#this has been a post that came out too solemn

[thelov3lybookworm]

My fault (part 2)

Part 1

Summary: She has accepted that she needs to stand up for herself.

•○●⛦●○•

A/n: um... this thing is apparently turning into a short series lol.

I like it. It was so fun writing this part, and I hope the next part will be posted soon ❣️

enjoy!

•○🌑○•

Y/n tore through the winding streets of Velaris as if her ass was on fire.

Judging by the looks she got, she definitely looked like it was. Or maybe it was her sobs and tears that made people look.

Whatever it was, Y/n would have been mortified and willed herself to melt into the concrete if she hadn't been so heartbroken and focused on getting away as fast as possible.

Y/n did not stop or slow until Nina's apartment was visible, and the open windows made her falter.

What if she was intruding on something? Surely, Nina would get tired of her one day and then leave-

No.

Y/n was disgusted with herself for thinking that way. She knew Nina would never leave, no matter what. She was too good of a person to do that.

Y/n slowed to a walk, ignoring the eyes she felt on herself, and walked closer, wondering if Nina could be having company.

She did not have to wonder for long, though, as Nina appeared in one of the lit up windows of her apartment, a cup in her hands.

She looked over the area surrounding her apartment, her features relaxed. But then her eyes met the teary eyes of her best friend, and her face tightened, concern evident in her posture, and she beckoned Y/n closer.

When Y/n reached the entrance to Nina's apartment, she found her friend waiting for her, the door wide open. The moment Y/n was close enough, Nina reached out, wiping away a few stray tears that hadn't yet dried on Y/n's face.

"What did that bastard do now?"

Y/n sniffed as she walked in behind Nina, shutting the door. "He did nothing. Not really."

Nina snorted, pulling out two glasses and a bottle of wine. "Of course, he never does anything. Just stands by and watches his family tear into you."

Y/n sighed, settling into the plush couch in front of the fireplace. "Nina-"

"Don't, Y/n. I know he has done something to upset you. Don't defend him."

Y/n stared into the fireplace as Nina filled a glass with the wine and pressed it into her hand. Y/n absently took a sip, relishing in the feeling of the cold wine making its way down her throat as she wondered how to break the news to Nina. It was as if Cassian was her husband and not Y/n's.

When the silence became unbearable, Y/n blurted out the first thing that came to her mind. "They're mates."

Y/n spied Nina from the corner of her eyes, and watched as the dark haired woman nearly dropped her glass as she gaped at Y/n.

"They- who- what?"

A small smile spread on Y/n's lips. "Yes. Cassian and Nesta- the female you saw him kissing? They're mates."

"I- how?"

"Do you think I am the mother?" Y/n snapped, then her eyes flew wide, glancing at Nina in a panic. "I am so sorry-"

But Nina cut her off with a loud, disbelieving laugh. She had a huge smile on her face, something akin to pride shining in her eyes, dancing with mirth, her drink long forgotten in her limp hand.

Y/n huffed. "Only you would be happy about getting snapped at."

Nina cackled at that.

"What is so funny?" Y/n grumbled, frustrated.

Nina couldn't speak for a whole minute, heaving and trying to breath from how hard she laughed. "I'm sorry- sorry. It's just, its been centuries since I saw this side of you."

Y/n blinked at her friend, then turned back to the fire silently.

When Nina spoke next, her voice was solemn. "What happened, Y/n? You never cared for others opinion before. What has he and his family done to you?"

Y/n refused to meet her friend's eyes. "I don't know what you are talking about."

"Oh but you do. You do remember doing whatever you wanted, not caring about what your mother said back before you met that brute."

"Nina-"

"No, Y/n, let me speak. Do you remember how you met him? We were out partying, and you just wanted to dance all night. That's when he approached you, because he saw how free and careless and confident you were. He fell in love with that confident female who cared not for male approval, but for her own happiness. When did you begin caring for what he thought?"

"Nina... I- he was my first love. I did not know how to be in a relationship, let alone be happy in it. I had no guidance except for what my mother taught me, and that is what I did. I used her advice and teachings to be with him. And my father stayed with her till he died, so I just assumed I had to be the same as her to be in a happy and lasting relationship."

Nina released a frustrated breath, throwing back her drink. "Bitch relocated to hell and left her shit teachings here to ruin your life."

Y/n choked on her drink, trying not to laugh.

A moment after Y/n stopped choking, she leaned back, tears pricking her eyes as she thought back to the time when nothing and no one mattered but herself and her happiness.

Silence settled around the two best friends, but it was the silence of comfort. Of regret and sadness. Of reminiscing of the time long lost.

Y/n was sure hours had passed when se spoke again. "Nina?"

"Hmm?"

"I miss her."

A beat of quiet. "Who?"

"Me."

It was just a whisper that answered her question, but Nina heard it nonetheless, and her happiness and pride was palpable in the air.

"I want to leave."

"I will come with you. I hate it here anyway."

A moment, then Y/n nodded despite the ache in her heart.

"Let's go."

•○🌑○•

General Taglist: @bubybubsters @eos-princess @nightless @harrystylesfan2686 @cassie6392 @mybestfriendmademe

Cassian taglist: @kennedy-brooke @hnyclover @minnieoo @sidrapotter @moonlwghts

My fault taglist: @awkardnerd @cleverzonkwombatsludge @blogforficslol

[ominoose]

𝐌𝐢𝐬𝐜 𝐌𝐨𝐨𝐧 𝐊𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐒𝐲𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐦 𝐇𝐂'𝐬

Character(s): Steven Grant, Marc Spector, Jake Lockley Summary: Not x reader, just random silly thoughts about the lads. Kinda summer themed. They're still in London. This came out more British than intended. Warnings: None

𝐒𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐆𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐭

Now that he's not constantly tired and getting two hours of sleep every fifth night if he's lucky, the Brit goes between quiet moments with a book on the couch to hyperactive spiels with no warning.

The newfound energy also takes his sass and mischief to the next level. If Marc or Jake (usually Marc, Jake's too scared) piss him off he will not drop it. For days Steven will slyly bring it up, make offhand remarks or fully kick up the argument again. It's never serious, he's still the one to step in if the other two are at arms, but Steven is no pacifist. "Y'know I just bought all these ingredients to make a lovely homecooked dinner with enough leftovers for Jake's taxi shifts and Marc's workouts... But-" "Steven please, we're starving, come on." "Since my cooking apparently tastes like a grannies garden!" "Por favor, I didn't even say it, Marc did-" "But you didn't disagree bruv!"

Takes Eurovision seriously. He made a point of not watching the BBC broadcast this year, although he's kept tabs on it through other websites. He's still not over last year. Jake tried to look into it and made a small comment about listening to the winner, commenting on Sweden's contestant being good. Steven went on a rant for a good twenty minutes about how it was rigged before Jake learned this was a lot more than a friendly song contest.

Whines when its hot out and forces Marc or Jake to front outside. Then forces them to buy a Mr Whippy for him to front and eat.

𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐜 𝐒𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐫

Gets really into British football. It started with hearing chants and noises outside on match days, the comradery and stupid sing-songs from fans in matching team colours bringing him a sense of nostalgia. He's still a diehard cubs fan, but going to the local pub to watch the match, getting a healthy outlet to yell and bang a table amidst others oddly suited him. Steven's just glad he's socializing.

Secretly folds up Stevens more "colourful" shirts and hides them.

Loves British chocolate, hates British crisps. He see's a packet of pickled onion Monster Munch and physically cringes away.

While Steven fronted and browsed through a charity shop, Marc spotted an old ds, just like one he had as a kid. The Brit could physically feel him eye it up from the inside and bought it. Now Marcs post-workout routine includes playing Pokemon.

Marc gets visibly sad and sighs whenever they phone in pizza because its never like the ones back home in Chicago.

Loves a greggs sausage roll.

𝐉𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐋𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐥𝐞𝐲

Half the reason the other two found out about him was when the old lady that Steven scared off in the elevator to the point she avoided them like the plague suddenly smiled and offered them tea. Turns out Jake had been helping her carry the shopping back to the flat when they bumped into each other. Their odd tea and biscuit afternoons helped Jake keep tabs on the boys.

Naps in front of the telly, usually to some reality tv like Eastenders, snoring away. The moment Steven or Marc slowly try to control the arm holding the remote he jerks away, pulling it to his chest and telling them off because he's still "watching" it.

Knows Marc folds and hides Stevens shirts that he hates. He puts them at the top of the pile just before Steven fronts. Marc has no clue and it drives him nuts.

His favourite passengers to pick up are drunk women. They're always either very funny or tell the most downright devious gossip, never afraid to openly include him in it too.

Made a solemn vow to himself that if he ever drove past Rishi Sunak he'd egg him.

Since he prefers night-shifts, the cat distribution system seemed to give him an 90% chance of meeting kittens on the street. If he has a passenger when he spots the little critter he'll make a mental note to return after drop off, Jake Lockley will not pass a chance at checking up on and cradling a gatita. Marcs learnt to be somewhat present during these shifts to stop Jake sneaking home with several kittens in his coat.

[ladykailitha]

Grief (A Friend Indeed) Part 7

And now you see why I waited until I had this part written before posting the last one? That was one hell of a cliffhanger. Also everyone gets a dig at Al in this. It's family bonding event. But Steve has the best burn I think.

Just a heads up, Steve talks about being abused...heads up if that's a trigger for you.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

***

Steve placed his hand on Eddie’s back the second he felt his friend stiffen next to him.

“Deep breath, Eds,” he murmured. “There is nothing he can say to you that I will let him get away with, okay? Deep breath. Let me and Wayne handle this.”

Eddie let out a deep breath. “Just careful, Stevie. He’s been known to charm snakes out of their skin.”

Steve’s jaw clenched. So that’s the kind of man he was. He knew that kind of man intimately. His own father was like that. He knew what to watch for now that he had been forewarned.

He plastered a solemn expression on his face, that to everyone who didn’t know him well enough would think sincere, but to Eddie and Wayne, they could see the hard set line of his jaw as he kept one eye on Al and the other on the proceedings.

The funeral wrapped up and everyone lined up to throw dirt on the now lowered coffin. Al tried to get directly behind Eddie, but Steve seamlessly inserted himself between them.

Al bristled but the portly man next to him coughed and he was forced to back down.

Finally the family was all that remained as they all walked back to the church.

The portly man stuck to Al like glue and Steve felt a sudden warmth for the boys in blue at that moment. Because he was pretty sure that even though Al Munson had been granted a furlough, someone was paying to keep that man on a short leash.

The family and a small handful of friends arranged themselves on the pews and waited.

It wasn’t too long until a funny little man with thick bottled glasses came hurrying in.

“I’m sorry Mrs Nelson,” he twittered to Penny. “I had a hard time getting to the church.”

Penny just nodded. “It’s all right Mr Mulbury, you’re here now, that’s all that matters.”

He walked up the pulpit and put his briefcase on it. He pulled out a piece of paper of it and then walked back around the pulpit, leaving the briefcase where it was.

“Ehhm,” Mr Mulbury coughed. “The last will and testament of Gina Munson goes as follows...”

He read it out, people getting little trinkets and things that were meaningful to them, instructions on what to do with her clothes and other things that wouldn’t be given to friends or family.

And then it came time to divide up her meager savings. “My savings of five thousand dollars will be divided three ways. To Penny, you get a thousand to repair that lovely house of yours. I know you didn’t want anything, but use it for your family, dearest girl. Love you all the best.”

Penny laughed a watery little chuckle. She shook her head fondly.

“To Wayne, you get two thousand dollars to finally get that motor home you always wanted. When the time is right, retire and see the world like you always dreamed of. See the stars, my beautiful boy. You deserve stars.”

Wayne teared up, coming down in rivers down his face. Both Steve and Eddie hugged him tight.

“To Allen, who had squandered every good thing he every had, his loving wife, his devoted son, his talents and his good sense, you get nothing. You deserve nothing. If you are here to hear this, I hope it is because the state of Texas deemed it so, and not because you have been set loose again on the world.”

There was a gasp from those gathered and they descended into harsh whispers as they wondered aloud who got the remaining two thousand dollars.

Mr Mulbury cleared his throat. “Instead the remaining two thousand will be given to your son, Edward. Through your actions that boy has suffered so, and because of your actions he will receive not only the money, but all my love as well. Live your dreams, Eddie. Be that star for your uncle. Shine brighter then even that of Polaris. Butterfly kisses into the sunset, darling boy.”

Now Eddie was crying too. Two thousand wouldn’t get him far, but it could get him started. He raised a shaking hand to his quivering lips. Steve grabbed his shoulder and squeezed it.

Eddie looked over and Steve mouthed, “you deserve it.”

He nodded back.

Finally there were some other little things to be wrapped up in the will and then it was all over.

Everyone stood and Steve looked over at Al for the first time since they entered the church. The man had a smile plastered on his face that sent chills down Steve’s spine. Whenever his father wore that expression it meant trouble for someone, usually Steve.

They mingled for a bit, waiting until Penny’s friend came back to tell her that dinner was ready for them. Penny, Wayne, Steve, and Eddie all clustered together while everyone else gathered in other groups.

People were coming up and telling Eddie how much he deserved the money and how much his grandmother loved him. It made Steve puff out his chest in pride.

Finally Al came over and all four of them stiffened.

“Eddie, my boy!” Al greeted warmly. “You’ve grown so much since I last saw you. You’re spitting image of your old man.” He lifted a handcuffed hand with a jaunty little wave. “I’d hug ya, but I’m on a bit of a leash.”

Penny bristled. “I paid good money for that leash, I’m glad to see it working.”

The men turned to her in shock.

“Did you know,” she said through gritted teeth, “that the state of Texas was going to let him come to the funeral without a guard to make sure he didn’t escape? And that you actually have to pay for that service?”

Al grinned. “Ah...Penny-elle-oh-pee, you shouldn’t have.” His voice dropped low and menacing. “You really shouldn’t have.”

The portly man nudged him with his elbow. Al straightened up, his charming mask firmly in place.

Wayne shook his head. “Al, Al, Al...you never did know when to fold and when to call.”

Al turned to his brother for the first time. “Big brother always watching out for everyone and never getting ahead. How much they pay you at that workhouse? You know the one, the one that took Dad’s life?”

Wayne grinned. “Pretty good considering we union’ed up about five years ago. Which would have known if you actually read any of the letters I sent you. Just like you would have known about what Eddie looks like now...”

Steve hurried to cover his snort, but Al whipped his head his direction.

“And who the hell are you?”

Steve eyed him with a raised eyebrow. “Steve Harrington, my mother is Sophia Kincade, of the Lexington Kincades and a good friend of your son’s.”

Al turned to Penny. “Why he is here with family?”

Wayne bristled. “This is the boy that saved your son during that major earthquake we had earlier this year. Another thing you’d know if you’d read my damn letters. He deserves to be here just as much as you if not more so.”

Just then Penny’s friend came in and told them that dinner was ready for the family.

Al ran his tongue over his teeth and grinned. “Hey, Bernie, how much time have we got?”

The portly man looked at his watch. “We’ve got about an hour before we have to leave to catch our flight.”

Penny furrowed her brow but knew she couldn’t deny him dinner as much as it grated.

The friends that had been at the reading made their goodbyes and soon everyone else was filing into cars.

Penny and her family in her blue Chevy, Steve, Eddie and Wayne in his BMW, and Al and Bernie in an unmarked Crown Vic.

They get to the house and the scents of a home cooked meal waft from the open front door.

They all go sit down at the table, Danny and Wayne pulling out two more chairs for their unwelcomed guests.

Steve was disappointed to see that not only was there enough food to feed Al and Bernie, but that there was enough food to feed a fucking army.

Penny’s friend’s name is Lucy and her daughter Beth is one of Lauren’s friends, too. They’re both blonde with bright blue eyes and curvy bodies.

They are bustling around the table making sure everyone has enough food.

About half way through dinner Al speaks up. “So you still playing that guitar of yours, Ed?”

Eddie stiffened. “I’ve got a red NJ Warlock that I play now.”

“Ooh...fancy,” Al whistled. “You steal it?”

Lauren and Wayne bristled, but Eddie scoffed. “No, but I did steal an RV once while on the run wanted for murder, but they were a bunch of pricks anyway.”

Wayne and Steve stifled a laugh while the rest of the family looked as though they weren’t sure if he was telling the truth or not.

“Cleared of all charges,” Steve added with a sly smile. “Court ruled it extenuating circumstances.”

It was Eddie’s turn to hide his smile in his napkin.

Al’s mood darkened. He didn’t like being out of the inside joke. “You gonna do anything with the talent I gave ya, teaching you how to play on that beat up ‘ole six string?”

This time Eddie rankled. How dare AL imply that he had anything to do with his ability to play guitar? As if the real reason wasn’t sitting right there at the table.

Steve put his hand on Eddie’s shoulder, calming him.

“Was that before or after you taught him how to hotwire a car?” he asked, faux innocence.

Al sputtered.

“See, I always got the impression,” Steve continued, “that instead of teaching Eddie how to play guitar or throw a ball you were too busy trying to make sure your son followed in your footsteps straight into the penitentiary.”

Eddie’s eyes went wide with barely contained glee.

“While Wayne on the other hand,” he said scratching his temple, “was working hard to put on the table, get Eddie through school, and give him the best life he could given the hand you dealt both of them. Now, I’m just some outsider, but I know what it’s like to have a shit dad.”

The room was stock still. Steve didn’t think that they were even breathing at this point, but he pressed on.

“Didn’t fit into the box he built? He hit me. Didn’t get captain my sophomore year, something that had never been done ever? He hit me. Didn’t date the right girl? He hit me. Ditched my asshole friends? He hit me. Now, I don’t know if you’re cut from the same cloth or not. I don’t give a fuck. But you tell another lie like that one to these honest folk, and Officer Bernie here will be taking you back to Texas in a body bag.”

Al jumped to his feet, but before he could even twitch Steve’s direction Bernie whipped out a taser and zapped him with it. Soon he was doing a different kind of twitching.

On the floor.

Bernie began clapping and soon everyone else was too.

Steve blushed. “To think I could have been like that asshole if it wasn’t for getting some sense knocked into me by people who actually gave a damn. I’m sorry he ruined dinner.”

Penny scoffed. “Dinner isn’t ruined. Wayne, Danny please help the kind officer take out the trash.”

Officer Bernie chuckled. “Much appreciated, ma’am.”

Wayne and Danny stood up and helped him take Al back into the Crown Vic.

Wayne went through and made sure that Al didn’t steal anything or had anything that might be a danger to the good officer. He never had trusted Al, even as kids and he sure the hell wasn’t going to start now.

Soon the officer was on his way and the family sat down to eat the dinner that was so wonderfully prepared in peace. Like Gina had always intended.

Wayne smiled at Steve. He was proud of how he had stood up to Al for his boy.

****

Pt 8|Pt 9|Pt 10|Pt 11|Pt 12

Tag list: @spectrum-spectre @estrellami-1 @zerokrox-blog @artiststarme @swimmingbirdrunningrock @gregre369 @pyrohonk ​@a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @chaoticlovingdreamer @messrs-weasley @goodolefashionedloverboi @maya-custodios-dionach @val-from-lawrence @i-must-potato @danili666 @carlyv @rozzieroos @emly03 @wonderland-girl143-blog @justforthedead89 @bookworm0690 @itsall-taken @bookbinderbitch @redfreckledwolf @vecnuthy @littlewildflowerkitten @scheodingers-muppet @mira-jadeamethyst @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @gutterflower77 @genderless-spoon @hel-spawn @ellietheasexylibrarian @anne-bennett-cosplayer @mamafaithful @yikes-a-bee @dragonmama76 @flaming-reauxster

[dragons-bones]

FFXIV Write Entry #6: Promise

Prompt: halcyon || Master Post || On AO3 (coming in October)

A/N: Spoilers for Dawntrail.

---

There are days when Gulool Ja Ja misses when his children were small, precocious things.

Zoraal Ja had had a solemnity about him from a young age, even then the pressure of the court’s expectations hanging heavy on the shoulders of the son of Blessing Siblings. But he had still smiled, rare, precious things, every small tilt of his lips and crinkling of his eyes a treasure to Gulool Ja Ja, as he treasured, too, the little trinkets Zoraal Ja brought back for him from his adventures. His eldest thrived most in the training arena and both Resolve had delighted in teaching Zoraal Ja to wield twin blades, gently guiding him through his first practice motions with wooden practice swords as a hatchling, sparring with him as a stripling when he was finally old enough for live steel. Zoraal Ja had beamed with pride in those days with every word of praise from Resolve or Reason or every congratulatory pat on the head or shoulder.

But despite Gulool Ja Ja’s love, and praise, and the assurances that Zoraal Ja needed to be nothing save himself, the expectations continued to pile on his son’s shoulders, that he needed to be more.

Those had been the days where Tural had been as newborn as Zoraal Ja, too, and Gulool Ja Ja regrets the time taken away from his son that being Dawnservant demanded. Now Zoraal Ja is a young man whose smiles had long since vanished and whose compassion had seemingly withered away, and Gulool Ja Ja can only hope the reserved but happy little boy, the one who had proudly handed him a rock shaped like a wivre, still lives within him.

Koana had also been a reserved little boy, almost painfully shy when he first came home to the palace. He had been Gulool Ja Ja’s faithful shadow, the unspoken fear that he would be left behind once more lurking in his big purple eyes. Teaching him to read and write had seen Koana begin to blossom, however, and Reason had never hesitated to reach for a scroll or book just out of range of the little boy’s chubby arms or answer any question Koana had about what he had read or learned from a tutor or heard around the palace. Always Koana had questions—though never about his people among the Hhetsarro.

It wasn’t until even Reason struggled to keep with Koana’s voracious appetite for learning that Gulool Ja Ja was faced with the knowledge he would need to let his son leave the nest in order for him to thrive. Resolve had fretted, and Reason had soothed, and he had sent many a letter to his old friend Galuf to assess the Studium as an adequate institution for his brilliant boy. But he had seen Koana off to Sharlayan at the docks with pride and an enthusiastic wave and known he would be fine.

His son had brought home many wondrous things to improve Tural, and Gulool Ja Ja is as awed as any of his people by dirigibles and steam engines. Koana had gained confidence in his time away, but Gulool Ja Ja worries his son was blinded by the newness of technological and magical wonders and had lost sight of the brilliance Tural’s own people, that he had not done enough to impart the belief that the past still has wisdom aplenty to guide the present into the future.

Wuk Lamat—his sweet, big-hearted Lamaty’i—had come to be his daughter in secret sorrow, entrusted to him by an old friend. And even as a full grown woman, he would never forget how small she had been as a kitten, nestled in the palm of his hand. She had been such a happy child, and that happiness had followed her into adulthood. Rambunctious, energetic, the terror of the palace; if it hadn’t been himself chasing after his wayward daughter through the halls as she shrieked with laughter, it had been Namikka. Lamaty’i had been a bright ball of sunshine, dragging her older brothers and Cahcuia’s quiet little boy into her games whenever she could.

She had taken to the axe with an enthusiasm that had almost made him leery. But for all her talent and hard work in the training yards, Lamaty’i did not rise to the same level of martial prowess as Zoraal Ja. She made friends easily, effortlessly charming many of the people she met, and she knew the names and families and histories of many of the citizens in Tuliyollal. But empathy and a willingness to listen paled before the intellectual brilliance of Koana.

Gulool Ja Ja should not have been so protective a father with his daughter, should have encouraged her to explore the wilds of their beautiful nation rather than keep her sheltered within the safety of Tuliyollal’s walls. Lamaty’i needs confidence and worldliness still, a deeper understanding of why the elders she listens to so love the Tural of today, of what Tural means.

Gulool Ja Ja misses being able to carry his children in his arms as if they were but little quetzals perched on his shoulders. But the future looms ever closer; age nips at his heels, and as Reason fades and fights with every part of his will to stay with his brother for just one more day, he knows he cannot hold onto the image of his sons and daughter as little innocents. And so he writes to his friends and their own children in Wachenpelo, and Ok’hanu, and Earthenshire, and Iq Br’aax, and Mamook, crafting a Rite to not just test his children—and whomever wins the contest he has planned—but to teach them. To guide them. To mold them.

Gulool Ja Ja is a father, but he is also a ruler, imperfect at both, and he cannot let down the people of Tural anymore than he can his children.

The Dawnservant’s children are called the Promises for a reason. The Promises for an ever better and brighter future.

(But that does not mean, late at night, hunched over the enormous desk in his office, as Reason fights growing weariness and Resolve shifts the stylus from his left hand to his right and moves the lamp closer to his side, that Gulool Ja Ja doesn’t wish he had a tiny, sleeping Lamaty’i  squished into his chair next to him on one side, Koana on the other with a book in his small hands, and Zoraal Ja leaning against his shins while tending to his new blades.)

[southernsolarpunk]

Hey check this out

I was making a zine (solarpunk ofc) and decided to use a bunch of old National Geographic magazines to cut up and use in a scrappy diy scrapbook fashion and of course I started reading them. This one in particular:

It caught my eye because it’s from September 1980 & talks about the Middle East. My brain wonders if they mention Palestine and they do! I copied the text for accessibility, but I put pictures at the end of the original pages.

“Jerusalem: reunited or occupied? The question has divided the city's 400,000 Jews and 100,000 Arabs since Israel annexed East Jerusalem in 1967.

BEIRUT, JANUARY 1975. Armed soldiers lead me through labyrinthine back streets, up a dark stairway to a midnight rendez-vous. Only a bare bulb lights the temporary command post; Yasir Arafat, chairman of the Palestine Liberation Organization, seldom dares spend two days in the same place. “Our argument is not with the Jews” He tells me. "We are both Semites. They have lived with us for centuries. Our enemies are the Zionist colonizers and their backers who insist Palestine belongs to them exclusively.

We Arabs claim deep roots there too."

Two decades ago Palestinians were to be found in United Nations Relief Agency camps at places like Gaza and Jericho, in a forlorn and pitiable state. While Palestinian spokesmen pressed their case in world cap-itals, the loudest voice the world heard was that of terrorists, with whom the word Palestinian came to be associated. Jordan fought a war to curb them. The disintegration of Lebanon was due in part to the thousands of refugees within its borders.

Prospects for peace brightened, however, when President Anwar Sadat of Egypt, most powerful of the Arab countries, made his historic trip to Israel in November 1977. A year later Sadat and Israeli Prime Minister Menachem Begin signed the Camp David accords, a framework for the return of the occupied Sinai Peninsula to Egypt.

The former enemies established diplomatic relations and opened mail, telephone, and airline communications.

The Camp David accords also addressed the all-important Palestinian question but left it vague. Sadat insists that any lasting peace depends on an eventual Palestinian homeland in the Israeli-occupied West Bank and Gaza. Israel agrees to limited autonomy for those regions, but, fearful of a new and hostile Palestinian state suddenly planted on its borders, insists that Israeli troops must maintain security there.

Crowded Rashidiyah refugee camp, set among orange groves south of the ancient Phoenician port of Tyre in Lebanon, lies on the front lines. Frequent pounding by Israeli military jets and warships seeking PLO targets has war-hardened its population, some 13,700 Palestinians.

At the schoolyard I watched a solemn flag raising. Uniformed ashbal, or lion cubs, stood rigid as color guards briskly ran up the green-white-and-black Palestinian flag.

Ranging in age from 8 to 12, they might have been Cub Scouts— except for the loaded rifles they held at present arms. Behind them stood two rows of girls, zaharat, or little flowers. Same age, same weapons.

Over lunch of flat bread, hummus, yo-gurt, and chicken I commented to my hosts, a group of combat-ready fedayeen, that 30 years of bitter war had settled nothing nor gained the Palestinians one inch of their homeland. Was there no peaceful way to press their cause?

"Yes, and we are doing it. Finally, after 30 years, most countries in the United Nations recognize that we too have rights in Palestine. But we feel that until your country stops its unconditional aid to Israel, we have two choices: to fight, or to face an unmarked grave in exile."

AFTER CROSSING the Allenby Bridge from Amman, I drove across the fertile Jordan Valley through Arab Jericho and past some of the controversial new Jewish settlements: Mitzpe Jericho, Tomer, Maale Adumim, Shilat. Then as I climbed through the steep stony hills to Jerusalem, I saw that it too had changed. A ring of high-rise apartments and offices was growing inexorably around the occupied Arab side of the walled town. Within the wall, too, scores of Arab houses had been leveled during extensive reconstruction.

"Already 64 settlements have been built on the West Bank," said a Christian Palestinian agriculturist working for an American church group in Jerusalem. "And another 10 are planned," he said. Unfolding a copy of the master plan prepared in 1978 by the World Zionist Organization, he read: "Real-izing our right to Eretz-Israel... with or without peace, we will have to learn to live with the minorities...

The Israeli Government has reaffirmed the policy. In Prime Minister Menachem Begin's words: "Settlement is an inherent and inalienable right. It is an integral part of our national security."

"Security" is a word deeply etched into the Israeli psyche. The country has lived for 30 years as an armed camp, always on guard against PLO raids and terrorist bombings.

Whenever such incidents occur, the response is quick: even greater retaliation.

In Jerusalem I met with David Eppel, an English-language broadcaster for the Voice of Israel. "We must continue to build this country. Israel is our lawful home, our des-tiny. We have the determination, and an immense pool of talent, to see it through." His cosmopolitan friends a city plan-ner, a psychology professor, an author gathered for coffee and conversation at David's modern apartment on Jerusalem's Leib Yaffe Road.

Amia Lieblich's book, Tin Soldiers on Jerusalem Beach, studies the debilitating effects almost constant war has had on life in the Jewish state, a nation still surrounded by enemies. As she and her husband kindly drove me to my hotel in Arab Jerusalem afterward, some of that national apprehension surfaced in the writer herself.

"We don't often come over to this part of town," she said. "Especially at night."

I DROVE OUT of the Old City in the dark of morning and arrived a few hours later at the nearly finished Israeli frontier post, whence a shuttle bus bounced me through no-man's-land to the Egyptian ter-minal. As a result of the Egyptian-Israeli treaty, it was possible for the first time since 1948 to travel overland from Jerusalem to Cairo. An Egyptian customs man opened my bags on a card table set up in the sand. I took a battered taxi into nearby El Arish, to a sleepy bank that took 45 minutes to convert dollars into Egyptian pounds, Then 1 hired a Mercedes for the

200-mile run across the northern Sinai des-ert, the Suez Canal, and the Nile Delta. By sundown Cairo was mine.

Despite official government optimism, I found many in Cairo worried that President Sadat's bold diplomatic gestures might fail.

The city was noticeably tense as Israel officially opened its new embassy on Mohi el-Din Abu el-Ez Street in Cairo's Dukki quarter. Black-uniformed Egyptian troops guarded the chancery and nearby intersections as the Star of David flew for the first time in an Arab capital. Across town, police with fixed bayonets were posted every ten feet around the American Embassy. Others were posted at the TV station and the larger hotels. Protests were scattered, mostly peaceful. None disturbed the cadence of the city.

Welcoming ever larger delegations of tourists and businessmen from Europe and the U.S., Cairo was busier than ever-and more crowded. Despite a building boom, many Egyptians migrating from the countryside, perhaps 10,000 a month, still find housing only by squatting among tombs at the City of the Dead, the huge old cemetery on the southeast side of the capital.

Even with the new elevated highway and wider bridge across the Nile, half-hour traffic standstills are common. Commuters arrive at Ramses Station riding even the roofs of trains, then cram buses until axles break.

Cairo smog, a corrosive blend of diesel fumes and hot dust from surrounding des-erts, rivals tear gas.

Despite the rampant blessings of prog-ress, Cairo can still charm. In the medieval Khan el-Khalili bazaar near Cairo's thousand-year-old Al-Azhar University, I sought out Ahmad Saadullah's sidewalk café. I found that 30 piasters (45 cents) still brings hot tea, a tall water pipe primed with tobacco and glowing charcoal, and the latest gossip. The turbaned gentleman on the carpeted bench opposite was unusually talk-ative; we dispensed with weather and the high cost of living and got right to politics:

"Of course I am behind President Sadat, but he is taking a great risk. The Israelis have not fully responded. If Sadat fails, no other Arab leader will dare try for peace again for a generation."

Across town at the weekly Akhbar El-Yom newspaper, one of the largest and most widely read in the Middle East, chief editor Abdel-Hamid Abdel-Ghani drove home that same point.

"What worries me most is that President Sadat's agreement with Israel has isolated Egypt from our brother nations," he told me. "When Saudi Arabia broke with us, it was a heavy loss. The Saudis are our close neighbors. Now they have canceled pledges for hundreds of millions in development aid to Egypt. Some 200,000 Egyptians-teach-ers, doctors, engineers live and work in the kingdom.

"And Saudi Arabia, guardian of the holy cities of Mecca and Medina, remains for Muslim Egypt a spiritual homeland."

This magazine was published before my mom was born, and yet the sentiments have basically unchanged. An interesting look at the past, and more proof this didn’t start October 7th. (But imagine my followers already knew that)

[valkyriepirate]

Newt Scamander x Reader One Shot- Christmas at Hogwarts

Summary:  Christmas has come and the students at Hogwarts have returned to their homes for the break. All except you, a Seventh Year Muggleborn staying at Hogwarts for the holidays. It’s Christmas Eve and you’re feeling quite lonely- that is, until your friend Newt Scamander finds you in the dining hall by the fire. Soon you realize that Christmas may be far more magical than you’d hoped. 

Warnings: Fluff overload. :)

Word count: 3.6k words 

A/N: I know I’m posting this fic wayyy after Christmas, but it’s always Newt Scamander season in my heart and I couldn’t resist. ;D

#5- Christmas at Hogwarts

The fire was your only company in all of Hogwarts that night.  

It blazed and crackled in the grate, warm and inviting as a dear friend. You scooted closer, shivering even underneath your thick coat. Your hands seemed incapable of warming up. No matter how close you held them to the fire, the warmth declined to accompany you for long. It was too painful a reminder of your family; like them, the heat pushed you away if you got too close, threatening to sear your skin. Yet too far and it felt like there was not a fire burning at all.  

You swallowed your respite. It was Christmas Eve, and Hogwarts was decorated beautifully- golden tinsel strung along the window frames, evergreen wreaths with large acorns and red bows adorning the doors, and even an enormous pine tree set up in the corner, clothed in a myriad of twinkling lights and shining ornaments. But the décor was just another reminder of how alone you were. Everyone in your House had returned home to loving families and abundant gifts for Christmas- all except you.  

You pulled your (Y/H) scarf tighter, rubbing your face with the soft cloth as you tried to thaw your freezing skin. You refused to let any tears fall. Yes, you were alone, but it was Christmas. There was solace in the good memories you had of years past, and no matter how desolate things seemed, you always felt that the magic in the air was stronger this time of year.  

You had taken to drawing miniature snowmen in the fireplace cinders with your wand when you felt it: something small and warm brushing against your leg. Startled, you looked to the side but saw nothing. Then the same sensation rubbed against your other leg. As you turned, a furry little creature poked its head out from underneath your coat. It looked like a fluffy platypus, with a pink bill, pale feet, and tiny curved claws.  

“Well hello, little fella,” you said, scooping the creature into your hands. It was incredibly soft. “Where did you come from?”

The creature purred as you stroked it tenderly, gazing up at you with shimmering black eyes. You laughed in delight as it scurried up your arm and snuggled between your scarf and your neck.

“Cold, are you?” You tucked in both ends of your scarf, creating a scooped blanket for the creature. “There. Is that better?”

It nuzzled into your neck and you laughed again as its fur tickled you. It was possible it escaped from one of the classrooms, but you didn’t feel the need to return it anywhere- at least, not for now. You felt the weight on your heart begin to lessen. Maybe you wouldn’t be so alone on Christmas Eve after all.  

“Teddy?”

You craned your head around at the familiar voice. You hadn’t heard anyone enter the main hall- in fact, you had been sure you were the only one left in the whole building. As you wondered who it could be, a boy with a swath of ruddy hair emerged from the hall.

“Teddy? Don’t be a scoundrel. I better not catch you stealing any-” The boy stopped when he saw you. “Oh. (Y/N). I didn’t know you were here.”

“I didn’t know you were here either, Newt,” you said, a smile creeping up your face. The presence of your longtime friend was an even greater relief to your solemnity. “What are you doing here?”

He shifted, pulling at his bright yellow Hufflepuff scarf. “I-I came to find Teddy.”

“He’s with me,” you said, patting your scarf. “But I mean, why are you here- not at home with your family? It’s Christmas Eve.”

He didn’t speak for a long time. Eventually he said, “I... may have missed the last train.”

You gaped at him, a disbelieving laugh escaping your lips. “You missed the last train? How?”

He wouldn’t meet your eyes. It occurred to you that maybe he had been withheld from boarding for an unknown reason.  

“I’m sorry,” you said. “I guess it’s just nice not to be alone.” When he didn’t reply, you offered, “Want to sit with me?”

His eyebrows twitched up as if you’d given him an umbrella on a bleak rainy day. Newt was undoubtedly much different than the rest of your friends- he was so incredibly gentle and humble in a way that was rare to find in anyone else. He was always generous in his kindness, but the moment even the smallest kindness was offered him back, he was so unprepared that it almost made you want to laugh.  

He came and sat down a little ways away from you. You patted the floor next to you, beckoning him closer. “Come here. You’ll feel the fire better.”

It was impossible to tell if the redness on his cheeks was a blush or the glow of the fire. Slowly, he scooted to sit next to you.  

“He’s taken a liking to you,” he mumbled. “Teddy, I mean.”

“I think he’s taken more of a liking to my scarf. I can’t say I blame him.”

Newt smiled briefly, staring at the embers on the ground. “Nifflers may pride on materialism, but they know a pure heart when they see one.”

Something about the words warmed your insides. “Where did you find him anyway?” you asked.  

“You could say he’s a family pet.”

“Oh. Your mother keeps magical creatures, right?”

“She breeds Hippogriffs,” said Newt. “Some of the other creatures are...adopted family members.”

You gazed contentedly into the fire. “That sounds nice.”

Newt stole a glance at you, playing with the rim of his cloak. “If I may ask... why are you here, (Y/N)?”

It was your turn to run short of words. The truth was that you were a Muggleborn and your family vehemently disapproved of magic. Some of the professors at Hogwarts had hexed them for years into believing that you went to a boarding school like any other, but last year the truth got out. Your family ordered you to stop attending Hogwarts. When you refused, they said you could stay- so long as you didn’t return home.  

You still loved your family and missed them dearly. But you couldn’t deny the magic in your veins. You couldn’t leave Hogwarts behind, not when it had been your second home for so long. Not when it meant saying goodbye to the friends you had made.  

Instead of saying any of this, you gave Newt an encouraging smile and said, “I couldn’t make it home for the holidays.”

A comfortable silence passed between you two, broken only by the crack and snap of the logs in the fire. In that moment it seemed you had bonded in a way you never had before. There was something about being alone together on a holiday when you were meant to be with everyone that united your shivering hearts. You thought that if it had to be anyone here with you tonight on Christmas Eve, you were glad it was Newt Scamander.

“(Y/N)?” said Newt after a while.

“Yes?”

He seemed to be treading carefully. “How would you like to come to Hogsmeade with me?”

You blinked at him before breaking into a grin. “Do you really mean it?”

“Well, only if it’s something you’d like to do-”

You laid an excited hand on his knee. “That sounds wonderful. What are we waiting for? Let’s go!”

Newt appeared so startled by your touch that he sat frozen in place as you jumped up and bounded down the hall. You stopped at the doors and turned back to face him. “Come on Newt, don’t be a slowpoke,” you said, a teasing tone sliding into your voice. Teddy the Niffler chittered in agreement.  

Blushing deeper, Newt pushed to his feet and followed you down the hall. “Don’t you turn against me now, Teddy.”

If it could have been possible for a Niffler to snicker, he would have. You laughed at the two of them. “Race you to the front gates!”

Newt didn’t have time to reply before you took off. Smiling to himself, he ran after you, the sounds of laughter and clicking soles on stone floors filling the lonely castle with a beautiful kind of music.  

******

The snow had been falling heavily since morning and was settled so thickly across the cobblestone pathway that you felt like you were walking on cotton candy. You were still panting and flushed with heat from your sprint throughout the castle, and the frigid air blowing your hair away from your face was more welcoming in that moment than any fire could have been. Your breaths came out like transparent white clouds as you turned around and triumphantly pumped your fists in the air. “I win!”

Newt, panting just as hard and clutching his side, nodded fervently. You wanted to giggle again at the sight of him- one pant leg rolled a bit higher than the other, his scarf tossed askew around his shoulders, his cloak hanging crookedly around his body. You had to resist an urge to ruffle his already messy hair, which was quickly becoming powdered white with snow.  

You peeked inside your scarf to check on the Niffler. “You alright in there, little buddy?”

The creature’s eyes were wide with exhilaration. He gave you a sweet kiss on the chin and you laughed as its ticklish fur caressed your skin.  

“He’d prefer to be carried all day if you let him,” Newt said, crunching across the snow to you. “Though I’d be careful. He tends to steal shiny things.”

“This little guy, a thief?” you scratched his soft belly. “That couldn’t be.”

“Have you lost anything?”

You playfully bumped him with your elbow. “Got nothing to lose. Come on, we’d better go before they douse the lanterns.”

The snow proved as deep and noncompliant as it looked from afar as you and Newt treaded along the path. Each of your steps sank down until the snow was nearly to your knees, making every few steps quite arduous work. Newt came up with the brilliant idea to magic the both of you a pair of snowshoes, and from then on the going was far easier.  

The two of you were chatting about your semesters, your midterm exams, and your plans after Hogwarts when you reached the hilltop that led down into Hogsmeade village. It looked like a Christmas town, with slanted rooftops layered with snow, light gray smoke trailing from chimneys, and sparkling green-and-red lights along the storefronts. You even spotted a few decorated Christmas trees in windows and in front of squat buildings.  

By then the cold had seeped back into your bones and left you shivering to your core. Newt, dressed similar to you, was clenching his jaw to keep his teeth from chattering. Nothing in the world seemed more appealing right then than to huddle up in one of the Hogsmeade pubs next to a fireplace, preferably with a cup of something hot. But an idea had crept into your mind.  

“What’s that?” you gasped.  

Newt furrowed his brow, searching the scene below. “What?”

“That, down there.”

“The village?”

“No, to the left of it.”

You stepped backward as he stepped forward to see. “The forest?”

“Next to the forest.”

“I’m not sure I understand-”

Newt was cut off as a huge, crude snowball hit him clean in the back with a splat! He jumped, whirling around questioningly, one hand already on his wand. Then he saw your impish grin.  

“Does this mean war?” he asked rather timidly.  

You scooped up more snow and rolled it into a ball. “This means war.”

Newt dove as you aimed the next snowball at him. He gathered one and took aim at you, though his force was poor. The snowball came just short of your feet.  

“Afraid to hit a girl, Scamander?” you teased. “I’m sure Teddy could throw harder than that.”

“I’m only afraid it wouldn’t be very gentlemanly of me,” he said as another of your artillery smacked him on the shoulder.  

“This should be an easy win then!”

The two of you ran down the hill, peppering each other with snowballs, dodging and rolling in the snow, the sound of your laughter sweetening the lonely night air. The ice was numbing your fingers and your sides were aching with exertion, but you didn’t care. You hadn’t had this kind of fun in a long time.  

You darted to a nearby tree to restock when a cluster of snow larger than your head exploded upon the side of your face. You looked up, mouth open, and stared in disbelief at the Hufflepuff.  

“Sorry!” Newt said quickly, eyes wide. “I didn’t mean to hurt you, I-I didn’t realize-”

He was cut off as you whipped out your wand and, grinning from ear to ear, lifted a mountain of snow into the air above his head. With a flick you let it drop, effectively drowning him from head to toe in a small avalanche.  

He burst from the little mountain, sputtering and shaking snow out of his eyes. “You cheated,” he gasped. “Magic.”

“Whoever said there were any rules?”

You granted him a moment to pull himself out of the snow and get back on his feet. He gave you a playfully hesitant look. In the next moment, his wand was in his hand and a fleet of snowballs were soaring towards you.  

You retaliated to match, sending torrents to meet him and diverting his attacks. He’d finally begun to give the competition you were looking for.  

You slipped as he used magic to shift the snow beneath your feet, seeing that he was rolling a snowball large enough to cloak the forest. While he was distracted, you caused a ball to hit him in the back of the head, impeding his focus. In one fell swoop, you made a gust of wind knock him to his knees and destroyed the giant snowball before it could approach you. You waved your wand vivaciously and tiny snowballs about the size of chocolate frogs ambushed him from all sides.  

Newt struggled beneath the attack, but he was unable to gather his wits in the firefight. At last he shouted, “You win! You win! I surrender!”

With a swish the ambush ceased. You strode toward him, tossing your scarf over your shoulder in victory. “I win for the second time tonight, Scamander. You’re off your game.”

Newt looked like he was trying not to smile. “Consider it Christmas spirit. I’m feeling gracious.”

You reached out and dusted some of the snow from his hair. “Perhaps. Or perhaps that’s just an excuse.”

“Perhaps.” His voice turned quiet. You were suddenly aware of how close you two were.  

“Well, as the winner, I should get some kind of prize, don’t you think?” you said.  

He’d been staring at the ground, avoiding prolonged eye contact as he usually did, but now his gaze snapped up to meet yours. “Yes. I suppose so.”

Your heart had begun to thump erratically and you weren’t exactly sure why. It cut through your puckish bravado, stilling your thoughts and making them run wild all at once. He was close enough that you could smell the comforting scent of the fire sunk into his cloak and see the remains of snow still stuck to his eyelashes.  

Newt wasn’t looking at your eyes anymore. He was looking at your lips.  

He’s my friend, you thought. He had been for years. But if he was simply that, why were you suddenly feeling this way?

Your head leaned closer to him ever so infinitesimally. His did the same, as if compelled by some external power. Perhaps it was the magic in the air or even the spirit of Christmas, but you didn’t allow yourself to think about what you did next.  

You took him by the scarf and kissed him.  

You felt a flicker of surprise go through his body, and if you were being honest, you were surprised too. But in the next moment his stiffness melted away and he sank deeper into the kiss. One of his hands came up to cup your face ever so delicately as if you were a dream made of snow that would swirl away in an instant.  

It seemed that you two stood there for hours, yet once you pulled away it felt that less than seconds had passed. You and Newt appeared to be locked in place by each other’s gaze, breaths coming short in little white clouds. He was blushing so profoundly that his cheeks were almost as red as his hair. He took a shaky breath and leaned forward again, and you could sense the insatiable desire that had now awoken within him, how one kiss seemed to open doors to a million thoughts and longings the both of you had stored so deeply within that you hadn’t ever acknowledged it.  

Your lips had barely met for the second time when something furry barged its way in front of your face. Both you and Newt stumbled back, startled. Then you erupted into laughter.

“A jealous one, are you?” you snatched Teddy from where he’d run atop your head and poked him in the side. He warbled indignantly.  

Chuckling, you looked back up at Newt. A grin was plastered on his face that was so broad you truly believed it had the capacity to light a shooting star.  

You stepped closer to him and set Teddy on his shoulder, wrapping the Niffler up in Newt’s scarf. Your fingers lingered on his chest for a moment before you turned your eyes to the ground, feeling heat sweep your cheeks.  

“That was a pretty good reward,” you said bashfully.

“You should win more often,” mumbled Newt. You two would have probably stood there smiling at the ground like idiots for the rest of the night if Teddy hadn’t released a chirp of impatience.  

“He must be cold,” Newt bundled the Niffler underneath his cloak.  

“To the village?” you suggested.

“To the village,” he agreed.  

You two set off on the path you’d been on before, and even though it had to be nearly midnight by now, the moon and stars seemed to shine brighter, and the Christmas lights decorating Hogsmeade Village twinkled with greater joy. As you walked, you felt Newt’s hand brush yours. You slid your fingers into his and the connection sent pleasant shivers up your arm.  

You came upon a homely pub with a sign out front that read THREE BROOMSTICKS INN. Newt held the door open for you and the delicious scent of peppermint eggnog and baked frosted pastries wafted out to the street.  

Despite how quiet the street had been, the pub was bursting with customers, all huddled in groups or pairs, all sipping some heavenly hot beverage that warmed your stomach by its very smell. Deep-bellied laughter echoed off the wooden beams of the arched roof. A cozy fire crackled in the great hearth.  

You ordered two hot butterbeers and sat on the floor in front of the fire. Newt sat next to you, and as soon as he did Teddy scampered out of his scarf and into your lap.  

“Traitor,” Newt whispered, but his voice was so innocent it made you grin.  

The butterbeers came round and you wanted to bathe yourself in its warmth. As the two of you took blessedly long sips, you sighed and rested your head on Newt’s shoulder. Earlier tonight, you had been sitting and staring at a similar fire, thinking about how you’d be alone on Christmas Eve. And while all your friends and house mates would be surrounded by family tomorrow morning, opening their gifts, you knew that you had gotten the best gift of all.  

“Thank you, Newt,” you murmured.  

He blinked. “For what?”

“For being you,” you said. “For being here when no one else was.”

He was quiet for a long time. Eventually he said, “Merry Christmas, (Y/N).”

“Merry Christmas, Newt.”

The two of you sat by the fire so long that you had nearly drifted to sleep on his shoulder. The other customers were singing carols and clinking glasses, and in that moment, you wouldn’t rather be anywhere else.  

The next thing you knew, Newt was gently nudging you awake. You looked up, rubbing sleep from your eyes, at a bundled, slim young man with a head of dark hair covered by a winter hat. Perhaps you were just incredibly sleepy, but he had a striking resemblance to Newt.

He knelt to get on your level. “What am I going to do with you, Newt?” He ruffled Newt’s hair. “Missed the train? Really?”

Newt just smiled. “You came back for me?”

“I can’t very well leave you here for Christmas, can I?” The young man turned his eyes to you. “I’m Theseus. Newt’s brother.”

“(Y/N),” you said.  

Theseus looked between you and Newt, a sly grin creeping up his face. “Would you like to come with us?” he asked.  

“Come with you? Where?”

“Home,” Theseus said simply.  

You glanced at Newt. He was staring at your lips again. He looked up to meet your eyes. “Please,” he said quietly.  

You thought you might melt into a frosty puddle right there on the floor. “I would love that. Very much.”  

“Alright then.” Theseus offered you a hand and pulled you to your feet. He patted his brother’s shoulder. “Left in Hogwarts on Christmas. Just like my brother. Shall we?”

You slung your arm around Newt’s. “We shall.”

Masterlist

[ggomos-maribat]

2 | a girl named Marinette Dupain-Cheng

Part 2 of Marinette Dupain-Cheng is Dead | Masterlist

Tim came rushing into the Batcave with an armful of papers which he dumped by the computer in front of Jason. "I remember now. Why her name was so familiar."

"Lila Rossi's?" Jason looked up at him. Ever since the news blew up, Tim had been visibly restless, like the whole ordeal was a mind-boggling case. Though Jason, too, couldn't quell his own curiosity.

"No, that girl she supposedly killed. Marinette Dupain-Cheng." Tim pulled out a folder from the bottom of the pile and slapped it on top. Jason caught the same name on the case's title. "Her death two years ago was a cold case I found. Damn it, why didn't Damian tell me?"

"And you solved it?"

Tim huffed out. "No, I didn't have the time to go back to cold cases again and it kind of got buried with the other ones."

Jason opened up the folder with one hand and skimmed the content. Both Lila and the 'Marinette' girl were from Paris—he remembered how the media was raving on about the death being a mystery, and Lila, Lilia Ross, must've been involved in it. Of course, there wasn't definite proof as all rumors went.

On the corner of the paper, there was a stapled photo: a girl of East Asian descent, with dark hair and blue eyes. She wore a knit sweater, beaming at the camera with her hands clasped on the strap of her bag.

Just then, Jason heard a ping, followed by a curse from Tim.

"Lilia Ross just posted a video." In an instant, he was right by Jason's side so he could see it too. "Looks like she's addressing the accusations."

"Why would she do that?" Jason knew Bruce got all sorts of backlash too, but not once did he ever seriously address all the rumors since that would be equivalent to admitting they were true.

"Honestly this isn't something she can actually ignore. It blew up pretty badly and the online market is important for her business."

Jason looked at the video in scrutiny. Lilia Ross' setup was simple but still put together: there were brand products displayed in her background along with trinkets on the shelves reminiscent of Paris. The brunette's face seemed solemn, but he couldn't get a read if it was forced or not. The title of the video was short, all caps, bordering on being click-baity—'MY MESSAGE TO EVERYONE...'

"Hi everyone," Lilia managed a small smile. "Recently it has come to my attention that an anonymous poster broadcasted that I'm a suspect for murder. I didn't want to talk about it at first, but I decided to tell everyone the truth not for my sake but for the sake of everyone who was affected by that incident."

"Her name is. . ." She paused as if choked up suddenly. "Her name was Marinette Dupain-Cheng. She was my friend and classmate in collége and lycée back in Paris. Two years ago, she . . . she passed away—they found her near Pont des Arts. We were told it was suicide."

Lilia took a deep breath and her eyes glazed over. Jason wanted to think that she actually looked remorseful. "Well, I should say her parents didn't say anything else other than that so we were kind of left in the dark about the details. But all of us—our class was really close—we're still grieving. If I knew she was hurting that badly, I . . . I would've done something before it was too late. Marinette was a kindhearted girl and we all loved—love—her. She was taken away from us too early."

Her expression shifted from sad to silent rage. "That's why I can't stand people using her name for this useless sensationalism. This is hurting her close friends, her family, everyone who knew her. Please don't bring her up again; give her some peace. She doesn't deserve this kind of treatment. And please think twice before spreading awful rumors about something so serious."

Jason tore his attention away from the video to look at Tim, who had his lips pursed, thinking deeply. Tim set down his phone. "The facts add up with Marinette's case file, but she's lying."

Tim opened up the folder again. "It's true that the police ruled it out as a suicide and there's still a lot of mystery surrounding her death. But based on what I've gathered, Lilia—er, Lila—and Marinette weren't friends."

"What do you mean?"

Tim picked up another folder, showing Marinette's school record. "According to this file, there were some reports of Marinette bullying her classmates, some issues of theft, blackmail, cheating . . . Lila made it seem like she was likable to everyone, which doesn't seem to be the case."

"But if Lila's intention of making the video was to partly clear her own name, obviously she won't badmouth Marinette." Jason frowned.

His brother shrugged. "Yeah, I thought that too. I'm not pointing at Lila as a likely suspect in this, actually. This case is so confusing that if there was actually an answer to it that makes sense, I doubt a then nineteen-year-old girl would've pulled it off by herself."

He sighed exasperatedly. "But then again, anyone could've been the culprit, and that includes Lila."

"Wait, so you're sure it's not suicide then?"

Another presence suddenly entered the cave. Judging by the soft humming, Jason figured that Dick was home from Bludhaven.

The eldest strolled into the room, hands casually in his pockets. "Hey, Alfie told me you guys were down here!" He greeted. "Did you guys see that accusation on Lilia Ross? That was crazy."

Jason stared at him. "You follow Lilia Ross?"

"I see her stuff here and there—I'm not a boomer, you know."

"So you know about everything then." Tim turned to the computer next. "We're investigating the case."

"What case?"

"Marinette Dupain-Cheng's death," Jason replied. "It's one of Replacement's cold cases and Lilia Ross is tied to it."

"So it wasn't suicide?" Dick walked towards the table, eyeing the papers scattered around. "Hold on, tell us everything. From the beginning."

Like the cop he was, Jason could tell that Dick was showing interest in the case as well. If it wasn't something Tim could crack right off the bat, it must be that difficult. Tim began typing things into the large computer, pulling out the case files in digital form to show the two of them.

"Marinette Dupain-Cheng, only child and daughter to Thomas Dupain and Sabine Cheng, who own a bakery in Paris. She died when she was just eighteen years old." Tim presented a few pictures. "Attended Francois Dupont in collége and lycée, the same one Lilia Ross went to . . . they were also classmates with a few other notable people: model Juleka Couffaine, physicist Max Kante, the current director of the Louvre, Alix Kubdel, and others. She had a perfect record up until the end of collége when she started getting tardies and absences, then she had three cases of theft, two of cheating and a few reports of bullying and harassment in lycée. She got suspended twice because of that."

He switched to another file. "And then . . . her death. April sixteenth of their last year in school. Locals found her body in Pont des Arts, near the foot of the bridge. The investigation only lasted about three days, but the police declared it a suicide despite the fact that there was no note found, no signs of tendencies before that day. I don't know if it was her parents' decision, but they didn't investigate any further."

Jason shifted on his seat. There was no clear picture of the body, only a blurry photo taken from far away, showing a motionless figure lying on the bridge, with police tape serving as its barrier. She was still young .  . .

Tim's expression turned grim. "Apart from that, here's where it gets weird. Her parents consented for an autopsy and I dug around for the file. They found nothing significant."

"Nothing significant?" Dick echoed.

"As in nothing. No marks on her skin, no sign of injury, no organ failure, no traces of drugs or poison anywhere, no fingerprints, no DNA other than hers." Tim clenched his jaw. "Nothing. Which means . . ."

"They didn't know the cause of death," Jason continued for him.

"Yes, but she was deceased. Only they didn't find out how and they couldn't even estimate the time of death."

"Maybe the coroner faked the report?" Dick suggested.

Jason crossed his arms. "Yeah, but if they wanted to cover up something, then they would've written a fake cause of death, right?"

"Exactly," Tim agreed. "Literally all it says on paper is 'no significant findings. Cause of death unknown'. That's all!"

"So if they don't know the cause of death and there was no note . . . they can't just say it was suicide," Dick concluded.

"Could they just have missed something?" Jason asked Tim.

"That's a possibility, but I'm not convinced it's a suicide with so many things unaccounted for. An accident or suicide would've left some kind of clue, which this case lacks. With evidence this meticulously covered up, it must be predetermined. Homicide."

"Is that why Lilia Ross was accused?" Dick wondered out loud.

"According to the anonymous post, she allegedly tormented Marinette which makes her a suspect in her death," Tim explained. "There's no evidence pointing to her though. Like I said, there's no evidence at all. Since the investigation period was so short, the police never questioned anyone other than her parents so even if her classmates had something to say about it, there was never a record."

"What about the cameras?" Dick said.

Tim looked a tad bit insulted. "You think I didn't check?"

He quickly opened up more files, video feeds of the day of the incident. The cameras didn't quite give a clear view of the bridge itself, only the roads on either side of it. "No sightings of Marinette or anything weird. Before, during and after the body was found . . . just a small crowd from the commotion. Marinette was last seen alive the morning before, but the cameras caught her going home but not going out after."

Jason searched the feed for anything out of the ordinary but unsurprisingly, nothing stood out for him. "What about her parents? What did they say?"

"They . . . they said Marinette was always stressed out and busy but they never thought she'd resort to suicide. She seemed normal the day before," Tim answered solemnly. "They saw her coming back home but didn't catch her leaving, but apparently she had a habit of sneaking out sometimes."

They all fell silent, seemingly at a loss on how to resolve all their questions. Jason couldn't wrap his head around the whole thing because it all appeared like the impossible did in fact happen. How did she get to the bridge? How did she even die? If there was a killer then why would they . . .?

Then Jason noticed Tim looking at him.

"What?"

"Bruce only asked me to look into this. Why are you so invested?" Tim leaned against the table.

"Why does the reason matter?"

"Like . . . I'd expect you to say something like 'leave the dead to rest in peace' or something like that."

Jason snorted. "First of all, as the spokesperson of the dead, I wouldn't say something like that. More like 'the dead need the living to bring justice for them.'" He averted his gaze. "And secondly, I want to know more. No, I want the truth because . . . because I think I've seen Marinette before."

Taglist: @hammalammadamdam

[cillivnz]

𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐬 𝐜𝐞𝐭 𝐞𝐧𝐟𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐮 𝐞𝐬 𝐦𝐨𝐧 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐬 [𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐬 𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐝𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐭]

CHAPTER ONE —— AFTERMATH

warnings. angst, gore descriptions, torture, mentions of death, stabbing, shooting; basically your average 14 minutes into a john wick movie.

a/n. occasionally updating the preliminaries post of this series as deemed necessary. all warnings and details would be mentioned in that post. note, this is a slow burn (emphasis on slow). i hope you enjoy reading this short chapter, i promise it’ll get better. this one’s for the anon who wanted angst, i owe it all to you, honey. <3 pardon any inaccurate translations.

notes. Rehneyr Corsioni [OC] — ex-associate of reader’s father. Edgar Corsioni [OC] — Rehneyr’s son.

TRANSLATIONS. mon ange — my angel; tenez-moi — hold me; va te faire foutre — fuck you/fuck off; “Écoute, si tu parviens à répondre, tu seras libre de vivre ce qui reste de ta vie pathétique.” — Look, if you manage to answer, you will be free to live whatever is left of your pathetic life; “Sing, pute.” — Sing, bitch; “Je ne ferais jamais ça.” — I would never do that; “Laisse moi ici,” — Leave me here;

Clustering sounds beside you were your alarm. Your eyes fought to get adjusted to your dimly lit surroundings, in a panic, you shot up from the bed. Bed? You were uncertain of where you were, until you saw a tall figure hulking, with his back towards you. As if sensing your inquisitive eyes on him, he turned around, a solemn expression on his face, plump lips sealed tight, yet his gaze softened at the sight of you. “Good… morning.” He said shaking his head, it seemed like he wasn’t too fond of his words, considering the sun set a few hours ago. You took a moment to look down at yourself, wearing an oversized, white silk shirt, and your panties. “I took the liberty of cleaning you, I’m sorry, ange.” He was avoiding your gaze, looking at the foot of the bed. “It’s okay, Vince.” “I appreciate you.” Your voice was soft, just a whisper lingering in the breeze.

“You need to rest.” He spoke with an authoritative concern. “I can’t, I just woke up.” You let out something along the lines of a chuckle and a scoff. “Lie down.” He raised his brows, a pleading look on his handsome face. “Lie down with me.” You quirked a brow, not anticipating the flush on his cheeks to be so prominent. “If, uh, if that’s what you want, ange.” He dare not look at you while discarding his jacket, slowly climbing beside you in the queen-size bed, long legs almost swinging out of it; the long bed that sufficiently accommodated you, failed to do the same for him.

Perplexity. Life had a way of arousing it, for life is a gland and these shitty plotholes are the hormones it secrets into your bloody life. A day ago, you mourned the loss of your family, this man, one who vowed service to your father, abandoned him when he needed him the most; when you needed him the most — but he’s here now, isn’t he? You should’ve been mad, hell, he of all people knew the degree of your wrath once unleashed, but you couldn’t be mad at your Vince, not when he sank into the mattress, beside you, pressing himself against you, tauntingly gently, reluctant on whether to be a bit selfish and let his arm rest on your waist, close all humane proximity between you two, and let whatever warmth he still possessed, even if it came from the fiery depths of hell he was certain to burn in, creep onto you.

You noticed this reluctance, despite not facing him. You couldn’t, you feared what you’d do once you’d catch those ocean eyes of his staring into the depths of your soul, digging an abyss into it with his piercing gaze, creating his personal hell inside of you.

“Vincent,” you whispered. “Yes, mon ange.” His soft voice whispered. “Tenez-moi.” Finally, the hesitant arm found homage, snakes around your waist, pressing his godly body against yours. The grip was possessive, permanent, and above all, right. Nothing has ever felt so right, to both of you. In that moment you knew, Vincent would fight heaven and back for you, in your name, whatever it takes.

Amidst your sleep, you heard agonising whimpers from behind you. Both of Vincent’s hands were on your hips, like the fullness of them was comforting. “Ange,” He shivered a whimper, grip tightening around your hips, squeezing them in fear, fear of whatever horror he saw behind those eyes shut tight.

“It’s okay, Vince. I’m not going anywhere.” You whispered, fingered grazing the veins on his large hands. He seemed to lean into your touch, crouching so his head could rest on your shoulder. ‘Not now, not ever.’ You meant to say, but you’re never had a way with words, a knotted tongue and a betraying body.

When morning came, so did the hellhounds. Jolting up at the sound of gunfire, your first thought was if Vincent got hurt, but not seeing him in bed with you as you’d requested, somehow, hurt more than what you’d knew a shot to the heart would. Getting up from the sheets in a frenzy, you reach for your 9mm and rush to the window. The sight below was three men circling in on one Vincent. Three armed men, and one Vincent with his weapon on the ground. You aim at the thug on the left — headshot; right, headshot, leaving the big boy with one man to knock down, a piece of cake, considering the boy was 6’4. He looked back at you, a grin plastered on his beautiful face, before he turned to the man in-front of him and tackled the shooter to the ground. “Atta boy.” You yelled out the window, before heading down to assist him.

‘Torturing’ is what an amateur would call it. You, on the other hand, say it like it is. ‘Information extraction’, it is. That’s truly how simple it is, the good ol’ human compliance, cooperation. You wouldn’t want to be a sinful Pinocchio and say you didn’t enjoy it when they didn’t, however. A challenge, hellions and rascals, and you loved brat-taming. Foreseeable, was this sight. A man stripped to the bone, tied in razor blade ropes of bondage, bleeding rivers of crimson at the hands of you and your beloved. Friend. Beloved friend.

“Tell us who sent you.” Vincent demanded, the tone of his voice was enough to snap you out of your sinister daze and let gooseflesh arise. “Va te faire foutre.” The son of a bitch had the audacity to retort. “Écoute, si tu parviens à répondre, tu seras libre de vivre ce qui reste de ta vie pathétique.” You sigh, rubbing the bridge of your nose in annoyance. The bastard spitting on your face was the last straw for Vincent, who conjured a knife from an apparent holster and grabbed the perpetrator by his short hair. “If you won’t talk,” he said, slashing the man’s throat in one swift stroke, “Sing, pute.”

Fear, for the first time, as the evening sun made feeble attempts to paint the perpetrator’s etiolating face a hue of tangerine, gargling on his own blood, he managed to weakly reveal, “Corsioni,” before leaving this realm, leaving behind no legacy in a maggot’s world, but a mess for you and Vincent to clean.

Rehneyr Corsioni, an associate of your father’s. You remember talk amongst your mother and his wife of a marriage (of convenience) between you and his son, Edgar. “Je ne ferais jamais ça.” You’d scowl at the sound of his name. He had his Russian mother’s face and his Italian father’s eyes, his skin and her hair. A lethal combination, something many a woman has succumbed to in the past, but not you. You had your own plans involving a very mercurial and brooding Parisian boy. His fawn hair, his blue-green eyes; you’d decided to call the colour a shade of Turkish blue. Looking at him now, dried blood splatters tainting his face, you noticed he hasn’t changed much. He was still your Vince, right?

After ridding yourselves of the body, Vincent and you stayed outdoors, staring into the wisteria horizon; at the ravens flying into the greenery and at the bats flying north. “How are you holding up?” He asked you, breaking the silence after minutes of staring at you, a habit you’ve noticed him picking up. “All things considered…” you paused, peering into the sky as if the clouds were etched in your answers. “I’m just glad you’re with me, Vince.” You turn to him, resting your head on his shoulder.

May you be damned for finding solace in this state, but were you really to be blamed when tonight’s the first time he’s lowered his walls? Just enough for you to hop over, or sit atop them prettily. “About that,” he inched away a little, causing you to raise your head, tilting in confusion. “I think you should leave.” He spoke, his words were choked by uncertainty and his brows furrowed at how pathetic he sounded. “What?” Your voice was barely a whisper. “America. Stay there for a bit, lay low, or even find contracts. Laisse moi ici, just until things pacify.”

Pacify? What was left to assuage in this city of ruins? “Vincent, there’s nothing left for me here — for us, here.” You began reasoning, eyes flickering from his face, to his hands. When he blatantly refused to meet your gaze, you grabbed one of his hands, the whole of your hand seemingly elfin in his large ones. This act forced him to stare you down, unlike he does voluntarily, from time to time; this instance, you had to force him to look you in the eye.

“I’ve already booked a ticket, an apartment, clothes, everything— you don’t have to worry about none of that.” He tightened his hold on your hand, grabbing the other, too. “Please, Ange. I need you to do this.” He beseeched. Never had you ever seen such a pleading look on his face, agony whirling in his eyes. “For me?”

For him you found yourself on a plane to New York, tears threatening to break the dam of dignity in your eyes and flood away as you reminisce about his arms that wrapped around you the night before, and the way he leaned in but pulled away in the blink of an eye, muttering curses, unheard of by you, but the twitch of his mouth and the tearing up of his eyes didn’t go unnoticed by you.

If your departure meant more to Vincent than he was letting on, why was he adamant on sending you away, and what wrath will the city of Paris go through now at the hands of a man apoplectic with provoked rage? Unfortunately, you couldn’t see for yourself, so, you let sleep cradle your being and drift off to some unconscious safe haven.

[ninadove]

Nina reads Dracula 🦇

August 24th

THE LOVERS HAVE REUNITED 🎉🎉🎉

I found my dear one, oh, so thin and pale and weak-looking. All the resolution has gone out of his dear eyes, and that quiet dignity which I told you was in his face has vanished. He is only a wreck of himself, and he does not remember anything that has happened to him for a long time past. At least, he wants me to believe so, and I shall never ask.

But at least he has you 🥺 (and Lucy didn’t suck your blood before you could leave)

'Wilhelmina'—I knew then that he was in deadly earnest, for he has never called me by that name since he asked me to marry him—'you know, dear, my ideas of the trust between husband and wife: there should be no secret, no concealment. I have had a great shock, and when I try to think of what it is I feel my head spin round, and I do not know if it was all real or the dreaming of a madman. You know I have had brain fever, and that is to be mad. The secret is here, and I do not want to know it. I want to take up my life here, with our marriage.'

They are so sweet 💜

'Are you willing, Wilhelmina, to share my ignorance? Here is the book. Take it and keep it, read it if you will, but never let me know; unless, indeed, some solemn duty should come upon me to go back to the bitter hours, asleep or awake, sane or mad, recorded here.' He fell back exhausted, and I put the book under his pillow, and kissed him.

LOOK AT THEM

Lucy, the time has come and gone. I feel very solemn, but very, very happy. Jonathan woke a little after the hour, and all was ready, and he sat up in bed, propped up with pillows. He answered his 'I will' firmly and strongly. I could hardly speak; my heart was so full that even those words seemed to choke me.

THEY ARE MARRIED 🎉🎉🎉

When the chaplain and the sisters had left me alone with my husband—oh, Lucy, it is the first time I have written the words 'my husband'—left me alone with my husband, I took the book from under his pillow, and wrapped it up in white paper, and tied it with a little bit of pale blue ribbon which was round my neck, and sealed it over the knot with sealing-wax, and for my seal I used my wedding ring. Then I kissed it and showed it to my husband, and told him that I would keep it so, and then it would be an outward and visible sign for us all our lives that we trusted each other; that I would never open it unless it were for his own dear sake or for the sake of some stern duty. Then he took my hand in his, and oh, Lucy, it was the first time he took his wife's hand, and said that it was the dearest thing in all the wide world, and that he would go through all the past again to win it, if need be.

That is in fact the dearest thing in all the wide world, and such wonderful fuel for the Timeloop Enjoyers.

Lucy dear, do you know why I tell you all this? It is not only because it is all sweet to me, but because you have been, and are, very dear to me. It was my privilege to be your friend and guide when you came from the schoolroom to prepare for the world of life. I want you to see now, and with the eyes of a very happy wife, whither duty has led me; so that in your own married life you too may be all happy as I am. My dear, please Almighty God, your life may be all it promises: a long day of sunshine, with no harsh wind, no forgetting duty, no distrust. I must not wish you no pain, for that can never be; but I do hope you will be always as happy as I am now. Good-bye, my dear. I shall post this at once, and, perhaps, write you very soon again. I must stop, for Jonathan is waking—I must attend to my husband!

Your ever-loving

MINA HARKER.

Stop it I am going to cry for so many different reasons

Meanwhile Lucy:

I must imitate Mina, and keep writing things down. Then we can have long talks when we do meet. I wonder when it will be. I wish she were with me again, for I feel so unhappy. Last night I seemed to be dreaming again just as I was at Whitby. Perhaps it is the change of air, or getting home again. It is all dark and horrid to me, for I can remember nothing; but I am full of vague fear, and I feel so weak and worn out. When Arthur came to lunch he looked quite grieved when he saw me, and I hadn't the spirit to try to be cheerful. I wonder if I could sleep in mother's room to-night. I shall make an excuse and try.

IS NOT HELPING KEEP THE TEARS UNDER CONTROL

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[dollfxcx]

SUB PENNY.

sorry it took this long, was busy with work!! [btw this is still heat mkay? I love heat penny. beginning is slightly similar to the last fic I posted but not that much. and since it wasn't specified I gave him his tentacle back, ayup]

TW: NSFW, blood & blades (mentioned)

Word count: (1.9k+)

Pennywise whines to himself as he curls up in the corner of your room. He's built a sort of nest out of some of your old clothes and has been perched there for nearly three days now, purring and whimpering most of the time. He'd been away for a week, hunting and feeding the whole time, and then he came back to you, not seeming to even want to move a muscle. When you look up from the book you're reading, you notice how he's staring at you, blue eyes half hidden in his fluffy clown collar.

"Will you tell me what's wrong?" you ask, snapping your reading to a close, he grunts and curls up even more, turning his back to you.

"Come on, tell me. What is it?" Pennywise lets out another whimper.

"Heat." is the only word you hear him say before an evil blush spreads across your cheeks.

"You're– What???" you squeal in amazement, he glares at you over his shoulder before moving back into the nest to make room for you to lay down next to him. At his invitation, you snuggle against his chest, which rises and falls in emulation of a human breath he doesn't really need, and you stroke his hair, which makes his purring increase, after a few minutes of cuddling, Pennywise whines again.

"What can I do to make you feel better?" He shrugs and sighs.

"It will go away. It will all go away."

"What do you mean?" your fingers comb his ginger locks, he babbles to himself for a full minute before he decides to speak.

"The Hibernation." pronouncing those words seems to cost him an almost physical effort, as if his lips didn't want to open to let out those necessary words.

"And that would be..?" you know he doesn't like questions that are too pressing, but you try anyway.

"After a whole year of hunting, the Hibernation takes place. It's like a reset of your… computers. I won't remember almost anything as I’ll sleep for 27 years. And I'll start over." the explanation is terse, harsh, cruel, your back stiffens at the revelation.

"Will you forget that we..?" you ask, hoping for an answer that won't break your heart.

"Yes. I'll forget the whole experience and the things I've learned from you, the feelings I've had." he speaks slowly, the clown facade long abandoned.

"Well, what about me? Are you just gonna leave me behind and expect me to pretend like nothing happened?" it hurts to ask, you feel his arms wrap around your waist, making him groan at the contact.

"Not if you agree to be my mate." Your heart is pounding at the revelation and you know he can feel it, but still he seems utterly helpless, almost tired.

"I thought I already was." you state, earning yourself an almost amazed look, veiled in disbelief at your own stupidity and ignorance.

"Oh, did you mean like... mating? Like, having babies?" Pennywise sighs, exasperated, his blue eyes meet yours and you feel yourself drowning in them.

"Being us of different species, even if we wanted to, it's not possible to reproduce."

"Why not?"

"It's just not." You lower your head and nod, you don't know why, your fingers gently caress his forearms, eliciting a satisfied moan from him.

"Then what am I supposed to do to show you I… want to? That I agree?" for an instant you seem to see disbelief in his gaze, as if he can't believe the fact that you're willing to do this, to really belong to him.

"After the mating process, there is a ritual to be performed. Blood exchange, which from two floods becomes one. And like the latter, we will be one. That implies you adjusting to my timetables as I can’t change my nature. But I can change yours." his tone would be solemn were it not interrupted by whines and, you could swear, expectant sighs.

"You could have just asked right away." you smile at him, running a finger along his cheekbone so slowly that he trembles under your touch.

"Get on the bed, honey." you suggest, which makes a sigh escape his lips, but he does as you ask, with every step, with every part of his body that comes into contact with something else, he almost moans. He slowly lays down on the mattress, on his back, looking for you with his eyes as if he were lost. You hoist yourself on him with calculated, almost malevolent slowness, eliciting a strangled moan from him. Your hands trail across his chest, caressing him gently, you feel his skin stretch under your fingertips, the power you now have over him, as he's completely at your mercy, is intoxicating. You smile to yourself and place your lips on his quickly, action he doesn't appreciate as, with that abruptly broken contact, he gives you a look between annoyed and exasperated.

"Now you have to be good for me, otherwise I won't be able to help you. Do you think you can?" you ask, your hands slide towards his neck to undo the collar of his costume, he growls softly at the request. You know it's not in his comfort zone not to be in charge, but you also know very well that he needs this, needs what you're about to do. Unfastened the collar, you go on to unbutton the costume, which slips off him with a pleasant rustle, revealing a slender and very, very pale body, white like his face yet reddened on his chest by the overwhelming expectation that boils underneath it.

"Pretty." you murmur, your fingers running down his torso, causing him to tremble and shiver. You lean forward slightly to press your lips on his cold skin, starting from his neck and slowly descending to his navel, occasionally sucking on it to make him choke on a longing sigh.

“Y/n…” he grumbles, eyes narrowed, fists along his sides in a vain attempt not to lose his mind.

"Yes, sweetie?" He doesn't answer you, he just keeps repeating your name, only stopping to complain. You step off his lap to make it easier for you to slip off his pants, you're surprised he hasn't yet made them disappear into thin air like he usually does, but apparently he's too caught up in his longing-filled oblivion to remember. When you succeed in the action (not easily, given the obscene length of his legs), he's already hard. You expected his cock to be like last time, tentacle-like, yet now it's almost normal, pale exactly like the rest of his body except for the blush pink tip, he's twitching pleasantly, which makes you throb just at the sight. Snapping back to reality, you wrap your hands around his thighs, harder than you should, perhaps, causing him to whine loudly, and push them towards his chest, his arms moving below his knees to hold them in an almost fetal position. With his legs no longer hindering your movements, you lean forward and wrap your fingers around his cock, hearing him inhale sharply.

"You're being really good, have a little more patience, mh?" your lips settle on his swollen tip, hurriedly kissing it, and then you start caressing his cock with your finger tip, slowly moving it up and down along its entire length, his hips thrusting down in the hope and need of more contact. At his action, your hand tightens firmly around his base in warning, Pennywise whimpers softly as he tries to thrust into your hand.

"I know, I know, it must be really hard, right? Can you tell me how much you want me to help you? How much you want me?" you get on your knees and lean towards his body, which is already shaking uncontrollably.

"Y/n. Y/n. Y/n." he says, again and again, over and over, his hands gripping the sheets tightly.

"Tell me, Penny. Use that pretty mouth of yours for me." Pennywise rolls his hips in exasperation, you see how his teeth are getting sharper, how drool is dripping eagerly from his lower lip and, if you didn't have a strong will, you'd be willing to give him his way. But you won't, it's your chance to make him pay at least a little.

"Please. Please." he mumbles after a few minutes, you know it cost him to say it, but you appreciate the effort and right now you just want to please him. Still holding yourself on your knees, you begin to sink on his cock, your thighs rubbing against the back of his on the way down, your hands tightening around his legs to keep them in place, pressed tightly against his chest. It really looks like you're about to fuck him, as if you have your own cock well sunk into him, spreading him and opening him wide. What is actually happening is far from it, but you like to imagine it, how he would wrap around you as you pound into him. You hear him moan and burble in a language you don't know, his legs are visibly shaking, his cock inside you twitches pleasantly. Pennywise gasps as you begin to rock your hips back and forth, just as if you're thrusting into him, your clit rubbing perfectly against his crotch, eliciting a moan from you, your nails digging into the flesh of his spread thighs. His body is beautifully flushed, moist with sweat, the sighs coming out of his throat, so shameless, would be enough to make you cum immediately, but you force yourself to hold back, it's still a rare thing that Pennywise lets go this much and you have no intention of ending it prematurely. Your thighs slam against his, the noise it causes, like wet slaps, echoing around the room so loud it makes your ears ring. Pennywise sobs, eyes narrowed as he continues to curse in his native language, you comfort him, cooing, moving more slowly, letting your cunt tighten around his cock and stimulating him to a much needed orgasm.

"Come on, Penny. There's no reason to hold back." you reassure him, he spills his release soon after, filling you entirely, with so much unexpected force that you let go of his legs, which fall heavily to your sides, thus allowing him to thrust inside you a few more times, pumping his cum inside of you. His flushed cheeks and tousled hair is a sight you never expected to see, but you don't get too lost in the view as Pennywise grabs you by the wrist, pulling you back into his lap. He materializes a small blade out of thin air and points it at your left hand.

"Open." he intimates you, his voice is hoarse from crying out and screaming. You do as he tells you and he sinks the blade into your flesh, thick drops of blood flow from your fresh wound. With the same weapon, he does the same with his hand, his blood flies, floats, in the air in reddish droplets. After that, he takes your injured hand, pressing his torn palm against yours, muttering words you can't understand.

"My blood is your blood and now we are one." he then tells you, probably translating previous invocations of his, and you repeat word for word, causing his purring to resume merrily. You look at him and he looks at you for a seemingly interminable moment, the silence broken by Pennywise as he brushes a strand of hair away from your face.

"Thank you." it's the only thing he says, it's the first time his lips have uttered those words. He kisses your forehead affectionately, silently, his purr makes you feel drunk. It's only when your eyelids start to close, your cheek pressed against his chest as you lay on top of him in your bed, that you hear him speak.

"You are mine now." You sigh peacefully.

"I always have been."

-----

[I'm going on holiday and I'll be back by the middle of august, not ignoring your requests, if you sent any, just a bit of patience!!]

[anchoragehq]

BAD LUCK NEVER LOST A RACE .

INFORMATION FOR TAG LURKERS / PROSPECTIVE MEMBERS :

our goal is to involve new people in the group as much as possible. there are many open & wanted spaces, especially for roles. at the moment, we are searching for :

MEMBERS OF THE ORDER OF THE SCARLET NIGHTMARE, specifically the recruiter & job positions filled for the single carrot theater

for every new member that joins, you will have the opportunity to be included in the follow-up to this plot drop. this means every new member will have a role in the plot drop.

HOW SELECTION WORKS :

generally, we have written the plot drop & its injuries / transpirations with what we’ve come to know about the muse(s) who were randomly selected in mind & their previous threads. however, if we ever dictate an action that you deem ill-fitting of your muse, you can ignore it entirely or ask for an amendment you deem most fitting. we want this to be fun & what we write is only meant to be the starting point.

our selection was entirely random for part of the plot drop, but some muses were determined through hand-picked selections. we always use a random team generator to determine who will receive injuries or starter lottery. we have over seventy muses & bars in place to keep some from being picked too many times consecutively. 

major injuries & death, if any, are hand-selected on the basis of the butterfly effect this time, per our notes about the plot progressions, individual & group-centric, of muses. we keep track of these as much as we can & take note of anything significant that could be utilized.

our major plot points this time were hand-selected based on prior plot progressions or discussions. writers selected for major plot points will sit out for the plot drop call for our halloween special.

for fairness, any one muse who has been selected at random three times for a plot drop in a row will sit out the next random selection. there are no triple crown muses at this time.

THE GUIDELINES FOR MEMBERS & THREADS :

the first open starter will be our icebreaker. after that, please abide the starter rule ! please only post open starters that pertain to the plot drop at this time & follow the in-game dates provided below !

you may still post exclusives outside of the realm of the plot drop and/or continue older threads.

we ask you refrain from controlling the NPCs themselves other than what is established. 

there’s many possibilities for starters, as those not grouped together or selected can be reacting to these events around town. if you need suggestions, feel free to DM us or ask.

OOC THIS EVENT WILL LAST : until wednesday, october 2nd. after this date, please refrain from more starters pertaining to the plot drop — but of course the plot drop itself will hold affect on all muses exploring the aftermath & moving forward.

a follow-up will be posted regarding all plot drop transpirations a few days after the plot drop ends.

THE IN-GAME DATE IS : september 26th to october 1st. if corresponding to a specific event, we've provided the explicit date it occurred. if unspecified, please select your own.

BEWARE THE FOLLOWING ... body horror tw.

AUTUMN IS IN THE AIR IN ANCHORAGE — as is the consistent fog rolling in from the harbor to cloak the docks and the streets in hours undisturbed by heavy foot traffic. the solemnity has disturbed archaic spirits, if you believe in the supernatural. you know what they say about WALKING UNDER LADDERS. whether or not superstition is to be believed, it came true & caught up to one unlucky customer in criminal records one september midday. as fingers explored the spines of vinyl during a flash sale, a ladder descends from the storage loft above & begins a relentless assault on estelle de chagny. witness to the horror was haerin mae-nava'i, min kim & kyo ha-sun, but they were unable to reel it in on their own. a surgeon, bastien moreau, on the scene was able to identify the fallen damsel as suffering a mild spinal compression fracture ... oh, & you remember what your mother said about STEPPING ON CRACKS IN THE SIDEWALK, right ?? THE FUNK OF FORTY-THOUSAND YEARS HAS BEEN SLOWLY SEEPING FROM THE SEWERS outside of single carrot theatre. the city council has been turning a blind eye to the town's burgeoning sewer system problem. each year, the steady rains of autumn begin to fill up the grates. during an intermission of the opening night for casanova on september 27th, a lone actress ventures for a quick breath of fresh air. careless, angelique jackson perches over the noxious sewer grate. without warning, a blood-curdling scream cuts through the air. she realizes that the vibrato is beneath the soles of her feet & as she bends down to inspect it, a FACE emerges from the water near to its surface & wraps ghastly fingers around the grate. before the eyes of the theatre's star attraction, the face morphs from adisorn tayen's to that of monique jackson, the virago letting out a wail, "HELP ME !!!" in a fit of panic, angelique shoves the head of her twin underneath the water until the spasming & contorting of limbs stops. bubbles froth to the surface, & when she dares to look again, whatever it was has disappeared. i guess she crossed A BLACK CAT IN THE ROAD RECENTLY. A MYSTERIOUS FELINE FORGED OF CHARCOAL & INK SPILLS perches in mei ruan's lap as they reside over the closing discussion of september's book club, two days later. rain pounds against the windows, begging for a front row seat as they all ( blue nataphon maes, bryn ravencroft, sol-ip boo, freya chen & sky chun ) turn their pages to the author's note in the thriller novel. the words have been scribbled over in a crude red. it smells like corn syrup & it's still wet ... each book has the same word : DUCK, DUCK, DUCK, DUCK, DUCK ... a folded-up slip of paper from the front cover of thriller novella order of death slips its way to taeyoung yoon's side of the table at joker's casino, taped to the face of a joker card. AJAX, HOW ABOUT A LITTLE GRUNT WORK TO GET YOU BACK IN THE GROOVE ? RELEASE ALL THE ANIMALS FROM THE HAPPIEST PLACE ON EARTH … - SCARLET. on the first evening of october, happy villagers vet clinic is silent except for the distant symphony of restless patients. eliana moschetti is working alone at three in the morning to finish a slew of important paperwork when she hears unidentified objects clattering to the floor ... initially, she thinks it is one of the mannequin models tipping over. as she opens the door to the backroom, the cacophony reaches a fugue as the cats & dogs & miscellaneous small animals erupt from their cubbies, rampaging through the building. knocked over, she sustains minor scratches & fights to get back on her feet. amidst collecting supplies in futile effort to contain the runaway animals, a scalpel pierces through the palm of her hand. vet technicians were befuddled when the offending scalpel in question had disappeared the next morning ...

[9cl]

Here are six+ songs that i've been loving and living daily trying my best not to let it seep into a permanent state of ennui. Some songs that make my heart move more than others or just otherwise songs that are extremely special to me emotionally. Thankyou for the tag @silic0n0asis <3💭 i might do more than six But i think thats allowed

1. Just posted lyrics to a song by this artist. Im linking it below. and it really makes me so sad and melancholic but also just makes me feel so excited. It's the right mix. I'll add another one i'm thinking of right after this one

2. This one is just plain wonderful. it brings back this intense wistful joy it smells like fresh laundy on a rainy day. An intense feeling of belonging. A love for the life that surrounded me. a really crazy headrush joy that reminds me of surfing Satellite tv for the first time in my life. Satellites and satellite dishes became extrenely important to me. Something about being able to escape and enter an unknown parallel world. Moving somewhere not knowing when it'll stop and not caring. At least visually during this era (2020) satellites were like a source of comfort for me, like being hooked up to a big wired world that i could manipulate through my little terminal

3. This song just feels like a lovesick midnight. In almost point black-blue darkness w/ visual snow clouding your entire surroundings. Just sitting there gleeful and enjoying the present. Something that nobody can take you out of during that moment

4. Well this song is just plain wistful to me. A lot of what the music i listen to depends on is the emotional and mental context during which i experienced it. sure music can suggest something to me but mainly it's the feelings i felt during that specific moment that resurface when i hear the music i hear. New things can be good as well as bad. The context can be shifted completely and reformatted and reframed. this one specifically i listened to a lot while running outside. It reminds me of feelings of inadequacy and futility. Nothing good but also nothing too bad. I love this song a lot though. Mark's vocals shine through here

5. Another song from around 2021. This is just perfection in a song. it makes me feel Freaking Cool... i love the dissonances when the keys go too far up around midway through the song. This whole album realy is just filled with song after song of just the most relaxing beautiful improvisational stuff ever listen to it you will not be let down. The opening track is also gorgeous

6. The only r stevie moore song i can really lidten to all the way through. i'm not a hater or anything it's just the only one that has fossilized itself into my consciousness. It's extremely meaningful to me. The chords are beautiful and so sweet. Stevie moore is the bomb... Incredible guitar work. i would love to learn it on the guitar when i get my new strings. Strongest memory from this song is riding around outside on my bike in the rainy thick foggy cloudy hot humid weather and falling multiple times and not really caring that much

7. This song is, i think, The Best Shit Brian Wilson Ever Came Up With, maybe toe to toe with I Just Wasn't Made For These Times, i dont really have much to say about this song the arrengements and the lyrics are beautiful. Brian's vocals are one of a kind and his falsetto is amazing here. The solemn piano part is just gorgeous. Surf's up hmm hmmm hm hmmm hm hmmmmm...

8. One of my most favorite Oli XL tracks ever:) #FREEOLI btw They need to get an album out ASAP

9. yyyyYYYEESSSSS OHHH MYYYY GOOOOOOODDDDDDDDDD!!!!!!!!!!!! Supersaw heaven

10. ! ! ! :):):) Like a rave in a coven i guess. felicita is fucking awesome. This version of coughing up pearls is beautiful

11. This whole album is some of the most great electronic shit to ever happen ever. not to cheat but im doing 2 here: these cuts specifically are a highlight for me although Romance Frog and Alcoholic are both amazing amazing tracks from this same thing. Gobby's hyperprocessed vocals are a huge inspiration. i fuck with the random Lifetime Discovery TLC samples all throughout

O.K. Thats it i nominate @thesentdowngirl @foodandfriends @kissyouallaway @bish0ps @dog5504 Your turn now if u want:-)

[thefavchilde]

STAY A LITTLE LONGER (FOR NO SAKE BESIDES MY OWN)

pairing: reigen arataka x gn reader

synopsis: when spirits are low in the office (pun intended), serizawa calls on you, an old friend, to play makeshift pr agent to get business back up. unfortunately, a certain not technically boss of yours isn’t ready for you to leave, and metaphorically blocks the exit for as long as he can manage.

category: fluff, crack, #stomp on dimple 2023, serizawa has friends as a kid au idk plot convenience

a/n: my first non genshin writing on this blog. sorry i literally do not post consistently lol. i just had this idea and felt like writing something for it.

Reigen Arataka was a man of many words. Not dignified, not solemn nor sincere, but many words nevertheless. Any professionalism he managed to maintain was nothing short of an act. So, it was no surprise to Serizawa when Reigen had slipped up a few too many times in his attitude and services, and for the first time in a short while, the reputation of Spirits and Such began to fall. Enter you.

In a pit of despair, where all hope for a split second was lost, a shining beacon came through (as Reigen described it, “just like in minecraft) in the form of Serizawa’s childhood friend who he’d recently picked up contact with again. Sure, you’d just been laid off from a job with no relevance at all, but he knew you were head of your debate team as a student, and so he suggested the company pay you to be a makeshift PR agent until things were more smooth sailing again.

Well, you didn’t have any better options, did you?

If you weren’t previously aware of Serizawa’s psychic powers, you would’ve totally called bullshit on your first entry. Long story short, the place looked sketchy as shit. Hell, even their website looked like a museum displaying computer viruses since the beginning of time. It was lively though, that you could appreciate. You worked in a small circle, but everyone was welcoming. You’d taken a fair liking to the boss, Reigen; though Serizawa had warned you of his antics, you could only find him amusing for it. You couldn’t help but click with him. Aside from him, a less than pathetic looking spirit called Dimple lingered around, as well as a middle school kid they’d dubbed as Mob passing through on occasion to lend a hand.

Your makeshift corner of the office grew to feel like a second home. Reigen had helped you decorate it in your first couple of days, which Dimple claimed was completely unlike him to go so out of his way, but you didn’t think much of it.

Unbeknownst to you, Dimple was onto something. To him, the situation was glaringly obvious, and you just couldn’t get the memo through that thick mortal skull of yours. Did you not see the way Reigen’s eyes practically had the life injected into them when you entered the room? Were you blind or plain stupid?

You seem to find yourself alone in the office with Reigen more often than you had anticipated. Fleeting gazes and touches are exchanged, though not addressed at any point during your ever flowing conversation. Reigen found himself totally enamoured with you and your personality. You seemed to be somewhat alike in charisma, as he picked up on your natural capabilities in socialising over time. You did your job and you did it well. That’s the reason Reigen told himself he wanted to keep you around so badly. Yet, the thought kept circling. The realisation of how badly he’d miss you once you left.

All comes to a halt one evening, a few shifts before you were due to leave. You’d been with S&S for around a month and things seemed to be getting back on track, thus giving you not much visible reason to be here. After you pack your things and leave, smiling warmly as you shut the door behind you, Reigen’s eyes don’t leave the door. He zones out completely. Everyone had gone home for the night, leaving him alone. Or so he thought, as Dimple moves to loom over his shoulder once more.

“Do you ever leave me alone?” He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers. He’s visibly agitated. So stressed that if you approached him he might pop, like stabbing a needle into a balloon. Truthfully, he knows exactly what this is about before Dimple can even speak at all.

“Are you gonna ask them or not?” Dimple questions him bluntly, not bothering to tread lightly around the topic.

Reigen decides to play dumb, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” His face is screwed up and his posture is unnaturally stiff in that chair. He might as well have not even bothered to lie at all.

“Everytime [Name] leaves through that door, you look more and more dejected. You gonna miss all of their glitz and glamour, Reigen? Is that it? Gonna miss how they greet you every morning, with that smile that just makes your stomach do flips?”

Reigen practically growls his response through gritted teeth, refusing to look in his direction. “Let’s not.” He warns. “[Name] and I have a strictly professional relationship, and I’d much prefer to keep it that way.”

“You’re pathetic, you know that?”

“I am nothing of the sort.”

“Well-“ Dimple begins, forcing his way infront of Reigen’s line of vision, to which he simply turns his head once more in response. “What else- or who else- do you have going for you? You’re gonna let this chance slip by?”

“…I should fire you.”

“Am I officially employed? I don’t believe I ever signed a contract. And you expect to get rid of me how exactly?”

“Whatever, I’ll have to think about it. I’ll get back to you.”

“Good luck confessing by the end of the week. I’m not counting on you.”

Reigen can easily tell that Dimple’s method here was reverse psychology. It didn’t take a genius to catch on to the fact he was trying to get inside his head. Still, it worked. He just happened to be aware of it.

He spends the next two days preparing. He runs through plans with Serizawa and runs through errands with Mob. Flowers, your favourite sweets, nothing out of the ordinary. Aside from the fact that he assigns Mob the task of quite literally stealing from his school art department instead of just buying what he needed, simply because the thought didn’t cross his mind, as obvious as it may have seemed. All he needs is a large sheet of card and some colourful pens. And a quiet office. He’d have to wait for you to leave on the Wednesday evening to prepare everything.

He questions his own sanity throughout this process. What if he got rejected? Is this all going to be for nothing?

Dimple keeps a close eye on things, but refuses to interfere. He still doesn’t believe Reigen has the balls to follow through. He has killed social skills with strangers, but on the contrary, he himself was the stranger when it came down to love.

Reigen certainly lacks the confidence when Thursday rolls around. He can’t swallow the lump in his throat, and his fears manifest themselves in the pit of his stomach, making him feel very much ill. He yet again second guesses himself and the whole proposal. Stepping back from the setup, he concludes he shares more traits with a high schooler asking their crush to prom than an actual grown adult.

As expected, you’re the first one in, and yet Reigen practically jumps out of his skin, fumbling for the sign and gifts as you widen your eyes, totally confused. He holds up the sign with the best, least awkward smile he can manage- which is very awkward still- and you reciprocate his expression. Your eyes scan over the writing, surrounded by hearts and stars.

“Stay a little longer

(For no sake besides my own)”

You can’t help but burst out into laughter. Not maliciously- you’re very flustered by the whole ordeal, actually- but rather out of surprise.

“You like me? Romantically? You like me?”

“…Yes. Sorry- this was totally unprofessional. Wrong way to go about it, especially seeing as you barely even know me and yet here I am. Genuinely, no hard feelings, I promise-“ He begins regretfully before you cut him off.

“No, I definitely like you back. Pretty good way to go about it.” You grin, stepping closer. “My favourite sweets, too. You know me better than you think.”

“Oh- seriously?”

“Like so seriously. If you’re interested in keeping me on the team, maybe you can discuss that with me on our first date.” You wink, and although out of your sight, Dimple curses himself for being wrong. Reigen had actually gone and done it. Turns out he was slightly less pathetic than the spirit had once presumed.

[barren-heart]

From Panera Bread You Came, To Panera Bread You Shall Return.

Guillermo's been working at Panera Bread for about a week now. Luckily, his old manager agreed to give him his old job back.

A Nandermo first kiss one-shot

Blood and violence. Hurt/comfort. Somewhat Christmas-themed. No death. Post-s5. Nandor/Guillermo.

Author’s note: I wanted to write in script format, but got too lazy tbh and I also wanted to keep some of the thoughts and feelings of the characters. Canon compliant for the most part.

Bright lights flicker in a near-empty Panera. The lampposts outside are lit, as snow drifts towards the ground in thick piles.

In the lobby, Guillermo mops the floor. He’s focusing on a spill of broccoli cheddar soup that accidentally fell off the table as he was cleaning. He sees the cameras and waves them in.

“So, yeah,” Guillermo says. He sits at a table, camera facing. His title reads, Former Familiar and Bodyguard. Panera Bread Employee. “You can probably tell that I’m no longer working for Nandor and the vampires. I moved out about a week ago, I guess.”

A flashback to Guillermo cleaning up his room at the Vampire Residence. He takes his suitcases and the vampire portrait of him and Nandor. The room is just as empty as when he moved in.

“It was just getting a bit, you know, sad,” Guillermo continues. “Not being a vampire anymore, I just didn’t really feel like I could go back to being a familiar. So,” he pauses, “I left.”

A cut back to Guillermo looking at Nandor’s closed coffin as he lays a letter on the table. A moment later, a cut to Nandor picking up the letter as his face grows solemn.

“I’m trying to find my purpose in this world now.” Guillermo smiles. “There’s so…so many possibilities of who I can be. I have my whole life ahead of me. But, searching for your next passion doesn’t really pay the bills. So, in the meantime, I got my old job back at Panera. So that’s…that’s good.”

The documentary crew flashes edits of Guillermo performing various duties inside of Panera. Kids run into tables, knocking food onto the floor. Loud customers shout at him as Guillermo tries to remain calm.

When the camera cuts back to Guillermo’s talking head, his smile fades. “Can’t believe this time, last week I was mopping up blood in the Fancy Room, and now I’m mopping up soup.” He laughs. “Crazy how things could change so quickly.”

“Guillermo?” A man behind the counter says. “Do you mind taking the trash out?”

Guillermo stands, ending the talking head segment. “Yeah. I can do that. Sorry.”

“Oh no, take your time,” The man says smiling to the cameras. “I’m sorry, did I come off as a bit aggressive there? I’ve been working on not sounding too demanding, you know? I learned that from the Being a Better Boss self-help book I read last summer.”

“You’re good, Chris.” Guillermo laughs to himself. His boss has no idea the orders he was given as a familiar. “I’ll take it out now.”

“Okay, be careful out there,” Chris says. “It’s looking like a blizzard. Haven’t seen snow like this since when I was a kid in Vermont.”

The camera follows Guillermo as he grabs his coat and scarf. The cold is much harsher with the wind.

He drags the rather heavy bags of trash out the back door. He can barely see as he lifts the trash bags into the dumpster. It was nothing like the human bodies he would bag daily for the vampires. Come to think of it, taking a whiff outside, maybe there is rotten flesh in there?

“Guillermo, is that you?” A voice calls out.

Guillermo immediately recognizes the voice. It’s his master, or ex-master now? He left the vampire residence so suddenly that he wasn’t really sure anymore.

Out of the shadows, Nandor appears. His hair disheveled and cape covered in snow. Almost like he’d been there for hours.

Guillermo meets him under a streetlight. “Have you been waiting here for me?”

“Yes. Not long, though. Maybe two…or three hours?”

“Three-three hours?”

“I didn’t want to disturb you while you worked,” Nandor says. “So, I waited here until you were done.” Nandor points to a body slumped against the wall of the building. “I had a light snack while I waited.”

“That would explain the rotten corpse smell…” Guillermo whispers to the camera.

"I like what you've done with the place." Nandor observes the scenery. "Very twinkly lights."

“Oh, no that’s the…you know…” Guillermo stops, knowing well he shouldn’t say Christmas in front of Nandor. His voice lowers to a whisper, “Holiday lights.”

“Your roommates must be so festive. So very human and not vampires at all.” There’s a smile on Nandor’s face, but it’s absent of joy. If Nandor could tell the truth, it’s painful that Guillermo left again, this time to be with humans.

“Uh, yeah. They…they are human.” Guillermo says. "Do you think I live here?"

"Well, now that you don't live with us anymore, I thought you would move in where you work."

"Actually," Guillermo says, his eyes on the snowy ground beneath him. "I live with my mom now."

"Oh, Silvia?" Nandor genuinely smiles. He enjoyed Guillermo's mothers’ company the last time he saw her. So kind and full of energy. And so many photos of Guillermo. "How is she?"

"She's doing-" Guillermo begins to say. “Wait. How did you find me? I never said I was going to work here.”

“I thought you would return to something familiar. Just seemed like something all humans do. I flew around to all the Paneras in the area, until I saw you in the window. I came to congratulate you on your new job.”

Guillermo smiles to himself. “Oh, I thought you’d be upset that I left.”

“I’m not upset. I actually think that it’s okay.”

A cut to talking heads of Nandor in his room. “Am I happy with Guillermo for leaving? Of course not. But, I’m not upset. Little rascal is probably thinking about apologizing right now. He’s probably on his way home. What, it’s been, like, just a few days?”

Someone talks offscreen.

“A week?” Nandor says.“Really? Oh. Maybe I should try and find him, then?”

When the camera cuts back, Nandor says, “I know you were looking to find some greater purpose and you’ve found it here at…The Panera Bread.”

Nandor gives a quick look to the camera.

“Uh, yeah,” Guillermo says. “Well, it’s-it’s temporary. I, uh, don’t really have much of a work history with 14 years working as a familiar. Uh, my old boss is actually still working here and got me my job back.”

“That asshole?” Nandor says, remembering the guy was such a dick. “Yes, I remember. Fucking guy.”

“He’s actually pretty cool now. Mellowed out a lot.”

“Oh?” Nandor says. “That’s-that’s great that you have such a mellow boss. Really…cool.”

A moment of silence passes between them.

“How’s the gang?” Guillermo says, wistful. “I miss them.”

“They’re, you know. Moving on. Doing lots of things. With stuff. Vampire stuff.”

Guillermo feels a pang in his heart. He shouldn’t expect a heartfelt plea to come back, especially with how sudden he left. It still feels like it was the right thing to do in the moment.

The sound of a door opens behind them. It’s Guillermo’s manager, Chris.

“Hey, just checking to see if you died.” He sniffs around. “Almost smells like someone died.”

Chris takes in the dead body. “Hey, what the fuck is that?!”

Nandor approaches Chris. “You will not remember seeing the dead body on the ground and will go back inside and finish your duties for the night.”

Before finishing his hypnosis, Nandor adds, “And you will give Guillermo a raise in pay.”

“Yeah, everything looks good,” Chris says, leaving. “I’ll see you inside. And hey, you’re getting a raise on your next check there, buddy.”

Once Chris is inside, Guillermo says, “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I kinda did, though. Didn’t want him to remember the dead body there,” Nandor says whispering as if someone could overhear.

“I meant the raise part,” Guillermo says.

“Oh.” Nandor continues in a normal tone, “You deserve it. I know how hard you work. And how important it is to tell someone that you appreciate what they do for you. I want to wish you well in your new position. And I’m sure you will do just great.”

“Thank you, mast-” Guillermo stops. “Um, Nandor.”

Nandor doesn’t comment on the change of title. “Of course.”

“I should probably get back inside,” Guillermo says. “Fly safe. It’s really snowy out here.”

“Yes, thank you.”

Guillermo turns towards the camera, away from Nandor. A few tears well up in his eyes.

“Oh, Guillermo?” Nandor says. “One last thing.”

Guillermo faces him again, sniffing his tears back. “Yeah?”

Nandor steps closer. He reaches inside his cape, and pulls out a dozen of flattened red roses. “I forgot to give you these.”

“Flowers?” Guillermo sniffs them. A few are wilted, and some petals fall to the ground.

“Sorry. They were alive when I picked them.”

“Wait. You picked them? It’s the middle of winter.”

“Yes. I picked them from a nice grave I found while flying.”

“A grave?” Guillermo eyes go wide.

“Yes,” Nandor continues earnestly. “I saw them lying there and I thought of you.”

“You did?”

Nandor continues, “And I wanted to tell you that…I’ve missed you.”

“Really?” Guillermo swallows. “I’ve missed you, too. I’m sorry for leaving. I didn’t want to leave. I wanted to stay. I really wanted to stay. I just don’t know if I belong there anymore.”

“You do belong there, Guillermo. You were more than just my familiar, but my greatest companion. I don’t know what I would do without you.”

Marwa’s wedding scene plays and then we cut back to Guillermo. The camera zooms in on his face. He grins, now realizing. “Maybe you don’t have to think about that.”

“What do you-“ But Nandor doesn’t finish as he notices Guillermo leaning in towards him. Nandor mimics him, leaning in as their lips finally meet. His hand brushes along Guillermo’s neck and down his coat. He wraps his arms around Guillermo’s waist.

A familiar feeling of heat creeps up Guillermo’s chest and into his throat. The hairs on his arms raise as he wraps his hands around Nandor’s shoulders.

A voice stirring breaks them apart.

“What was that?” Guillermo says.

The body against the wall moves. “Ughh. Is there anyone there?”

Guillermo eyes Nandor. “I thought you said he was dead?”

“Yeah, I thought so,” Nandor says. “I just had a little snack. I don’t think I drained him enough.”

“Hey there,” Guillermo says approaching the body. “I can help you. Are you okay?”

The man, probably in his 40’s, slowly stands while gripping onto the wall. “Yeah, I think-” He slips on a puddle of his own blood, his head hitting against the wall as he falls with a thud to the ground. He doesn’t move.

Guillermo covers his mouth in shock.

“I think he’s dead now,” Nandor says. He kneels beside him. “Little man, are you alive?”

Nothing.

Nandor rolls him over. “Maybe we let the snow cover him up?”

Guillermo sighs. “I’ll get a trash bag.”

When Guillermo comes back, they both toss the man into the dumpster.

“If it makes you feel any better,” Nandor starts, “that was the guy yelling at you earlier. I could see it through the window. He said some bad things about you as he left.”

Guillermo smiles to both Nandor and the cameras. “I think we should leave before any cops show up.”

“Good idea.” Nandor reaches his hand out to Guillermo. “Can I fly you home? I’m sure Silvia is worried about you.”

Guillermo puts his hand in Nandor’s. “How about our place instead?”

[heygerald]

Red Skies Warning: (POTC, 2003)

OFC x Captain Jack Sparrow

I am so pleasantly surprised at how many interactions I got on my first post, but then again it's not that surprising because I think POTC has a huge fandom and like... zilch written for it. It's unlawful, honestly. Jackie deserves so much more love than he gets.

The sea was, in lack of a better word, blue.

Not the type of blue that she was used to seeing. No, Edwina rarely did anything other than stare at the sea from the shoreline of Port Royal, and though the weather was fair and the island beautiful, seeing the white crest of waves in the distance that broke up the solemn blue of the ocean did not do it justice.

In reality, the sea wasn't just a wash of aquamarine, but turquoise, seafoam, navy and royal, with wafts of white, purple, and pink depending on the time of day. It was so clear that she could see schools of fish jolt near the surface, dolphins that played in the wake of the HMS Interceptor. At night, the sunset would cast hues of every color imaginable on the horizon; at sunrise, she could catch swirls of orange and red lit up like fire.

Even she had to admit that art did it no justice. It was absolutely breathtaking.

"Beautiful, ain't it?"

Jack settled a pair of tan hands on the wooden railing next to her, and though Edwina had been enjoying her rare moment of quiet, she supposed that his company was better than Will's surly demeanor at the moment.

Besides, he was agreeing with her.

So, rather than start a fight, Edwina nodded as her gaze crept along the horizon. She could see other ships in the distance as they approached port, leaving her to soak up what little time they had left of the calm sea. "Prettier than I thought it would be," she admitted after a moment.

"You'd never seen it?"

Edwina gave him a look. "I lived on an island. Of course I saw it. I just... didn't realize that it would be so different out here."

"You've never been sailing before?"

"Was I young, when we first came to Port Royal, but... not since. My father didn't particularly like the idea of me following him around at at work."

Jack hummed, but it was a thoughtless noise. He did that a lot; appeared to agree, yet, when she actually looked at him, Edwina got the sneaking suspicion that his mind was a million miles away.

"Rich lassies don't get to enjoy all the fun things, then, eh?"

The beauty of the moment soured, and Edwina sighed loudly at his jab. Because it was a jab. "I'm not rich."

"Ay?" he asked, eyes lingering on the soft pads of her hands for a moment. "Could'a fooled me, love."

"You know many rich women that long to be stuck on a stolen Navy ship with a pirate and a moody blacksmith?" she shot back, crossing one arm over the other.

Yet, Jack's mouth twitched into a toothy grin; like he had been waiting for her to lose her patience with him.

An idiot then, she decided, truly the dumbest man she had ever met.

"You're hardly the first woman to want a taste of something more exciting, love," he told her, leaning a bit too close for comfort, before he was swaying backwards with a twinkle in his eye. "It won't be long before you get bored of the life. They all do. And when you leave alongside Turner and the girl, I'll gladly share a sip of run to celebrate the occasion. I'll even wave."

Edwina narrowed her eyes down the slant of her nose at him. "Just because a woman gets tired of your stench, Sparrow, doesn't mean that all women who long for something more are eventually going to lose interest."

He sniffed his nose at her irritably. "S'called a musk, love," he said. As if that was the most important part of her argument. She blinked at him in disbelief, and Jack sniffed a second time before adding, "s'better than those wigs and makeup your Navy men wear. To think you'd rather that—"

"I do not rather that," she cut him off before he could even go down that particular tangent. His mouth twitched again, happy as a clam to hear her say it, and she just as quickly wiped the pleased look off his face by adding, "in fact, I think I'd prefer the company of a rat infested island than any of the men in my life. Navy or pirate."

He glared for half a second, before something smarmy turned his features. "Don't suppose you've put that to the test, have you, love?"

"Have I marooned myself on a rat infested island before?"

"I meant more in the favor or a Navy man or a pirate."

"Has anyone ever called you despicable before?"

His smile crooked, eyes lit up to show just how much he was enjoying riling her up, and Edwina envisioned slapping the gold tooth out of his mouth. "You can call me whatever you want, love. S'long as you answer a question for me."

Edwina perked a brow. "I already call you whatever I want."

Jack considered that, before decidedly ignoring the statement altogether to redirect his gaze to the horizon. She watched him watch it for a moment, before Jack slowly asked, "what are you really doing out here?"

It was a stupid question out of nowhere; yet, she didn't laugh. She supposed she was too thrown off guard to laugh. It was a genuine question on his part.

So, she gave him a genuine answer. "Pirates kidnapped Elizabeth, who is my only female friend on the island; the only friend I have that dreads marriage for power as much as I do."

He considered that. "Not a fan of power, eh?"

"You're a pirate. Tell me; what does power bring if you have it but not the freedom to do with it what you wish?"

Some sort of understanding flickered in his eyes, but she didn't see it for long before Jack was swaying against the wooden railing with a golden-toothed grin. "You and Turner both, then?"

She furrowed her brows at him; this time, she did laugh. "I'm not exactly keen on rescuing Elizabeth just so I can confess my love for her," she corrected.

He rolled his eyes, swaying close enough that she could see something soft and honeyed in them, to say, "you're both pirates who aren't pirates. Ay?"

"Yes, well," she tutted, glancing towards the other end of the boat where she knew Will liked to stew in his thoughts and feelings when talking to Jack got too much. "I was raised by a Navy man; wasn't exactly taught how to be a pirate other than to drink all the time."

"Not a bad start. What's dear William's excuse?"

Edwina almost answered that inquiry truthfully—his parents were killed by pirates, so the story goes—but a single look at Jack reminded her of how sneaky he had proven to be. A drunkard, certainly, but one that remembered the things he was told.

So, rather than give in, she said, "you know, I heard Norrington talk about you after the stunt you pulled with Elizabeth."

"Heralds of my heroics are passing already?"

"He said you were the worst pirate he had ever met."

Jack's smile soured a bit, but he waved a hand indifferently in the air as if it didn't bother him a bit to hear such slander. "Your dear Commodore clearly hasn't spent much time meetin' pirates, then."

"Are you trying to say that you're a good pirate, or simply that the other pirates out there are far worse at it then you?" she asked.

He blinked; at her, at the ground, then at her again, and she could see the question churning in his head before he realized that he wouldn't be pleased with either answer. He tutted at her, sticking a finger in her face, to point out, "you're not nearly as fun as Turner, you know. And that's saying something. Poor sod moans more than a nun in church."

Edwina was pretty sure that wasn't a saying. And, if it was a saying, she was pretty sure that wasn't how the saying went.

Regardless, she swatted his hand out of her face like a fly. "Will hasn't exactly been having a good year. It doesn't help his mood out at all when you poke fun."

"Did the hat store run out of peacock feathers?" he taunted.

"The Commodore dislikes him nearly as much as you."

Jack considered that. But when he gave her a lewd smile it became clear that he hadn't taken her point at all, and instead got sidetracked by something else. "Ah, and here I thought you didn't like Navy men, love."

The idea that she spent any matter of time with someone as lawful and stoic as James Norrington had Edwina huffing. He was a handsome man, she supposed, if one squinted at the right angle, but she had met pelicans with more personality than he had. "Haven't you heard? Commodore Norrington is far more infatuated with Elizabeth than a girl like me."

Jack's brow ticked up. "Oh?" he asked. Then, thinking it through properly, she watched as he swept his gaze towards the far side of the boat where Will had last been seen. "Oh. Seems to make more sense why the eunuch is so—"

He made a face, waving his hands in a way that she would certainly never be able to interpret, before shooting an overdramatic wince her way.

"He's awfully pathetic, isn't he?"

Edwina rolled her eyes; even when Will wasn't in hearing distance, Jack still seemed to take the piss out on him. "Have you ever heard a saying about a pot meeting a kettle?"

"I've met a pot before—shan't be doing that again. Far too much bruising," he muttered.

She didn't bother try to interpret that thought, either. Instead, Edwina glanced towards the sails in the distance. "How likely are you to end up in irons once we get to Tortuga?"

"Tortuga? No one ends up in irons on Tortuga, love. That's the beauty of it," he said, wiggling his eyebrows at her with a toothy grin. "The only law is never start a fight with someone bigger than yourself, and if you do that, you'd best be sure your gun is bigger than theirs."

"That's two laws."

"No, we won't be finding trouble in Tortuga. Not the Navy type, anyway," he said with a glance to the horizon. "There's no saying what sort of trouble we might find once the sun has set and me bottle is full of rum."

"I'm starting to think we should leave you on the ship."

Jack looked scandalized at the suggestion. "Better to be leavin' you on the ship with that sort of mutinous talk," he said, deciding that it would be a perfect time to leave the conversation entirely.

Edwina watched him stumble towards the other end of the boat where he was about to badger Will about something mundane, no doubt, and she rolled her eyes after him before turning her attention back to the sea. It wouldn't be long before they made port now, and a trepidatious feeling stirred in her stomach.

She wasn't sure what would be worse—Jack Sparrow drinking all the rum he could find or Jack Sparrow not finding a single drop of it.

She sighed knowing that she was about to find out one way or another.

[vickyvicarious]

So, building on this post about what van Helsing knew as of yesterday, I wanted to take a look at his perspective of the meeting with Mina. To begin with, I think these are his goals: get access to the Whitby journal, learn about Jonathan's health, and ideally get access to the Transylvania journal as well. Those also go in order of difficulty, since he introduced himself as Lucy's doctor, knows Jonathan is ill and Mina's worried, and he knows that Mina sealed Jonathan's journal with her wedding ring and promised not to open it unless there was a need.

So, he begins with Lucy.

"It is Mina Murray that I came to see that was friend of that poor dear child Lucy Westenra. Madam Mina, it is on account of the dead I come."

He introduces himself by his relationship to a trusted friend, much as he did in his letter to Mina. He's forging a connection and letting Mina know how deeply he cared for her friend and that he wants to do his best for her even after her death. Mina immediately responds well to this, saying that him being Lucy's helper and friend is the best claim he could have on her. He bows, they're quite solemn and share a moment. He lets Mina ask him what he wants to know first.

"I know that you were with her at Whitby. She sometimes kept a diary—you need not look surprised, Madam Mina; it was begun after you had left, and was in imitation of you—and in that diary she traces by inference certain things to a sleep-walking in which she puts down that you saved her."

Van Helsing immediately brings up Lucy's diary. Not only to explain how he knows about them being in Whitby together, but to hint towards Mina having a diary of her own. He emphasizes how much Mina meant to Lucy and how much she helped her. I think he's been perfectly genuine with all of the above, but he also is trying to build up to asking for the diary. We also get an idea of why van Helsing is so interested in Mina's diary. It's not just because it could give him more information about what happened to Lucy; it's because for some reason none of it was fatal, and Mina seems to have managed to protect her somehow, even unknowingly. Van Helsing wants to know whatever might work against vampires.

Mina agrees to tell van Helsing everything about Whitby. And while her willingness to help is great, that's not all he wants. He doesn't think Mina has the knowledge to recognize all the important details. He doesn't know her yet, and doesn't know how precise she can be. He also simply wouldn't expect her to necessarily connect things such as a bat, or the grave of a suicide, as relevant to Lucy's condition. Not that he knows those specifics exist yet, but you take my point. Anyone would be more likely to write down weird events in their diary than to tell them to a doctor when they're trying to specifically describe a friend's condition by memory over a month later.

"I can tell you, I think, Dr. Van Helsing, all about it."

"Ah, then you have good memory for facts, for details? It is not always so with young ladies."

"No, doctor, but I wrote it all down at the time. I can show it to you if you like."

Being van Helsing, he goes for the 'charmingly' paternal condescending joke about young ladies not having good memories. The way this is worded is both a joking 'not like other girls' compliment, and also another hint towards the thorough journal he knows Mina wrote at the time. This time, it works. Of course, he seems to have miffed her a little with the joke about memories, so she pranks him with the shorthand copy, and it's absolutely delightful of her. Well deserved, and he enjoys it too... though he gets nervous about not being able to access the information within, until Mina reveals she typed it out for him. He then asks to read it and be able to ask her questions afterwards, still hoping to follow up on anything that might be pertinent.

"This paper is as sunshine. It opens the gate to me. I am daze, I am dazzle, with so much light, and yet clouds roll in behind the light every time. But that you do not, cannot, comprehend."

The diary is more revealing than he ever could have dreamed. He's delighted by the wealth of information, and is surely connecting the dots about the Demeter, about Lucy's sleepwalking, about the graveyard, about the bat at the window. There are still questions. What is this vampire's aim? Why did they leave Lucy alone after a while? (Some less productive question too, like, why couldn't we manage to protect her as Mina did?) And he doesn't expect Mina to be able to help him with them, simply because she lacks the relevant context. At least, that's what he thinks. He isn't calling her stupid here, just unaware. And he wants to keep her that way, just as he's wanted to keep everyone unawares of vampires. He doesn't want to burden her with the knowledge any more than he wanted to burden the others.

So, he's completed his first goal handily. Mina has proved a wonderful resource already. But he also knows that her husband's trip to Transylvania (which he may associate with vampires) went horribly wrong, and that he's been experiencing an illness that sounds reminiscent of Lucy's. It's possible he is being fed upon too.

"Madam"—he said this very solemnly—"if ever Abraham Van Helsing can do anything for you or yours, I trust you will let me know. It will be pleasure and delight if I may serve you as a friend; as a friend, but all I have ever learned, all I can ever do, shall be for you and those you love. There are darknesses in life, and there are lights; you are one of the lights. You will have happy life and good life, and your husband will be blessed in you."

As he starts to thank her, he also hints several times at Mina's loved ones while he is offering his services. I think he's hoping she will remember his role as doctor and seek to ask him about Jonathan's condition. But instead she just protests that he's being too nice and doesn't know her. So he insists otherwise, and 'casually' works his way around to bringing up Jonathan himself:

"Oh, Madam Mina, good women tell all their lives, and by day and by hour and by minute, such things that angels can read; and we men who wish to know have in us something of angels' eyes. Your husband is noble nature, and you are noble too, for you trust, and trust cannot be where there is mean nature. And your husband—tell me of him. Is he quite well? Is all that fever gone, and is he strong and hearty?"

He gives up on subtle hints completely and just asks about Jonathan's condition. Of course, he doesn't know that she's been hoping to bring up the exact same topic, though that's what he has been hoping to engineer. When Mina starts to talk about stress from Mr. Hawkins' death, he sort of hurries her along. I think he's meaning to express understanding and sympathy, though it comes off kinda rude. But I also think he's hoping to get past that to the relevant stuff, and he's eager for her to tell her about something he hasn't already read. He wants to know if Jonathan is being bitten too.

This is extremely tantalizing information. Dots are beginning to connect between brain fever and Transylvania and the Demeter and Lucy's illness. As soon as van Helsing hears about Jonathan getting a shock, he continues to try and draw Mina out by expressing sympathy and worry (and implicitly, his aid as a doctor). And of course Mina's reaction of nearly breaking down and pleading for his help seems extremely in line with his suspicions. Jonathan might truly be being fed upon as well.

"I suppose this upset him, for when we were in town on Thursday last he had a sort of shock."

"A shock, and after brain fever so soon! That was not good. What kind of a shock was it?"

"He thought he saw some one who recalled something terrible, something which led to his brain fever."

"I am glad, glad, that I may here be of some use to you; for if your husband suffer, he suffer within the range of my study and experience. I promise you that I will gladly do all for him that I can—all to make his life strong and manly, and your life a happy one."

He essentially promises to become Jonathan's doctor. I think this shows he is still operating under the premise that Jonathan is possibly being drunk from and he might need to try and save him where he couldn't save Lucy. He promises to help, but wants Mina to calm down first and also wants to have a little time to think. So he suggests the lunch break. But when they come back, he intends to start in on the interview about Jonathan.

Mina again meets and exceeds his expectations. He hoped to get to talk to her about Jonathan, and eventually, after being appointed in the role of his doctor, ask about any relevant history. I imagine he planned to possibly examine Jonathan first, or at least have the full conversation, before asking Mina about Jonathan's journal. He knows about her sealing it up, after all. He'd probably just hint towards it first, talk about how the patients' experiences could be so useful for a diagnosis, bring up Lucy's situation and the helpful Whitby diary... all this stuff which ends up being completely unnecessary when Mina gets his promise to take them seriously and then just straight-up hands it over to him. So he thanks her seriously and promises to come back in the morning.

"Dr. Van Helsing, what I have to tell you is so queer that you must not laugh at me or at my husband. I have been since yesterday in a sort of fever of doubt; you must be kind to me, and not think me foolish that I have even half believed some very strange things." He reassured me by his manner as well as his words when he said:—

"Oh, my dear, if you only know how strange is the matter regarding which I am here, it is you who would laugh. I have learned not to think little of any one's belief, no matter how strange it be."

You may ask, why would he choose to leave them alone for the night if he thinks Jonathan is being bitten? Well, I think he already knows that Jonathan is away for the night. The way Mina responds to him saying he'll be back in the morning at least seems suggestive of it to me, and she wasn't taking down every single word she said to him for the entire conversation, so it may have been mentioned at some point. It's also possible that he doesn't want to alarm them too much when Jonathan still seems not at the point of actively dying, I suppose. I'm not a hundred percent sure on this one. But I do think that at this time, with everything he knows and the strange things Mina has been hinting towards, he suspects Jonathan might be being bitten.

Until he reads the diary.

Strange and terrible as it is, it is true! I will pledge my life on it. It may be worse for others; but for him and you there is no dread. He is a noble fellow; and let me tell you from experience of men, that one who would do as he did in going down that wall and to that room—ay, and going a second time—is not one to be injured in permanence by a shock. His brain and his heart are all right; this I swear, before I have even seen him; so be at rest. I shall have much to ask him of other things.

Van Helsing has been urging Mina to keep this all hush-hush up until now, so as not to upset or worry Jonathan. But suddenly he seems confident that Jonathan will recover, and even says that he wants to asks him about lots of things. This is because after reading his diary, van Helsing knows Jonathan is not currently being bitten. This means he is no longer a potential patient to protect. Instead, he's an extremely valuable resource with lots of information about vampire abilities, weaknesses, and even specific details on the vampire who is here in London. Van Helsing isn't as worried about Jonathan's PTSD because he was prepared for another Lucy so this is a big relief, and because he's so impressed by the account of everything he went through in Castle Dracula. He never tells Mina to tell Jonathan the truth, but he also stops telling her to hide things from him. He now expects him to be able to recover eventually.

He went in thinking he might get some small insight, and a potential new patient. He came out with more information than he knows what to do with, and friends who can help him. It's monumental for him. And, by the way, I'm not trying to suggest that his expressions of gratitude and admiration and affection towards Mina (and then Jonathan) are ever anything less than sincere. I think he means all he says in this conversation. It's just that, along the way, he was trying to say those things in the best way for his goals. And he more than achieved them, thanks to Mina's willingness to trust in/share with him (and her willingness to trust Jonathan and prepare the transcriptions ahead of time).

He's gotten far more than he ever expected out of this conversation, and armed with new knowledge and allies who already know something of vampires (even if he needs to reassure them it's true, he doesn't have to sell them on the concept), van Helsing feels more prepared to start acting in earnest - and no longer alone.