took almost everything she left with you on this journey, and she listens. She listens like nobody else, because there is nobody else–there isn’t even her. 

By late evening, Felix looks just a bit better. He’s eaten what rations he was allowed and drank water from the canteen with your help. As you walk beside the wagon with the women from the other group, the sun begins to set.

There’s one last river crossing for the day and thankfully this one isn’t too bad. The river is barely four feet high, but it is quite wide. And just as you make it to the other side, carrying Felix on your back, the axel beneath the wagon breaks. The journey comes to a halt and the group begins to make preparations for the night.

While helping build a fire, you overhear the men discussing how to continue on.

“There’s a small town not too far from here. In the morning we can venture over and see what they have.”

You jump out of your skin when a gunshot goes off and a scream. Behind you, in the circle of wagons, A man from another group is on the ground. Blood is seeping from his leg, a result of another group member accidentally firing his rifle while cleaning it.

“You son of a bitch!” he yells. “You shot me! You fucking shot me!”

You run over to the wagons, checking for any bottles of white liquor–something your mother taught you–but you turn up empty handed. “Papa,” you say amidst the chaos, “we don’t have spirits for the wound.”

He hurries over to your family’s wagon and digs out a pouch of coins. “Here,” he says quickly. “Take this. There’s a town not far from here, in that direction. Their apothecary won’t be open at this hour, but a tavern should be. Get a whole bottle of white liquor–vodka will be best. Go. Hurry–wait!” 

You stop in your tracks and turn around. He hands you a small revolver. “Keep this in your pocket, just in case.”

You had never held a gun, let alone fired one, and you hold it like the slightest move will set it off. But, still, you nod, pocket the gun, and hurry away.

It’s not too far of a walk. By the time you get there, the sun is almost entirely set, so you estimate it to be around an hour. You’ve never seen a town like this. The houses you pass on the outskirts of the town aren’t brick–they’re all wood, with thin glass panes for windows. The streets are dirt, no horse hooves clopping on Belgian blocks. It’s so different from New York City and you feel entirely out of place.

Uncomfortably out of place.

The pavement that would usually be beside the road is made of wood planks. When you step onto them, they creak beneath your boots. Your senses are heightened and you’re on edge. You can smell dirt and the scent of horse mixed in, and just up ahead you can see those horses tied up outside. 

Warm light spills from an open door and loud cheers and laughter follow it. When you get closer, you can hear music–the piano, fiddle, and another that you don’t recognize. 

Above the door reads the word Saloon.

Cautiously, you make your way inside. It’s lively. More than what you’ve seen through the windows of the taverns back home. It looks like the entire town might be here tonight and it sets you even more on edge.

The room smells of sweat and beer and you make your way over to the far left side where a barman is tending to multiple drinks. You lean against the counter, having no clue what to do. 

“What’s a lady like you doin’ here?” A voice asks. It’s gruff, and the man behind it is clearly intoxicated. 

“Oh, I’m not here to stay,” you respond quietly. “I apologize.”

“That’s okay, sweetheart,” he slurs. “What d’you say I come with you?”

You grow flustered noticeably–and it’s not pleasant. You had never had a man approach you in this way. You’re disgusted almost, embarrassed even. You have no idea how to respond.

The man in front of you smiles coyly and you can see that a couple of his yellow teeth are missing. “Little shy?” he teases. “That’s okay…I’ll get you to come out of your shell.”

He reaches out to grab your arm but you pull away. “Oh, no,” you say, your voice starting to shake. “Please, I don’t–I’m okay.”

He huffs, “Oh, come on, sweetheart. Have a little fun!” He reaches out, and this time he grabs a hold of your waist, pulling you in close. 

You can smell the whiskey on his breath and it makes you nauseous. He’s just about to speak again when a loud shout comes from a table not too far away.

“Hey!”

The voice seems to make him recoil in fear, and it sends a wave of silence over the saloon. He lets go of you immediately and when you turn your head, to your surprise, it’s a woman.

The man begins to speak, “Miss Harkness, I–”

He’s cut off instantly by her. “What do you think you’re doin’?”

He’s almost shaking and he removes his hat out of what looks like respect. “I didn't mean no–”

 “Do you think a lady deserves respect?” she asks calmly, but her eyes are narrowed.

“Yes, Miss Harkness–”

“Apologize,” she commands.

“I’m sorry–”

“Not to me!” she snaps. “To the young lady that you were harassing!”

He’s completely flustered, mortified, his cheeks are redder than cherries now. “I’m sorry, miss. Truly.”

“Now, leave,” the woman snaps, her head tracking him as he stumbles out of the saloon. The saloon remains quiet until she turns her head back to the crowd. “Well go on, don’t let your beers go flat!”

The revelry begins again and she turns to you. “Are you alright, miss?” Her voice is much softer now, almost comforting.

“I–” The way she looks at you sends a strange feeling through you, a feeling you couldn’t pinpoint. “Yes, ma’am, I am.”

She gave a curt nod, “Good. What are you here for?”

“I need a bottle of white liquor,” you respond quietly.

She flashes you an amused look and waves down the barkeep. “I need a bottle of white liquor.”

Without a word, he nods and retrieves a glass bottle off the top shelf, walking back over to where you stand.

“Good man,” she says, tossing a few coins down on the counter.

You reach for the pouch in your pocket, “Oh! I have–”

She lifts a hand and then passes you the bottle of liquor. “Don’t worry about it, sugar,” she smiles. “I own this town. You don’t gotta pay for a damn thing.” Before you can thank her, she says, “I’ll walk you out.”

When she guides you out with a gentle hand on your lower back, it sends chills through you–more than the cool night air that just hit your exposed face.

“I want to thank you, Miss Harkn–”

“Agatha,” she counters. “You can call me Agatha. And there’s no need to thank me. I’ve dealt with asses like him before.”

As you walk through town, Agatha apologizes for the man’s actions, and when you tell her you’ve never experienced something like that, she’s shocked. “Well, what’s an angelica like you doin’ ‘round these parts?”

“My family is on its way to Oregon,” you say. “Our wagon broke an axle, so we’re stuck here. But I need the liquor to disinfect someone’s wound.”

“Oh, good,” she chuckles. “I was afraid you were gonna drink it all yourself.”

“Goodness, no!” you giggle. “I wouldn’t touch this stuff. I’ll drink wine, but only at dinner, and I’ll have champagne at special events.”

“Champagne?” she repeats, scoffing as she raises an eyebrow at you. “Where do you come from, hon?”

“New York City,” you say simply.

Both of her eyebrows raise in surprise. “New York City? You’re a long way from home, little lady. So, do you come from an ace-high family? Hoop skirts and satin slippers? Walks down by the Hudson with your beau?”

“No, actually,” you say matter-of-factly. “They’re silk slippers.”

You turn to her when you stop at the edge of town, smiling up at her as she looks down at you. The hat on her head is almost the same shade as the braids that hang down over her chest. And, upon further look, to your shock, Agatha’s wearing trousers. Not a skirt. The woman before you is wearing trousers. 

“Someone’s got a smart mouth…” She grins. “What else do you do in the city? You a good Christian girl? Read your Bible every night? Go to church on Sundays and then have tea after?”

You smile and turn up your nose at her, “I think you’ll find that I’m far from a ‘good Christian girl’...”

“Is that so?” she scoffs, chuckling lightly. “Well, you better get goin’ back to your family.” Then, she tips her hat and winks at you. “Have a good night, darlin’.”

[shakespeareanwannabe]

As You Wish, Chapter 5

Summary: When arriving at Camp Silver Star, Abby Floyd was anticipating a summer of adventure with an ocean separating her from the three people she loved most: her mom, her Uncle Bob and her Aunt Natasha. But after a run in with Charlie Seresin, an extremely familiar looking and irritating camper in a different cabin, her summer plans take a turn that neither girl ever could have expected.

Trigger Warnings: reader's children are described as being blond with green eyes because genetics are wild and Jake's genes are strong, reader is canonically Bob's sister (though biological relation is never discussed), reader goes by Buttercup and is tattooed, angst, reference to divorce, kids doing sneaky things, references to babies, Uncle Javy and Uncle Rooster (because they deserve their own warnings)

PLEASE DO NOT COPY OR USE ANY PARTS OF MY WORK

Breaker’s Beach, almost 12 years ago

In…out…in…out…

Jake timed his careful breathing to match the waves as they slowly danced towards the sand, the sky painted a beautiful cacophony of pinks, reds, purples, and yellows as the sun hovered just above the shoreline.

It was done. The papers had been signed and delivered to the courthouse, the judge had signed off on their custody arrangement, and her bags were packed and sitting by the front door of the house they shared – had shared. Now, it was time to say goodbye.

A bittersweet smile tugged at his lips as Abby’s peels of laughter rang across the near deserted beach, her toes being gently kissed by the cool water as Jake held her up over the cresting waves. He never thought it would end like this, not for them. Not for him and his sweet, beautiful wife and their two incredible daughters. They were supposed to be it, endgame, together forever. Whatever you want to call that couple who is just so blissfully happy together that no evil could possibly touch them. But points had been made and things had been said and enough tears had been shed to let him know that it was ending, whether either of them wanted it to or not.

His daughters were his only regret. Not having them, God no, he could never regret that. The very thought made him sick to his stomach. But knowing that this would be the last time he saw Abby for a long time made him…weak. His arms trembled at the notion that he wouldn’t be able to cuddle her against his chest before bedtime and his heart ached knowing that he would miss out on so many of her firsts.

Backing up a few steps, Jake sank down to sit on the damp sand and cuddled his daughter close.

“It ain’t gonna be forever, darlin’,” he murmured, thankful that she was too young to remember his voice cracking. “I’m gonna see you real soon, okay?” He pressed a kiss to her soft baby curls and felt a tear sneak down his cheek. “I’m sorry, darlin’…” His eyes clenched shut as more tears made a break for it and he tightened his hold on her, as though the last rays of sunlight stretching toward them would try to take her away from him, stealing the last few moments he would have with her.

Maybe he could go back to the house and give it one last try. Maybe he could convince her to stay, that they could work it out, that she didn’t have to leave the country, that it would be so much easier to do if they stayed in the same state. But that had been part of the problem, hadn’t it? And the judge had already agreed, with the provision that every effort was made to foster the relationship between the children and their parents. The papers had been signed and stamped, all black and white and professional. Buttercup got Abby, Jake got Charlie, and they would make provisions for visitation once the girls were a bit older and capable of traveling on their own. There was nothing to do now. There was nothing he could do now, no fancy maneuver to bail out at the last second, no nameless, faceless enemy he could strike down to save the day.

Sniffling slightly, Jake adjusted Abby, so she was facing him, and he traced his eyes over her features, committing them to memory. He knew that her features were the same as her sister’s, but she was her own person. The way she smiled and giggled, the way her nose scrunched up when she didn’t like something, it was all her. His Abby.

He trailed a single finger over her chubby cheek and she grabbed it, tugging it towards her gummy smile to gnaw on. Jake pulled her as close as he could to his chest without taking away her favourite teething toy and pressed a kiss to her forehead, then her cheek.

“I love you, Abby,” he whispered in her ear. “Daddy loves you. He always has and he always will. Please never forget that.”

Waco Airport, Now

Abby clutched her passport and boarding pass tightly in her hands as the plane taxied to the gate, her breath quickening as the plane door opened and passengers started to rush out. Just beyond that door, waiting for her, was her father, the man she’d waited her whole life to meet. She felt like she was a kid again, waiting anxiously in line at Disneyland Paris to meet Mickey Mouse for the first time.

Not that her father was a celebrity to her. No, he was way more than that. She loved her small, strange family in London, but she’d always felt like something was missing, and the lack of answers from her mother had left a small, dark hole in her chest. Her uncle had done his best to fill that hole, be the father she always wished she’d had, but it wasn’t enough. She loved him dearly, but it wasn’t the same as having a father to hold you tight or laugh with you or love you without a second thought. The mere thought of finally finding that missing piece had Abby nearly vibrating in her seat.

Finally, the passengers in the aisle cleared out enough that Abby was able to fetch her duffle and start the long walk to the door. She smiled at the flight attendants and the pilot, who was standing just outside the cockpit, chatting with the crew. The sight of the familiar looking uniform sent a pang of homesickness to her stomach. She had missed her family so much over the past six weeks, and now she was passing up the opportunity to go home and see them in order to meet the father she hadn’t seen since she was a baby. She wanted to be the one to meet Uncle Bob at the airport and have him spin her around like he had when she was a little girl and her mother would take her to pick him up at the airport after he had finished work for the day. She wanted to sit on the couch and watch old reality shows with her aunt and eat junk food and giggle about how silly the people were. She wanted to curl up with her mother on the window seat that looked out over their quiet London street and drink their tea while they read a book or watched the rain drops race down the pane of glass. She ached to see her family, and yet…

The thought of her father waiting for her behind those doors was enough to propel her down the plane’s aisle and down the tunnel towards the arrival gate.

As she breached the crowd of passengers, her eyes scanned across the crowd of waiting families until green met green, and she paused.

There he was. Her father. Standing amidst the crowd with military posture and a bunch of purple and green balloons, he was actually there. She was actually seeing him in person for the first time, and he was smiling at her, the crow’s-feet near his eyes deepening and a dimple popping out of his cheek as he waved.

“Charlie!”

“Dad!” She bolted towards him, dodging and weaving between the travellers who didn’t see her, and launched herself into his arms.

He caught her and lifted her into his arms as though she weighed no more than a sack of potatoes. “Hey, Charlie-girl,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to her hair as he slowly lowered to his knees, allowing her feet to gently touch down. “God, kiddo, I missed you like crazy.”

“I missed you too, dad.”

His eyes studied her face for a moment, and she gulped. She and Charlie had made sure that they were as identical as they possibly could be, even going so far as to pierce Charlie’s ears with a hot needle and an extra pair of Abby’s earrings. They had done everything they could; the plan couldn’t fall apart now.

“You pierced your ears,” her dad finally whispered, gently brushing her hair away from her ears and she felt her cheeks warm.

“Oh…yeah,” she looked down at her toes. “A girl in my cabin did them for me. Do you like it?”

Jake shook his head. “Charlie, you know how dangerous that can be? What if you got an infection? They look great but I don’t want you getting sick.”

“I won’t!” Abby hugged him. “Amelia helped me take care of them. We cleaned them three times a day with rubbing alcohol and I made sure to keep twisting them so they didn’t get stuck.”

She wasn’t lying, per say. While she had been the one to pierce Charlie’s ears so she could pass for her, Amelia had taken over at once, making sure the new holes stayed clean and uninfected. Once, she had gotten over the shock of it, that is.

Jake sighed. “Alright, baby. I guess I can’t say no when you’ve already done it. But, next time, permission first, please?”

“Okay, dad.”

Jake smiled at her before kissing her on her hair once more and pushing himself up to stand. “Alright, kiddo. Let’s get out of here. We’ve got a long drive ahead of us, and your uncle might just kill me if we’re late for dinner.”

Abby grabbed her duffle off the floor and Jake snagged it from her, tossing it over his shoulder casually as she grabbed his hand, and they began the trek through the airport towards the parking lot.

As they passed a large bay window overlooking the runway, Jake’s eyes drifted over and he slowed to a stop as a plane raced by them, slowly picking up speed before lifting off the ground. She felt his shoulders lift and fall with a heavy sigh before they started moving again.

“Dad?”

“Yeah, kiddo?”

“Do you miss it?”

“Miss what?”

Abby huffed. “Flying, dad. Do you miss flying?”

Jake hummed as he pushed open the door to the parking lot. “I don’t know. Sometimes, I guess.”

Abby fought back the urge to roll her eyes. She knew that Auntie Nat still practically climbed the walls whenever the urge to fly hit her, and she was always a bit snappish at Uncle Bob when he left for a long haul flight, even though flying a 747 was way different than flying a Super Hornet.

“You can tell me the truth, dad,” she said as they approached Jake’s truck.

“Who says I’m not?” he tossed her duffle in the bed of the truck and opened the passenger side door for her to climb in.

“I am,” she replied simply. “I know I’d miss something if I used to do it every day. So, it would make sense for you to miss flying.”

Jake smiled as he started the truck. “When did you get so wise?”

Abby shrugged. “I don’t know, dad. I guess camp had a good influence on me.”

“That’s another thing,” he said, taking advantage of the pause in traffic to look at her. “What’s with all the ‘dad’ stuff? You never call me dad. And you haven’t roasted me once since you got here, not even for the balloons. Usually, it’s ‘old man’ this and ‘old timer’ that.”

Abby felt even more blood rush to her cheeks. Charlie had told her about the playful relationship between her and their dad, one that led them to being both father and daughter and best friends. She had filled her in on how she razzed their dad about his age and his inability to get a date (though they both theorized now that it was because of their mom and not because their dad had no game), how she called him old man and he called her punk, how they pranked each other and her uncles when things got boring on the ranch.

“I…I mean…”

“You okay over there, punk?”

To her utter embarrassment, she felt hot tears start to slide down her face. She was supposed to be Charlie, and Charlie didn’t cry. Charlie was tough, a ranch kid who had been ready to get into a fist fight with her in the first week they met because they hadn’t clicked.

“Charlie?” She felt the truck pull over onto the side of the road before her dad reached over and unclipped her seatbelt and tugged her into his side. “What’s wrong, Charlie girl? C’mon, talk to your old man.”

Her mind racing, fighting through the embarrassment and the panic that was now coursing through her, she gathered her thoughts and began to speak in a quiet voice, tears still dripping down her face and onto her father’s flannel shirt.

“Th-there was a girl at camp…and she didn’t have a dad. She didn’t know who he was or where he was or even if he was still alive. But even though she didn’t know him, she still missed him like crazy. She said it felt like missing part of her heart.” Abby sniffled. She wasn’t lying. As much as she loved Auntie Nat and Uncle Bob and her mum, it had felt like she was missing part of her heart, not knowing anything about her father. But now? Now it felt like that part was sliding into place, her father the missing puzzle piece in her life. She continued, “And it just made me really grateful to have you, you know? And it made me miss you so much that I wanted to call you dad. Because not everybody has a dad, but I do, and I have the best one ever.”

Jake’s hand rubbed up and down her back as she sniffled into his shirt. “I missed you too, Charlie. More than you’ll ever know.”

Abby pulled back, wiping her eyes with the sleeve of her shirt. “It just seemed really unfair to me that some people don’t get to know their fathers, you know?”

She watched as Jake’s Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat as he turned his attention back to the road, pulling on smoothly and continuing the drive home. “Yeah…yeah, honey. I know.”

Almost an hour later, they pulled off the road and onto the long, manicured driveway that led up to Seresin Ranch. Charlie had told her all about the ranch, how her dad and uncles had taken over when Grandpa Wyatt passed away and turned it into a successful working ranch, with cabins for camping and trail riding offered to the public, but nothing could have prepared her for the first sight of the ranch through the trees.

It was huge. And gorgeous. Cabins, barns and stables dotted the landscape; Abby could see horses grazing in the paddock and, when she rolled down the window, she could hear the gentle mooing of cows in the distance. Coming around the bend in the driveway, the main ranch house stood like a shining beacon at the end of the driveway, grand and homey and beautiful. Abby felt a shiver run up her spine. It was better than anything she ever could have imagined.

Abby blinked back the tears pooling in her eyes as two men exited the ranch house and stood on the wrap-around front porch, waving at them. Jake chuckled.

“They just couldn’t wait,” he muttered, parking the truck off to the side of the driveway, next to a baby blue Bronco and a gleaming red motorcycle.

Abby scrambled out the door as her dad grabbed her duffle out of the truck bed and her uncles jogged down the stairs to meet them.

“Charlie girl!” One of them cried, scooping her up into a hug and spinning her around. Abby caught sight of a tattoo decorating his bicep and knew exactly who she was being almost smothered by.

“Uncle Javy!”

His smile grew as she hugged him back, his impossibly white teeth gleaming against his dark skin. “We missed you, kiddo!”

“Speak for yourself,” the moustachioed man quipped, but the smile on his face as he pulled her in for his own hug dulled the sarcasm of the comment.

“Hi Uncle Roo,” she said into his chest, the scent of something delicious wafting off his floral Hawaiian shirt.

“Hey, kid. Made your favourite for dinner.”

Right. Chili was Charlie’s favourite, and she especially loved it when her Uncle Rooster made it for her. Rooster worked as the cook on the ranch, making sure all the ranch hands and ranch visitors were fed three square meals a day. Javy managed the ranch staff and also coached the high school football team in town, something her dad helped out with on occasion.

“Sounds awesome. Thanks, Uncle Roo!”

“Why don’t you go get changed and washed up for dinner while I throw your laundry in the machine?” Jake offered as he slung the duffle over his shoulder and trekked up the stairs.

“Okay, dad!”

Jake grinned, a softness in his green eyes that had her smiling ear to ear. “Dinner in 20, okay?”

“Got it!” Abby turned and, taking a deep breath, walked through the entryway into the ranch house that Charlie had called home for 11 years.

Everything was laid out exactly as Charlie had drawn it. Her dad’s office was through the door on the right, the living room to the left, and the kitchen straight ahead, with a staircase up to the bedrooms through the living room. She knew that Javy had converted one of the cabins into a house for himself but that he spent almost all of his time in the main ranch house, and that Rooster had turned the attic into a bachelor pad.

Charlie’s bedroom was the furthest from the top of the staircase, and everything was exactly as Charlie had described. Purple walls, grey sheets on the bed, photos of Charlie and their dad, Charlie and their uncles, Charlie and the horses decorating the walls and tops of dressers. Ribbons and trophies from horseback riding competitions hung from a corkboard that left Abby’s mouth agape. The thing was practically overflowing with blue ribbons. Abby thought she was a great rider, but Charlie clearly had the hardware to backup her claim.

She pulled out her phone and opened the WhatsApp app, taking a photo of the medals and attaching it to a message that read, “You win. Hope you’re having fun with mum :)”

After a quick shower in Charlie’s ensuite bathroom and changing into jeans and one of her sister’s many t-shirts, Abby skidded down the stairs and raced into the kitchen, where Rooster was just serving up the homemade chili he’d been working on all day.

“Whoa, easy, kid!” he exclaimed as they narrowly avoided a collision that would have left the pot of chili on the floor.

“Sorry! I’m just starving!”

“Then grab a piece of garlic bread instead of trying to tackle me.” Rooster nodded over to the plate of cheesy garlic bread on the kitchen island next to Javy, who was staring intently at his tablet. “Dinner will be ready in fifteen, folks. I just need the hot sauce to really marry into the other flavours.”

Javy rolled his eyes as Abby hopped up on the stool next to him and snagged one of the gooey golden appetizers off the plate. “Yes, chef,” he mockingly saluted, covering Abby’s eyes playfully when Rooster flipped him off.

“I can always grab an MRE from the basement if you’re gonna poke fun, Coyote.”

Javy’s whole body shook with the force of his shudder. “Nope. Never again. I’ll keep my mouth shut.”

“Good plan.” Rooster winked at Abby as he turned back to the bubbling pot.

“What’re you working on, Uncle Javy?” Abby leaned against him, peering at the x’s and o’s that decorated his screen.

“Just trying to figure out a new play for the season, girlie,” he tilted the screen towards her so she could see the dotted lines between the x’s and o’s. “What do you think? Should I have our running back go here?” He pointed at a spot on the screen. “Or here?”

Abby gulped. Charlie hadn’t mentioned anything about football in their preparations. Abby didn’t know anything about American football, only European football. She knew that Uncle Bob wasn’t a big fan, and that Auntie Nat used to enjoy playing football with Dagger Squad before she was medically retired.

“Oh, I don’t know…” she murmured, refusing to meet Javy’s eyes.

“You…you don’t know? You, Charlotte Seresin, don’t know what I should do with my running back? Rooster, you hearing this?”

“I’m hearing it but not believing it.”

“What did they do to you at that camp, girlie?” Javy rubbed his knuckles over her hair. “Steal your brain?”

She grinned weakly. “Sorry, Uncle Javy. I guess I’m just tired. It was an excruciatingly long flight from New York to Texas.”

“Excruciatingly?” Javy stared at her. “Yeah, that’s it. I’m calling Penny and demanding your brain back. Since when do you use the word excruciatingly?”

Abby felt her cheeks flush as she opened her mouth to try to salvage the situation, but someone beat her to it.

“Upset that she knows how to use big words, Coyote?” Jake strolled into the kitchen, snagging a piece of garlic bread and kissing her on the head in one fell swoop as his other hand finished tugging on his white t-shirt. “Just because my girl has a better vocabulary than you…”

“Oh, okay. Remind me who did better in Mrs. Stewart’s grade 12 English class? Hmm? What was that? Oh right, I did.”

Rooster snorted as he stirred the chili. “Oh, here we go.”

“Yeah, and who was it that helped you write that final essay? Was it me? Because I distinctly remember it being me.”

“Only after I came up with the idea.”

“Right, just like you came up with the idea for the play against St. Mary’s, but I’m the one who executed it perfectly. Who got the credit for that win again? Hmm?”

“We both did, you dummy.”

“Okay, and what about the evasive maneuvers we came up with at Top Gun? What’re they called again? Oh yeah, The Hangman Maneuver!”

“They should’ve been called the Coyote Maneuver!”

“Oh screw that, it should’ve been called the Rooster Maneuver!”

As Rooster clicked the stove off and turned to join the argument, Abby felt a warmth as familiar as her home in London wash over her like a cool breeze on a warm day. This was home, just as much as her home in London with her mum and aunt and uncle. She belonged here, just as much as she belonged in London. This felt right.

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[buff-muffin]

ASL thoughts and head canons.

1. Sabo’s missing tooth he had as a kid didn’t actually fall out. He chipped it back when he was still living with his family. And his parents thinking that made him look disgusting and rowdy had the rest of the tooth removed before his adult tooth was even remotely ready to move in. Thus there was a gap in his teeth for ages. It started growing in when Sabo set sail.

2. Luffy loved using Ace’s freckles as a dot to dot. Both brothers heavily think he doesn’t have a fucking clue what animals he’s trying to conjure and Ace is getting sick of having to fight him tooth and nail every time Luffy finds a marker

3. In his early days of friendship with Ace. Sabo refused to believe that he could eat an entire bear by himself. He thought Ace was exaggerating like when someone says “I’m so hungry I could eat a horse” yet when he saw it with his own eyes he was horrified. Ace was also confused why Sabo didn’t want a bear to himself. But didn’t complain. Hunting one bear for the both of them and fighting over it was pretty fun. And scavenging berries for a desert never bothered them.

4. Sabo grew his hair out while he was a run away. He hated how it looked buzzed. And while he probably didn’t let it get any longer then his brother’s he loved the freedom. His mother cut his hair the second he was taken back home

5. Ace and Sabo hadn’t thought twice about bugs. Ace saw them as pests like the moths that would huddle around the candle light and Sabo was taught that they were gross. Luffy on the other hand adored them. He showed them bug fighting and showed them all sorts of cool and pretty bugs. He would also put beetles in his brothers’ shoes for fun but in the end they had come out of it for a new respect for bugs and a little bit more love-hate for Luffy.

6. Sabo tried to tell his adopted brother about his real brothers but he refused to believe Sabo was telling the truth. I mean beating up a giant tiger in the woods? Being made of rubber? Being able to eat 5 times their body weight in a matter of minutes? He thought Sabo was loony.

7. When taken back to his parents, Sabo refused to eat with his brother. Sharing a meal with someone made you friends and sharing a cup of sake made you brothers. And he wanted nothing to do with him.

8. Sabo was Dadans favourite. At first. Originally Sabo was… as well behaved as he was going to be around his brothers because that need to respect authority was so engrained in him. Though as he grew more comfortable with Dadan and trusting she really wasn’t going to kick him out other dumb things. He started joining in on the bullying Dadan band wagon. And she hated them all equally again.

9. Luffy and Ace find it absolutely hilarious how bad Sabo would get sun burnt in the summer. They would chase him around trying to slap him for hours. Dadan taught him how to make a remedy and over the years he gained a tan and freckles that he knew would have his bio dad blow a fuse.

10. Luffy always wants to be in fights of strength with his brothers to prove he’s strong. You know, arm wrestling. That weird thing were you put your feet together and push with all you’re might. And of course rough housing. But in the super early years of being a rubber man that was impossible cause his body would just. Bend. Arm wrestling? Womp womp no elbow for you. Foot wrestle? His legs fold like a piece of paper. He was humiliated and his face was bright red every time Ace and Sabo would laugh.

11. One of the best training methods the brothers had found for Luffy was actually made as a joke. Still completely pathetic at landing a damn punch Sabo jokingly said he should train by trying to catch bugs by stretching your arms. And after a lot of frustrated afternoons his aim did improve an alarming amount. Luffy to this day continues to train that way and he always thinks of Sabo when he does.

12. They never finished that bottle of sake they stole from Dadan. At the time they all thought the drink was absolutely putrid though drank their cups if it meant they were brothers. The bottle is still in the treehouse. Even after everything. It’s completely oxidised but the smell keeps animal from making their treehouse a nest so Ace and Luffy never minded all that much.

[life-series-playlist-submissions]

Idk if these have been suggested already, but "red desert" by 5 seconds of summer for desert duo and "I can't fix you" by the living tombstone for Scott and Pearl

These are all new suggestions! Added to the playlists Grian, Scar, Pearl and Scott. Thank you!

[swiftpolls]

the playlist ♡

[orqheuss]

Even the iron still fears the rot PART 7

(Ominis Gaunt/Sebastian Sallow/GN!Reader ANGST)

Parts: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7

Summary:

How far would you go for the one's you love?

Word Count: 8.9k

Tags: Murder, Strangulation, Immolation, Dismemberment, Torture, Sadistic character, Blood, Gore, Stabbing, Infected wounds, implications of paternal abuse, Graphic depictions of wounds, Graphic depictions of violence, Mania, Delusions of grandeur, Spoilers for the final Keeper quest line, Ambiguous ending

Reader discretion is advised. You know what you're getting into at this point.

It was almost too simple how easily you unlocked the secret stone door standing between you and your loved ones. You expected traps, maybe another guard or two— one last trick up the universe's proverbial sleeve. Just one simple swish of the unlocking charm— a soft tap of the same pattern as before against the bricks— and there before you were two cells, each one holding a piece of your broken, bleeding heart. 

Sebastian saw you first, the lack of light making it difficult for him to fully grasp the truth before him. You watched his face twist unnaturally in a flurry of emotions. Sorrow. Fear. Fury. Confusion. Hope. Joy. 

When his eyes locked on yours, questions burning in those deep pools of cinnamon, the sun seemed to awaken from its nightly slumber and all you saw was pure, blazing life. 

You ran to him, knees hitting the dirty ground below roughly and lodging stones under your skin. The air was putrid, sickness and death coating everything in a thick paste— your lungs heaved in your chest and your head spun, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care about anything other than the boy in front of you. All the anger you felt before flitted away like dandelion fronds in the summer breeze. Your hands were on his face. His forehead was touching yours. His fingers were clutching your arms. Tears streamed from both of your eyes like an April downpour. Nothing mattered, and yet, somehow, absolutely everything did. 

Your world had ended not long ago, but here it was again, reborn, babies-breath fresh, and bursting with color that even the gods would hesitate to name. 

Sebastian pulled away first, not bothering to wipe away the tears and snot pouring down his face lest he release you and the whole universe under his fingers disappear. His eyes raked across your face, drinking in your visage under the burning braziers like it was an oasis in the desert and he was but a simple man in need of a drink. Your smile softened as you poured everything you wanted to say to him into your glassy eyes. 

I love you.

I missed you. 

I love you.

I’m so happy to see you. 

I love you. 

I did this all for you.

I love you. 

Never leave again.

I love you.

I love you.

I love you. 

Worry knitted in his brows and you started to reach your hand to his temple, desperate to rub his stress away so you could continue to bask in your conjoined relief. His hand quickly caught your own, eyes never moving from your countenance. 

At long last, he spoke. “Who did this to you?” 

Hurt bled through his words, and it was your turn to be confused. You were unscathed— you knew you were— so what did he mean? 

He looked more concerned at your confusion. “Button, who hurt you?” He implored, rolling his hand on your arm up to your face and swiping at it with his thumb. He held the finger up for you to see. Blood coated it in a second skin, etching itself into his fingerprint like a tattoo. 

You shook your head, realization clicking on in your mind like a torch sparking to life. “Seb, I’m alright. I promise.” 

He shook his head again, searching you more intensely with his eyes for any cut or bruise you could be hiding. “No, you aren’t! You’re covered in blood!” 

His rambles of worry for you and revenge against those who could have possibly marred your perfect skin faded into the background as your evil deeds spilled across your brain matter like red wine on carpet. It was now your turn to fret. Fear gripped you as the words you were searching for dangled on the tip of your tongue, your teeth clenched like the iron bars holding you from the brunette's arms. Telling him whose blood it was meant telling him about the carnage that lay just beyond reach, all of it by your hand. No dark curses used, just the pure monstrosity of your actions. You feared his reaction— his rejection. He would surely turn and run once he realized the devil you’ve become all in the name of love. Love shouldn’t make you into a monster— this demon in holy yellow and gold. How could he ever see you the same? How could you ever see yourself the same? 

Shaking yourself free from the fright clinging to your heart, you prepared to rip off the proverbial bandage. Once you left the room, your sins would be on full display, anyway. 

“—please just tell me what’s wrong! Where are you hurt, my love? Let me help you, I want to help—” 

“Sebastian!” You snap, cutting off his words mid ramble, hands grabbing at his face and forcing his eyes back to yours. “I am not hurt.” 

He sputtered, “B-but the blood—” 

“It’s not my blood.” 

Your words blanketed the room, silencing every sound, audible or not, and leaving nothing but the ring of your voice in your ears. Your head turned away from him unconsciously, shame clouding everything else in your heart as the freckled boy fell still. He took in your words like molasses, it all getting muddled in his tired mind. Panic clutched at your chest again the longer the deadly quiet stretched on. 

You feel him pull your hands from his face and it was like everything in your tiny world was crumbling all over again. Your soul called to any god that could hear, begging them to open up the earth and swallow you whole. You wanted to die again and again and again— anything as long as it eased your pain. 

You almost thought your death wish came true until his hand— so gentle, why so gentle?— caressed your chin and took hold, moving your trembling face back to his. 

Disbelief sparkled in his amber eyes and the tiniest smile graced his lips. The darkness fell away once again and all you could see was his light. 

“All that noise outside,” Sebastian whispered, an amalgamation of awe and incredulity blended in his tone, “That was you?” 

You nodded feebly, eyes downcast. You saw him shake his head out of the corner of your eye, and his fingers tugged you closer. 

“You killed them all?” 

You nodded again, voice soft and a little weak. “I had to save you.” 

He just sat there quietly for a moment, drinking you in with all he had left. You furrowed your brows in confusion, eyes swimming with pure bewilderment. Was he not scared of you?

“Are you not afraid of me?” You whispered, uneasy. 

He looked at you, puzzled. “Afraid of you?” 

“I’m covered in blood that’s not mine,” you said, voice hushed but mind nearly hysterical with your own frantic feelings. “I killed everyone in my path. I laughed as they breathed their last breath and I enjoyed it, Sebastian. That is not normal. I am not normal.” 

You shook your head as much as you could in his grasp. “How are you not scared of me? I’m scared of myself.” 

He truly smiled then, relief palpable and nothing but love pouring from his honey-toned eyes. “Scary? Merlin,” Sebastian sighed softly, tucking a piece of blood soaked hair away from your crimson face, “You’re divine.” 

He released your chin, raising both of his hands to cradle your red stained cheeks. His skin was clammy against the heat burning under your skin. 

“I wish I could have seen it,” he whispered, voice refusing to raise even a decibel higher in fear of breaking the calm quiet, but still filled with so much reverence that it made you feel dizzy. “I always knew you were powerful, but you must have been a sight to behold. All that ancient magic thrumming in your veins…” 

Your eyes flicked from his gaze to his mouth, drinking in his words like firewhiskey on a December night. With each softly spoken sentence, each one uttered like a prayer, your faces moved closer. 

“My angel of death. My savior.” 

You were never religious, even with all of the recent prayers you’ve been sending up to the skies. But there, in that dingy prison chamber, metal bars pressing just as harshly against the bones in your face and shoulders as Sebastian’s lips were pressed against yours, you could understand why people worshiped the saints.

“This is all quite twee,” came a familiar, sardonic voice at your back. “I am also here, if you were wondering.” 

Ominis. 

Sending the quickest apologetic look that had ever crossed your face to the brunette, only to get a breathy chuckle in response, you all but crawled across the room to the other cage, reaching your hands through the bars until your slippery palms found purchase on lovely, precious tweed. Ominis lost all of his sass just as speedily as it came, the most blissful smile stretching across his face as he felt your familiar magic pulsing under your talented hands. His own limbs reached through the bars, sliding his palms up your trembling shoulders until he was able to curl his fingers into your hair. A soft, breathy laugh bubbled up from his throat, relief palpable in his blessed blue eyes. 

“It’s really you,” he whispered, his voice awash with disbelief as a small stream of tears poured down his face.

You gently wiped them away with your thumb, relishing in the feeling of him leaning his cheek into your waiting hand, before taking your other and using it to move one of his from your tresses, pressing a delicate kiss against his palm before placing it against your smiling face. 

“Happy to see me, dear?” You cooed, emotions swirling like a tremulous tornado in your gut, but only the sweet sound of happiness breaching your tone. 

Ominis’ laughter was like church bells after Sunday mass. The blond brought both of your hands to his face, pressing kiss after kiss after kiss to your fingers, knuckles, palms, wrists— anything he could reach. Pure, unfiltered joy sang from his weary soul for the first time since crossing the bridge to Hogsmeade after what felt like years locked away in his cage. More tears fell from his eyes and it was all you could do not to kiss away each and every one of them. No reunion had ever felt so good, so cathartic as this one. Every sentiment you felt towards Sebastian was shown the same amount to Ominis, just in different ways this time around. Your relieved words came in the form of lingering happy memories pushed into his mind, your skin tingling as you felt his own reach out to you as he bathed in your mental, childish glee with his gift of legilimency. You freely allowed him to search through your mind, showing him the moment you discovered them missing all the way until your reunion with Sebastian, sparing him no gory detail in your journey of never ending devotion. His mindseye filled with your feelings— from your encompassing despair to your ravenous anger— and he drank it all in with everything he had. You were a marvel of astronomical proportions. A divine power of war and carnage. By all means he should buckle under the weight of your fortitude, but in that moment all he could do was bask in your glowing pyre of unfettered triumph. Even the blond could not deny that it didn’t feel glorious to see one of the men that worked with that foul vixen brought to his knees. 

Ominis could feel the blood coveting your form soaking under his skin, but he couldn’t care less, for what was love if it was not messy?

You killed for them. 

Not for the sake of murder, of superiority and pain like his family, but instead as an act of protection.

Little you. Kind, loving, loyal you. 

Who else could say something like that? 

His heart sang in tandem with yours, two magnetic souls finally connected once again after mere days of being apart. Even still, days without him, days without you, felt eternal. 

“Oh, come here,” he almost growled, pulling your face impossibly closer until your lips crashed into his at a velocity that made your head spin. 

His kiss tasted like lingering fudge and sugar, copper blood hiding just beyond the sweetness. It was exactly what you needed. 

You had pictured your first kisses with your boys many times before, but never like this. Never in a ghastly prison surrounded by the scent of blood and corpses, each one feld by your own hands. Even then, you couldn’t deny that it was still, somehow, perfect all the same. 

Ominis pulled away first, tongue licking away what remained of you on his lips before sending you the sweetest smile that had ever graced his statuesque face. You couldn’t make heads or tails where his blush started and the red crimson of the blood from your soiled hands ended on his deadly cheekbones, and nothing had ever been more beautiful. For a moment you forgot about the stains on your palms and thought he himself had cut you on his sharp features. What a lovely reason to bleed. 

“I know I should be incredibly cross with you for a number of reasons, but in all honesty I cannot give a single damn right now.” 

“You should be cross with me,” you whispered against his lips, body trembling. “My hands are covered in unfathomable amounts of blood. Much more than Sebastian’s last year. I have killed so many over these years that I no longer remember the number. I sleep peacefully at night even with their lives on my conscience. I am no better than your family, Ominis, and I’m sure you know this by now. You should hate me, yet here I am, offering you only these soiled hands for you to hold.” 

He silenced your worries with another kiss. “Yes, your hands are dirtied in immeasurable amounts of blood,” he said softly, gripping your hands tighter and pulling them against his chest. “But, they’re your hands. How could I ask for anything more?” 

You could hear Sebastian’s hearty laugh behind you, the sounds of his happiness soon sending you into giggles of your own. Reaching into your coat pocket, you carefully extracted both of the wands living there before passing the one as black as night to the softly grinning blond, tears pooling in his cerulean eyes again as he was finally able to see. The red beacon glowing softly in his hands had never felt more like home. 

You quickly shucked the second wand to the other fallen wizard, standing on shaky but resolute legs and unlocking the first set of bars that held you from truly embracing the ones you would do anything for. Your reddened hand reached towards the blond before you, a relieved smile on your face as you prepared to leave this place as fast as possible— to hell with the other two poachers hiding in the shadows; they could choke for all you cared. Ominis reached for you like a sunflower to the sun, fingers just grazing yours before his face crumpled into a grimace of pain, his hand immediately falling to his leg and grasping at his thigh. You quickly reached for him, hands splayed in worry as you fumbled in your mind about whether you should touch him or not. His eyes met yours again as he winced, whispering dejectedly. 

“I don’t think I can get up.” 

It was then that you realized the heavy smell of copper wasn’t just coming from you, it was also from them. 

Your eyes scanned him frantically, taking in everything that you had been so blind to under your rose colored glasses. Bruises criss-crossed the entirety of his person until he was more purple and red than skin tone, marring him from his temple to his nimble fingers. Under his eyelids were pools of deep black rings, making his eyes look lifeless and dead like a starless sky. He had cuts across his face— one jagged and pressed right under his eyelid, long enough to graze against the edges of the one over the bridge of his nose, and one across his blue tinged cheek that was nearing the point of scarring, the skin sickly and puckered in a way that made your stomach twist uncomfortably. The fingers on the hand wrapped around his leg looked vaguely wrong, like they had been broken and mended poorly— each one ever so slightly bent at the joint until you could trace a slight zig-zag between the bones. You leveled Ominis with a steely gaze, imploring him to move the appendage hiding the wound that was obviously troubling him the most. He met your stare with fervor, unseeing eyes begging with his entire soul, whispering don’t. Don’t make us. Don’t look at it. You refused to back down, chin raised and glare burning. With a heavy sigh he shifted his gaze away from yours before finally letting the hand fall away, shame twisting his beautiful face. The sight made your blood boil. Crimson bled through his corduroy pants, staining the once pretty grey hue a disgusting shade of rusty brown. Between the thinly sliced remnants of the fabric was a long, straight cut, bruises coloring it with spattlers of plum. It was morbidly perfect— not one bit of skin with frayed edges between the chasm each side bracketed. Your teeth unconsciously gritted together as you saw pink muscle underneath. 

His face twisted again at your sharp intake of breath. “She healed it a little, but it still hurts.” 

Your hands shook as you watched him reach towards his face, gently taking hold of his neck and cradling it, indirectly pressing his fingers in the same spots that held the print of a palm and five digits, each one dark enough to make out the swirls of fingerprints under the coloring. 

Your world bled red. 

That  b i t c h. 

Taking a deep breath to appease the logical side of your brain telling you tend to their injuries first before hunting down the tramp that dared touch what was yours, you calmly reached into the pocket of your pants and pulled two bottles of wiggenweld potion from the neverending black hole of your extender charm, carefully placing them next to the boy’s shaking form and pressing a soft kiss to his matted hair. 

Waiting until the blond gingerly brought the first vial to his mouth, hand still clutched softly around his neck for protection, you turned on the balls of your feet and stalked towards the brunette hiding from you in the shadows. His eyes once filled with an overflowing river of love now shuddered with fright— not of what you would do to him, never that, but of the rage pouring from you like all-fire. Your fingers sparked with angry iridescent purple lightning, burning across the stone walls around you until there was nothing left but the soft shade of orange from the braziers and the all encompassing ferocity of your magic. 

Sebastian stood on shaky legs, arm wrapped protectively around his stomach as he watched you wearily. You plastered a fake smile across your lips, but the corners shook with strain as you raised your hand and beckoned him closer. He reluctantly moved near, feet shuffling against the dirt floor with each dragging step. Cresting the threshold of dark into the light, you first see the sickly green tone of his skin. His normally tan complexion has drained from his body and been replaced with an ill shade of white, nearing the point of translucency under his eyes and along his joints. His hair was slicked back and standing at odd ends, one side darker than the other, likely from the head wound against his temple. Blood bloomed along his body from top to bottom, starting from the brown splotch along his collar to the dried stain decorating the middle of his calf, each one placed precisely where the middle of a large bone would be— humerus, ulna, radius, femur, tibia, fibula. His lips were cracked and bleeding to the point that you couldn’t tell if it was from an injury, self inflicted or otherwise, or the illness sweeping through him. The brunette squared his shoulders under your scrutinizing gaze, irises now festering with an ire that you had only seen on him once before: the night in the catacombs. Do your worst, those eyes said. I did what I had to do. 

Oh you stupid, self sacrificing, idiot boy. 

Why do I love you so?

You silently unlocked his prison, dropping two more potions to the floor at his feet before pivoting towards the looming darkness at the end of the hall, eyes focused on the shadows like they held the secrets you so desperately sought. 

“I’m going to fucking kill her,” you snarled into the blackness. 

An equally irate quip came from your right, voice now less tense thanks to the wiggenweld chasing away Sebastian’s infection. “Not if I do it first.”

“We could always take turns,” mused Ominis. 

“Why don’t you all line up so I can kill you one at a time? How’s that sound?” 

From out of the dark stepped a woman, eyes the color of the sea and hair black as pitch. She stood poised, regal, body relaxed but teeming with a confidence many would kill for. She was silent for a moment, sizing you up in your bloody, red glory. 

The way her smile stretched across her face told you that she liked what she saw. 

“Hello, brother killer.”

A shocked bark of a laugh fell from your lips before you could stop it, an incredulous grin turning your mouth as your teeth glowed in the lamplight. The woman’s eyebrow twitched in annoyance. 

“That’s it?” You laughed. “All of this because I killed your stupid brother?” 

You carefully took in her features, trying to find anything familiar in the amalgamation of genetics. You notice her nose first, its slope dipping downwards in a slight curve, then the color of her eyes. You could almost see sparks of green spells crackle around her pupils— dark magic making itself home around the pure black of her pupil. The timbre of her voice danced through your mind— how the tone rose and dipped with the three words she spoke. Her dialect was familiar. Why was she familiar? 

Lightning struck, and your smile stretched wider. 

“Oh,” you teased. “I see the family resemblance now. You’re only missing his idiotic top hat.” 

She took a step closer, heeled boot swishing against the ground as she crossed her legs, wand dangling from her hand. “I should kill you for that. You know it’s unkind to speak ill of the dead.”

“Kill me?” You snorted condescendingly, ignoring the rest of her statement. Unkind? You scoffed. Victor Rookwood didn’t deserve an ounce of your kindness. “And I thought your brother was dumb. That seems to be a family pattern, no?” Your smile twitched, wand swishing at your side. “I wonder if you’re as flammable as he is.” 

She matched your smirk willingly, eyes flicking over your shoulder briefly. “Me? Flammable? No. But, why don’t you see if my friend is?” 

You didn’t have time to react before an arm wrapped around you from behind, burly muscle slotting itself under your chin and squeezing against your windpipe. Your arms raised involuntarily, hands splayed in the air in surrender, eyes refusing to leave the witch’s, and wand dangling between your fingers. The air broke around the sound of your Slytherin’s raising their weapons at the new threat. 

“Boys,” you barked. “Wands down.” 

Sebastian made an incredulous noise from your side. “Wands down?” 

“Wands. Down.” 

“But—”

“Wands,” you growled. “Down.” They reluctantly lowered their arms. 

Your hands sparked to life, electricity dancing on your skin. “They’re mine.” 

Hands coated in lightning fell against callused flesh, your nails digging into the man’s skin and dragging the current down into his veins. He screamed in pain, body stumbling back against the closed door you once came through and free hand clutching at his burning limb. You rounded on him, eyes alight with the same fire as before, brighter than ever and refusing to be doused again. He shrank back at your stare, fear shedding from his shaking form as your wand slowly leveled with his chest. The lackey's feet slid under him as the blood seeping under the door spread wider, the maddening sound of drip, drip, drip breaking through his panting breaths on each off beat. His skin paled, eyes wide in the socket as he processed what that meant for the third poacher. 

Oops, you thought, grin splitting your face. 

“Leona, ‘elp me—” He whimpered. 

“Descendio.” 

The man slammed into the ground, sending the crimson blood at his feet into the air like dead rain. His body bounced from the force, spine snapping in half. 

Your arm arched upwards, wand swirling around your head as flames ate at the air around you, the heat more of a comfort than a source of pain. 

“Igne Serpentis!” 

From your wand grew a funnel of blazing fire, wisps circling each other like a hurricane until it formed one long cylinder. Swirls of red, orange, white, and blue twitched along its spine, giving the illusion of scales rising and falling as it flexed its body. From its front grew the head of a snake— large, imposing, and fangs barred at the crumbled form of a man before it. The flames slithered into the air, back brushing against the crude stone ceiling and arching downwards over the poachers body, its maw unhinging and a hiss like water crashing against a bonfire echoing from its nonexistent lungs. Like a strike of lightning against a stormy sky, the great serpentine blaze reared its head back and swallowed the man whole, encasing his body in an inferno of your own creation.

His wails permeated the space around you, voice ricocheting off the walls like a bullet in the chamber as he struggled. The cotton of his tattered clothes only acted as kindling, spreading farther and farther up his pudgy body until he was nothing more than a human-shaped bonfire against the dirt floor. The smell of charred meat reached your nose and reminded you of a Christmas roast. He squirmed against the mud-caked, bloody floor, limbs twisting at unnatural angles and joints snapping under the constricting pressure like twigs as the rotundant man fought the call of death growing closer by the second. The man’s screams decreased in volume gradually until they were nothing more than choked groans, each one getting caught in the cold breeze flowing through the dilapidated stone walls and floating away like ash against a night sky. You released the spell then, watching his sizzling body curl into itself at the waist and fall to the ground, hot, boiling ichor mixing with the cold blood puddle below. His final, mediocre croaks died in his mouth before his head reached the floor. 

“Seemed pretty flammable to me,” you muttered, stepping away from the pool of bubbling fat and gore reaching towards the soles of your shoes. 

Your thumb wiped the bit of blood that splashed onto your cheek as you turned, wand still smoking with residual magic but your smile indomitable on your face as you licked the appendage clean. 

“What’s the matter, Leona?” You said, tone sickly sweet.

She had moved closer while you were dispatching her partner, intent to kill while your back was turned just like her coward of a brother, leaving the boys to aim their wands at her in retaliation. The black haired witch froze like a startled thestral, limbs taut and feet poised to run in the opposite direction. You tisked at the sight. 

“I thought you were going to kill me?” You grinned in her direction, casting your eyes to Sebastian and nodding to him. He lowered his weapon again, Ominis following suit— a silent acknowledgement of your festering ire. 

Sorry boys, this cunt was yours. 

You took a step closer, relishing in how she shook as she frantically moved her eyes around the room, desperately searching for help that wasn’t coming. Her irises lingered on her charred comrade as the puddle of his thick red blood oozed more and more down the hall, liquid just barely grazing your heels with each step forward. Her throat visibly bobbed as she swallowed. 

“Child’s play,” she scoffed, voice trembling against her will. “Basic spells and cheap tricks. You’re not as strong as you think you are.” 

You chuckled, unblinking eyes drinking in her obvious fear like a noxiously sweet wine. Your smile shrinks slightly, lips curling and eyebrows canting downwards in contemptuous pity. 

“I was strong enough for your brother— strong enough for him to try and weasel his way into a partnership, at least.” 

The Rookwood sister snarled, lips twisting like a cornered animal. Waves crashed against the shore in her tumultuous eyes. You could see the moment when fear gave way to anger as it snapped into place with startling clarity. 

“How dare you!” She hissed. “Victor was a revolutionary! He was going to usher us into a new wizard order and you snuffed him out like he was nothing but garbage! He would never work with you of all people.” 

You raised an eyebrow, smile stretching until it reached the point of bombasity. Leona bristled under your stare, anger festering just under the surface as you dragged her closer to the precipice of her madness. She was cracking, digging herself deeper and deeper into her frenzied outrage, and you wanted to see the earth's core. No words needed to be said— she knew what your look meant. 

“You’re lying!” She shouted, hands grabbing at the roots of her hair and pulling. “He’d never choose you! You? Over me? His own sister?” 

You laughed at her pain, moving closer to her at a snail's pace, steps delicate but sure footed. “Oh, he certainly did. He wanted to take over everything with me as his right hand— told me so himself. Even considered throwing away his qualms about working with children for me. What was his saying, again?” Your eyes never left hers, head tilted to the side and wand tapping on your chin. A look of excitement danced over your face as you pretended to remember. 

“Oh, yes!” You said. “Children should be seen and not heard.” 

Your voice was teeming with sarcasm, pitch canting upwards and words nasally as you mocked the fallen Rookwood sibling. You continued to move closer, steps sure and precise as you watched her slowly unravel more and more under your scrutiny. Her nostrils flared with rage, breaths heaving from her chest at your smug expression. She looked positively furious. 

Good. You thought. Fight back. Make this worthy of my time. 

An observation sparked to life in your brain, and your eyes gleamed with malicious delight. “Say, you don’t look much older than us, Leona. Maybe twenty?” You were nearly nose to nose now, barely a hair's width apart. “You would’ve been Victor’s younger sister, right?” 

You stopped then, pleased with yourself for how ruffled the black haired woman looked. Fear and rage played tag in her eyes, each emotion shifting back and forth feverishly as you stood against her. Her breathing was erratic in her chest, sternum heaving up and down as you pushed her closer to snapping like a rubber band stretched too thin. Each of her panting breaths stirred the hair framing your face, moving dried blood and gore with each exhale. Her nose scrunched as the disgusting smell of the carnage that bathed you from head to toe, a gag trapped in her pristine, alabaster throat. Your coy smirk turned saccharine. 

“It makes one think,” you cooed. “Where did he hear a phrase like that?” 

Malice iced over in Leona’s green eyes. “Don’t—”

You cut her off, teeth glowing in the lamplight and looking sharper— more ravenous— each bone sharpened to a point. “Daddy wasn’t very kind to you, was he?” You asked, smile shifting into a taunting pout. “He didn’t want a weak little girl— a shameful, rotting branch on the family tree.” 

“Stop it,” she snarled. 

One last push. 

You leaned in more, head turned to the side and breath fanning against her ear as you whispered the next words just for her to hear. “How long after you were born did it take for Victor to become just. Like. Him?” 

The sound of skin against skin filled the air before you could register what truly happened. Leona stood before you, hand poised in the air, palm a stinging, angry red. Flecks of dried blood shed from you like snakes skin as you raised your own, gently cradling your stinging cheek. You looked at her in shock for a moment, brain slow to catch up with the circumstances because of the lunacy swirling inside, before everything clicked into place. Your smile turned hungry as you stared at her, a pleased hum slithering from your lips as you licked the blood from your teeth. 

Finally. 

The black haired vixen shrieked behind her bared teeth, reaching out with a clawed hand and wrapping itself around your neck, dropping her wand and dragging you closer until you were nose to nose again. 

“Stop fucking smiling, you freak!” She spat, spittle landing on your cheeks. 

Shuffling came from behind as Ominis and Sebastian moved to your defense, wands raised in warning to the woman who dared touch a hair on your head. You lowered a hand, palm facing backwards towards your partners and fingers splayed in a clear message: stay. 

Your other hand took hold of the woman’s shirt collar, pulling her body closer into your orbit. She stumbled under your strength, eyes widening in horror as she finally realized that she couldn’t intimidate you. 

“You want my magic so bad? Let me let you in on a little secret, Leona.” You croaked, feeling nothing but contempt, and maybe a little pity if you dug deep enough, towards the woman choking the air from your lungs. “I’m not the first ancient magic user. There were five before me— one being your ancestral grandfather, actually.” You paused for a moment, letting that tidbit of information sink into the poachers brain. “We have a special power, you see— extracting pain from another's soul is risky business. And the power we can get from it? Hah!” 

Your laugh rebounded off of the stone walls, drawing a small flinch from the raven haired woman. “Of course, this was all a secret. Secrets, secrets, secrets. That’s what we trade in. ‘The Keepers of Secrets’ — meaningless drivel. My own ancestor found out what the other four were willing to do to keep their sordid little secret. I guess using an unforgivable is alright if a reverential professor is holding the wand.” 

The woman’s grip had loosened as you spoke, the power hungry gleam in her eyes imploring you to continue your tale. 

“How quickly the strong can fall. The Keepers,” you spit out, rolling your eyes at the name. “Sealed away all the pain she collected in a flimsy little cage and threw her body into the oubliette with it, burying their dirty shame deep deep under their darling school until some foolish witch or wizard stumbled upon it in the future.” 

“Your brother found it,” you sneered. “That’s why he wanted my partnership. And, that’s why he had to die.” 

Your hand moved to her wrist, clasping it in a vice grip, halting her movements to pull away. “I went down there, and I destroyed that feeble little prison. I took all that pain— thousands of years of sorrow and anguish and rage— and I swallowed it whole.” 

You wrenched her hand from your neck, holding it aloft in the air as she stared at you, fear clouding her eyes and her body shaking with desire to escape from your clutches. 

“Your pious brother believed himself to be a god so strongly that he neglected to see the real thing standing before him; yet another trait that seems to run in the family.” Wind whipped through the room from an unknown source, blanketing everything in a deadly chill and stripping the space of light. Your eyes glowed red under the cover of darkness. “I am going to take your pitiful little soul, and I am going to devour it, Leona Rookwood.” 

Leona’s frightened face warped and twisted as you apparated outside into the cool night air, hand still grasping her wrist in a vice grip. The nature barricading you on all sides had lost its calming comfort. Replacing the smell of wet marsh and petrichor was nothing but the heady metallic scent of blood and the smoky essence of charred earth. The breeze carried the frightened shivers of the last remaining leaves decorating the tall oak trees. Even the sky above seemed to know what was to come— the clouds beginning to cover the trembling glass shards of moonbeams until there was naught but a small sliver of light. 

You dropped the woman’s arm, watching with a barely concealed glee as she stumbled back a few steps and fell to the damp ground. Leona’s eyes were wild— feral— like a rabid beast fearful of water as she stared into the darkness, pupils dilated and locked on your carmine glare. Her fear— the fear that she instilled in your beloved Slytherins— made your heart race with a delight so palpable that if in a calm state of mind you would question its presence. In your schadenfreude, though, all you could see were images of her bloated and bloody corpse as she rotted under the blistering morning sun. 

Faint wisps of pale blue magic swirled in the air around your head, creating their own soft glow tinged with red and black. Your pain magic danced in the wind, whispering words of murderous intent into your ears— calling your name and leading you into the sweet release of revenge. With a grin and a flick of your hand you sent them away, watching them dissolve into the air like breath on a cold morning. Your eyes locked to Leona’s once again, and the whispers in your ears fell silent. 

“Run,” you purred. 

Off like a light, the wretched woman bolted into the trees. 

You stood still, listening contently to the hiss of the trees as the woman bounded through the thicket, giving her a few seconds of a head start before your form ignites into a small blue balefire of movement. You quickly trailed behind her, easily catching up until you were nearly nipping at her heels. Your disembodied laughter cloaked the forest, echoing in the air as your prey fought to move faster. 

“How does it feel, Leona?” You laughed. “How does the hunter like being hunted?” 

The wand in your hand crackled as you fired basic casts at her back, purposefully letting them miss her by a hair's width and listening to them sizzle and slam into the trees beyond like errant fireworks. Leona’s panting breaths ricocheted off of the greenwood, filling the spaces between your magic and laughter— the upbeat to your downbeat. Revenge’s deadly symphony. 

With little warning, the poacher took a sharp right, rocketing around a particularly thick tree before skidding into the battle-worn clearing once again, her feet thudding against the ground with each pounding step. She continued to serpentine her movements in a desperate attempt to lose your tail. Each time you quickly picked up on her path, nipping at her heels like a hound to a fox. Tears began to pool in Leona’s eyes as she flinched at the harshness of your laugh in the silent forest. The sparks of your spells felt sharp on her skin, each one burning the hair of her arms as she pumped them harder for more momentum. No matter what, she couldn’t shake you. 

Finally, you cornered her in a small copse on the other side of the bothies clearing. The tree branches above formed a canopy against the blackened sky, leaving only the smallest bit of light for your prey to see. The woman pressed her body against the tall stone wall at her back, shrinking into herself as your steely look held her in place. In the glow of the moon you looked like a ghost, blood dried on your skin in streaks like the waves of her regrets pooling in the crevices of stones along the shore. You could see her shake with fear— taste her stale fright in the air— and it was sweeter than candy. 

Once again your ancient magic swirled around you, crackling in the frigid autumn chill and illuminating the tiny clearing in a luminary purple. Inside your chest you could feel Isadora’s pain magic pulse in time with your heart, each thump of the resolute organ ramping up its power until it was a constant voice hissing in your ears. 

Let us out. Let us kill. 

Leona’s pleas spilled from her lips like water on a grease fire, each one begging you to spare her life. You couldn’t help but scoff. Mercy wasn’t an option anymore.

“Incendio,” you spoke, pointing your wand at the dying grass at your feet until a circle of flame engulfed your forms like a portal to the underworld. The woman before you shrieked as the fire licked at her heels, feet dancing away from the heat as tears began to pour down her pallid face. 

Standing resolute in the center of the flames, you leered at the blubbering poacher, once mighty, now reduced to nothing but a weeping child. At that moment she truly didn’t look much older than you were— a young adult caught in the snare of her legacy. Leona trembled like a leaf at the start of winter, just barely hanging on to its tree branch.

“I should make this pain last, just as you did to them,” you hissed, voice pitching downwards under the weight of your rage and smile finally falling from your face. You ignored the burn in your cheeks. “Your death would taste so sweet on my tongue.” 

The black haired woman shivered at the look in your eyes, knees threatening to buckle as the fire around reflected in the red pools of your irises. In the light of the flames, the black of your pupils swallowed nearly all color, shimmering like a warped mirror. 

Pathetic, the voice in your mind hissed. Not worth your time anymore. 

��At one point I looked forward to this,” you whinged. “Merlin, I’m so fucking tired. I don’t even care anymore, I just want this done. You are nothing— just some pathetic idiot searching for power and revenge. An old, tired story. You don’t deserve a moment more of my anger.”

With a heavy sigh, the weight of the last three days beginning to finally lift itself off of your shoulders, you raised your wand and leveled it to her heaving chest. 

“Any last words?”  

Leona struggled to her full height, form still shuddering in the firelight, voice cracking with fear and lingering malice. 

“You think you’re so much better than me,” she croaked. “So much more worthy. You’re no different than the worst of us. They’ll see that soon enough.” 

Your eyes were filled with resignation as you met hers. “I never said I was.” 

Raising your non-dominant hand parallel with your wand, you began to summon a current of electricity from deep within your soul, pouring all of your pain and anger into the strike. The heat inside of you burned molten white in your chest as it made its way down your arms towards your twitching fingertips. 

Her body slammed into yours before the flames could raise any higher. 

You landed on the grass roughly, body pressed into the ground under her weight. Arms flailed around like an intricate knot as you fought to gain control again, ancient magic dying under your skin as if sensing your sudden defeat. Your teeth gnashed as her arm pressed against your windpipe, snarls slipping from between your clenched jaw like a caged animal, her other hand swatting your wand away before gripping the handle of her hidden dagger and raising it to strike you through the eye socket. You could hear Sebastian and Ominis call out for you from across the field as your vision began to blur under the pressure on your neck. Her knee pressed harshly against your abdomen, forcing a wheeze from your red stained lips. 

“Any last words?” She mocked, a manic smile stretching the skin of her face unnaturally as revenge burned behind her eyes like a field aflame. 

With a wild scream, she reared her hand back and plunged it down. Without a second thought, your hand came up to protect your face, palm flat to the sky. The blade sliced through your skin with a clean strike, skin parting easily against the steel until it breached the other side, tendons and muscle making a sickly squelch as you slid your hand to the hilt, pushing back her blow and biting your lip in a desperate attempt to stifle your shout of pain. Leona growled atop you, arm finally releasing your throat as she struggled to hold down your other hand as it fought to strike her between the ribs. With her momentum now shifted, you pushed up with your hips, knocking her off center, and twisted your body until it was now you staring into her wild eyes from above. With an easy move of your wrist, you swiftly yanked the knife from her blood-covered fingers, pulling your palm out in the process, and gripped the hilt with all the strength you could muster. Leona’s teeth fought to bite at you much like you did earlier, spittle flying from her gnashing jowls. Your other hand gripped at the roots of her hair, pulling her face towards yours before slamming it down against the dense forest floor. Your blood dripped from the palm of your hand onto her dazed face, eyes blinking in an attempt to stay conscious. The blaze around you roared into the sky as magic crackled against your skin. 

Make her bleed, yelled the voice hiding behind your eyes. Its tone had shifted into what was now an amalgamation of Isadora’s voice and something else. If you focused hard enough, you could almost make out your own. 

An inhuman scream wrenched itself from your jaw as the knife plunged downwards for a second time that night, this time striking its intended target. Leona’s breath heaved from between her red-tinted teeth as you stabbed it into her chest, your tired arms forcing the blade out with a wet sound for only a moment before digging it back into her bleeding skin. Hot ichor bloomed across her chest and pooled in her collar bones as her lungs stuttered beneath your trembling legs, pinning her to the ground. Weak whimpers filled the air, conjoining with the roar of flames and the heavy breaths wrenched from your chest. All at once, her struggle ceased, but your hand was long from finished. Up and down came the blade, your eyes never leaving the sight of the chasm you were creating at the center of her stagnant body. Her still-warm blood splattered across your face, getting in your snarling teeth and staining your form for the upteenth time that night. The sticky feeling didn’t bother you anymore. Red flooded your vision as all else around you faded into nothingness. Just you, the blade, and a body. 

Again, the voices cried. Again again again again againagainagainagainagainagain— 

Two pairs of arms ripped you from the still body, one tan hand twisting your arm until you released the dagger, watching it fall to its side and dye the dead grass crimson. Pants heaved from your chest as you struggled against the arms still holding you, snarling like a feral beast and twisting like an animal stuck in a snare. The pale arms trembled around you, holding strong with every ounce of strength they could muster before moving their face towards your ear, soft hushing and a timid, shaking voice finally reaching you under the layers of panic and rage. 

“I think you got her, darling. That’s enough now. It’s over. Let’s stop stabbing now.” 

Ominis sighed as you finally seemed to relax, head falling against your shoulder as he tucked you closer to his body, arms trapping yours against your chest and thighs bracketing your kneeling legs. He stroked your hair placatingly, like one would a particularly wrathful cat, pressing feverish kisses to your scorching skin as you slowly came back to yourself. 

Hesitantly, Sebastian kneeled next to you, cradling a piece of fabric torn from his shirt and holding a hand out to you, silently gesturing to your skewered flesh. You relented, letting him bandage your wound to the best of his ability before he finally allowed you to pull him closer. You let your forehead fall against his chest, feeling him wrap his arms around you and the blond still trying to curb your murderous thoughts. 

Through the gaps in their arms, your eyes finally fell to the woman resting inches from you, body still positioned the same it had been before you were pulled away moments ago. Her skin was already beginning to adopt a waxy hue as pallor mortis began to set in, blood quickly leaving her from the numerous stab wounds decorating her chest. Red trickled from the corners of her mouth, lips still pursed in a silent scream. Her black hair glowed in the dying firelight like fresh oil, waves of onyx pooling against the brown earth, but even that seemed to dull. Naught but the age of twenty, with so much life still awaiting her, now snuffed out like a candle. A Rookwood without her power— Leona, meaning “lioness,” now forever a part of her hunting ground.

All of it, your doing. 

Guilt began to claw its way up your throat, muscles tightening against the words whispered from your twitching lips. “I took her death from you. I’m sorry. It wasn’t mine to take.” 

The brunette hugging you close scoffed, the softest hint of a laugh catching on the tail end of the sound. “None of that now. As long as she’s gone, I don’t have any particular qualms with how it happened.” 

Ominis sighed, tugging you closer and moving his head to Sebastian’s shoulder. “Glad we agree on that front.” 

You felt the freckled boy rest his head atop the blond’s, hearing more than seeing his smirk when he spoke next. “You’ll just owe us, I think. Dreadfully poor manners from you, dear.” 

Laughter unceremoniously ripped from your lungs, a harsh and barking thing still twinged with madness, but showing signs of finally clearing itself of the delirium plaguing you. After a moment of relishing in the bliss of being in their arms again, you slowly detangled yourself until you were three separate beings again. Sebastian’s brown eyes glittered with mirth as you met his stare. You fought not to think about the fact that they likely hadn’t looked this lively since he was taken. 

“Well, you know I’m good on my word,” you teased, sliding your gaze to the slowly cooling body nearby. 

Slowly, painstakingly, the three of you stood together, spare hands and arms lending help when needed until you were stable enough to move. You circled an arm around Ominis’ waist, guiding his own around your shoulders as you did the same to Sebastian, feeling the heated skin from them both against the nape of your neck as you prepared to take your first steps to freedom together. 

“Let’s get you both home,” you smiled, lips curling into the first sincere one you’ve made in days.

“Gladly,” acquiesced the blond, waiting for your go-ahead before putting his weight on his bad leg and taking a hesitant step towards the unknown. 

Behind you, deadly silent as if listening to your retreating footsteps, Leona Rookwood’s cloudy, ocean eyes stared unblinkingly at the stars above.

The days that followed were anything but easy. Teachers needed to be alerted, wounds needed to be healed, but nevertheless, nothing could tamper the relief oozing from you in waves. Finally, your boy’s were back in your arms. 

Nightmares clawed at the three of you for months on end, filled with images of blood splattered stone and deadly goblin silver, and not planning on leaving anytime soon, but such was to be expected after the last few days you had. 

The teachers no longer looked at you the same, gazes once piercing and heavy under the weight of their pity now a mix of respect and thinly veiled fear, but it was a small price to pay for the lives of your great loves. 

These days would never leave you. Nothing would change that— some things just can’t be talked through or erased. Much like how the remnants of torture would never leave the physical body. There would always be pain, sorrow, and a healthy dose of distrust clouding your shattered psyche, but at least you wouldn’t be by yourself this time. 

Your Slytherin’s would always be by your side, forever changed, but comfortable in the fact that they weren’t in that tiny prison anymore, stewing solo and lonely in their trauma. 

Together. Beginning to heal. And never, never, alone again.

AN:

Well, we finally did it friends. Only took me two(ish) years to finish. Hope the ending was what you were hoping for :)

I am still writing, that much is a given, but good lord does it take me a long time now. I really hope the dialogue isn't too weird or unnatural. This whole story has been a cluster-fuck of trying new things and playing around with characterization. I wish HL 2 was gonna continue with these guys, but alas, it's not in the cards. Whatever, we can have our fucked up plot-lines in fanfiction, still.

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Alternate title for this chapter would be "what the fuck is the color of ancient magic again?"