#so what did they think i was a poser about... what could have prompted them to say that...

[vulpinesaint]

classmate who told me that they thought i might be a poser bc i wore "too much black" a couple weeks ago told me this week, slightly horrified, that they thought i might be "kind of a dark person" after i delightedly scrolled through stick figure violence images to show them + our other group member. no matter what at least i am still fucked up and strange in the eyes of normal people...

[dunnswrld]

How you two met!

prompt: How you met one of the jackass boys and how they fell for you!

warnings: Fluff! gn!reader!

Johnny Knoxville

You met Mr. Knoxville when you were working as a server at your local diner.

Johnny came to the local diner with Chris and Steve-o when they were on the road filming for season one of Jackass.

Johnny was first annoyed they had to stop and get food because Chris and Steve-o just would NOT shut up about how hungry they were.

"Great now we are going to be behind everyone just because your fat asses wanted breakfast at 1pm!"

But once he saw the most attractive person he had ever seen severing them, he didn't mind one bit.

Chris and Steve-o pick up on his change of heart pretty quickly. They would quickly begin teasing him.

"Johnny wipe your chin you're droolin' a bit."

"Shut the hell up Chris."

You wouldn't recognize them at first but when you came back to give them their drinks it clicked in your head who they were.

You felt pretty dumb at first, how couldn't you recognize the new faces of MTV faster?

"Oh wow you guys are Johnny Knoxville, Steve-o, and Chris Pontius!"

"You know who I am?"

Johnny would get very flustered when you recognize him and the two others, he didn't think someone as attractive as you would watch a show about grown men being idiots.

Johnny would make sure that when you dropped their food off Chris and Steve-o were silent other than to thank you for their food.

The only reason Johnny would offer to pay for all three of them would be because he wanted to write his number on the receipt.

Steve-o thought it was from the kindness of Johnny's heart, Chris didn't have the heart to tell him it was just so he could give you his number.

The receipt would probably say something like:

"Call me sometime, you're real cute :)

***-***-**** -JK"

When you picked up the receipt you found not only a $25 tip but Johnny Knoxville's number, needless to say you were running to tell all your coworkers on how the Johnny Knoxville gave you his number.

Bam Margera

You two met at a skatepark a little before Bam had his big break in the skating world.

Bam was with all the cky boys just messing around and doing tricks.

But he paused when he saw you come into skatepark.

At first he thought you were some poser that only skated cause of how it was becoming popular. Boy did Bam hate those people.

But when he saw you start grinding rails he knew you were actually there to skate.

Bam would leave whatever conversation him and his friends were having at the time to go and do some really impressive skate trick to try and win your attention.

But he ends up completely failing and eats shit.

What caught your attention wasn't Bam's super cool trick like he planned but his friends hollering and laughing from his fail.

"Boy do I wish I was filming that!"

You would skate over to Bam to help him up.

Bam swears he was being helped by an angel.

"You alright? Looks like you took a hard fall."

"Yeah I'm alright, now."

Bam would start talking to you about skating, trying to ask you any question he could to keep a conversation going.

His friends would easily pick up on this but not instigate, after that hard fall he deserves a shot with someone.

Bam retries the trick he failed earlier and lands it, which makes your jaw drop.

You start begging him to teach you how to land that trick since you had been trying since before the days of sound.

Bam would quickly agree to teach you and tell you to come back to the park tomorrow at 3pm.

You agreed to meet him and waved him a goodbye along with his friends not to be rude.

Bam would instantly start bragging.

"Did you see how smooth I was with that?"

"Yeah. Smooth like sandpaper."

"Shut up Dunn."

Ryan Dunn

I feel like you two would meet in your guys high school days.

Ryan only looked forward to his geometry class because he got to stare at you from across the room.

Ryan would never talk to you though, you were higher in the high school popularity charts than him because of all the sports you played and people you hung out with.

Ryan was convinced you didn't even know he was a person.

But when the teacher announced the class would be switching seats Ryan tried his best to contain his excitement, he was praying to all the gods that you would be sat next to him.

Maybe he should start praying more often because he got sat right next to you.

For the first couple days of the class Ryan didn't dare say a word, he only stole glances at you and would quickly look away as he felt his cheeks light up.

He would try and give himself pep talks on his way to class to try and talk to you.

"Come on Dunn! Today is the day! You're going to talk to them!"

He would never talk to you.

But one day he was lucky enough to be forced to talk to you, the teacher assigning a duo project for that hour of class.

Ryan was practically pissing himself as the teacher said you will have to work with the person next to you.

When the time came to actually work with you he couldn't even make words come out of his mouth.

"I'm Y/n, you're Ryan right?"

Ryan would swear he was dreaming when you said his name.

"You know who I am?"

"Well yeah we have had this class together for two semesters now, and you get yelled at almost every class for sleeping."

"Oh yeah. Right."

Ryan tried to contain his happiness the best he could.

Ryan would soon open up to you when he realized you actually knew he was a living person, it made the fear in his body go away for an odd reason.

When Ryan finally stopped being shy you two quickly clicked, you enjoyed how he was so funny without even trying.

"Why don't you and I hang out after school sometime we can-"

"YES."

And from there on you soon began hanging out with Ryan every Friday after school at your house.

Some of those hangouts were definitely dates

Steve-o

You and Steve-o met when he was sent to the hospital for most likely needing stitches of some sort and you were the lucky nurse in the back of the ambulance with him.

Steve-o swears that you were the most attractive person he had ever seen in his whole life.

He was pretty concussed during this so you didn't really take anything he was saying seriously.

"Can you tell me what the date is Steve?"

"The 57th. You are an angel."

"And you are concussed."

Steve-o would be chatting up a storm with you about how you should totally let him take you out on a date.

He would get mad after you weren't taking him seriously.

"Come on dude I'm serious!"

You still wouldn't budge though.

And poor Jeff had to tag along in the ambulance because he was Steve-o's boss.

The whole ride there Jeff would cringe every time a concussed Steve-o would try flirting with you.

When you finally arrived at the hospital Steve-o was torn to find out you wouldn't be joining him in his room to get stitches.

But for the next couple hours you would ask around and see if Steve-o was finally doing better and not talking like he was concussed.

When you finally were told he was feeling better you went to visit him.

"Knock knock Mr. Steve-o"

"This is the best recovery gift ever!"

Jeff would leave the room for his own sanity.

You would talk to Steve-o and tell him you really enjoy Jackass and that he was actually your favorite member.

This would boost his ego beyond limits.

"Since I'm your favorite member, how about you let me, your favorite member, treat you to a date?"

You knew he now knew what he was saying and finally agreed.

After you exchanged numbers with him you said your goodbyes and left, but that was not before you heard him talking to Jeff about you.

"I told you I would totally get their number!"

Chris Pontius

You met Chris when he first moved into your apartment complex.

It was his first place on his own other than his van. (Does that even count??)

He wouldn't take long to settle in since he didn't really have a lot of things to move.

You would notice him when you peered out your window and saw him carrying a large handful of costumes into the complex

Your first thought was that maybe he was a stripper, but it was rude to assume.

You decide that being the good neighbor you are, you would greet the newest neighbor you have by baking him a batch of cookies.

They weren't hand made though, you weren't that good of a neighbor.

Chris hadn't noticed you until you were knocking on his door with a plate of cookies and a warm smile.

"Hey! I live in the apartment right across from you and I saw you were just moving in so I thought I'd bring you some cookies."

Chris just stared at you. For one he thought you were smoking hot and for two did people really bake cookies for their new neighbors? Did he have to bake cookies for the whole floor he lived on?

He would soon snap out of it and thank you as he took the cookies.

You began small talk with him to try and get to know him better, he was a really funny guy.

You learned that he was in-fact not a stripper but a lifeguard?

After you said your goodbyes and Chris shut the door he quickly ran to his kitchen and began digging through his pantry.

He wanted- no needed to give you something in return for the cookies. He was convinced that if he didn't that would be the last time he spoke to you which was something he didn't want.

After about an hour Chris came together and decided on a pack of half eaten Oreos to give you.

He would try telling himself that it was fine they were almost gone.

"They won't mind they are almost gone.. I mean who eats a whole pack of Oreos?"

A lot of people

When he knocked on your door and gave you the Oreos you thanked him, saying he really didn't need to gift you something in return.

But you noticed they had already been open, you peeled the already opened seal to find a half eaten package of Oreos.

Needless to say you lost it.

Chris was embarrassed, but you reassured him that it was ok and that you understood he didn't have anything else because of his move.

What Chris wasn't expecting was for you to invite him into your apartment.

"Why don't you come in? I have some milk we can finish these Oreos with."

Chris couldn't say no to you and that smile you had.

And it soon turned to you and him meeting up every weekend when you both weren't busy to eat Oreos with milk and talk to one another :)

[five-rivers]

Secret Saturday prompt? Van Rook ties up and gags Zak then stuffs him into a satchel.

Zak was skilled.  He was knowledgeable.  He was powerful.  

He was also twelve, and, despite his best efforts, not terribly tall.  

As such, it wasn’t terribly difficult for Van Rook to knock him out.  Now, separating him from his family and getting the drop on him?  That was difficult.  Whatever other cryptid abilities the kid had, enhanced senses had to be one of them.  Or perhaps some form of ESP.  

Anyway, one dart to the shoulder, and Zak was out.  Van Rook, with skills honed over a lifetime, soon had him disarmed, securely tied, gagged, and in the bag.  He put the boy’s weapons into a separate bag.  He wasn’t like his ridiculous ex-apprentice, who’d leave the potentially valuable magic weapon in the bag with the magic cryptid child.  

Feh.  

Now. Delivery. Most amateurs would expect this to be the safe easy part. Not so. In fact delivery, particularly to first-time clients, was the most dangerous part of the job. Van Rook couldn't count the times a client tried to kill him to get out of paying for bounties or services rendered.

He couldn't suppress a smile at the memory of the last man who tried to backstab him in that particular way.

He set the plane down lightly, next to the ruins. Well, if this client didn't pay up, there were plenty of other people who would. This particular guy just happened to sit at the sweet crossroads of 'good pay' and 'no apocalypse.'

There was a faint squeak from the bag strapped into the seat next to him. He raised an eyebrow. Kid should have been asleep for another half an hour.

He might have to add resistance to drugs to the list of freaky things about the kid.

He reached over and pulled the zipper down slightly. A pair of faintly glittering amber eyes stared up at him from a flushed face. The kid tried to mutter something around the gag, but failed to produce anything intelligible. Van Rook pulled the zipper back up. This was met with a muffled shout and thrashing.

No skin off Van Rook's back if the kid decided to exhaust himself.

Calmly, he went through his post-flight check before unstrapping the bag and making his way off the small plane.

His client was already standing there, on the grass, sweating and mopping his forehead with his sleeve despite the relatively cool weather, flanked by bodyguards. His face lit up when he saw Van Rook, and even more when he saw the bag.

"You have it, then," he said, excited.

"Of course," said Van Rook.

"Well, hand it over, then," he said, reaching.

Van Rook held up his hand. His client stopped with an affronted look on his face. "First," said Van Rook. "Money. Second, I have, maybe, one, two scruples. You say you need him to control this cryptid? Show me the cryptid."

"Scruples?" said the man, taken aback. "You were advertised-"

"Yes, yes, I know, everyone thinks they want this, this man with no scruples. But they don't. They trick themselves, see? A man with no scruples... a man with no scruples, is a man who wouldn't think twice about just taking the money any way he could. You see?"

The bodyguards had their hands on their weapons. Posers. Van Rook had never taken his off.

"... and, the other scruple?"

Van Rook smiled, nastily. "What do you think? I'm giving you the benefit of the doubt. You tell me to sell you a twelve year old. What am I supposed to think?"

The client had gone very red in the face. "I assure you-"

"Assure me with money. And the cryptid," said Van Rook. "Words can't buy me dinner."

"Very well, then."

The man turned and waddled into the ruins. Electric lights had been strung up to illuminate the darker areas, and there was a significant amount of digging equipment. Someone had been excavating. Most likely less than legally. Van Rook wondered how long it would take the other Saturdays to find this place and mount a rescue. Not that it mattered. The hell family would cease to be his problem as soon as he was paid and away. The client got to deal with them then.

He noted the kid had gone still. Worn himself out, maybe? Or perhaps the conversation with the client had spooked him. Kid might face off against the likes of Argost, but he was still only twelve.

They climbed down several flights of stairs that ultimately terminated in a large, only half-lit cavern. However, the ligting was good enough for Van Rook to see both the massive pile of treasure and the gnarled giant that guarded it.

"A spriggan," said the client, whispering. "All this way, and we can't make the damn thing move." Then he laughed. "There's your payment, for you," he said, waving at the treasure mound.

You know what? thought Van Rook. Screw this guy.

On the other hand, this had been hard work, and he did very much want to get paid. He had expenses.

Van Rook set the bag down and unzipped it, dodging a sloppy attempt at a kick from the kid. He had to give him credit for guts and even getting into position while tied up.

Van Rook hauled him into a sitting position. The client reached down to grab his chin. And forced him to look up.

"My, his eyes really are yellow, aren't they? Except for those, he almost looks human."

The kid growled, deep in his throat. It might have been one of the few sounds available to him around the gag, but it didn't help his case. The client laughed nervously. "Of course, the disposition... haha."

Van Rook rolled his eyes. It wasn't like the client would see behind his visor.

"Now, uh, make the monster go away."

The kid continued to glare.

"I think you'll have to be more specific."

"The spriggan. The giant. Make it leave. Make it go far away."

Still nothing. No magic spooky nonsense, no glowing eyes, no screaming cryptids, nothing.

"Let me, sir," said one of the bodyguards. He leaned down and whispered something lengthy in the kids ear, one hand gripping his shoulder. As he spoke, the kid's breath grew ragged and his skin took on a sickly cast. He tried to pull away from the bodyguard (towards Van Rook, for incomprehensible reasons), but despite the man's shortcomings in the bodyguard department, he could restrain a bound preteen who was probably still recovering from a dose of knockout drugs.

When the man let go, the kid was shaking. Although, that could easily be explained by their surroundings. He'd picked the kid up in Bermuda, and he'd been dressed for it. Now, they were in Cornwall. Much colder.

"Well? Go on, then," ordered the bodyguard.

The kid tried to say something around the gag and was promptly backhanded.

"Hey, hey," Van Rook said grabbing the bodyguard's wrist when he went in for another strike. "Let's hear what he has to say, huh?"

He untied the gag and tugged it from the kid's mouth, only allowing himself a second to be disturbed by how the cloth tore against his teeth. The boy worked his jaw up and down a few times and licked his lips before he tried to speak again.

"I can't actually do what you want me to do," he said, scowling.

The client's face turned thunderous. "Excuse me?"

"Well, to begin with, I'm out of range, and even if I wasn't, my powers are pretty limited without the Claw." He looked at Van Rook with ill-disguised hope.

"I'm not giving you your magic weapon, but nice try."

The kid's face fell back into a scowl. "Beyond that, I don't know who told you my powers were mind control, but they're not." He didn't elaborate. "I can't make that spriggan leave."

"But," said the client, hands fluttering, "magic-"

The boy pulled his lips back in a snarl, revealing too-white, too-sharp teeth. "Just because it's magic doesn't mean it doesn't have rules, idiot."

The list of things Van Rook was truly scared of was short and topped by his own empty wallet and whatever was going on with Argost. Zak Saturday didn't come close. But in ten years... Well. Van Rook would be retired by then, one way or another.

And, to be frank, the kid being stubborn right now wasn't his problem either. "So," he drawled. "I brought you the kid. Where's my money?"

The client's furious expression turned meek in a heartbeat. "Well, you can see-"

"Either pay me now, or I'm leaving with my merchandise."

"But-"

"Not my problem. Pay. Me."

"Well, I-"

Across the cavern, the giant roared something that almost sounded like language.

"He'll pay you," said the kid.

"What?" chorused the adults.

"He'll pay you. The spriggan. The spiggan will pay you, if you can get these guys to go away leave him alone. Double."

Van Rook looked at the kid, then the cryptid, then the massive pile of treasure the cryptid was sitting on. He shrugged. "Sounds good to me."

"You can't be serious!"

"I'm always very serious about getting paid."

.

Zak sat next to the spriggan, arms around his knees, and tried not to breathe too deeply. Van Rook had left a while ago.

"Thanks for letting me wait here with you," he said. He meant it, and the cavern really was much more pleasant once the spriggan cleaned up Van Rook's work. "Mom and Dad should pick me up any time now." He glanced at the entryway and shuddered. It wasn't like he'd never seen blood before, and it wasn't like he'd never been kidnapped before, but...

The spriggan dropped an ancient, ratty fur coat around his shoulders. He looked up with a weak smile.

"Thanks."

[ill-skillsgard]

I need Faust and Faith's reunion after he's done touring 👉👈 No pressure or anything. I just miss them a lot!

I always miss Fausty boy! I have some other prompts I wanted to incorporate into this one, but it was getting too long. I hope you enjoy!

+

Warning: 18+ mentions of public sex, mature language, anti-religious overtones, mentions of blood, violence, death, and drug use.

Summary: Faith goes to her first black metal show and asks Faust about the black circle.

- Not based on Lords of Chaos. I use Faust!Valter’s likeness only as inspiration.

Read more Faust x Faith here [x]

The duelling guitars screeched through twin stacks of speakers and filled the auditorium with malfeasance. Faith had never witnessed such a carnal reaction. As she watched from the side stage, the crowd below opened into a whirling pit of black-clad showgoers, pushing, jumping and banging against each other. The drums kicked into a blistering rhythm, and her attention turned toward the man she barely recognized with white and black makeup painting his face like the ghost of a demon.

Faust punished his drumkit with expert precision, his arms blurring in the chaos of their first song. His black hair swung as he banged his head without missing a beat. Horned and studded limbs spilled over the metal barricade, tongues lolled, and eyes lit with blissful fury. The singer's growls seemed to rise from the depths of hell, a monster shrieking at its thralls for more destruction.

Even with earplugs in, Faith felt the music blowing back in waves, shaking the column of her throat and turning her brain to mush. She dared slip one plug out to hear the true volume and quickly stuffed it back in when the intensity struck.

During the ambient interludes between songs, the crowd roared still. A few hundred people raised their hands, praising the men on stage. It reminded her of church, how they would let their eyes roll back, chanting the hymns and facing their palms skyward. This was no church she had ever set foot inside. The walls were painted black, the floor sticky from spilled beer, and its congregation made her gathering's displays of loyalty seem demure. The air reeked of salty skin and malt embedded in the paint from nights like this.

Faith saw people wearing shirts with Faust's band logo on the front, and a burst of pride warmed her belly. Though she was remarkably out of place, there was an odd sense of welcome. She could run headfirst into the crowd and get swallowed up and spit out like anyone else.

When they finished their set, Faust retired his drumsticks to a holder, chugged an entire bottle of beer and took a brief bow to the crowd before walking off stage. Faith bounced as he approached and scooped her off the floor, smearing her face with paint from around his mouth. When he set her down, his lips were partially visible through the now grey muck.

"How was it?" Faust asked.

"You guys are amazing. That's was so cool, babe!"

"Ah, you're just saying that."

"No, really! I can't believe how crazy they went for you!"

Faust sneered playfully, though their reception had been one for the books. "Probably 'cause half the crowd are friends of ours."

"Doesn't matter. You still kicked ass."

Faust's smile was unbreakable from a show well played and seeing his girlfriend waiting for him at the side of the stage. He led her to the green room as stagehands and managers nodded them through and let her dab the corpse paint off her face in the bathroom. Faust sopped up the sweat in his hair with a towel and changed his stage clothes before Faith returned. His bandmates soon joined them, and the chatter was unintelligible. People from other bands came in to talk and congratulate the young group on their first cross-country tour, and soon the back was filled with people hanging VIP badges from their pockets.

Faust pulled Faith from the bedlam before the room grew too hot. They made their way to the main floor and the rows of merchandise tables. Faith couldn't help but feel privileged to have access to the other side of the tables where Faust told her she could stash her coat and purse while a lineup of fans waited to purchase t-shirts and albums. Admirers pulled Faust away several times to take photos and shake hands. Faith watched in awe as people took turns posing with her boyfriend, who stayed looking stoic in his half-melted face paint. Her boyfriend. People from all walks of life wanted proof they'd met him, asking him to sign album covers and tour posters.

When Faust broke away from the clamour of excited metal fans, he took Faith's hand and pulled her through the crowd to a stairwell guarded by security. He flashed his tour badge, and the guard permitted them to the balcony where a few other musicians sat in a less crowded area.

"Come on, let's go outside. I need a fucking smoke," Faust said.

They went through a set of metal doors to an outdoor balcony where two men leaned against the railing, passing a joint and chatting. One spotted Faust, and a smile cracked over his face.

"Hey, Faust. Great show, man. We watched from the balcony. You guys were fucking killer," the man passed the joint to the drummer.

He hauled a significant bout of smoke into his lungs, then expelled it into the night air, handing it back with a nod.

The man refused. "Pass it to the lady."

"She's good," Faust said.

"I'll take a hit," Faith countered.

Faust glanced at her, brow raised high. "You sure?" He chuckled.

"Yes. I'll be fine."

Faust handed her the joint and turned to his fellow musicians. "Thanks. Glad you guys enjoyed the set."

As Faith inhaled, the other man turned to her and offered his hand to shake. "Hey, I'm Janne."

"Faith," she mouthed around a lungful of searing smoke.

"This is Yosh," Janne gestured at the man who'd initially offered Faust the joint. "Good to meet you."

"Is this your girlfriend, Fausty?"

"Yeah. She's my girl."

"Aw, that's cute. Didn't take you for the relationship type, to be honest. You like this scary son of a bitch?" Yosh asked.

Faith giggled as she looked up at the towering man dressed in black while he lit a cigarette. "He's not that scary. At least not to me," said Faith.

"Good man to have by your side at a show. You might get trampled down there."

"This is actually my first show."

Yosh choked on a hit and coughed, "really? And you came to a black metal show? That's ballsy."

"Well, it's not really my thing, but I wanted to see them play. I came from out of town just to be here tonight," Faith said proudly.

"Oh, right. You guys are from the green belt, right? Or should I say, the black circle?" Janne tittered.

Faust's eyes grew stony. "No. I'm not part of that shit. Bunch of fucking posers."

"We were just talking about the church fire there a couple weeks ago. You guys are known for that, aren't you?"

"I don't know. Guess so," Faust shrugged.

"They said there was a body found after they put out the fire, and it was nailed to some pieces of wood...like a cross or something. Can you believe that shit? How metal is that?"

Faith swallowed. She had heard the news break the day after the fire before they announced the unidentified body and after Faust had surprised her at the bus stop. They had prayed about it in church the following week and set up a collection to bulldoze the wreckage and reconstruct the chapel even bigger than before. Her mother was so stricken from the news that Faith had to spend a night at her parents' house consoling her while her father bad-mouthed the city's youth.

Bunch of heathen Satan-worshippers in this town. If I'd have known how disgusting some of these people are, I'd have never moved us out here.

Faith, her sisters and their mother all huddled on the sofa watching reruns of Full House while Stan stood hard-backed at the front window, peering out every few minutes as if the culprit might attack them next.

Oh, Stan, you don't know who did it. You can't point the finger when the police haven't even updated the community. Give the embers a chanced to cool. Besides, it's places like these that need the most help. We'll raise the money. I just hope to God they catch the people who did this.

All Faith could think about as she ate her sundae next to her sister was what she was doing the night after the fire. While the fire department was busy putting out the flames across town, she was pressed against a brick wall getting fucked by one of the heathen Satan-worshippers her father despised. She tried not to connect dots that had no business forming any kind of picture. Faust's appearance had been a coincidence.

I'll tell you who did this... It's that damned black circle. They've done it before, and they'll do it again.

Faust waved a hand in front of Faith's face, and she flinched from her reveries. "Babe? You there?"

"Oh, sorry," she laughed. "Kind of zoned out."

"Wanna head back inside?"

Faith didn't realize she was shivering until Faust rubbed her upper arms. "Sure. Yeah, let's do that."

"One puff of a joint, and you're on another planet, huh? Good seeing you Janne, Yosh... We should tour again."

"Yeah, man. As soon as possible. We're always on the road. We'd love to have you out for as many gigs as you guys can handle."

Faust nodded and clasped hands with both men before urging Faith along with a palm on her bottom. Once they made it inside, he snuck his fingers under her skirt and pinched her hard enough to give her a jolt but not to hurt.

"Faust!"

"What? No one's looking. Hey, you wanna check out our tour bus?"

Faith went to the balcony railing and saw the next band setting up their gear. She pointed below and turned to Faust. "Won't we miss the next band?"

"You actually wanna stay and watch?"

"Uh, yeah! This is my first show. I wanna see all the bands."

"All right. We can stay up here or go to the floor. But I'm warning you, it can get ruthless down there."

"I want to go down. It looks fun."

"Then we have to go now. We'll try to get right up front where you won't get swallowed in a circle pit."

"Really?" Faith gasped. "Like, right up front at the barricade?"

"Sure, why not? If you want the full experience. I'll stand right behind you and make sure crowd-surfers don't land on your head. Then after, I'll show you the bus, and...I dunno...Probably fuck."

"Oh my goodness, Faust. Yeah, right!"

"I'm serious. I'd fuck you right here if there weren't people around."

Emboldened by his suggestion, Faith whirled around and stared up at him with her brows lowered. "What's all this about the black circle?"

Faust scoffed. "What are you talking about?"

"I've heard it mentioned before and that you're part of it. I just wanna know. Is it some kind of gang?"

"Do I look like I'm in a fucking gang? No. It's just some dumb shit they made up in high school."

"They as in your friends?"

"It's stupid and means nothing."

Faith stood in place. "Well, they're saying that church burned down because of your friends. Aren't you afraid someone might ask you questions?"

"I'm not afraid of shit because I've been on tour this whole time."

"Faust—"

"What did I tell you about the twenty questions? Now, do you wanna go watch the show or do you wanna keep talking about irrelevant shit?"

Dissatisfied with his response, Faith clammed up and followed Faust to the main floor. They wriggled through the tightening crowd and got upfront before the lights lowered, and a gust of smoke covered the stage. Ominous chanting heralded in a band dressed in black hoods. Faith watched, awestruck, but in the back of her mind, thoughts of the black circle fermented, giving off a foul smell she couldn't ignore.

After the headlining band opened with pyrotechnics and the frontman tossing a skull of pig's blood over the crowd, Faust took Faith around back, where the tour buses formed a barrier between the street and the venue. He led her inside and turned on the light to reveal the interior in a state of disarray. Beer bottles overflowed in the sink, ramen noodle wrappers littered the floor, and spiked leather decorum hung over seats and tables. There was a shredded porn magazine, its contents pinned to the wall and drawn over with a black marker, breasts shooting fire and snakes slithering out of places that made Faith blush.

"Sorry about the smell. Touring always has a distinct odour of unwashed balls and puke."

Faith tried not to touch any surface until Faust showed her to the back lounge area, where they sat and looked at each other in prolonged silence. Faith reined in a smile while her boyfriend sat back and studied her face.

"I'm glad you came. Sorry that it's probably more chaotic than you expected."

"It's okay. I'm having fun."

"You sure? I know it's not really your scene."

"You're my scene," Faith said.

He reached for her hand. Faith thought he meant to hold her, but he tugged her closer instead, straddling her over his lap. His hands came up under her skirt and over her ass while they kissed. Faust pulled away as she rocked her hips forth and placed his hands on her hips.

"So, how's school?"

"You're really asking me about school when we haven't seen each other in weeks?"

"What? Is there something else you wanna do?"

"I think you know what I want."

"Yeah, but I want you to say it."

Faith peered down the hall, past the bunks, toward the front of the bus. "What if someone comes in?"

"Not like my band hasn't walked in on you sucking my cock before."

"Oh my gosh, don't remind me."

Faust darkened, pulled air through his teeth. "Did you miss me?"

"Of course, I missed you. How is that even a question?"

He tilted his hips up and let Faith drop when he relaxed. She tugged his shirt up to appreciate the trail of hair leading down from his navel.

"What did you miss the most?"

"Your big, throbbing heart," Faith giggled. "I missed cuddling with you and going on walks together. Waking up with you beside me. Your cooking."

Faust pulled her down for a hug. "All right, all right. I get it. You wanna fuck, just not in the bus."

"Do your bandmates fuck girls in here?"

Laughter burst from his mouth as he rocked Faith back and forth. "They fucking wish."

The couple chuckled until another silence proceeded. Faith saw the fiery look in Faust's eyes, the appetite for her body that never tapered, his joy from having her there on his tour bus. Yet, all Faith saw was a building on fire, flames flickering behind his green stare. She smothered the thoughts with a kiss Faust took for permission to explore under her skirt again. Maybe she could kill her suspicions by reminding herself how much he loved her, the lengths he would go to protect her.

Voices yelled outside the bus, distracting Faith but not Faust, who rolled beneath her hips, oblivious to the arousal shooting through his groin.

"Yeah, come on, baby. Pull my cock out and sit on it for me. It'll be quick."

"Faust!" Someone shouted outside of the bus.

Faith pushed on his chest and perked toward the sound.

"Where the fuck is that asshole? First, he fucks off for an entire day, loses his phone, makes us cancel a show, and now the prick can't be dicked to help load out because his bitch is here? Getting real fucking sick of the bullshit, Ola."

"Mordy, chill out, man."

The bus door opened, followed by a waft of cigarette smoke. Boot tread hammered across the floor, and Mordy swayed through to the back, scoffing when he saw Faust with his girlfriend perched on his lap.

"You wanna take apart your drumkit, or are you just gonna let it sit in the way of everyone's gear? Oh, sorry, should have known you were too busy to be fucking bothered."

Faust lifted Faith off his thighs, and she bounced on the sofa as he shot up and stared Mordy down. The bass player didn't flinch.

"What? What're you gonna do, Faust? Punch me out? Good thing it's our last show. Wouldn't want your personal business getting in the way of the biggest tour of our fucking lives so far."

"You don't know shit, so I suggest you shut your mouth."

"No, I'm not gonna shut my mouth. Someone has to stand up to you, and none of these pussies will. Go load out your fucking gear, man!"

Faust smelled whiskey on Mordy's breath. He was far too sober to start a fight with the bass player and nodded, shouldering past him. Mordy crashed into the wall and cursed as the drummer stomped off the bus, leaving Faith fidgeting with the edge of her skirt and unsure if she should follow. Mordy scoffed at her and exited the bus after Faust, shouting until she no longer heard him.

When Faust returned, Faith stood up and wrang her wrists. "Should I leave?"

"We're both leaving," Faust muttered as he tore open the zipper on his backpack and scrounged up his clothes and stage effects to stuff inside. He ducked into the small fridge and took four bottles of beer, sticking two in the holders of his bag and pocketing the other two inside his leather jacket.

"Come on. We're out of here."

"But, neither of us have a car, and we're far from home," Faith said.

"Call a cab."

Outside of the bus, guitar cases and boxes of merch waited for loading. Faust opened a tote, wrenched open a steel moneybox and took some of the cash inside. He found Faith's coat and purse and passed them to her before kicking a hole into the plastic container. Mordy and Ola noticed this as Faust walked away with Faith in tow.

"Hey, asshole! What do you think you're doing? You can't just fucking take off with the merch money!"

Faust turned around, grabbed his crotch and flipped them off. "Suck my dick, fuckbags. Find a new drummer."

[goose-books]

& while i am posting things today. some more maxwriting, specifically two mini-fanfictions for yves. @yvesdot​ ’s WIP the one and only universe of kay rainier (would recommend! arguments to lovers! he/him wlw! interdimensional (?) shenanigans!) one of which also features an OC i've mentioned a few times on this blog but done historically very little with.

it’s occurred to me in my moment of posting that neither of these pieces have titles. oh well.

THE FIRST ONE

you ought to send yves. some bingo prompts. anyway, i sent them kay + daemons, and then immediately realized i had ideas and thoughts about that, too. so i wrote my own version. unlike theirs, this is vaguely set in the HDM universe, which is funny because i haven’t read HDM and learned everything i know from waya vivji, a single war and peace fanfiction, and also wikipedia just before i wrote it. the notable context here is that daemons are usually the “opposite sex” of their humans, and if i got that wrong do not tell me because i am embarrassed.

Kay is a precocious child; she is twelve years old when her daemon settles. Chesire is a sleek dark mahogany, a ferruginous hawk with a wickedly curved beak and eyes that glitter like beads. He is also male. This, for the Rainiers, is not done; even the absent Ariel, despite his eccentricities, had a properly gendered daemon. It unsettles Kay in a way she will not place for many years; still, as soon as she registers her disappointment (for it must be disappointment, surely; nothing more), she’s awash in guilt.

“How lovely,” she tells him, stroking his glossy new feathers, keeping her voice low less to keep out her father and more because it is only polite. Cheshire bobs his head and flutters his wings and seems, very slightly, to preen. He must be able to sense her uncertainty, the subdued flatness to her voice, but he is a Rainier as well; the polite thing is to ignore it, and he does.

“How curious,” Father says, stroking Fauntleroy’s velvet ears.

“Not unheard of,” the dormouse says from her seat in his breast pocket. Constantine inclines his head slightly; he does not deign to offer more.

/

When the Neighborly enters the house the jackal stalks at his heel, ears pricked at attention, wet black nose gleaming, mouth crooked open in a canine grin. With it comes a distinct smell — not unpleasant so much as it is unbalancing, an earthy scent, filling the foyer as its claws click on the floor. Like his clothes, it is black, head to toe. They aren’t usually. Kay wonders if it’s coincidence, if perhaps he dyes its fur so it will match.

She thinks of it as such — it — because to be frank she is not sure what to make of Atlas, and what to assume about his daemon. During the customary introductions, Cheshire perches atop Kay’s shoulder, and Fauntleroy emerges from her pocket to whisk up to Father’s collar and cling to the fabric to study the Neighborly. He can’t stay quite still. His hands twitch at his sides. He shifts his weight. The jackal paces maddening circles around the room, eyeing the dark walls and the fine wooden furniture, too dignified to lower its head and sniff but not too good to cast judgment without speaking. Every time it passes Kay in its slow inexorable orbit, Cheshire’s claws tighten on her coat.

“It’s a pleasure, Atlas,” Constantine says stiffly, extending a hand to shake with an expression that suggests he’d rather have it removed.

Atlas shakes, grinning easily, a looseness to his motions, and then he tilts his head and says, “Anubis.” In a moment the jackal’s at his side, curling around the backs of his legs to turn its wet smile on Kay’s father. It’s too large; that’s what she decides. How does he take it anywhere? Why hasn’t it learned to behave? Unless this is his goal: to part rooms, to announce his presence as soon as he steps through the threshold.

“Anubis,” she says, the first time she and Atlas are alone. “Like the god?” Atlas and Anubis; it is the sort of half-joke she can appreciate.

Anubis looks up at its name. Atlas looks at it. “I don’t know,” he says. “It was my sister’s idea.” He looks to Cheshire, who has settled near Kay’s inkwell to reorganize her pens. “And this is…”

“Cheshire.”

“Cheshire,” Atlas repeats, piercing glinting as his eyebrow quirks.

“When I was younger, I thought he would be a cat.”

“I thought she’d be a crow. Probably better this way. Crows are poser birds.” Anubis snorts at that, a sound both doggish and human.

“She is… she, then,” Kay says carefully.

“Oh, yeah. Apparently that’s weird.” Atlas leans back in Kay’s chair until the front legs leave the ground.

“Is it,” Kay says.

Atlas’s eyes flit around her face, like he knows what she’s asking; his smirk doesn’t lessen. “Well, women have male daemons, right? Ask Cheshire.”

Kay and Cheshire look at each other. Cheshire fluffs his feathers and says, “This is dull.”

Kay is less certain. She does not smile at Atlas, but some of the edge has smoothed from her voice. “I should like to watch you explain it to my father.”

“If he could take it,” Atlas says. “What’s the mouse’s fucking name again?”

Cheshire steps back and forth, feathers ruffling, until Kay sets a hand out to still him, gentle, comforting. “Fauntleroy.”

“Christ,” Atlas says. “Bless you.” When he catches Kay stiffening, he relents a little, letting the chair clatter back to the floor. “Fits the vibe, I guess.”

“As yours fits you,” says Kay, making it as uncomplimentary as she can.

“Guess my soul’s black,” Atlas says cheerily. He balls up a piece of paper and tosses it to Anubis, who, flopped across the floor, doesn’t move. “Not the weirdest thing about us.”

“Well,” Kay says, “I think it would be rather unfair for me to talk about oddities,” and she takes a small victory in the look they share: not friendship, not fondness, but something like an understanding, reached in the quiet moment before Cheshire hands her another pen and she resumes her work.

THE SECOND ONE

this one’s a bit older but i never posted it until now, at yves.’s urging! i think i was doing... camp nano last year? or something. and couldn’t think of what to write. or maybe i couldn’t focus on my project because i was thinking about my other project, the butch4butch hamlet retelling i still haven’t written. to which yves. said, “write kay x your lesbian hamlet character,” to which i said, “you don’t think i will, but i will,” and i did. so really this is yvesmax crossover fic.

It is annoying, Holden’s habit of dropping by whenever she likes. This can probably be attributed to the fact that Holden, herself, is annoying. Kay can only adjust the items on her desk (pens, mainly) so many times; she is caught up in an aggravating state of waiting but also not waiting, and she does not care for that.

Just as she thinks so, there’s a knock at the front door.

Holden doesn’t ring the doorbell anymore. She did that the first time and Kay came down the stairs a few seconds too late to find Father staring at the creature in his front hall, looking like he didn’t know whether he should be put out or concerned. “I think the earrings got him,” Holden said later, on Kay’s bed, tapping the crosses hanging inverted from her ears. Kay’s opinion was that it was all of her, from the messy post-buzz hair to the propensity for suits to the Doc Martens to the way Holden leans on any available surface.

She opens the door and Holden is leaning against the doorframe. Which looks a little more awkward coupled with whatever she’s carrying under her arm.

“Hi,” she says.

Kay blinks slowly.

“It is late,” she says, spinning on her heel and heading for the stairs. Behind her, she hears the quiet click of Holden closing the door. The grandfather clock in the front hall is ticking toward eleven.

“I never get over how weird this place is.” When she glances back, Holden is peering into the nearest glass cabinet. “Like a little dollhouse.”

“Thank you,” Kay says stiffly. She cannot decide whether she is irritable.

“And this is coming from someone whose parents were devoted to taxidermy.” Holden follows her up the stairs, hands shoved into the pockets of her suit jacket, looking entirely too comfortable here, and Kay decides that she is irritable after all.

“I do not know what you suppose your business is here,” she says. “Especially as it is almost an hour past ten.”

Holden shrugs.

“Do not shrug at me.”

Holden opens her mouth as if to speak, then casts a glance behind her. There’s no one in the darkened hallway; Father is in his office. Still, Holden waits for Kay to shut her bedroom door.

“I know I’m late,” she says, slouching back against it. “Sorry. I lost track of time in the bookstore.”

Kay blinks. “You are late to see me because you went to the bookstore,” she intones.

She says nothing as Holden withdraws the books from under her arm and extends them. “I really wanted to find Carmilla for you,” she says. “Like, the oldest print version I could find.”

It certainly looks old. Kay purses her lips. “I own Carmilla.”

“I know. But, like… it’s vintage.” Holden attempts one-handed jazz hands. “I have a sentence in my notes app from six months ago that just says carmilla but like the old edition.” She shuffles the stack of books. “And then I sat down for — look, I swear I was trying to be timely about it. Trying to be punctual.” She pops the P. “But time isn’t real and I read two chapters of Pride and Prejudice and I don’t know if you own that but it feels like the kind of thing you’d find sexy.” Her smile glitters. “And then — I know The Catcher in the Rye isn’t your thing. But I wrote in this one, so.”

Kay reaches out, very carefully, to take the books. She does own Pride and Prejudice, actually, but she still feels a pang. She flips through The Catcher in the Rye and is met with scrawls of black-ink handwriting, filling up the margins and underlining passages.

“Thank you,” she says, very softly, and moves to set the books on her desk. “You didn’t have to… get me anything.”

“I like knowing that my parents’ money is fueling homosexual agendas,” Holden says pleasantly. When Kay turns around, Holden catches her hand and steps in closer, showing her teeth in a smile. “But I’ll try to be on time from now on.”

“As you should,” Kay says, pulling Holden a few inches closer.

Holden raises a hand to caress Kay’s cheek. “That said,” she says in a low voice, “now that I’ve — what did you say. Now that I’ve fulfilled my business here, I can think of a few things we could do. Unless it’s too late.”

Against her will, Kay smiles.

“I suppose we can extend your stay a little longer,” she says, and their lips meet.

[thatwritingho]

Skwisgaar for the headcannons please!

*Shows up a month late with Starbucks*

Lol whoops better late than never I guess

Prompt list here

A-Realistic: Skwis is all the least metal of the band, and in fact only got into metal because it allowed him to play the fastest and most complicated guitar. I mean just look at his room, and his all white outfit in the preklok days. I think he mostly follows the brutal and dark aesthetic so he doesn't stand out too much; all his friends are into it, so he plays along. 

In fact, I feel like Skwis just goes along with most things. Like, everything, actually. 

Like I said in my Skwis background head canon post, his childhood emotional neglect was severe, and he never had any friends growing up. Because of this, I don't think he knows how to really form relationships, platonic or otherwise. He never had connections in his formative years, and then as he got older, even though he wanted to, even though he ached for it, he just… couldn't.

The first person he really related to was Nathan, in part because Nate also has problems forming bonds. And because of this Skwis latched on to Nathan and proceeded to absorb his interests and seek his approval. 

(Which… isn't always a good thing. Like how he continues to perpetuate the band attitude of "anything that could be seen as gay is bad" when in fact he is attracted to men, but I digress)

Yeah anyway tldr: Skwis is actually in fact a poser who acts way more dark and brutal than he really is.

B-Funny: More cute than funny, and I've mentioned this before, but I see him as a huge, giant fantasy nerd. 

I'm talking larping, DnD playing, has a secret display of to-scale collector models, keeps a binder of Magic the Gathering cards, can rant about Game of Thrones for hours, watches Lord of the Rings extended editions when he can't sleep, cosplaying as Glorfindel nerd.

No one in the band knows except Toki, and that's only because one of his resign statues came in the mail with a piece broken and he needed model glue to fix it, which Toki was more than willing to share. 

C-Sad: Despite getting the most frequent physical affection out of everyone in the band, Skwis is, in fact, extremely touch starved. 

I mean think about it; he went the majority of his life without affection or acceptance, and now that he has it, he only receives it from complete strangers, and that makes him all the more lonely. 

Casual displays of affection; hugs, hand holding, having his hair played with, kisses on the cheek(or any innocent kisses at all really), late night discussions about your deepest thoughts, he gets none of that. Everyone only cares about what he can do for them, how much pleasure the famous sex god Skwisgaar Skwigelf can bring them. 

Everyone he sleeps with expects the best of the best, for this one night to blow them away and make every other encounter they've had pale in comparison, so he ends up always the giver to live up to his reputation. 

Its incredibly isolating, and he doesn't know how to accept small displays of affection because of it. Hugs? Kisses that don't lead to making out? Making out that doesn't lead to sex? What is this?

Why would anyone care about him if they don't just want sex or for him to play guitar?

D-Unrealistic: This is a crack head canon and would totally never happen but…

I like to think that Skwisgaar's guilt over leaving so many kids to grow up fatherless(just like he did) would eventually lead him to a breaking point, and he'd do some grand dramatic gesture to try to make up for it.

He sets back a huge sum of money and starts a free-admission college for all his kids, and for eventually their kids as well.

Calls it something ridiculous like Skwigaar Skwigelf's University of Demi Gods; it offers degrees in every field, employs the best staff, is huge and made of white marble, and all around just super extra. 

[mhdiaries]

Wave 2 Spectra Vondergeist Diary

The 18th of September

I finally get my own column in the school paper. I already have THE blog that’s on every gossip ghouls must read list but anybody can get a blog these days. Being in print gives me instant credibility however, not that I didn’t have it before... so obvious. Anyway the column is an anonymous advice/MH insider feature called Oh My Oracle. Why anonymous? Well if I used my real name I would never get anything done in class because monster would constantly be asking my advice and if I’m pursuing a bigger story I might need some monster to cover the column and I wouldn’t want my name associated with any bad advice that might be given in my absence. My suggestion box is already full of questions from monsters who need a little help negotiating teen monster life. It’s also overrun with spam. Apparently some monster thought it would be funny to sign me up for information on time share crypts and no I do not want to vacation in a “lovely little mausoleum overlooking the Great Dismal Swamp” DELETE! My first real question was this one:

Dear OMO

I’ve been seeing this really cute troll for a while now but he only wants to hang out under his bridge. How can I convince him that there are other places we could go that would be just as much fun? 

Signed,

A Ghoulfriend Gruff

Dear Ghoulfriend Gruff

I’m glad to know that he’s cute cause you’re going to be spending a lot of time underneath that bridge. It’s like my grandmother used to say, “Don’t date trolls.” Hope this helps.

All the best,

OMO

The 26th of September

Sometimes I think the only creature in the world who really understands me at all is Rhuen. She’s so clever at finding the secret places that other monsters don’t notice or have forgotten; especially at Monster High. She can be a bit mischievous at times and doesn’t always come when I call, but I absolutely reject the notion that every trail of chaos leads to Rhuen.

The 7th of October

I was just floating along today minding my own business, like I normally do, when I happened to see Deuce and Lady Twangs-a-lot... I mean Operetta... furtively slip into the empty band room. As a reporter I was intrigued, as a student I need to get to class that happened to be on the other side of band room and as a ghost, a door is not required to enter a room. As I passed through the wall into the room I heard sir hiss reading love poetry. The part I happened to hear sounded sincere... sincerely terrible. Not wanting to be late I didn’t stay for the whole conversation, just long enough to realize I had the scoop of the year! DEUCE DUMPS CLEO FOR OPERETTA!!! Naturally I went straight to Cleo to get her take on the story since that’s what a responsible reporter should do in situation of this gravity. I asked her if she felt such a betrayal was a long time in coming after what she had done to Clawd and if she would be willing to sit down and give me an exclusive interview regarding the situation. I had trouble understanding her response since she reverted to Ancient Egyptian, which I am a bit shaky in, but I think I caught the word “kiss” followed by “cobra”, “adder”, or some other type of poisonous snake, followed by what might have been “depart” “hammer”, and or “sand”. I was immediately persecuted for my investigation efforts and was set upon by that ruffian Clawd. I don’t know what his problem was since it’s obvious he and Cleo are getting back together. Fortunately, the whole school rallied to my side and our Headmistress called into question the leadership skills of our “BMOC”.

I am going to address this incident in tomorrow’s column.

The 8th of October

Oh My Oracle!

News item!

The big bad wolf was out huffing and puffing yesterday. What prompted this full moon freak out? It would be improper to speculate but could it be possible that ll that tall, dark and intermittently furry is still smarting over being dumped by his little wrapped riding hood? It’s a known fact he’s been chasing his tail for some time over that mark on his alpha status. Maybe. He. Just. Snapped. Monster High may never know but “you know who” will, as always, keep digging for the story even if it’s supposed to be dead and buried. 

The 12th of October

Our esteemed Headmistress wants every student to write an essay on their monster heritage... right. She obviously doesn’t want to know the real stories behind the students at Monster High or she would have just asked me since I have the real scoop on all of them. I offered to compile all my notes for publishing but she told me that each monster should have a chance to tell their own story. Whatever. I’ve already read through most of the essays that have been turned in - they were on her desk in plain sight so it was obvious, to me at least, that she had left them there for me to find. They run the gamut from boring to deadly boring. I suppose that I shall have to do mine now or it’s unlikely that any monster will want to read what is sure to be a wretchedly long haunt down monster memory lane. I come from royalty of course, my father was next in line for the throne of a large and powerful kingdom but my jealous uncle plotted against him and we had to go into exile. Sadly my father and mother were forced to take jobs far below their station in life to support us. It’s all quite tragic of course and I’m still debating if I should add in the part about my long lost love who still haunts our ancestral castle awaiting my return; or my family’s daring escape across enemy territory in the dead of night during the storm of the century. 

The 20th of October

I never understood why so many monsters held Ghoulia in such high esteem I mean she’s a zombie for groaning out loud. Hello? Can you say lowest rung on the monster ladder? What is it about her? Does she have some kind of special power? Has she cast some spell over everyone? I needed to know. So today I followed her because as an investigative journalist it’s part of my job to find the real truth. You’d think it would be easy seeing as how she’s so slow but several times she managed to give me the slip. Other than studying and hanging out with Cleo and the Fear Squad posers I couldn’t find anything remotely remarkable about her. I thought about just giving up until she wandered down a back passage in the library to a room that I thought only I knew about. It’s where they keep the really old reference books and stuff. I was sure she was just hiding out so she could read that stupid Dead Fast comic book she’s always carrying around but she wasn’t. She was looking through old newspapers. I don’t know how she knew I was there since I was hiding in the shadows but she pulled out the chair next to her, looked straight at me and patted the seat for me to sit down. I was so startled that I just floated over and sat down. The headline of the paper in front of her read “The Real Vondergeists” It was my family’s story... I had forgotten... Oh my soul. I must have broken down because the next thing I knew Ghoulia was patting me on the back and I was soaking on her shoulder with ectoplasmic tears. I couldn’t stop for a while and when I did Ghoulia just looked me in they eye and said in zombie, “Your secret is safe with me.” I guess now I understand.

[fizzyhedgehog]

"Youre freezing" Mint and Finn

Prompt: Power prompts

POV: Finn

There’s nothing like an afternoon ride to burn some energy. The hot New Orleans sun's beating down on the crowds, and my skin is turning sticky with sweat. After almost running into someone for the third time, I pick up my skateboard and start to slink home. Maybe I could get a night ride in, though if it’s crowded now it would only get worse once all the bars were open. 

I sigh, trying to wipe some of the sweat off my forehead with my free hand. This place really sucks sometimes. I like the city, I really do, but I wish there was a nice place I could skate without anyone around that wasn’t just the driveway. I also wish there wasn’t a portal to the Otherworld in our backyard. What can I say, I’m a dreamer. 

I groan out of boredom before my mind starts to wonder about Fate. She definitely singled me out last time I saw her. Nothing makes you want to go about your days normally less than a notoriously-sneaky Deity telling you to. Is something I do here likely to change everything? What if I get hurt? Am I not supposed to go on our next mission? What if I die at some point? Well, everyone dies at some point, but-

My train of thought is derailed when I run into someone head-on. They grunt out some insult, I stammer out some apology, and dart into an alley to move out of the way. It’s dark and shady and cool. I let out a sigh and drop my board. I bet I could skate home if I take the alleyways; they’re long and connected and, best of all, empty.

I ride for about fifteen minutes of pure bliss, with my brain mostly focused on imitating car noises. Oh, shit, am I making them out loud? No, phew, I was just humming. I stop. And then I hear a sound- one closer than the crowds on the street. I dismount my board and look around. I normally wouldn’t bother, but over time I realize I’m starting to become more and more paranoid. I whip my head around. Nothing. Not even a rat skittering by. I knew it, I’m starting to lose it. I turn back around and place my foot on the board, rolling it back and forth. Maybe I should bring this up in my next therapy session. 

I look up again and am immediately scared shitless. There’s a hand over my mouth. There’s a person in front of me. A person with his hand over my mouth. I try to push it away. If I could just talk, if I could just use my posers, I could make it home easy. His hand doesn’t budge an inch. No no no, fuck, that’s impossible. Paris said I’m the strongest type of fae, even as a part mortal I should be able to-

Bam- I take a punch. I didn’t even see it coming. I’m thinking too much. I’m not thinking fast enough. It hurts to breathe. He must’ve punched me in the sternum. Is that the right place? Like, is that what it’s called? It doesn’t matter. I muster all my strength and kick him. Hard. I wish he’d have gone flying, but stumbling back a bit is good I guess. 

I try to speak, to spit out some kind of command, but I can’t breathe. I just wheeze. He comes back, and I take a few more hits, and get a few in myself. This is what Fate was planning. It had to be. I was going to die here, or be captured, here in this goddamned alleyway that I shouldn’t have fucking been in anyway, all because I was hot and bored and-

The person stops, a look of anguish on his face. I had just landed a weak punch, surely that couldn’t have been what did him in. I stare, frozen, as he collapses. Just like that. What the hell?

“Hey man, are you okay?” an unfamiliar voice asks. I look up and my heart skips a beat. There’s a beautiful boy running up to me. Dark brown skin, short, messy, black curls that stand up on his scalp in a temple fade. I swallow hard and nod instead of using my words. (All the better; I have the urge to blurt out how handsome he is.) (That would probably be off-putting for a stranger.)

He offers me a hand. I take it. Damn, it’s so comfortable, my palm fits perfectly into his. What the hell is happening?!

“I saw a fight, it looked like he was totally going to kill you. I was going to see if you needed help, but then- bam! You totally knocked him out!” He talks with a grin. I’m not sure why he’s recapping. His voice sounds shaky, he seems unsure. Like he’s not convinced that’s what happened. And, truth be told, I’m not that convinced either. It was a really weak punch. (He hasn’t made any move to pull me up yet.) (Should I just stay like this?)

“Yeah, I guess it was the adrenaline rush, ya’ know?” I chuckle. (I’m probably overthinking it.)

“Yeah, yeah!” He’s still nervous. Maybe he can sense I’m nervous. “My name’s Mitchell, by the way, but most people call me Mint.” He finally tugs on my arm. I rise to my feet, and there’s a moment where we’re just standing there, holding hands. I feel a prick of chill on his fingers, and he immediately pulls away, shoving his hands into his jean pockets. 

“Why Mint?” I finally ask. 

“Oh, right, my baby cousin couldn’t say ‘Mitchell’ right, and it kinda stuck. Are you sure you’re okay?” I realize I’m wobbling. The sore pain is starting to set in. Maybe adrenaline really was a factor, after all. 

“I’m good...I’m just going to sit down.”

“Here, let me…” Mint takes my arm and helps me down. 

“You’re freezing,” I blurt out. He gives me a confused look. But it’s true. His arms feel like ice. (And I’m still all sweaty.) (How embarrassing.) “Your arm,” I clarify. “Are you okay?”

Oh god, he looks more nervous than before. I should shut up. Maybe make a joke, try to lighten the mood. Then, suddenly, I have a revelation. 

“Wait, you’re a fae, aren't you?”

The words just come out, completely inconsiderate of what I was asking. Mint lets out a soft sigh. “Yeah,” he finally agrees. “Part.”

I give him a reassuring smile. “Me too.” Shit, I probably shouldn’t have admitted that. I can just picture Tristan pulling his hair out. But Mint’s uneasiness fades, at least from his expression. “What’d you do to him, anyway?” I motion towards the still unconscious attacker. 

“Nothing he won’t recover from.” He pulls out his phone. “Meaning I should probably call an ambulance. Do you need to go to the hospital too, or are you good?”

“Nah, I’m good, it’s nothing I can’t sleep off.” He smiles at me and pulls out a marker. 

“I’m sure.” He starts to write something on my arm. I don’t stop him. He sticks his tongue out as he writes. It’s adorable. “But I’m part of the Nurse Training Program here in New Orleans. So if, for some reason, you can’t just ‘sleep it off’, let me know.” He caps his marker. 

I glance at my arm and feel myself flush. It was his phone number. 

“Oh, thanks!” I stammer. I can’t hide my grin. I push myself up, and he does too.

“You should go home and rest, I can explain all this to the medics.”

“Are you sure?”

“Mhm, doctor’s orders.”

“I thought you were a nurse,” I raise my eyebrows. 

“How dare!” he gasps, failing to hide a laugh.

“A nurse trainee.”

“A nurse trainee who just saved your butt, thank you very much.” I chuckle as I hope on my skateboard.

“No, thank you very much,” I say, giving him a genuine smile before kicking off.

“Wait!” He calls out after a few moments. I’ve already made it a decent distance. “I never got your name!”

“It’s Finn!” I yell back, turning towards him and cupping my hands around my mouth. He gives me a thumbs up. (At least, I think it’s a thumbs up.) (He’s pretty far away.) I turn back around after I almost run into a trashcan, and continue heading home.

[megashadowdragon]

summer.

i really don’t agree with a lot of fndm interpretation that makes her a ruby 1.0, i.e traits like being a wallflower, being socially anxious, etc. following on from that, i dislike her canon design. it’s very obviously just an older recolour of ruby much like the one in poser era & it’s just so lazy. they didn’t want to put anything more into summer than have her be an older ruby with a different coloured cape & dress. it’s just disappointing tbh.  —  owl.

raven.

A lot of people are very willing to ignore that she’s killed a lot of people and she’s responsible for countless people. She killed the spring maiden, implied to be a child, she destroyed an entire village. She used Vernal as a scapegoat and got her killed all while saving her own skin, knowing Vernal would be in danger. I don’t see half as many people defending other villain’s bad actions as they do with Raven.  —  luke.

i think that a lot of people are trying very hard to slap some form of disorder or sympathetic reasoning on raven to excuse why she left when canon has already spelt it out quite clearly, she left because her tribe meant more to her than her husband, child, brother or friend. a lot of people can’t deal with motherly characters that’re abusive & neglectful but raven is the perfect example of an abusive, neglectful daughter & the effect she’s left on yang shouldn’t be ignored or downplayed.  —  owl.

willow.

The DC comics did her so dirty. They took what was a compelling character, a neglectful alcoholic who still had very sympathetic traits and obviously cared for her children despite not being able to do very much to protect them and made her the stereotypical Stepford Wife trope who owns a literal zoo and is far more blatant and dramatizized in her abuse of Weiss, to the point of it not being realistic or redeemable to what we see her as in the show. The two iterations of Willow just don’t mesh together.  —  luke.

ironically for mine, i think the fndm plays down a lot of willow’s abuse, especially concerning her neglect of her kids. i get that she’s a victim of jacques abuse, but she had an inherent responsibility as the schneeblings mother to ensure their safety from their father, not just retreat into herself & leave them out in the cold. i wish that had been adressed more in the show.  —  owl.

kali.

I don’t find her that funny.  —  luke.

a lot of my dislike for kali stems from the fact that her’s and ghira’s inclusion in the story prompted a lot of problems for blake’s story, more than it’s worth & they were in the end, really a detriment. there were no meaningful scenes with blake & kali & when it was tried to be remedied in the comics, that was completely bollocksed up. also her design is again lazy, it’s older blake with a more japanese spin & her supposed allusion makes no fucking sense.  —  owl.

pyrrha’s mum.

I just wish that they confirmed that this woman was Pyrrha’s mum or not, I don’t get the need for there to be any mystery or secrecy around the topic.  —  luke.

ditto.  —  owl.

an.

The fact that her last name is REN, because of how they changed Ren’s name. His name was introduced in the typical way for asian men and Ren itself is a Japanese first name. The fact that this was changed so now all of Ren’s friends are calling him by his Last Name, including Nora who’s known him for years, is aggravating and nonsensical.  —  luke.

i don’t have any complaints about an that hasn’t been said, she was done very well for the small role that she needed to serve.  —  owl.

terra & saphron.

I wish the fndm would stop ignoring the actual wlw ships like saphron & terra while crying for rep like, they’re Right There.  —  luke.

again, nothing to do with the actual canon but more the fndm jumping on two unspecified wlw to paint them as lesbians & only that, being rude or aggressive to others when the allusion for saphron, sappho, was bi. her bisexuality was erased & it’s annoying to see that continued in a fandom space.  —  owl.

salem.

No one has said anything about Salem being abusive to her children. Ignore Ozma for a moment, take him out of the equation ; this woman murdered her children. She also wanted to use them to repopulate remnant, probably ignoring  any of their own autonomy or wishes and it’s weirdly … not addressed.  —  luke.

the idea that salem’s endgame is her getting reunited with the souls of her husband & children, who she murdered via magic & burning alive, is honestly disgusting to me & i hate that this idea even exists in the fndm lmao. salem is going the way abusers do in rt, to her own death & ozma will finally be free of her.  —  owl.

atlesianic said: can i just personally say, as someone’s who’s been eternally uncomfortable when raven’s on screen because she mirrors one of my abusers, i agree that the fandom doesn’t take her abuse seriously. she’s not a good person, she hurt her family and abandoned her daughter, but people see her as just another hot anime MILF and that doesn’t matter anymore

fyrecrackeruwu said: I’ve had an abusive father (emotionally, verbally and mentally) and Ravens actions mirror alot of what he did Walking out on my mother and I for no reason. Manipulating me into thinking my Mother, family and friends were the ‘crazy’ or 'stupid’ ones and that he was the only one I could trust Any bad traits/traits he didn’t like of mine were 'from my Mother’, and any 'good’ traits I had came from him

fyrecrackeruwu said: Never being able to admit he was wrong, sorry or that he did wrong and because of that he would blame someone else or make out like he was the victim The ‘I’m strong’ complex It scares me how much Raven mirrors these traits and I don’t get why people sweep don’t acknowledge this.

[retrauxpunk]

Hi so I have a prompt for a dinfoyle fic and I have no idea where to put it so i figured I'd put it here. If this has already been done someone please send it to me! Prompt: Dinesh and Gilfoyle are always fighting, but one day one of Gilfoyle's insults cuts too deep.

Hi anon! This is a sweet prompt and I got mildly carried away — here it is! (click here to read it on AO3)

-

‘I am not,’ said Gilfoyle, ‘a poser. The things I do and say are all reflections of my true self, and of my own beliefs. Which is more than can be said for you, thus making you the real “poser” here.’

Dinesh snorted with laughter, but couldn’t resist taking the bait. ‘And what’s that supposed to mean?’

Gilfoyle folded his arms and spun around to face Dinesh. That was always a bad sign. He was smirking, too — or at least, his version of smirking, which involved an almost imperceptible twitch of the mouth, barely visible beneath his beard, and the slightest tilt of his head. To anyone who didn’t know Gilfoyle, the change in expression would have been barely noticeable; to Dinesh, it was loud and clear as a siren. A all-too-familiar siren, broadcasting all-too-familiar contempt.

‘It means,’ said Gilfoyle, ‘that you have no discernible personality or goals in life other than an obscene, all-consuming desperation to prove your worth via largely arbitrary measures handed down by society that you have unquestioningly internalised. What you are, what you do, and what you want is entirely relative — completely dependent on others and the need to feel better than them. You are the human embodiment of “keeping up with the Joneses” — or rather, the failure to do so.’

Dinesh stared. It was partly surprise at the unexpectedly long diatribe, but it was also the fact that he felt like something inside him had frozen, and he suspected that if he moved, then it would shatter and tear him apart from the inside out.

‘Oh, fuck you,’ he said finally, several seconds too late.

Gilfoyle simply shrugged and turned back to his computer. Now that — not even bothering to respond — that was a really bad sign. Dinesh could always tell when he was defeated. And so could Gilfoyle.

* * *

That evening, they went out — the whole Pied Piper team, plus Monica, who was taking them to an eye-wateringly expensive wine bar to celebrate the securing of their Series B round of funding.

Dinesh should have been happy. The venue was beautiful, somehow both elegantly understated and satisfyingly lavish at once, the bar snacks were delicious, and the alcohol was top-notch, flowing freely on someone else’s dime. Everyone was drunk, talking and laughing and having fun outside of work for the first time in ages.

Except me, he found himself thinking, partway through his latest of several glasses of wine. It wasn’t exactly a new realisation, but it was the first time he’d actually put it into words.

Everyone here is having a good time except me.

He had tried to deny it, tried to enjoy himself and act like a normal peson, had been trying all day — but the sadly unavoidable fact of the matter was that he felt like shit, and had done so ever since Gilfoyle’s character assassination earlier that morning.

Except it wasn’t really a character assassination if it was true, was it? And the more Dinesh thought about it, the less he was able to convince himself that it wasn’t. Gilfoyle’s words had echoed in his head for the rest of the day, and Dinesh had analysed each and every one in painstaking detail.

And he had concluded, unavoidably, that Gilfoyle was right. As much as he wished he could, he was simply unable to refute any of it. He was desperate to prove himself. He did constantly judge himself in relation to others. Every success, every failure, it meant nothing unless measured up against the yardstick of someone else.

A nudge to the ribs broke him out of his reverie. Dinesh blinked, turning face a very drunk Richard.

‘Hey,’ he said, eyes hooded, grin crooked, ‘hey, earth to Dinesh?’

‘What?’ Dinesh responded, too loudly and too abruptly. The rest of the table turned to look at him. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Gilfoyle watching him, and tried to ignore it.

‘I was asking,’ said Richard, in a comically long-suffering tone, ‘if you wanted to get a magnum.’

Dinesh must have looked confused, because Richard rolled his eyes (since when did Richard roll his eyes at him?) and elaborated, ‘Y’know, of champagne.’

‘Oh,’ said Dinesh. ‘Um.’ He opened his mouth to answer, and instead just sighed loudly to — at — himself. The usual enthusiasm that would’ve bubbled up in him at the prospect of such extravagant indulgences was completely absent. Had — had Gilfoyle broken him?

‘You know what,’ he heard himself saying as he started to get up from his seat, ‘you guys go ahead. I’m gonna — I’m gonna go get some fresh air.’ He tried to smile, and could tell even without a mirror that it looked more like a grimace. A horrible, pathetic grimace, to match his persistently horrible, thoroughly pathetic mood.

Before the others could say anything, he lurched away from the table and, after a moment’s disorientation, headed for the courtyard.

It was an unseasonably cold night. The only other patrons outside were smokers, huddled near the doorway. Dinesh headed for the bench that was furthest away from the door, beneath a gnarled lemon tree, and sat down. He wrapped his arms around himself, wishing he’d brought his jacket. Still, there was no way he was going back inside just yet.

The answer, he decided, was ‘yes’ — Gilfoyle had broken him. Dinesh couldn’t remember when he’d last felt so miserable, and the worst part of it was that he was miserable while also being drunk. His head pounded, his limbs were heavy and clumsy, and everything felt blunt and blurred — but there was none of the buzz, none of the feeling good. In fact, he realised, the alcohol didn’t even seem to be numbing his pain. It wasn’t doing the one thing that drink was meant to reliably do. Instead, he somehow felt both numb and dreadful, the worst of both worlds. How was that possible — or, for that matter, fair?

He sighed, exhaling forcefully through gritted teeth. What’s the plan here, exactly? asked a small, judgemental voice in his head. Just gonna sit outside sulking like a child until someone comes to collect you? They’re not gonna come, they’re busy enjoying themselves. Unlike you.

God, he realised, he was still doing it. Still comparing himself to others, defining himself solely in relation to them. The thought was actually physically painful to consider.

Dinesh shifted in his seat, turning a little to face the entrance back into the bar. It really was cold outside. Maybe he should just go back in — or go home.

He was about to stand up when an all-too-familiar figure appeared in the doorway, silhouetted against the warm golden light of the bar’s interior.

Fuck. Dinesh slumped back down on the bench and shifted uneasily as Gilfoyle approached him. What does he want?

As Gilfoyle stepped into the light, Dinesh saw that he was carrying two flutes of champagne. They glinted in the light from the lamps scattered through the courtyard as he approached.

Without a word, Gilfoyle sat down on the bench beside Dinesh, and offered him one of the glasses.

Dinesh stared at it suspiciously, his gaze flicking between the champagne and Gilfoyle’s ever-impassive expression.

‘You gonna take it, or what?’ said Gilfoyle, when the silence stretched too long.

Dinesh took the glass, but didn’t take a sip. ‘What’s this for?’

Gilfoyle shrugged, so slightly that Dinesh almost missed it. ‘I thought,’ he said, in the same dry and measured tone always, ‘you might like some champagne.’

If it were anyone else, Dinesh would have been pleased. He’d have said thank you, he’d have drunk the champagne, and that would’ve been that.

But this was Gilfoyle.

‘What’s the catch?’ said Dinesh. ‘Why are you — why are you here? Was this —’ he gestured with the champagne glass, almost spilling its contents, ‘— just an excuse to come out here and mock me again?’

‘Don’t be an idiot,’ Gilfoyle responded, without missing a beat. ‘If my aim was to come out here to mock you, I wouldn’t need an excuse.’

Dinesh bristled, self-pity and misery suddenly transmogrifying into anger. ‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ he said, voice dripping with sarcasm. He was openly glaring at Gilfoyle now, staring into those unreadable eyes and wishing that he could literally bore into them with his own. ‘Forgive me for daring to suspect that the reason you came out here was to make fun of me. It’s not like that’s ever happened before or anything. There’s never been a precedent for that kind of behaviour from you. Silly me.’

Gilfoyle didn’t respond. Dinesh seethed, still glaring. He dimly noticed that he was holding the stem of the champagne flute so tightly he might actually break it.

And then something completely unexpected happened — Gilfoyle looked away. He lowered his gaze, turning his head a little, ostensibly staring at the ground. Dinesh actually blinked in surprise, and loosened his grip on his glass to something a little more sensible.

Several seconds passed before Gilfoyle broke the silence. He raised his head but kept his gaze averted from Dinesh, instead staring straight ahead.

‘I didn’t mean it,’ he said.

‘Didn’t mean what?’ said Dinesh suspiciously.

Gilfoyle turned to face him, but didn’t meet his eyes. A second passed before he spoke. ‘What I said this morning. About you being … a poser. About how you live your life according to others, and how everything about you revolves around trying to prove —’

‘Yeah, I remember, asshole,’ Dinesh interjected sharply. ‘You don’t have to fucking repeat it.’ He shook his head in disgust. Whether the disgust was more directed at Gilfoyle or at himself, it was hard to say. ‘What’s your point?’

Gilfoyle looked up then, finally making eye contact again. ‘My point is — and I do not say this lightly — my point is, I was wrong.’ He spoke haltingly, as if saying the words were taking a not insubstantial amount of effort. ‘Those things I said about you were not … accurate. And you shouldn’t act like they are.’

Dinesh could hardly believe his ears. It felt like the world was swaying around him, and not just from drunkenness.

‘Then why did you say it?’ he said at last.

Gilfoyle raised an eyebrow, as if to say, really? You really have to ask?

‘Because I was fucking with you,’ he said finally, when it became clear that Dinesh wasn’t going to accept silence as a response. ‘I said it to fuck with you, and that’s — that’s about it.’

Dinesh let out a humourless laugh. ‘Yeah, well.’ He fidgeted with the champagne glass, staring into its bubbly contents. ‘Even if that’s true — and that’s a big if —’ he stopped, cutting himself off with a sigh before speaking again, ‘— you turned out to be right anyway.’

Gilfoyle frowned slightly. It was the most expression Dinesh had seen on his face all day. ‘I’m sorry, what?’

Dinesh sighed again. ‘Look, I don’t know why you’re pretending to be nice to me, but you can stop, okay? What you said was true, all of it. You know it, I know it, you don’t need to lie to me to try and make me feel better. Just leave me alone. And you can take this with you,’ he added, thrusting the champagne flute at him. ‘I don’t fucking want your pity gifts.’

Gilfoyle looked down at the flute, then back at Dinesh. ‘Are you fucking serious?’ He pushed Dinesh’s hand away, gently but firmly. ‘This isn’t a pity gift. It’s — it’s an olive branch, you idiot. The only pity in this situation is the self-pity that you’re currently still wallowing in. And I am willing to accept that that is, to some extent, my fault. So —’ he heaved a breath, looking around the courtyard before continuing, almost as if to check for eavesdroppers, ‘I’m sorry.’

It took Dinesh a couple of tries to find his voice. ‘You’re fucking what?’

Gilfoyle’s lips twitched. Was that a smile? It was gone too quickly for Dinesh to be sure. ‘I’m sorry,’ he repeated, ‘for what I said.’ He looked down again, clearing his throat. Dinesh had never seen him look so uncomfortable before, and even while most of him was reeling, there was a small part that whispered, relish this. It won’t happen again.

‘Trust me,’ he continued, ‘I know what I said, and I know it’s not true. Not completely, at least — maybe a bit. But,’ he added, seeing Dinesh’s eyebrows raise, ‘that’s the case for pretty much everyone on this earth, so I wouldn’t worry about it.’

Dinesh studied Gilfoyle’s expression, trying to spot the tell-tale trace of mockery, some sardonic twinkle in his eye, some sign that this was all a ruse. And maybe it was because he was too drunk, but he couldn’t find it.

‘Look,’ Gilfoyle went on, in a long-suffering though not exactly unpleasant tone, ‘if all you cared about really was just money and status and proving yourself according to society’s idea of success, do you think you would’ve stuck by Richard and Pied Piper through all the shit that we’ve been through?’ He looked Dinesh dead in the eye before continuing. ‘Do you think I’d still be tolerating your presence?’

Dinesh swallowed. The pounding in his head was much worse now, almost as bad as the ridiculous speed at which his heart was now beating. ‘Tolerating?’ he echoed, once he was sure he could speak without his voice shaking.

Gilfoyle definitely smiled then, briefly but unmistakably. ‘Voluntarily spending time with,’ he corrected. He gestured vaguely with one hand at their surroundings, as if to underline his point.

Dinesh didn’t know what to say. Part of him was still waiting for the trick, the cruel catch that was surely waiting for him. ‘You’re just saying that because you’re drunk,’ he mumbled, looking back at Gilfoyle, not quite daring to meet his eyes. As the words left his mouth, he found himself fervently wishing that he was wrong.

Gilfoyle responded by raising his glass. ‘In vino veritas,’ he said.

Dinesh followed suit, more out of reflexive habit than anything else — he was still, simply put, in shock.

Gilfoyle clinked their glasses together. ‘In wine, there is truth,’ he translated, and brought the glass to his lips.

Dinesh did the same. As he savoured the sensation of bubbles dancing on his tongue, it occurred to him that he couldn’t remember the last time that champagne had never tasted quite so sweet.

[mydearestreaderfanfics]

Revenant and Romance (Keith x Reader)

Warnings: injury (not serious)

Word Count: 2,839

Prompt/Request: Eleventh day of the October Special: Ghost Hunter.

Summary: The Trans-Allegheny Lunatic Asylum offers many experiences to, say, a medium or a ghost hunter. Maybe it also offers something for those who may not have been looking for love, but are bound to find it anyway.

Author: Mod Alex

Keith Kogane, also known as Ghosts and Dog, was an overnight YouTube sensation. His videos almost always seemed to have some kind of encounter, although none of them were deemed proof enough for the skeptics. He was also respected by the online community for never staging the sightings, only capturing the proof that actually showed up. His voice was pleasant and he always did his research, retelling the history behind each place while he filmed. He also always had his dog Kosmo with him which was a major bonus. You’d been a fan for as long as you can remember, even before he became a trending channel. He had inspired you to try and contact ghosts too, just in a different way. You'd always felt the presence of ghosts, only now you'd managed to successfully communicate with them, aiding them in finding their way to the other side. You'd even become confident enough in your abilities to start your own channel.

Trans-Allegheny Lunatic Asylum was his next destination. He’d visited Mothman’s hometown because cryptids, obviously, so while he was still in West Virginia he figured he might as well stop by one of America’s most haunted locations. His next video was due any day now too. “Come on, Kosmo, we gotta hit the road.” “Awroo?” “I know you wanted to find Mothman, I did too, but we have to upload something eventually.” The blue-tinted wolfdog bumped against Keith, whining. “I’ll get you some treats for the road.” This bribery seemed like enough for the oversized dog as he made a beeline for their truck.

Trans-Allegheny Lunatic Asylum was going to be your magnum opus. If you could help even so much as one of the tortured souls in the asylum then you’d be happy. Keith hadn’t done any videos on it and as far as you knew he didn’t have any plans on exploring the property anytime soon, which was a plus. At least you wouldn’t be labeled as a poser by the people of YouTube for “stealing his idea”. You’d be allowed to explore the asylum freely with no accusations of being unoriginal.

You pulled in at the front of the building, surprised to see a truck already there. When you called the day before you’d been told they weren’t having any tours and that there shouldn’t be any employee vehicles except in the back. So who did this truck belong to? Perhaps one of the employees had accidentally parked there? You shrugged it off and grabbed your backpack. Inside, the asylum looked just how you’d pictured it. Paint chipped brick walls with questionable stains. Ah well, you didn’t go to these places for interior design tips. You decided to get a feel for the place before setting up and actually trying to contact the dead.

You’d only made it to the second floor when you heard someone talking. You crept towards the noise expecting it to be one of three things: a security guard, some random kids in search of trouble, or spirits. What you weren’t expecting to find was your favorite YouTuber in the middle of recording. You paused and he did too upon noticing you, which was a bad idea because, like you said, he was in the middle of recording. “Eep! Sorry, I wasn’t aware there was going to be anybody else here. I’ll just be going.” You moved to turn around when you heard Keith call out for you to come back. You did so, albeit hesitantly. There was your literal role model and you waltzed into his recording like a dunce. “Are you with the staff?” He seemed genuinely confused. “No?” His confusion only increased from your answer. Before he had a chance to ask you any more questions Kosmo bounded over to you, knocking into your legs and making you fall back, he then proceeded to lick your face and nuzzle against you like you were his best friend. “Kosmo, you can’t-,” Keith began. You laughed, petting the larger than life dog. “Hi, cutie. You’re a cuddly pupper aren’t you?” “Kosmo.” Keith whistled and Kosmo went bounding back toward him. “Sorry about that, he doesn’t realize how big he is.” “You got up, brushing the fur off your clothes. “No worries, he seems really sweet.” You knew he was really sweet, you’d seen how adorable he was in Keith’s videos. “So you said you weren’t part of the staff?” “No, I’m here to investigate.” “They told me there wasn’t anybody else here today.” “I was told the same thing. You can imagine my surprise when I saw you.” “Grr-bork!” You two were interrupted once again by Kosmo who was barking in your direction. Why? Just seconds ago he was cuddling you like there was no tomorrow. You held your hands up as the wolfdog approached you slowly, hunched and growling. You gave a quiet yelp as he lunged, tensing for the impact. Except it never came. He had landed and began barking like crazy in the space just past you. A translucent figure stood before you. He grinned, pleased that you could see him. His expression sent chills down your spine, something about him was very off. “Kosmo, what are you doing?” Oh, right, he couldn't see the ghost, like Kosmo and you. Perhaps if you walked away the spirit would follow you and leave Keith and Kosmo alone. Just as you turned to leave you felt something sharp rake across your arm and growl ‘get out’ in your ear. Kosmo’s barking got louder and he ran in circles around you like he was trying to protect you. You lifted your sweater sleeve, relieved that you weren’t bleeding, however there was five red welts. Once the spirit was gone Kosmo sat at your feet whining. “Thank you for trying, sweetie. Don’t feel bad, I’ve dealt with worse.” “What? You understand what Kosmo’s trying to do?” “Um, yeah? I mean, sorta.” “He does that with me sometimes… What was all of that?” “I’m not sure if you’d believe me even if I told you.” “Try me.” “Alright. There was a ghost and Kosmo was trying to keep him away. It didn’t work and the ghost did what most malevolent ghosts do and scratched me in an attempt to get me to leave.” You shrugged, hoping what you said came across as you not being delusional. “Wait, you could see the ghost?” “Maybe…” You’d seen Keith get excited before on his videos, but never to this extent. He practically had stars in his eyes. “So you can actually see ghosts?” “I mean yeah.” “That’s fantastic, would you mind sticking around for my video.” “Wh-what? You want me to be in your video?” “If you are okay with that. I’m Keith by the way.” “I know, I m-mean… Sorry I just, I’ve seen your videos before, that’s actually part of the reason I’m here. I wanted to help the ghosts.” You expected him to get mad, but instead he just smiled. “Great, so you already know how this goes.” “Oh yeah, I guess that’s true.” He waved you over in front of the camera. You hesitantly walked over to him, awaiting his instruction. He picked up shortly before where you had walked in, pausing to declare he had a special guest. “This is…” “(Y/N), pleasure to be here.” You waved awkwardly at the camera. “They’re here on ghost hunting business too.” “Ghost helping actually, I am a medium.”

Keith alternated between filming while he explored and exploring freely without worrying about the camera. You may have liked his on-camera persona (which wasn’t terribly different from his real identity), but his real-self was much more appealing. He seemed less tense, freer to express himself. He was more charming than you’d originally thought, and, truth be told, you had a teensy crush on him and him being genuine only heightened your feelings. Not that you were about to act on them, that would be completely inappropriate. “Do you see any other ghosts?” He interrupted your train of thoughts. “No, but I do think I hear a kid laughing.” You riffled through your bag, grinning when you found what you were looking for: a toddler-sized xylophone. “A xylophone?” “Yup!” You followed the sound of laughter, finding yourselves in a room. On the floor was a child no older than five. It broke your heart that this child, practically still a baby, was stuck here. “Hi, would it be okay if we joined you?” The kid looked up surprised that you could see him. “U-um, okay.” “Thank you. Would you like a new toy?” His eyes lit up. “You have one? I don’t get any new toys. And most people who come here are really mean.” “We aren’t mean, don’t worry. Here.” You placed the xylophone in front of him and he eyed it curiously. “You hit the little stick against the bars and it makes music, try it.” “Okay.” Keith watched as the toy seemingly played on its own. The little boy looked up cheerfully. “This is fun!” You smiled, happy to bring cheer to the ghost child. “What’s your name? Mine is (Y/N), and this is Keith.” Keith waved toward the wall and you had to redirect his hand in the right direction. “I’m James. My mommy and my friends called me Jamie, though.” “Well, Jamie, would you like to try and move on?” He froze. “Everyone who moves on doesn’t come back…” If he could, his eyes would be filling with tears. “Hey, hey, shh shh shh. It’s okay, you don’t have to. I just thought you might want to cause it’s much more peaceful than this place.” Jamie opened his mouth to speak again, but heavy footsteps interrupted him. He shrunk back with even more fear. “I- I have to go.” He vanished. “What’s going on?” Keith tapped your shoulder as he asked the question. Apparently, he heard the footsteps too. “I've got a bad feeling about those footsteps. Jamie said he had to go because of them.” “Jamie?” “The ghost boy.” “Oh.” “Yeah, come on!” You grabbed his hand, running out the door, but just as you made it to the hallway, the source of the footsteps caught up with you. It was a man, different from the one you'd seen earlier. He was dressed in an old-timey doctor apparel and looked sadistically pleased to have spotted you both. “Patients aren't supposed to fraternize.” “We aren’t patients.” “Oh, then the press then?” His expression turned much darker, “We were not notified that anyone from the paper would be here today.” “We aren’t from the paper.” “In that case, you must be dropping off a new patient, let me see him then.” He reached for Keith and you stepped in front of him protectively. “Kosmo, get Keith out of here.” The dog barked his affirmative and began tugging at Keith’s jeans away from the ghost. “Noncompliant guests will be subjected to medical inspection.” He grabbed your jaw so tight you could tell there would be bruising later. “You seem like an adequate patient. What kind of treatment might you need? Perhaps a lobotomy, the chair? So many options…” You shoved him which proved to be futile as your hands just passed right through him. Meanwhile, Kosmo was making very little progress with Keith because he kept trying to get back to help you. “You have no power over me, Doctor, I am not a patient and you have no right to harm me.” He frowned, before grinning, showing bright sinister teeth. “We shall see about that.” Still holding you by your jaw, he pulled you along. Keith finally got past Kosmo and ran to help you, he caught your arm just before you turned the corner. “They’re with me! Get away from them!” Somehow Keith’s pull had loosened you from the creepy doctor's grip. It gave you enough time to run. The three of you ran all the way to the room you found Keith in originally. You’d lost the doctor for now.

Jamie reappeared as Keith and you were recording; while he only showed up as a questionable blur on the camera, you could see him clear as day. Keith recorded for a minute longer before stopping so that you two could speak to him. “Jamie, it’s good to see you again.” “You and your boyfriend got away from Dr. Franklin, that’s good.” “Yeah the do- Wait, he’s not- we aren’t.” “What did Jamie say?” “Oh, he just said that he was happy we got away from the doctor back there.” “Was that all?” “He may ormaynothavecalledyoumyboyfriend…” You mumbled, making it hard for him to catch what you said. “What?” “He thought you were my boyfriend.” “Oh.” Keith blushed and looked away. “Sorry did I say something wrong?” “No, it’s okay, it’s just we are only friends.” Barely that. “Oh, okay.” A childishly mischievous look flashed over Jamie’s face briefly before he wandered over to Kosmo. After that, you couldn’t hear what he said. Kosmo barked, however, so apparently, he heard Jamie. Before you knew it Kosmo was nudging you towards Keith. “Kosmos, what are you, oof.” After an especially hard nudge, he managed to knock you off balance and straight into Keith’s arms, or more accurately onto Keith’s chest. He caught you, scolding Kosmo while doing so. He wasn’t making any move towards letting you go, though- not that you were complaining. You were sure your face was the same color as the blood you’d seen on Doctor Franklin's clothes. Maybe not the most appealing description, but it seemed accurate. “Um, Keith. Can I move?” “Hmm? Oh, right! Sorry.” He let you go, wringing his hands awkwardly once you'd taken a step back. Were the ghost and the dog trying to play matchmaker? Was it working?

The daylight was fading quickly and the spirit activity was quickly becoming overwhelming. You'd had to dodge Dr. Franklin a handful of times and Jamie had since gotten other children ghost on board the S.S. Make Keith and You Fall in Love. Between the romance fueled shenanigans you’d managed to work information out of the ghosts, after all, you had promised yourself you'd help them pass on. From what you’d gathered, Jamie was ready to move on but was too afraid of the unknown to pass on alone. Another kid, the ghost of a young girl who was tied to this plane of existence because of her grisly murder offered to move on with him if she could. All you had to do was tell the world who killed her. She told you the name and you promised to pass it on and find proof for her. That was good enough for her. All you had to do now was convince Jamie. “Jamie, can I talk to you for a second?” “Sure.” “I know you didn’t sound crazy about the idea at first, but Lilly offered to cross over with you so you weren’t alone.” “I don’t want to go! It’s scary.” “I know, but don’t you want to see your mommy again?” “Mommy will be there?” “Of course, sweetie, and I’m sure she’d be so happy to see you again. And then you wouldn't have to worry about Dr. Franklin anymore either.” “I wanna see her again, but what about you and Keith?” “What about me and Keith?” “Who will make sure you two end up happy too?” “I knew you were the one doing this.” “You both are nice, I wanna help.” “I'll tell you what, if you agree to cross over, I’ll ask Keith if he wants to go get coffee with me.” Jamie crinkled his nose, “Why coffee? That’s icky. And also that’s not what I mean.” You got down on his level and whispered. “Go get coffee is like adult code word for go on a date.” “Whoa, adults use code words? Like spies?” You laughed, “Yeah, like spies.” “OK, but you have to ask him first.”

“Keith, can I ask you something?” He was tinkering with his camera which seemed to have stopped working. “Yeah, what is it?” You steeled your nerves as best you could which wasn’t very much. “Would you like to go get coffee with me, after this I mean.” His eyebrows raised in surprise. Had you been too bold? “That sounds nice, actually.” Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Jamie raise his thumb in approval and you laughed inwardly. Who knew a ghost boy would make such a good wingman? As promised, Jamie and Lilly starting to pass on, hand in hand. As they did, they got fainter and fainter, and the energy they gave off became less and less obvious until- nothing. You smiled softly. May they rest peacefully. “Are you ready?” “As I’ll ever be.” “You’re the one that asked me out-” “I was making a joke, of course, I’m ready.” You and Keith, much like Jamie and Lilly, also left the Trans-Allegheny Lunatic Asylum hand in hand.

[thorne93]

The Newcomer (Part 8)

Prompt: You’re Y/N Beauchamp, daughter to Wendy Beauchamp. When you’re sent away to Spenser Academy, you have no idea what waits for you there…

Word Count: 1649

Warnings: language, violence, anger…

Notes: This is for @xx-multi-fandom-imagines challenge! Crossover of The Covenant, and the show Witches of East End. Beta’d by @like-a-bag-of-potatoes and @carryonmyswansong. Wouldn’t be possible without brainstorming with @carryonmyswansong, so thank you for that, darlin!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The day of the party… Since you and Caleb lived together you figured it’d be easier if you and the guys went, instead of you and Chase. Caleb double checked to make sure he wasn’t taking you away from your boyfriend.

“No, I wanna be with you and the boys,” you assured.

“Really? Hardly saw you all summer,” he teased with a half smile.

“Yeah, I know. I’m sorry about that, I just--”

“Hey, don’t apologize for meeting a cool guy and having a good time. So long as he treats you good, right?” he said, pointing a stern finger at you as the two of you walked down the stairs.

“Right. Does this look okay?” you suddenly asked, looking down at your ensemble for the beach. You chose jeans and a tight sweater with a tank top underneath. It would be cold tonight and you didn’t want to freeze just to look hot.

“It looks great. Stop worrying,” he instructed. “I’m sure Chase will dig it,” he noted, knowing what you were worried about.

“Thanks,” you shyly responded as you stepped into the kitchen. The two of you made a quick snack, waiting on Tyler to pick you all up in the Hummer for the party.

He arrived sooner than you thought, with the other three guys already in the car. You and Caleb slid in the back with Pogue, greeting them all as you got in.

“Why are you guys here so early?” you wondered.

“We’re gonna hang out a bit before the party, then when it’s going good, we’re gonna drop in,” Reid explained.

“Ah, okay. Sounds good.”

“You sure? You don’t need to check with Chase?” Tyler joked, looking at you in the rearview. You reached up and flicked his ear and stuck your tongue out.

“I don’t need his permission to do anything, jackass,” you joked back.

With that, all of you were off. Tyler parked the Hummer with the rest of the kids’ cars near the Dells, maybe a two minute walk from the bonfire and party site. But the five of you actually headed up to hang out on the cliff that overlooked the beach.

It was still daylight and you decided to have a little bit of fun with them. With all of you lying on the ground, you manipulated the clouds above you into a fantastic scene. Clouds formed into dragons, breathing lightning; or fireworks of clouds and little puffs shooting out of them; or a girl and a guy dancing across the sky. The guys started to make requests after the first few, to which you obliged.

Talk of senior year started, everyone talking about college, future plans. Eventually talk somehow rounded back to you and your family.

“Any word from them?” Caleb asked.

“Yeah, is that grandfather of yours here or…?” Pogue wondered.

“I have no idea,” you informed them. “My mom told me I would hear from them if he was defeated or when the coast was clear and so far, nothing. Complete radio silence.”

“Man that blows,” Tyler remarked. “To not know what’s up with your family.”

“Yeah, but you guys have really helped soften the blow,” you assured.

“And Chase,” Reid teased with an eye roll and mocking tone.

“Yes, and Chase.”

Caleb interjected, “Hey, so what’s the deal with this Chase guy anyway?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean like, can you trust him? If he found out about your powers?”

“Yeah, he’s a good guy,” you assured.

“If you say so,” Pogue said, sounding uncertain. “When school starts though, we’re meeting this kid, for real. No thirty second stop-and-shop.”

You laughed. “Okay, okay. Well he should be here tonight, you can meet him then, really meet him.”

“Good. He needs to know exactly what will happen if he even thinks of hurting you.”

All of you shared a small laugh before going back to talking about school, upcoming classes you shared, and how you planned to help get them through this school year.

Finally, it turned dark and all of you agreed the party should be in full swing by now so you ventured from your spot on the cliff to the edge. You looked down, seeing a group of about forty or fifty kids dancing, listening to loud music, and drinking.

“Looks pretty crazy down there,” you noted with a small smile.

“Well hell, let’s drop in,” Reid said just before jumping off, making you gasp and step forward before Caleb caught you.

“Oh shit yeah,” Tyler agreed before he turned and stepped off the cliff backwards.

“Tyler!” you and Caleb shouted together.

“Come on, you two. It’s not like it’s gonna kill us… yet,” Pogue slyly remarked before diving as well.

“Ugh, those fucking morons,” you uttered.

“I know,” Caleb said with a sigh. “You ready to join ‘em?”

You rolled your eyes and let out a huff of air. “Yeah, fuck it, let’s go.”

The two of you stepped off, and you held your hands palm side down to slow the fall and fly gracefully. The two of you landed as if you stepped off a half-foot step. Joining the other guys, you began walking your way over to the beach where everyone seemed to turn to notice the five of you, as they always did.

Of course, Pogue caught sight of Kate and all of you headed that way. It seemed that Reid and Caleb had their sights set on a new blonde girl who seemed to have a delicate, innocent aura about her. Kate gave Pogue shit for being late, to which you fought an eye roll. Before you knew it, Reid and Caleb were already hitting on the new girl, Sarah.

“Hi, I’m Y/N,” you greeted and she nodded and shook your hand with a smile.

Suddenly, Kira, the class skank was between Sarah and Caleb, making you want to throw up. Kira was about as desperate and fake as they came.

“Hey, Caleb,” she greeted, pushing Sarah back.

“Kira,” he responded.

“How was your summer?” she asked before turning to condescend Sarah. “I’m Kira.”

“Sarah,” she politely said.

“Oh, right. From the Boston public. Tell me, how does one go about getting into Spenser from a public?” Kira quipped making you roll your eyes.

“Why don’t you give it a rest, Kira?” Caleb requested with exasperation.

Within a flash, Aaron the prick was in the way, throwing Caleb’s words back at him. ‘Why don’t you give it a rest?”

“I don’t want any trouble, Aaron,” Caleb informed easily.

The thought that Aaron could be any trouble for Caleb as amusing and you had to fight a smirk and laugh.

“I’m sure you don’t,” Aaron stated.

Aaron’s friend suddenly spoke up and said, “You posers make me wanna puke.”

“Is that right?” Reid asked as he charged forward.

Caleb held him back and ordered, “Hey, let it go.”

You took Reid’s arm and tried to calm him down with just your presence, which usually worked.

Aaron said, “I think you owe Kira an apology.”

Caleb challenged, “Actually, I think Kira owes Sarah the apology.”

Aaron looked back to the two girls before shoving Caleb, making your anger flair. Just as you were about to step in and break his fucking jaw, Chase was there in a flash.

He smiled that charming smile, disarming the situation before looking to Kira and stating, “You were being kind of bitchy.”

A small laugh escaped you at his comment and he looked over at you and winked.

In two seconds, Aaron’s dumbass friend puked on Aaron and Kira, making the rest of you back away, just as you heard someone announce that cops were on their way.

“Oh, shit, we gotta go!” you called out with a laugh. Within seconds all of you were nearly jogging back to the car.

Chase said he needed a ride, to which Sarah offered him one. The lot of you got in your respective rides when Sarah called out stating her car wouldn’t start. They offered her a ride but she said she couldn’t leave her car. Reid suddenly told her he could fix it.

“Reid, don’t,” you warned.

“It’s not over yet, Y/N,” he sing-songed.

“Reid!” Caleb called as Reid got out of the car.

“Let it go, it’s his life,” Pogue reminded but you couldn’t. You’d grown so attached to these boys and you really wanted Reid to stop being so damned immature when it came to his magic.

Within a few seconds, Reid fixed Sarah’s car, making you sigh in frustration before he ordered Tyler to move over to let him drive. Caleb wanted Reid to stop driving when the cops showed up behind the car but Reid made a compelling point that this wouldn’t look good to Harvard so Caleb acquiesced and told Reid to cut across the huge cliff that was Marblehead.

The ride was wild, intense, and crazy as Reid drove at break-neck speeds. The car was quickly approaching the cliff when everyone agreed that it would take everyone’s power to get the car over the cliff an back onto the main land. As soon as it was time, all of you invoked your magic to lift the huge SUV and its occupants over the cliff, forcing the cops that had been chasing you to stop dead in its tracks before it flew over as well. Next thing they knew, the SUV had landed behind them. Making all of you laugh as Reid spun the vehicle around and headed off toward the main road.

“How about that for a start to senior year?” you asked with a breathless laugh, to which the guys joined in on. Pretty soon, all of you were home, in your own beds, ready to start senior year. You hoped you wouldn’t have to go through senior year without hearing from your family…

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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[saintcheesus]

600+ notes later for my post and I wrote the first prompt! Lmaooo thank you all! And big thank you to @loki-god-of-thunder-and-mischief to givinng me advice and helping me with my fic! 

~~~~~~ It was a particularly trying day for Damien.

First, he woke up late because his wonderful son took his charger while he was asleep because god forbid that Lucien cleaned his room once in a while, and so his phone died over night. Then he thought that he would have some cereal instead of a normal apple or other piece of fruit, and so he poured a bowlful. Of course, his son managed to use the whole gallon and so he was left with dry cereal which he poured back in the bowl, and then his son was being unusually pushy and rushed him out so he could drive him to school. Of course, there would be traffic on his way to work, why did they do so much construction when nothing ever got fixed?! His boss was usually lenient with Damien running late, he’s always tried to prove himself to be a model employee, and was well-liked around the office. He forgot that one of his co-workers were out sick, so he had to take their calls, while trying to do his own work. He was starting to see why his friend got sick.

The plus side was that he got off early, and was able to join Mary at the animal shelter. He figured that it would be a good time to unwind before going back home. Of course, even his happy place gave him a rough time. One dog was sick and Mary thinks it had something to do with it eating garbage when it thought no one was looking, and another one was having puppies and they needed to help with its birth (and they also were looking forward to it for three months). So, cue Damien covered in dog vomit, and birth juices in under two hours. Mary noticed that the animals weren’t giving him much grief and that he looked strung out already and sent him home. When he got to the house he prayed that Lucien wasn’t home. He loved his son to death but he just wanted five minutes of peace before he came home tearing the house apart looking for food.

“Lucien?”

There was no response. Damien figured that he couldn’t hear him. He took his shoes off at the door and looked up at his son’s room. He walked up to the door and gave it a few knocks. Lucien never really answered the door. Either his music was terrifyingly loud, he just gave something between a moan and a growl that signaled he could enter, if he didn’t do any of the two he was sleeping or he wasn’t home. Since Damien dropped him off today, he knew that his son didn’t go back after he left and cut school, so he just wasn’t home. He sighed and slid down the door and buried his face in his hands. He felt that familiar craving and hated himself for it. He hadn’t done it since Lucien was born and now he couldn’t keep his mind off it.

Damien really wanted a cigarette.

He ran a hand down his face and berated himself for even thinking about smoking. He did it when he was a teenager, mostly because a lot of the goth kids in his school did it and he didn’t want to be a poser (does anyone still say that???) so he picked up the habit too. Thankfully, he only smoked two or three a day, and Lucien came into his life before it could become a life-threatening past time so weaning himself of it was easy. He spotted Lucien a few times putting out a cigarette in the front of the house, or coming home from school smelling like the tobacco. He really didn’t approve of Lucien doing it, and even told him that he used to do it, Lucien must have taken some of it to heart because he stopped smelling like the smoke, and the ash marks on the porch are gone. He couldn’t stop Lucien from doing it permanently he realized, but it would make him feel a little better if he could at least smoke one a month. In fact, he was sure that Lucien had a few in his room right now. Even if he didn’t smoke them all, he probably sold them and Damien made a quick note to have a very serious talk with Lucien about that but for now, he was going to smoke one. Damien pushed himself off the floor and opened the door.

The boy’s room was a mess.

It was mostly clothes that belonged in the hamper, some papers of Lucien’s art that Damien wanted to hang in his office at work because it was so good, and other miscellaneous items. Everything in Damien’s body screamed to just get a cigarette and leave but he couldn’t help himself and gathered all the clothes, organized his books (that he stole from his room) and placed all of his jewelry and make up and small items in his drawers. He found the rolled-up cigarettes on his table and grabbed one as he exited the room. When he got to the laundry room, he threw all of Lucien’s dirty clothes in the washing machine and started the cycle.

“He’s going to definitely wash his clothes when he gets home.”

While he was watching the machine go, he looked down at the cigarette in his hand. He shook his head and walked into the kitchen. He didn’t grab Lucien’s lighter and didn’t want to chance Lucien catching him snooping in his room. He turned on the front stove burner and lit the end of the cigarette. He turned off the flame and took a huff of the cigarette. He frowned and coughed a bit.

“What type of tobacco is he using?”

He heard keys and his heart stopped.

“Dad I’m home!”

He walked up to the kitchen and stood in the doorway. His mouth hung open and Damien’s never seen his eyes so wide.

“Dad. Are you smoking?”

Damien sighed and looked at the cigarette.

“Lucien…I’m so sorry but I was really…no, I was horribly stressed today and I needed to have a smoke. I didn’t mean to steal one of your cigarettes…”

“Dad, dad hold on. Did you say cigarette?”

“Well…yes, are these not cigarettes? I know you tend to roll them yourself…”

Lucien held his hand up. He was trying hard not to laugh, and Damien knew that he did something wrong. He took another huff and blew a puff of smoke out.

“Dad you’re right about me rolling my cigs but…that is not a cig.” He was pointing at the item in his dad’s hands. Damien furrowed his brows and stared at Lucien harder. The boy was holding his hand over his mouth now like he didn’t know whether to laugh or to be horrified.

“Son…is this weed?”

Lucien smiled and said, “I am neither confirming or denying it…. but yes.”

And all Damien could think to say was:

“Well, shit.”

-----

Ten minutes later, they were sat in the middle of the living room, his dad sitting on the floor smiling at nothing and looking around his house as if he’s never lived in it before. Lucien took the joint from his dad as soon as he saw the cannabis doing its work on him. He led him to the carpet and that’s where they’ve been. His dad was hugging his knees to his chest and grinning like an idiot. At first, he was scared that his dad was going to have a panic attack, he was already prone to having those when he wasn’t high and it was horrible every time. His stuff was mild so his dad wasn’t going to hear colors or see dancing flowers, but he did take quite a few puffs of the joint already. Lucien wondered if he should just give his dad the rest of it, but he placed it on the table and leaned against the couch cushion and watched as his dad got up to look at his display skulls. He giggled and put his hand on the glass, leaning in really close so that his nose was crushed against the spotless showcase.

“You are so beautiful…I want the world to love you.”

Lucien’s brows furrowed at his dad. His father looked over at the carpet and placed his hands on it, his grin never wavering.

“Everyone steps on you but no one takes time to appreciate you…”

Lucien cracked a smirk and wondered if he should record this.

“I love this color so much, Lucien, did you know that?”

He rolled his eyes as he recounted the countless hours they spent shopping for the carpet. Lucien insisted that no one was going to care if the carpet was a lighter shade of red but all he got was a lecture on the importance of maintaining aesthetic and Oscar Wilde and how they could not possibly live in a home where the colors do not complement.

“Yeah dad I know.”

He watched as his dad put a hand over his mouth and giggle.

“I love my home so much, and I love you son! I love you so much!”

Oh here we go.

“You make me happy. Everything makes me so happy!”

Lucien stopped smiling. That wasn’t something his dad said often. He hadn’t heard the word “happy” leave his parent’s mouth in quite a while. In fact, the teen couldn’t remember the last time he saw his dad this happy and carefree. While he did pride himself on wearing Victorian clothes and being the Goth Dad, his dad was often quite insecure about his passions, and himself most days. He knew that as much as he spent time with him, his dad needed more than familial love. Some days he would try to hide it but Lucien knew that he got lonely time-to-time. He gets dates pretty often but there doesn’t tend to be second dates because people suck. They spent so long, no, his dad spent so long personally renovating their house and no one complimented it or congratulated him, but himself. His dad never liked to dwell on bad feelings for long but still, he was only human, and he’s had a rough go of things.

He didn’t hear his dad shuffle closer to him, he did feel his dad padding at his hair, and his face. He was slightly uncomfortable but let his dad rock.

“Look at you! My boy…”

“Dad…”

“I love you!”

“Heh…love you too dad.”

His dad moved onto the table and whispered something to it and Lucien crossed his legs. He was going to get hungry soon, and so snacks would have to be put out. He sighed and got up.

“I’ll be back dad.”

He heard laughter and just kept walking. He left him sitting criss-cross and holding his cloak.

“Why does everyone call you a cape? You are special, you’re my special cloak!”

“Come on, I know you’re hungry as fuck right now.” He chuckled at being able to curse without being scolded. His dad nodded and rose from his spot.

“Thank you son, you’re amazing!”

He watched his dad take his seat in the chair and smiled at him. So maybe he didn’t need to be giving his dad blunts every day, but it was nice to see him so calm and happy. His dad deserved to be happy. His dad deserved so much more too.

 ~~~~~~~

So I’m gonna tag @damienbloodmqrch @dreamdamein @rainbowroyal @onecolorgirl @thevoicesinmyheadsayitsokay @negatjazzy @tinyawkwardoctopus @5fantasticfuckingnightsatfreddys @nanasamantha @choroland @xxinfinitywriterxx @ddadds-lover @raddadds @crying-waffles @suicidesquadgirl13 @little-mister-disappear @shadows-destiny @1-800-moonriver @robinitegames @corynofhoole @trans-damienbloodmarch @glassdais @maybe-strawberry-blue @tearstainedashes @dinocatdraws @cas-winchester-novak @adryanass @isdisorigionalenoughforyou @reinventphan @damien-and-lucien @c-chanfromda @dream-dicky @voidofthestars

I went through all 720 notes to tag people who picked both/the first one/asked me to tag them. If you want to be tagged in the next, send me an ask or a message!

[mhdiaries]

Diary of Spectra Vondergeist

I don’t snoop in your unlife, so please don’t snoop in mine.

The 18th of September

I finally get my own column in the school paper. I already have THE blog that’s on every gossip ghouls must read list but anybody can get a blog these days. Being in print gives me instant credibility however, not that I didn’t have it before... so obvious. Anyway the column is an anonymous advice/MH insider feature called Oh My Oracle. Why anonymous? Well if I used my real name I would never get anything done in class because monster would constantly be asking my advice and if I’m pursuing a bigger story I might need some monster to cover the column and I wouldn’t want my name associated with any bad advice that might be given in my absence. My suggestion box is already full of questions from monsters who need a little help negotiating teen monster life. It’s also overrun with spam. Apparently some monster thought it would be funny to sign me up for information on time share crypts and no I do not want to vacation in a “lovely little mausoleum overlooking the Great Dismal Swamp” DELETE! My first real question was this one:

Dear OMO

I’ve been seeing this really cute troll for a while now but he only wants to hang out under his bridge. How can I convince him that there are other places we could go that would be just as much fun?

Signed,

A Ghoulfriend Gruff

Dear Ghoulfriend Gruff

I’m glad to know that he’s cute cause you’re going to be spending a lot of time underneath that bridge. It’s like my grandmother used to say, “Don’t date trolls.” Hope this helps.

All the best,

OMO

The 26th of September

Sometimes I think the only creature in the world who really understands me at all is Rhuen. She’s so clever at finding the secret places that other monsters don’t notice or have forgotten; especially at Monster High. She can be a bit mischievous at times and doesn’t always come when I call, but I absolutely reject the notion that every trail of chaos leads to Rhuen.

The 7th of October

I was just floating along today minding my own business, like I normally do, when I happened to see Deuce and Lady Twangs-a-lot... I mean Operetta... furtively slip into the empty band room. As a reporter I was intrigued, as a student I need to get to class that happened to be on the other side of band room and as a ghost, a door is not required to enter a room. As I passed through the wall into the room I heard sir hiss reading love poetry. The part I happened to hear sounded sincere... sincerely terrible. Not wanting to be late I didn’t stay for the whole conversation, just long enough to realize I had the scoop of the year! DEUCE DUMPS CLEO FOR OPERETTA!!! Naturally I went straight to Cleo to get her take on the story since that’s what a responsible reporter should do in situation of this gravity. I asked her if she felt such a betrayal was a long time in coming after what she had done to Clawd and if she would be willing to sit down and give me an exclusive interview regarding the situation. I had trouble understanding her response since she reverted to Ancient Egyptian, which I am a bit shaky in, but I think I caught the word “kiss” followed by “cobra”, “adder”, or some other type of poisonous snake, followed by what might have been “depart” “hammer”, and or “sand”. I was immediately persecuted for my investigation efforts and was set upon by that ruffian Clawd. I don’t know what his problem was since it’s obvious he and Cleo are getting back together. Fortunately, the whole school rallied to my side and our Headmistress called into question the leadership skills of our “BMOC”.

I am going to address this incident in tomorrow’s column.

The 8th of October

Oh My Oracle!

News item!

The big bad wolf was out huffing and puffing yesterday. What prompted this full moon freak out? It would be improper to speculate but could it be possible that ll that tall, dark and intermittently furry is still smarting over being dumped by his little wrapped riding hood? It’s a known fact he’s been chasing his tail for some time over that mark on his alpha status. Maybe. He. Just. Snapped. Monster High may never know but “you know who” will, as always, keep digging for the story even if it’s supposed to be dead and buried.

The 12th of October

Our esteemed Headmistress wants every student to write an essay on their monster heritage... right. She obviously doesn’t want to know the real stories behind the students at Monster High or she would have just asked me since I have the real scoop on all of them. I offered to compile all my notes for publishing but she told me that each monster should have a chance to tell their own story. Whatever. I’ve already read through most of the essays that have been turned in - they were on her desk in plain sight so it was obvious, to me at least, that she had left them there for me to find. They run the gamut from boring to deadly boring. I suppose that I shall have to do mine now or it’s unlikely that any monster will want to read what is sure to be a wretchedly long haunt down monster memory lane. I come from royalty of course, my father was next in line for the throne of a large and powerful kingdom but my jealous uncle plotted against him and we had to go into exile. Sadly my father and mother were forced to take jobs far below their station in life to support us. It’s all quite tragic of course and I’m still debating if I should add in the part about my long lost love who still haunts our ancestral castle awaiting my return; or my family’s daring escape across enemy territory in the dead of night during the storm of the century.

The 20th of October

I never understood why so many monsters held Ghoulia in such high esteem I mean she’s a zombie for groaning out loud. Hello? Can you say lowest rung on the monster ladder? What is it about her? Does she have some kind of special power? Has she cast some spell over everyone? I needed to know. So today I followed her because as an investigative journalist it’s part of my job to find the real truth. You’d think it would be easy seeing as how she’s so slow but several times she managed to give me the slip. Other than studying and hanging out with Cleo and the Fear Squad posers I couldn’t find anything remotely remarkable about her. I thought about just giving up until she wandered down a back passage in the library to a room that I thought only I knew about. It’s where they keep the really old reference books and stuff. I was sure she was just hiding out so she could read that stupid Dead Fast comic book she’s always carrying around but she wasn’t. She was looking through old newspapers. I don’t know how she knew I was there since I was hiding in the shadows but she pulled out the chair next to her, looked straight at me and patted the seat for me to sit down. I was so startled that I just floated over and sat down. The headline of the paper in front of her read “The Real Vondergeists” It was my family’s story... I had forgotten... Oh my soul. I must have broken down because the next thing I knew Ghoulia was patting me on the back and I was soaking on her shoulder with ectoplasmic tears. I couldn’t stop for a while and when I did Ghoulia just looked me in they eye and said in zombie, “Your secret is safe with me.” I guess now I understand.

[bsidethetrees]

Good and Clean

His apartment was always smokey. Always. The second she walked through the door, no matter what hour or with who, there was some lingering smoke around. Whether it be from one of his cigarettes, the visiting Laxus' cigar, or some other illicit reason, it was just always present and usually accompanied by glowing green eyes floating around in the haze, from his babies as they circled their father lazily. At the sound of her entering or knocking though, she always got the same response.

"Lissy," he'd exclaimed before getting (or stumbling depending on the day) to his feet before rushing around the tiny place, as if in a lame attempt at picking up. Because she wasn't like him. Or Freed. Or Ever. Or even Laxus.

She was special.

That was what she overheard him explain to Laxus on day at the hall. She was over at the bar, with Mirajane, and hadn't meant to eavesdrop, but sometimes it couldn't be helped.

"She's different," the seith insisted to his idol as they sat at a table together, sipping on beers. "From all of us. She, like, hangs out with Natsu and Lucy and them. Right? She's in a different world than us. They're all...all..."

"Annoying as hell?" Laxus paused his beer sipping just to make his feelings on the subject known. "The constant reason that things befall the hall? Why I contemplate everyday whether or not Fairy Tail's still great or if it's just a place for posers to gather and attempt to make one another feel better about their pathetic-"

"Clean," Bickslow explained, not even listening to the man ramble. "They're all real clean, yeah? They don't… They're just not like us."

Laxus shrugged at that. Couldn't argue with the truth.

"You don't feel that way?" the other man asked then. "About Mirajane, I mean?"

Dropping the mug back down on the table once he'd gulped all its contents down, the slayer said simply. "My woman can hang. And if yours can't, maybe it's time you find a new one."

"That's not it." He sat back then, as if thinking. "I just… I think I like it."

That got a snort out of the other man and a grumble of something, but Lisanna didn't catch it, as Mira was speaking to her then and she had to get back to work. It stuck with her though, for some reason, as their relationship only progressed from there. The fact that Bickslow held her on a different level, on a whole other standard than himself was a little shocking to her. She never really thought of herself as...good. Clean. She was the sister of the she-devil.

Could someone of that lineage be deemed clean? Apparently.

Not that she didn't try to be bad. Dirty, as it were. She did whatever he was doing. If he was drinking, fine, she'd drink. If he was smoking, okay, cool. Whatever. If he and the others were trading dark past stories, whatever. So they used to bash up guilds that talked about Fairy Tail. Well, once, back in Edolas, when the Fairy Tail there was on hard time, she helped that Lucy steal something.

So really, wasn't she just as bad as them?

Right?

Wrong. To them. That story just made them laugh. It should have, considering she was lying anyhow, but Bickslow seemed to appreciate the effort. Even when she choked down beer, when she coughed up whatever it was in that blunt he passed her, and definitely when she puked her guts out every time after, at least she was trying.

"It's like," he told her once when they were sitting around his apartment. Laxus was there, somewhere, as he and Mirajane had had a fight and he'd been banished from their apartment, leaving Bickslow and Lisanna without the option of doing anything that might remotely make the slayer sick (he claimed even a glimpse of them kissing would make him vomit). "You're completely different. You know?"

"No." She was on the floor with him and all the lights were out save some candles that he'd lit around the room. Not in a romantic way, but more in a 'he hadn't replaced any of the burned out bulbs in the living room for months and they liked the ambiance anyhow' kinda way. The bathroom and bedroom had lights. And the kitchen. What? Did someone really need that many light bulbs in an apartment? "Different how?"

"Not in a bad way." He was watching Peppe and Poppo, two of his babies, with mild interest as they chased after one another. "In a good one."

"How is it good be different? And different when?"

"When you're with me," he explained slowly, glancing over at her. His visor was off and he didn't have a hood on, but his Mohawk hadn't been done up that day as he'd only woken up an hour ago, when she knocked on the door to find he and Laxus both passed out from a night of drinking and no doubt endless complaining about Mirajane and her antiquated rules. Such as no muddy boots in the house. Bah! Drunk Laxus bahed! At that. And also get kicked out. Heh. "You're relaxed. And cool."

"But?" she prompted.

"But," he continued, "when you're with your sister or brother or even your friends, like Happy and Natsu and them, you get all innocent and shit. Like we weren't drunk the night before, passed out over at Freed's and having him yell about how he'll stop inviting us over if we're only going to do that. Or like you don't bitch to me constantly about your sister and how she treats you like a child or the way that Natsu's just always counting you out of shit and it ain't fair. You can go from doing that the day before and just right back to hanging with either of them the next day like you were super pissed at the only hours ago. You don't even bring it up to them. Like, ever. At all. And-"

"And what?" She didn't take what he was saying well. At all. "I'm supposed to what? Yell at the person who raised me for treating me as if she did? Or be mad at Natsu for moving on after I was gone for two years and-"

"I'm not saying that," he told her, turning his attention back to the babies and the cigarette hanging out of his mouth. After taking a puff, he said simply, "I'm not getting onto you. I think it's cool." Then, pausing, he added as more thoughtfully, even holding his head a bit higher, "I think it's mature."

Lisanna had been ready to yell at him or detail to him all the ways he was wrong, in full, but stopped at that word at the end. Mature. It wasn't one that she got thrown her way often.

"R-Really?"

"Well, sure." He even grinned at her then, that huge one where he showed all his teeth. "That's how adults handle stuff, yeah? Like your sister for example. She works for Master, huh? Not just in the way we all do, but she has a legitimate job. She's a barmaid. If he did something that she didn't like, she wouldn't berate it for him. She'd come home and tell Laxus about it. Because that's how you handle things. You just don't get to blow up at people when they make you mad. You wait until you're with someone you trust and you tell them about it. Because that's maturity. Not always needing to throw a fit. Holding it in." Another puff. And then, "I respect that. I respect you."

And Lisanna was blushing too hard then to listen as Laxus came out of the bedroom, hungover and grumbling about the scent of the candles and how he was going home, to the demon, to force her to apologize (to beg for forgiveness and swear to never get mud on her floors again). Didn't even mention to him that he was shirtless and looked a mess. Just let him go. Bickslow did too, but that was more because he was fiddling with his pack of smokes and only grumbled out a farewell with a cigarette hanging in between his teeth.

Respect. Her. He respected her. She wasn't sure if anyone had ever felt that ways about her. Most everyone else wrote her off as Mirajane's kid sister. And it would be easy for Bickslow to do that too, but he didn't. He thought she was mature. Huh.

If being different though, was a sign of maturity, then she saw no traces of it with him. He was always the same. Always. Dark, but not too dark. Silly, but not too silly. In motion. Constantly. He couldn't just sit still. Even when they would sit around his apartment, he was always fidgeting with something. Or if they were walking outside, headed somewhere, he always had to jog. Or run. Or jump around. Something. The man was full of only kinetic energy. No potential.

That was what stuck out to her, really, as she strode into his apartment that day (he had a habit of keeping the door unlocked). He was just sitting there, in the darkness of the apartment, no candles lit and the babies dormant. Not to mention the air smelt of long gone smoke and something sweet, but nothing recent.

"Bicks?" she called out softly as she only came close to where he was seated in his boxers, back against the couch as he sat on the floor, staring straight ahead. He hardly glanced up at her. "Are you okay?"

She knew that he wasn't, of course, because Ever had spent the night previous filling her in on the significance that the date in question held for him, when the other woman was at the guild pretending not to stare over at Elfman. It was a somber tale, one that she could have pieced together herself, honestly, given the back-story on all of the others in the guild and how they wound up members of it, but to hear the actual thing was kinda odd. Especially the way that Freed, who was up at the bar with Evergreen, glared at her the entire time, keeping eerily silent on the whole thing. Not that Ever noticed his disapproving stare. Nor cared probably, as not soon after, she'd finally gotten the attention from Elfman that she would only claim she didn't want and went to sit with him.

After she was gone, Freed only told her one thing.

"Just leave him alone tomorrow," he said simply as he kindly paid out his and Ever's tabs both before getting to his feet. Mirajane wasn't working that day, which meant Laxus was off with her, doing something or other, and left Freed with little reason to hang around for more than an hour or so. "Bickslow. And in a day or two, things will be back to normal."

But that was the thing. As much as she tried to stray from it, Lisanna definitely had shared some of the same tendencies as her older sister. Namely, she was a snoop. She never knew when to leave well enough alone. Sure, it would have been simple to just pretend like she didn't know that anything was wrong. After all, her and Bickslow could go weeks without seeing one another, what with jobs and her taking shifts up at the bar and such.

She just couldn't let that happen though. She had to go over there, Lisanna did. Had to pry. Had to speak with him. There was just no other way.

Only when she arrived to find him like that, just sitting there in the darkness, she wasn't really certain of what to do. Or say. Just seeing him with his babies dormant, something that he only did when they were going to bed, was throwing her off. Slowly, she moved to take a seat next to him.

"Did we," he began after a moment or two, "have something to do today?"

"What? No. I just-"

"'cause I can go get dressed." He didn't move in the slightest to do so though and still didn't look at her. "I just forgot is all."

'No, really. I just came over to...to see you."

"Huh." Reaching up, he rubbed at his downed Mohawk. "See me."

"Uh-huh. And, you know, hang out or whatever."

"Hn." He glanced at her finally before gesturing around. "This is my plans for the day. You can stay if you want, but don't expect much."

One of the dolls bodies, Pappa, was right near them and, slowly, Lisanna reached out to pick it up. Stroking at where his eyes were painted on, she said, "Something wrong with the babies?"

"Eh?"

"It's just pretty late in the day for them to still be asleep."

That's what they called it. Instead of whatever it was that his dolls were really doing when he didn't have them encased in their bodies, they said that they were asleep. Because that's what babies did when they weren't awake. They slept.

Just like that though, at her words, Bickslow did something without moving in the slightest, because Pappa seemed to become alert again, eyes flashing green for a moment before he wiggled in her hand. When Lisanna let him go, he only took to floating in front of her face.

Bickslow didn't awaken the others. Pappa was her favorite, anyhow. She never said it, not aloud, but he knew.

Slowly, as if picking up on the morose mood in the room, Pappa just moved to sit atop Lisanna's head, (his favorite spot), and morn with them. Slouching forwards, Lisanna settled in next to her boyfriend, silently wondering just what she should say.

"I was plannin' on bein' alone today."

Lisanna glanced up at Bickslow then, frowning slightly. "O-Oh. I can go, I just-"

"No." He even shook his head slightly. "Don't know what fun you can have over here today, but you can stay."

She'd seen Bickslow serious before, during battle and such, but she'd never seen him so dour and unattached. For someone that had it so together and completely comfortable with themselves and their (very) odd inclinations, one would think that Bickslow would have long gotten over the traumas of his past. Or at least learned to deal with them internally.

Apparently not.

Pappa whined then, softly, sadly, from her head and Lisanna pondered if the babies knew or not. She asked herself that question a lot. Just how much freewill his souls had and how much they used.

"Did you… Have you eaten? Today?" When he shook his head, she said, "Did you want me to make you-"

"Not hungry."

"Are you out of cigarettes?" That was the only reason she could think that he didn't have one out. He usually did when he was stressed over something. "I can go get you-"

"No."

"Then here." She got up then, Pappa still balanced on her head, and walked off to his bedroom. She found the pack of them sitting on his dresser and grabbed a lighter. "I got them for-"

"Lisanna-"

"No, here." She came back over and tried to shove one in his mouth, planning on lighting it for him as well. Hell, if she could smoke it for him as well, she'd do that too. "Just let me-"

"No, Lisanna, knock it off!" He shoved her hands away and then she was just standing there, lording over him with one of his babies perched on her head, staring in the dark room at him in shock. Glaring up at her, he said, "I'm not a fucking idiot."

"W-What? I don't-"

"You know."

"Know wh-"

"Lisanna."

And then they were both still, staring at one another in silence. Slowly, she moved to drop the cigarette and lighter before falling back into her spot next to him.

"Who told you? Ever?"

"N-"

"Damn Ever."

"I was going to say no."

"I know it was Ever." Still refusing to look at her, he said, "I didn't want you to know. It ruins everything."

"How?"

"It just doesn't."

"Bickslow, I don't think...less of you. That you like to spend today like this. I get it. My parents are dead too."

"I think," he told her hotly then, tone heavy, "that watching your parents be killed by robbers and not being able to protect them is a little different than just having them catch a little cold and pass, don't you?"

It was so cold too, the way he told her that. She was too shocked to say anything for a moment, only staring at him.

Then her face grew as dark as his.

"Screw you then, Bickslow. Wallow alone." Shoving up, she moved to get to her feet and storm off, but Bickslow didn't let her get far. She wasn't out of his grasps yet when he literally moved to tackle her. Straight to the ground. It wasn't very comfortable either.

"Ow! What are you-"

"Don't leave me." He'd launched himself at her in an awkward way, leaving her face down on the floor and him halfway atop her, head pressed into the small of her back. "I'm sorry. Just don't leave me."

She could only shift slightly though it brought no comfort before saying, "I think you broke my nose."

"Is it bleedin'?"

"No."

"Then you're alright."

They both laid there then, her sulking in the fact that she couldn't be too pissed at him, given the anniversary he was dealing with, and him just taking comfort in the feeling of the soft fabric of her shirt against his face. It made him tired, honestly.

"I'm sorry I said that. You know I didn't mean it."

"You still shouldn't have-"

"I know. I'm sorry."

Again, silence. Pappa, who'd fallen off Lisanna's head at some point, didn't move from where he fell and she was a tad worried about him, but given how sturdy the babies were (they did battle for Bickslow, after all), she decided to put it out of her mind.

"I shouldn't have come over here."

"Why? I wanted you to."

"You did?"

He kissed her back then. "I just didn't know's all."

Gingerly, Lisanna pushed up and Bickslow shifted back away from her. He felt a rush of embarrassment, something he wasn't used to, for a number of things. Mainly the fact that he'd just horribly insulted her parents deaths, but also because he'd kinda just freaking tackled her. On any other day, okay, fine, he was weird, she'd get over it, but given the circumstances and why he did it, he wasn't so sure.

"Are you really okay?" he asked as, once she was sitting up and facing him, she reached up to touch her nose.

"Are you?" was all she responded back to which, slowly, he nodded.

"I never wasn't."

Moving to grab Pappa and put him in her lap that time, Lisanna said simply, "I shouldn't have pried."

"I have a feeling you didn't."

With a shrug, she said, "Ever had a bit to drink."

"I figured."

"If it makes you feel better, she went home with Elf last night, so there's that."

"Meh."

"Meh?"

"Even the thought of teasing her on that later's kinda a moot point right now."

They both moved once more to sit with their backs against the couch, no longer facing one another. For a moment or so, they got some more peace before Lisanna broke it again.

"Is this what you usually do?" she asked. "On…today?"

"When I was younger," he told her softly, "I would go back home."

"Home?"

Nodding, he said, "We had a house, yeah? I'd go back there. No one ever bought it. It's all rundown and stuff now. I haven't been back in years. It's probably gone. Now I mostly just sit around and think, I guess. I don't do that a lot, but-"

"Would you ever go back?"

"Eh?"

"Back there," she said, shifting so that she could stare up at him. "Would you go back?"

"Why would I?" he asked. "It's not like… I mean, when I was younger, it was so important to me. As if they were there. But I know that they aren't now, of course. So why does it matter?"

"I don't know. I just asking."

"I couldn't go now. I couldn't… What if someone's livin' there? Huh? Or if it's gone? Or if I couldn't even remember the way?"

Staring at him with her deep blue eyes, Lisanna said, "You can always find your way back home."

"Do you ever..."

"They exiled us, Bicks. Or at least they did Mirajane. So no, I don't. But I have my siblings," she told him. "You just have you."

He stuck out his tongue then, but it wasn't in jest. He was showing off his marking.

"I have Fairy Tail."

"Always."

That time, the silence only lasted mere seconds before he asked her something.

"If I did ever go back," he began slowly. "W-Would you..."

Not even taking a moment to think about it, Lisanna told him, "In a heartbeat."

For some reason he let out a long breath then, as if he'd been holding it in. Then, reaching out, he picked up the discarded cigarette and lighter.

"I should have died too."

"W-What?"

"With 'em," he told her as he lit the cigarette before shoving it in his mouth. "That's why I don't like going back there. I should have died too. But the guys couldn't do it. They couldn't kill a kid. And the older I got, the more it set in. That I wouldn't be that old, you know? If..."

"But they didn't," she told him. "They didn't kill you. Just like if it hadn't been for that anima-"

"Don't talk like that. You would have been fine. You-"

"But I wouldn't have," she insisted. "I would have died because of something stupid I did. But you know what? It was there and I didn't die. Just like they couldn't go through with it, so you did survive. Because for some reason, we had more to do in this life. Like be here right now."

Reaching over, he tugged gently at some of her white hair. With a slight sigh, he said, "I just wanna hang around here today, kid. But… You could stay for awhile, huh?"

"Of course, Bicks." She moved to lean against him then, Pappa still in her lap. "Whatever you want."

He was different then, Bickslow was, that day. The entire day. They didn't really joke at all once. He didn't eat. And only smoked one cigarette. Mostly he just laid around and stared blankly at things as she kept his dolls, who he awakened, entertained. It was never hard. Three knock-knock jokes and they were set for the entire day.

"I feel weird," Bickslow said at one point as they shifted to laying around in his bed. "Staying in my boxers all day."

"You wanna get dressed?"

He nodded then, but didn't get out of bed. Only reached over to grab his visor and put it on. There. All better.

Frowning, Lisanna only snuggled closer into his side. Whatever made him feel better, she supposed.

Or clothed. Whatever made him feel clothed.

Sigh.

"Thanks, kid," he told her about then. The babies were littered around the bed and, though they weren't dormant, were just lying there as they all made little nonsensical noises. It used to annoy her, when they first got together, but slowly it had become a comfort.

"For what?"

"For coming to check on me." With his visor on, he felt a lot better, and even stroked her cheek gently as he spoke. "I was a dick for not mentioning it to you."

"No. It's fine."

"You're such a good person," he told her. Even though she couldn't see them, she was pretty certain that his eyes were slipping closed then and he was drifting off. "I ever tell you that?"

"Yeah, Bicks." She kissed his side before shutting her own eyes. "A few times."

"It's true. I like it. A lot. You're a good person."

Nuzzling against his side, she breathed in his scent slowly.

"So are you, Bickslow," she reminded. "And never forget it."

[ograndebatata]

Trials Of The Underworld - Ch. 02

Well, it seems responsiveness to this idea wasn't quite as great as my expectations envisioned.

All the same, thank you very much for the early response to my story, in terms of reviews and readership alike. I hope you're all enjoying this.

This oneshot introduces the prompts from Zee-Zee Magee of fanfiction dot net (Stealthy moving on) and Bookworm101234 from archiveofourown (Arthur versus Cruella), though they don't get fully borne out yet. I hope you enjoy.

As always, if you want to send a prompt of your own, feel free to.

Read on ff.net.

Read on AO3.

By The Clock Tower

He had come into existence as one of eight, born from an egg and deep under ground as his kind did. The first thing he did after being welcomed by the eggs' guard was collect the pickaxe that would name him. It had named him Stealthy; as with all dwarfs, the name fit.

For his first year, his life had consisted essentially of mining for fairy dust and going to the pubs in his downtime, like every other dwarf's. Then, it took a turn when one of his brothers, Dreamy, fell in love with a fairy. Stealthy could no more understand that than his six other brothers could, but nevertheless all of them supported their brother's decision to run away with her. Later, they supported Dreamy also when he broke said fairy's heart for her own sake. And when Dreamy, after he was renamed to Grumpy, ended up in King George's dungeon after changing his mind and trying to win back the fairy, Stealthy went to save him.

He succeeded, but met his end by doing so, and spent over thirty years in the Underworld struggling with unfinished business he didn't know. Even after he found out, he became unable to move on after learning that the former ruler of the Underworld intended to wreak havoc in Storybrooke.

Mere hours later, Stealthy learned of Captain Hook's and King Arthur's plan to help the Savior, in the world of the living. The moment he did, he settled down in the diner to wait for news.

He had guessed from the beginning it could be a long wait, but he wasn't ready for just how so. Nor was he ready for the bits of information he overheard while he waited.

In the Blind Witch's Diner…

This might not be Hell, but as far as Stealthy was concerned, it was close enough. King Arthur and Captain Hook still hadn't returned from their quest, knowing his unfinished business did not magically poof him out of the Underworld, and the Blind Witch and Cruella De Vil had spent the last hours talking so loudly about the changes they planned to make that maybe even the living could hear them even without the phone booth.

Worse, news had arrived about the doomed people in the River Of Lost Souls rising out of the water and dragging others in. So far they couldn't get too far from the river, but that could change. And as Cruella had taken the care to point out to him specifically, 'the stubble sandwich' was bound to have run into them on their way out, which meant they were just 'two more swirls for that glorified spinach soup'.

If that was true, then Hades must be up to no good in the world of the living. There had been no new arrivals since Arthur, but just because no one had died it didn't mean no one was suffering.

All kinds of thoughts about his brothers being enslaved by the God of Death traveled across his head like a herd of deer running in circles, even as he tried to steer them away from his worst ideas. And the Blind Witch and Cruella coming over to enjoy the terror he made no effort to hide was no help.

But Stealthy's hope had endured over thirty years in the Underworld. What was left of it could survive for a few hours longer.

Even if those two hags were doing a pretty good job of stamping it out.

In the Underworld's Sorcerer's Mansion...

He had struggled with the idea of taking up residence in Merlin's home. He hadn't made the Sorcerer proud, and either the man himself or the Apprentice might show up at any time and have the dead man's equivalent of a heart attack at seeing him. But the mansion fit far too many requirements. It was seemingly vacant, it was out of the way, and it was inherently powerful enough that the worst of evildoers stayed away; from what Captain Jones had told him, Hades hadn't even been able to approach it.

So he had moved in. Now he stood before a full length mirror in the largest sleeping room, surveying his new look for one last time, still not sure it fit him.

As the clothes he had died in stood out too much, he had changed into a suit like those he had seen in Storybrooke, with a silver vest, jacket, and trousers, a white dress shirt, a purple necktie and pocket square, and black dress shoes. None of those had been his color when he was alive, but Arthur wanted some distance from the person he had died as, and the color scheme seemed decent from his limited knowledge of that kind of attire.

He had more important issues to take care of anyway, and between his preliminary self-training in using his new powers, his brief familiarization with the Underworld, and his change of look, he had already lost too much time. He might not be getting any deader, but after what he had learned of the two witches ruling in Hades' stead, he didn't want to leave them in charge any longer.

More nervous than he had been when he deceived his subjects with the broken Excalibur, Arthur smoothed down his jacket, nodded at his reflection, and vanished from the Sorcerer's Mansion in a cloud of silver smoke.

In the Blind Witch's Diner...

"Attention."

Stealthy jumped in his seat at the sound: half of the beer in the mug jumped out and exploded across the table's surface, several stray globs splattering his chest. All sorts of reactions ensued at other spots; Cruella dropped a glass of alcohol into the ground, the Blind Witch gasped, and even the kid who had stopped talking centuries ago looked up.

That voice had come out of nowhere, and while conversational in tone, it seemed to be heard through the whole place as if the speaker was right beside each person at the same time. It did not sound aggressive - in fact, it even had a touch of hesitation - but everyone knew it took some powerful magic to make that.

"What was that?" Cruella snarked.

"It sounded like that armored beefcake's voice," the Blind Witch replied, all the usual breathiness of her voice gone.

The armored beefcake. She must mean King Arthur. And indeed, it had sounded like him. But he didn't have magic when Stealthy last saw him. How could he have done that?

"Attention. Attention to everyone in the Underworld. Please gather by the clocktower. There are important news for you to hear."

That was Arthur's voice. There was no doubt now. But how was he doing that? And what did he want?

"Please do not be afraid. I will not hurt you. I merely have an important message to give you, and would like to give it in person to as many of you as possible."

Chattering rose up amongst the diner like the buzzing of a whole beehive. Cruella glared all across the room, but no one even seemed to notice her; the excited and hopeful murmurs were too prevalent.

Stealthy kept quiet, but he shared the sentiment. For Arthur to be giving a message, he hadn't fallen into the river. And if he hadn't fallen into the river, he had somehow sent the pages to the Savior, and Hades had been defeated. It did not answer the question of how he was sending this message, but Stealthy didn't really need to know that. He'd take someone like Arthur a thousand times before settling for Cruella and the Blind Witch.

"I shall be giving my message in twenty minutes, by the now restored clock tower," Arthur finished. "I look forward to seeing as many of you as possible. Farewell."

The moment Arthur finished speaking, all the people in the diner stampeded out of the door like a pack of ravenous dogs racing for the same bone. The degraded panel had no chance against them - it crumbled to pieces as if either no one bothered to open it or whoever did was unable to do so before being pushed by those behind him. Startled exclamations rose up from Cruella's and the Blind Witch's throats as they looked at the fleeing crowd. Meanwhile, Stealthy let go of his mug and hid under the table and chairs he had been sitting at.

Would it do any good? That breathy-voiced hag had a nose sharper than a bloodhound's, and though Stealthy had started masking his scent years ago, maybe it wouldn't be enough.

"What do we do?" Stealthy heard the Blind Witch asking, all hints from her usual breathiness gone.

The other woman scoffed in reply. "What do you think, darling? We march up to that conceited poser and show him he can't come around and steal our playpen."

A few seconds of silence followed.

"Should we really do that? There's something weird about Arthur suddenly being able to talk to us like this. It's almost as if he gained magic."

Cruella burst into laughter.

"You must have eaten something that's even more rotten than usual, darling! That's not magic; the stud must simply be using some kind of hidden radio to talk to us! It's just a trick to throw us off!"

"But he said the clock tower was repaired…"

For the first time, Cruella took a while to answer, the only sound from her a hum from thought. Then she said, "Maybe he's learned a few tricks now, but do you really think he can do anything that can best the stuff Hades gave you?"

Even without looking at her, Stealthy could almost sense the witch grinning again.

"That's the spirit, darling!" he heard Cruella cheering. "Now stop being pessimistic and come with me to crush the hopes of everyone in the Underworld, beginning with that delusional oaf!"

A pleased hum from the witch followed Cruella's response.

"Before or after his speech?"

Cruella's answering laugh made icy needles jab Stealthy's spine.

"After, darling. Much more hope to crush that way." Another moment of silence followed. "Let's go. It'll be nice to see just how much hope we'll be crushing."

Stealthy heard the Blind Witch snort in annoyance, presumably at Cruella's use of the word 'see'. Then he heard both women's heels clicking on the diner's floor, and then thudding on the stone floor outside thanks to the broken door.

They were in for a nasty surprise, in Stealthy's opinion. Whatever had happened to Arthur, the tricks he had learned were impressive. The fact he had spoken of a restored clock tower proved it. Stealthy had lost count of how many times groups of prisoners had tried to restore it as a punishment from Hades, but he knew that whenever that happened, the thing never held up for more than a minute before crumbling back down with a thunderous boom. If Arthur had managed to repair it and there had been no mighty crash yet, things looked good.

But those two witches had a few tricks up their own sleeves, and Arthur might not be ready for them. Someone had to warn him. And with them not having noticed him, Stealthy could do that.

Relieved that he hadn't lost his touch, the dwarf crept out from under the table and followed the witches at a distance, determined to see what they were planning so he knew what he should warn Arthur about.

By the Underworld's clock tower...

Thanks to his magic, he had repaired the clock tower with a single wave from his hand, and cleared the debris from the floor with an equally simple gesture. Accomplishing both feats had made him stare at the results of his job like an awed fish, at least until people started arriving, by which time he composed his expression.

The turnout was not particularly big, as far as Arthur could tell. Still, there were enough people to fill a reasonable amount of space on every direction he could look at, although any late arrivals still had enough room to make it to the front if they wished. If Arthur had to guess, most people in the Underworld had stayed away, afraid he would just turn out to be the next Hades.

It made sense. Although he had tried to sound as friendly and reassuring in his speech as possible, the idea of a new magical overlord must not be appealing to many.

Regardless of the low turnout, most of the people he could see looked either cautiously hopeful or downright eager to hear what he had to say. Not one face he could spot looked angry at him or eager to have him removed.

Perhaps it should be reassuring, but it only made his nervousness soar. When he had proved himself to be the rightful ruler of Camelot (or so he thought) by displaying Excalibur to his people, they at least had evidence, and even in the face of it, many questioned how an orphan who mucked out stalls could be the ruler who would repair their broken kingdom. Now, even though he had no true evidence that he was the one meant to repair this broken kingdom, (being chosen by Zeus wasn't something he could easily prove) there were no questioning or reproachful faces, and almost everyone he saw seemed at least hopeful about his takeover, with a few even looking at him as if he was the Savior.

Either Hades had been an even worse king that Arthur thought, or the witches had somehow managed to outdo even the God of Death in rottenness.

Arthur had no problem believing in either, but knowing he had such a mess to repair did not soothe him in the least.

The twenty minutes he had announced drained by faster than water from a stabbed goatskin. Most people that he figured would come were already here, muttering amongst themselves, but a few late arrivals still swerved through the crowds to get at what they deemed a nice spot to listen to him.

Arthur enabled the late arrivals to settle into the spot they chose, and then raised his hand to request for silence. The sounds around him faded like snuffed flames, save for a few scattered whispers. With silence back, Arthur reactivated the spell he had used to inform the Underworld's citizens of his speech, one that enabled him to speak with everyone in the Underworld at the same time, and yet making it so that no one would hear more than a conversational tone.

With the spell in place, he smoothed down his jacket once more, and began speaking.

"Greetings, inhabitants of the Underworld. I am King Arthur of Camelot, and I have important news to give all of you."

He paused to see if his introduction would trigger any angry comments or physical violence. No one reacted particularly differently. If any people harmed by his rule were here, they were keeping quiet for one reason or another.

"As those who haven't seen me may have guessed, I am new to this place. And as you may have noticed from my recent accomplishments…" saying so, he gestured to the restored clock-tower behind him "... I have been, how shall I put it, blessed with certain gifts recently."

It should be a good way to put it, but it probably hadn't been the best thing to say; a few nervous faces were appearing here and there.

"Please don't get scared, I won't use them to hurt any of you. I know you have been through three very detestable leaders, and I do not wish to follow in their steps. I do not profess to have been the best leader myself when I was alive, but I will strive to be the best I can."

A few of the nervous faces started to perk up, but several remained uneasy. Arthur went on with his speech.

"Above all, I ask you to look at me not as a new king, but as a restorer. I am aware the Underworld has not served its proper purpose for a long time. That this place, meant to help people deal with their unfinished business so they can move on, has been distorted into a site of suffering whose rulers only mean to cause pain. I promise you, I will not be like that. And I invite all who need help to tell me about your problems, so that I can assist you in dealing with them. This is by no means a conscription or a summons, and I promise not to take offense to any who would rather I had nothing to do with them. But to those who need a helping hand, know that both of mine are available."

It was hardly the best joke ever told in all the realms, but chuckles and even a few barked laughs rippled through the crowd. It must have been long since anyone in charge had told a joke unrelated to suffering.

Arthur let them enjoy the humor, and then assumed the most serious expression he possibly could. He was about to say something he would rather not have to say, but which he felt was best spoken than left unsaid.

"And while I wish it did not have to be this way, I do have one warning to issue." Seeing all eyes back on him, now with general apprehension, he finished, "What any of you did in life does not matter. Even now, you can change. I know that from experience, and will help anyone who wants to be helped, regardless of what they did in life." He turned his expression as serious as it possibly could, and dropped his voice to a firm tone. "However, I request that no one tries to make afterlife miserable for anyone else. If you do, I will have to intervene."

A few disappointed murmurs rose up here and there, but each one fell silent when Arthur turned a stern gaze in the sound's direction. Even with them, the general reception to his speech still seemed much better than the one he had gotten after proclaiming himself King of Camelot. No disbelieving scoffs, no actual angry faces, and no challenges for the crown… just a sea of hopeful gazes so intense it almost made him dizzy.

"I shall be available whenever you need me," he went on, speaking in his calmer tone again. "Anyone interested in doing so can talk to me right now, and for those who aren't ready to do so yet, I am residing in the Sorcerer's Mansion for the time being."

A few people took a step forward on the spot, but froze there, as if thinking he had more to say.

"That is all for now. Thank you for listening."

Saying so, he disengaged the spell he had cast, in case anyone wanted to talk to him right now. An old lady with her face covered in wrinkles and a heavyset middle-aged man with a hairless head leaned slightly forward as if they were ready to do just that.

But then, everyone but himself shook in fright as another voice blared through the area without the assistance of any spell.

"Is that all, darling? Well then, now you're going to hear my piece."

As the voice spoke up, the crowd on the street to his left parted faster than a block of butter cut with a hot knife, and two women he was already familiar with made their way toward him. The only difference was that now, he could see the magic clinging to them in unpleasant bitter-looking clouds that had him fighting back the urge to grimace.

"Clear the path, worms!" the one with white and black hair snarled. "Your true rulers are coming through!"

More than clearing a path, most of them fled like rabbits. Some stray brave souls stayed relatively near to see what would ensue, but to Arthur's relief, even the closest ones he could see were over sixty feet away. Unless either of these witches could unleash something really strong, they wouldn't be hurt.

"How can I help you, ladies?" Arthur asked in his best polite voice.

The blind witch made a noise of mock-consideration, and then replied, "I would say 'By dropping dead.', but seeing as we're all dead here, I'll say instead 'By jumping into the River of Lost Souls.'."

Arthur gave her a thin smile, even though he knew she couldn't see it.

"Duly noted, but I'm afraid I can't do that. I intend to repair the Underworld, and I can't do it under that water."

The blind woman shrugged her shapely shoulders.

"Worth a shot," she somehow both breathed and screeched.

The other woman snorted, her heavily made up eyes like two black patches on her face.

"Do you really think we'll just let you stroll in here and ruin a nice eternity of causing pain to anyone that isn't us?" she asked, a playful smirk on her face.

Arthur took a step forward, his own eyes narrowed. "No, I didn't think that. But I'm afraid I don't need your permission."

The white-haired woman's eyes narrowed even further.

"You don't need it, you say? Think again. You need it. And we're not giving it to you."

Arthur braced himself for anything she might throw at him. Instead of attacking him however, she turned to the blind one and said, "Darling, paste him."

The woman grinned like a well-fed cat and threw a wave of magic at him. Arthur raised his hand, wreathed in protective magic of its own, and the spell the witch had thrown at him bounced back where it came from and knocked the blind woman onto her rear with a loud thud and a surprised gasp.

"What are you doing?" the other woman protested. "I told you to paste him!"

"I tried!" the blind woman whimpered as she stood up, her face contorted in pain. "He just threw my magic back at me!"

The other woman's eyes briefly widened. Then her face melted into a snarl.

"Then forget pasting him. Just drop him in that blasted green drink!"

Still as wobbly as a reed under a storm, the woman reached forward with her magic.

Alarm flared up within him.

He shot his hand out again and dispelled the magic like a sledgehammer shattering glass. The witch's spell exploded with such force that she fell forward with a startled gasp like a circus artist doing a pratfall.

"What?" her fur-clad companion snapped. "You can't do that either?"

"He doesn't let me! He just crushed my spell like a bug!"

The woman with black and white hair looked back at him, her already large eyes suddenly twice bigger, and especially unsettling in her gaunt face.

"You couldn't do that when you arrived…" she murmured.

Arthur blinked in surprise. Given the woman's nature, he hadn't thought she would be even capable of doing such a thing.

"I couldn't," he replied. "As I said during my speech, I was blessed with certain gifts recently." He made it a point to pause and give them a stern glare. "And I see now more than ever that they were needed."

The blind woman's usually empty expression twisted into a scowl. The one in the fur coat bared her teeth like an angry dog and growled. "Speak for yourself!"

"That's exactly what I'm doing." Arthur replied with a pleasant nod. But his stern glare only intensified as he added, "And in case you also missed that part of my speech, let me remind you of something else: I will not mind you either coming to me for help in moving on or you simply staying out of my way. But I will not allow you to make other people miserable."

Both women bared their teeth at him like furious bears, but his display must have startled them a great deal, because they didn't utter a peep.

"I've said my peace. Now if you'll excuse me I have a damage survey to undertake."

Before they could tell him whether they excused him or not, he turned left and walked away, making it a point to not look back toward them as he began a more detailed tour of the Underworld, to see how much damage he had to repair.

He didn't even take ten steps before the cheering began.

"ALL HAIL KING ARTHUR! ALL HAIL KING ARTHUR!"

Both Cruella and the Blind Witch kept grimacing like they were about to throw up as the screams continued. They were no longer as loud as before, simply because those uttering them were already farther away, but they could still be heard, and Cruella kept clenching her teeth as they continued.

"There goes your plan," the Blind Witch said once the cheers had finally faded, her high-pitched voice even more grating in its disappointed tone.

Cruella snorted in reply. "I didn't exactly hear you coming up with anything better, darling. Or dealing with him while he was here."

"Don't you have hands and feet?" the Blind Witch complained. "Next time, lend some help rather than complain."

"Instead of arguing, let's come up with some other way to deal with this interloping peacock, alright, darling?"

The Blind Witch narrowed her eyes, but at least this time she didn't complain.

"Alright then," she at last said. "Any Plan B?"

Cruella gave no verbal reply, but the slow sinister grin spreading across her face spoke for herself, even if the Blind Witch could not see it.

Stealthy, however, could. And as he saw it, he realized how good an idea it had been to follow them.

He only hoped he could actually help once they put their plan into action.

This is what I meant regarding the prompts not being fully borne out yet. The next oneshot will see their conclusion.

I hope you enjoyed thie oneshot, and once more, I welcome any prompts you might have.