#spooky art tonight to give you nightmares

[firesinhell]

I come back and

So many good artists liking me so many good artists are reblogging my art and so many good artists following me

I'm just not used to it is all ...🤷🏾

#to show my gratitude i will make uh #spooky art tonight to give you nightmares #because i watch vita carnis religiously like asmr #tis the season #hellsing

[x0x0josephinex0x0]

touch-starved | min yoongi

we are going to ignore how every single one of my writings has nightmares in them, i personally experience very vivid nightmares on occasion so i guess art imitates life or whatever. also we're gonna ignore that this is the second bodyguard imagine i've written, this one was a request so it's a little less embarrassing but still is a little but not enough that i won't post it on the internet because i know y'all shameless too. here we have bodyguard!yoongi x celebrity fem!reader. warnings: stalking/stalkers (not yoongi this is not a yandere situation sorry), mentions of loneliness, a nightmare (obvs its me writing duh), horror movie mentioned...........idk if there's anything else but please do lmk

There is a soft knock at the hotel room door. You check the peephole to see Yoongi standing there, tapping rhythmically on his leg as he waits for you to let him in.

“Well, as far as I can tell, you’re not being followed,” he says as he enters, shrugging off his jacket and throwing it onto the chair by the sofa.

You sit on the sofa, rubbing your temples. “Well, that’s a relief,” you say tiredly.

“All this trouble for a guy you’re not even dating,” Yoongi says mildly, but he’s looking at you with his curious eyes, trying to gauge your mood.

“I don’t know if I’ve ever even talked to him,” you agree, flopping listlessly onto your side. “Remind me never to smile at anyone in public ever again.”

He smiles. “Or wear similar outfits, or go to the same places,” he adds, his eyes gentle. Then he leans against the sofa, facing the wall. “It’s not your fault, though.”

“I know,” you sigh. “You know, I kind of wish it was real,” you admit.

“Why? You like the guy?” Yoongi asks sharply.

“Not really,” you muse. “I mean, he is handsome. But it’s really that if I were in a relationship, it would mean that someone got close enough to me to like me.”

“I know you,” he responds indignantly. “And I like you.”

“You’re my bodyguard. You are paid to like me, so it doesn’t count,” you protest.

Yoongi shakes his head, annoyed. “On a good day,” he says scathingly, “I’d like you even if you weren’t paying me.”

“That’s the nicest thing you ever said to me,” you say, and the tension in the room dissolves as Yoongi gives you a smirk. “Who knew it would be so lonely to be a celebrity,” you say lightly, unable to escape a twinge of bitterness in your voice.

“It’s not all bad,” Yoongi reminds you, nodding out the massive windows at the spectacular skyline view.

You smile at the setting sun. “True,” you allow. “This part I like.” You watch for a few minutes as the sun sinks almost imperceptibly lower. “You must think I’m so spoiled.”

Yoongi shrugs. “I can see how there would be drawbacks. Personal privacy is a luxury that only poor people can afford.”

You tsk at him. “You’re talking in riddles again,” you scold. “It’s a condition at this point. You should really have it checked.”

He grins. “Just say you aren’t smart enough to understand,” he shoots back.

You chuckle, loving the back-and-forth. “Just say you have to pretend to be smart by using big words,” you retaliate.

He bows, his grin wider, as if to say, “you won this round”. “So,” he says, going to the mini fridge and popping a can of soda open. “What shall it be tonight, madame?”

You crinkle your nose in disgust at his butler-like tone. “Something spooky. In honor of fall,” you tell him, handing him the remote.

When he had become your bodyguard two years ago, at the recommendation of your agency, you had learned that he was required to work long into the night at your side. Feeling bad, you had started to watch movies every night when he came around so that he’d at least have something to do. Your relationship had come a long way — he had started out watching the movies from the back of the room, standing by the door, to now, sitting beside you on the sofa. This was representative of your relationship as well — when you had first met he was cold and professional, but now the two of you bantered back and forth in a way that was comfortable and easy. You really couldn’t remember ever feeling so comfortable with anyone, in fact.

It was hard to know when your less responsible feelings for him had begun. Truthfully, you suspected that you had just developed an unhealthy attachment to the only person you spent time around, but there were nights when you’d watch him writing in a little pocket-sized notebook, his long hair falling in front of his face, and imagine how it might have been if you’d met in a normal way — at a college somewhere, where he’d bring you a juice every day and help you study for exams. Now, there was barely a way to tell if what you felt when you saw him — that accelerated heart rate, that quiet thrum of energy in your mind — was real, or if it came from your own foolishness.

You watch him now — his face in the dying sunlight is so pretty you’re almost jealous, and the feeling in your chest pulses in a way that is almost painful. He turns on the TV and scrolls through shows until he finds a promising title: some horror film about an old woman in a spooky old house with a mysterious secret. As you begin the movie he has his arms folded, watching with veiled interest. But he notices the first time you flinch.

“Scared already?” he teases.

“You don’t miss a trick,” you say ruefully. “Pay attention.” You gesture to the screen.

About fifteen minutes later, there’s a knock at the door that corresponds perfectly to a jump scare in the movie, and you yelp in fright. Yoongi gets up, brow furrowed. “Are you expecting anyone?” he asks.

You shake your head no. He looks through the peephole and curses. “It’s your stalker again,” he grumbles, pulling out his cell phone. “Hey, Harvey,” he says, and his voice is calm, but you can tell he’s angry. “I need you to come up to the room and grab something. I was hoping it had already been taken care of.”

The voice of the hotel security team lead says something unintelligible, and Yoongi thanks them before hanging up. He slides the two chains into their places on the door and takes a door jam from his pocket, wedging it between the door and the floor. He grins at your wide eyes. “Don’t worry, milady,” he says, “he can’t get in even if he figures out how to unlock the door.”

“But what if he did get in?” you whisper, spooked.

He shrugs. “I’d kill him,” he replies.

“For real?!” you squeak,

“No,” he says with an eye roll. “But I would incapacitate him in record time. That dude is a wimp.”

He seems to notice you’re nervous, and his eyes soften. “Don’t worry,” he says quietly. “I’ll take care of you.”

When he sits back down, he sits closer to you than normal. Your legs are touching. You look at him quizzically and he smiles. “It’s a small couch,” he says, throwing an arm up over the back of the couch — not around your shoulders, but close enough that you’re blushing.

You try to focus on the movie, but you find that despite your anxiety, you’re beginning to nod off. Almost automatically, you find yourself leaning toward Yoongi’s warmth, and your head finds his shoulder. Giving in to the exhaustion, you find yourself in dreams.

It’s not long before the dreams turn dark. You have been prone to bad dreams as a result of your overactive imagination, but these are more solid than your usual nightmares — stealing from reality and stretching it so that teeth are too long, smiles are too wide, and the hands that reach for you are too strong. You wake up with a gasp.

You’re in your bed. You flick on the bedside lamp and put a hand to your chest, breathing deeply, still anxious. When a soft voice calls your name, you nearly jump out of your skin. Yoongi has poked his head into your bedroom, and is now looking at you in amusement. “It’s just me,” he says, stepping inside. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you say, trying to recover, although your voice still shakes. “I just had a bad dream.”

He grins. “No more falling asleep to horror movies,” he says in a fake-stern voice. “Do you need anything?”

“I think I’d like if you stayed with me a minute,” you confess, your voice quiet, looking at your hands. You are more nervous he’ll say no than you are about the dreams.

When you finally meet his gaze, his expression is unreadable. He walks silently to the side of your bed and sits down beside you. You can’t help but admire how the lamplight casts an alluring shadow on his face before he does something unexpected.

He reaches out, and without looking at you, slips your hand in his.

You stare at him. He has never done this before — never touched you when he could avoid it. You’d always been grateful and a bit disappointed about this. You knew he should keep his distance and simultaneously wished he wouldn’t. To say you’re startled wouldn’t even begin to cover it.

And yet, holding his hand is soothing. You feel your fear fade away, and in a moment of boldness, give his hand a shy squeeze.

He looks at you, then at your interlocked hands. He takes a deep breath. “Well, I need to quit my job.”

This revelation is shocking. “Why?” you ask, suddenly panicked. “If I did something — I mean, I’m sorry if I crossed a line —“

He puts a finger to your lips. “You haven’t done anything wrong,” he says gently.

“Then stay with me,” you say, knocking his hand away from your lips.

“I can’t work for you when I feel the way I do about you,” he explains, almost in a pleading tone.

"What are you talking about?" you ask.

"I love you," he blurts.

You gape at him. "What?"

He blushes. "You heard me."

You look at his hand in your hand, and then back to him. "Are you serious?" you ask him, unable to keep a smile from your voice.

He rolls his eyes. "If you're just gonna make me keep repeating myself, this conversation isn't going to go anywhere." He stands up and places your hand back into your lap. "I'll give you some time to process."

You leap out of bed and follow him. "Wait a minute," you say, grabbing his hand. "How do you know you love me?" you ask him, your eyes searching his.

Yoongi blushes, but he looks a little pleased that you've grabbed his hand. "Well," he says, slowly digesting your question, "I think it's pretty easy to know. Of everyone I've ever met and spent time with, I've never enjoyed being around anyone the way I like being around you. Nobody makes me smile like you do, and nobody makes me crazier."

You blink. "Well, I feel all those things about you."

He raises his eyebrows. "You do?"

"Well, yeah. I mean, I don't have many real friends," you explain, "but I'd rather stay in with you and watch movies than go out, or go anywhere really."

"You would?" he asks.

You give him a pointed look. "Now who's repeating themselves?"

He shakes his head. "I'm just shocked. Are you saying you love me back?"

You look at him, trying to find the answer yourself. Your heart is pounding harder than it did at any scary movie, and the heat of his gaze is making you feel flushed and squirmy. You struggle for words. "I --"

Yoongi throws his jacket and keys onto the couch, and in one swift movement he pulls you into his chest. He places his hand on your cheek. "What do you feel right now?" he whispers, his lips inches from yours.

"It's hard to know," you whisper back. "Completely crazy, but somehow calm. Entirely safe, but terrified. It's like I'm on top of something very high, but wearing a harness."

He gives you a tender smile. "That sounds like love to me." And then he kisses you.

You cling to him as he presses a kiss to your lips, then your cheeks and jaw and nose and forehead. Sighing in relief, you melt into his arms, enjoying the feeling of being adored. After he finishes kissing you, he holds you in his arms for awhile, running his hand down your back in soothing motions.

You carefully monitor your feelings as he holds you, realizing that after all this time alone, you could be a bit out of touch with them. You feel a lot of things -- wild and alive and a little dizzy -- but the undercurrent of your feelings is peace and quiet. It feels right.

"You do need to quit," you say suddenly.

He pulls back. "Why?" he asks, shocked.

"Because I do love you back, and I'm not about to pay my boyfriend to hang out with me," you say. "That's pathetic, even for me."

He laughs, tucking your hair behind your ear. "As you wish, love."

"You can hire your replacement in the morning," you say, kissing him again.

#bts #bts fluff #min yoongi fluff #missing min yoongi? well me too so i wrote this #missing yoongi hour #min yoongi x reader #yoongi fluff #agust d #bts yoongi #bts suga #bts agust d #yoongi imagine #kpop

[rotpunks]

i think i need to exorcize all my Thoughts about analog horror and how its shittybad out of my brain so here we go.

It's bad! Okay okay that lacks all nuance and unfairly tears down the analog horror series out there that are good. That I'm sure exist somewhere, but I haven't found em. I think the main issue for me is how absolutely boring they are if you aren't scared. And it's hard to be scared, because it basically amounts to VHS noises and spooky images. Oh yes I am very terrified of um... Guy with a weird face accompanied by a music sting. Gonna have nightmares tonight! I'm sure this scares some people but I'm not easily scared and the tension built up by these series is abysmal, mostly because of other issues I also want to talk about. The main issue is that I have nothing to be scared for. I know the scary thing isn't real because it's always supernatural, and I can compartmentalize things and know that the nefarious anglerfish is not going to come kill me in my sleep. So, like, who cares?

"but tim you got genuinely scared by emh multiple times and that has a supernatural antagonist" yes! because there were CHARACTERS! I cannot comprehend dedicating so much of my life to a story with zero characters. Sure there might be Named Entities but I watched most of the mandela catalogue before i dropped it and i cannot name a singular character. nobody is posting about the artful writing of that backrooms series. Nowadays the webseries game is all about LORE (insert matpat here) and coming up with a new way for the world to be fucked up. Bonus, these fucked up worlds are also not interesting enough for me to want to keep watching because we're drip fed literally everything. You're hinging your story's interest on the lore and then you give me nothing and expect me to stay interested? You cannot seriously expect me to sit through a video that's a glorified spooky powerpoint (with VHS filter!). No, introducing a new monster isn't lore development if it's basically a reskin of the last one. We need to get information on the causes of the spooky monsters and the underlying rules of the world, but I highly fucking doubt any of these people consider that.

The story won't move, no new lore ever drops, there's no characters to be interested in why should i give a SINGLE SHIT about any analog horror series at all. No sir, not getting out of this chair! But the biggest problem is that it's crowded out everything else in the webseries zone. We're just not getting shit like we used to get, with characters and live action and silly college students. I think partially it's because everyone's too scared to fuck up, youtube has Standards now and you need to look Professional. So everyone just does the professional-looking analog horror instead of fucking around with the boys. It fucking sucks because if you want to watch a new webseries and you don't want a boring powerpoint, you are literally just out of luck. Go rewatch the old shit is pretty much your only option. And it's just going to keep happening because people only come out and criticize analog horror when it doesn't meet their morality standards

#analog horror #long post #sorry lol #amateur writing has a lot to like in general but this isnt even amateur writing theres no WRITING here

[spidernerdsblog]

Love Is The Biggest Spell : Chapter Five

A/N : Chapter five is here. This chapter should have been posted on Halloween lol but never mind. Hope you like this chapter. Feedbacks and suggestions are always welcome.

Pairing : Warlock Tom Holland x half mortal reader

Summary : Witches are forbidden to fall in love with mortals. But what if your long lost love returns to you as a mortal, can you defy your heart? Any spell any magic seems useless in front of the magic of love. Let’s join our lovers in their magical conquest beyond life and death as they fight for their love unravelling dark mysteries of the past along their way.

Warnings : mild language, witchy stuff.

Mini Playlist : Can't help falling in love with you

After you had your breakfast Tom drove you to college. You were walking to your classroom. 

"Y/N!" You heard the voice you despise the most right now call out to you. You didn't look back and quickened your pace. 

"Y/N, Y/N, Y/N hey wait please." Cole ran to you grasping your wrist. 

"Leave my hand, Cole!" You yanked your hand away from him. 

"Y/N just listen to me for once I can explain." he pleaded. 

"What more do you have to explain, Cole? That you were making out with me but magically it turned out to be someone else."

"Yeah exactly." 

"Cole can you just stop now. I'm not going to judge your life choices but I hope you enjoyed sucking her mouth." 

"Y/N please you can't do this to me."

"Umm mate I think Y/N made it quite clear that she doesn't want to talk to you." Tom intervened. 

"Listen dude let's just not pretend that this isn't the best day of your life. So please stay out of this"

"Cole! You can’t talk to him like that.” 

"A guy showed you a little affection for one night and now he is the good guy. So typical of you Y/N." you were literally hurt by his words.

"You know what Cole? I was actually thinking of forgiving your not so sorry ass but now I'm so over that thought, we are done for good Cole!"

"C'mon Tom let's go." You stormed off dragging Tom with you by his wrist to the library. 

You slumped down on the seat as Tom took the opposite seat to you 

"I can't believe Cole would say that! I'm an attention seeker? Seriously?!" You seethed. 

"How did you guys even fall in love?" Tom asked out of courtesy though he had no interest in knowing that. 

"You know childhood best friends it was like we owed to date each other." you shrugged.

"Maybe we can do something to divert your attention?" 

"And what is that?" 

"Finish our assignment I guess that's still pending." 

"Seriously?" you gave a disinterested look. 

"What? That is much better than talking about your douchebag boyfriend, ex boyfriend" 

"Yeah maybe some witchy stuff can help keep me distracted." you walked to the shelves and pulled out some books and placed them on the desk with a loud thud. You picked up a book and were turning over some pages in a book and stumbled upon something as you frowned. 

"What’s Dark Baptism?" 

"Huh oh it's a sort of ceremony. The Dark Baptism is the most sacred, unholy sacrament the witches practiced for centuries. The oldest of their rites. A novice witch signs his or her name in the Book of the Beast, and gives the Dark Lord dominion over their soul and in exchange he gives them unlimited power and eternal youth." Tom explained. 

"Huh what’s the use of such powers if I have to give up my freedom of will?" you scoffed. 

"It’s the only one of several possible interpretations, see like all religions have symbolic gestures and demand sacrifices right?" 

"Signing the Book of the Beast is more like a pledge to abide by the devil's commandments." 

"But the Dark Lord aka Satan is the embodiment of evil." You state. Tom corrects you immediately. 

"As per texts he is the embodiment of free will and that he goes beyond the mere concepts of good and evil and the infernal punishment of the "False God"."

"So what about Hell?" you ask.

"If you accept the Dark Lord's gifts, then you won't die for a long time and Hell is for mortals. In exchange for their service and devotion, witches are exempt from the eternal flames of damnation." Tom explains. 

"That's some crazy ass bullshit." You laugh it off. 

"But you seem to have quite in-depth knowledge about these things. Do you happen to practice witchcraft in secret?" you narrowed your eyes. 

"Maybe, who knows" he shrugs." Why are you so invested in knowing all this?" he counter questioned you. 

"Nothing just general curiosity that's it." You shrug. 

"General curiosity or is it about the visions or nightmares whatever you have." Tom smirked.

"Who-who told you.." You stutter. 

"Jane told Harrison and he told me."

"Those are just some stupid dreams that's all."

"Or may be not, maybe you are a psychic or a witch "

“Ha ha very funny.”

"Okay leave all that." Tom cleared his throat. 

"Hey I know it would be really inappropriate for me to ask you. You know you can totally say no."

''Hey it's okay we are friends now c'mon spill it out." you held his hand reassuringly.

"Umm my mother seems to have liked you a lot the day you stopped by our house and wants me to invite you to our Halloween party. It's kind of a spooky themed business gala. "

"Your mother likes me or you?" you narrowed your eyes with a sly smirk.

"No I swear my mom told me to invite you." Tom flustered.

"Okay then tell your mom that I would love to go."

"Oh thanks." Tom’s eyes lit up like a child.

"And by the way if you want me to be your date just ask." You winked. 

"It's - it's nothing like that." he stuttered. 

"Relax anyways I'm single now." you giggled.

"So what are you divs doing?" Harrison dropped in between your conversation.

"Nothing just getting ready for my dark baptism." You chuckled though Harrison gave a mortified look as he exchanged glances with Tom. Who shook his head dismissively to let him know he hasn't said anything. 

“Uh okay..have you seen Jane anywhere?" 

"Why do you also need some attention?" You joked lazily placing a hand on Harrison's shoulder and instantly backed off with a light gasp. 

"You okay?" Harrison asked looking at your horrified expression.

"Yeah, yeah I'm-I’m  fine." you stammered blinking your eyes.

"I'll go and find Jane." You walked away huskily. 

…….........

Agatha and Zendaya visited a farm to purchase a black goat to be used for sacrifice during your dark baptism in the woods. 

"What is on your mind mother? A few days ago you wanted that half breed dead but now you are here arranging for her dark baptism. I don't understand any of this."

"Well you three failed in your task and I'm grateful to Satan for that this time because I recently found out she is the key to perform the spell by which our coven will gain infinite powers."

"What spell?"

"For now you don't need to know more than this. Just remember that girl needs to be protected."

…………..

It's 31st of October and you are officially 25. You were at the cafe as Jane came in all bubbly and chirpy.

“Happy Birthday babe!!!” Jane exclaimed, giving you a tight hug.

“Thank you babe.” Tom and Harrison dropped in after sometime.

“Isn’t it your birthday day? Why the hell are you working today?”. 

“Because it’s my birthday.”

"Well somebody has got the whole concept of birthday wrong." tom quipped.

“Here we brought something for you.” He placed a cake box on the table.

“Jane dear can you arrange this for us please.” Harrison asked her sweetly.

“Of Course will.”

“Seriously guys you didn’t have to do this.” Jane was quick to arrange the cake on a tray with some candles and placed it in front of you. You blow out the candles as they sing for you.

“Thank you so much guys.” your heart swelled in happiness.

“We would have loved to stay but we have another party to arrange so see you girls in the evening.” Harrison said.

“I'll pick you up at seven.” Tom informed you softly.

“Will be waiting.” You smiled. After they left you turned to Jane. 

"Can I ask you something?" 

"Yeah what?" 

"What do you know about Harrison? Apart from he's a sex God. His family and life." you snickered.

"Umm they are rich, business partners with the Hollands. Loves his mom and sister a lot. Why?" 

"Nothing, you are my best friend just don't want you to fall for the wrong guy. I finally learnt my lesson. Heh." You chuckled slowly. 

“Don’t worry babe if he does something bad I’ll give you the privilege of kicking his ass.” She laughed and went to the back of the shop. 

Now how will you tell her that when you touched him you had one of your stupid visions. You saw blood, pentacles, human skulls, it felt so inauspicious the darkness engulfing you. Your eyes went to the blown out birthday candles and you suddenly remembered about the night where the candle caught fire on it’s own. Then you recalled Tom saying that you may be psychic and you suddenly got the idea of testing the fact.

"This is all a hoax, I'm not psychic nor a witch. I was drunk and was seeing things." you said to yourself and took a deep breath.

"Well here goes to nothing." You focused on them but nothing happened. 

"Huh, definitely a hoax" you blew out your cheeks and turned to do your work. But when you turned around again to your surprise each and every candle was lit up magically. You exhaled deeply, frowning.

……………

Reaching home you went to your room and saw a big gift box kept on your bed. You took the lid off the box to find an expensive black dress with a note. 

Happy Birthday Y/N. Will be really happy if you wear this tonight.  Love T. H

You smiled and held out the dress in front of you admiring it in the full length mirror in your room, it was the most exquisite thing you have ever seen. The soft silky fabric with intricate lace work was literal work of art. You changed into the dress and decided to let your hair down for tonight with minimal jewelry and makeup. 

Meanwhile Tom and Harrison were getting ready in their finest tux for the gala and your baptism. 

"You really gifted her the wedding dress." 

"Well it's an important night for her she will be turning into a complete witch and hopefully her memories will come back after that." Tom said, fixing his cufflinks. 

"You ready son?" Nikki walked into his room. 

"Yes mother." Nikki could see in his eyes that something was bothering him. 

"Don't worry I talked to your father and I will be presenting your dear Y/N for her baptism." Tom's eyes lit up hearing the news. It's usually the mother who presents her child for the baptism but your mother will not be able to attend it so the whole thing of who will be presenting you was bugging him for a while. And hearing that his mother is going to do that relieved him. 

"Really mother! Thank you so much." 

"I’m really happy that you’re finally going to be happy in your life son." 

Tom was there to pick you up sharp at 7. You stepped out of your house as you saw him waiting for you leaning against his car. He couldn't take his eyes off you. You literally looked like an angel he thought.

"You look gorgeous, love."

"Thank you, you look surprisingly dapper too." 

"Thank you." 

"But you didn't have to buy me such an expensive dress. The whole night now I will be so self conscious of not ruining the dress."

"I will buy you a new one don't worry."

"Ha ha not happening again. Now let’s go"

He opened the door of the car for you as you sat inside the car. You reached his place in an hour and stepped out of the car holding his hand as he led you inside. 

You walked into the ballroom and your breath was caught at the grandeur. You’d never been in a space that made you feel so small–or so plain. Crystal chandeliers spiraled down from the arching sky-blue ceiling, illuminating the glimmering golden walls and a floor so polished it looked like an iced-over lake. And it wasn’t just the ballroom–the women sparkled like a box of jewels, shades of emerald and ruby and amethyst swirling before you, their low chatter accompanying wafts of rose and hyacinth and jasmine.

"Whoa dude am I supposed to be a part of this gala? I mean just look at all the people around." you gave out a nervous laugh.

"You were always supposed to be here Y/N."

You are immediately greeted by Jane and Harrison.

“Hey you made it!” Jane hugged you and your dress caught her eyes.

“Damn girl now that’s a one of a kind ball gown.” She giggled as you blushed.

“Only for the one of a kind girl.” Tom snickered.

You, Tom, Harrison and Jane then hit the dance floor, slow music playing.

Wise men say Only fools rush in But I can't help falling in love with you

You clasped on to his hand placing another hand on his shoulder blade as he did the same. You began moving back and forth waltzing around the ballroom. Spinning and circles and shuffling your feet to the slow, rhythmic music. It was paradise, but even more so when your eyes met.

Shall I stay? Would it be a sin? If I can't help falling in love with you

His eyes were chocolate brown, which made your knees buckle and your lips quiver. He narrowed his eyes slightly and let out a small chuckle. Your dress was getting in the way and your heels were making you clumsy or you were actually clumsy around him. He noticed your discomfort and changed his stance making it easier for you to follow. His grip tightened on your hand giving it a comforting squeeze making your heart skip a beat.

Like a river flows Surely to the sea Darling, so it goes

You swayed to the music, bodies so close, his hand still grasping yours. This was perfect as if time stood still, your gaze filled with burning desires as he looked down to your slightly parted lips. Tom was trying to get a read on you as you looked at you longingly. You could feel your cheeks burning and you knew you're blushing on the outside which only made his smile grow wider.

Some things are meant to be So take my hand Take my whole life, too For I can't help falling in love with you For I can't help falling in love with you

He dropped your hand but before you could frown he wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled your body even more closer. His kind, smiling face met yours as you felt his sweet, warm breath fanning your face. Your breath hitched all that brooding, pining and longing stares just for this magical moment. Out of instinct you tilted your face a little, closing your eyes. But instead Tom knelt down to your ear  and whispered.

“Parere mandatis meis.” You opened your eyes with a vacant gaze as if someone robbed you of your emotions and reasoning. You stood there like a living statue. 

"Y/N now listen to me carefully you are going to do whatever I say okay?" 

"Yes." You nodded in a mechanical fashion. Agatha walked towards you.

"Is she ready?" 

"Yes Lady Layman”

"Good then bring her to the altar." 

“Was the hypnosis necessary?”

“You got a better idea to make your non believer half witch willingly go through her baptism?” Agatha quipped.

“No” He answered lowly.

“Then bring her outside fast midnight is approaching, the blood moon will appear soon.” She ordered.

The party moves outside, where the moon is at its fullest and begins to turn red. With midnight approaching, everyone rushes off into the woods. Tom took you to a gate burning with blue flames, you pass through the blue flames unharmed and arrive at your baptism, where the Holland's, Osterfield's, Layman's, and many other important delegates are in attendance. 

"All this grandeur for a half breed's baptism, how pathetic is that?" Zendaya quipped, rolling her eyes. 

The priest assigned for your baptism arrived at the altar.

"Welcome daughter of Night" 

"Who presents this girl for unholy baptism?" He reckons.

"I do." Nikki states. 

"We are gathered here in these woods in the presence of our dark lord, with all the souls, the living and the dead, of our coven

the most unholy church of dark." He addresses. 

"Kneel child." You kneel in front of him in your trance. 

The priest smears blood over your forehead and read you your rights and demands your loyalty.

"There is no law beyond. Do what thou wilt." He states. 

"Our dark lord asks - 

" Would you like to be happy child, to be free?" 

"Free to love and to hate? To be what nature meant you to be, true to her laws and yourself only?" you stay numb Tom takes the initiation. 

"Say yes Y/N." 

"Yes, father." You say as you were told. 

"Do you believe in Lucifer, the archangel, who preferred the loss of Heaven to that of his pride?" 

"Yes, father." 

"In exchange for this belief, you shall be granted powers that will enable you to be of service to the dark lord." 

"Y/N Warren are you willing to forsake the path  of light and follow the path of night wherever it may lead you?" 

"I am" 

"And are you willing to place our dark lord above all others in your life, be it your loved ones, friends, family." you pause for a moment but under the hypnosis spell even if you wanted to but you couldn't make your own decisions. 

"I ...am" 

"Then it's time to sign his book." The weather started to deteriorate as strong winds started to blow and thunder rumbling at a distance could be heard. 

Meanwhile at your home your mother was turning restless with the sudden change in the weather she ran to your Aunt Rose's room. 

"Rose what's happening?"

"It's about time Martha." Rose says coldly. 

"What do you mean? Where is Y/N?" Martha panicked. 

"Don't worry she will be fine but for some people this is the beginning of their end"

"Mom what's happening?" Erica came running too. 

"Oh Erica you are here can you fetch me the ancestral calcified bowl." Erica did as she was told. 

"Martha give me the ashes of Amber." She handed over a bottle of ash as Rose poured it in the bowl. She lit the candles around the bowl with her magic and chanted. 

"Here and now 

I evoke the elemental force of Fire

the flames of creativity and passion

dancing source of heat, light and life. 

I seek the flowing forge within

I call you forth to burn away

All that impedes my highest vision

And to enact change in the world

Lightning and hearth

Hearth and forge

Fire, I call thee hence" 

Rose focused on the ashes in the bowl as flames erupted in it. 

"Y/N wake up, recognize your true self" 

“Phasmatos Incendia Ignis absumet Ignarious. Ignarious! Ignarious Ignalusa”

Meanwhile you were standing at the altar and an ancient book was kept open on the flat stone in front of you. The priest took a knife and made an incision on your hand as a drop of blood flowed down from the cut on the page. Tom was behind you as the priest signalled him to proceed; he took your hand with the pen to sign your name in the book. Just when you were about to sign the Dark Lord’s Book of the Beast with your blood, Rose's invocation ritual broke the hypnosis spell on you and you were snapped out of your trance. The fog that clouded your mind got lifted as you felt light headed. It took awhile for you to process what was happening around you. 

"You swear to obey without any question any order you may receive from tHe dark lord, or from any figure He placed in authority over you." 

"In signing you swear to give your mind, body, and soul unreservedly to the furtherance of the designs of our lord satan." The priest went on.

"No!!" You yanked your hand away from Tom's grasp. 

"What do you mean no child?" the priest frowned. 

"Who are you? Where the hell am I?!" You looked around in confusion. 

"Tom what's going on? Where's Jane?!" you look at him with panic stricken eyes. 

"Y/N,love, listen to me this is for your own good just complete the ritual" 

"Is this some kind of Halloween prank because it's not funny."

"You think you are sick with some neural disease that is why you can't feel warmth. Y/N don't you understand that you are not human." Tom tried to make you understand.

“Tom why are you so up to prove that I’m some sort of psychic?”

''You are a smart girl Y/N don't tell me the visions you get doesn't seem real? That you didn't light up a candle just by focusing your mind on it." agatha quipped.

"You are a half witch Y/N magic runs in your blood and to reach your full potential you have to submit to our Dark Lord" 

"Whatever I maybe there is another path for me. A third way. And even if there isn't, my name is Y/N Warren, and I will not sign it away!" you stated. 

"If you don't complete the ritual then you have to face the wrath of the dark lord." Agatha warned. 

"The only thing I'm gonna do is to get away from you jackass people."

The coven tries to stop you from escaping as everyone chanted in unison. 

“Crescere arbor” 

While you attempt to escape you become entangled in magical possessed vines which held you to your place.

"Why can't I move?" you struggled to free yourself. 

"You're not leaving unless and until you complete the ritual."

Suddenly the stone of your antique necklace starts glowing, emitting a reddish orange aura which just grew in intensity as time passed blinding your eyes. A sudden rage started to grow inside trying to burst out. 

Your body was shaking imminently as the blazing inferno coursing inside you was becoming too much for your body to handle. You forced your eyes open and a chill ran down the spines of everyone present for the ceremony. You irises appeared like burning coals of fire. 

They flashed with anger, a burning animosity growing in your amber orbs. Tom couldn't recognize you anymore you appeared to be a totally different person. 

Flares started erupting from your hands soon turning into flames ready to engulf anyone that came in your way. The flames spread to the magical vines holding you as they were burned into ashes setting you free. You gasped as you looked at your hands on fire. 

"What's happening?! What did you guys do to me?!" You panicked. 

"Y/N, love calm down. Just try to control it"

"I can't!!'' You growled 

"I can help, just let me help you Y/N" 

"No! Don't come near me." You warned with a hoarse voice. A ring of fire formed around you.

"Tom do something or she will burn down the whole forest." Harrison said in panic. 

''You've nothing to fear no one will do you any harm."

"Just calm down and everything will be fine. Close your eyes and focus, love"

You closed your eyes taking in measured breaths trying to calm yourself. It worked as the raging inside you dissipated. Your hands were no more on fire. 

"Suctus Incendia" everyone chanted in unison and the fire died down. 

You on the other hand felt weak and drained out as you collapsed on the ground unconscious. 

…………………���……………………………………………..

Taglist: to be added or removed send a message or ask.

@sleepybesson @sophs-library @spideyreidstheroom @itstaskeen @milli86 @biebsmylife95 @quaksonhehe @hannahholland1811 @awhollandx @joyleenl  @greatpizzascissorstaco @tomhollandsotherpinkytoe @jjandreidsgirl @brighterthanthesunx @adevilallthetime @panicattheeverywherekid @onewithnomightypowers @itsnotmeh24  @bitchinwpei @astridcommings @hollandprkr  @hollandsobrien @timotayswriter @kiki-hines @casualprincess77 @spideyth @perspectiveparker @thevelvetseries @tempo-rary-fix @onebigolemess  @itsbqueenthings @chingonaconcha @yoongi-holland @l0lmk @itsemohours @fanficscuziranout  @allthisfortommy   @starcoadrienette2  @hollanddolanfangirl​ @drie-the-derp​ @pvnkfangirl​

#tom holland #tom holland imagines #tom holland imagine #tom holland smut #tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #tom holland x y/n #tom holland fluff #Warlock! Tom holland #tom holland and reader #tom holland and you #tom holland and y/n

[capnjay21]

The Wind Blows White 1/6

It’s been two years since Killian Jones and Emma Swan managed to escape the clutches of Brooke House, two years of waiting for it all to catch up to them and two years of pretending the cracks in their happy ending don’t show. But when the vision appears to Killian of a young boy unearthing the dagger and the darkness they had long since buried, it’s a race against time to try and stop another innocent from befalling the same fate. If they have the strength to face it.

Sequel to ‘A House is Never Still’.

A/N: Here it is, happy (slightly early) Halloween everyone! :D Confession time, I’ve actually been kinda nervous about posting this for a little while? Fretting over whether this one won’t be as good or scary as the original - but I am officially making a concerted effort not to care about any of that, because this is how the next part of the story goes and I’m excited to tell it! I hope you guys like it <3

***Editing to include the AMAZING art done by the lovely @hollyethecurious​ - I love it so much and I’m so excited by it. And for those that don’t know, she created the art that inspired the original fic so this is EXTRA cool!

Updates will probs be every other week to allow me to stay ahead. If it’s any consolation, they’re usually over 10k words, oof! Enjoy! 

AO3

Rating: T Warnings: Mentions of canonical character death and some certified Spooky Business™.

Taglist: @carpedzem @optomisticgirl @snowbellewells @kmomof4 @lfh1226-linda @phiralovesloki @hollyethecurious @stahlop @peglegsjones @mariakov81 @seasailia @courtorderedcake​ @jonesfandomfanatic @wyntereyez @mrtinski @thisonesatellite @klynn-stormz @teamhook​ 

If anyone would like on, or off, the taglist, just let me know! 

-/-

1.  i won’t die in my sleep.

-/-

It was 2:17am.

The whispers woke her, as the whispers always did.

It took her a few dizzying moments to emerge completely from sleep, the vivid and fraught images of her restless dreaming spilling out into the darkness of the room. As usual, she could not move. Her muscles had seized, curled tightly around her stomach like a clenched fist, trembling with strain while her eyes blinked out into the dark. She could see the forest. The broad, sweeping trunks of old red oaks sprawled from the ground upward, their leaves stained crimson by blood while their bark wept tears the colour of potted ink. Only once observed did she really consider that there was so little in nature truly black, as pus the same shade as crows dribbled and oozed down the spines of every oak she could see.

Slowly, the numbness receded from her aching limbs, the reckless smears of her wakeless mind gave way to the shapes her eyes could make out, could confirm as being there, and like a prayer she whispered aloud every object she could see and smell and know was real.

“Chair,” she croaked, “desk. Lamp. Computer. Window. Gold –”

No. No gold. The basket of spun gold twine was the final little spill, tempting her to return to a nightmare it could kiss back into a dream.

She refused.

It disappeared.

The whispers had woken her, but once she rose she was alone in the dark.

Emma patted the bed beside her, and found the sheets bare and cool. He had been gone for some time already, then. Trying to suppress the growing tide of unease that always came from waking alone, she stood slowly, then stretched out her sore muscles. Sore from being clenched so tightly for what felt like hours. Usually Killian woke her before it reached this point, but clearly he hadn’t even been there for its beginning.

She sighed. Thought about calling him. The clock on her nightstand winked in and out. 2:17am.

There was no point, anyway. She knew where he’d be.

-/-

It was 2:17am.

As usual, it was raining.

Beyond the stretch of porch in front of him, sheets of water fell in a relentless assault on the sodden ground, and Killian mopped at his already sweaty brow. The air was thick and moist, even this early in the morning, the height of an unusually punishing June. He let the downpour carry on for another few moments before ducking out into it, bending to lift the wide bowl he had left sitting on the grass a couple of minutes earlier. Now filled to the brim with rainwater, he brought it back underneath the shelter of the porch and laid it down on the ground.

He'd had that dream again. He couldn’t stop thinking about it.

There was a noise from not too far away, the screech of metal on concrete in the dark and the answering leap of a car horn out into the night air, but he tried to push it from his mind. This would never work if he couldn’t clear his thoughts. Folding his legs underneath him, Killian leant forward until he could see his reflection staring back at him from the bowl.

The surface of the water was inky black, the faint caresses of a breeze brushing ripples across the surface and making his reflection appear distorted, but he tried to see beyond that. Beyond his tired eyes and the hurt and the heat, to something more. Silently, he willed the dark pool to show him something else.

Show me the boy, he asked out into the dark. Show me the boy at the creek with the dagger.

Even just the thought of the dagger, the curling blade they had sent hurling into the ravine, brought forth a rush of unwelcome and jarring memories. The dagger, floating in the middle of their circle, summoning a storm of black lightning and hurt and that nothing, that awful nothing, and Killian could feel something tugging at the centre of his chest, beckoning him forward.

He couldn’t see his reflection anymore. The surface of the water was blank.

Not like this, he thought furiously, wrestling for control.

It wasn’t interested in his control. If he wanted to go deeper, he had to let himself fall. This was the bargain.

But –

He thought of her at home, in their bed, resting fitfully.

This was the bargain.

Emma.

Killian gasped for air, which was when he realised the tightness in his chest was because he hadn’t taken a breath in a long time. He almost fell forward, and his right hand shot out to the deck of the porch to stop his face from crashing into the bowl – which was when he realised it was just a bowl of water again. His reflection stared back at him, breathing heavily, eyes wild and afraid.

If he wanted to go deeper, he had to let himself fall.

In his mind’s eye, he could see it perfectly. The sparkling summer day. The boy, knelt with his right arm in the creek before he pulled it out, and the dagger with it.

Dragging his eyes away from the bowl, he reached into his pocket for his phone. The clock on the display ticked onto 2:17am.

Still? He thought, bewildered.

“You should be used to this sort of shit by now,” he muttered, before emptying the bowl onto the grass.

-/-

It was 2:17am.

Henry only knew this because it had been 2:17am for a really long time already, but every time he checked the clock it was the same.

“Gotta be broken,” he mumbled, letting it drop back onto his nightstand. He told himself to roll over, to go back to sleep, Mom was making pancakes tomorrow and he didn’t want to be too tired to enjoy them, but something kept lingering at the edge of his awareness. Like a movement that was too quick to spot, or a sound too quiet to take shape, or that sensation after someone had taken a deep breath and they were waiting to speak, but wouldn’t utter a word until he looked at them.

Something was different, and it niggled at him like an itch he couldn’t quite scratch.

Somehow, he didn’t feel alone in his bedroom anymore.

He rolled over again, and this time his eyes instantly locked onto the shoebox he had stuffed under his dresser. He didn’t know how he knew, but he just did. Whatever he was feeling – it was coming from there, and the object he had hidden inside.

The dagger he had found at the creek.

It was… whispering to him.

Come, it hissed out into the dark. Listen.

Henry’s hand tightened on the covers. Then he gently pushed them back and sat up.

-/-

It was 2:17am.

Robert should have been home hours ago, and Belle couldn’t sleep for worry.

Her heart stuttered into hopefulness with every shadow that passed in front of the pawn shop window, but each one merely reached the other side with barely a glance back at her. She thought about calling the police, but surely they would dismiss her concerns so early into the morning. It’s normal, ma’am, they would say, and laugh about wives wondering after their wandering husbands. But this was different.

There was something about the way he had looked tonight, something wild and dangerous and careless in his eye, that had made her want to take three steps back every time he opened his mouth to speak. His tongue had lingered over softer sounds, tickled by a secret that only it knew. Like an animal, his sharp eyes had followed her around the shop as they closed, and when he kissed her it had sent a shiver down her spine.

It had frightened her. He had frightened her.

You’ll see, he had said, when she asked where he was going. You’ll see.

Belle didn’t want to see. She just wanted him to come home. Her mind railed against the truth that had already started to creep into the corner of her heart.

Tonight, he had gone to Brooke House.

And Brooke House did not want to give him back.

-/-

Liam Jones didn’t care what fucking time it was.

Aching and exhausted, he kicked open the screen door and stepped out onto the porch. The air was dank and cold, and smelled faintly of mildew, and he wrapped his coat tighter around him. Killian had needed three blankets before he could get to sleep earlier, the act of being inside the house only slightly warmer than the harsh early spring outside, but still sweat pooled at the base of Liam’s neck. His hands felt clammy with a layer of grit that he could never wipe away, and the moisture on his skin froze the moment he walked out into the night.

But under his skin, he burned with cold fury.   

He’d have to pretend to be Brennan and call the school again tomorrow, there was no way he could go in if he needed to be up for the rest of the night. He could send Killian over to Smee’s, that was one problem dealt with. The older man would take him into elementary school; but even that solution summoned the familiar rush of dread that came to Liam whenever he thought of his little brother moving into middle school next year. That would make everything so much more difficult to hide from concerned and nosy neighbours alike. 

How had he let this happen? Again? They had been making so much progress.

Liam rubbed his eyes tiredly. He should just hurry up and drop out. He was good with his hands, he could make a living doing carpentry jobs, move to some quiet town upstate maybe –

I’m just trying to prepare you for life’s big question, Liam.

What kind of man are you going to be?

A quiet town upstate? He was really setting the bar low for pipe dreams these days.

Then there was always the chance Brennan might be himself again by morning; maybe he could call the school. Could drive Killian in. Maybe he’d be up before the sun rose like he used to, whistling a sea shanty and cooking them eggs over easy.

 Now there was a pipe dream.

What time was it? A distracted pat of his jacket let him know his phone was still inside, but he wasn’t quite ready to go back in yet. It had to be late. Or early. Wednesday. The recycling went out on Wednesday. Which mean they were two days closer to Friday, which was the eighteenth. Water bill went out on the eighteenth.

Brennan hadn’t worked in weeks. They’d be short.

No heat and no water. The only things he could rely on in this house were the bricks and the mortar.

Why him? Why did it have to be him?

Liam resisted the urge to scream. At the night, at the cold, at whatever curse had captured his family and refused to let them go.

It was 2:17am.

And Liam wasn’t alone on the porch.

Once alerted to the intruder he stumbled backward, fumbling around for anything he could use as a weapon.

“Liam?”

Liam froze, his fist having clenched around the shard of a shattered flowerpot Brennan had destroyed last week.

The stranger hadn’t moved, stood silhouetted against the porch light.

He blinked. Willed his racing heart to slow.

“Who are you?”

-/-

It was 2:17am.

Except, no, it wasn’t.

Emma frowned and looked at her phone again, and the correct time stared back at her; 10:41am. How had she thought it said anything different?

She shook her head. Shit, she really needed to get more sleep. Her foot resumed tapping its restless beat on the floor of the almost empty corridor.

The entire hall was almost completely deserted, only the low murmur of conversation ricocheting against thin walls and tall ceilings, and everything was beige. Beige walls, beige floors, beige murals; she fucking hated beige, it was such a non-colour. Just pick something a bit more appealing and stick to it. But in her not-all-that-limited experience, most government buildings seemed to default to beige, and it was no different in the Seattle equivalent of the DMV. They had been led up to the customer service desk almost half an hour ago, but nobody seemed to care about how goddamn important this was, and her anxiety was climbing with every unattended second that ticked past.

Somewhere down the corridor a door opened, and Emma immediately whipped around to look at it. A broad, cheerful man offered her a bemused smile at the sudden sharp attention he was being given, before disappearing out through another door.

“You need to calm down,” Killian mused.

A glance at him confirmed his eyes were still closed, head tilted to lean back against the wall with his hands folded over his stomach, but her impatience had to have been obvious even without looking at her. She huffed in a way which she knew made her sound puerile, and the corner of his mouth quirked up in amusement. From the moment they had been seated there he had stayed silent, and it was only fuelling her irritation that she couldn’t settle on whether that was because he was bored, tired or just giving her room to complain and agitate to her heart’s content. She preferred to know exactly what Killian was thinking.

The memory of waking alone the night before still smarted, and she had to keep reminding herself that it wasn’t Killian’s job to always be at her side on the off chance she didn’t sleep through the night. Dark circles rimmed his eyes, and she knew whatever had caught his attention this time had kept him up at least an hour or so after she had summoned the courage to climb back into bed. She had still been awake when he slid back in beside her, but she had pretended to be asleep.

He had probably known she was doing it, which was why he had kissed an apology into her shoulder and held her a little tighter than usual.

It was hard to stay mad at him when he hadn’t technically done anything to make her mad – and he was already sorry about the thing he shouldn’t have to be sorry for.

Which just made her feel even worse.

“I hate beige,” she grumbled.

Killian let out a breath of warm, ticklish laughter, something that growled pleasantly in his throat. Some of her temper ebbed away. “I know,” he said. “I’ll take you somewhere pink after.”

“There’s that big hotel in Hawaii that’s totally pink, right? What do they call that?”

He opened his eyes and arched an eyebrow. “And maybe when our next skip is the Queen of England, we’ll be able to afford to go there.” Even less than thirty seconds of talking to him, properly, she could feel her mood lifting. He reached one of his hands into her lap, seeking hers, and she let him thread their fingers together. “I was actually thinking donuts. The strawberry glazed kind?”

Emma sighed happily. “Make it chocolate and you’ve got yourself a deal.”

He smiled warmly and squeezed her hand. “Whatever you want.”

His mood seemed light, but she wasn’t fooled. The way she would catch his eyes flickering carefully between her and the customer service desk in front of them told her all she really needed to know about the direction of his thoughts – they probably shared the same sinking feeling that had washed over her since they had arrived.

That this almost definitely wasn’t going to go her way.

“Ms. Swan?”

Immediately Emma was on her feet, bolting over to the desk as quickly as polite company would allow, Killian close behind, all traces of mirth evaporated from his expression. The man who had come to meet them wasn’t the same one who had led them up to the desk earlier, and a quick glance at his nametag told Emma they were speaking to a Mr. Heller. He resembled every bureaucrat that had ever taken residence in her imagination, thin in a sickly way and sort-of feeble-looking, but with a snide tug at the corner of his mouth which suggested he was not going to tell her what she wanted to hear, and he was enjoying the prospect immensely.

The sick feeling in her gut deepened.

“Thank you for waiting,” he said, in a bored tone, skimming the file he was holding. Emma tried to lift herself a little taller to take a look at it, but it was angled slightly away from her. “We were able to track down the license plate you requested in your application, but it was recalled eleven years ago. The vehicle it was registered to is no longer in use.”

It was easy to push back the first wave of disappointment – a setback, but not the most important thing. “But you know who it belonged to?”

Heller sighed heavily, and let the folder close. “I’m afraid the Washington State Licensing Department has denied your public records request regarding the owners of the plate.”

It was like a punch to the stomach. She could feel the warmth of Killian’s palm splayed against the small of her back, gently reassuring.

This couldn’t be it. This couldn’t be another dead end.

“On what grounds?” he was asking, and she felt a rush of gratitude for him as she hadn’t quite been able to form her mouth around the words.

“Not enough evidence,” Heller continued, in that same flat tone that was beginning to grate. “We reviewed the article you sent, about the circumstances of the abandoned child at the edge of the road. There isn’t a lot of information available regarding the incident, even at the county level.”

“Well, it happened,” Emma replied hotly. “It’s me. I was the kid.”

Another banner year, right?

What?

We’ve all got ghosts here.

Heller quirked an eyebrow. “Then the department offers their sympathies. But there is no reason to suggest the plate you requested belonged to the vehicle involved.” He lifted his shoulders in a shrug. “Maine is a long way from Seattle.”

But she had seen it.

She had experienced the moment that changed the course of her life hundreds, thousands of times at the behest of a malevolent demon, while to the rest of the world she had been missing for five years. Even before that, the very fact of her being abandoned on the side of the road as a baby had cast its shadow over her entire life. Achieving any measure of answers about it had been unobtainable. She had made her peace with that a long time ago.

But then she became trapped in Brooke House.

And Brooke House had given her a few more pieces of the puzzle.

It felt like a dream, now. Like the scatter of smoke, or déjà vu. Something she couldn’t really be sure had happened. She had spent five years of her life suspended in a place that showed only her regrets, her fears, her desperate desires; anything that would make her pray for deliverance. In the two years she had spent free of it all, her ability to conjure up and consult those visions waxed and waned. The images it had shown her sometimes dribbled back like the trickle of a raindrop down glass to her waiting, thirsty mouth, but nothing was ever enough. While that feeling, that sensation of being left again, and again, and again remained seared onto her mind forever, the actual, physical details of the day her parents abandoned her were scarce. The vision was difficult to bring into focus.

Two months ago, a nightmare had caught her so tightly that Killian hadn’t been able to wake her for six minutes. Just when he had been reaching for his phone in a panic to dial 911, she had burst free; gasping, aching – awake and alive. The details had been so vivid. Before her eyes, her parents abandoned her at the side of the freeway; only this time she had spotted and could recall the plate of the car that had left her.

They had packed everything they owned into Killian’s Chevelle and made for Seattle in a matter of days.

This couldn’t be the end of the road. Not after everything she had been through to get here. She deserved answers, damn it.

“That’s the thing about cars,” Emma replied coolly, “they drive. And if you’re abandoning a kid, you’re not likely to do it on your own doorstep, are you?”

Heller looked bored. “You’re welcome to make an appeal against the department’s decision, so long as you do so within four to six weeks.”

“But I saw – we have a witness!”

“A witness?” His tone was disbelieving, and he fixed her with a hard stare. “Why didn’t you say so before?” Emma opened her mouth, but Killian pinched the side of her waist sharply and she hesitated. When she didn’t immediately confirm her declaration, Heller’s eyebrows rose victoriously. “Would they be prepared to come down here and make a statement?”

“We can ask,” Killian replied smoothly, before she could say anything. He whipped a notepad and a pen from his pocket. “Is it the same address we submit the appeal to, or –?”

Emma fumed quietly at his side. She knew why he had cut her off, before she could dig herself into a hole that would ensure state officials labelled her as halfway to crazy town, but it was infuriating. She couldn’t very well say their witness was her and the visions a haunted house halfway across the country had given her – a house which they had no physical evidence even existed, as it had since disappeared.

Silently, she smouldered.

Killian reached absently for her hand. She tugged it out of his grip.

Heller and Killian confirmed the logistics of an appeal process, but before long they were being thanked dully for their time and invited to leave. Emma stayed quiet for their entire walk out of the building, and she could sense Killian intentionally kept some space between them to allow her to adequately process what had happened in there.

Nothing. Nothing was what had happened in there.

Emma could feel the tide of something tight at the top of her stomach, like her insides were cramping. It was how she felt when she woke, uncertain, in the middle of the night.

“We’ll find another way, Emma,” Killian spoke gently as they stepped out into the morning sunlight.

Emma waved a dismissive hand and tried to focus her gaze on the particulars of the street. The chequered red, blue and silver line of cars parked along the sidewalk, the scent of wet asphalt and the hum of traffic whizzing by. They were far from a forest here – but she could feel the quiet whisper of the trees against her skin.

“I know, I know, I just –” She curled her toes in her boots, felt the stiff concrete beneath her feet. “I’m – tired of hitting brick walls.”

“We’ve got a little cash in the bank,” Killian pointed out, “maybe for the appeal we could hire a solicitor, just see if there’s anything else we can do to help our case.”

He was frowning at the note he had scribbled down during their conversation with Heller, his mind already four or five steps further ahead, and Emma felt a rush of affection for him. For his solidness and his patience. His tenacity was well documented, he had spent five years searching for answers about Brooke House and had never once given up on the idea that he would find them, and her along with them – even now he refused to let any speedbumps hamper their progress. It was so easy for her to get struck down by the first sign of resistance, but Killian persisted in a way she could only ever hope of emulating.

Nothing in the street felt tangible beside the resilience and vibrance of Killian Jones. Sometimes it felt like he was the only real thing she had found outside of Brooke House.

Like dust, the cars and the concrete and the chorus of the Seattle summer drifted away.

She reached for his hand and squeezed it tightly, praying for an anchor.

“How are you always so optimistic?”

“Because I know what you’re capable of,” he replied easily, although it felt like he was speaking to her from a great distance. Emma fought to inhabit this moment. “And I’ve yet to see you fail.”

Killian was smiling, which had always done its best to keep monsters at bay.

In a blur the noises returned, like a radio slowly tuning into focus.

“Emma?” he queried softly, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear. “Are you still with me?”

The wet splatters of rain against the yearning canopy receded as it stretched for the sky.

Down the street a car horn blared, and she let it shake her firmly back into the present.

In Seattle, the sun was shining, and Killian was here. Standing so close to his warmth made her feel like a thief, but she couldn’t stop herself from reaching for him.

“Donuts,” she managed, nodding firmly. “I need a whole lot of donuts.”

He brought her hand up to his mouth and kissed it. “You read my mind.”

-/-

Killian railed against the idea of calling Elsa’s home a house.

It was a huge, sprawling behemoth of a structure, with vast corridors that led nowhere and innumerable superfluous rooms that all looked identical, with walls scaled by books and furniture shrouded in neat, ivory sheeting to protect them from dust and age. More than once he had found himself completely and utterly lost while attempting to find the bathroom, which he was convinced changed locations every time he visited it, and that wasn’t even mentioning the size of the grounds which circled the outside of the house.

Embedded deep within the winding roads of West Bellevue, he was grateful for the opportunity to interact with something a little less urban than the busy street he and Emma had rented their flat on, and Elsa had opened up her home to all assortments of waifs and strays long before he had ever come on the scene. Truthfully, it was sheer coincidence that they had even met, crossing paths in downtown Seattle late one night – but then, he didn’t believe in coincidences anymore. He had been searching for something more, and she had been offering something for him to find. The rest was inevitable.

Clear night, isn’t it?

The room in which he spent the most time was the large dining room – the long table that would ordinarily occupy its centre was, as ever, pushed to the side against one wall and loaded with edible treats already half depleted, clearing the way for Elsa’s guests to arrange themselves on the floor in any number of styles depending on what the evening requested of them. The windows always remained open, so the room was immersed in the earthy scent of the outside, of wet moss and woodsmoke and pine, and the rain from the night before somehow made everything so much more pervasive.

Aurora stood in the centre of the room with her eyes closed, her hands held palm up with a pinecone resting atop them, while the rest of Elsa’s guests sat spread out across the room with their palms turned to the ceiling, mimicking the same position.

Killian sat at the edge of the room, notebook resting open in his lap, and observed.

Elsa stood, made her way over to Aurora, and placed her hands over the other woman’s.

“Child of earth, wind, fire and sea,” she spoke clearly out into the silent room. “We welcome you into our lives, into our homes, and into the waiting embrace of this powerful, caring woman. Think fondly on her, and choose her, as we have, to be part of your family.”

As Aurora opened her eyes, Anna stepped forward holding a candle in one hand and a ceramic bowl scattered with herbs in the other.

“Light it,” Elsa encouraged her, and Aurora held the pinecone over the candle until it caught.

The flame grew rapidly, Killian remembered reading somewhere that it had to do with the natural resins so near to the surface in pinecones, and soon Aurora dropped it into the bowl. Once there, the contents of the bowl started to gently smoulder and the scent of sweetgrass and sage began to float out into the air.

Killian took a deep breath. Let it wash over him for a few quiet, tender moments.

He wasn’t sure why, but he always felt closest to Liam here.

Aurora was smiling, and Elsa grinned back.

“Blessed be,” she said warmly. “And good luck!”

The group echoed a fractured but delighted blessed be, in response, before breaking out into a smattering of claps and spirited cheers. A few jumped to their feet to envelope Aurora in a loving, haphazard embrace.

No, house didn’t really cover the breadth of what Elsa’s home had become to this community, or the reality of what Killian had found there.  

This was a covenstead.

It wasn’t the first coven Killian had ever encountered – his first had been in Pennsylvania a number of years ago, but they had been intensely private and suspicious of strangers, and their association had not extended more than a few weeks. Long before now it had become his habit to deliberately seek out suggestions of the world that existed beyond what they could see. It had started because of Brooke House, because of the mistakes they had made when they were seventeen and naïve and frightened; after Emma had disappeared, Killian had searched for answers anywhere he could. He had five years to cross the globe, to pursue every lead and overturn every stone that might hint at something more, with varying levels of success.

Now, Killian had spent so long searching that he wasn’t sure he remembered how to be anything else. Getting Emma back, rather than being the end of his fascination with the otherworldly, had only fuelled it. There were still so many questions he didn’t have answers to, with Liam being chief among them. His brother had been involved in all this, had known about this barely perceivable double life that some among them were living, but Killian still had no idea about the how, or the why.

Emma was his life now. Everything he had ever wanted. For so long, his sole focus had been in making this world as right for her as possible, in giving her the tools with which she could build her new reality and hoping desperately that she still wanted him in it; while privately wrestling with that disquieting sensation that accompanied stepping away from the bizarre and the unexplained for the first time in a long while.

It was difficult, he had realised, to come to terms with the fact that everything you wanted wouldn’t stay everything you needed for the rest of your life.

And Killian needed something.

On their third night in Seattle, he had met Elsa. The very same night he had first had the dream about the boy and the creek and the dagger.

He didn’t believe in coincidences anymore.

Soon after Elsa wrapped up the ceremony, the group began to disperse, some aiming for a few treats to take for the road while others went to collect coats and bags from the hall. For his part, Killian took more care than necessary slipping his notebook back into his already overpacked bag and began shrugging on his jacket. The ending of these meetings always left him feeling oddly bereft, like although every week he walked in with no idea what he would find, somehow his expectations were never met. Or perhaps it was the realisation that always came when he watched the members of the coven at its conclusion, mingling and trading smiles and stories about the week that had just passed.

He wasn’t one of them. They were all kind enough, and they liked him, but he wasn’t part of them. They wondered why he was there as much as he did.

Watching them, his heart throbbed for the one place that had always been home; for that warm, golden light, for Regina’s lasagne and David’s terrible jokes and Mary Margaret’s helpful reminders to enjoy happily ever after. His chest hurt for the wanting of it.

The clerk at the DMV the day before had been right: Maine was a long way from Seattle.

He turned to leave.

“Killian, hi there.” It was Elsa, calling him back, and he fixed on a cheerful smile as he pivoted on the spot to face her. “I hope today wasn’t too women-centric for you.”

Aurora was trying for a baby with her husband; as a result, they had focused the evening on fertility. The lighting of the pinecone was a ritual from Elsa’s book of shadows, and had followed a relaxing evening spent sharing poetry and prayers and best wishes about family.

(At the very least, that probably explained why he was feeling so homesick.)

“Not at all,” he assured her, not least because he didn’t feel fertility was an exclusively female pursuit. There were plenty of men there tonight. “It’s a pleasure to observe. Thank you again for inviting me into your home.”

“Anyone is welcome here, there’s no need to thank me.”

He was reminded, again, of how different Elsa’s coven were to the one in Pennsylvania; Elsa made a point of opening up the covenstead to anyone at any time, not just during their meetings. It was Elsa’s home, but it was also effectively a refuge or meeting place for any of its members whenever they needed it. The grounds in particular were always accessible, and something Killian himself had taken advantage of more than once.

Especially when he wanted to – well. Dip his toe into something Emma would never approve of. The covenstead felt like a safer place to explore those private desires.

If he wanted to go deeper, he had to let himself fall.

“You know,” Elsa was saying “if you would like to participate rather than just observe, we’d be happy to invite you to join us.”

For a moment he could see it; himself, sat on cushions with the rest of the group, palms up and eyes closed and waiting for wonders to begin again.

The image immediately fell apart as visions began to swim of a pentagram penned in black marker, scattered salt and a dagger rising above the swell of a storm.

This was the bargain.

“Oh,” Killian let out uneasily, trying to find the best way to refuse without sounding impolite. “No, that’s alright. Really.” Elsa looked a little disappointed, and he hurried to reassure her. “I’ve… had some experience with the miraculous. It didn’t exactly go well.”

Killian – Killian, don’t –!

A wave of nausea threatened to overwhelm him.

“I wouldn’t say what we do here is miraculous,” Elsa replied, but he could see she was quietly pleased by the comparison. Awkwardness settled like dust between them, neither considering the conversation finished, but before they could continue a few people cut between them on their way out of the dining room and into the hall. They called out their goodbyes to Elsa as they passed, and she returned them warmly. Killian lingered until they were finished, fiddling with the strap on his bag.

Once they were gone, she took a step towards him.

“Do you mind if I ask you a personal question?”

Killian shrugged. “By all means.”

“Why is it that you come to our meetings?” she clasped her hands in front of her, in a gesture Killian couldn’t help but interpret as deliberately nonthreatening. “And if you say Anna’s fruit loaf I might believe you, but I don’t really think that’s what it is.”

The question felt like it should be impolite, loaded with a query that went beyond their unspoken arrangement; that he could come, and he could watch, and she, like the rest of the group, would leave him be – but he was uninjured by her curiosity. Curiosity was, after all, what had brought him there.

So he surprised himself by being honest.

“For… proof, I guess?” he lifted his shoulders in an uncertain shrug. “That the world is still – strange?” The way Elsa watched him, almost waiting for him to continue, made that answer feel inadequate. He cleared his throat and searched for more to offer. “I actually lost my brother, a long time ago, now – and I still don’t fully understand why. And my partner, she…”

So good of you to finally come and see me.

“She went through something I can’t even begin to comprehend. But she doesn’t like to talk about it.”

Elsa nodded slowly. “Sometimes what we don’t say speaks more for what troubles us.”

“Yeah,” Killian agreed, feeling oddly liberated by the opportunity to confide in someone. All he could think of was Emma in the dead of night, clenched tightly in their bed, her arms and knees curled against her chest as she fought darkness only she could see. “Yeah, it does.”

“Perhaps she’d like to come along to a meeting?” Elsa suggested. “There’s no obligation to partake. She could observe, as you do.”

“Oh, no. No. She hates all this stuff.”

Emma had already made clear her opinion on the covenstead in Bellevue, she was not interested; and he felt compelled to apologise on her behalf, seeing as they were all perfectly good people who had done nothing to offend her.

“It’s just — that something, I mentioned,” he offered. “Thank you, though. I appreciate it.”

“Well,” Elsa spread her hands. It was neither here nor there to her, he was sure. She couldn’t offer help to someone who didn’t want to receive it. “Have a good week, Killian. Will we be seeing you at our Litha celebration?”

Litha, Killian had learnt, was the wicca celebration of Midsummer, which took place on the summer solstice at the end of June. It traditionally heralded the beginning of summer, with its focus on fertility and the championing of light over darkness manifesting in the longest day of the year. The coven had planned an evening full of festivities including a large bonfire, an almost drastic amount of food and a lot of promised general merriment. Elsa had said last year two among their number had decided to spontaneously marry during the festival; in their eyes, the perfect way to celebrate new life and regeneration.

It sounded like a lot of fun. In the bleak, uninspiring, greyscape that Seattle had become to him in the last two months, it was a breath of life and the outdoors that he would be grateful for.

But he wasn’t really sure if he should. Especially with – well. With Emma.

“Sure,” he said, just to be polite. “If I can get away. That would be nice.”

He meant it. Elsa smiled understandingly, as if she knew he had no clear intention of attending but would let him maintain the charade for the sake of pleasant company – she was kind, and she didn’t really know him, but she had still invited him into her home without a single caveat. The coven respected her. Killian would like nothing more than to introduce her to Emma; he was sure whatever she refused to talk to him about she could bring before the other woman without fear of shame or regret, or whatever else she must think would come from Killian that prevented her from being honest.

Not that he was being entirely honest with her, either; she knew he came to the covenstead more often than their weekly meetings, but she didn’t know what he had been trying to do there. She couldn’t know. It was better she focused on the future, on the path ahead, on the fact that she was free, now, from the nightmare behind them.

It was lonely, he had come to realise, being the only one with unfinished business.

Clear night, isn’t it?

“Elsa, wait,” he said, before he could think better of it. A jolt of nervous energy ran through him, his feet squaring imperceptibly on the laminate floor beneath him as if they were ready to run, but he forced himself to stay where he was. “Actually, I’ve… for the last few weeks, I’ve been trying to scry.”

Elsa’s eyebrows shot upwards.

He could understand her surprise, given he had shown no interest in participating in any of the wicca crafts since he had started coming to the Bellevue covenstead. Scrying was something he had only really read about, but never seen performed; it was the practice of, at its core, looking into a suitable medium in the hope of detecting significant messages of visions. While the most notorious method of which remained fortunes told over crystal balls, the history of the craft extended far beyond recent iterations of neopaganism. Cultures as far back as ancient Egyptians and Babylonians had practiced scrying by gazing into stone dishes filled with palm oil.

Killian had never really bought into it – but its existence as a medium through which he might gain some insight had been too tempting not to at least attempt, and the results were, well. Inconclusive.  

He stumbled over himself to continue. “I usually try at night, and mostly with rainwater, as I’ve heard that’s more potent? But I’ve also tried with tap water, and mirrors, too. But I’m finding it difficult to find direction.” He shrugged helplessly; his mouth felt bone dry. “It’s like staring out into silt.”

“Scrying is a challenging craft,” Elsa confirmed. “What is it you’re trying to see?”

He hesitated. Not just because he was reluctant to confirm the details for fear of sounding – well. Halfway to crazy town, as Emma would put it, but it was also this: he didn’t want Elsa to be part of it. Any of it. If he could protect one more person from the demons in his past, he would prefer to do so.

“I’ve… been having this dream,” he answered carefully. “A nightmare, really. It makes me worry someone might be in trouble because of something I didn’t finish.”

Come. Listen.

The quiet truth knocked gently. They had been naïve to assume it was over.

Elsa hummed thoughtfully. “Often, dreams are just manifestations of our anxieties –”

“This is different,” he said firmly. “I can feel it.”

Killian didn’t sleep the way Emma slept, treading that breathless line between the waking world and the rest, fumbling in those in-between spaces, sometimes needing help discerning where the truest threads of herself should lie. They had developed a number of strategies for her, routines to perform while waking to know she was no longer asleep; listing the objects she could see and smell and taste as chief among them. Anything to help her cling to the world above and pull her out.

Killian did not sleep that way. The delineation for him was clear.

Which was how he knew this was more than just a nightmare.

Elsa seemed to take his confidence at his word, and instead turned her attention back to the wider room.

“Tink, would you come over here?”

Tink was not her name, but nobody ever called her anything else, so Tink was what Killian had come to know her by. Her features were sharp, her wit just as cutting, and she had made a point of behaving as indifferently to him as possible in a way he found both frustrating and a little refreshing – somebody else acting like he didn’t belong there helped remind him he was separate, he was apart from all this. Currently, she stood looking exceptionally guilty by the dining table, three small cupcakes placed precariously on top of each other and clearly about to be tucked away in some tupperware for her return journey. Killian didn’t blame her. The lemon cakes were always especially divine.

“Tink is our resident expert on divining arts,” Elsa informed him after spotting his rather put out expression. In a few moments, Tink had joined them. “Killian has been trying to scry but hasn’t had a lot of luck.”

Tink wrinkled her nose. “Nasty business, scrying. Wouldn’t bother.”

“I’ve been having this dream I’m trying to –”

“Oh, boy. It’s amateur hour. Trouble with dreams, go see an oneiromancer. Or a therapist.”

Killian bit back a retort; he was somewhat regretting the decision to come clean already.

“Killian believes this is more than a dream,” Elsa spoke quietly, but firmly, “and it’s not our business to interpret another’s instincts. We were hoping you could provide some insight.”

When Tink turned her shrewd eyes onto him, he merely lifted a shoulder in a helpless gesture. “You said it,” he pointed at himself, “amateur hour.”

Tink looked immensely reluctant, but as her gaze flickered between Elsa’s imploring request and Killian’s discomfort, she finally heaved a defeated sigh.

“Agh, shit.”

She took a bite out of a lemon cake.

Through chews, she carried on.

“Catch me up. What’ve you tried so far?”

-/-

The quiet blip of a notification turned Emma’s attention away from the window and back to her laptop. She smirked triumphantly – finally some good news.

“There you are,” she muttered, “sneaky bastard.”

She and Killian had been tracking down the same skip for a few days – so far none of their usual tactics could draw him out, but his credit card had just been used at a convenience store around the corner from his previous place of employment. The first time she had gone to that office she’d had a feeling everybody was behaving just a little shady. Now she knew she was right to be suspicious and resolved to pay them another visit in the morning, provided Killian was alright with it.

Well, she corrected, only if she decided to give Killian a say. Emma’s gaze skimmed the empty flat. If he wanted to spend the night messing around with delusional, self-proclaimed witches, then she got to make the work decisions by herself.

She gritted her teeth at the thought of the house in Bellevue Killian liked to retreat to these days; why couldn’t he have joined a local rec team or found some obnoxious new drinking buddies like a normal guy? The group at Bellevue were all just a bunch of tree-huggers, even worse than Regina. Emma knew what real magic was. And it wasn’t dancing around a field wearing flower crowns or mumbling limericks over a cauldron.

Emma quickly jotted down the address and the details regarding the skip’s purchase. It usually helped to be able to throw everything in her arsenal at getting past the front desk of any office. Bail bonds was a career she and Killian had fallen into almost accidentally – it suited the nomadic lifestyle they preferred, and blended Emma’s instincts for catching someone in a lie and Killian’s propensity towards investigation quite well. It just worked. And they needed some way to get food on the table.

David had offered them work at the veterinary shelter more times than she could count, but she was sure that had a lot more to do with wanting them to stay back home in Storybrooke than anything else. But Storybrooke couldn’t be for them what it was to him and Mary Margaret, and Regina; not anymore. There were too many splintered memories. Not to mention half the town still thought Killian had kidnapped her and kept her in a cave somewhere for five years. The lines had to be carefully drawn.

The notes for their appeal were sat in a haphazard clump behind the laptop, and the stack looked exactly how Emma felt about it; worn, sad, and a little flustered. It had only been a few days, but something about the disappointment at the DMV left her feeling wrecked and restless all it once. It didn’t feel over, but whenever she thought about burying herself back in the endless bureaucratic process all she wanted to do was hit the pavement and not stop running until she fell off the corner of the map. She wanted to be outside. Balmy air drifted in through the open window, coloured by the frustrated yelps and the gentle roar of cars in the busy evening.

She paused, listening for the familiar growl of Killian’s Chevelle. Nothing.

With a jolt, she realised her pen was still in her hand and had been working idly against the paper. She peered over at the notepad, hoping she hadn’t doodled over her notes about the credit card – and nearly knocked over the laptop as she jerked backwards.

Scribbled over every inch of the page, completely obscuring anything underneath it, she had written her name. Over and over.

In a twisted, medieval cursive she had only ever seen in one other place.

Emma Swan Emma Swan Emma Swan Emma

The dagger swam into focus, and Emma resisted the urge to retch, clutching tightly at the desk in front of her with her left hand. Her right lay motionless across its surface, a foreign object to her now, a traitor which had scrawled out the pall that nestled around her shoulders and given it physical form. It was disquieting enough to see it there, a restless dream broken out, but only more disturbing to not remember having put it there.

She stood abruptly. Tore the page free, scrunched it up with that now untrustworthy hand, and dropped it down onto the floor.

Leaving the laptop open, she stalked out of the bedroom and across the hall to their tiny kitchen, determined to regain some control over the course of the evening, constantly clenching and unclenching her hand into a fist at her side. The kitchen was little more than two counters facing each other atop a strip of gaudy orange tiles with barely enough space for one person to pass by another, but they managed. They had never needed a lot of space, and their budget hadn’t been able to stretch particularly far. If they hadn’t needed a permanent address in order to submit the public records request, she probably would have made a case for sleeping in the Chevelle somewhere once they made it to the city.

Still, Killian had pointed out there was something nice about having a home base that wasn’t just the backseat of a car, and his suggestive glances at the bed when the realtor had taken them round had not gone unnoticed. Or unappreciated.

It was just – right then, especially without him in it, she didn’t want it. The lack of furniture, of personal affects, the rumpled sheets and the cracked plaster walls made it a gaping hole of something desolate and harsh. The jaws of something wanting in the shape of four walls and a door with a barely functional lock. She longed for the Chevelle and the torn leather seats, for something wild and alive.

At night Seattle burnt, and Emma yearned for home.

Not to mention it rained all the fucking time.

The door to the flat opened and closed, and Emma called out a greeting as she poured herself a glass of water. Killian didn’t reply. Assuming he had his headphones on, Emma allowed herself a few moments to breathe. She’d tell him about the credit card alert, let him know she was going by the skip’s office again in the morning and he could come along if he wanted, but she probably wouldn’t need the backup. Cornering a skip somewhere surrounded by friends and colleagues usually made them more amenable to coming quietly. Then she would ask as politely as she could manage about his evening and try not look too sour if he used the word covenstead again, instead of big fucking house.

Emma emerged from the kitchen, but he wasn’t setting his bag down in the sitting room like she was expecting him to be. Frowning, Emma re-entered the bedroom, but he was nowhere to be seen.

Her right hand twitched.

It felt numb, like she had been holding it in cold water for a few minutes. She could barely feel her other hand when she brushed her palms together, just the whisper of a touch instead of skin.

Her phone buzzed with an incoming text from Killian.

Leaving now – should be 30mins. Stopping for snacks. Want anything?

Behind her, the door into the kitchen creaked, and the tap started to run.

Her mind rang with the dull truth slowly, like a bell tolling at dusk.

Someone had turned the tap on.

Killian wasn’t home.

Someone had turned the tap on.

Killian wasn’t home.

Her heart stuttered against her ribcage.

Immediately searching for anything she could use as a weapon, Emma darted back over to her desk to reach for one of the hardback file folders they used for work, but as she leant across to reach for it she froze.

Her laptop had been closed, and on top of it placed a clumsily straightened, crumpled bit of paper.

Her mouth went dry at its familiar script.

Emma Swan Emma Swan Emma Swan Emma Swan Emma

Still through the doorway came the splurge from the rapidly filling kitchen sink, and Emma began to panic. She couldn’t go out there. Not now. Not now she couldn’t know, couldn’t be sure if there was anyone there to find or if she had unknowingly slipped back into sleep and this was just another spill. Her feet were frozen, dug in like anxious roots into earth, while her attention remained fixed on the hallway for every single sound or breath of movement.  

As quietly as she could, Emma closed the door to the bedroom. For good measure, she grabbed the desk chair and hooked it under the handle so it couldn’t turn, the noise masked by the water as it began to sluice over the side of the sink and splatter onto the floor of the kitchen.

Then she waited.

Was she dreaming?

It didn’t feel like a dream – but then, they never did. Her pulse raced, her skin felt cold even though her senses were telling her the flat was warm, hot, but she daren’t start mumbling aloud the objects she could discern as being real just in case it heard her. It. Already something had taken shape in her mind.

It liked to stop by, every now and then, just so she didn’t forget.

It wasn’t long before the noises grew louder. With the steady stream of water came the slap of footsteps through the puddle, of the flat soles of smart shoes pacing restlessly back and forth across her kitchen, the smack of cupboards being flung open and slammed shut again.

Not here, she thought, desperately, not when I’m alone.

Then Killian called her.

The sudden loud buzzing surprised her, and the phone slipped out of her grasp and onto the carpet below. Dropping to her knees and scrambling to reject the call, she split her attention between her frantic efforts and the blocked door, hoping against hope that it hadn’t heard, that it wouldn’t –

The door handle squeaked, stopping short when it was met with resistance from the chair.

When she was seven, there had been a month or so she had avoided being alone in her bedroom as often as possible. Not, she had insisted to Archie, because she was scared, but of course, really she had been terrified. It was a new room, colder, bigger, and the first one she hadn’t shared for as long as she could remember. For so long, all she could imagine was that one day the door would lock with her inside it, and nobody would ever come back for her or care at all that she was alone in there.

After weeks of creative avoidance strategies, Archie had finally wheedled the truth out of her, and had removed the lock the very next day. Then they had spent time drawing maps of the group home together, doodling creative means for her escape from that room until she was convinced that even if the door locked, it would be pretty easy to build a hang glider out of a kite and make a break for it through the window.

Nobody can control this door except you, Emma.

Only these days, she had built the lock herself. She checked a hundred times a day that it was still secure. She buried herself behind it and when the cracks had started to form, she had piled up bricks instead.

The handle creaked again.

A desperate, fearful sound ripped itself from somewhere deep inside her chest and she stumbled backwards, reaching for anything, wanting the maps, the exit strategies, everything she had burnt the day she decided it was more important to keep things out than avoid leaving herself trapped in.

The door to the bedroom rattled against its hinges.

Thump. Again. Thump.

Her fumbling hands fell on the door to the closet, and she hauled it open and ducked inside before she could think twice. She was breathing hard, her chest ached with the force of it. It smelt of black leather and mildew inside, and once she pushed through coats and her back hit the wall, she slid down onto the floor.

Once inside, the noises stopped.

Just, stopped. Like she had stepped out of an airlock, and all she could hear now was the hard, accelerated huff of her own breathing.  

Was it still out there?

Like she was seven again, she pulled her knees up to her chest. She told herself it was just like when she and Killian used to play sardines with the other kids at the group home; exploring dark, gaping crevices until they could melt into its very walls. She had been older, then. Escape was all rationalisation, she didn’t need the maps. Keeping herself hidden meant just shutting her eyes and forcing it all out of her mind until she made herself unreachable.

As long as she couldn’t be seen, she couldn’t be caught.

Something in her twinged, something that ached for wide, open streets and a crumbling clocktower, for long conversations over steaming coffee and the vermillion kiss of the New England fall. Seattle was just unrelenting, torrid heat. Noise and noise and noise and more ceaseless, callous noise. And Killian’s coats smelt like midsummer rain and spluttering exhaust fumes in heavy traffic.  

She couldn’t remember calling David, but she was glad when he answered.

“My new assistant is pteronophobic,” he sighed heavily, by way of greeting.

The words sounded like nonsense to her, but she couldn’t discern if that was because they were, or because she didn’t feel like she could trust her senses anymore.

“Terr— what?”

“Pteronophobic. She’s pteronophobic.”

Emma pressed herself as far back into the wall as she could go, curling tightly away from the door.  

She tried to focus on the call. “So… she’s a dinosaur?”

David snorted. “It’s a phobia of being tickled by feathers. Isn’t that ridiculous?” He clicked his tongue. “Actually, what’s ridiculous is that she knew this about herself, yet she applied for a job at a veterinary shelter.”

“Is this your way of telling me you’re the idiot that hired an assistant who’s scared of birds?”

“Feathers. And their proclivity for tickling.” She could hear him smiling down the phone, and already the pressure in her chest began to lessen. “Anyway, what’s up?”

Emma bit her lip. “Nothing, I just…” With a start, she realised the time and was amazed he had picked up at all. “Isn’t it nearly midnight over there?”

“You don’t call enough,” he reproached, but she could hear the tease in his voice. “This is like positive reinforcement.”

“How’s Ruth?”

There was a pause, a barely audible sigh. Gently, he repeated: “You don’t call enough.”

She could feel herself becoming more aware of herself, of her limbs tangled tightly at the bottom of the closet, of her hair sticking to the back of her neck, in a way that let her know that if she had drifted, she was returning now. It was nearly over.

“She misses you,” David added, “that’s all. So do we.”

“Me too,” Emma frowned, trying to remember the last time she had called anybody from Storybrooke. She had called after they got to Seattle, hadn’t she? How – how long ago was that? “Sorry.”

David made a dismissive noise, and as he always did, he forgave her.

“Everything good with Killian?”

Something in her chest squeezed as she remembered the call she had rejected.

“It’s fine,” she said, and tried to sound convincing, “I’m fine.” He didn’t have to know she was talking to him from the floor of a closet. “I just… wanted to hear your voice.”

For a little while, David said nothing. It was nice to just hear him breathe.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

Emma smiled weakly, even though she knew he couldn’t see it. “Yeah.”

“Y’know, if it’s just that you’re afraid you’ll miss Seattle, I could set up the hose at the end of Mom’s porch and you’re welcome to stand under it whenever.”

“Wow, how generous,” she snorted. “It’s really more of a near constant moistness than always rain, though.”

“Or we could buy you a Subaru? You could sit in it and vape a Starbucks, or whatever it is you do there.”

“I honestly don’t know what to say to that.”

For a few moments they just laughed, until they petered back out into quiet. Emma thought about Killian returning home soon, and the fact that she really didn’t want him to find her in the closet.

“Listen, um… I have to go. I’ll call more,” she promised.

David hummed on the other end of the line. “I hope you do.”

She felt calmer now as she disconnected the call, her heartbeat still clear in her ears but a steady pound, almost reassuring, not racing away without her. With fresher eyes, she nudged open the door to the closet and edged her way out slowly. The bedroom door was still closed, the desk chair propped up against it, but the only sound she could hear was the humming of her laptop on standby and the noise drifting up from the street through the open window.

Carefully, she removed the chair and shut the window. Then she sunk down into bed, into the quiet, and buried herself beneath the covers. She felt like she had run a marathon, her muscles ached in the aftermath of pumped adrenaline, and all her body wanted to do was rest.

She didn’t realise until Killian got home, but she had forgotten about the flooded kitchen. She heard him pause in the hallway, then the patter of his boots on the sodden tiles. Once realisation struck, her entire body burned when she wondered what he must be thinking, thinking of her, her skin hot with humiliation. But he didn’t comment on it, at least not that she could hear. Instead she heard him pulling out the mop and bucket and cleaning it up.

She wanted to join him, she just couldn’t muster the willpower.

A passing thought occurred to her then, the meekest of suggestions, now that rational thought had crept back in.

Had she just left the tap on?

After a few minutes she heard Killian enter the bedroom, but he didn’t switch on the light. Instead he slid into bed beside her, still clothed, and curled himself around her as tightly as he could manage. Something in her relaxed, as it always did, a muscle coming unclenched as she sank into the safety of his arms.

This, she knew. This was always real.

He kissed her shoulder, and he didn’t say a single word.

She loved him for it, and she hated him a little for it, too. 

#jay writes #the wind blows white #cs halloweek #cs fic #cs ff #captain swan #cs au #halloweek #killian jones #emma swan #fingers crossed you all like it!

[yastaghr]

Nightmare’s Gang of Wranglers 3

Summary: The first ride and the first camp are achieved. The fire brings out something new in everyone.

Link: The first ride and the first camp are achieved. The fire brings out something new in everyone.

The first ride of the trip was always the most problematic. This trip was no exception. Nightmare had sighed when Ink had lost his stirrups the first time. The next three times had been annoying. After that it had ceased to be annoying and started to become funny. Rustle wasn’t going to let him fall, and it wasn’t like Nightmare himself hadn’t ridden without stirrups before. Just so long as he kept his heels down Nightmare would be happy.

But that was just the start of the problems. Dream was turning out to be just as annoying as he knew he’d be, but for an entirely different problem. That problem had a name. His name was Cross. Cross, apparently, hadn’t taken enough heed of all the stories Nightmare had shared with his gang about Dream. Cross was too thirsty for that. He was taking full advantage of his position behind Dream to watch his ass. Yes, he said it was because he wanted to be sure of the other’s seat, but Nightmare knew better. One, he knew that Dream’s seat was impeccable, and two, he could see the purple blush on Cross’ cheeks. He was just lucky that Dream didn’t notice. He would only pay for ogling a client, not for trying to go behind Killer’s and Nightmare’s backs.

The next problem was Dust. It was always like this; as soon as he thought Nightmare had gone out of his hearing range he started talking to his brother. Nightmare sighed. Blue didn’t seem too disturbed, but that couldn’t be said of his pony. Berry hadn’t ridden near Dust recently, so the gelding must have forgotten about his chattering. His ears were constantly swiveled back, but Blue seemed to be handling him well. His seat was good and his hands were soft even as he maintained control over the horse. That made Nightmare feel better about letting him stay there.

The last problem, and one that Nightmare had been predicting, was Ink’s paints. Their sloshing around was scaring the pack train. Blood and Sugar eventually had the whole line stop so they could redistribute the load. That seemed to calm down the mules, but Cherry was being his usual spooky self. That was okay. They were used to Cherry’s spookiness.

Nightmare was impressed when they made the first stopping place in reasonable time. He had allowed for much more malarky than actually occurred. Unfortunately it looked like they needed that time. The camp was in shambles. If Nightmare had to guess he would have said that a herd of elk had bedded down there recently. The trees were still leaking sap, the grass was laid flat by the weight of those sleeping bodies, and the tents that were the sleeping areas were torn to the ground. Nightmare sighed. It would take at least an hour to fix everything.

His crew immediately ground tied their horses and got to work. Dust and Blood saw to the grass, fluffing it up so that the horses could actually eat. Cross set to gathering firewood and wiping down the trees. Sugar looked after the pack train. Error used his strings to fix the tents, and Killer helped Ink to dismount. Dream and Blue had gotten down and were looking around.

“How can we help, brother?” Dream said instantly, Blue right beside him. Nightmare blinked his one eye at him. He hadn’t expected them to want to help.

“Why don’t you… help Sugar unload the food for tonight?” He eventually said. He still didn’t trust his brother, not after what he had done, but he knew that unpacking the mules would be very hard to mess up.

Dream and Blue nodded, ground tied their horses, and walked calmly over to Sugar. Good. They at least knew better than to spook the horses.

=====

Killer’s soft voice interrupted his focus on his brother. “Somebody’s got a crush, huh?”

Nightmare spun to face him. Killer had his signature grin on his face, and his soul was beating at a speed Nightmare recognized as happy. Nightmare relaxed slightly and said, “I didn’t realise Cross was being so obvious. He’s been ogling Dream’s ass this entire time.”

Killer chuckled. Nightmare didn’t see what was so funny. “Yeah, Cross. The big guy’s always had a soft spot for people who dote on the horses.”

Nightmare tilted his head. He didn’t particularly remember Cross being like that in the past, but Killer was miles away more observant than he was. That was why Nightmare trusted him to be his second in command. He was a general; Killer was his chief of intelligence. Neither of them could operate without the other. And they both needed Cross to keep the peace between them and guard against the dangers of the road.

“Well, he’d better be prepared to meet the consequences of his actions. Dream is a client, and he is definitely not a part of our relationship. What would you say would be an appropriate punishment? 15 lashes?”

Killer grinned. If there was ever a monster who was the definition of a sadist, it was Killer.  “Oh, at least. I’d say we edge him a few times, too.”

Nightmare shook his head. He had the final say in this, and he thought that that was going a bit too far. “It’s only been a few hours, Killer. If he continues this behaviour tomorrow, then we can think about edging him. Is that understood?”

“Yes, sir!” Killer said, saluting. Then he wandered off to begin unsaddling the horses for the night and getting everything ready for supper.

=====

Blue was fascinated by the fire. He could vaguely hear the rest of the Star Sanses and Nightmare’s Gang moving around, setting up things for the night, cooking food on the other side of the fire, and, in Ink’s case, chattering away. None of that really mattered to him right now, though. His whole attention was consumed by the fire.

It had been so long since he had seen an untamed fire like this. When he was younger he saw them every weekend while his Dad was still alright and well. Then, after his accident, Blue had seen them every night as he struggled to raise a child all on his own. Then Stretch had grown up enough to say he hated the smell of smoke and that was that. Blue hadn’t realized how much he missed it until now.

Blue’s hypnotized state ended when one of Nightmare’s Gang sat next to him and passed him a cup. Blue looked into it. It seemed to have… ketchup?

“Here, drink it. I’ve never met a Sans who didn’t like a condiment, and you’re pretty cute, so enjoy,” The stranger said. His voice was deeper than Blue would have pictured, deeper and hoarser. Blue would have predicted the hoarseness after all of the talking this monster had done today.

Blue honestly wasn’t sure who the monster behind him had been talking to, but he couldn’t judge. One of his best friends still hadn’t stopped talking. Ink would have been hoarse had he been a normal monster. He wasn’t.  It wasn’t that he was crazy. Ink was the kind of anomaly that rules had to be built around. So was the dark boned skeleton Blue recognized from a few years ago. Now if only Blue knew his n-

“What’s your name, anyway? I’m Sans, obviously, but most people call me Dust. Not my brother, though. He still calls me Sans,” Dust said with a grin, his mismatched eye lights shining bright. The concentric rings of red and purple were almost as fascinating as the fire.

“I’m Blue,” he said, startled, “Technically it’s Dr. Blue, but I don’t actually practice at the moment, so most people call me Blue. My brother calls me Sans, though, too.”

The wide smile that shone from Dust’s skull was dazzling. Blue’s eye lights widened as he took it in. Wow, Dust was cute. A blush spread across Blue’s maxilla, along with a hesitant smile. Maybe he could do something about that? Stretch wouldn’t be happy, but he already wasn’t happy about this little trip. What would be the harm in having a little fun?

“Well, Dr. Blue, I’d love to have you examine me sometime,” Dust said, waggling his brow bones.

Oh, that was flirting! Blue knew what to do with flirting. He batted his eyelids back at Dust and leaned in. “Oh, I’d be happy to. I’m sure you have some pieces of your anatomy that can fascinate me for hours. I might even have one or two suggestions that would make your life more… pleasurable! Mweh heh heh heh!”

=====

Ink overheard his friend laughing and grinned from ear to ear. “Yay, Blue! I’m glad he’s feeling good enough to laugh. He’s always so stuffy! That was one of the reasons we took this trip; to make Blue relax a bit! He-”

“Stars, do you ever shut up?” Error growled. He was securing the last string to the ground with some kind of spike. Ink didn’t know the names of any of this stuff, and he barely knew Error’s name. As far as he was aware he had never left the city before. Then again, his memory was absolutely horrible. Not as bad as Blue’s dad’s, but still objectively horrible. Good thing he wasn’t objective!

“Nope!” Ink said, popping the p. “I don’t like it when things are quiet at all! It’s super scary and makes me feel isolated and alone in a place where no one can rescue me. The same thing happens if I see too much of the color white! It’s kind of a trigger, so I fill up the silence with as much noise as I can and make lots of art! I’m constantly repainting the walls of my apartment, and I always have some music playing at home.”

Error was giving Ink the funniest look. It was almost… sympathetic? Curiosity sparked in Ink’s mind. Why would anyone relate to an experience like that? Ink was about to ask when Error spoke up. “That’s stupid. You’ve got actual friends, idiot. They’re not going to abandon you.”

Ink nodded. “I know that, but that’s not how triggers work. Triggers are totally illogical. They’re weird little psychological phenomena that we don’t fully understand. A trigger can be anything from the smell of lilacs, to the taste of chemo medicine, to the feeling of tulle between your toes, to the sight of a specific crack on the ceiling of your house, to-”

“The sound of door locks? Those ones with a full bar you lock into place with a key?” Error asked suddenly.

Ink took in the sight of him. Error looked haunted. Interesting. Ink’s curiosity made him a promise: he would find out everything about Error and his past that he could to satisfy his own curiosity. If he was going to do that, however, he needed to win Error’s trust.

“Yeah! That’s definitely something that could be a trigger,” Ink said, then he went on, “and it’s not like you’d have to know why it was a trigger, either. Sometimes we just have something that’s triggering to us without any explanation. Dream is that way about moles. The little furry animal, I mean. Totally sends him into a panic attack whenever they show up in a nature documentary we’re watching. Blue now likes to pre-screen any movies we’re going to see, just in case. Actually, he pre-screens them for a lot of things. Useless sex scenes, for one.”

Error snorted. Ink blinked at him, feeling an unfamiliar paint combination roll over him. He couldn’t have put a name to it, but there were bits of yellow, pink, and green in there. Yellow was happiness of all sorts, pink was affection or love, and green was the need for something. It could be the need for information, or food, or a plan, or… anything, really.

“Don’t,” Error snorted, “Don’t tell me you’re one of those sex purists who thinks you should only have sex after marriage. That’s so stupid.”

Ink laughed his own unique laugh that couldn’t decide between being a chuckle and a giggle. “No, I just think that those stupid sex scenes take away from the body of the story. Sometimes they’re good, but mostly they’re just put in for horny fans. They don’t even make any sense. People just don’t hop into bed with perfect strangers at the drop of the hat. At least, not any sane people. Not that sanity’s earned its good ratings, mind you.”

“Well that’s true,” Error agreed with distaste. “Sex shouldn’t be some kind of spectacle for anyone to see. I know I wouldn’t want anyone but my lover or lovers to see me like that. I might be the most handsome skeleton in existence, but that doesn’t mean I want to show myself off.”

It was Ink’s turn to snort. “You? Handsome? Your bones are black, Error. Don’t you know that the darker your bones are the less handsome of a skeleton you are?”

Error’s grin was absolutely crazy, and Ink couldn’t help but mirror it. It looked like so much fun! “That’s what they want you to think! After all, so many people are cursed with white bones. They had to come up with some way to boost everyone’s egos. Telling them that white bones are best is a good PR spin! I bet even you believe it about your own bones!”

Ink blinked at him, then slipped out of his overshirt and bared his bones. They were covered in patterns, almost random, that had more black to them than white. “It’s not like my bones are all white, though. I guess that means that, by your definition, I’m ugly, too! Oh well.”

Error’s larger eye light was now almost as wide as his socket. The other one, the grey one, had wandered off. Ink wondered if he could even see out of that eye or if he just had lazy eye. Either way it was disconcerting. “Well… you’re not that ugly. You’re less ugly than all those bleached-boned idiots in the movies. After all, you have some black on there. And the contrast looks… kind of nice, if a bit blurry. D’ya mind taking a step back?”

“Why?” Ink asked, tilting his head curiously.

“It’s none of your business why, chatterbox!” Error screeched, “Just do it!”

Ink sighed. He’d been doing so well with winning Error over, but nothing worth doing was worth doing too fast. He stepped back a few paces. “Alright, Error. Is this good?”

Error was too busy studying Ink’s patterns to answer. Ink studied his expression, committing it to memory. It was so… fascinating… the way he was staring at Ink. The play of light on the black bone of his skull was so enchanting, and the lines of his mouth were inviting in a way Ink couldn’t place. He longed to sketch it. Maybe later, after dinner, although the fire wouldn’t be  the ideal light source. Needs must, though!

=====

Killer grinned as everyone took up their positions around the fire. The small blue skeleton and Dust were already seated, flirting with each other like there was no tomorrow. The artist and Error were arguing, but it involved more words out of Error than Killer had heard the entire time he’d been working for them. Blood and Sugar were sitting as far apart as they could stand, cooking the food and shooting each other longing glances. Cross was sitting at attention next to Dream and shooting him the most adoring looks. Dream seemed just about as oblivious as Nightmare could be. He was staring into space, zoning out. That left Killer to work on Nightmare. Perfect.

“Hey, Boss~” Killer purred as he slid in next to Nightmare, taking one of his tentacles into his hands and slowly massaging it. It was tense as hell. It was pretty obvious who was causing their leader so much stress. His eye light was fixed on Dream like it had been nailed in place.

“Yes, Killer?” Nightmare said distractedly, his eye light not leaving Dream, “What is it?”

Killer brought the tentacle up to his teeth, kissing it. “The tension in your aura is palpable, Boss. You need to relax a bit. Let me lavish you with all the attention you so richly deserve.”

Nightmare turned to face him, his eyebrow raised and his one eye light showing Killer his amusement. “Laying it on a little thick tonight, aren’t you? What are you trying to do, impress me? You know you already do. Or are you trying to distract me from Cross’ misbehaviour? I can see him over there. He’s acting like a lovestruck teenager.”

So are you, Killer thought to himself, a lovestruck teenager that’s fallen in love with his biggest rival. Out loud he said, “If you want to say that about Cross you have to say that about all of them. Dust is flirting with that small blue one like it’s his favorite hobby, Blood and Sugar are doing their Romeo and Juliet act, and Error is arguing so much with that artist that I wouldn’t be surprised if his voice wasn’t hoarse tomorrow.”

“The small one is called Blue and the artist’s name is Ink,” Nightmare said absently.

Killer blinked at him, then smiled his most winning smile - the one he wore when he was trying not to get caught at something sketchy. “You know, it would probably be a good idea if we introduced everyone before matching people up for the night. Why don’t I get everyone’s attention and you can tell people who they’ll be sleeping with?”

Nightmare tore his eye light off of Dream just long enough to narrow it at Killer. Then he sighed and shrugged. “Fine, then. No knives, though. I know you like to show off, but please, save it for another time.”

Killer saluted with the half-ironic, half-serious form that drove Nightmare crazy. “Got it, Boss!”

Then he turned to the center of the fire everyone was gathered around, raised his hands to his mouth, and hollered, “Heylalo, skellies! Listen up, the boss has something to say!”

Eight heads turned to face him with expressions that varied from annoyance to curiosity to mildly dissociative. Killer frowned slightly. Blood he could understand, but why would Dream be dissociating? Had something happened to him since he and Nightmare parted ways? Or was it just the general absentmindedness of a normal monster? Killer vowed to find out.

Nightmare’s grunt interrupted his thoughts. Killer turned to face his handsome datemate and listened closely to the orders of the night. “Now that I have your attention, I’m going to introduce you all and tell you who you’ll be sleeping with. Remember that these arrangements might change as the trip goes on, so if you can’t handle sleeping with someone please let me know. Blood, Sugar,” He pointed to the two of them in turn, “you’ll be sleeping together in the red tent. Ink, Blue,” Again he pointed to each of them in turn, “You’ll be sleeping in the blue tent. Killer, Dream,” He signaled who each of them was, “you have the yellow tent. Error, Dust, please take the black tent,” He gestured at both of them. “Finally, Cross and myself will take the green tent. My name is Nightmare. Now, does anyone have any questions?”

The boss studied each face in turn, as did Killer. They would compare notes later.

Cross was blushing and averting his eyes from Nightmare’s face. He knew he was in trouble for today, but that didn’t stop him from looking forward to being punished. It never had before.

Blue was looking at Dust with longing and a flushed face. The expression was mutual. Interesting. Maybe they should be paired up in a tent tomorrow night. Dust could use a bit of a chance to unwind.

Ink had clearly lost interest in the conversation. He was looking around at the clearing with his hand twitching in the air. Long strokes, short curves, and forceful jabs would have painted a picture if Ink had only been holding a paintbrush. Killer would have bet any amount of money that he was already planning a drawing or two of their surroundings. Artists were like that.

Blood was eyeing the food with hunger, as usual. After what he had been through it was hardly a surprise. Sugar was beaming at his brother. Only his practiced eye told Killer that he was ready for their night’s more… intimate activities. Hopefully this time they wouldn’t get caught.

Dream was eyeing Killer with something like anxiety, except moreso. It almost looked like fear. It did look exactly like the expression Nightmare had turned on him the first time they’d been asked to share a tent. Huh.

Finally, there was Error. Error, as usual, was grumbling to himself. Killer knew exactly what he was upset about. He hated having to share a tent with anyone. He was always on edge, worried that they were going to bump into him in the night. He knew better by now, though, than to complain. Nightmare had no sympathy for his disgust at the touch of others anymore. No one had ever touched him at night. That wasn’t going to change.

Nightmare nodded when he was satisfied that no one was going to complain. “Good. Now, Blood, please serve out tonight’s food to everyone. It’s time to eat.”

#bad sanses #star sanses #errorink #dustberry #killercreammare #error sans #ink sans #dust sans #underswap sans #killer sans #cross sans #xtale sans #dream sans #nightmare sans #wranglers au #nightmares gang of wranglers fic #yastaghr

[witchcraft-in-wonderland]

Weeping Beauty(Pt.3)

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

Roman awoke the next morning to Virgil curled up against him, shivering slightly.

"Virgil? What's wrong? Are you alright?" Roman ran his fingers across Virgil's face, worry growing in his eyes.

"Everythings- c-c-cold," Virgil mumbled, pressing close into Roman's chest.

"Oh Vivi dont worry, I'll get us more blankets, we can sleep in it'll be alright," said Roman. Virgil whined as he got up, but settled slightly as Roman draped the covers back over him.

"Good morning Roman, is Virgil not awake yet?" Logan said, he was sitting in Remus' lap, the latter leaning lazily on his shoulders, clearly half asleep.

"He is, but he's cold, I'm getting some more blankets and we're having another off day, I might check to see if somethings off with the AC in our room," Roman replied as he walked back past them with at least three comforters in his arms. He lay them out on the bed and buried himself under alongside Virgil.

"It'll be alright Vi, you'll be better tomorrow I'm sure of it," said Roman, planting a kiss on Virgil's cheek.

"R-Roman- warm," was all Virgil could seem to get out. He pressed his lips back against Roman's, wrapping his arms around Roman's neck and pulling himself closer. Roman held Virgil by his waist, it felt like trying to hold onto a block of ice. Even Virgil's lips were cold, as though he'd been in a snowstorm merely seconds prior.

"Shhh, Virgil it's ok, you're going to be ok, I'll get Patton to make some soup, he's good at that, that'll warm you up," Roman turned to the other side of the bed to grab his phone, he felt Virgil burrowing into his back and swinging his own legs over Roman's, as though he were a koala, and Roman a tree. He texted the request to Patton, careful with his wording so as not to distress anyone else in the house. Once he'd gotten a response he went back to coddling Virgil, running his hands through his hair and pressing soft kisses all across his face.

When Patton finally arrived with what Roman hoped would be Virgil's cure, Roman left the room to check for something wrong with the vents, but he found nothing.

The next day Virgil was still freezing to the touch, though now it was only in some places, in others he was so hot it was as if his skin had burst into flames. It was torture for Roman to watch him suffer like this. Logan had at first said it must have been a fever, yet every time they checked Virgil seemed to have a normal temperature. No doctor would answer their calls and every time they went to an office they seemed to be closed.

"Oh Vivi my poor emo nightmare I'm so sorry, shhh, it'll be ok, I'll fix this somehow I promise," Roman said, pressing his forehead to Virgil's, no matter if it hurt to touch. He wiped the tears away from Virgil's eyes, clenching his own shut to prevent himself from crying as well.

This temperature changing went on for nearly two months, Roman having to issue announcements at Virgil's request that no art or writing would be posted for personal reasons. Roman searched through every medical book in the library, pleading that one might have the answers he needed.

"Please please please have something! Anything! I cant see him like this anymore please!" He begged nearly every librarian in the city to give him some kind of information, but none seemed to have any answers.

Virgil's condition only seemed to worsen, soon he was coughing up liquids even Logan couldnt identify, ones that changed color based on what they were in contact with, that foamed and bubbled at random times, sometimes just regular clear water.

Still, no one had any clue what was going on with him, not even the alternative doctors nor those that were more in tune with "magic" or "unnatural" maladies that Roman had asked for help. It was as though this were completely new, or that, if it wasnt, everyone had forgotten it had ever existed.

Roman went over the information in his mind, everything he and Virgil had ever done in the days leading up to the sudden illness, and his mind landed on one thing.

Standing at the steps of Eli's apartment, Roman could feel a chill racing it's way down his spine.

"Why hello Roman, what brings you back here?" Eli said as he opened the door, there was another boy leaning his head on Eli's shoulder, with silvery hair and red eyes.

"What did you do to Virgil." Roman stated, trying to keep the growl in his voice low.

"Oh? Something wrong with him? I never noticed," Eli said, a faint smirk crossing his face.

"Dont give me that look! I've heard you talking about curses and diseases before! I know you did something to him!" Roman said, clenching his hands into fists to keep them from shaking.

"Oh Princey you poor dear, whatever's wrong with Virgil I had nothing to do with it! You must be going mad with grief or something," Eli said, Evan let out a soft chuckle.

"TELL ME. WHATS WRONG WITH HIM." there was no hiding the malice in Roman's voice now, he puffed his chest out, closing the space between himself and Eli, glaring so intensely he almost hoped it might turn the two boys into stone.

Eli looked less than impressed. "If you want to know what's wrong with him, I suggest you ask an even older friend," Eli said, his eyes glinting in the light. He slammed the door in Roman's face, leaving the red-haired man to ponder the words.

Virgil didnt respond to much anymore, at this point in his illness vines had begun to grow from spots on his body, his eyes, mouth, there were even leaves poking their way out of his arms and legs.

Roman had had enough of it, he'd finally worked out Eli's hint, and this was all going to end tonight.

The stories Roman and Remus' mother had told them passed through his head all the way down the stone pathway in the woods. But he didnt care. He remembered different stories now, the tales Eli had told about the dragon witch, about how easy it was to get her to trust you.

Virgil was dying, and Roman had a dragon to slay in his place.

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

Tag list:

@nerosdayinhell

@official-lucifers-child

@meowthefluffy

@spooky-scary-virgil

@misunderstoodshadowling

@lovesupernova25

@riverraysong

#cori writes #weeping beauty #ts patton #ts logan #ts virgil #ts sides #ts remus #ts roman #ts janus #angst tw #tw angst #roman angst #prinxiety angst #romantic prinxiety #prinxiety #virgil angst #illness tw #tw illness #illness #tw implied character death

[forkanna]

NOTICE: Characters and locations ©Atlus. This fic and story ©2019-2020 me! All rights to their respective owners. Mature rating for sensual situations and dialogue. Canon (slight) divergence. Based on vanilla P4 since that's what I played (Sorry, Marie fans). Names are in Western order. Title adapted from the boss battle music. Cover art by 7aho.

[AO3 LINK] [WATTPAD] [QUOTEV]

NOTES: This one isn't going to be quite as in-depth or long as my P5 fic (and also a lot lighter in the plot department haha). Apologies for all the exposition within the first couple of pages. I always attempt to make the fic accessible for readers who don't know anything about the fandom if I can, but try to keep it short.

And for those of you waiting... don't get mad at me for not putting out very much Elsanna lately. I promise you, it IS coming. LOTS of it. I just have to have proper motivation or it will turn out not so great. Thank you for your patience!

                                                     CHAPTER ONE

None of this was right.

The spooky old castle seemed to press in on Chie Satonaka from all sides as she tore down hallway after hallway, the sound of her loafers echoing off the flagstones. Nevermind how bizarre it was that she was in another world — which she was never going to get used to, even if she came and went a thousand times — but her childhood companion and best friend in the whole world being in danger was more important. She didn't have the luxury of being thunderstruck.

Chie and her friends had gone back and forth so often about the Midnight Channel. Was it real? Was it a scam, a mere urban legend? Mass hallucination? Nobody outside of the sleepy little town of Inaba had ever heard of it, or seen it happen; purely a local paranormal phenomenon. As the story went, if you watched your television with its power turned off at midnight, during a rainstorm, you could see something. Some versions even claimed the person you saw on the screen was your soulmate.

However, that was where fantasy ended and grisly reality took over. The two previous instances had shown women that later turned up dead — and not just on TV. Their corpses hung upside down from power lines and rooftops. In this most recent case, they had all seen Yukiko Amagi in the TV — first as a blurry shadow, and now in vivid high definition.

If it really was Yukiko. That woman in the screen looked and sounded nothing like her best friend, even if it was her face and voice. The garish pink princess dress was so unlike her! Not to mention the obscene thirst for boys from such a timid, polite girl… Chie could remember each word with crystal clarity:

"Goooood evening! Tonight, Princess Yukiko has a big surprise! I'm gonna go score myself a hot stud! Welcome to 'Not A Dream, Not A Hoax; Princess Yukiko's Hunt For Her Prince Charming!' And I came prepared — I've got my lacy unmentionables on, stacked from top to bottom! I'm out to catch a whole harem, and the best of the lot is gonna be all mine! Well, here I gooooo!"

Every deranged syllable had come from someone else's mind. It had to be a sick joke! Still, there was no other explanation for where her best friend had gone. Unreachable by phone or email, and her parents didn't know where she was, either.

The other world was their only lead. And since Yu had previously shown her and Yosuke that they could actually go inside, as long as the screen was large enough to step through… that was that. Insane as it was, they had all jumped through a big screen TV into a parallel dimension to rescue their friend.

But staircase after staircase flashed past, rich red curtains and glittering chandeliers, with no sign of Yukiko. The shadows pulled at Chie from all sides exactly as the boys had described. Maybe it was her bright green-and-yellow windbreaker that caught their attention, or maybe it was that someone was invading their realm. She didn't belong in Yukiko's palace. Or at the very least, the shadows of the Midnight Channel thought she didn't, and probably were equally distrustful of the boys.

Speaking of which, where were they? She could have sworn both Yu and Yosuke were right behind her… and that weird red-and-blue bear thing, whatever his name was. They had tried to insist she stay behind because she was a girl, not strong enough to fight in spite of her kung fu training, and now they were the ones who couldn't keep up?! She almost wanted to turn back and give them a good kick in the-

"Chie told me that red looks good on me…"

The words nearly made Chie trip over her own feet and go down hard. "Yukiko?!" Where was it coming from? She turned this way and that, trying to find the source, but saw no one. The voice kept going, talking about how much she didn't like her name. How she thought she was worthless. She tried to tune out the harsh words themselves, merely focusing on the direction they were coming from and attempting to follow.

But as she barrelled through an ornate set of double doors, looking for the next flight up… the subject matter changed. And she couldn't ignore the words anymore.

"Chie was the only one who gave my life meaning. She's bright and strong, and she can do anything! She has everything that I don't. Compared to Chie, I'm… I'm…"

"HEY!" she shouted. "I'm coming, Yukiko! Hang on!"

However, the disembodied voice only continued, without any obvious source now. How could it come from everywhere and nowhere at the same time?! "Chie protects me; she looks after my worthless life. And I… I don't deserve any of it… Chie is so kind."

The words burned almost as badly as the tears burned her eyes. This was wrong. Something about it sounded right, sounded satisfying to her, but she didn't want to examine it too deeply. All she wanted was to save her best friend and get her out of this nightmare palace.

"I know, right?"

That was not Yukiko.

"What the-" Her eyes swivelled to the side and saw a girl running backwards. She was about her minimal height, a little over five feet… had the same chestnut-brown bowl cut. The same green jacket. The same…

The same. "Oh no."

"Oh yes," the doppelganger laughed as she easily jogged backwards and kept pace with her, no worry for running into anything. She never did. It was as if this other Chie, this fake, had eyes in the back of her head or rearview mirrors that only she could see. "I bet you knew you'd be seeing me sooner or later."

"What are you?!" Chie demanded of the impostor.

"Don't ask stupid questions," she laughed, voice distorted. "Let's cut the bullshit. And I mean Yukiko's bullshit."

"What… do you… what are you saying?"

Waving a hand up toward the roof, she went on, "Yukiko thinks you're 'so kind'. That you protect her, right? We know that's not what you want from her at all." When she didn't respond, the clone smirked. "You're thrilled to death she depends on you. The most beautiful girl in school, and she needs you — some grubby little bitch who couldn't tell eyeshadow from lipstick. Man, do you get a charge out of that!"

"I… I do not!" she shouted, trying to put her head down and run faster — to ignore this pretender. She had been warned that there were frightening shadows all around them, and this was further proof; it was a trick. One she refused to fall for.

"Where ya goin'?" the clone pouted as she sped up to match pace. "Gotta go save your princess? Of course you do. She can't do anything while you're not around. Helpless like a lost puppy, right?"

Teeth gnashing, she snarled out, "Yukiko is not a puppy!"

"But you wish she was. If she was a helpless dog, yipping around your heels… then you would be set, wouldn't you? What else would you need with a devoted, needy little bitch to boss around?"

"I… excuse me?! What did you call her?" Chie finally stopped, turning to snarl at the girl who stopped as easily as if they had planned this weeks ago. "She's not a bitch! A-and she's not helpless! So you can shut up and go back to wherever you came from, because I have a friend to save!"

And then she left her in the dust.

Determination radiated off her entire body as she leapt over one of the shadows, landed on the face of another and demolished it. They seemed to sap her endurance a little at a time, but she also felt stronger somehow with each one she defeated. Just like training in her secret hideout when she was little; she might be getting tired now, but she would be able to handle more next time.

"You're right."

Her jaw tightened. "Thought I told you to leave me alone."

"You said to go back to where I came from," Other-Chie corrected with a Cheshire cat grin. "And I did! Right here with you!"

"Yukiko needs me! So unless you're going to help me save her-"

"Are you kidding? Like I said, you're right; she's not really that weak. Yukiko doesn't need you. It's the other way around, isn't it?" That shut her up, so the shadow went on, "You don't know the first thing about being a girl. So terrible at it. And she's kind, and sweet, and trusting. What are you?"

"I… I'm her friend."

"No, you're really not," she laughed loudly, harshly. The beginnings of fresh tears stung the back of her throat as she took the next steps two at a time, wishing desperately that she could ditch this unkind spectre. "Because that girl cares about you, and all you care about is that she does. You don't actually like her at all; you find her too quiet, too meek. Too pretty."

"That's not-"

"But she does depend on you. And hey, why should you ditch her when she's so devoted to you? Keep her on the end of your leash like the bitch she is."

"STOP!" Chie begged — and went down hard when her shoe tripped over the top stair, rolling a couple of times onto her side. Her knee had borne the brunt of the fall and now it throbbed in pain, and she automatically tried to massage it. "Just… just leave me alone, I… I do like her, she is my friend! My BEST friend!"

"Awwwwww, is she though?" More false pouting as she crouched over the real Chie. "Can she really be your friend if you want to keep her under your thumb? Totally codependent?"

Growling, she began to crawl forward, wishing she had a good pair of earplugs.

"Can't escape the truuuuth," she sing-songed.

"Go away."

"Just let yourself enjoy it. Give in. In fact… Yukiko is right on the other side of that door."

That made Chie sit up a little straighter. Was she really? Somehow, she knew it was true; she could sense a presence on the other side of the floor-to-ceiling double-doors now that they were so close.

"Yukiko?"

"That's right. So go in there and grind her under the heel of your boot. Show her that you're-"

Completely ignoring the rest of her shadow's words, Chie burst from the ground with renewed adrenaline and kicked open the doors.

"Yukiko!" But the princess didn't move. "Yukiko, what's wrong?!"

As she laughed, madly and maniacally, Yukiko did finally turn around. And she was just as otherworldly and demented as the Chie-clone that had been hounding her heels. Mostly, they looked the same, outfit notwithstanding; it was the eyes… they were almost golden, they blazed with such a yellow intensity. Something about them was most certainly wrong.

"Oh my! A prince has arrived! Things are really heating up!"

Gritting her teeth, Chie pointed at her and said, "No… you're not Yukiko. You're not her at all!"

"What are you talking about?" she gasped, full of false innocence. "I am she, and she is me! We are we."

"Oui oui," Chie's clone added with a light chuckle. A sick lurch shot through her stomach when she realised the clone had followed her inside. Now she had to deal with two of them.

"Oooh la laaaa," the false Yukiko giggled as she pressed an open palm to the center of her chest, just above her ample cleavage. "But I'm afraid if you really want to woo your princess, you'll have to wait! Deeper in, deeper in!"

The shadow of Chie approached her opposite number. Were they in league with each other? Rivals? Maybe they were part of the same being, a monster that wanted to manipulate the people that fell through the TV into this hellscape… but all she did was reach up and grasp at Yukiko's hair, snapping her head backward.

"AH!"

"I'll go deeper in," she promised with a little smirk. "And I don't want to wait."

"Mmhh! Yes, my Prince!" That obscenely lovesick look on her face made Chie turn away from them, throat tight with disgust. "But you can only have me here! I think she wants the other me!"

"Does she? Yes… yes, of course she does." She looked up in time to see the other Chie glowering down at her, despite the sinister smile. "Owning just one of you isn't enough; we need both of you in our cage."

Chie wanted to smack both of their heads together. But then something Yukiko had said pushed through to her: 'deeper in'. She knew where the real Yukiko was.

"Take me to her."

"Huh?" She tilted her head, silky black hair falling to the side. "Take you what where?"

"Don't play dumb. Just… take me to my best friend! You can do whatever you want to me, but I need to see her… I need to know she's okay!"

Against all her expectations, Fake Yukiko pouted instead of looking interested or pleased. "But that's not how this is supposed to work. You do whatever you want to me. Right? I don't wanna be the prince, I wanna be the princess!" And she actually began to sniffle a little.

"Hey, don't cry," the other Chie said with a slight chuckle, tightening her grip on the back of her hair. "I'll make you feel good if you don't cry."

"Y-you will?"

"Hey, HEY!" she shouted over the two of them. "Focus! How about this: I'll help her do that to you, whatever she wants — or I want, or whatever… if you take me to Yukiko first!"

"Oh!" The false Yukiko's face lit up with joy, cheeks turning as pink as her vile princess dress. "You promise? It's not worth it if you don't promise, I wanna hear you say it!"

"I promise. Now, can we get a move on?"

While Yukiko was giggling and literally bouncing up and down for joy, the other Chie started clapping, nodding in approval. "Daaaamn, I'm a little shocked, Satonaka. You're playing her like a fiddle. Thought you were going to insist you're nothing like me, but you're doing exactly what I would do. Bravo!"

"Just cut that out already and let's go," she groaned, burying her face in her hands. Then she felt herself being hoisted into the air. "Wha- WHOA! What are you doing?!"

"Just what you said," she sighed as false Yukiko hitched up her skirts and dashed through the other door toward the stairs. The other Chie fell in step behind her, toting the real one in a princess carry as easily as if she were a bag of flour. "Taking you to see both halves of your whole. Or should I say 'your hole'? Eh? Great pun, right?"

"Disgusting. I can't believe you can talk about her that way — and you call yourself another part of me!"

Her smirk should have been illegal. "Ohhh, but I am. And I see right through all of your bullshit. She's a trophy to you; an ornamental piece. A refrigerator magnet. No… more like, one of those cute little buttons you have pinned to the front of your jacket there." Her head nodded down at said buttons. The sleepy smiley face had always been her favourite, but now she just wanted to rip them off and throw them away. "Something you can wear around and show everyone. Maybe that's what the red one is, right? Is that your Yukiko button?"

"It's… my 'I love exercise' button. And if you're really me, you would know that."

"But it is red, like her favourite colour," she kept teasing.

"Sh-shut up. And do you have to carry me like this?! I can walk, y'know — like my button says!"

"It says you can walk?"

"No, it says I love- just shut up! GOD!"

Laughing openly at her, Other-Chie scoffed, "I'm faster than you. And I won't be a panting, sweaty mess when we get to the top floor… well, maybe once we're there…"

"Does everything you say have to be a double entendre?!"

However, she seemed to be dead on the money. In no time, they were at the top floor, and entering an ornate throne room. Somehow, the shadow Yukiko had gotten there ahead of them with enough time to spare that she could seat herself, and look as prim and proper as if she had been waiting for them for an hour. And there, at the bottom of the red carpet-lined steps leading up to the dais, was…

"YUKIKO!" Springing out of her double's arms, she ran forward and knelt by her side, curling an arm around her shoulders. This Yukiko was wearing a light pink kimono, as she typically did when working at her parents' very traditional Japanese inn.

"My, my, it's getting crowded in here," the shadow on the throne chuckled as she rose from her seat, stepping to the edge of the dais. "Why don't you and I go somewhere else? A land far, far away, where no one knows me. If you're my prince, you'll take me there, won't you? C'mon, pretty please?"

"Do you… mean me?" Chie asked hesitantly. She was a little worried about how the real Yukiko hadn't said anything yet, but curiosity would not let her ignore the shadow entirely.

"Of course, Chie! She's my prince. She always leads the way; Chie is a strong prince." Then she sighed and added, "Or at least, she was."

"Was?" the Other-Chie demanded, eyebrows shooting up.

"When it comes down to it, Chie's just not good enough. She can't take me away from here — can't save me! Historic inn? Manager training? I'm sick of all these things chaining me down — sick of everything being decided for me!"

"The hell I can't save you!" It was a disbelieving scoff, and the other shadow began to stride up the stairs as she continued, "I'm your prince, aren't I? I can do whatever I want with you. And you'll be grateful, because you know I won't let anything bad happen to you ever again. Well… nothing that I'm not doing to you myself."

Even while Chie herself was reeling in fresh disgust, the other Yukiko's eyes were widening. "You will? I m-mean… I really thought you couldn't help me escape my prison."

"I'll destroy your prison and make you a new one," Other-Chie said… and as she reached the top of the stairs, something about her changed. One blink, and she was identical to the real Chie; the next, a large crown appeared on her head to match the thin, delicate tiara on Other-Yukiko's head. The jacket stayed the same colour but turned into something more royal, with gold braids hanging down in loops over the shoulders. Medals replaced the buttons. And her school skirt became grey tights.

"A new one just for me?" Other-Yukiko gasped in wonder.

"Thick bars made of diamonds. The floor will be polished marble, your cot in the corner will be velvet…" Her hands smoothed up Yukiko's neck, gripping in the hair and tilting her head up. "And your collar will be made of the finest leather money can buy."

"Chie…?"

Her attention instantly diverted from the shadows to the real Yukiko Amagi. She was still huddled in her arms, dazed eyes finally focusing on the stairs, up at the two figures. Then turning to the one holding her.

"Yes?" she breathed. "Are you okay?"

"Chie, what… what is… going on? How did I get here?" Already, her eyes were watering as she whispered, "A-are we going to die?"

It wasn't that Yukiko was a coward, or a weakling. She was stronger than she knew. But she saw herself as weak and helpless. Chie had always tried to encourage her to train with her, thinking the kung fu might help offset that meekness, but she had shied away from it — insisting it would be seen as 'unladylike' by her extremely conservative mother. Frowned upon as something ill-suited for a girl who would one day help run the Amagi Inn to be caught doing.

"No," she whispered, a smile finally pulling at her mouth for the first time since she had entered the TV. "No way. I got your back."

"I've been s-so scared," she whispered fearfully as she trembled in her arms. "I don't know wh- don't know what's going on, but I kept thinking, if… if only you came… but how did you know where I was?"

"Boo hoo," Other-Chie jeered at them. And when she turned to look…

This was a very different scene now. Her princely green coat was now draped over her back like a cape, yakuza-style. The rest of her clothing was… something else. Was it some kind of metal bikini? Maybe it was gold; that would explain the yellow sheen. And between the thigh-high boots and opera gloves, and the smug look on her plain face… the outfit was definitely giving it a very specific connotation.

"Isn't it sickening?" Other-Yukiko sighed, shaking her head as her arms folded in front of her chest — in just the right way to push her breasts up. "They cling to each other like they're going to fall apart. And how can that other me just blubber and cry all the time?"

Other-Chie grinned and started sliding her hand up and down the small of her Yukiko's back. "Mmm, forget about them. The real Chie and Yukiko have business to attend."

"Ooooh," she giggled. "What kind of business?"

"Let's get out of here," the real Yuki whispered. "Just… j-just let them do whatever that is, and… and you and I can go back to Marukyu Tofu and… and have something for dinner, and w-we'll just… forget all about this. Okay? If… if you know the way out?"

Her eyes were so hopeful when she looked up at Chie. As always. That was the look that got to her more than she had ever wanted to admit. Which, unfortunately, contributed to how badly the shadow version of herself was getting to her with each and every word…

"Look at her face," said shadow snorted instantly, grinning wolfishly down at the original Chie. "She finally gets it. She sees the ugly black mold under the tatami that she had been pretending didn't stink for years. Yukiko Amagi is nothing but a tool to her."

"And she loves being a tool," her Yukiko breathed as she sat her Chie in the throne, then crawled into her lap, petting up and down her arms. "I know I do."

"Come on!" the real Yukiko whispered. "Can't we go away? Do you know the way home?"

"Y-yeah," Chie whispered. Then she cleared her throat and stood up. "We're going. Back the way we came; if we can get out of the castle, I think I can take us to where we can go back through the TV."

"Through the what?! I'm- WHOA! Chie-chan!"

Not wanting to mince words, she started dragging Yukiko away from the steps. The other girl couldn't move very fast, but it was as much about the restrictive kimono as it was her inferior athletic ability. But she would never give voice to it, never have complained about-

"Why is she SOOOO slow?!" Of course, Other-Chie said it for her. "Doesn't she ever even go outside? Pathetic!"

"Actually… there's something wrong, my Prince."

"What?"

"They haven't paid us back yet."

"Ohhhh. I believe you're — right!"

A loud din of jangling metal filled the air as Chie suddenly found herself stopped short, just a few more strides from the doors. When she looked down, she saw her arms were pinned to her sides by thick chains, and they were already trying to drag her back toward the throne.

"Hey!" she shouted, struggling. "What the hell is this?!"

"You promised!" Other-Yukiko wailed, pouting as the toothily-grinning Other-Chie dragged her back toward them, up the steps and onto the dais. It hurt, but her pride was wounded far more than her body.

"Promised wh… oh. OH! B-but you already have the other me, isn't that enough?"

"You're my prince! Why should I only want one of you when two princes who adore me is twice the fun?"

Her shadow chuckled. "She's got you there, Satonaka."

Now Chie had a dilemma. She could see Yukiko approaching the steps, expression panicked and worried for her best friend. And all she wanted was for her to escape, to save herself. Her entire goal in entering the TV was to get Yukiko out of there!

Then she thought about something else. There were more shadows than their two clones roaming those stone hallways; all manner of beasts and ghouls and assorted horrors. Yukiko was not a fighter; never had been. She still needed her. Even if she hated that she liked it, that didn't make it untrue.

"Alright!" she gasped out. "Okay, let me out of these chains, and… and I'll do it. I'm sorry, I forgot."

"You forgot?!" Yukiko asked incredulously.

"No, no, she did," her own shadow mused, eyes narrowed down at her. "So obsessed with Amagi that we stopped mattering, didn't we? You're as codependent as she is."

"Sure, yeah, whatever. Let's get on with it. What am I supposed to be doing?"

The eyes remained narrowed, but her smirk came into full bloom. "You know already."

"What? No, I really don't. Should I pull her hair like you did?"

"Chie?" asked the real Yukiko as the fake one smiled wider. "What are you doing?"

"I'm sorry, Yuki-chan. Really, it's… I promised them…" She didn't want to continue, but her shadow had other plans, and nudged her hard with her elbow. "I promised I would d-do whatever they wanted if they took me to you. And I mean… they did, so…"

As her friend looked stricken and confused, the false Yukiko nuzzled up against her side. "Do whatever you want to me. It's going to make me feel so safe, so loved! Like my prince cares about me!"

"But she's your prince!" she protested, nodding at the other Chie.

"We're both her prince. How are you still not getting this? No wonder our grades are in the toilet; we're just dumb as a fencepost, huh?" Then she picked up Chie's hands and guided them to the princess's neck. "Do what comes natural. Go on."

"What comes… natural…" Well, putting her hands on Yukiko's neck sure didn't feel that way. Even if this monster was a fake, it had her noble features, her little bow mouth… which was slightly parted in anticipation.

They wanted her to choke her. It hit her like a ton of bricks, and her hands shot away as if burned. Yukiko pouted, and Other-Chie rolled her eyes in annoyance.

"Please, stop this," asked the real Yukiko, bowing politely. Just as she had been trained to do. "W-we just want to leave. Is that so wrong? We want to go home!"

"Not until she fulfils her promise," Other-Yukiko pouted. "And it's such an easy one! All she has to do is put me in my place like she already wants to do — everybody wins! I get to belong to my Prince, and she gets to enjoy owning me!"

Yukiko was revolted. "What are you saying?! You're a person, I- no, I'm a person, and so are you, and… who would want to be owned like they're some kind of thing?!"

"Why, we do, obviously. We want a hot stud to sweep us off our feet, so we don't have to think about anything at all! Not managing an inn, not grades, not responsibilities. Living the life of a pet sounds so inviting, doesn't it?"

As she went on, the real Yukiko was beginning to look despondent. And Chie knew why; because she was right — at least partially. It didn't mean she really wanted a life like that, but as she was now beginning to understand, it meant there was a part of Yukiko that found the idea of running away from everything that was expected of her to be an extremely appealing notion. And that it distorted the bonds of their friendship. All the things she had heard Yukiko saying before, echoing off the walls… those were probably her honest feelings and wishes. Everything the shadow spouted was the worst possible version of said feelings.

"Well, I'm not going to do this forever," Chie warned them with a sigh as she reached into the shadow Yukiko's hair and scratched behind her ear. "But I will for a little while. I did promise, I guess."

"Mmm," she hummed, and the false Chie also watched with satisfaction. "My prince… it feels so good, I'm so yours…"

"Doesn't she have any self-respect?" the real Yuki muttered. But it was loud enough they could hear her.

"She doesn't. You know that she doesn't and you don't." Other-Chie began to stride down the steps toward her, a red whip appearing in her hands, already pulled taut. "But while they're busy… would you like to find out how they're feeling up there? So boring, sitting around on the sidelines."

Instantly, the real Chie stepped away from the pet, letting her fall onto her elbows from the unexpected absence of her master. "You leave her alone. That's not part of the promise."

"It's a bonus," her opposite chuckled with a smirk. "All she has to do is say 'yes'."

"But…" She had to think fast. As usual, Yukiko looked too terrified of the imposing shadow, of the whip in her hands, to protest; she might even give in. "But I… but your Yukiko wants us both!"

One eyebrow raised as she turned to smirk back over her shoulder. "But they are both ours. Every Yukiko belongs to us for all eternity. Doesn't that make you feel so good? Makes them feel good."

"So good," Other-Yukiko echoed, rubbing up and down her upper arms as her eyes closed in bliss at the mere fantasy.

"You lay one finger on her and the deal is off," Chie pushed stubbornly. "I said I would… d-do things to the other Yukiko, but you getting to torture my best friend isn't part of that!"

A little "Chie…" slipped out of Yukiko's lips. Then she swallowed hard and said to the other one, "Y-yes, please don't touch me. I… I don't want…"

"Liar," she insisted.

"I am not lying! I'm scared, I d-don't want to be here! And I don't want you to hurt m-"

She cut off with a yelp as the whip came whistling down, hitting the ground right next to her fingers. She clutched both hands to her chest and shrank in on herself, eyes slammed shut as she tried to blot out everything and everyone.

"She wants it," Other-Chie said with certainty. "Look at how pathetic she is. Not trying to fight me off, can't even move now."

Other-Yukiko laughed and began to paw at Chie's leg, which made her a lot more uncomfortable than she could have imagined. "Poor little bitch thinks she's too good for our collars. Speaking of which…"

Suddenly, the other Chie was standing over her and holding a black spiked dog collar, dangling off the end of her index finger. She began to twirl it around and around. "Happy birthday to us."

"What's… what are you doing with that?" Now it was in real Chie's own hands. The leather was warm and heavy, and the shadow Yukiko's neck was slender, calling out for its companion. "Oh."

"Please?" she breathed needily. "Just… put it on, and we'll both be so happy…"

So she put it on. She couldn't bear to face the real Yukiko, but she managed to slide the leather around her doppelganger's throat and fit it snugly without being too tight. A sigh of gratitude fell from her as soon as it was complete, and she smiled up at Chie with what seemed like genuine affection.

"I thought you had seen how worthless I am," she whispered. "But you want me all to yourself? Really?"

"S-stop it," she muttered as she cleared her throat. "I did it because it's… what you wanted. A trade for Yukiko."

"But I'm-"

"What else do you want me to do? Huh? So we can get it done, and… and I can go home."

Now the false Yukiko looked as if she might cry. Her real life counterpart crept forward to kneel on the second step, getting a better look. Other-Chie clicked her tongue, though her expression remained as smug as ever. "So mean. Give her what she wants, and then make her feel like doggie doo. What a power move; really keep her on your leash this way."

"Cut that OUT!" Chie snapped.

"Whoa, touchy! I can't help it if the truth is too weird for you."

"You don't want to be here with me," Other-Yuki finally breathed, and Chie found herself actually feeling a pinprick of remorse. "Can't you play with me a little more before you go? I… I'm gonna miss you…"

"Oh… fine, fine. Tell me what it is you want me to do."

Her expression full of sappy affection — and the real Yukiko's full of disbelief and outrage — she began to hitch up her skirts. "Well, I did pick out something very special to wear today — so I can catch a stud, like you! But it looks like I got defeated, and these are going to waste, so… I thought-"

"Wait, wait, I'm not- you want me to see your underwear?!"

"Not just see it…"

Cold flooded the pit of her stomach. She turned wide eyes on the real Yukiko, who still seemed dazed but was now frowning a lot deeper than before, then back to the legs that were appearing beneath the hem of the clone's dress.

"No."

"Don't you want to go home?" she purred as her thighs came into view. "Play with me. Make me feel really, really good… and you might get that wish. Pretty please?"

"NO! You're a shadow, a- a demon! Why would I do something for you I've barely ever done to myself — much less anybody else?!"

The shadow Yukiko got a little more insistent, pout more pronounced. "Because I'm your princess! Touch me — make my body come alive for you! Turn me into your willing servant!"

"Come on, stop it!"

"Why? Give me one good reason you shouldn't be ripping off my clothes and having your way with m-"

"Because I wanna do this with the REAL Yukiko, not YOU!"

                                                     To Be Continued…

#We'll Face Ourselves #persona 4 #p4 fanfic #forkanna writes #chiko #chie satonaka #yukiko amagi #jess the writer

[entwinedmoon]

John Torrington: A Star Is Born

(Previous posts 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6)

John Torrington was just a boy from Manchester who had the unlucky fate of dying first in an expedition that would have no survivors. The names of the men buried on Beechey Island ended up in newspapers after the discovery of their graves in 1850, one of the first traces of Franklin’s men, and an omen of what would later be realized. For people studying the Franklin mystery, Torrington was a breadcrumb, the first hint of a trail to the answer of what happened to the ships and crew. But beyond that, he wasn’t an officer with a list of accomplishments, he wasn’t a noteworthy member of the crew, he had no one coming forward to tell of his great exploits and achievements. To the many people wondering what happened to the expedition, he was just a name on a headboard.

In 1984, the world finally put a face to that name. A face that defied the passage of time but had become distorted, twisted in a death grimace by the ice. A face that could give grown adults nightmares.

A face that the media slapped onto every newspaper and magazine they could find.

(WARNING: Pictures of pictures of mummies under the cut. Yes, pictures of pictures.)

The level of preservation of Torrington (and Hartnell, but he didn’t get as much attention) was truly remarkable, unlike any mummy people had seen before. It makes sense why this discovery would be shared around the world, but there was often a sense of morbid curiosity in the way it was presented.

ABC World News Tonight had Peter Jennings introduce a brief news story about Torrington’s exhumation by describing it as “like something from a Science Fiction movie” and “a bizarre story with images to match.” Torrington landed in the Science section of Time, a black and white version of his soon-to-be-famous photograph displayed prominently next to a short article title “Trapped in Time,” as if Torrington had been frozen alive and was now released, free to walk the earth again like the undead.

The same week Time published their short article, Newsweek published an article, “Answers from an Icy Grave,” three times as long as the piece in Time and with a color photograph to boot. Torrington’s picture was captioned “Sailor Torrington: Doomed expedition,” as if the macabre image of his frozen face didn’t properly convey the sense of doom by itself.

Then, of course, there was People.

At the end of each year, the popular magazine names 25 of the most intriguing people of the year. In 1984, John Torrington was granted the honor of being on that list. Flipping through pages filled with celebrities such as Bruce Springsteen, Richard Gere, Tina Turner, and even Bill Murray, you’ll find, just after a lovely picture of Vanessa Williams, the now famous black and white photo of Torrington’s frozen grimace staring back at you. His article gets two pages while poor Vanessa only gets one.

Looking at the media in late 1984, there was definitely a trend.

(Yes, I did buy all three of those. Apparently, there are plenty of people out there selling 35-year-old magazines—and enough of us weirdos willing to buy them.)

Not everyone was so supportive of the exhumation, however. In a letter to the editor in The Times in London, a man claimed to be “appalled” by the disturbance of the graves on Beechey. But he seemed to be in the minority. When Owen Beattie and his research team returned to Beechey Island in 1986 to autopsy Hartnell and Braine, they were accompanied by a documentary crew from Nova. Torrington’s image had captivated the world, and that meant the world wanted to see what else the permafrost of Beechey had to offer. Nova would air its documentary on the autopsies of Hartnell and Braine, “Buried in Ice,” in 1988. A picture of Torrington made a brief cameo, but Hartnell and Braine got to be the stars in this one.

And then there was the book, the book, the one that many a Franklin fan admits was the spark that lit the fire of obsession and that would inspire authors, artists, and even musicians. Frozen in Time, written by Owen Beattie and John Geiger, was first published in 1987, and it became a bestseller. It would later be revised, complete with an introduction by author Margaret Atwood, in 2004, and again in 2017, with bonus material about the discovery of Franklin’s ships. I have three different copies, which is a normal amount to have.

Interestingly, in an article from the Associated Press after the second round of exhumations, it was reported that two books would be published about the findings, and that there were thousands of photographs to be released. If there’s a place where I could find these thousands of photographs, I would be thrilled, but I’ve never stumbled across so many. And there was never a second book published, at least not about the Franklin Expedition. Beattie and Geiger would write about a different Arctic tragedy, the 1719 expedition of Captain James Knight. That book, Dead Silence, did not go on to have the same level of fame as Frozen in Time, but then again, it didn’t feature mummies and lead poisoning.

Okay, I know I just said there wasn’t a second book about the Franklin Expedition from Beattie and Geiger, but that’s not exactly true. There wasn’t a second book—unless you count the children’s book, Buried in Ice.

Buried in Ice wasn’t really a new book. It didn’t present any new information, it was basically just the condensed version of Frozen in Time for kids, because you know how kids love dark, morbid stuff. No, seriously, they do. Most books about mummies that I’ve found are geared toward kids, and, of course, who didn’t go through a dinosaur phase at some point in their youth? Kids love creepy stuff, so of course John Torrington graced the cover of a book meant to be read by middle schoolers, including one middle schooler who would bring the book home to show his younger sister, who would completely freak out and then many years later write a series of blog posts about the scary dead guy on the cover.

Oh yeah, and he’s on the back cover too:

Don’t worry, I don’t have three copies of this one. I only have two.

What? The hardcover came with a poster!

It’s not just kids who love creepy stuff. The morbidity of the topic has attracted many adults, too. The Franklin Expedition is a subject filled with darkness—two ships vanishing into the Arctic, a crew with no survivors, desperate men resorting to cannibalism after being driven mad by lead poisoning, bones lying scattered across desolate ground where men fell as they walked, and yes, the ice mummies. In her introduction to Frozen in Time, Margaret Atwood described Torrington as looking “neither fully dead nor entirely alive.” His half-open eyes suggest that he’s seconds away from opening them all the way, but the exposed teeth suggest that he’ll be lunging for your throat when he does. In the book Arthur C. Clarke’s Chronicles of the Strange and Mysterious, the Franklin Expedition gets treated as a bizarre mystery alongside the likes of spontaneous human combustion, and it’s a picture of Torrington that introduces the topic, an obvious attempt at playing up the spookiness of the subject. Many online articles and websites today also use the pictures of Torrington, Hartnell, and Braine to lure in viewers with the creep factor.

But Torrington didn’t solely become creepy, undead-looking, reader-bait—although there are those who have used him as such—he also became the poster boy for the expedition itself. Sure, it was Sir John Franklin’s expedition, but it was an ordinary, working-class sailor who managed to withstand the ravages of time and came to represent what the crew looked like to the modern world. In various documentaries, books, and articles about Franklin’s expedition, Torrington and the Beechey Boys usually get at least a brief shoutout, and whenever a picture is used of them, more often than not it’s Torrington. His frozen face—young yet somehow aged, alive yet dead—came to represent the tragedy of the story. He stood in for every sailor who left Britain, thinking they’d come home triumphant, but instead met their untimely fate far from the ones they loved. It literally put a face on the crewmen who ventured into the Arctic with Franklin, never to return. In a way, Torrington gained a second life, his story finally heard, his name not forgotten.

Next: Torrington’s influence on the arts, starting with the songs inspired by his exhumation.

<<Back | Next >>

Torrington Series Masterlist

#john torrington #franklin expedition

[almasexya]

Friend Request

Oh man do we ever have a howler tonight folks. This is the first time I’ve taken a stab at one of those spooky internet horror movies that are all the rage right now, and I did not know what I was missing, because this thing was both boring as all get out and an absolutely spectacular failure on pretty much all fronts.

So our plot is as follows: Psych major Laura Woodson (Alycia Debnam-Carey) is a normal college student at Generic University. She goes jogging, has fancy limo parties with her friends, lives in a ridiculously minimalist room, and spends lots of time posting about Normal Regular Girl things on her Not Facebook account. One day, Laura receives a friend request on Not Facebook from a girl named Marina Mills (Liesl Ahlers) who has no friends whatsoever (a stark contrast to Laura’s 800+) and a profile straight out of 2004′s worst nightmare.

I gotta take an aside to talk about poor Marina here, a character that was clearly made by some kind of deranged artificial intelligence. Despite being ostensibly an adult in college, Marina is an ugly, friendless stereotype that posts weird art, gore, and other disturbing images (all in black and white of course) and latches on to poor Normal Laura like a cancer. Already this movie is stretching my suspension of disbelief to the breaking point, and we’re not even twenty minutes in. Why would she have a facebook presence without anyone to view her content? How would she not have run into any of the twenty million other people who post gore and creepy horror art and are into witchcraft? The idea that this girl would have no friends in the year of our lord 20-fucking-17 is such an absolute catastrophe of clueless writing that it defies belief. Okay gotta get back on track here.

So Laura starts blowing Marina off because she keeps acting weird, culminating in a really awkward confrontation that leads Laura to “unfriend” Marina, an action so devastating to the poor weirdo that she kills herself, films it, and posts it on the internet, after which the horror movie kicks in.

Marina, who turns into some kind of demon with the power to create bad CGI wherever she goes, vows to ruin Laura’s life and make her feel true, everlasting loneliness. She achieves this by causing Laura’s friends to hallucinate and kill themselves, which is then filmed and uploaded to Laura’s Notbook page against her will, causing her to lose her precious friends as they bash her in the comments over these suicide videos that she just inexplicably has.

This is part of the movie that’s just baffling. So Marina the Unfriendly Ghost uploads video footage of people violently killing themselves on Laura’s account, as Laura, and Laura can’t delete them (or her account) because Marina won't let her. So she gets questioned by a couple of police detectives who seem rather bored by the whole snuff film suicide epidemic - they question Laura a few times but can’t trace the IP of who posted the videos, so they just kind of fuck off for the rest of the movie, even though this girl’s social circle is snuffing itself out on camera and she has all the video evidence of it conveniently on her profile. These guys make the cops from Manos look like a credit to the force.

So Laura gets suspended from school, which gives her plenty of time to go around solving the mystery of who Marina was, though she doesn’t get too far since the movie doesn’t know either. She had a spooky troubled childhood, but none of it really adds up, and the movie just kind of gives up on any pretense of writing as soon as it posits that she's a witch who committed ritual suicide to summon an evil demon so she could fuck with facebook.

The acting on display is serviceable, though the characters are so one-note and boring that nothing really matters much. Besides the montage theme at the beginning there’s really not much of a soundtrack to speak of either, and the camera work is also fine. The absolute best part of the movie is when the obligatory Character Who Knows About Computers tries to check the code on Marina’s profile only to discover that it’s HAUNTED CODE that no one can delete. The clip is here if you want to see it, honestly it’s the only part of this thing worth seeing.

Honestly I’ve been facetious with this movie but real talk its use of suicide as a plot device is downright vile. The character of Marina is obviously mentally ill, but she’s portrayed as an obsessive, aggressive creep who is in no way sympathetic for the viewer - she’s a stereotypical horror movie villain who uses suicide as a means to an end, and it’s pretty disgusting writing, especially in today’s climate, where people in real life have committed suicide over social media.

It wouldn’t have been hard to make a movie about how actually horrifying the internet is in this day and age, but the writers of Friend Request took the easy way out and made a lazy ghost story with a social media veneer, and they sure as shit didn’t need to vilify a damaged, suicidal person to do it. Shame on you.

All in all, if you’ve got a squad together and want something to rip into, and don’t mind the exploitative plot, you’ll have no shortage of fun with this movie, but solo viewers should stay away.

#kraig's horror marathon #suicide tw

[im-fairly-whitty]

10 Starters

Tagged by @slusheeduck for the “10 Starters Challenge.” Essentially taking the first line of 10 of your fics/works (or the first paragraph to get the vibe of it.) 

It was so so much fun digging through my story trunk and remembering all these fantastic projects! Here we go:

1. The Arbrel

My very first novel, started this one when I was fifteen and it's a loose mess of a plot featuring people who have animal-based superpowers. 

Unfinished and always will be. 

Mitch dashed down the alley, his stolen prize grasped tightly in his hand as he weaved around crushed cardboard boxes and jumped over loose piles of leaves. The cold October air bit through the holes in his jeans and the hood of his sweatshirt slid off, baring his short dark hair to the chilled twilight of the Minnesota evening.

2. Dr Who fanfic

I thought Coco was my first foray into fanfic, but then remembered an old Dr Who self-insert drabble I wrote forever ago. 

For some reason I've forgotten, it seems to have been part of a homework assignment.

A package of gluten-free spaghetti, that’s all I had wanted when I walked through the automatic doors of my neighborhood Smith’s. Instead of procuring my pasta as according to plan, I now found myself precariously perched upon the ice cream freezer.

3. Honey Rubies

There was a spooky story contest at a Haloween party I attended in high school. Wrote this oneshot from the point of view of a disturbingly cheerful clinically insane murderer and swept away first prize no contest after completely terrifying my friends. 

Maybe available for posting if requested.

I love my white chair, it is solid and secure and always there. I know it is always there. Around it spreads a beautiful field of emerald grass that stretches to a horizon of blue that soars up to form a ceiling of azure far above my head. I call this place Amy. The first Amy was a person, not a place, she was always there too. Until one day she wasn’t.

4. Hitman for Hire: Unfinished Business Only

A story about a hitman who takes business from spirits with unfinished business, killing their murderers so that the spirits can move on before warping into dangerous poltergeists like the one that killed his mother, who was a psychic. 

I only ever wrote the first chapter of this one since I decided I wasn't comfortable jumping down the dark rabbit hole that this story would require (it would definitely be an M rating and I don't like wandering past pg-13), but I do love the chapter a lot. I could be convinced to post what I have already if requested, but will likely remain unfinished.

“... and once the ladder tipped I fell right on the fence below. It was a two-story fall! And then my idiot brother-in-law just watches me bleed out, a piece of rebar through my neck. You ever bled to death? Like, it’s quick, but not that quick.” The lanky man rubbed a hand on his neck, grimacing.

5. How to Hate the Planet Earth 

An alien scout has just finished her report that the Earth is ready for harvesting but is feeling guilty about having doomed the planet and its population that she's come to love. Now with three days before the end of Earth she recruits a depressed and confused art student to help her find all the reasons to hate Earth to make her feel better. 

A finished 30k romp of a story featuring a one-eared cat, a retaliatory gang, and an overall "Good Omens/Hitchhiker's guide to the galaxy" vibe. Could possibly be convinced to post, but it’ll need editing first.

Taking a sip of coffee Hinge picked up her pen with new resolve, focusing on the bitter taste. 

The native’s addictive stimulant of choice, “coffee...”

She took another sip of the disgusting, awful, really despicable drink. 

...causes headaches if the habit is not sustained...

Her next sip had an extra taste of vanilla.

...which isn’t hard, since the delicious...

Frowning she crossed it out and tried again, taking another swig, savoring the nutmeg. 

The terrible, not tasty, not amazing nutmeg she had discovered yesterday while taste-testing all the different kinds of flavors you could order.

6. Never City

A dystopian retelling of Peter Pan, Sixteen-year-old Peder isn't happy when the Tinker asks him to kidnap two young boys before the government does. He and his group of robotic lost boys prefer to stay hidden in the shadows of Never City, but he agrees anyway. He doesn't want the government to trap the minds of John and Michael Darling in digital "lifechips" like they did with the lost boys Peder now cares for. 

 It’s a full and polished YA novel manuscript I was shopping around to agents last year, but not sure if I'm going to anymore since my writing has improved a ton since then so I’m feeling stuck in limbo with this one.

Peder had plenty of experience reviving the dead, he just needed to work a bit faster than usual tonight.

7. Nightmare Knight

There is a man that’s been in Samantha’s dreams for months now. No, not “the man of her dreams,” literally a man, always in the background, just casually watching her from a distance every night. She’s never able to talk to him, so when he shows up at her house one morning to offer her an apprenticeship as a nightmare slayer, she’s more than intrigued. Her real life is a dead end as far as she’s concerned, and maybe she sort of had to lie to her new mentor and kind of run away from home, but she’s not going to let anything keep her from taking full advantage of this chance to escape her real life. Little does she realize that in the dreamscape, her devil-may-care attitude will lead to attracting all kinds of devils who DO care, unleashing exactly the kind of monsters she’ll be training to kill. By the time she does realize it, it might be too late.

I have a full finished novel manuscript of it but am currently rewriting it.

“I am dreaming. I am paying attention.” Samantha said aloud, focusing as hard as she could.

8. Hillbriar

Dani Hillbriar, youngest of three, has enough problems in her fifteen-year-old life before she wakes up coughing sparks one morning, not to mention the scaly rash on her shoulder. Turns out that her brother, sister and father are having the same unexpected health issues, which reaches a terrifying crescendo when her brother Marcos sprouts giant leathery wings right in the middle of the living room. Turns out that Dad's crazy uncle has left the family a huge property in the middle of Montana in his will, an apparently magical property that happens to comes with the ability to turn into a dragon in order to protect it. Something that neither Dani, her family, or the dragon community at large are at all pleased about as the family is pulled into the secret-ridden politics of the Hillbriar family that have been covered for years. 

A novel I have planned out but is mostly unwritten, I'll be working more on it sometime.

It's not like like I woke up planning to burn my house down, I'm not a freak. It just kind of happened.

9. For Whom the Bell Tolls - Coco

Baby's first real fanfic (not counting the Dr Who drabble). Ernesto De la Cruz a year post movie decides to pay Miguel a visit to give the kid a taste of what regret feels like.

It had been a year since paradise had turned to hell.

10. The Way You Keep Me Guessing: Coco Teacher AU

Yall know this one. Here’s the first line of the first chapter I did for it. Imelda was still angry with Hector, meaning that when he was late to the welcome-back assembly she couldn’t text him to see where he was. She’d maintained complete radio silence for three months now despite his best efforts and was very proud of herself for it.

***

If you’ve got 10+ works to choose from and the fancy hits you, go ahead and tag yourself! This was a lot of fun and is making me itch to get back to some of my original works projects.

#long post #wit writes #10 starters #this was a ton of fun #thanks slush!

[keeping-an-eye-out]

Oh boy, I swear these posters get scarier every year. The interns discovered 3D word art this year, to some mixed results. And are they trying to give the kids nightmares? I gotta say, those clown pumpkins will be in my dreams tonight.

Anyways, it’s OCTOBER! Y’all know what that means. Pumpkin competitions, eating fried dough and puking it up on the Gravitron, pot-bellied hog races, and Mayor Mallowood’s uh, questionable DJ-ing skills. Yeah baby, the Gloaming Harvest Festival is back full swing, and you bet I’ll be winning that costume competition. Those third-grader Spidermans and store-bought Among Us cosplayers don’t stand a chance. 

Bring your friends, your family, your dog, your uncle, whatever. And you better come find me near the Main St. fountain on the 31st for an interview or anonymous tip-off about any juicy drama about town. I’m dying for some dirt. Come chat, grab some candy. What have you. Meet my dog, Creepypasta (Pasta for short.) She’s a very good girl. Follow my podcast, grab a copy of my zine, et cetera. [Shameless self-promo over.] It’ll be a fun time. 

‘Tis almost that “very witching time of night, when churchyards yawn and hell itself breathes out Contagion to this world” - Willy Shakes. Aka SPOOKY SEASON!

As we say here in Gloaming, good tidings be with ye, and See y’all there!

#gloaming sc #podunk capital of the world #unfiction #freelance journalism #professional journalism #local blogging #alternate reality #web series

[green-eyeddragonfanfiction]

A Night to Remember, Part 1: The Handsome Boyfriend

Summary: It’s the spookiest time of the year, and your boyfriend, Steve Rogers, has decided to surprise you. However, darker things lurk in the shadows. Pairing: Hunter!Bucky x Reader, Vampire!Steve x Reader Warnings: Language (as always) Word Count: ~1,013 A/N: This is in the same vein as the Monster Series, but it’s a different ship, so... it’s a standalone. I couldn’t help myself. I wanted more spooky monster stories with my two favorite MCU boys. This will be a short series, but not a one-shot, either. I hope to have it done by Halloween.

Masterlist // Next Chapter

Halloween.

The spookiest day of the year, where ghosts and ghouls came out to play.

And it just had to be on a fucking Tuesday.

You sighed and hastily made your way to your car. It was getting dark early now and the chilly October breeze bit your skin through your thin jacket. You glanced around warily; you didn’t feel like waiting around for some creep to attack you. You fumbled around in your purse for your keys, pulling them from its depths with a relieved sigh. Your key was an inch away from the lock when someone grabbed your arm.

You yelped and spun, key between your fingers, fist pulled back with every intent to maim the poor fool who tried to hurt you.

Your coworker, Henry, stood there, wide-eyed, frozen in terror at your sudden ferocity. You looked him up and down before you relaxed, letting out a long sigh. Just Henry. Harmless, asthmatic Henry. Not some rapist or murderer.

“You, uh, dropped this back there,” he said shakily as he held your phone out to you and pointed to a spot on the ground a few yards behind him. “Thought you might want it back,” he said, eyeing your hand warily, clearly afraid that you’d stab him through the eye with your car keys at any moment.

Fuck. You were so paranoid sometimes. You put on a charming smile and took your phone back from him. “Thank you so much, Henry. I would have been a wreck if this had gotten lost,” you said genuinely.

Sensing that he wasn’t about to get a car key through the cornea, he smiled back and murmured a “you’re welcome” before he turned and made a hasty retreat down the street.

You shoved your phone back in your purse and took a few deep breaths, returning your heart rate to a more normal level.

You turned back to your car, flipping through your keys for the right one.

“Man, he really saved your skin. I know how important your phone is to you,” said a voice directly beside you.

You let out a terrified screech for the second time that evening, this time dropping your keys in utter surprise. You whirled, facing this new danger.

Steve stood there, amused smile on his face. “Hey, sweetheart,” he said easily, bending down to pick your keys up for you.

“Steve! What are you doing here?” you asked, trying your best to calm your racing heart, shoulders slumping in relief.

He handed your keys back to you and leaned down to give you a chaste peck on the lips. “What, I can’t surprise my best girl after a long day of work?” he asked, pulling a bouquet of blood red roses from seemingly out of nowhere.

You grin like a love-struck idiot as you took the bouquet from him, put them up to your nose, and inhaled deeply. “You surprise me by dropping by after I’m done working and bring me flowers?” you asked rhetorically, turning your blinding smile on him. “You’re the best, you know that?” you said, standing up on your toes to kiss him on the cheek.

He smiled down at you, white teeth flashing in the dark. “Sorry, sweetheart. That honor’s already been claimed by you,” he said quietly as he gently caressed your cheek with his thumb.

You’d been dating Steve for the past few months. He’d quite literally swept you off your feet from the first moment you met him. He’d caught you when you accidentally bumped into him and lost your balance and hurtled towards the ground. You knew you were a goner the second you looked into those captivating blue eyes as he held you securely in his arms.

“Do you have plans tonight, handsome?” you asked, coy smile gracing your features as you looked up at him from behind your roses.

“I was hoping we could stay in, hand out candy to trick-or-treaters, and watch the Nightmare Before Christmas followed by Beetlejuice and Warm Bodies,” he said, eyes sparkling with hope.

You laughed, jumping up to throw your arms around his neck as you peppered his face and neck with kisses.

He laughed along with you, arms wrapping around your waist before he captured your lips with his. Your lips melded together perfectly and you completely forgot about the bitter chill in the air, too lost in this kiss to care.

“Could you be any more perfect?” you sighed happily, gazing at him affectionately.

“I could be you,” he said, eyes crinkling with tenderness as he set you down gently.

You rolled your eyes at him. “You’re a cheese ball,” you said as you untangled yourself from his arms. Your warm tone belied your words, though, and he handed you your keys before heading to the passenger side.

“But I’m your cheese ball. I take it you liked my plan?” he asked, peering over the hood of the car at you.

“It’s almost perfect,” you said mischievously as you unlocked the doors, throwing your stuff into the back seat.

“Almost?” he asked with grim curiosity from the passenger seat once you’d hopped into your seat.

“Costumes,” you said, grinning at him malevolently as you started your car.

Bucky’s POV

Bucky watched you and Steve from his spot in his car with rapt attention. Every move the two of you made- every soft look and lingering touch between the two of you- was a clue. His fingers tapped absently on his gun; it was loaded with silver bullets. They’d be enough to slow Steve down to get a kill shot in, when it came down to it. His state of the art bionic arm was resting idly on the car’s door, hand lazily gripping the steering wheel.

Finally, after years of following dead ends and tenuous-at-best leads, he’d tracked Steve down.

He waited until the two of you’d gotten into your car and driven a little bit farther down the street before he turned his car on and started following you. He’d gotten this far, and he didn’t plan on losing Steve again.

Next Chapter

Strikethrough indicates uncooperative tags.

Marvel Taglist: @feelmyroarrrr @in-winchester-we-trust @breezy1415 @thewonderfulworldofafangirl @starkspangledbarnes @aligatorinavest @acacheofstrange @stilliwait @drakkatz @weenie-butt @badassbaker @4theluvofall @dani-si @lostinspace33 @aberrant-annie @lostinthoughtsandfeelings @sebstanchrisevanchickforever19 @fatalcrossbow @with-a-hint-of-pesto-aiolii @palaiasaurus64 @titty-teetee

Bucky x Reader Taglist: @the-observant-fangirl @missrufflewaffles @epicbooklove @lucyvaughan-omg- @siriusleeblack @sophs-the-name @38leticia @timeladylaurel @kytty27 @santa-crew @nontimebomaladeusmeus @dragia @mlb4evah @hello-sweetie-get-the-salt

The Monster Series Taglist: @ipaintmelodies @d4rzill4 @axlesi @captainalinjastars @camambrosia @jasura @daybreakseventeen @fandoms-who @avocado-stocking​

#Steve Rogers #steve x reader #steve rogers x reader #Bucky Barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #Vampire!Steve #Hunter!Bucky #marvel fanfiction #Spooktober

[thisislizheather]

February Feats

So happy that February flew by this year, although with no snow in New York it felt a little sacrilegious. I think this has been the least snow I’ve ever experienced in a winter in my life and it feels awful. There’s still a few weeks left of the season, so I guess that could change but I mean snow in March? Give me a break. Here’s what went down this month.

NATHAN DID THE TONIGHT SHOW! And it was amazing. So crazy proud. I got to go with him to 30 Rock and everyone was so nice and it was incredible.

I rewatched As Good As It Gets and what a terrible movie! No way in hell would Helen Hunt get together with Jack Nicholson. C’mon.

I started watching The Haunting of Hill House and I don’t think I’ll continue. Reasons? 1. I don’t think I like horror shows. Movies? Sure, that’s a fun time with an end date of a few hours. 2. What awful parents would keep their millions of children in a house like that? 3. Maybe it was a bad idea to start this in February, when it’s nowhere near spooky season, that might be my fault.

Saw Happy Death Day 2U with Nathan on Valentine’s Day because I wanted to see something and WOOF, what a nightmare of a movie. I knew it would be terrible, but it still shocked me.

Read Ellie Kemper’s latest book.

Finally caught up to the end of season four on Broad City and goddam is that a perfect show. Excited to start season five soon.

I rebought Essie’s Apricot Cuticle Oil because I used to love it and then finished it and forgot about it. It’s such a great product but you do have to use it at least semi-daily to see a real difference in your cuticles.

Went to Charlie Palmer Steak for a Restaurant Week lunch and even though the environment is kind of stuffy, the food was really good. I love when pasta is offered as an appetizer, it’s always the perfect amount. The tagliatelle was really good and the steak sandwich was great (if not a little too bread-y). That sandwich is also the “official sandwich of Madison Square Garden” which everyone tells you a thousand times upon entering the restaurant, so that’s something too, I guess?

CANNOT WAIT FOR THIS SHOW TO COME OUT mainly because of how amazing the book is. Airs March 15!

Love that Trader Joe’s keeps putting out new candle scents. The Lemon Cookie one is fantastic.

Loved the Big Mouth Valentine’s Day special. Obviously over the moon pleased that the lady bug was in it.

So I tried Ree Drummond’s Caesar salad dressing recipe and I wasn’t a huge fan of her dressing itself  (Teigen’s dressing is better but of course it is because of the mayo), BUT I loved the way she does her croutons. They turn out really crunchy on the outside, but still super soft on the inside, it’s genius and I’ll include how to do it below.

Ree Drummond’s Croutons recipe: Slice the (French or ciabatta) bread into thick slices and cut them into 1-inch cubes. Throw them onto a baking sheet. Heat some olive oil in a small saucepan or skillet over low heat. Crush-but don't chop-the garlic and add them to the oil. Use a spoon to move the garlic around in the pan. After 3 to 5 minutes, turn off the heat and remove the garlic from the pan. Slowly drizzle the olive oil over the bread cubes. Mix together with your hands, and then sprinkle lightly with salt. Toss and cook in the pan until golden brown and crisp. Add a little butter for more flavor.

Honestly, those croutons were so good that I had a few leftover that I put in a pappardelle tomato pasta the next day and… whoa. Have you ever put croutons in a pasta before? Holy fuck was it good. The crunch factor in an otherwise texture-less dish was unbelievable. How is this not a thing that everyone is doing? We all need to wake the fuck up.

I also made Ina Garten’s cauliflower toast and my god, IT WAS AMAZING.

A new bar opened in my neighborhood called The Huntress, so we went and it’s pretty good! It’s mostly a wings places and they were really tasty (and that’s coming from someone who does not enjoy wings - the bones are too tiny and gross and no thanks), but these were really good. They also have poutine (!) on the menu, and even though the gravy is much too salty, the beautifully authentic curds were appreciated.

I always forget about the one bottle of Tom Ford nail polish I have, but it lasts me a full week whenever I wear it. I mean, the price is stupid, but it does last a decent amount of time.

Have you heard of the site or the book Desserts For Two? Pretty self-explanatory, but it’s created by a woman who makes recipes specifically for two people. I tried her chocolate cake recipe for Valentine’s Day and it was delicious. The cake was so good, but I really didn’t care for her frosting, if you do try this one definitely find a better icing recipe online or better yet just buy the premade one they sell at grocery stores. Or even just top it with Nutella. Fuck, I’m hungry now.

Watched all of Difficult People and I mean… SUCH a great show, which everyone obviously knows by now, it just took me awhile to finally get there and see it. Other than it being a great show, I was completely in awe of Julie Klausner’s wardrobe. I wanted everything she wore.

This Lemon, Bacon, Kale, Cauliflower pasta blew my face off, I made it three days in a row.

I rewatched a lot of the last season (spoilers ahead) of Dawson’s Creek (does it sound like a don’t have a job? I do! I just don’t work very hard) and when Jen dies and then Grams says to her, “I’ll see you soon, child. Soon.” I fucking sobbed. BUCKETS. My god. I mean, see for yourself. (And if your reaction isn’t quite as strong as mine… look inside yourself, maybe.)

I have wanted to try this Serious Eats  potato recipe forever so I did and it just didn’t work out the way I wanted it to. Some of the potatoes turned out the way they were supposed to, but you’re really supposed to do this technique with a real oven and not a tiny convection one like I have. The few that came out the way they were supposed to were really good and crispy on the outside and soft on the inside, but the effort involved in this recipe was too next-level. Maybe as a Thanksgiving recipe it’d make sense?

I watched the Versace series on Netflix and holy heavenly fuck, it’s a bad one. I only lasted about three episodes before I just couldn’t go any further. SO terrible.

Had a slice at Scarr’s in the Lower East Side and it was very decent, definitely one of the most solid pepperoni slices in that area. UPDATE: Definitely don’t go late at night, they’ve been sitting around all day and they suuuuuuck right before closing.

I now know how to make a steak at home and there’s no turning back now. I’ve been forever intimidated by cooking steak at home because it seemed like such a hard thing to do properly. (I did it once a few years ago and, like, tripled the amount of cream sauce I put on top and felt so sick I didn’t ever want to do it again.) But I did it on two separate occasions this month and I think I’m maybe kind of a pro at it now? This Tasty video helped so much. The only tip I can offer is to use normal salt and not the course kosher salt that I did on steak #1, that baby was inedible because of that course salt. Oh! And for the sauce that you obviously have to serve your steak with, it’s best to grind your own peppercorns in a spice grinder. I don’t know why, but I feel like this was the most important step. I have a lot of steak thoughts. I’ll stop.

I tried the tacos at Empellon Al Pastor in the East Village and while they were pretty good, I found them slightly on the expensive side for a place on Avenue A. We can all calm down a bit.

I visited Sweet Moment in Chinatown for a latte and it was a pretty cute experience even if the service was a little salty. If we’re being real, people only come here because Instagram exists, which isn’t necessarily a bad thing. The cream art choco latte that I had was ridiculous good, which makes sense because I have a sneaking suspicion that it’s just melted chocolate in a cup.

I visited the Glossier flagship store again because I was in the neighborhood and I (finally) tried out their Boy Brow. And let’s get this straight, I tried it on even though I already had other eyebrow products on (ColourPop’s Brow Boss Pencil as well as a little Milani Easybrow) which was maybe a dumb idea, but I didn’t want to wipe my eyebrows off and try the Glossier one incase it sucked and then had to walk around the rest of the day looking like a psychopath. SO, that being said, here’s what it looked like using all three products.

They look pretty full, right? I kind of think too full. I don’t know, maybe I’m a maniac. I should’ve done a before and after photo, not just an after. I just don’t see the big deal about their products. I feel like every item Glossier sells is something you need to use in combination with something else so it’ll actually look like something’s working. In conclusion, I have no idea if this is a good product or not and that’s really irritating, even to me.

Chrissy Teigen just announced that she’s gonna start her own website with new recipes! Amazing news!

I ate the pepperoni slice at Mama’s Too on the Upper West Side and all the good reviews about it ain’t lying. Crazy good slices. Might even be better than Prince Street Pizza.

I tried the mini Thickening Spray from Bumble & Bumble in my continued attempt at hair domination (and may I suggest that you always buy the mini size of any new hair product you’re trying? It makes so much more sense and is much cheaper) and it worked out well! I’ve only used it once but I think it’s a good product, next time I’ll definitely try it on my roots as well to see what it can really do. UPDATE: Definitely don’t spray it on your roots, it works much better if you use it sparsely on the rest of your hair when damp. 

I saw Waitress on Broadway and just wow. I haven’t been to a show in years and I forgot how much fun they are. This one was absolutely no exception. I went because a friend of mine that I met at the restaurant is in it, so I went to see her and not only was she phenomenal (Jessie Hooker-Bailey), the entire show was incredible. Joey McIntyre was great. Also? They had these mini pies for sale at intermission (genius) and the Salted Caramel Chocolate Pie is literally reason enough to go see this show. I need that recipe and I need it badly.

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Liz Heather (@lizheather) on Feb 28, 2019 at 9:13pm PST

I finally ate at Sardi’s (which is something I’ve wanted to do for years) and sat at (in my opinion) the best corner booth under Dr. Ruth. And while I wish I had more to gush about, I… don’t. Ugh! I really think I just ordered bad. I only got the steak tartare and it was probably the most disappointing one I’ve ever had, which sucks considering it was also the most expensive. I knew I should’ve ordered the crab cake. That being said, I will definitely return mainly because the service was so impeccable that you’d have to return. Everyone was crazy nice and accommodating and pleasant, this one is just my fault I think. Also, I need to stop ordering streak tartare. I’ve already found the place that makes it the best (The Dutch) so why the hell am I still looking? I feel like a happily married man who can’t stop looking for something better to come along. STOP!

HELLO BEST MONTH OF THE YEAR, MARCH!

#February Feats #monthly post #this is liz heather #Liz Heather #pizza NYC