#threatening to leave the army because no food

[josefavomjaaga]

Reading a Prussian book on the battles of Jena and Auerstädt, and I start to feel like the whole Prussian army was trying to perform a really morbid slapstick comedy...

[hedgehog-moss]

(There is blood pictured at the end of this post) (well, 1 drop) (don't worry it's mine, not some innocent creature's)

I found a dormouse in my kitchen today, just chilling on the ceiling above my head, watching me cook. Maybe even judging my cooking technique like Ratatouille. I only noticed its presence because there's a bunch of dried herbs hanging from the ceiling above the stove and at one point I heard a rustling, then a crunching noise.

It was eating my herbs.

As if they were a little snack I'd placed here for my dormouse friends. None of my other animals can walk on the ceiling, therefore any food that's near the ceiling must be an offering to the dormice. (I admit, that's sound logic.)

A dormouse family has been living in my walls since before I moved here—I should probably call it a dormouse dynasty, by now. Here's the first post I wrote about them, in 2019 ! The cats eat a lot of them (especially Morille, she loves dormice) but apparently not enough to make the key decision makers in this dormouse community decide that living in my house is more trouble than it's worth.

Every year when they hibernate and go quiet for eight months I have the renewed hope that this time the cats got rid of all of them, but the next spring they wake up and start scratching inside my walls in the middle of the night again. (Not only that's creepy, but it's so loud.)

Anyway, this dormouse, let's call him Alfred. I saw immediately which hole between two stones he'd crawled out of and the first thing I did was to stuff a salt shaker in there to block his escape route. Step 2 was to call for backup—I summoned Morille, and she came down from the living-room 2 seconds later (the cats know it's always good news when I call them to the kitchen while cooking.)

Alfred was panicking.

I grabbed a broom and started threatening him with it like an angry old woman in a cartoon. He tried to flee towards the ladder, but Morille was there. He tried to flee towards the door, but Morille was also there. He tried to hide on top of the fridge, and Morille happily lay siege to it, like my fridge was a Gallic oppidum on top of a hill and Morille was Caesar and his entire army.

Morille was having the time of her life.

But my kitchen door was ajar, and Alfred managed a heroic jump from the top of the fridge to the lintel, like a flying squirrel. He scurried out then grabbed hold of the climbing rose right above the door. When I got out and took this photo, he looked fairly stressed and pessimistic.

I didn't want him to climb the wall all the way to the eaves and go right back into my house, so I went back in to get my broom again, either to make him lose his grip and fall straight into Morille's gaping maw (sorry), or make him run away into the woods (inferior solution; they always find their way back, unless you take them very far away.)

(I used to trap dormice humanely then drive them 3km away to release them near the barn of a neighbour I disliked, but this neighbour has since moved. (Not because of my dormouse warfare, I swear.) There's also an abandoned house in the woods where I used to exile my prisoners, but after a while I started feeling silly driving around the countryside with dormice in the backseat, so I stopped trapping them (it really was a hassle) and just let the cats eat them.)

But Alfred is a combative and resourceful rodent. In the half-minute it took me to go back in and grab my broom, he laid a trap for me.

He ran along the stem of my climbing rose in such a way that his weight made it droop jussst enough to be now hanging at face level rather than above the door. So when I ran outside again with my broom, I was slapped in the face by a thorny rose plant. (For a minute I thought I was crying tears of blood, which seemed worrying, but it was just a scratch above my eye.) (I wish it could leave a tiny scar, so people will ask how I got it, and I will tell them about the mighty dormouse wielding a rose sword.)

I sent these pics to my brother hoping to get some sympathy, and he cropped & desaturated the one with the blood teardrop then sent it back with the comment "you look like an Evanescence song"

By this point I decided Alfred had won this battle. (Not the war, because it's almost autumn aka hibernation time so he probably found another gap between two stones and went right back inside. The war continues.) But this humble dormouse set a Saw trap to poke my eyes out the second I stepped outside my house and I respect that. I admire the way he used his environment to his advantage, and teamed up with my climbing rose to level the playing field (since I had teamed up with my cat first.) He has won the right to spend another winter inside my walls, curled up in my cosy wool insulation, dreaming of dried herbs, thwarted cats, and heroic skydiving from fridgetops.

Well played.

[nthspecialll]

I think we sometimes as a fandom tend to hyper-focus on certian characters' backgrounds simply because we like the character when in reality other characters who might not be as interesting has way better backstories, because no, Javier, Arthur and John are not the only ones with sad backstories

Like why does no one talk about what happened to Leopold's sister? Why does no one talk about young Lenny tracking down and killing folk? Why does no one talk about Javier actually in a way working for the government for a while and the reason why he killed that powerful military man? Why does no one talk about why Dutch is called Dutch and not by his actual first name? Why does no one talk about Bill's worst childhood fear coming true? Why does no one talk about both Swanson and Micah saving Dutch's life or that Tilly is also a murderer?

Anyways here is a full explanation of all the Van Der Linde gang members backstories.

Sean MacQuire

Sean Macquire and his father lived in Ireland possibly with more family but had to flee because the English (who were at the time in charge of ireland) were chasing them. They fled for their lives and they were in Boston for a month before his dad was shot in his sleep, showing the remaining Sean that there was truly no honor or shame in the world.

He was then sent to a reform school, which we all know was abusive and a living hell, so he ran, living as a low-life thief, he was a teenager, when he in a bar somewhere in North Elizabeth saw Dutch and Hosea and liked Dutch's watch. He followed the two into an alleyway and threatened them at gunpoint, however they laughed at him and told him to shoot, so he did, except the two others had noticed him first and taken the bullets from his gun. Sean started crying, thinking they were going to kill him but instead of doing that they gave him a home, a place to belong.

Lenny Summers

Lenny's grandparents as well as parents were slaves and his mother was born on a cotton field and taken away from his grandmother, who hadn't even known she was pregnant, immediately. His grandmother was then told to simply get back to work.

After the civil war, the old overseer kept making advandages towards Lenny's grandmother, to a point that in the end she needed to kill him and just barely escaped being lynched. Lenny's mother never saw the grandmother again.

Lenny's mother later met Mr Summers who was an educated man and taught Lenny to both read and write, however when Lenny was 15, his dad was beaten to death by several drunk men. Lenny stole a gun, tracked and hunted down the men, shooting them and showing no remorse even years later.

Kieran Duffy

Kieran Duffy's father was an Irishman who came to America with a dream of farming. It was there that he met Kieran's mother and not long after having Kieran, they both passed due to Cholera and not shortly after that the stables that he worked at to support himself threw him out. He decided to join the army to support himself but it didn't last long before he quit due to it "not working out well."

After returning from the army, he fell into work with a bunch of unnamed outlaws, though they all passed away, leaving him alone once again.

At some point he ran into the O'Driscolls who gave him a choice, to ride with them or to get killed, esencially forcing him to join them and work as a stable hand for them, though he was at the bottom of the latter simply working with the horses before being kidnapped by Arthur Morgan and joining the Van Der Linde gang.

Leopold Strauss

Leopold Strauss was born into severe poverty in Austria and his family struggled heavily with food. By the time that Strauss was only twelve, his older brother was beating up nightwatch men for whatever cash and food scraps they had on them. By that time Strauss's father had already sold his younger sister Anna, by the age of nine, into bonded labour to be able to provide for the rest of the family.

When Stauss was seventeen he was sent with his uncle to the US due to health problems, however the hellish sight of Brooklyn gave Strauss's uncle a heart attack on the spot, leaving Strauss alone in a forgein country. To survive he began doing illegal money scams and after doing so for years Dutch picked him up.

Tilly Jackson

Tilly Jackson was the daughter of a slave and became an outlaw by the mere age of twelve, running with a gang called the Foreman brothers who kidnapped her but after murdering the leaders cousin after he made advandages on her, she had to flee. She returned to her mothers workplace but found that she had already passed.

Later Tilly ran into Dutch Van Der Linde and as he was already taking care of John Marston and Arthur Morgan, he took her in, becoming just as much as a father figure to her as to the boys.

Micah Bell

Micah Bell was born directly into a life of crime as his father Micah Bell jr was a petty but ruthless and violent outlaw. Already when Micah was 17 him and his father were on run from the law as they had slid Jean and Roscoe Briggs throats and later hung them as well. His father was also his primary partner in crime, however he also seemed to have teamed up with his brother Amos a few times as well, however Amos regretted his past life and started a proper one with wife and children and threatened to kill Micah if he came close.

Micah had several partners in crime later in life, including Joe and Cleet who appears later in the game, as well as a fellow named Norman.

Micah runs into Dutch Van Der Linde in 1898 in a bar as Dutch is trying to sell some stolen goods, however the deal doesn’t work out and Micah steps in to help Dutch and save his life, earning a place in the gang.

Bill Williamson

Bill Williamson, also known as Marion Williamson, was born into an abusive family with a father who lost his mind to alchohol, even going to the point of mixing moonshine with whiskey. Watching this Bill always feared falling in love with liquor and suffering the same fate.

Bill always showed signs of being more of a troubled kid and being sent to a reform school did not stop him from building s solid criminal record as a kid.

Bill would later apply to the military and serve in the 15th infantry, fighting against the native americans before being dishonorably discharged for deviancy and attempted murder in 1892. For a year after he lived rough, truly falling in love with liqour and stealing from people om the side of the roads, one time being robbed himself by a "woman" (likely a cross dresser or genderqueer person).

In 1893 Bill tried to rob Dutch and got angry as the man simply laughed at him, however he calmed down as he was allowed a spot in the Van Der Linde gang.

Daniel(?) "Dutch" Van Der Linde

Dutch's mother was an english woman named Greta and his father a dutch man who lived somewhere near Philadelphia who fought in the civil war and died, which is why Dutch hated southeners.

Dutch's nickname rumors to come from his father's desperate attempt at keeping touch with his ancerstory.

When he was 15, he left home due to troubles with his mother whom he never got along with and simply saw him as a disobedient and troubled kid. He wished for freedom above all so to gain this he started a life of crime and in mid 1870 met Hosea Matthews.

(Second edit: I am not 100% sure Daniel is his true name, thus the ?, however I found it on his wiki page and added it)

Hosea Matthews

Hosea was born in around 1844 and lived the majority of his earlier life in the mountians, growing to love fishing and hunting. His father was mostly absent, living a life of "sin and debauchery that would make an emperor blush." Hosea saw his dad only about three times in his life but loved him none the less.

He tried to make his way with comedy as a stage actor, however he turned to petty thieft, stealing from his audience and later others in town. He was caught by the sheif stealing a chicken and sentenced to be hanged. Luckiy for Hosea the town folk saw it as a punishment too cruel and a riot broke out which ended with someone shooting the noose around Hosea's neck, allowing him to flee.

Mid 1870 Hosea found Dutch sitting by a campfire and decided to rob him, however found that Dutch had already robbed him. Hosea feared for a moment for his life but it ended with the two of them laughing it off and teaming up.

Molly O'Shea

Molly O'Shea was born into a wealthy Irish family, set up to live a proper and educated life, however she quickly got bored and showed little interest in the life set up for her, so she ran off to America in search of adventure and excitment. At some point she ran into Dutch Van Der Linde and found an interest in him and his life style, only to later genuiently fall in love with him.

Arthur Morgan

Arthur Morgan was born to Beatrice and Lyle Morgan in northen US. His mother died in his early life and he never really got along with his father whom there are rumors was abusive. Lyle lived a life of petty crime and was arrested and executed. Arthur saw his father die and although not having the best relationship, Arthur kept his father's hat and picture.

In 1877 Arthur was 14 and a wild delinquent. He ran into Dutch and Hosea, being picked up and taken under their wing, taught not only the ways of crime but also skills like reading, writing, hunting and so on.

Uncle

Uncle was born in Ohio (insert Penelope Braithwaithe shutter) with the only family present being his parents who died when he was nine and an "uncle" named Jeb whom Uncle hints at being a pedofile.

After his parents death he was on his own and was forced to a new city where he had to care for himself, and from that time to the game start in 1899, we know he has been married at least twice.

Uncle tells many stories of his past such as going to Africa and being worthshipped like a god by the locals, however the truth of these stories are highly doubted due to his tendency to lie. He does tell stories of being a "one shot kid" in his younger days, the truth of these also being doubted, however it may have been his tricket into the Van Der Linde gang.

Susan Grimsaw

Along with Hosea, Dutch and Arthur Susan was one of the founding memebers of the Van Der Linde gang, having run into Dutch during a poker game where both he and she found interest in one another, causing the curious couple and their unruly son to stay in the area a bit longer, paying poker long into the night while Susan sat on Dutch's lap.

Having gotten into a romantic relationship with Dutch, Susan was allowed to join the small group and even stayed when Dutch moved on to Annabelle, now serving as a form of housemother, making sure that people did their work, took properly care of themselves and made camp feel like home.

You can also hear Susan talking to Mary-Beth one time in camp, admitting that she had a fiance once however he went to heaven.

John Marston

John Marston was born in 1873 to an illiterate scottish father born on the boat to New York and a prositute mother who died during his birth. At first John lived with his father who constantly spoke of Scotland and his love for the country, however he was blinded in a bar fight south of Chicargo and later died when John was eight. The true cause of his father's death is unknown however John was told it was a barfight.

John spent a few years in an orphanage before running off and living on his own, at the mere age of eleven commiting his first murder by shooting a man, though he claims it was not his fault.

At the age of twelve John had been caught stealing from homesteaders who planned to have him hanged, however Dutch stepped in and took him under his wing.

Orville Swanson

Swanson used to wrok as a Clergyman but after indulging in the "earthly pleasures", being seduced by alchohol and sex, he lost his family, job and in the end faith, though he desperately tried to regain it.

At some point or another he fell in love with a woman named Margaret, though she was already married, so he simply added bigamy to the list of sins he had already commited. When the two of them were in San Fransisco, the law finally caught up wth them and while she fled onto a ship headed for Shanghai he was stuck and never saw her again.

Under unknown circomstances Swanson came to save Dutch's life and due to Dutch's debt to Swanson he was allowed to join the gang.

Mary-Beth Gaskill

Being a woman of good nature, Mary-Beth did not struggle getting close to her victims after having found herself needing to find a living in the streets. Due to her looks and personality she could with ease fool the richer men into thinking they were saving a poor maiden in need while her fingers slipped into their pockets.

It was through this that Mary-Beth got in trouble with not just the law but her victims as well. One night she had gotten a few foul men on her tail that she ran into the Van Der Linde gang who saved her and asked her to join them.

Charles Smith

Charles Smith was born to a Native Mother and a free African American father, all three of them living fairly happily with his mothets tripe together with a few other free men before the US army chased them away.

They continued to live together but a few years later Charles' mother was captured by the army, leading Charles' father to fall into alcoholism and a deep depression.

At the mere age of 13 Charles left his father and began to live on his own, becoming a supreme survivalist from an early age.

Some point during the late 1898 ran into the Van Der Linde gang in the Grizzlies and joined them.

Simon Pearson

Simon Pearson's family were whale hunters and although Pearson wished to follow in their footsteps it did not go that way due to the whale industry having lessened by the time that he got out of school. Having been forced to look for new employment options, Pearson joins the Navy where he even managed to get stranded for fifty days on a ship filled with plauge, watching his friends and coworkers slowly drop one by one.

After having returned from the Navy Pearson begins to struggle financially and takes a loan, however unable to pay it off loansharks comes after him and it is during one of these attempts at getting to Pearson that the Van Der Linde gang saves him and brings him to camp as a cook.

Abigail Marston

Abigail Marston, originally born Abigail Roberts, was orphaned at a young age and started roaming around bars, scraping whatever few coins she could take from folk before starting a work of prostitution, making an earning by selling her body and at some point running into Uncle at a bar who introduced her to the gang.

Now living with the gang, Abigail still worked as a prositute up until falling pregnant with Jack Marston by John Marston.

Josiah Trelawny

Josiah Trelawny was born in England though he has no memories of his life there, he later imigated to America where he starts working as a conman and trickster. It was during this line of work that he met yhe Van Der Linde gang and joined them bur with a special advandage as he, unlike the others, was allowed to appear and disappear as he pleased, always knowing when Dutch planned to cut him off and return with a big hit.

Josiah has a family living in Saint Denis concisting of a wife and two sons named Tarquin and Cornelius. Just as with the gang, he would disappear on them for months.

Karen Jones

Karen Jones lived as a scam artist in her early years and absolutely loved the outlaw lifestyle and hoped for a bit more which partly drove her to accept the Van Der Linde gang's invitation, hoping to achieve more.

Javier Escuella

Javier Escuella was born in Mexico to a drunkard father who worked for Allende' (a main antagonist in rdr1, a military man) uncle. When he was young he saw his own uncle as well as four other separate men get casterated and fed to pigs for simply suggesting fair wages for their work.

Javier moved on to become a violent and known bounty hunter and revolutionary, fighting against what he saw as a corupt system.

Javier ended up killing a powerful former military man for a woman that he loved, fearing for his loved ones life he fled to America where he knew no english and had no work or food, leaving him starving.

It was in America that he ran into Dutch as they both were trying to steal the same chickens. Dutch took Javier in, fed him, gave him a family and a life, leading Javuer to idiolize Dutch also for his revolutionary ideals.

At some unknown point someone attempted to kill Javier, leading to him having a prominent scar on his throat.

Sadie Alder

Sadie Alder grew up in a harsh envioment and from a very early age learned how to hunt and ride to care for herself, things that Jack Adler fell in love with. The two of them married september 1896, moving to a ranch in Ambarino where they had three happy years of marriage before the O'Driscolls arrived at their cabin.

[florencemtrash]

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Chapter Thirteen

Azriel x Day Court Librarian Reader

Summary: Y/n's clairvoyance is a gift from the Mother, but it feels more like a curse. With the power to gain knowledge through touch alone, Y/n holes herself up in The Alcove and hopes her powers and parentage will remain a secret. But things will change after the Summer Solstice ball and a chance encounter with a certain Shadowsinger.

Warnings: Canon typical violence. A walk through Velaris turns for the worse and the secrets of The Book are finally revealed...

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Masterlist

Masterlist of Masterlists

It would seem I was wrong. It does not take much for Bethsevah Mordeigh to turn. 

I should be ashamed, but the more often Thanatos keeps coming back, the more I come to like him. Make no mistake, he’s as dangerous and volatile as a starving animal, but compared to his siblings he’s a saint. 

I saw him kill a male yesterday. One who stumbled upon our hidden ceremony and threatened to come back with Koschei’s army and crush us and the Mother beneath his boot. 

But with a snap of Thanatos’s fingers the nameless fae was gone. Gone in a gust of red wind that smelled and tasted like metal. And Thanatos looked stronger for it. His pale skin stopped being so translucent. His hair looked a touch darker, so dark it swallowed all light. A piece cut away from the fabric of the world. 

Death is his food. Him and his siblings feed on it and crave it like nothing else. 

Except for me. 

Thanatos says he craves me. And I think I believe him. I think I’m beginning to crave him too. 

Gwyn froze when the mountain’s door slid back. Azriel stood outside Cagniv Library with a bouquet of salt-white water lilies clutched in one hand and pale blue tulips in the other. 

“Azriel,” you smiled brightly, the last word you’d meant to speak to Gwyn dying on your lips. “What’re you doing here?”

The midday sun beat down on the face of the mountain, shortening the shadows around your feet. 

“I was coming from the House of Wind and was hoping you’d take a long walk home with me. These are for you.” He held out the tulips. “And for you.” He held out the lilies for Gwyn, which she accepted after a brief moment of hesitance. 

Azriel looked… lighter. His shadows were stronger than ever, clinging to his body like a second scent, but his eyes held a fondness and love for you that Gwyn had never seen before. Not when he was looking at Mor, not when he was looking at Elain… not when he was looking at her. It was so obvious to Gwyn’s eyes, she was amazed you hadn’t caught on yet. You just looked at the flowers with a touch of color flooding your cheeks. Bashful and uncertain of how to accept such a gift. 

“Thank you.” You touched the velvety petals between your fingers as though they might crumble if you weren’t gentle. 

“Yes. Thank you.” 

Azriel looked at Gwyn, that small smile of his faltering and then growing once more when Gwyn nodded her head. It was a silent acknowledgement. A quiet understanding that didn’t completely escape your notice. 

I’m not happy with you. Gwyn’s eyes spoke. But I understand. Her teal eyes flashed protectively. Don’t fuck this up.

“I assume I’ll be seeing you tomorrow?” Gwyn smirked at you and nudged her shoulder with your own, feeling the soft give of her skin and the strength in her arms. 

“Where else would I be?”

“At home. Sleeping.”

“Pffft. Sleep is for the weak.” 

“Careful. You’re starting to sound like Az. Now shoo.” Gwyn waved you off, watching as you took the arm that Azriel offered and made your way down the smooth steps of the mountain back to the city. 

You bowed your heads together, lips barely moving and cutting out two dark silhouettes in the air. Azriel must have said something funny because your gentle laugh carried itself on the wind, weaving into the air like silver thread. Gwyn couldn’t help but smile at you. 

If she knew what was about to happen, she would have never let you leave the library. 

“They’re in love.” 

Azriel looked sideways at you, catching the sweet scent of your hair as you leaned against him. The Palace of Hoof and Leaf buzzed with quiet energy, the air tinged with the scent of sugar from the confectionary booths. 

“Who?”

“Beth and Thanatos.” 

The book rocked against your hip, matching the beat of you and Azriel’s steps as you walked through the cobblestone marketplace. Lanterns hung unlit from the arches above, bobbing on wire like the bubbles that a pair of hawk-winged children were blowing from the steps of a peach-stone apartment. The girl, blue-eyed and red-haired, nudged the boy, pointing at the Shadowsinger with something like awe. Azriel offered them a faint smile and a few tendrils of his shadows licked at their feet as they scampered away with laughter. It was just a game to them after all. 

“I didn’t think he was capable of love,” Azriel noted. He thought back to the memories you’d unearthed with your powers and of the violent ways Thanatos had inched his way into Beth’s life. Wherever he lingered, death followed. But so far as you knew, he was also incredibly protective of Beth and the other priestesses. They’d benefited from his presence even if they were unnerved by it. He’d kept them hidden from Koschei.

“Beth didn’t think so either.” You flinched when one of the marketplace hawkers held his hand out to you. He didn’t shout like the others and seemed grieved when you stepped back into the folds of Azriel’s wings. He opened his sticky fist palm up to the sky revealing a handful of neat caramel candies wrapped in wax paper. 

“For the miss.” 

Y/n looked at Azriel, who only nodded with a smile.

“Thank you.” You gingerly took them from him, taking a moment to admire the light brown of the confectioner’s eyes, like burnt sugar, and the wisps of candy floss clinging to his shirt like loose threads. 

He didn’t resume his shouting until you were a good distance away, deep voice bellowing out over the square that his wares were made fresh that morning. You unwrapped one of the candies and stuck it in your mouth, sighing as it turned around on your tongue, slowly melting. Azriel took one of the candies you offered, but tucked it into his pocket when you turned your head to inspect the baskets of spices laid out on the sidewall.

“But he keeps staying with her. Keeps warning her of Koschei’s movements so she and her fellow priestesses can stay hidden. He… he cares for her. Or at least Beth seems to think so. The information — the story — is more pleasant than I could have hoped for, and I’m eternally grateful she doesn’t go in depth about their activities—” 

Azriel chuckled. “So it’s not like one of Nesta’s books.”

“Thank the Mother no. But it doesn’t get us any closer to finding out how to defeat Koschei. She doesn’t even talk about Koschei or the priestesses much. Only Thanatos. It’s just a love story.”

“Love stories are never just that though. They’re probably the most powerful things in the universe. Look at Rhysand and Feyre. Cassian and Nesta. I don’t think we’d be where we are now if not for their love for one another. The things they were willing to do to protect what they cared about.” 

“Do you ever wish you had that?” You dared to ask. “That kind of love? A mate?” Azriel turned to look at you, eyes filled with more cryptic meaning than you could ever imagine unraveling. There was hope, longing, grief, and a slew of other emotions. Their weight seemed to press in on you, but you didn’t feel overwhelmed. 

“All the time,” he whispered. Then he smiled, staring down at where your arm was linked to his. “Do you?” 

You turned away almost bitterly. “I don’t know what I’d do with that kind of love. If I’d be able to handle it. It might be too much for me.”

“I would disagree.” 

You couldn’t find the words to respond, so you settled on silence. Luckily for you, silence with Azriel never felt uncomfortable. 

“If your shadows keep taking them, I’m going to forget how many I’ve selected.”

“I see no problem with this,” Azriel shrugged and continued to follow you around the bookshop. It had stuck out to you immediately on your long walk back to the River House. A squat, two-story townhouse with charmingly chipped white paint laid over sturdy brick and sage green shutters. Candles winked in the afternoon light pressed up against window sills where two fat ginger cats lay purring in the sun. The dark, woodsy interior dripped with books, leather notebooks, and automatic writing pens that hovered over thick pages like butterflies. “We have space in the house.” 

“It’s less about space and more about how much I’ve spent.” Your fingers brushed the next book on the shelf and its deep purple binding. 

Oh that one’s interesting — a romance between a Spring Court nymph and a Dundarian knife maker filled with adventure, lust, longing, and found family. 

You’d no sooner plucked it from the shelf before shadows crowded your hands, whisking it off to whatever ether Azriel kept them hidden in. He wrote the name of the book on a sheaf of paper, his handwriting neat and simple. 

You turned on him, arms folded over your chest. “You can’t keep doing that.” 

“You are not to spend a copper of your own money here. Rhysand and Feyre’s orders. Just put it on the House’s credit. Rhysand’s already added you.” 

“They put me on their credit?” You balked even thinking about the money you’d been given access to.

Azriel nodded. “Consider it repayment.”

“Repayment for what? I haven’t done anything.”

Azriel looked at you quietly, as if the answer were obvious. “You’re the reason I still have a sister-in-law and a niece. You’re the reason we now have a name to investigate and are one step closer to defeating Koschei. You’re the reason the Godswoods and the Gallows haven’t been stolen from yet and a number of Librarians still have their lives. Do I need to continue?”

You thought through what he said. It was true that Helion’s intervention in the Godswoods and the Gallows had been effective. No deaths had been reported since then, but it didn’t make you feel any safer. A snake was still a snake, even when camouflaged.

“Only two of those things matter to the Night Court. Helion owes me for the latter.” 

“Then you can have him contact the banks and transfer the sums.” Azriel’s eyes twinkled with mischie. You went to snatch the paper out of his hands, but all he had to do was raise his arm to the ceiling, a smile tugging at his lips. You jumped up, one hand firm on his shoulder for leverage, but it was no use. He was too damned tall. 

You stood on the tips of your toes to get closer to eye level with Azriel. His eyes flickered down to your lips, the shapes they made as you quietly said, “Thank you.” 

You lingered in the stacks for a few moments longer, nervously asked the shop owner to put the list of books on the High Lord and High Lady’s tab — which she did with a warm smile — and then made your way back outside. The bell hanging above the doorway jingled happily, the wood burned sign saying Come back soon! Love, Jessebell. 

You trailed ahead of him down the street. Every sign, every shop window display, every street sign — you drank them in like you were ravenous. 

Azriel felt Rhys’s presence drift in the outskirts of his mind, and without hesitation, he let him in. 

Where are you? What’s taking so long?

Nearly to the Sidra. I brought her to Jessebell’s. 

That explains your lateness. Rhys paused. She must have loved that. 

Azriel smiled inwardly. She did. She really did.  

A female with weathered, dark skin and flowers sprouting from her ears stopped you on the street and although your first instinct was to recoil, you relaxed when she only lifted up a deep black tulip in her textured hands. The wilting flower straightened up when you kissed one of the petals as instructed and the gentle laugh that followed had Azriel’s heart soaring. 

Well make sure you get here in time for dinner. I want as many of our family members under my roof as possible.

Is this an ask, or a command?

Don’t make me use my High Lord voice on you.

Azriel rolled his eyes with a smile. I am absolutely trembling. Do you use that tone of voice on Nyx? 

He felt as much as heard Rhys’s laughter. Enjoy your time with Y/n, but come back soon. Mor is looking to get her hands on your mate. Mother help us all.

Rhys cut the connection and Azriel was free to admire you once more. 

You cradled the bouquet he’d given you in your arms, light reflecting off the petals and casting a faint blue glow on your face as you chatted with the florist. Your smile, which had started out forced and nervous, was slipping into something more relaxed. When the female laughed merrily and touched your wrist, you didn’t flinch. 

Dark tendrils of night curled around his ears and Azriel felt a shiver trail down his spine. 

Behind you. His shadows whispered. The boy needs help. There’s something wrong with him.

The boy startled back when Azriel turned towards him, tripping over a nick in the cobblestones and landing with a wince on his palms. Glassy pale eyes stared up, wide and terrified. His clothes were rumpled and unkempt and his white-blond hair was a mess of curls flecked with grey, like he’d been rolling around in dust. Pale pink and blue veins rose to the surface of his green-tinged skin, sickly and unnerving. He looked like a corpse on puppet strings.

Azriel looked around, but no one was searching for the little boy. No yelps belonging to scared parents. No calls from a sibling. 

“Shadowsinger, sir?” Even his voice sounded sickly, like his vocal chords were disintegrating in his throat. 

Azriel immediately dropped to his knees and slid his hands behind his back. “What’s happened, little one? What’s wrong?” His voice was smooth and gentle. 

He was too busy thinking that his boy was younger than Nyx, too busy ordering his shadows out to search for the boy’s parents that he didn’t think twice about the lingering stench of blood clinging to the boy’s shoes or the faint pain beginning to grow behind his hazel eyes. 

The boy looked around furtively while wringing his grubby hands, and then leaned close to whisper in Azriel’s ear. His pale eyes narrowed in concentration.

“It’s beautiful. I’ve never seen a black tulip before.” 

“It’s a little secret of mine. You need to get the seed and soil just right.” The female brushed her waist length hair over her shoulder. The knotted strands had the thick, coarse texture of seafarer’s rope, as aged and wise as the rest of her. When you held the flower back out for her to take she shook her head. 

“For you, my dear. I have dozens more and I think it would attract more business if you wore it around today. A beautiful creature like you must get lots of attention.” 

You knew she was probably just saying these things to get your business, but you couldn’t help the spark of joy the compliments gave you. She helped tuck the flower into the braids of your hair and you felt the petals kiss the tips of your left ear. 

“Say.” The female leaned in like she was about to share a secret. “If you aren’t already taken, I have a niece who’d love to have a pretty girl like you on her arm.” 

Your blush deepened and you found yourself stammering, “That’s very kind, but I don't-I don’t-'' You glanced up the street. Azriel was kneeling on the ground, head bent down to a small child. You only caught the wisps of white, candy floss hair over Azriel’s broad shoulders. 

The female traced the path of your gaze and sighed. “Ahhhhh. I see.” There was a triumphant look in her eyes, even as she said, “Shame. But I’ll still give you my niece’s name if you don’t mind.” 

Your eyes snapped away from Azriel’s and you smiled in embarrassment. “Oh, we’re not—”

“Henna.” 

You stepped back. Panic froze the blood in your veins and you felt pinpricks traveling up your body, stabbing your heart and your mind. You could see her now. Her silver hair fanned out around her. Her broken body. Her bloodied eye socket, dark and empty. 

“I’m sorry. What did you say?” You had to have heard her incorrectly. Your head was pounding but you pushed back on your mental wards, shoring up your defenses until the feeling passed.

The female tilted her head to the side. Her eyes were as milky and glassy as pearls. “Does the name mean anything to you, dear?” 

You took another step back and the female stepped forward. Her eyes seemed to clear then and her brows furrowed in concentration and pain. She lunged forward, tearing away at your clothes and knocking the flowers of your hands as she begged. “Help me. The boy. He’s inside—HELP ME!” 

You surged back, crumpling to the ground under her heavy weight as she continued to pull and claw. 

She’d been restocking the back room when the dirty little boy and the tailor showed up in the alleyway. He still carried that bolt of fabric under the crook of his arm. He took out a knife, orange eyes flashing and slit his throat from ear to ear while the little boy watched. Smiling.

“LET GO!” You kicked out, ramming your knee up and into the soft flesh of her stomach like you’d seen Emerie do to Cassian, but you lacked her strength and technique. The female wheezed but didn’t let go, even as others came to try and pry her off of you. Their voices were frantic, trying to calm you down, but they were the voices and hands of strangers. 

“AZ!” You screamed, feeling the female sink her nails into your arm.

There was an ugly tearing sound and the cool touch of wind at your chest. Your robes were ripped apart under her rough hands and her eyes narrowed in on your belt and the chain that connected to the book. She bucked off a cherub-faced female with a blow to her nose and blood splashed over your cheek. 

“Help me. Please. Oh… oh gods.” She grabbed at the book, but the chain glowed iron hot in her hands. The smell of burning scorched your nose as the magic did what it was meant to do. Nothing could break that chain. Not unless you willed it. Not while you were still alive. 

“Oh gods. Oh gods help me. I’m so sorry.” There were tears streaming down her face, tracing the canyons and valleys of her skin. She threw off the fae clamoring around you both and ran with jerky, uncoordinated leaps back into her flower shop. She snatched the gardening shears off the windowsill where she’d been trimming her hydrangea bushes. She wept and shook her head, mouth struggling to open and scream as she held the shears up high and then drove them into her neck.

The scene took a long time to filter through the haze of panic and disbelief. 

“Az… Az… Az—AZRIEL!” Your shrill scream pierced through the air. You scrambled away from everyone. Stones shaved away the skin of your knees, your palms. The tattered silk of your robes trailed behind you. “Don’t touch me!” You shrieked at the male who tried grabbing your arm, soft voice whispering. 

He wasn’t the one you wanted. 

“AZRIEL!” 

The female dropped to her knees, hands clutching her throat as blood poured out in bubbly, gurgling spurts. The candy pink strips of her apron turned a wet, sticky black as she crawled back towards the door.

“Oh gods… Please,” she wheezed, wet and agonized, before collapsing face down on the floor. Motionless. 

You staggered to your feet twisting away from everyone crowding around you. 

“Don’t touch me. Don’t!” 

“Miss you must sit. Please—”

“Let me help—” 

“Are you hurt? What’s—” 

“Don’t touch me. Please don’t touch me. Don’t touch me!” 

Screams. The sound of doors slamming shut. Locks turning. Commanding barks calling for a healer. Calling for the High Lord and the High Lady. Calling for the Shadowsinger to help.

Azriel was still kneeling in front of that boy and no matter how many times you called his name and pushed through the crowd of people now rushing up and down the streets in a frenzy, he didn’t get up. He didn’t look at you. You may as well have not existed. 

You finally reached him, narrowly missing being run over by a satyr who seemed to have gotten the wrong impression about which direction to sprint in. Every clip clop of his hooves shot through you. 

“Az.” 

Why hadn’t… Why hadn’t he helped you? 

“Az.”

Why hadn’t he come when you called?

The Shadowsinger rose. One hand grabbed the hilt of Truth Teller and the malicious blade sang as it was unleashed. The shadows that normally hovered about him like mist were gone. They were all around you now, tugging you in the opposite direction towards the Sidra. They pleaded for you to run, but you couldn’t understand them.

Something was deeply, deeply wrong.

“Az.” You begged and grabbed hold of his hand. “Please. You’re scaring me.”

Truth Teller shot out and pain radiated up your arm as the blade cut neatly through your clothes and sliced open your skin. You tripped backward, landing with a thud on the street that rattled your bones. Your sleeve turned dark with blood. 

You whimpered, holding your ruined arm up to your chest. There was no feeling in Azriel’s eyes. No flicker of recognition. None of that warmth and kindness you were so accustomed to. Just a menacing, silent form towering over you and blocking out the sun. 

A pale boy stood by Azriel’s side with ice chip eyes and rectangular pupils. He grinned brightly and the stretch of his waxy cheeks was too tight. Too forced. He shouldn’t have been alive. He-he—

Andrian. 

You’d seen him in Henna’s memory. You’d heard the snap of his neck beneath Koschei’s hands. Even now the boy was bent awkwardly, his head left in a perpetual tilt that should have looked charming and inquisitive but instead made you want to retch.

Andrian smiled at you then plastered a practiced look of horror on his face before running away with tears streaming down his cheeks, shouting for his mother. A burly male grabbed his shoulders, alarm on his face as he hoisted Andrian into his arms and disappeared into the crowd. Because who wouldn’t stoop down to help a fragile little boy? Who would dare suspect that the daemati that had roamed the Day Court’s halls and slithered his way into Velaris was a child?

Azriel gripped you by the front of your ruined clothes, hosting you up in the air. Your feet kicked uselessly and grabbed onto Azriel’s arm, trying to alleviate the choking pressure of his hand so close to your neck. 

“No. Azriel please. It’s me,” you whimpered. “It’s me.”

There was a flicker of recognition in his eyes. There and gone. So brief you wondered if you’d imagined it.

His left hand parted the tatters of your robes, and you flinched when his fingers brushed against your hip before settling on the chain that kept the book tied to you. 

Panic seized your soul. 

You’d been chipping away at the book’s secrets for months and you couldn’t let Azriel — couldn’t let Koschei — get his hands on it. Not without you knowing what it was that made Beth’s story so special.

You flung a hand out, feeling the leather of the book beneath your fingertips like it was your own skin. Your magic called out to the book, desperate and powerful and familiar, and the barriers it possessed to hide its secrets melted away at your beckoning. You poured every inch of your power into it even as Azriel’s lips turned down in an ugly frown that didn’t belong on his face. 

Your eyes turned to gold, bright as the sun as you basked in the knowledge flooding your mind with the force of a tsunami. You didn’t hold anything back. Not this time.

You were so lost in the book — in the emotions and memories wrapping around your mind, sharp and brighter than the light of a thousand suns — that you didn’t feel it when Azriel gripped that golden chain. The metal flared, a high-pitched ring piercing the air as it snapped in two, giving way to Azriel’s power. Nothing should have broken it. And yet there it was dangling from your waist.  

You did feel it when he broke your wrist. 

When he forced the book from your grasp. 

And then stabbed you in the stomach. 

Cassian and Nesta winnowed to the street and watched in horror as your body was dropped to the ground. Your head cracked the pavement, hands twitching palms up at your sides. 

Nesta shrieked. The sound was harrowing. The mourning, dying screams of an animal.  

She charged forward, twin blades flashing in her hands, and silver light shot out of her chest, crashing into Azriel’s shields and forcing him back twenty feet. He gritted his teeth. The rubber soles of his shoes skidded and burned. 

Cassian collapsed on his knees beside you, peeling off his leather jacket and wrapping it around your head and neck to keep it in place. 

“Shit.” His hands came away bloody. RHYS! FEYRE! He screamed into the corners of his mind, hoping they’d hear. GET HERE NOW! 

“Thanatos.” Your voice was weak.

“It’s Cass. Hey, keep your eyes on me ok.” He pressed his hands against your stomach, wings flared out to protect you from the cold burn of Nesta’s power as she went toe to toe with The Shadowsinger. Magic sizzled in the air, raising the hair on the back of Cassian’s neck like a lightning strike waiting to happen. Blood pooled over his hands, thick and dark. “Eyes open,” he commanded, “On me.”  

Your eyes were open, and glowing strangely, but you weren’t staring at Cassian. No. You were miles outside of your body. 

“The Bone Carver. That’s it.” 

“Eyes on me, Y/n. Eyes on me.” 

“Thanatos,” your hand twitched, “The Bone Carver. That’s how she did it.”

Nesta screamed, flying overhead in a burst of blue light that had her back slamming into one of the marketplace towers. The white marble cracked viciously and Nesta dropped to the ground, dazed and distracted as blood dripped out from her nose. 

“NESTA!” Cassian roared, eyes narrowing into dangerous slits as Azriel waited at the bottom of the street. 

The Shadowsinger muttered something dark and revolting beneath his breath. Ancient, powerful words that were whispered in his mind. He held onto the book in his hands as it lit up in flames and then blew the ashes into the wind that would carry them all the way to Andrian’s master. 

Koschei.

The call of her mate sharpened her senses and Nesta rolled onto her feet, calling her weapons back into her hands and leveling a glare at Azriel that would have killed a lesser male on the spot. 

She was Nesta fucking Archeron. 

Lady Death. 

Queen of Queens. 

And she would be damned if she let Azriel hurt her or anyone else.

“I’m sorry for what I’m about to do, Az,” she growled. 

She’d been holding back before. She’d been holding back a long while. But no more of that. The power she let out burst through Velaris with light brighter than a dying star, crackling with an energy that knocked Azriel off his feet and sent him crashing into the river wall with a sickening crack that shattered the bones in his arm, his leg, and his wings. 

Rhys appeared at his side, violet eyes wide open in shock. He could feel the magic suffocating his brother’s consciousness, burying him so deep there was almost nothing left but anger behind his whiskey-brown eyes. 

Rhysand grabbed the sides of his head, shoving his way into Azriel’s mind even while he fought back. Rhys flinched when one of Azriel’s knives nicked his temple, drawing blood that dripped down onto his velvet dinner jacket and floated on the dense material like dew drops. 

“Stop. This isn’t you, Az.” 

Azriel seethed, teeth bared and bloody. He spit in Rhysand’s face and he winced. Rhysand would never be able to forgive himself for what he did next. But someone had burrowed themselves into Azriel’s mind so thoroughly, so viciously, that in that moment, it was the only thing Rhys could think to do. 

Rhysand’s talons dragged down on Azriel’s mental walls so viciously he screamed as they were torn to pieces. He dug in with brutal efficiency. Reaching, tearing, clawing to catch the curl of power that had infected Azriel’s mind before it could do any more damage. He latched onto its slithery, silver body and wrenched it out of Azriel’s consciousness. 

When I find you. You’re as good as dead. Rhysand promised. 

The daemati slunk away with a giddiness that sent a shiver through The High Lord’s bones. 

Azriel slumped, weak and boneless, against his brother’s shoulder. Sweat beaded his brow and he shook, blinking the saltiness out of his eyes. He felt like he’d been beaten within an inch of his life. His bones were broken. His wings twisted. There was a raging headache that a hundred shots of vodka paled in comparison to. 

But it was his hands that horrified him most. Red and slippery. 

His breath shook.

He couldn’t… he couldn’t remember… what…. 

His eyes shot to Rhys, then up the street where he could make out Feyre, Cass, and Nesta huddled over your still body. The bond sat deep within him pulsing with terror and pain. 

“Rhys.” His voice broke. Rhysand angled his body to hide you from view, but it was too late. Azriel was panicking now, body trembling uncontrollably. “What happened?”

Rhysand said nothing. His eyes shined with horror. 

“What did I do? Rhys, what did I do?!” 

“Cass. Cassian, I’ve got her.” 

His hands were shaking. There was so much blood. The smell burned his nose and made him want to throw up his lunch. Feyre covered his hands with her own, peeling them away sticky and red from Y/n’s stomach. 

Light flooded out from Feyre’s palms, warm and lovely and Cassian and Nesta breathed a sigh of relief as the flow of red slowed and then stopped, flesh knitting itself back together. 

“It’s ok. You’ll be ok.” Nesta’s words were commanding as she held your neck and head still.

Your eyes searched the empty sky, seeing and unseeing. Then your hands shot up, grasping Feyre’s shoulders and digging in deep enough to leave bruises. Your eyes were wide, staring at her with an intensity that spoke of a thousand years. An unfathomable wealth of knowledge that should have crushed you beneath its weight. 

“Y/n it’s ok,” she murmured gently, pushing more power into your body, willing you to heal faster.

“Look. Feyre you need to look,” your voice was thick. Wet. Blood coated the inside of your mouth bitter and metallic. 

“I’m looking. Y/n, you hit your head. It’s going to be ok. You hear me? It’s going to be ok.” 

“You need to look,” you said once more.

You trailed a bloody, weak hand down Feyre’s arm and pulled her fingers up to your temple, tapping once. Twice. 

Without any more direction, she slipped into your mind and gasped.

Feyre stood in a pool of mist, white fingers reaching up her legs and splintering outwards before they changed direction and started to climb up into the darkness like trees. Or rather… like bookshelves. The mist formed stacks that disappeared into the distance, endless hallways and shelves that wound around each other. Chaotic and orderly at the same time. 

She could feel your presence beside her. Or rather she was you. In that moment she felt the raging winds of your power, hot and ravenous. It wrapped around you, tugging you to and fro like that uncontrollable lurch when you stand too close to the cliff’s edge. The call of the void.

She needed to answer that call the same way you did whenever you used your powers, because somewhere in the halls of your mind stood the knowledge you’d worked so hard to obtain. The truth of how it was Bethsevah Mordeigh was able to trap Koschei, and how to end it once and for all. 

Feyre let your magic pull her in the right direction. In the mist she stumbled upon the final memories you’d absorbed from the book before it had blown away in the wind.

Bethsevah wept, “No. No. No. I won’t,” shoving away the reed thin body that held her so close. Thanatos grasped her face in his pale hands, begging her to listen to him even as she shook her head frantically. “I won’t do it.” 

“You must. Bethsevah, you must.” His pitch black eyes winked with starlight… or maybe it was his tears. 

This world and its people had changed him. He could feel it in his bones. Something very deep and cruel within him had been twisted into something sacred. Something that toed the line of kindness. 

Koschei thought it was this element that made fae and humans beneath the three of them. They were supposed to be pure. Powerful. Handing out life and taking it away like the gods they were. But now Thanatos knew better. Now he knew exactly what it was that made Koschei and Stryga worse than even him — they would never be able to care for anyone. Not the way he cared for Bethsevah. Not the way he cared for the world she loved. 

“I won’t do it,” she growled.

“Then they’ll die,” he said, with a tone of finality that could only belong to a death god. “Everyone. Everyone you love. Everyone you care about. I know my brother. Koschei craves attention and devotion above all else. He won’t let you worship your Mother. He won’t stop until you all kneel or until you’re ashes in the wind. Beth—” He wrenched her hands back from where she covered her eyes, refusing to even look at him. 

He tucked his crooked finger beneath her chin, coaxing her gaze up. Together they were storm clouds blanketing an eternal night. A lightning strike — brief and chaotic and electrifying. 

“You don’t know what you’re asking of me,” she whispered, steel laced in her soft voice, “You don’t know what you’re offering.” 

He smiled, sad and simple. “I know exactly what I’m offering up.”

“Once I lock you in The Prison, I won’t be able to let you out. No one will. You’ll be trapped there for eternity.” She shivered, closing her eyes. She wouldn’t wish that fate upon her worst enemy, but her mate? She shook her head. 

“I know.” 

“No, you—”

“I have seen the first fall of snow on a new world. I have seen entire cities leveled to dust with no survivors. I’ve lived thousands of years. I understand.”

“We’ll find a way. Kosch—” 

“Remember what I told you,” he whispered, “Back at the cabin? You were made to ruin me, Beth. And I will let you do it a million times over. Without hesitation.” 

You and Feyre felt Beth’s pain as acutely as if you shared the same heart.

“I wish she hadn’t done it,” Beth whispered, “I wish the Mother had never created me to be your mate.” 

“I don’t.” Thanatos leaned his forehead against Beth’s and got lost in her. “There is no other way, Bethsevah.” He kept saying her name, like just speaking the word and feeling the shapes it took in his mouth would prolong the time they had together. Would tie them together more surely than the bond that burned in their chests.

She felt the battleground slip beneath her feet and no amount of power, no amount of willpower, could change it. 

He brushed back her hair and trailed one of his slender fingers down the curve of her cheek ending one teardrop’s race to her chin. “Mating bonds are powerful things, Beth. Your magic — your blood — and yours alone will be able to cut through my defenses and sever me from my power. I want you to take it and lock me away. Once my magic is yours, Stryga won’t be able to see you coming and you’ll be able to take her power as well. So long as you leave Koschei for last it may just be enough power to rid him from this earth once and for all.” 

“You’d have me do this. Destroy you and your family. This is what you want?”

Thanatos hesitated. “I am not a good male. But this… this will have to be enough. This is what I want, Bethsevah. For you and your family to live. To be happy and safe.”

“I won’t be happy, “ she said, eyes now flat and dull as the silver coins they placed over the dead, “I won’t take anyone else.”

“I want you to,” he begged, “I want you to marry and to have children. I want you to grow your family so that one day, if I ever do make it out of that Prison, I’ll still see pieces and memories of you roaming this earth. That’s all I want, Bethsevah, and it’s already more than I deserve.” 

“I’ll find a way,” Beth promised. “I’ll find a way to get you out. I swear it.” 

“Don’t make any bargains with me.” He smiled sadly, thumb wiping away at her cheeks, “That’s what got us into this mess.”

Finally she laughed, just a little. “I don’t regret it.” 

“Neither do I.”

The memory froze. A moment in time trapped like a beetle in amber.

A hand grabbed Feyre by her shoulders and swung her around. You stood there cloaked in pale, golden light, your eyes shining like copper coins. When you opened your mouth, you spoke in Beth’s voice.

Thanatos told me that magic runs in blood — familiar, same. But mates are different. Powerful. Their magic can protect one another. Identify one another across space and across time. But they can also turn on each other viciously. A lock and a key. Madness and salvation.

What I could destroy in Thanatos, I stood a chance at destroying in his siblings.

Your face fell, hauntingly beautiful in the glow of your powers. 

But I couldn’t do it. Not in the way he asked. I took his power. I locked him in that Prison. I bound Stryga to her cabin in the woods. But I didn’t kill Koschei when I should have. When the power of three gods was coursing through my veins and stripping me down to my bones, when I had enough light within me to see the birth and death of stars and the face of the Mother, I couldn’t do it. 

I thought I would be capable of destroying Koschei and freeing Thanatos, but I couldn’t do either. I had only enough sanity left to take that power and bury it somewhere Koschei couldn’t touch. To trap him on the lake where he can live in madness knowing his magic is so close by and yet locked away. Unreachable. 

I’ve done my part. I’ve had my children. I’ve left my mark on the world, great and terrible as it is. If you’re reading this, my daughters, do what I could not. Take the power in the lake and destroy him. It will open for you, and only you. My power. My blood. 

And if you have any love for me at all, find a way to release Thanatos. That is what I ask of you.

Bethsevah’s calls had never been answered, at least not by her children. You knew this much in your heart. Thanatos — The Bone Carver — had freed himself thousands of years later only to die beneath the Cauldron’s power. 

You whispered a silent prayer to the Mother. You hoped the Bone Carver was at peace now. Now that he must be with his Beth. 

Azriel was screaming your name, broken cries cutting through the quiet of the marketplace. You’d never thought him capable of such a wretched noise. 

The High Lady sat shock still above you with tears streaming down her face. Grey eyes glistening.

<- Previous Chapter Next Chapter ->

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Author's Note:

I apologize if you thought I'd forgotten about the plot with Koschei and was just writing cute, fluffy scenes between our favorite Librarian and our favorite Batboy. But you also should've remembered that I burned this girl's house down and had her kill a another character in self defense so... this was coming... sorry...

This is by far the chapter I've been most nervous about posting because it's where I start to tie together all the weird loose threads that have been accumulating throughout this story so I am very much open to feedback on how I can do things better and on how I can make things clearer moving forward. Or! If you thought I did a good job and are intrigued, I'd appreciate it if you let me know that too!

But anyway thanks for reading 😅.

[g-on-ef]

Goddess of Loneliness ideas

Not sure yet if I will write GoL I'm tempted so imma just dump some ideas I have and see where it goes ^^

After coming back from the states Maya is isolated from everyone

Annika becomes a little mean spirited towards her and reminds everyone she always knew Maya was an awful person and she wasn't even surprised that Maya betrayed her family

Maya doesn't say anything but is hurt that her brother and Killian don't defend her and if anything Killian adds fuel to the fire

Gareth does however by reminding Annika she betrayed her family by dating the fucker that stabbed her brother almost got Nikolai killed and almost drove her to suicide

That did not end well with Jeremy as he defensed his sister

Gareth deciding they're being unfair to Maya remins everyone that their own partners have done some shitty things to them and they were quick to forgive them but can't do the same for Maya

It ends in a huge fight between him and Killian which had Jeremy and Niko separating them before it can escalate to something worst

Mia throws a comment how Maya is still ruining their family by pitting them against each other as she Niko and Kill leave

Gareth tries to sooth her but she decides to leave to go somewhere else

What no one knows is Maya has her own little cottage where she goes to escape

Maya writes in her diary and cries of being alone

She tries to talk to her mom who ignores her her dad who claims he's busy but she knows he's not

She tries to talk to Illya but all he does is yells at her calls her selfish and throws a traumatic event that happened to her back to her face making her feel worse than she already did

Trigger warning mention of eating disorder and self harm

Three weeks have passed and Maya has been a mess

Her eating disorder is back as she overhears Annika and the rest of the Elite girls talking badly of her Mia included

She gorges down on food till her stomach is full and vomits it out

She's done this before as her punishing herself so she does it again

She use to burn herself

She goes back to that habbit

Brandon catches her doing it

He approaches her but Maya dismisses him and tries to leave

Bran doesn't leave and threatens to tell Nikolai what she is doing

Maya says she doesn't care if he knows since she's not important to him and never was

No one knows this but Maya has a beautiful voice and sings beautifully she's also a huge anime nerd bigger than Cecily

She's also a talented anime artist

She's done commissions and has made a shit tone of money from it

Hell one of her drawings is hanging proudly on Cecilys walls but Cecily doesn't know it was Maya that drew it

Maya is a swifty and an army and part of the beyhive

In order she loves Jimin Yoongi Jin Hobi Namjoon Taehyung and Jungkook

Okay her list is always changing but Yoongi and Jimin are always on top

She owns rare merch and keeps in her little cottage

Annika, Ava, Glyn, and a reluctant Cecily and Mia think she deserved to be punished so they along with Killian tore up her posters she had at the mansion along with her Taylor Swift Viynal and Beyonce shirt that was a limited run and merch she had

When she went to her room she saw the state it was and felt like crying

The merch didn't mean a lot since she had bought it in double but it still hurt that someone ruined things she bought with her own money

She quietly packed everything and threw it away

Bran saw her room destroyed and helped her clean it

Maya didn't say anything she just picked up her things and threw them out

She was grateful she kept her sign merch, the rare photocards, and everything important to her in her cottage

Bran tried to talk to her but she ignored him

Bran was getting worried and didn't want her to hurt herself

He never told Niko but he was worried for her

He asked her if she wanted to hang out with him

Maya didn't say yes or no so Bran dragged her with him to go for some coffee

Maya didn't understand why Bran was being nice to her

Bran told her it's because no one should feel so low

Maya reminded him what she did to mia

Bran reminds her what his family did to hers

Maya smiles a little and it's the first time she actually did

She and Bran start hanging out more

The two bond and Maya can safely say she made a friend

Bran can say the same

Mia isn't happy and neither is Lan

Niko is conflicted

Maya brings him to her cottage and shows him her drawings

Bran is honored to be the first on here as well as the one she trusted with her drawings

Maya is happy

Well not for long

Maya is reminded once again of the pain she caused and how she'll ruin Brandon

She's tired of the constant harassment

The constant pain

Lan especially threatens her along with Eli Killian and Creighton

Having enough Maya runs away

She leaves a drawing for Bran and only Bran and leaves

She heads to California to start a new life

She doubts anyone will notice she's missing

She destroys her phone and anything that can trace her and leaves

[storiesfromgaza]

Note: Tumblr deleted the video, But I have reuploaded it.

Bisan posted videos on her Instagram account, documenting all the events that occurred today. I compiled them into one clip and added a caption.

It's important to watch it to understand the suffering they are going through and to share it so that everyone knows. And don't forget to pray for her and all the people of Gaza

a Transcription of everything she said in the video:

This is Bisan from Gaza. I'm still alive. Today is the 30th day of the war in Gaza, and this might be the last update I can provide to you. I'm not sure if I will survive until tomorrow in these conditions. I will give you an update for the past two days and this night, the last night. What happened is that the Israeli army started targeting any way to survive. They are targeting any way to generate electricity. The Israeli army targeted the whole solar cells in the whole Gaza City, over buildings, over bakeries, and anywhere that contains solar cells - it was bombed. The Israeli army bombed the major petroleum and water tanks in Gaza City as well. The wheat stocks and the bakeries were threatened that if they were open, they would be bombed, and they ran out of petrol and wheat. But then after obtaining some, their stocks were bombed. Tonight, there's been no piece of bread in Gaza City for four days, and there's no clean drinking water anywhere because we need electricity to find the water. After bombing the infrastructure and any way to obtain water or bread, they dropped between 100 to 300 white phosphorus bombs over Shati refugee camp, which is near Al-Shifa hospital. The gas spread throughout Gaza City, and tonight, my eyes, nose, and mouth started burning, I had a headache, and people started coughing and trying to find shelter. They dropped the gas to evacuate us and lead us to go outside Gaza. This morning, after cutting off the internet and connections, they dropped leaflets from the sky telling people that they have to evacuate to the south. They have to evacuate to the south, walking without using any vehicle. It's planned - this is genocide, with people striving, no food, no water, white phosphorus, and then forcing us to leave. Even if we survive the white phosphorus and the bombings, if in the schools, hospitals, and our homes there is no food and clean water, all we have is salty water from the sea. They are trying to kill a million people by hunger, making them thirsty and sick. There's no aid, and 0.8 can enter the north. A million people are still in the north. There's no food, no water. This is the paper that was dropped today. They are trying to push us to the borders, near the desert, making the safe areas smaller and smaller. We are two million people still here. So, people are celebrating 100-meter airdrops, but they are not entering Gaza; they are not reaching the hospitals. They are to the south of Gaza, we're in the north. More than a million people are in the north, and a million people are in the south. These airdrops are not enough, do not contain fuel, and about going to the north, we need fuel, medical supplies, food - we cannot get anything. The media needs to talk about this; people need to talk about this - we're hungry. We used to eat once a day, but now, even this time, we cannot afford it. There's no value for our existence, for our money, and there's no product to buy - there's nothing. Many people are struggling, and people are dying because of hunger, and there is no clean water.

[kupkate04]

A Hapless Endearment || Creepypasta x F. Reader || Ch. 1 - To Grandmother's House We Go

—Quick author's note—

I'm sure you all know the drill by now, but for those of you who don't, here it is:

Y/n = Your name

L/n = Last name

N/n = Nickname

H/c = Hair color

E/c = Eye color

F/c = Favorite color

B/m = Birth month

S/t = Skin tone

B/s = Body shape

B/c = Blush color

L/c = Lip color

H/l = Hair length

Also, I try to leave Y/n up to interpretation as much as I can, although some things will still be assumed about her, whether that be the kind of food she likes or her style of clothing, etc. It's difficult for me to fully write for a character who's a "blank slate", just thought you should know! Enjoy reading~

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

She exudes an inaudible sigh, propping her jaw in her palm and gazing through the somewhat smudged surface of the glass. Trees and houses of varying sizes whiz by, blurring together and composing an evanescent of greens, browns, whites, and yellows. The sun sits high on its invisible throne above. Its warm, golden rays break through an army of fluffy clouds, capturing the atmosphere in a brilliant, cheery radiance.

Struggling to imagine the clouds morphing into fun, inspiring shapes due to her current lack of concentration, she frowns, letting her discouraged eyes fall. The engine hums, the AC whirs, and wheels scrape the asphalt below, bringing the passengers closer to their destination. They've halted a few times to allow everyone a chance to stretch their legs and collect themselves, which has been Y/n's saving grace. Still, after ten hours of riding, her muscles are stiff and she is more than eager to be free from the confinement of this chatter-brimmed bus. Nestled in her lap is a backpack, and below the seat, directly behind her legs, lies her duffel bag; both have been stuffed with an assortment of clothes and other items she deemed imperative to bring along. 

Headphones have been diligently positioned over her ears, the tunes that flood from which manage to block out most of the incessant noise surrounding her–including the ungodly snores of the man to her left. She fiddles with the wire, twirling it absentmindedly around her finger as she stares at the window frame, her mind wandering aimlessly amidst a blanket of fog. Languidly glimpsing to the side reveals her seating buddy has his head resting on the back of the bench, eyes closed and mouth hanging wide open. It's a wonder he hasn't caught a fly in there yet.

Ah, well. At least he doesn't stink.

She lets the dirty glass support her temple, her eyes threatening to seal shut. She's barely seized a wink of sleep throughout the course of this little road trip and her body is beginning to feel the full effects of it. Pondering momentarily how much longer it will be until they reach the station, a fleeting peek at her phone screen informs her of the time: 6:44 in the evening. The bus left at 6:30, so there shouldn't be much time remaining. Gosh, she can't wait to stand again. She's not even sure she remembers what her feet feel like.

She succumbs to the temptation to yawn quietly, giving her drooping eyes a reprieve. She thinks about what she's going to do when the bus parks and she saunters through the folding doors to reunite with her grandparents. It's been so many years since she saw them last. She was...nine? 

Memories of her childhood have grown faint, but she can recall how happy she always was around them; how much boundless joy they brought her simply by existing. They were never neglectful, impatient, or spiteful, no–only caring and affectionate and overflowing with love. She's missed having that kind of positive influence in her life. It's been hovering in the distance for so long, just out of reach. Taunting her. 

But now it doesn't matter, because she's coming back. She's finally going to see them again. 

It's unfortunate that it took seven years to convince her father to let her return. He's so swaddled in his needless resentment and self-pity that it's blinded him. She doesn't understand how he could care so little–be so detached from the two people who raised him with every ounce of adoration they possessed because of some silly disagreement a few years prior.

She isn't certain what transpired exactly; all she knows is the vague comments she was told by her mother. It was likely an argument based around the roads he was traversing to make an income, as it seems highly in-character for him to get offended by something so trivial. Knowing him, he blew their moral concerns out of proportion, pitched a hissy fit, and vowed never to speak to them again, dragging his daughter and wife into the crossfire. 

It was that reason and that reason alone why Y/n had to wait until she was sixteen to pay dear Nana and Pops a visit. He only relented because she wouldn't stop bothering him about it for two weeks straight after she found out both her parents would be out of the country during the summer for their jobs. She didn't want to be stuck at home for three months without any friends to spend time with, and she didn't want to go back to camp either, so traveling to Alabama for a summer vacation seemed like the only logical solution. They dropped her off with some money on their way to the airport, she bought a ticket, boarded the elongated vehicle, and that was that.

Her father had been less than enthused on the matter, and she recalls his torpid, irked expression reflecting in the rear-view mirror of the car as they pulled up to the bus stop. Her mother, on the other hand, was rather indifferent; far too invested in whatever messages lit up the screen of her phone to concern herself with domestic conflict. Y/n could only imagine which one of her flings she was texting this time, as situations involving her work certainly never gained her attention so fiercely.

A melancholic indignancy bubbles up within the girl's chest at the countless encounters she's had with her mom as of late that involved puny excuses, middle-of-the-night departures, and poorly-disguised secrets. She's never outright confirmed it, but her behavior is undeniably suspicious. She smiles more at her phone than she does when she's ever with her husband, and her 'husband' in question doesn't even seem to notice—or, if he does, simply doesn't care. Y/n hates it. Her family is falling apart at the seams and she's powerless to stop it. 

A bitter sensation grabs at her tongue and she desires to spit the foul taste out, though only swallows and chews the inside of her cheek, attempting to rid herself of the disconcerting concept. She searches the hollows of her mind for something, anything lighthearted; a memory that contains laughter, joy, fondness. However, she finds nothing. She’s unable to remember a delightful moment between herself and her parents that took place recently. A time when her father outwardly expressed happiness or her mother was shamelessly candid.

It's a distressing realization to approach, that her family hasn’t acted as a true family since she was twelve years old; only still a child when her clinquant life slowly came crashing down before her. She isn’t sure the exact minute that it happened, nor does she have a specific reason as to why it happened. All she knows is that her parents steadily grew more and more distant, drawing themselves out of her sight until the feeling of inevitable abandonment seeped in.

She tried to communicate with them, collapse their walls and get them to allow their only child back in, though each time without fail, they forced themselves farther back into the cold, bitter darkness and left her desperate, longing for their love and affection. It became apparent she was getting nowhere with them, so after many fruitless attempts, she threw her hands up in surrender.

The example they set was not a good one, yet she couldn't help but subconsciously follow their lead. She grew emotionally drained, jaded—bordering depressed, even. Suddenly, maintaining any relationships outside of her home became a chore; a nearly impossible task that needed more energy than what she was willing to sacrifice. The more her friends noticed her inner turmoil, the more they tried to help, and the more she pushed them away. After all, if her parents didn't care, why should she?

She would get over this miserable hump eventually, and she would do it alone. Cutting contact with her dearest companions was an easier feat than one would expect, as it was accidental and gradual and she always affirmed herself with the fact that it wasn't permanent. She could always get in touch later. But weeks passed, and then months, and she made no effort to do that. At some point, she convinced herself that they wouldn't take her back now anyway. It had been too long, and she had treated them coldly. She wouldn't want to be friends with her, either—there was too much drama and emotional baggage.

It feels as if the person she once was fades from reality a little more every passing day, becoming invisible among people and society as a whole, including herself. Somewhere in the back of her troubled mind lays her positive outlook on life, and it's been locked in a box with the key thrown away. 

Now sixteen years of age, she still struggles with these ill-fated circumstances and her dilapidated mental state but has learned to drive a vast majority of it into the chasms of her brain, leaving her an empty, aggrieved husk.

She blinks, reemerging from her thoughts of deep disdain as she registers the large vehicle she sits in turn off the main stretch of road and park in front of a building—the Fairfield bus station. She's here.

Despite the otherwise displeasing series of events that lead up to this, she feels a glint of excitement, pausing her music and gingerly removing her headphones, being careful not to tangle the wire as she unplugs it from the MP3 Player and wraps them around the f/c object. She then takes hold of her backpack, still open from where she retrieved the source of entertainment, and shoves them inside, zipping it closed after finishing.

Eagerly, she bends over to reach below the seat and lift up her dufflebag in preparation before glancing out the window, e/c irises gleaming in the rays of sun. The bus brakes, the door is slid open, and several of the passengers rise. She isn't far behind, throwing her bags over her shoulder and squeezing past the man's broad legs, being careful not to thwack him upside the head with her luggage as she does so. He's barely disturbed, stirring for a few seconds before drifting off back to the realm of dreams. Merging into the middle aisle, she tries to control her rapidly-beating heart as she treads to the exit, being mindful of the people surrounding her in every feasible direction. 

How will Nana and Pops react to seeing her again, after all this time? Will they still love her? She has changed in significant ways, and not necessarily for the better, either. Surely that won't deter them, right? Of course not. I'm one of their only grandchildren. They won't stop caring about me just cause I've grown up.

Though her pep-talk does little to soothe a new wave of anxieties that wash over her like an angry tsunami. 

Oh gosh. What if it's super awkward?

She maneuvers down the stairs and makes distance between herself and the mode of transportation, scanning the crowd to locate the elderly pair her thoughts center around. A whirl of nervousness penetrates her stomach, her brows knitting together subtly. 

What if they've changed? What if they're just like Dad?

But as she meets the warm brown eyes of Nana from afar and notices the giant, surprised smile stretching across her features, all doubt withers away, and she offers a meek wave. The lady bumps the arm of the hefty man sitting next to her to gather his attention before she springs to her feet and sprints to greet Y/n, her expression contorted into one of pure bliss. A small grin tugs at Y/n's face, and she stands idle, taking into account Nana's appearance as she hurries forward. 

She’s adorning a floral dress, patterned with tiny petaled flowers of all different shapes and a skirt that drapes down to her shins. Her shoes are simple beige sandals, and her grey, fine hair is tied back into a Chinese-inspired bun. Her eyes are kind and welcoming, though sunken with age and life experience, and the wrinkles that crease her forehead and cheeks only clue Y/n in on how old she must be getting, now.

"Y/n!" Nana calls out, voice brimmed with exhilaration as she dodges other pedestrians before reaching out and enveloping the h/c in a tight embrace, her frail arms wrapping around her frame and reeling her in as close as she can. Her actions almost knock both of them to the ground, but Y/n balances herself before she can stumble and reciprocates the gesture. 

"Hi, Nana," she says, tone more genial than it's been in a long time. A pleasant scent wafts up into her nose; a peaceful aroma, a mixture of strawberries and cinnamon. She hugs back with her free arm soon after, squeezing her grandmother’s scrawny torso with as little force as required so she doesn’t somehow injure her. 

Pops joins his wife with a notably calmer pace and snakes his arms around the two smaller individuals, his slightly yellowed teeth apparent through his beam. A stout man of classic tastes, he wears a 1950s fedora, a baby blue collared shirt, and suspenders. His hold is strong and secure and Y/n feels an almost overwhelming sense of comfort slam into her without warning. She chuckles—a soft, elated sound—and her chest is flooded with gleeful fuzziness. It's certainly an odd, foreign type of feeling, but she accepts it nonetheless. "Welcome home, kiddo."

"We've missed you so much," Nana chirps, pulling away after what has to be a solid two minutes and prompting Pops to do the same. Her wrinkled hands grasp her shoulders before sliding up to cup her face, gently tilting it upward to get a better look. A stunned expression crawls across her attributes before it’s replaced by a wider—if it’s even viable—smile. “Oh, you’ve grown so much!” She turns her head. “Phil, do you see her?”

“Aye. I sure do,” he says with a proud nod of his head. “She’s just as pretty as she was the last time she visited.” Blush dusts itself along the apples of her cheeks and she averts her line of sight, embarrassed. He chuckles. “Just as bashful, too.”

“Leave her alone.” She pivots again to face her, excitement dancing in her faded brown eyes. She brushes a strand of hair behind her ear before giving her another hug. “We’ve missed you, sweetie. It’s been too long.” Y/n nods timidly, not accustomed to being so doted on. Behind her, the wheels of the bus grind against the asphalt as it leaves shortly after the doors close, and she twists her head around just in time to see it drive away, leaving her there for the summer. There's no other place she'd rather be, and their presence is only confirming those feelings. "We have so much catching up to do! I haven’t seen you since you were a little girl.” She looks back at the old woman and feels her squeeze her arm. “How old are you now? Fifteen?”

“She looks more grown-up than that,” Phil comments, and Y/n shrugs, biting her lip.

“Uh, I...turned sixteen in B/m.”

“My word!” Nana exclaims, cupping a hand to her mouth to emphasize. “You’re practically an adult, already!”

“Only a few years older than that darned cat of yours, Farrah,” he says, and Y/n’s eyes light up at the mention of the familiar feline.

“Marshmallow?” she questions, astonished enthusiasm coursing through her, once again. “He’s still alive?”

“Why, yes, he is,” Farrah laughs as if amused by her inquiry. “Getting on up there, though. I’m a little shocked to know you remember him.”

“Of course I remember him,” she says, the volume of her voice increasing with glee. “He’s my little buddy. I wonder if he still remembers me...”

“I’m sure he does,” Phil says. “He was always followin’ you around. Probably cause you spoiled him all the time with leftovers.” The corners of her mouth pull upward and she rubs the back of her neck.

“Well...he needs to be spoiled. Too sweet not to be spoiled.”

“Very true.” Farrah smiles.

“And yet I can’t even have a dog in the house,” he grumbles playfully. “You cat lovers don’t make any sense.”

“We don’t have to ‘make sense’,” Farrah says. “Cats are gorgeous, wholesome creatures, and they deserve to be treated as such.”

“Sure, sure.” He waves her off. “You treat that cat better than you do me.”

“Well, you’re not covered in angelic fur and lay on my lap to cuddle, now do you?” She raises a thin eyebrow, and he scoffs.

“I can lay in your lap if that’s what you want.”

“No, thank you.”

“Well, c��mon woman, make up your mind!”

“My mind is made up! Now, come on, dear.” She tugs Y/n to her and begins walking toward the grey-blue Toyota Corolla that sits motionless in the parking lot, and the teenager follows, readjusting the bags hanging on her shoulder. 

“You want me to carry those for you?” Phil asks, and she glances over at him, her eyes widening, taken off-guard by the abrupt offer. But she collects her bearings rather quickly and shakes her head with a grateful smile.

“N-no thanks, Pops. I got it.”

“Whatcha got in those things? They look heavy.” 

“Um...clothes and stuff,” she replies quietly as they reach the 2007 vehicle, Nana shuffling into the passenger's seat and Pops opening the back door for her. She tosses her luggage to the opposite side and climbs in, smiling up at him to signal that she's done. He nods in acknowledgement and shuts the door, soon claiming the area behind the steering wheel and cranking the engine. The interior of the car smells like lavender, thanks to the cardboard air freshener swaying below the rear-view mirror, and the beige-toned leather lining the seats is torn in various places, no doubt because of how many years it has under its belt. 

"You got any'a that modern technology that kids use nowadays?"

The air conditioning blasts through the vents to cool the space as he puts the car in reverse to back out of the lot before shifting the gear, navigating between other automobiles, and driving onto the highway. Y/n clicks her buckle into place and twiddles her thumbs, jerking her shoulders up lightly, though she knows he won't be able to see it. "I—I mean, I have a cellphone, if that's what you're asking..."

"A cellphone, huh?" He eyes her in the mirror and she shrinks away meekly, unsure of how to react to the sincere attention. "We have one of those. Don't really know how to work it though."

"You sure do know your way around Solitaire for someone who doesn't know how a phone works." Nana's light jab makes him scoff playfully as he stares through the windshield observantly. 

"You know what, Little Miss Sassypants? Yeah, I do. That app is the only reason I ever even pick it up."

"And when you do, you're playing it for three hours straight."

"It's enjoyable!" Huffing, he shoots her a glare of faux annoyance. "Don't act like you ain't got things that you spend hours at a time doing."

"My hobbies are productive, as opposed to yours, so that excludes me from this discussion."

"That sounds like code for 'I know I'm losing so I'm gonna back out now before I'm called out on it'."

"False." She flattens out her skirt and narrows her eyes at him. "I don't speak in code, dear."

He laughs gruffly at that sentence, plainly not buying her words. "Keep thinkin' that, sweetheart." 

The frisky banter has Y/n failing to suppress a grin, having forgotten how well her grandparents get along, and why they've stayed married for almost sixty years. If only Mom and Dad had that kind of chemistry. Maybe then their home wouldn't be so void of love and life every waking moment. 

"So how was the trip, Y/n?" Nana twists around to the best of her ability to catch a glimpse of her granddaughter, seeming to completely brush the mini argument aside and spare Y/n her undivided recognition, eyes touching base with her own. 

"It was okay," she mumbles, voice just loud enough for them to understand her. "I'm ready to stop riding for a while, though."

"I'm sure. You traveled a long way. I'm glad you stayed safe."

Pops decides to contribute to the conversation. "How's your dad doin'?"

Her face scrunches up faintly as she racks her brain for a suitable answer that won't draw any concerned feedback. "Uh... He's busy. Him and Mom both."

"Figured that much. Probably why they're leaving the country in the first place, huh?"

Her gaze drops to her knees. "Yeah..." 

"Do they do that often?" Nana asks, her tone curious. "Take trips for their job?"

"That's like, forty percent of what they do..." She registers the car turning left sharply, onto a dirt road that leads into a capacious patch of forestry. They pass a faded blue and white sign, and the letters in bold printed across its surface reveals: Oneiric Lane, half a mile.

Wow, almost there already.

"But, um...it's usually not so far away," she continues her previous statement as they drive over gravel and rocks in their path, making the ride a little bumpy. "Not usually for such a long time, either."

"They still workin' for the same company?" Pops says. If Y/n were to listen extra closely, she'd be able to detect the tiniest hint of enmity masked within his voice. She blows a bubble into her cheek.

"Yeah, but it got sold to another corporate body a couple years ago and they changed a lot of things. So both of them have been on duty a lot more since then."

"I bet that's been stressful." 

"It's..." She could speak the truth, but the truth would dampen the mood, so she goes for a lighter alternative. "It's fine. They don't mind some extra work. Just means more money in the bank."

Pops mutters something under his breath, but Y/n can't decipher it. She can only assume it isn't anything particularly nice, based on the conversation that elicited it. 

Before she can dwell on it for too extensive of a period, a familiar, Victorian-style cottage becomes visible, and a ghost of a smile sweeps across her features as she perks up. Around the house lies a white picket fence, fringed with beautiful flowers of all different colors, their stems having grown tall and coiled themselves around each individual post, giving it an engagingly untamed appearance.

At the gate, about ten feet from the front door perches an intricate white arch made of wicker and intertwined with more vibrant plants, and the house itself is a muted shade of cyan, with an ornate wooden roof that sparkles like tiny crystals in the glittery stream of sun. The window frames are white, their shutters open to allow optical access inside of the home, and stained glass roses rim the transparent pane.

The whole architecture makes it look as if the words from a book of fairy tales crept out of its pages and sprung into existence, staying hidden between the trees until someone comes across it. It takes her breath away, and she stares in awe, waiting anxiously for Pops to guide the Toyota off the road so she can jump out and get re-acquainted with it all.

I forgot how incredible this place was... She unbuckles, practically leaning against the glass in building anticipation as the car comes to a stop in their driveway, a few feet from the gate and underneath a willow tree. She extends her hand hastily to grasp the door handle and swings it open, the early summer breeze caressing her skin as she hops out, the bottom of her shoes making contact with vivid green grass. She steals a big whiff of the unpolluted air, natural scents swirling through her nostrils as she drags her belongings out of the car and slings them over her shoulder once again.

Nana copies her movements and Pops isn't too far behind her. She gives her an encouraging pat on the back, then motions for her to trail after her as she moves toward the arched gateway, unlatching it to grant her entrance. "Wait till you see the dinner I'm whipping up, Y/n," Nana says as they walk along a neat path of polished stones and white marble. "You still like pineapple casserole, right?"

"Yes," Y/n says with no hesitation, the very image of the dish making her mouth water. Although she hadn't had the privilege of eating it in years, one thing she can remember clearly is how delicious it was—then again, everything Nana cooks is delicious, so maybe that point is moot. On either side of the orderly pathway are two rows of tulips, comprising pink, white, red, and violent, perfectly maintained. It astounds her how her grandparents can keep the garden so alluring while also making sure the house is in tip-top shape. They surely tidied up before she arrived, but they're also the kind of people who like a neat living space, so she doubts they had to do much. 

"I'm so happy to hear that!" She claps cheerfully as they reach the painted oak door, and both females make room for Pops as he conquers the porch stairs and wrenches the screen toward him, the creaking of its old and unoiled hinges evoking a sound similar to a screech. He rifles around in his pocket, pulls out the keys, and unlocks the entrance, holding it open as his wife and granddaughter stride through. 

Y/n examines the property in wonder. Along the floor lies a hand-knitted rug, shaped like a rectangle with additional ruffles at its edges. On her left is a vacant doorway to the living room, with a vintage floral-patterned sofa resting against the wall, and next to it, facing the front door are two chairs; one matching the couch and the other a darker, less feminine material. A frosted glass coffee table sits in front of them, and beneath it is a hickory plank floor.

Past the living area is a small dining room, with a wooden table and four chairs slid neatly on every side, and behind that is an antique China cabinet with double doors and several drawers, all of which are transparent and hold various cups, platters, and knick-knacks that have been collected over the years. Straight ahead is a linear staircase;  she remembers it leading up to the bedrooms and the second bathroom. To her right is a kitchen, with a white, ceramic-tiled floor, a long countertop that curls around the edges of the room; the refrigerator and the oven both fit snugly.

Hanging overhead is an oven light and cabinets with crystal knobs, and in the center is an island, with a vase of lemon yellow roses, a casserole dish, and a couple of pots.

The fragrance of honeysuckle crawls into her nose, as well as the smell of a currently-cooking turkey, mixing and creating a rainstorm of nostalgia. She almost cries from raw mirth. I really missed it here...

“Make yourself comfortable, dear,” Farrah chirps from behind her, giving her a few moments to get used to her new—but amicable—surroundings. “If you need me, I'll be finishing up dinner.” Y/n gives a soft hum in response, stepping farther inside and allowing herself to succumb to the wave of memories that bombard her.

Her eyes sweep over everything in reverence as she comes to a halt in front of the staircase, glimpsing back at her grandmother with a sheepish demeanor and parting her lips. “Um...am I staying in Aunt Darcy's old room? Or somewhere else?” A flash of realization shimmers in Farrah’s eyes before she steps forward and nods her head.

Farrah nods as Pops shuts the door, blocking the bright sunlight and capturing the area in a bit more darkness. “Yes, that's where you can sleep, store your things, anything. Of course, your dad's room is available too, but I didn't figure you'd want to stay somewhere with all those ugly band posters."

She breathes a quiet laugh. “Y-yeah, Aunt Darcy’s room will be fine." She spins on her heel and begins her small trek up the dozen or so stairs. The concept of being in her father’s childhood bedroom doesn’t sit right in her stomach. “Thank you, Nana.”

“Are you sure you don’t need any help with your bags?” she questions from below, her soft voice echoing upward and easily extending to Y/n’s ears. “They look awfully heavy.”

“No, it’s okay, I got ‘em,” she reassures, attaining the top step and taking a moment to pilot the somewhat narrow space before her. On the floor is a thin white rug that stretches the length of the hallway; to her immediate right is a small, polished table that supports a dainty-looking bouquet of petunias in a glass vase. On her left is a door that's been left ajar, divulging a bit of the interior and reminding her that this is indeed where she’s going.

She uses her free hand to push it open, lighting up when she wanders inside. The walls are a pristine, rosy pink, with a floor crafted out of ash wood planks that complements the design and hues nicely. On the opposite side of the room is a bed, made as a sort of cubbyhole into the wall and at a direct angle next to a window. Built into the wall are two bookshelves, both on either side of the bed and filled with colorful books of assorted sizes.

Beneath the mattress is a long drawer which she recalls to be a trundle bed. Attached to the ceiling above is a set of turquoise sheers, slid to either side of the sleeping niche, and loosely tied to the wall with some twine. In one corner, next to the other window, hangs a basket swing, with two pink pillows placed inside to cushion it. To her right is a closet, the door shut and a shoe organizer clinging to its top edge. Inside the pouches are several pairs of footwear, each separated and easily discernible.

A white, fluffy rug lays spread across the floor, underneath a clothes hamper, a small, cushioned bench, and a cotton bean bag chair. A chipped desk sits pressed against the wall, with several drawers inside and a stool of the same color pushed neatly beneath it. A reading lamp stands atop the surface, along with a couple of minuscule baskets to hold diverse writing tools; a notebook and binder stacked onto each other, a glass paperweight, and a mirror.

She releases an inaudible sigh, the corners of her lips quirking up into a content smile as she walks further inside, depositing her bags on the bed and doing a double-take of her temporary bedroom. A giddy sensation arises within her chest; one she hasn’t experienced in far too long. She turns her head and gazes through the open window, viewing the yard of green grass and colorful flowers below and admiring how the sun’s stunning yellow beams peer down through the towering trees.

She unzips her duffle bag and removes a pile of clothes from the main compartment, busying herself over the course of the next thirty minutes. The walk-in closet isn't huge but still larger than she remembered, meaning there's plenty of space to store all of her clothing pieces. She takes note of the fact that a vast majority of her aunt's stuff is no longer here, and she presumes Nana removed them to create space or Darcy herself came by and collected everything. Y/n hangs a good half of her items and keeps the rest folded, stuffing them into the shelf of drawers across from the door. She refrains from unpacking her art supplies and other accessories just yet, as it would feel weird and wrong to get so comfortable here after so little time. 

After throwing her—now empty—bag into the corner, her stomach rumbles and she concludes that the last thing she ate was a honey bun, and that was hours ago. Yearning to ease her mild sense of famine, she pivots, leaves the room, and descends the stairs, once again being swathed by the pleasant smell of food, only this time, it's much more intense.

Farrah sends Y/n an affectionate smile as she turns off the oven and waves her in. “Hi, sweetie. Are you settling in okay?” The teenager nods, letting the smell lure her, and steps inside.

“Yes, ma'am. I had forgotten how nice this house was.” The woman chuckles in response, grabbing one of the three plates on the counter and passing it to her. She takes it in her hands and shoots her a look of gratitude.

"It isn't as clean as I would like it to be, but oh well. I'm too old to dust away every little cobweb." She sighs in disbelief, eyes twinkling. "Maybe I should hire a maid."

"That might be a good idea. You don't wanna overdo yourself." Nana occupies herself with making a plate of food for her husband, listening to Y/n talk and humming along. "But, uh...while I'm here, I'd be happy to help you with anything you have to get done."

"How sweet of you to offer, N/n." She grins as she scoops a spoonful of mashed potatoes onto the dish. "I'll keep that in mind. Now, please—eat something. It's all ready."

"Thanks for this, Nana." She finds her way around the woman and gets a serving of everything—potatoes, turkey, rolls, pineapple casserole. The thought of indulging herself makes her want to melt. "It smells delicious." 

"Oh, you're so welcome, dear." She pours a glass of milk for Pops and offers a toothy smile. "I hardly ever get to cook for anyone besides your grandfather and myself. This is an honor."

Y/n feels compelled to hug her again, but ultimately resists the urge, not wishing to take a chance on spilling the food being held in both sets of hands. Tears threaten to rim her eyes, her grip tightening on the plate. Such displays of selflessness is a stranger to her, but she cherishes every second of it. "I love you, Nana."

She fails to see the way Farrah's heart swells at her words, her face contorting into one of deep adoration. "Oh, I love you too, Y/n—me and Phil both. So much. And we're so happy you wanted to come visit us."

After a short exchange of smiles, Nana departs and Y/n finishes gathering her meal, fetching a bottle of water from the fridge and heading into the dining room, noticing Pops already sitting at the table, silently awaiting his own share of food. She lowers herself into the chair opposite him, the steam from the hot meal floating up into her face and making her eager to taste it. 

“Hello, young lady,” he greets, and she meets his copper-brown eyes. “This house treatin' you okay?”

“Yes, sir,” she replies with a slight dip of her head.

“Is it cozy enough for ya? I know you’re used to all those fancy items and rich city life, so I’m sorry if it doesn’t meet your expectations.” Her eyes widen almost a comical amount and she stares at him as if he’d attempted to behead her. Taking a scoop of mashed potatoes with her spoon, she swiftly shakes her head before taking a bite.

“No, Pops, it does. The country’s amazing.” She brushes a strand of h/c hair behind her ear and swallows the flavorful vegetable. “City life isn’t that good. Honestly, I’d rather be here than in some hundred-thousand-dollar penthouse.” A large, satisfied smile takes residence on his wrinkled features and his eyes crinkle up before he laughs blissfully.

“You hear this, Farrah?” He regards the said woman as she enters the dining room, taking her rightful seat to the side of her spouse and passing his plate to him. “This girl hasn’t been tainted yet. We should keep her here, make sure she stays that way.”

A kind grin etches across her lips, though she dismisses him. “I don’t think her parents would approve of that, Phil.”

“No, they wouldn’t care,” Y/n murmurs in response, noticing the pitying looks being thrown her way, and she eats a forkful of casserole to fill the somewhat tense silence that’s fallen over the table. She keeps her eyes trained on the platter in front of her, suddenly finding it much more interesting.

“I’m sure that’s not true, sweetie.” Farrah’s voice is tender and reaffirming. Y/n only shrugs.

“They'd probably forget I was here at all, after a while. Too caught up in their own lives to really remember something like that.” Her tone drops within each word, embarrassment creeping up into her mind and flushing her cheeks a pale tone of b/c. Phil shakes his head disapprovingly while Farrah just watches her with sympathy.

“That’s shameful,” he starts, his voice flooded with disdain. “You're their daughter. How could they just forget about you?"

“I...I don't know. They just can, and have gotten pretty great at it, too.”

“When did all this start, sweetheart?” the old woman questions, sipping her drink.

“A few years ago, I guess...” It’s silent for several moments and Y/n wishes she wouldn’t have even interjected at all. Perhaps she just feels that she can tell them anything. Way to ruin the mood, genius.

“Hun, they’re not...abusing you, or anything, right?” The teenager can sense the reluctance in her words as if she’s afraid to hear the answer, and Y/n is quick to shoot her inquiry down.

“N-no, Nana, don’t worry. Nothing like that.” She releases an audible huff of air, relieved.

“Don't they spend time with you or anything?” Phil asks, leaning forward and facing her with agitation. She scours her brain for a coherent reply.

“Uh...no, not—not really.” She glances up briefly to meet his eyes, trying to shroud the hurt found in her own. “They hardly even talk to me. They don’t even talk to each other anymore. Dad’s always too busy and Mom is...” She swallows, probably a little too hard, and subconsciously taps her foot against the floor; a nervous habit she's taken to whenever her anxiety levels rise.

Her mind flashes with images of her mother sneaking out in the dead of the night. When asked about it, she'd snap at her, insist it was for 'business', and leave it at that. She remembers that one time she borrowed her phone to email her teacher, since hers had stopped working the previous day, and instead got notified of a message, received from a man with an unknown name. Initially, she believed it was a coworker or friend, but the contents of said 'message' involved raunchy flirting and, upon opening his contact, these advances were heavily reciprocated, and he wasn't the only one. It made her sick to her stomach. Sure, she was aware that Mom and Dad weren't exactly at a healthy place in their marriage, but she never thought one of them would actively cheat on the other. Those actions were guaranteed to ruin a family, yet her mother didn't seem to care in the least. 

Her foot makes a soft thump noise each time it collides with the floor, though her mind blocks it out as she tries to draw herself back into reality. “Uhh... Keeping secrets.” Phil and Farah share a glance.

“What kind of secrets, darlin’?” her grandfather asks, and her grip tightens on the fork in her hand. Does she really want to say this?

“I—I think, well, uhm... She’s cheating on Dad.” She doesn’t look up to see the startled expressions on their faces, afraid that they’ll judge her and her parents. “I mean, the way she's been acting, texting people all the time, sneaking out of the house, e-especially at night, and I’ve caught her before but she just got mad and said it was ‘business-related’.” She brushes a strand of hair out of her eyes. “Plus, Mom and Dad haven’t gone on a date in forever. And I don’t know, it’s just...worrying.”

“Sweetie,” Farah starts, and Y/n internally winces at the strict tone that her voice adopted, “that kind of behavior is unacceptable.” She shakes her head in agreement, taking another bite of her food though finding that her appetite is steadily decreasing. “We need to talk to them about this.”

“No,” she interjects, finally meeting Farrah’s eyes with frightened e/c ones. “They can’t know I told you all of this. They—they’ll hate me.”

“If this is true, something needs to be done,” Phil says, his bushy eyebrows furrowed in distaste. “You don’t need to be in a house with two people that are so unstable. We could call them and you could stay with us.” Although the thought of living in a house with her loving grandparents sounds fantastic, she refuses by shaking her head again and speaking in a tremulous voice.

“N-no, it’s alright. I can deal with it.” Although her parents don’t seem to care about her anymore, she would most definitely shatter whatever remnants of a relationship they still have between the three of them if they were to find out what she told Farrah and Phil, and she doesn’t want that. She doesn’t want her parents to despise her; that would be a horrid feeling. And she wants to avoid experiencing it.

The rest of the dinner goes by at a leisurely pace for the girl, with her grandparents attempting to talk about more lighthearted subjects to cheer her up, and it moderately works. They ask her about school, her friends, whether she’s in a relationship yet, to which she responds with valid answers: “It’s good”, “I don’t have friends”, and “No”. It makes itself more apparent to them with every reply she isn’t living a normal, decent life. But they figure it’d be best not to pry too much. After all, she’s here for a break, not to be harassed with questions and pity.

She stands with her plate and bottle of water in her hand after swallowing the final bite, pushes the chair back under the table with her foot, and walks past Farrah and toward the kitchen, feeling full and tired. Her gaze shifts to the window, perceiving the orange and pink mixture in the sky through the leaves of the trees, signifying that the sun is setting below the horizon and darkness will soon replace its blaze of light.

“Marshmallow is probably waiting outside if you wanna let him in for the night,” the woman hollers from the dining room as Y/n discards her dishes in the sink and rinses them off under warm water. Thinking about seeing the furry feline after such a long time causes her heart to skip in excitement, and she nods, knowing Farrah won’t bear witness to it.

“Okay, Nana.” She finishes washing the porcelain and silverware and props them in the plastic drainer resting on the counter-top before walking a little quicker than normal, unlocking the front door and nudging it open, being welcomed by a cooler evening gust of wind.

She glances around the small porch and can’t help but smile when she lays her eyes on the white and grey cat sitting on an old chair, swiping his paw over his face to clean himself. He peers up at her curiously, and she approaches at a gradual pace to avoid scaring him.

“Marshmallow? You remember me?” She sticks her hand out and lets him sniff her fingers before fondly rubbing his head. “It’s Y/n. I haven’t been back for a while.”

He stands and lets out a small meow, rubbing against her palm and enjoying the affection he’s receiving. She moves forward and wraps her arms around him, deeming it safe enough, and lifts him to bring him inside. He bumps his head against her neck and she can hear distinctive purring; a sound she hasn’t heard in years.

“Aww,” she coos, unable to stop herself from coddling the furry creature. “I missed you, too, little buddy.” She turns, walks back into the house, and shuts the door behind her, nearly colliding with Farrah as she goes into the kitchen, holding two plates and a glass with a few droplets of liquid remaining.

She takes notice of Y/n and grins at the sight. “Ah, see? We told you he’d remember you.” The girl scratches Marshmallow under his chin, eliciting another meow of content from his mouth. His tail swishes and bumps her on the arm, making her chuckle.

“Yeah. He’s just as soft as I remember, too. And cuddly.” As she says this, she hugs him closer to her chest, and Farrah smiles warmly as she places the plates in the sink. “Do you need help cleaning up?”

“No, thank you, hun.” She parts her lips to object, but Farrah shakes her head. “You just spend some time with the fur baby. Finish settling in.” Y/n feels Marshmallow struggle against her hold, so she crouches and loosens her grip, allowing him to jump down and sprint to some area on the first floor, presumably his food bowl.

“Are you sure? You know I don't mind.”

“I can’t believe you’re the spawn of my son,” she says, chuckling and wiping down the surface of a saucer. “It’ll be fine, sweetie. I’ve got it covered for now. You go and relax.” Y/n figures that as stubborn as she is, her grandmother is much more so and it won’t do her any good to argue about it. Emitting a sigh, she grabs her water bottle from where she laid it on the island in the center of the kitchen and hesitantly ambles toward the staircase.

“Okay...but, tell me if you need help?”

“Stop worrying. You’re the guest here.” Without another word, she heads up to her temporary bedroom, unaware that she’s being followed by a certain feline, and sets her bottle on the desk before grabbing her backpack to move it off her bed. As she twists around to walk to the desk, she stumbles over Marshmallow, who's rubbing against her leg, and just barely catches her balance before falling on the poor cat.

It takes a short moment to calm herself and get over the unexpected adrenaline rush that swamps her system, but once she does, she scoffs. “Trying to trip me already?” She reaches down and scratches his head, and he momentarily stands on his hind feet as a response. “Silly cat.”

Marshmallow finds a bed on the cozy-looking beanbag as she finds a place for her bag and goes to sleep rather swiftly, his body curled in around itself as his shoulders gently rise and fall with each breath he takes. She strokes his cheek tenderly with her index finger, admiring the ivory and light grey fur that graces his small frame. She can barely remember the last time she pet an animal of any kind because it was so long ago, and many grim things have happened since then.

Sitting on the bed, her eyes drift out the window, where the sun has almost completely vanished and a full, bright moon now replaces it, dozens of stars beginning to litter the sky, all surrounding the miraculous white orb. I never get a view like this from the city.

She can’t help her entrancement of the scenery and feels a trace of disappointment that she hasn’t seen more of it. All because of her selfish parents. She leans her head against the windowpane and surveys it, blended emotions making her feel conflicted. But she assures herself that it will be fine. She will be fine. Everything will work out in the end.

Yeah. There's nothing to worry about.

[awetistic-things]

“Under the Fire of War: The Story of a Family Striving to Rebuild Their Lives After Destruction” 🏚️ 🤎

https://gofund.me/de10f8c6

@lina-zeyad

Lina, a lawyer and mother of four hard-working and determined individuals with a passion for academics: Abdullah, Yazan, Youssef, and her currently pregnant daughter. She had her own office where she received clients, which was the family’s main source of income.

This is a picture of her office, totally destroyed

Lina’s four much loved children are Abdullah, who was in his second year of Multimedia studies; Yazan, who was in his last year of university and was about to receive his well-earned degree; Youssef, who was in highschool studying for his finals; her daughter, whose expecting and lives in the south.

This is a picture of Lina’s husband

This is a picture of her sons, Youssef and Abdullah

But on a dark day, the war on Gaza and all the families like Lina’s who have made their home there, began. A catastrophic number of people became displaced due to falling rockets and house demolitions. Despite the imminent danger, they stayed huddled in their home because they had nowhere else to go.

That was until December of 2023 when the army sent them threatening messages to force them to leave their home under a barrage of rockets and gunfire.

“We had no choice but to leave, our hearts filled with tears and pain. We became displaced, moving from place to place, searching for shelter and lacking food and water, in the midst of harsh cold and heavy rains.”

Her office was completely destroyed and her home suffered overwhelming damage.

“Without any fault or wrongdoing on our part, we lost all our memories and our sense of security and stability. My children's lives changed from diligent students to disheartened individuals after the war destroyed all their dreams and academic futures. We lost hope and livelihood at the same time, and I lost everything I had worked for over many years to secure a decent life for my children and build their future.”

Every amount you donate will contribute to changing their future, giving them hope and strength to face challenges and build a new life deserving of their family. With your help, she can rebuild her office, her childrens’ home, and restore security and stability to her family.

Help them rebuild their future destroyed by war, and give her children the opportunity to return to their studies and achieve their dreams, just as you would want for your own children, just as you would want for yourself

[beemaya]

Harry had been nursing his drink for what seemed like hours when the rookie found him. He still couldn’t get used to the respect and some sort of messed up admiration in the eyes of newcomers. What was there to admire? He had never possessed the attributes of a good leader, had made so many mistakes to keep him awake till morning hours and after every mission he had prepared, he thought about better ways that would surely save at least a little bit more of his friends and the new kids whose names he always tried to remember. But he never thought about those better plans at the right time, always too late.

So the fact that the kids were seeking him, of all people, for advice and words of wisdom, meant that the Army had reached a new level of low.

He had stopped trying to say something meaningful long time ago. Or was it last week? Harry wasn’t sure. But he could handle the questions, he could tell them something horribly plain and impersonal. “Try to stay alive” and “Just focus on the task ahead”. It couldn’t get to him. Very little could, Harry thought.

“Captain Crosby,” the kid nodded, standing somewhat awkwardly next to Harry, ordering a drink.

They were quiet for a while, Harry being too tired to fake interest or to lie to the replacement without absolutely having to, the kid probably too shy to actually speak. Maybe it was a bet between him and his friends, go talk to some senior. Harry could remember his friends doing something like that back in States. God, it seemed like different life, when they were all alive and living, laughing and thinking things couldn’t be much worse than the training camp with thin mattresses and five types of meals rotating. Some past life, indeed.

“Can I ask you something, sir?” the boy finally spoke, making Harry tilt his head toward him. “Sure.”

“Has it always been like this?” Harry’s eyes widened. “This…I don’t know, quiet?”

The place was buzzing with voices and music, but Harry knew what the boy meant. The energy wasn’t loud and overwhelming, not like it used to be back in the day, when the 100th first got here. It was more reserved, certain tension lingering around the corners, threatening to suffocate them all if they weren’t careful. The weight of all the ghosts was right there, a never leaving presence, seemingly non-existing entity.

“You know, it feels like all of you older people are waiting for something to burst in through the door.” Someone, was Harry’s immediate thought and it startled him, even more than the kid’s observation itself.

What was he supposed to say? How do you explain to a 19-year-old boy who has no idea what war truly means apart from reduction of food and some commonly available items? That the longer you stayed here, the more you lost? That you found yourself stuck in a place where you knew, logically, that some people simply weren’t coming back, and yet still eyed the door hopefully whenever they opened?

There just was no way to describe what had been lost. Who. No words to cover the horrors, that the older ones saw and the new-comers were about to get in touch with all too soon. How could Harry tell the living kid, that all the empty spaces used to be just like him, once, ages ago? He could never get close to embodying his best friend in the whole world, Bubbles, who had seen in Harry everything, that Harry could never really believe he actually had. Who encouraged him, made him laugh, who never made mean fun of him. Or Brady, who had covered for Harry’s mistake and had never taken it against him. Or Curt, with all his talk about his true nationality, his too-soon-asked questions, and jokes and box abilities. He was the first of the huge gaps, one of the most notable deaths. The silence after his last mission roared even louder than any other before.

The one truly impossible to put into words was the disappearance of the two Bucks. How it had felt as if the very heart of the base had been ripped out and the body itself had been, still was, moving only because of some messed up law of inertia. Even if Harry tried, the kid could never understand who those two were, with their constant touching and banter, never-leaving each other’s side, Bucky’s laugh and god-awful singing and Buck’s smirk and this sweet something in his eyes whenever he was looking at his best friend that the whole squadron collectively decided not to question.

Harry was spiraling deeper and deeper into his memories, tender smile forming on his chapped lips, as he let the ghosts from corners and empty seats and beds bury him. Because he forgot to be careful, he forgot to hide, to pretend and now the ghost were breathing his air, controlling his mind a crushing his heart.

“Captain?” the kid dared to speak again, his dark eyes wide, unsure how to react to Harry’s silence and the look on Harry’s face, the pity and sadness. “Just be glad you will never be the last one left.” This was, Harry knew, hardly a response to the question but that was simply everything he could tell the boy without crumbling to pieces.

[luimagines]

That Dragon AU Part 16

@cafecourage This is going to be a fun chapter :D

Masterlist

First Chapter/ Previous Chapter/ Next Chapter

Chapter 16: Not The Smoothest Exit

Warrior smiled. "I typically am. But they can't entrust the work to someone who's bound to leave at any moment, now can they?"

"I think if I save up enough we would be able to buy a place outside of Castle Town. What do you think? The castle isn't exactly... a decent place to house a family. I've seen the best and worst of it to be honest." Enno tilted their head.

"I can try to help out with money, but I would like to have a small garden." Enno sighed, thinking about the future now. "Having a place outside of Castle Town is also quieter. I just worry about the commute if you work super late into the night."

Warrior snort. "Not if I save up to retire early."

He sighs and leans back in his chair. "It wasn't something I thought I would able to have but I wouldn't want to actually want to do this work forever, you know? It wasn't even in my plans when I joined to army. I never would have thought I would have gotten up to this point."

Enno bonked his shoulder with their head. "It's your life. Again, I'll try to do my own thing to help out. I joked about it a few times but I've always wanted my own small cafe or bakery. We have awhile to figure this out." 

Enno finished their food.

Warrior perks up a bit. "That sounds lovely, Sweetheart. No harm in at least laying out desires on the table though, right? How else are we supposed to plan ahead anyway?"

Legend walked into the room then. He took one look at Enno and Warrior and turned on his heel, attempting to head out. Hyrule stops him. "Legend, be nice."

"This is too much in one week." He states. "First the Old Man now the Captain? It's got to be something in the air."

Enno stuck their tongue out at Legend. "I don't see the problem with this. You’re the one always joking that this was our honeymoon." They go back to having their head on Warrior's shoulder. "How has your week been?"

Hyrule snorts and joins the table easily enough. "It was great! I got to finally get the nurses teach me some stuff. Not really magic stuff though, which is a bit dull but I suppose we're all better equipped to deal with injuries in the future."

Legend smirks. "You should have seen this guy. He pulled out the puppy eyes and everything. The nurses never stood a chance."

Enno snorted. "Be nice to them. They don't get payed enough to deal with all of our shenanigan's. But it's good that you had fun." Pulling back, Enno grabbed their coffee because they were getting tired again. "Speaking of which, we have to go back to get the prescription. Almost at the homestretch."

"I'm just about done." Warrior looks at them. "Are you sure you don't want to eat more? You've hardly touched your food, hun."

Legend rolls his eyes, but he points at Enno with his fork. "If you have the same eating habits as the Captain and we weren't aware of it at the time, I need to you to be fully aware that I'll drag you to eat as well. Don't test me."

Enno groaned. "I'm don’t! I just don't really eat that much for breakfast. I had the toast and fruit. It’s fine. Let me drink my coffee in peace before threatening me." There was no malice there. They knew Legend was just like that.

Legend sticks his tongue out and eats his food without fussing. "My threat still stands."

Hyrule snorts. "It's like being threatened by a cupcake."

Legend's head snaps to him. "I can take you down."

"Try me."

Warrior clears his throat, getting Enno’s attention as the other two bicker. "Ready, Sweetheart?"

They snagged a mini bagel from the plate to get Legend off of their back. “Now that I apparently eaten more, yes, I am” They begin to break off pieces of the bagel to eat as they stand. “I hope it’s ready. Do you guys know where we are all meeting up?”

“Wild said the first lounge on the right of the entrance.” Hyrule spoke up, ignoring Legend and his threats of being buried alive.

"Coming in? Or going out?" Warrior stands as well, stacking the plates and pushing in the chairs.

"Going out." Legend salutes lazily.

"Got it." Warrior nods and takes Enno’s hand. "We'll be there soon enough then."

Enno began nibbling on the small bagel, waiting for Warrior and finished it by the time he reached for their hand. “See you!” They let him lead them away and out the door. “You got me thinking about a future with you now. Thanks. I don’t hate it but it didn’t need to take my brain cell and distract it.”

Warrior pauses with mild panic in his eyes before he relaxes, laughing. "Welcome to my world. It's lovely here."

He swings their hands and easily retraces their steps back to the infirmary. "You can write about it and we can see how many things we can make a reality."

“I could but I could also use this as ammo against you.” Enno looked around them, trying to remember the way to the infirmary. “Make you think about it more than me. Revenge.”

"I'm always thinking about you." Warrior says softly. He opens the door to the infirmary and takes a different turn. "Not a moment goes by that I’m not thinking about you."

Enno, however, had automatically went the other way and stumbled a bit following him. “First off, sorry. Second, you cant just say that. I swear-.” Enno’s voice dropped to a whisper. “If we weren’t in public I would make you melt and head empty.”

Warrior goes to open his mouth before he shuts it with a click, his own thoughts turning his face a bit pink.

"....I had a quip. But you're right... we're in public." Warrior ruffles his own hair. "Anyway... It doesn't take much for you to do that anyway. I've been completely smitten for a while now."

They snorted, looking away. “Oh really? I would love to know how long you’ve been like that. Since we haven’t been on this adventure for a long time now.” 

They reach the desk of the new area with a clearly exhausted young woman behind the counter.

Warrior doesn't answer their question and instead turns to address the receptionist. However, he only has to breathe in her direction before she looks up, startles before she stands and moves out. "I'll go see if they have it ready now, Your Lordship."

Warrior tries to not deflate. "Thank you."

He then turns to Enno with a nervous smile. "To answer your question....Try week 3."

“I can’t get used to the title.” They mumbled, beforeregistering what Warrior said. “Wait- 3 weeks since we’ve- huh. Honestly, I thought around week 5? But now I know that was just my brain being anxious.” They shrug. “Either way, I fell around 4.”

"O-oh." Warrior blushes unexpectedly and kicks his toe agaisnt the floor. "I uhhhh… probably could have done something a lot sooner then, huh?"

He smiles boyishly. "But no... I fell pretty quickly when I felt like a moron after trying to do something cool and failed at it. It was less when Legend pointed it out. But you laughed... so hard. You joined in the teasing even. I didn't think I'd find someone making fun of me refreshing."

Enno was shocked, then looked down, blushing. “Oh….”

They didn’t know how that was the thing that got him. Honestly, they couldn’t remember which time that was because it really was a common occurrence. “I mean, while this whole trip was fast, I don’t think I would change it for the world.” They teased him.

"You and me both." Warrior looks towards them with hearts in his eyes.

The receptionist comes back with a small paper bag with a bottle inside. Warrior stood to go get it.

"Ok, so, eat with a meal, eat before bedtime, take daily. You have enough for two months. Do you have any questions regarding the medication?" The receptionist handed the bag to Warrior.

"I don’t." Warrior looks at Enno. "Do you?"

“Nope. Thank you.” They go up to him and took the bag from his hand. “Have a good day!” They pulled him along as they left the medical bay. 

“Anyway, Link?” Enno looked up at him. “I love you.” They turned to look forward and kept walking swinging their hands together as they walked.

Warrior blinks and goes soft, his hand squeezing theirs tightly. "I love you too."

They walked together in relative silence as he led them both through the castle to the lounge where everyone was.

"LINK!" Lana yells from behind the two of them.

Warrior curses under his breath "What now?"

"I'm coming with you. God forbid we get separated in the timeline." Enno turned around to see Lana running up to them.

"What's up, Lana?" Enno asked as soon as Lana could catch her breath.

Lana bends over, panting as if she run a marathon to get to the two of them. She opens her mouth to speak before she goes shock silent. Her eyes dart to their faint but visible new scars. She coughs, a blush on her face before she addresses the two of them. "I hate to be the barer of bad news but Cia is awake. She's looking for you."

Enno let go of Warriors to go to support Lana. "It's fine. Thank you for telling us. But please breathe." After she gets her breath again Enno asked. "Where is she currently? And is she on a rampage?"

"She's... calm." Lana says hesitantly. "That's what's worrying."

Warrior groans. "Well I was hoping to avoid her entirely. Do you think you can stall until we shift?"

Lana bites her lip. "I... can try."

Enno had HIGH doubts that Cia wouldn’t just come to them anyway. "Honestly, I'm more worried that we don't have a choice in that matter. I would rather not see her since she might see the things." They lifted up their marked hand. "It might make that calm instantly disappear."

Lana tilts her head. "That’s... impossible. But I wouldn't put it past her to try."

"Which is why I don't want to see her face." Warrior takes Enno’s hand once more before he pause. ".....No offense Lana."

She smiles softly. "I get it. She's done enough damage. How's your wing?"

Warrior shrugs. "Getting better."

"I was surprise you could still fly around yesterday." Enno mumbled, knowing that Warrior shouldn't have done so. They twisted their hand so they were holding his as well. "The shift or portal might be coming soon."

Lana narrowed her eyes. "I'm sorry, Link did what?"

"Ok! Thank you, Lana. Love and appreciate everything you do!" Warrior started to pull Enno away. "I'll be back before you know it! I'm counting on you! Buh-bye!"

Enno burst out laughing. “Don’t worry Lana, I got you! I’ll scold him!” Warrior was practially draggin Enno away before Lana could put more pieces together. They finally got to the lounge and rushed inside. 

Cia was already inside.

“Oh, well that was faster then I thought.”  Enno instantly hid their marked hand.

She seems calm. “I need to speak to Link.”

“You realize we’re leaving soon, right?” Pinky raised an eyebrow, not seeing Warrior or Enno in the doorway. A few of the others were already there but they were still missing Legend and Hyrule.

"It‘s because you are leaving at any moment that I wish to speak to him now." Cia crossed her arms. "I had not the chance for two days now. So, my apologies for the inconvenience."

"You didn't seem to care about that before." Wild mutters and Cia turns to him, spotting Pinky.

She stared at her for a moment and the poor girl tried to both meet her head on and also avoid conflict by looking away.

She clears her throat. "...Can I help you?"

Cia raises an eyebrow. "You can."

"Don't even think about it!" Wild growls.

Warrior adjusts his scarf around his neck and he clears his throat. He goes to speak with a blush on his face but his attention is snapped to the side by Cia speaking.

He pushed Enno to the wall and put himself in front of them. "I can't say I'm surprised. But I'm not happy about this."

Sky and Twilight both noticed them turn back in the corner and stood silent. Twilight was trying to focus if he can hear a plan from Warrior’s side of things.

Time let’s out a low, ferocious growl as a warning. He doesn’t want to have another fight breaking out. “Cia, be careful about what you do or say.”

"Cool." Pinky gulps, keeping a hand on Wilds shoulder.

Cia continues to stare at her and she stares right back.

"Well?" Cia bites.

"Well what? You didn't say anything else." Pinky frowns.

"I need you to come with me. Obviously." Cia looks over at Time. "Please."

“What do we do now?” Enno hissed, moving away from the doorway. “Don’t say you are going to do something alone that’s not gonna happen.”

Warrior cursed and left common viewing area. "I don't know if we can do something. Best case scenario, we wait for Lana to try something. Or we wait and hope we shift so she can be left behind. If there's a portal that opens we have an issue for real."

“No, you tried to kill her last time you were near her.” Time glared back at her, gaining the attention of the two by the door. “What ever you can say can be in-front of us.”

He also holds the sleeping Mask near him.

“That’s- Link- something is probably going to happen.“ Enno paused, turning away from the unfolding chaos. “Ok, look, Lana isn’t going to know to come straight here. Go get her since you’re faster then me. She probably didn’t get far from where we left her.” They looked back to the room. “I’ll try to keep things stalled for a bit. Keep things interesting. The boys are there. I’ll be fine if she does something.”

Cia huffs and looks at Time again. This time she notices Mask. "Nevermind then. This isn't worth my time. But the boy stays here."

"Over my dead body!" Pinky growled. "You have no right!"

"You are not even from here, miss street rat." Cia rolls her eyes and sticks up her nose. "I'm amazed you've survived this long as it is. I brought the boy here and I must put him back."

Pinky hesitated. The group doesn't know what to do next. She stepped out from behind Wild. "No."

"I don't like it." Warrior huffs, knowing that it was heading south and fast. "But you're right."

He leaned over to kiss them. "Don't do anything too stupid?"

He tilted his head with a small smile and dashed off to go get reinforcements.

"I'm not leaving my child self with you, ether." Time backs Pinky up. "You brought him into this The timeline has already changed. Having him here isn't going to break anything."

Enno strolled in casually. "Mask is freaking adorable despite what he is capable of." They “noticed” Cia and smiled. "Hey girl, what's up?"

They went to sit on the arm of the couch where Wind and Sky were. "You look better." Lifting their knee up onto the arm, they hug it. "I would have thought that you had to rest a bit more. So I'm a bit shocked" 

Finger guns.

Cia's nose flared and her gaze turns rageful.

Pinky stepped in her way, much to Wild's clear disproval. "Bri-"

"We have to leave. Whatever you need to say, make it quick." The pink girl said with gritted teeth.

Cia reaches out and grabs her shirt, tugging her closer. "Listen here, you would have had a decent life with Lord Neiflem. If you could have stopped from freezing-"

Mask woke up.

Pinky spat in her face.

"DON'T TOUCH HER!” Time had to catch Mask mid air. The mini dragon began squirming around. "I SWEAR I KICKED YOUR ASS BEFORE. I'LL DO IT AGAIN."

Enno put their hands on Pink’s shoulders, leaning forward. "This is how I've been dealing with her. Don't worry." They whispered giving her a pat and jumped up, getting between the two of them. Enno took Cia's hand off of Pinky by force. "Let's all calm down now."

"Neiflem didn't even care if she was dead or alive. You know nothing." Time growled still having to handle a raging small dragon. 

"Time-" Enno gestured to him like 'BOI', giving him the stick eye.

"She would have been fine if she didn't give up on finding a heat source or better yet, using her mark to summon him back." Cia spits.

Pinky clenched her jaw but stood silent. She moved back from Enno, just in case.

Cia looked back and ripped her hand away. "You both have done enough damage. You are no longer welcome within Hyrule."

"Us?" Pinky screeched.

Cia slams her staff onto the ground and a circle lights up beneath us.

Enno was quick to grab Cia by her upper arm and drag her into the circle as well, "We both know how this ends! It's always the same song and dance! Why do you keep doing this knowing he will hate you more?" They didn't care about the circle or any of the magic at this moment. "You don't always get the person you think you deserve, Cia! Why can't you accept that!"

Mask escaped Time’s grip and dashed to Pinky, trying to knock her out of the lit up circle.

Mask all but crashed into Pinky and sent them both stumbling outside the circle’s circumference. 

"So be it." Cia hisses.

"Wait, Enno, you don't know if it's the right place!" Pinky tried to reach out to them to pull them back, needing to fight Mask to let her go.

Cia lifts up her staff to finish the spell right as Warrior came back in to kick her to the side. He's in his half form, his wing partly torn once more.

Warrior turned to Enno, panting. "What did I say?"

He takes their arms and gently tugs them out of the circle. Its still activated.

Warrior looks over them tenderly before he turned to Cia, glaring at her.

Lana came in running a moment later. "Oh my goodness! By the three- what happened?!"

Twilight was at Pinky’s side with Time and Wild. "Are you ok?" Twilight asked, looking them both over. He tried to seprate the young/old dragon off of her.

"No!" Mask only burrows further into Pinky, holding on like his life depended on it.

"I'm alive." Enno leaned on Warrior. " Also to be fair, she started it. All I did this time was say 'hey girl'." They noticed his wing. "Wait, sht- your wing!"

Hyrule and Legend walked into the mess "What the fck happened." Legend muttered under his breath as Hyrule was quick call up his life spell.

Warrior coughed. "I had to be fast."

Hyrule hisseed and got to work. It didn’t even look fully healed from the previous attack. "What on earth did we miss?"

Legend hovers around nervously. He kept looking at where Sky, Four and Lana were trying to form a wall between Cia and the group.

Cia still looked calm despite being kicked by her Precious.

Warrior has been growling lowly, staring Cia down. He let Hyrule work and he knew that Enno was close but he's too angry to hold back his more volatile tendencies. 

Cia for her part, was not acknowledging the others in front of her, nor did she even look at Lana.

No one noticed the staff, which has been discarded to the side once she went flying.

Enno looked back at her. They knew they could make it worse. The temptation was strong. Not having her pull a full on tantrum was weird. 

"So what now?" They asked her calmly, not getting up from their spot. Legend gave them the side eye but didn't stop them from talking. "You know what I said before was something you said during the war. Why are you struggling so hard to accept it?"

They weren't going to call Lana out on her crush. That would be mean.

Cia continued to stare before they noticed that her eyes sharpened. Now she's looking at them.

She snaps and the staff fires from its position on the ground.

It's directed at Pinky and Mask. It hits the couch and a portal opens. Pinky couldn't hold onto anything fast enough. She fell backwards, reaching for Time-

They both fell through and half of the couch falls with them.

The portal closes.

[antisemitism-eu]

Hey there. I followed you some years ago as i found your posts helpful while i was writing about antisemitism in the media and academic spaces.

That is no longer the case. As a Jew, i am asking you to look more critically at what Israel is doing to the Palestinian people. To civilians. It is not antisemitic to say that Israel is wrong; that the military is committing genocide; any criticism.

It's painful to watch Jews defend the actions of Israel because of a feeling of obligation. I imagine that's what is driving you? It seems to be what drives my father's hatred of Palestinians and his belief that Israelis can do no wrong.

I am named after one of the founders of Israel. A terrorist by definition and action. He bombed facilities and killed civilians to make Israel what it is today; that was evil then and it is evil now.

I turned my back on my faith a long time ago; and it hurts to feel i need to turn my back on my culture as well, but it is becoming a culture of hatred and victimhood. We are a people like any other, we are not infallible, we are only chosen in that we received the torah; nothing more.

I'm sorry to hear that you care about antisemitism only when it fits your preconceived notions

I have always written about all types of antisemitism.  If you care about antisemitism only when it's from the opposite side of the  political aisle, then you don't really care about antisemitism.

You can be critical of Israeli policies and actions.  Almost all Israelis are.

But when you accuse Israel of genocide that is antisemitic.  It's not simply “criticism” but rather believing the claims of the antisemites who murdered and raped Jews.

In the US White supremacists claim that Jews are committing genocide.

Do you:

Demand that American Jews stop the genocide 

Call this antisemitic drivel for what it is

I suppose you'll go for B.

And yet, you believe Hamas.  Every word they say.

If White Supremacists in the US would declare war on Jews, invade a Jewish neighborhood and for hours murder, rape and torture.  Then pull back with hundreds of enslaved Jews in tow.

What would you demand from the US forces?  

Would you really protest against genocide?

Do you remember the genocide of Waco?  How could you stand by and watch it again?  28 children were murdered.

And here we're talking about hundreds of murderers, living in a white supremacist community of thousands of supporters.  Hospitals, churches, schools!

Do you know how many innocent lives will be lost if the US moves against them?  How many women and children will die?

Can you imagine the protests across US campuses if that happens?

I suppose that you would demand that the White Supremacists should continue living their lives as usual, though they threaten to do it again ( and probably will)

Surveys show that 40% of young Americans support Hamas.

Not Palestinians.  Not peace.  

They support the murder, rape and torture of Jews.

That's not “criticism of Israel”.  That's antisemitism.

If you wonder what's driving me, its numbers like these, and the fear that in a decade or two this would be the face of America 

You believe anything Hamas says unreservedly.

You blame Israelis when Gazan rockets hit Palestinians instead of Israelis, because you believe Hamas.  And you don't care when the rockets hit Israelis, because your criticism is aimed only at Israel.

You don't care when Hamas turns hospitals, mosques, schools, and refugee centers into military bases.   You don't even care when Hamas uses hospitals to torture Gazans (see Amnesty report on the topic)

You don't care when they use those places to fire rockets at Israelis

If Hamas says Israel killed innocent doctors or journalists - you trust them. You don't care about pictures of those same innocent Gazans armed in military uniform. 

You don't care when Hamas murders Gazans who try to leave when the Israeli army warns them to do so.

You don't care when Hamas take over human aid and kill Gazans who want food.

You didn't even care a few days ago when they attacked Gazan children who used an Israeli border crossing to leave Gaza and get medical help.

You might think that it's pro-Palestinian, but it's really antisemitism.  

I don't hate Palestinians.  I'm sad for them.  

Because of people like you that encouraged them to develop a toxic antisemitic society - at least two generations have been brainwashed with the aim of committing genocide and ethnic cleansing of Jews.

I am very pessimistic about this changing, because people like you prefer to blame Israel and give the Palestinians hope for Israel's future destruction, instead of encouraging real peace.

Palestinian society today:

Overwhelmingly supports the October 7th massacre and think it's the greatest day of Palestinian history

Overwhelmingly supports Hamas (In case you wondered why the Palestinian Authority hasn't held elections for the past 18 years)

Overwhelmingly supports the destruction of Israel and its Jews (In case you wondered why no Palestinian leader in his right mind would ever accept a peace agreement with Israel that would end hostilities)

Names almost every mosque, school, hospital and square after heroic Jew murderers 

Celebrates and honors the murder of Jews

Teaches children to murder Jews

Gives sermons every Friday about murdering Jews

Broadcasts shows encouraging people to murder Jews

Pays people to attack and murder jews 

This is toxic antisemitism.

You worry that Israel is commiting genocide, but you don't care about the plans to carry out another October 7th.

In the areas of Jenin and Tulkarm especially.  In the past few months - Palestinians shot at Israeli villages, Palestinians set off explosives next to Israeli villages, Palestinians flew a drone into Israel, Palestinians invaded Israel.  And Israeli residents along the border say they can hear digging of tunnels at night.

It's really just a matter of time.

People like you think that if you force Israel to stop attacking Hamas, and if you give Palestinians a state of their own - that in itself would ensure that the toxically antisemitic Palestinian society would magically become a peaceful neighbor of Israel

That is not “criticism”.  That is way past being naive.   

You are risking the lives of millions of Jews.

What would you say when the inevitable happens?  “Sorry”?  

Or that Jews should have  gone to Poland? (I really wish I was making this up.  Since you only care about the right kind of antisemitism, you might not realize or care how many people believe that)

Israel was quite happy to delude itself until now, but got its wake-up call on October 7th.

I hope you will at some point.  Maybe you will, most probably you won't.

In any case, Israel will not wait for you.  My life and that of the millions of other Jews (and non-Jews) in Israel is too important.

And if/when American Jews are attacked, you can be sure your brothers in Israel will defend you.  No matter what the antisemites say, or what “criticism of Israel” they come up with.

(That's actually already the case.) 

[starfirewildheart]

Chapter 9

Scars and Souvenirs 

Summary: Sy and his lady both retire from the army but not before tragedy befalls Sy. He slowly tries to adjust to life again on their ranch.

Pairing: Sy / OFC

Word count: 1784

Rating: mentions of war; being a POW, death and animal abuse. Nothing graphic I promise but if the fic continues (if y'all like it) I'll add warnings for each chapter.

Sy walked over to where the kid was still giving the cop hell and struggling against Debbie's help. He forced the boy down in a chair then got in this face. He spoke in a calm but commanding tone. “Stop struggling before you hurt yourself worse than you already are.”

“You new here? This ain't over by a long shot,” he huffed but stopped his struggle.  

“I'm not a cop,” Sy explained.  “What's your name?”

“Screw you,” the kid snapped.

“Little prick never changes,” the officer rolled his eyes. When Sy cut him a menacing look he walked out of the squad room.

Deb opened the first aid kit and approached him again. “My name is Debbie and this is Sy. What's your name?”

“Screw you.” 

Sy popped the boy in the back of the head. “You will be respectful to her. You understand?” He growled. 

“Owe, yea ok,” he squirmed, wanting to rub the back of his head but unable to because of the cuffs.

“She asked you your name.”

“Mike, my name is Mike.”

“Well Mike, I'm going to clean you up a bit, alright?” Deb asked. 

“Whatever,” Mike huffed.

Debbie cleaned him up and put a bandage on the cut on his head before popping an instant ice pack and holding it to his eye.

Walt stomped back into the room still pissed off. “Are you ok Mike?” 

“Peachy,” he snarked. “Sweet cheeks here fixed me up. See?”

“Sweet cheeks?” Deb asked, arching her brow at him.

Walt sighed before taking Mike to a holding cell. “I don't get it kid. I gave you a chance last time and you're back here again for theft.”

“I just can't get enough of you, Marshall.” He pretended to swoon, falling back on the cot in his cell.

“Fuckin smartass,” Walt growled before leaving him to go back to the squad room.

“What's with the kid?” Sy asked Walt as he was walking them out of the station. 

“Petty theft, B & E, public intox, truancy, fighting, terroristic threatening, smart assed kid.” Walt explained.  “I've tried to give him a chance but he just keeps blowing it.”

“What about his parents?” Sy inquired.

“I've met his old man once. He's a piece of work for sure. Runs a pawn shop here in town when he's not passed out from drinkin.”

“What's going to happen to Mike now?” Deb asked.

“Normally I would say he'd go to juvi but after Gains roughed him up I don't know. He's still got charges against him for robbing Samuelson's Market a couple weeks ago,” Walt told her. 

Sy opened the truck door for her and shook his head. “I know that look. What are you thinkin darlin' ?”

“Maybe he needs some time working on a farm. Sort of like community service but with safety and food and a good role model,” She bit her lip. “Maybe he needs someone to care about him?”

“Or maybe he's just a little prick who's old man doesn't care enough to rein him in?” Walt crossed his arms over his chest. He'd lost faith in people years ago. The world was bad and so were most of its people.

Sy looked between the two of them. One’s face was hopeful, the other disbelieving and he was somewhere in the middle. He could understand Mike acting out with an alcoholic, possibly abusive father and no one to care for him. He looked at Deb. “So you think he's robbing places because he's hungry?”

“And needs things, yea,” She nodded.

Sy crossed his arms over his chest and sighed. Deb looked at both of the big, intimidating men standing side by side staring her down and started to fidget. She felt like a kid who was in trouble. When Sy reached out and took her hand she gasped. He would never hurt her, she knew that but the moment had been so intense it startled her. Neither man said anything as she was pulled along back into the station. “What are we doing “

“Rescuing a new colt for you to rehabilitate,” Sy smirked.

~~~~~~♡~~~~~~

Nearly three months had passed since they had convinced the chief to let them take on a work probation for Mike, then they had to go to court with him so the attorney could convince the judge it was a good idea. Once everyone was in agreement they had to get Mike's dad to agree.

Mitch Holmes, Mike's father, was a real piece of work. He didn't give a damn about his son but he would spend hours gushing about how they were distant relatives of ‘The’ Sherlock Holmes.  Walter went with a counselor to talk to him about Mike and he said the living conditions were horrible. Very little food in the house, roaches everywhere and there were bars on the windows to Mike's room and a lock on the outside of his door. 

Walt unleashed on the police that had been on Mike's case before he had gotten to town. Demanded to know why no one had investigated before now. No one ever even made an effort to check on the kid.

While all of that was going on Sy, Walter and Debbie had been setting up video surveillance and listening devices on the S17. Once they started getting data Deb spent a lot of time pouring over it for pertinent information then handing it over to Sy and Walter so they could track shipments and buyers.

Sy yawned and scrubbed his hands over his face. Between work, court and the ranch they were all exhausted. He stood up from his desk in the shared office the department had given them for the investigation and walked over behind Deb. She was sitting with one foot up in the chair and the other on the floor as she read over endless transcripts. He leaned down and kissed her cheek. “We need a break, sugar. Let's go get some food. I'm craving steak,” he rumbled against her neck. 

She reached up and lightly ran her nails over his head grinning when he almost  purred. “Steak sounds wonderful and French fries.”

He kissed her neck and rubbed his short, scruffy beard against her skin loving the way it made her squeak and squirm. “God I love you.”

Deb smiled as she stood up in front of him pressing her body against his. “Love you too baby. More than anything in this world.” Tilting her head up she pressed a kiss to his lips which he quickly deepened. His tounge sought entry into her mouth while his hands slid down her back to grip her ass and press her even tighter to him.

The office door opened and Walter walked in looking down at some papers in his hand. “talked to th…” he stopped when he saw them kissing and blushed. “Sorry I..” he started backing out the door. 

Sy smirked and Deb chuckled at him. He was a big, tough cop but so shy and reserved about a lot of things. He and Sy fell right back into that close brother relationship almost instantly. Walt had a shitty childhood and Sy did all he could back then to protect him. They had a bond closer than any blood family had ever been. They were battle buddies. Deb and Walt had gotten close as a result as well and the three of them spent a lot of time bonding too.

Deb gave Sy another soft kiss before pushing away from him and waking toward the door and Walter. “We're going to dinner.”

“Ok. I'll see you tomorrow ,” Walt nodded.

Deb stopped in front of him and shook her head. “Clock out detective grumpy.”

~~~~~~♡~~~~~~

Sy, Walt and Deb were all sitting at their table drinking a beer and waiting on their food at the local bar and grill when someone tripped into Debbie's chair causing her beer to slosh all over her. She jumped to her feet trying to brush it off as she eyed the blonde woman.

“Oh, I'm so sorry!” She gasped. 

Debbie looked at her but just forced a smile. “It's OK. It was an accident. No harm done.” She excused herself to go clean up.

“I'm sorry again,” the blonde smirked, winking conspitorily at a woman sitting at the bar before leaving.

When Deb came back from the restroom she saw a woman rubbing up against Sy. He was telling her to leave him alone and that he wasn't interested but she reached down and pawed at his cock grinding her hand against him almost painfully.  Deb snatched her by the hair pulling her away from Sy. “What the fuck do you think your doing? Lindi?” She growled. 

“Let me go you bitch!” She struggled in Debbie's tight grip. 

“He said no and you didn’t listen. Now you'll deal with me,” She growled as she dragged her outside to the parking lot.

“Oh fuck,” Sy and Walt said at the same time quickly following them. 

“You will keep your hands off what belongs to me,” Debbie warned her.

“He doesn't belong to you! He's not married to you,” Lindi sneered. “You've been together for five years and he's never committed. He's just fuckin you until he finds the woman he wants to spend the rest of his life with!”

The words stung more than she cared to admit and it pissed her off even more. “Maybe, but I know one thing for sure. It's not you!”

Lindi lashed out at Debbie which she quickly realized was a mistake. Deb tackled her to the ground and started wailing on her. Lindy was screaming and begging for her to stop, apologizing and swearing she'll never touch Sy again. Deb didn't slow down; she just kept swinging.

“Ok, enough,” Sy bent down and wrapped his arms around Debbie's waist and pulled her off of Lindi. “Alright sweetheart, enough,” he soothed.  She struggled against him and he wrapped her up tighter. “Enough,” he growled in her ear. She stilled for a moment before shoving away from him and trying to walk away. He pulled her back and pinned her against a nearby truck. “Calm down sugar,” he rumbled.

Walter knelt down and checked on Lindi. Her nose was busted, lip bleeding and her eye was already swelling. “You learn to keep your hands to yourself? “

“I want to press charges!” Lindi demanded. 

“You have that right but you started this and there are witnesses to this. So she will press charges as well and this will go to a judge. Are you sure that's what you want to do?”

She got to her feet and glared at Walter before storming off.

@shellyshellshell

@enchantedbytomandhenry

@mrsevans90

@summersong69

@mollymal

@warriormirkwood

@bloodyinspiredme

@kneelforloki

[chaifootsteps]

Speaking of blitzø being happy without stolas, I think of the couch scene parallels. Stolas whimpering and crying all alone, fantasising and obsessing about Blitzø. Contrast to Blitzø, content, silly, smiling and just happier than ever. Eating his favourite foods, watching his favourite shows, making a bond with Asmodeus and helping create a support system for a friend going through a hard time. If this parallel is supposed to show how “perfect for each other” they are, it failed.

I thought episodes 6 and 7 were going to be the start of his new arc, he shows protectiveness empathy and restraint to help his beloved friend not once but twice. Apologises for things, and gets a hug. I thought he’d change because he wanted to change, that the positive reinforcement of that embrace and gratitude would motivate him to open up more and try harder.

He seems to light up every time he gets told he’s doing a good job, and just wants that affirmation. I feel like if I were to write him redeeming himself, I’d start by having his closest family (Mox Millie and Loona) telling him they’re sick of him butting into their lives, and before he can get too desolate they say they’re sick of it because they never get to ask him about his. “You’ve met our families, shaked our fathers hands, helped us. We want to know about yours. We want to know why you act the way you do.”

Show that they care enough about him to want to know about his past, who the people in the picture frames are (like Loonas aunt!) why he changed his name. We had a hint of that in spring breakers and it was nice. They didn’t ask questions, they just helped him against Verosika without needing to. Because he was mad at her for bullying moxxie (which he does too, but still). His life is interesting. And it suddenly occurs to him that it’s not just that they don’t like his behaviour, but that he’s behaving in an unequal way. It’s hard to consider someone a friend when they know everything about you, but you know nothing about them. Have Loona say she can’t fully accept him as her father when she doesn’t know who he and her extended family, is. That would Segway so nicely into a story arc of learning about his past, with a foundation of found family, and the bond of IMP.

People grow and change through empathy and positive reinforcement with a goal of loving themselves. Not by ganging up on someone, publicly laughing at them as a crowd, screaming their failings in their face, and threatening to leave. I hate that shot of blitzø looking tiny and broken under a sheet, while stolas is on stage smiling and laughing at his expense, and the trailer trying to tell me this moment is when Blitzø “realised how beautiful stolas is and fell in love” oh vomit. He already hates himself, blames himself for everyone’s problems, and is severely afraid of being hated. So this plot looks deeply, deeply mean spirited and cruel. Fuck stolas and his giant army of fans and defenders inside and outside the show.

He sucks.

He does, and you know what also sucks? The fact that right now, with Stolas leaving him alone and Fizz back in his life, Blitz has been the happiest and most well-adjusted we've ever seen him.

[mythicamagic]

Exalted One - a Sukuna x Reader fic

Summary: An apothecary ostracised by her village for witchcraft.

A murderous cannibal who practises sorcery.

Like oil and water, the two shouldn't mix. Heian era fic.

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AN: Sukuna x Reader/OC depending how you look at it. Idk ignore me I won't be able to update this for like a month but I have poor impulse control. This is written in third person because its more comfortable for me than first.

Read on Ao3 - here

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Smoke. It billowed thick and black into the sky, seeping into her lungs. Flames roared, submerging everything in bright flickering lights and casting thick shadows all at once.

The woman remained bent low on hands and knees, crumpled in the street. Everything in her screamed to move. Her teeth chattered with the force of it. She could do little more than watch, frozen in place as one such thick shadow rippled, giving way to the towering figure that blocked her path- one of his many arms lifting a screaming man aloft. 

The villager's legs swung, flailing wildly as a large hand squeezed tighter around his neck. One of his feet struck- hitting the creature in the belly. 

"Heh, tickles." 

A sick slap of flesh splitting open reached her ears as- to her horror- a mouth opened up on the creature's stomach, spreading wide into a grin. It caught the man's flailing foot between its teeth, sucking his calf inside before a harsh 'snap' and crunch could be heard. 

If the man had been screaming before, he was inconsolably shrieking and wailing his heart out now. Blood oozed from the remainder of his stump as he yanked it free, unable to squirm away from the collection of four arms holding him captive. 

The woman flinched and covered her ears, but it was useless. She'd seen too much now, heard it all. So many villagers lay scattered in ruined body parts and sinew. 

It had been such a normal, ordinary day. Nothing had heralded this slaughter, not one bad omen. The woman had opened her apothecary as per usual, and left a herbal remedy for Mrs Okami’s back pain on her doorstep. The boy called Shinta and old man Yunko had ignored her as usual on their way to the fishing lake. None of them had tossed an insult toward her at all- it had even seemed like things were looking up.

Now they were all dead- or perhaps some had been fortunate enough to flee, escaping the burning houses and terrifying monster stalking the streets. What she'd initially thought had been a random army attack turned out to be just one force of chaos. A natural disaster disguised as a misshapen human.

He was tall- far taller than any man she’d met- and stripped to the waist as if to show off the murderous arms he’d used to pluck frightened people from their homes. He’d killed them with the glee and indifference of a child toying with their dolls.

The woman shuddered as her neighbour was ripped limb from limb and split down the middle, watery noises of blood splashing onto the ground. The sound threatened to empty her stomach again. 

"Hm, raw food doesn't agree with me like it used to," the creature tsked, a second tongue appearing from his cheek to lick crimson stains off one of his meaty hands. 

Her breathing hitched, air freezing in her lungs. What was he? 

Demon.

The word stuck and refused to leave her mind. 

Burning red eyes turned towards her as if she’d spoken the word aloud. She jolted, heart leaping into her throat. Oh no no no no-

The creature dropped the remains of the neighbour's carcass. They met the ground with a sickening thud. His lips twitched and spread wider, sizing her up. He took a single step- but adrenaline kicked in and she was already up and scrambling away. 

It was useless of course. No one could outrun him after the things she'd seen, but her legs couldn't be stopped. 

She fled into her Apothecary at the far outskirts of the village, knocking pots over in her haste. 

Mother. 

It felt important at that moment to hold onto something familiar. If she was going to die- it would be while keeping the memory of someone who loved her close. With this in mind, she grabbed a well-worn bamboo book off the shelf and hugged it to her chest, grabbing a knife in her free hand and crouching against the corner of the room, hiding in the dark. 

It didn't take long before the entirety of her front entrance was ripped away. 

The roof was pushed back to reveal a firelit sky, the ceiling screeching with the snap of support beams failing. Tattooed hands were suddenly reaching into her ruined hut, his fingers spread wide, nails sharp and ready. The woman screamed as she was grabbed, scooped up into malevolent arms without much effort. 

The creature grinned and straightened outside. "You thought you could run despite seeing everything I’ve done? You- who sat back for such a long time and stared at me with a stupid expression,” he chuckled. “While the attention was flattering, I thought you might have learned something from it- and would show far more spirit than this." 

He squeezed, the sensation tightening hard and cruel around her waist, and she gasped, grip loosening on the knife until it clattered to the ground. 

Red eyes smiled, dancing with mirth when she cursed and twisted in his hold, kicking uselessly and sinking her free-hand’s nails into his arm, scratching and clawing. At one point- she bit down into the meat of his arm. The action had him chuckling richly- jolting her so hard in his grip that the book in her hand fell loose. The woman cried out, straining uselessly as it collided with the ground in a clatter of wood, cotton and string.

The air around him changed, everything falling silent. The steel band crushing her lungs eased.

"What's this?" 

Mother’s book was snatched from the earth, the demon looking it over curiously with all four of his roving eyes. 

"No! Give it back-" she swiped for it, missing as he held it out of reach. "I-it's useless to you. Please give it back to me." 

With two hands holding her waist, it was easy for him to open the lovingly crafted book. She had no idea if he could even read the handwritten strips of bamboo. 

He took his time, stroking his chin consideringly. Narrowed eyes flicked back to her after a moment. Despite the bloodlust he’d displayed, it unnerved her to see shrewd intelligence within his gaze. "Now I see…looking at you more closely, you're not from these lands, are you? This written in your native tongue?" 

She trembled but set her jaw. Not trusting her voice, she gave a faint nod. 

"Hm. And you can read it?" 

Again, she nodded, albeit with confusion and no small amount of fear. 

The book was tossed in her general direction and she gasped, lurching up to catch it. "Hold onto it then," he dismissed casually, glancing at the remains of her hut. "Got any more books like this?" 

"N-no. This is the only one.”

"Pity," his velvety voice drawled, belying the wicked smile that spread across his lips. "Oh well, you'll do for some late-night amusement at least." 

TBC

[blackbutlerfandomnerddomain]

So I edited some of the Lost In The Book With Stitch event with some headcanons

I always headcanon Riddle being ftm transgender-nonbinary (he/they) and while his mother sucks and doesn't support she allowed him take top surgery just didn't give him the emotional support afterwards in a way of "If you're enough to make big decisions in your body than you're old enough to not ask for mummy's cuddles" kind of way

This event helped him the most finally find peace with himself, yeah he felt comfortable with himself after the surgery but for some reason he felt more free here with these people he wouldn't be on a vacation with in the start with this odd fluffy creature

I have a headcanon he has a tooth gap still growing from Ace's punch in chapter 1 that he secretly likes

He started collecting sea shells after this

Lots of freckles

Kind of realizes his crush on this trip, he had it for a while obviously but this made him realize "Oh shit-"

My sister says she can see Riddle's whole reaction to his crush on Floyd like Moana's poll to the ocean and I can see it

Ftm transgender (I grew with that headcanon) and got his top surgery right before attending Night Raven Collage

Lots of freckles

Kind of wishes he stayed just cause he adored the feeling of being there so much

Knows now he would be a good dad

After this his mood with his friends became different, he became more chill and nicer to those he isn't too, even Riddle after they kind of talked things over by the water

Has lots of scars over the years

Thanks to the Twitter @gay-salt-amber showed me, he had piercings and tattoos he hid for the sake of being a father and student, biggest tattoo is on the back of his thigh that was made in honor of one of the solders in his old Army who died

Nonbinary gremline

Sung with the ukulele during a beach campfire

He feels like he gets Stitch the most out of the whole cast

Vows to hopefully bring Silver and everyone else there

Lowkey wants more kids

Literally almost cried when leaving

I always think the Octa-Trio get some traces of their merform, so the Leech twins has a teal-greenish undertone under their skin when that becomes visible when exposed to water and if you look closely their toes get webby kind of

LOTS OF FRECKLES

Has a tongue piercing he sometimes takes out

Had the most fun being in his dream element, especially when Azul and Riddle there!

So I know I didn't edit their cards cause they honestly didn't strike editing art on them but I'll add Jack and Azul!

Really enjoyed the sudden change of pace and weather

Didn't like the beach life at first cause the salt water was knotting his furr and the sand did not help the idea, but he quickly grew adapting the idea of it and even enjoyed the knots and combing them out

After this he set up a vacation to the beach with his siblings

Fell in love with the scent of the beach

Was super self conscious about taking his shirt and being in the water and wouldn't have done either if it weren't for Floyd threatening to throw him into the ocean and Grim's teasing

Calmed down after a while and relaxed enough to just enjoy everything

Let his merform out during the night when it's too dark to see when Floyd joined in, did the same, and Riddle joined it but wasn't scared which amazed and calmed him more

Got inspired for profit but just inspired in general as he spend those days enjoying everything all together, swimming in the water, eating food, running and rolling in the sand

He also has freckles but they're small and light

Because of his bright mood after he was extra nice which freaked people out

He surprised the Leech twins with a dish of their favorite foods but didn't tell them how he managed to cook that stuff being he's, well, a octopus merman

Doesn't believe in gender but doesn't want to think about his own

Lowkey wants kids now

They all got closer after the whole thing

They all shared things of their pasts, with choices of being vague to some parts and areas for obvious reasons on Azul's and Lilia's part

As soon as Yuu mentioned a store that sold Stitch plushes, they got one right away

Lots of lowkey romantic tensions for whoever you want to say, Riddle x Floyd, your favorite ship, any of the cast with Yuu/You

They visit the Mostro Lounge every time they have free time or after a dorm head meeting, bring along people from their dorms as well

And in tradition of every Twst event so far, there's a playlist I made

[paincallingback]

It Bit Me

(A short story of Felix meeting this cat that he soon calls Lemon.)

@star-tb this one is for you!

Another boring office meeting with my men. Blah blah blah, all these meetings are the same. None stop unimportant information and useless business deals for my hotels. Gosh, I wish I could leave one of these right now. Time always seemed to go slower than it needed to be during these unimportant events.

I look at the clock, thinking of any excuse for me to leave this meeting. Nothing pops to mind yet. Ugh, I'm going to be stuck here for a long time.

Blah blah blah. Something more about guests and prices. Fools, I was 2 steps ahead this time about all of that. I did all the math last night. Well, some of it, at least. Probably passed out while doing the work.

I was completely zoned out until one of the 5 star chefs said something about the breakfasts we serve here. Something something about scrambled eggs and meat. That wasn't really important to me, but it reminded me of something.

My eyes snap back to reality and I get up suddenly. My workers look at me funny and confused. I gave them all a determined look.

"Meeting over. I got to go do something really important." Before they could ask any questions I hurried out the room and ran up the stairs, working out my thighs. I make it to my room on the top floor and scrambled to get at least 20 cans of cat food before rushing downstairs again.

I run over to the backdoor of the hotel and slammed it open. I looked around near the dumpsters, no cats yet. But with the simple click of opened one can of cat food it summons almost 30 cats over to where I'm standing.

"Oh geeze. Why are there more of you now? I swear you guys keep multiplying everyday. I don't even know if I'll have enough for all you guys." I said out loud, as if I were talking to the cats. I kneeled down and opened some of the cans of cat food.

The cats flock and surround me, all trying to be the first one to get some of the food. They swarm me. Some trying to even claw at me for my attention to feed them.

"One at a time!" I yell, trying to argue with this army of cats as if they can even understand what I'm saying. Which is why I'm trying to open all cans of cat food as quickly as I could before they murder me.

I quickly stepped away from them all once I got the last one open. Letting them fend for themselves, first come, first serve. As the growing army of cats were chowing down on their free meal, I noticed one black cat come up to me. It was rather small, with a thick black coat of fur and piercing yellow eyes.

I smiled and leaned down, petting the little guy. "Aww, hey there. You must be new. Did all your little friends invite you?" The cat slightly nuzzle against my palm. What a friendly little guy.

Or so I thought when the bastard suddenly bit me! I yelled and yanked my hand back. It didn't hurt too badly, but I was still upset that it bit me. "OW! What the Hell?! You can't do that! I just fed you, you bastard!" I yelled at the cat.

It hissed at me, and I gave it the mild finger. "Yeah, f#ck you too, you prick! I hate you already! You're going on my hit list." Was I threatening this poor cat? Yeah, I was.

The cat hiss more and tried fo claw at my pants. I hand to deal with it and pick it up by the scruff of its neck. I checked to see if it was a male or a female. "Of course you're a boy. Look here mister, if you want to be fed here then you got to be nice to me." He hissed at me again. "I named every single cat here. And your's is now Lemon, because I hate you and you remind me of another bastard that I hate. Bet you're blind in one eye as well."

I put Lemon down gently, he was still hissing and meowing at me angrily. That's when I go inside to ignore him.

From thay day on Lemon keeps returning with the others. Some days, he's sweet, and other days, he bites me again. I hate Lemon. But I can't help but love and spoil him as well. What a brat he is.