#someone please explain to me how this man found a twenty six hour tree build to be a relaxing starter base

[syrren]

my favorite matador master door mattress store luscious tree elf

#goodtimeswithscar #gtws #hermitcraft #hermitcraft s9 #hermitcraft fanart #gtws fanart #myart #someone please explain to me how this man found a twenty six hour tree build to be a relaxing starter base #and yet also died at least ten times in the first five minutes of spawning in #mostly to his own friends #Legend

[lickstynine]

Misadventures of Kit: Chapter Twenty-Seven

written with @ocsickficsideblog

Kit and Siofra couldn’t have had more different methods of getting ready for a party. Back at her own flat, Siofra was wrapped in a towel, blow-drying her curls and digging through bathroom drawers in search of her red lipstick. Meanwhile, Kit was in his bathrobe, neurotically running a lint roller over his pressed suit for the tenth time.

He had showered this morning, spending nearly two hours washing, conditioning, and drying his own hair. Now it was carefully pinned up, safe and out of the way while he buttoned up his dress shirt. Along with the collar pins, he’d found rose gold cufflinks, clicking them onto his wrists and adding a sleek red vest and tie over his shirt.

“Al, are my pins even?” Kit asked, as if he hadn’t meticulously eyed each side of the collar, checking ten times before daring to poke through the fabric.

“Yes. For the millionth time,” Alistair said. He was the calmest of the lot, lounging back on the bed in his suit, jacket open, tie hanging loose. He’d never actually learned how to tie them properly, which was strange since he’d gone to a boarding school for six years where a tie was part of the uniform. He’d actually brushed his hair behind his ears for Kit’s sake, but it was already starting to wisp out around his face and stick upright again.

Once his own suit and tie were in place, Kit gestured for Alistair to come over, grabbing a dollop of pomade on his fingers to slick down the flyaways in Alistair’s messy mane. “Why don’t you just use product to keep it in place normally?” He asked, letting down his own hair to brush it again.

“Gross, don’t use that shit in my hair! Ugh, I hate pomade! And who even uses pomade anymore? Except octogenarians,” Alistair cried, his nose curling with disgust. He pulled a face at his reflection in the mirror. “I don’t even look like Alistair Renfrew anymore.”

“No, you look like an actual civilized human.” Kit replied, “And I would’ve had to wet your hair for gel to work well.” He just shook his head dismissively, sweeping his hair back to put in all his earrings.

“I hate hair gel. It’s sticky and cold and feels disgusting.”

Kit groaned in frustration. “I cannot deal with this today. Just shower as soon as we get back, if you hate it so much.” He leaned in closer to the mirror, dabbing concealer under his eyes, since they seemed to be perpetually shadowed these days. “I got a new burgundy mascara, but I’m a bit nervous to try it. Do you think it would look alright?”

“Of course it will. I’ll put it on you if you want. You’re shaking, Kit.”

“I'm not trying to!” Kit groaned. He handed the mascara tube to Alistair.

“I know, I wasn’t getting at you.” Alistair paused, going over to his cousin and wrapping his arms around him. “It’ll be okay.”

“Or it won't. What if Siofra and Father don't get along? What if I piss off both of them?” Kit fussed, twisting each ring as he put them on.

“Well, Siofra probably won’t get on with your father, but she knows from you not to stir up trouble. Siofra seems to like you, and besides, I’ve pissed her off and she forgave me. And your dad...just stay out of his way as much as possible,” Alistair said.

Kit nodded. “I want to go home. I like being home. I just… I can't be home when he's there, and it's stupid and I'm stupid and I hate it.” He continued to shake as he brushed over his hair one last time, spraying it in place. “Okay, we…We need to go. We have to pick up Siofra.”

Alistair sighed, wrapping an arm around Kit. “Come on then. I’ll look after you.”

Kit nodded, allowing Alistair to layer his coats over his suit before they left. He still shivered in the stairwell, pressing against the heated leather seats as soon as they got in Taddy's car.

“Evening, sirs.”

“Hey, Taddy,” Alistair said, not at all formal. He’d given up on telling Taddy not to call him sir - it was just a habit - but he was going to make it clear he didn’t have any airs and graces.

“We're off to pick up Miss Siofra now, yes?”

“Yeah.” Kit mumbled, though he didn't sound excited. As the car took off, he swallowed nervously, clutching Alistair's hand. Alistair squeezed Kit’s back, sitting close beside him protectively. When they pulled up outside, Kit texted Siofra, and she bustled out looking like a buff ginger Cinderella.

The dress really did look splendid on her, and she and Kit had found some red opera-length gloves, as well as a red and rose gold Louboutin clutch. The outfit was impeccable, head to toe, and her curls were smoother and glossier than ever, with an elaborate braid woven into some of the upper strands, collecting in a rose-shaped bun. Kit forced a smile as she climbed into the car.

“You look stunning.”

“You look terrified.” She replied. “You gonna be okay?”

Kit nodded, swallowing nervously. “I'll be fine after a glass or two of wine.”

“Didja eat at least?” Siofra eyed him worriedly. She didn't want to him drinking on an empty stomach.

Kit just nodded, deliberately leaving out the information that he puked his nervous guts up in the shower.

“You scrub up pretty nice, Siofra,” Alistair said, raising his eyebrows.

“And you figured out how to use a hairbrush.” She grinned.

“Kit did my hair.”

“That explains it.” Siofra laughed. “You actually look like an adult, it's fuckin’ weird.”

“So what do I normally look like?” Alistair asked.

“A high schooler that writes depressing poetry in a black notebook.”

“That’s more Jasper’s thing. I sketched depressing things in my black notebook.”

Siofra rolled her eyes. “Congratulations, you're special.” Taddy snickered from up front.

“That’s what they called the special needs kids,” Alistair said. “I used to have to go once a week to work on my shitty spelling. They all seemed baffled when I didn’t score very highly on the dyslexia test. Guess I just can’t fucking spell.”

Siofra snorted. “You're literally a professional idiot.”

“Then I should be as rich as Kit, because I’m doing an amazing fucking job of it.”

That actually got a weak laugh out of the older boy, and Siofra grinned. “Hey! You woke the dead.”

Alistair smiled a bit, wrapping his arm around Kit. “Help me protect him tonight, Siofra. He won’t be able to dance much without rests in between, but the girls love him.”

“He's got a fuckin’ date, they can dance with someone else!” Siofra huffed dramatically.

“It’s not really like that, you generally dance with lots of people. You just dance with the girl you brought the most,” Alistair said. “It’s like fucking Pride and Prejudice, trust me.”

Siofra scrunched her nose. “I'm not dancing with any skeevy older blokes.”

“There’ll be lots. I used to try to get Kit to join in counting the inappropriate ass-pats but he never did.”

“I'll break their fuckin’ fingers. Or just step on their feet. These heels are metal.” Siofra smirked.

Alistair grinned too. “Please do. That’ll provide the entertainment.”

Kit sighed. “If you could both not start a riot tonight, that'd be delightful.”

“I said I’d be good,” Alistair said.

“Mm.” Kit didn't seem reassured, and as the houses outside the window started getting nicer, he shifted nervously. Alistair wrapped an arm around him.

“It’s gonna be okay.”

“Mm.” Kit nodded, but when the car stopped, he didn't move to get out. Meanwhile, Siofra had climbed out, and she was gawking at the towering red-brick building, every floor glittering with Christmas lights.

“Fuckin’ hell! You said you lived in a manor, not a bleedin’ castle!”

“It's a manor.” Kit mumbled, still sunken into the leather seat.

“Castles are older,” Alistair said. “It’s just a big ass house.”

“Jaysus…” Siofra shook her head, then turned to tug on Kit's arm. “Oi. If we go in without you, we're gonna get booted right back out.”

Kit sighed, allowing her to pull him out of the car. His legs wobbled as he walked up the drive, and he hesitated to knock. Siofra banged on the door before he could run, and a servant girl let them in with a warm smile.

“Evening, Master Kit. It's good to see you.”

“You, too.” Kit mumbled. He shed his coats and handed them to her; Siofra did the same with her shimmery gold shawl. Alistair sighed but handed her his coat too, pulling a face. She smiled and carried their coats away. Kit shifted nervously on his feet, afraid to enter the ballroom. Alistair pressed close to his side protectively.

“Come on, no point hovering here getting more and more worried.”

Kit nodded, but his shoes dragged on the rug as he shuffled along. He again hesitated at the doors, but Siofra yanked them open. The ballroom was grand as ever, with a towering tree nearly touching the vaulted ceiling. There were lights and garlands on the walls, as well as live music and a massive spread of refreshments.

Alistair glanced around disdainfully. “Look at all this, Siofra. Do you think Reggie gives anything to any sort of charity?”

“Don't all rich old wankers donate? Just to look good or whatever?” she asked.

“Not the ones who were born into money. They don’t need public opinion on their side. My parents have to donate, because they want to sell their shit.”

“Slimy old cunts.” Siofra mumbled. Kit tried to slip away to the bar, but she grabbed his arm. “Come on, don't we have someone to see?”

“Don't remind me.” Kit groaned. He only had to look around for a moment to spot his father. Even in a room full of big heels and elaborate updos, Reggie towered over most of the crowd. He was standing by the snacks, chatting with a man about the same age who Kit recognized but couldn't have named to save his life. “Well, he's busy right now. We can see him later.”

“Oh, stuff it. You're going to say that all night.” Siofra tugged Kit through the crowd, towards the party's host. Alistair trailed along behind them, trying not to look like he loathed his uncle and everything he stood for. It was hard to ignore the beacon of red and gold that was Siofra, and Reggie turned to look at her before even noticing who she was with.

“Christian.” Reginald quickly smoothed out his face, trying to act like he hadn’t been staring at his son’s date’s cleavage. “Who is this with you?”

Kit was shaking where he stood, but he managed to keep his voice even when he spoke. “This is Siofra. I’ve been seeing her for about a month now.”

She lifted her skirt in a slight curtsey. “Pleasure to meet you.”

Reggie nodded, the gears in his brain turning in slow motion. “Siofra… what is that, Irish?”

“Yes, sir.” Siofra nodded. “Born and raised. I moved here for university.”

“Oh, you’re educated?” Reggie seemed surprised, as if it were 1953 and not 2018.

“Yes, sir. I have a bachelor’s in Music Theory and Composition.”

“You play any instruments?” Reggie asked.

“Violin, mostly, but I can do basics on piano and guitar.” Siofra said. Unlike Kit, she wasn’t at all intimidated, and she talked easily, answering more of Reginald’s questions and telling him about the orchestra her father played in. “They came through London recently, you might have seen them?”

Reggie nodded, though he had no idea whether he’d actually gone. “Yes, I think I did. Have you gotten anything to drink?”

“Not yet, we just came in.”

“Go find something you like. We have quite the selection.” Reggie told her. Siofra didn’t hesitate - free booze was great, free expensive booze was even better. Kit spun around to follow after her, but before he could take a step, a powerful hand latched onto his shoulder. “Not so fast, boy.”

Kit felt his heart stop in his chest. He took a shuddering breath, slowly turning to face Reggie again. To his shock and confusion, the older man was grinning.

“That’s a nice broad you’ve found there. Smart, cultured, great tits. I doubt you’ll be able to, but try to keep this one. She’s worlds better than the peasant faggot you had before.”

It was all Kit could do to nod, and he bolted for the drink table as soon as Reginald let go of him. A thousand confused thoughts were clamoring in his head, and he didn’t feel like listening to any of them. He nearly ran into a waiter, apologizing profusely and snatching a glass of champagne from the man’s tray. “Thank you.”

“Of course, sir.” The waiter walked off, and Kit emptied the flute in a single gulp, shuffling over to see Siofra, who was sipping a glass of whiskey and stacking hors d'oeuvres on a plate.

Alistair had been completely ignored, as usual. He was desperate to comment and start an argument with his uncle - but he’d promised Kit he’d behave. He contented himself with scowling as fiercely as he could at Reggie instead. Siofra patted Kit’s shoulder, offering him a snack cake.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

Kit just shook his head, nudging the plate away and begging a waiter for more champagne. Alistair stomped over to them, still glowering. “God, I wish I could smack him one.”

“Did you talk to him?” Kit asked, gesturing for the waiter to stay.

“No. I wanted to tell him off. It was actually a real struggle to keep quiet and not start a row. I may have a problem.”

“May?” Siofra smirked.

“Shut up. You made a good impression. He liked your tits. Welcome to the family,” Alistair said dryly.

Siofra snorted. “Yeah, right charming bastard he is.”

“Isn’t he just? I didn’t even get a hello.”

“I don’t think he even saw you. He was too busy staring at Siofra’s chest.” Kit mumbled.

“Gross… She’s young enough to be his daughter.” Alistair paused. “I think…”

“How old d’you think I am?” Siofra cried.

“I dunno. Older than Kit.”

Siofra rolled her eyes. “Truly a professional idiot.”

Kit chuckled into his champagne, holding his flute out yet again for the waiter.

“Kit, slow down,” Alistair said. “Eat some bread or something.”

“I don't want to eat. I want to be drunk.” Kit argued, swiftly emptying his glass again.

“That won’t go down well.”

Kit rolled his eyes. “I’m not doing shots, it’s bloody champagne. I’ll be lucky if I’m buzzed before midnight.”

“Midnight? We're stayin’ that late?” Siofra asked.

“They’ll want Kit to stay for the long haul,” Alistair said. “Once when we were really little, nobody actually took us to bed. Kit’s mum found us at two in the morning asleep behind the curtains.”

“Oh… shit.” Siofra pulled out her clutch to check the time on her phone.

Kit frowned. “Are you that ready to leave?”

“No, I don’t hate it here. I just… I have to leave tonight.”

“Well, it might be late, but we won’t spend the night here.” Kit reassured her.

Siofra shook her head. “No, not leave the party. Leave the country. It’s an eight hour drive to Dublin, and I have to be at my gran’s for Christmas. Normally, we’d’ve left by now, but the lads agreed to wait for me.”

Kit looked horrified. “I wouldn’t have invited you if I’d known you were busy!”

“I coulda said no.” Siofra replied, struggling to type through her gloves. “I wanted to come, I just didn’t schedule it that well. Just lemme shoot my brothers a text.”

“You can go early. I’ll look after Kit,” Alistair said.

“I feel bad leavin’ ya here…” Siofra sighed. “Especially when your family is such a gaggle’o wankers.”

Alistair snorted at the phrasing. “We’re used to that.” Kit nodded in concession, though he didn’t look very happy. Siofra glanced back at her phone, seeming surprised by the answer on the screen.

“You two wanna come with me?”

Kit went from reluctant to baffled in the blink of an eye. “Excuse me?”

Siofra sipped nonchalantly at her drink. “I texted the family groupchat, told ‘em I’d be leavin’ late since I’m out with a guy I’m seein’. Dad said ‘Bring ‘im with, if he’s so important.’ So I’m askin’. You lads wanna come to Christmas with me?”

Alistair glanced at Kit. “Jules is going to that crazy grandma’s house with his family. He wouldn’t mind if I went with you.”

Kit looked completely stunned by the idea. “I've never been to a family Christmas before.” He obviously didn't consider the ball a family event, even if the Raycraft name was plastered on every invitation in gold leaf. “Do you want me to go?” He asked Siofra.

“Obviously, stupid.” She nudged his shoulder. “I wouldn't have said anything if I didn't.”

Kit turned back to his cousin, trying to pawn the decision off on literally anyone else. “Al? Do you want to go?”

“Maybe she didn’t mean I could come too,” Alistair said, glancing at her.

“No, I said you lads. Plural. I know your clingy arse is gonna follow Kit if he comes long.” Siofra smirked.

Alistair poked his tongue out at her. “Okay then. We’ll come.”

“I'll tell Riagán to make sure there's room in the car.” Siofra picked up her phone again.

Kit fished in his pockets for his own phone. “If you're going to be kind enough to have us, I can at least have Taddy drive us.”

“Is there room for all of us in his bougie little sedan?” Siofra asked.

“We have other vehicles.” Kit shrugged. “I'll send Taddy to get Al's and my things from the flat, then he can go help your brothers pack their things.”

“Damn… and suddenly I'm back to not feelin’ like the generous one.” Siofra mumbled.

“Please allow it. It's my only good quality.” Kit said, not looking up from his phone.

“You’ve got plenty of good qualities,” Alistair argued.

“My looks don't count.” Kit deadpanned.

“You're a pretty good shag.” Siofra offered.

“You’re no help, Siofra,” Alistair said.

She huffed and took a bite of a tiny cake. “I listed an example. What did you do?”

“I could list a hundred things.”

“You can count to a hundred?” Siofra feigned surprise.

Kit tried not to snicker. “Please bicker later. I need you two to protect me. Proper dancing will start any minute now.” He sucked down another flute of champagne in preparation.

“Then it’d be better if you could stand upright, you lush. Stop drinking,” Alistair said.

Kit rolled his eyes. “Way to make a boring party worse.”

“Hey, you’ll thank me when you don’t puke down the front of some poor girl’s dress.”

“That's more your wheelhouse, isn't it?”

Kit didn't get his question answered, as that was the moment the music picked up and guests swarmed the dancefloor. Siofra practically carried him along, doing her best to dance the girl's part while both holding Kit's weight and towering over him in her heels. Alistair paired up with some little sister who didn’t want to dance seriously either, and they twirled about on their own in the corner.

Kit rolled his eyes when he caught sight of his cousin. “He's always been like that.”

“An idiot?” Siofra asked.

“Well, yes, but I was going to say unique. He does what he wants no matter what, and he's proud of it. I've never had the courage to be like that.” Kit sighed.

Siofra shrugged. “Everybody has their faults. You're still the smart one. And the pretty one. And the charming one. And the rich one.”

Now Kit couldn't help smiling. “You really know how to stroke my ego.”

“And I can flatter ya, too.” Siofra grinned.

Kit scoffed, but he was grinning too. “You're filthy.”

“And you like it.”

Kit didn't argue with that, chuckling and pulling closer to Siofra as they drifted across the dance floor. As the song drew to a close, though, he felt a flutter of dread. Siofra gave his hand a reassuring squeeze as she let him go. “I'll be back for ya.��� She promised, spinning around to find a swarm of older men vying eagerly for her hand.

Alistair wanted to go rescue Kit, but in the flurry of partner-swapping he was pushed towards a girl about his own age with a very long nose that she looked down in disgust. She clearly knew who Alistair was, because she scowled fiercely as she was prodded into asking him for the next dance, and took his hands gingerly, as if she thought he had fleas. Alistair caught Kit’s eye over his shoulder and pulled a hideous face.

Kit made a distressed face back. Not because his girl was hideous, but because she was athletic, and unlike Siofra, this stranger expected him to hold his own, spinning and sashaying in time with the upbeat music.

Alistair tried to watch him as they danced, not paying attention properly to his own partner. When he’d learned to ballroom dance at boarding school, there’d been no girls, and Alistair was usually paired with a tall boy to dance the female part. If he didn’t focus properly he was liable to start letting his partner lead him, and he soon stepped wrong and collided with the girl, both of them stumbling.

The girl fell on her hands and knees, scowling at him. “Oaf! What are you doing?”

“I haven’t done this in a while, okay?” Alistair hissed, blushing. He’d been about to help her up but now he just folded his arms.

“Clearly. This is why people talk about you.” She grumbled, climbing to her feet and smoothing her dress.

“Yeah, not really. You’re fine anyway.”

“No thanks to you.” She scowled. The music died down and she hurried away, while Kit and Siofra once again fought off a swarm of new partners.

The little sister came back to Alistair, dragging him off to a corner again. “Nice one.”

“Shut up,” Alistair said, grinning and peering through the crowd to make sure Kit wasn’t about to collapse. The older boy was too far away to see, save for the occasional flicker of red hair. He was surviving for now, but starting to get winded. Alistair couldn’t exactly yell for him across the hall - not when he’d promised Kit he’d behave - so he just sighed and hoped Siofra was taking care of him.

The next dance was a slow one, which gave Kit a chance to breathe, but three minutes’ reprieve was quickly wasted when the music picked back up. He started stumbling later in the dance, and the girl with him looked annoyed.

“Sorry. Sorry. I'm just a bit tired,” he mumbled, “Getting over a cold.”

The girl's face softened a bit, and she slowed her pace. Kit smiled gratefully, and they spun across the floor. His next partner wasn't quite as gentle, and within a few songs, he was stumbling and wheezing again. Siofra watched with worried eyes, trying to break through the crowd of thirsty men to rejoin him. When she tried to get close, another girl was reaching for Kit, but she shamelessly hip-checked the stranger away.

“Oi! That's my date. Get your own.”

Alistair snorted from behind her, and the crowd of children he was goofing around with all giggled too. Kit mouthed an apology to the girl, but he was secretly quite grateful, nearly collapsing in Siofra's arms. She caught him easily, but looked quite worried. “Jeez. You really need a lie-down.”

“This is exhausting.” Kit groaned.

“I know. Would ya get in trouble for sittin’ down a few minutes?”

Kit sucked his teeth. “Maybe?”

“Sit down, Kit. Fainting will get you in more trouble,” Alistair said.

“I suppose you’re right.” Kit sighed, letting Siofra drag him over to an empty chair. He sunk down at once, his legs limp as overcooked pasta and his lungs burning. “Oh, god, I don’t know how I survived this long. I feel like I’m dying.”

Siofra rolled her eyes. “Easy there, drama queen. Have some water, maybe actually eat somethin’. You’ll be alright.” She fanned him with her clutch, half to match his dramatic nature, and half because he actually looked close to fainting.

“Just have some bread or something. Even you can’t throw that up,” Alistair said.

Kit just nodded, looking at Alistair hopefully. “Can you bring some?”

“I guess,” he said grudgingly, weaving his way through the crowds to the food. It was mostly occupied by bored, hungry kids and those too old to dance. A tiny lady who looked old enough to be his great-grandmother gave him a crinkly smile, croaking at him about how handsome he was. Alistair was pretty confused, but it made a change from everyone saying he was a disappointment, so he smiled back. She patted his arm, sticking a cupcake on his plate and shuffling away.

Alistair took some of the fancy bread rolls to Kit, still looking confused. “Who’s that old woman, Kit?” He pointed her out through the crowd.

Kit squinted across the room, mumbling about needing new glasses. “Why are you asking me for someone’s name? I know she’s the wife of a Lord, so just look for Moses’ older brother and that’s probably who she’s here with.” He picked apart a roll, taking a tiny bite of one of the flakey corners. Siofra offered him a water she’d snatched from a passing waiter, and he sipped gratefully.

“Well she was actually nice to me. It was weird. Maybe she’s looking for healthy young organs.”

“Probably just senile.” Siofra shrugged. Kit chuckled into his water.

“Thanks a bunch,” Alistair said. “She said I look handsome.” He stuck his tongue out at Siofra.

“Definitely senile.” She grinned.

“Funny. You’ve done well tonight. Plenty of guys buzzing round you.”

“I wish most’o those creepy old bastards would piss off. I ain’t had my arse grabbed that many times in a skeevy pub.” Siofra grumbled.

“Told you,” Alistair mumbled.

“Sorry.” Kit sighed, picking at his bread.

Siofra rolled her eyes. “I ain’t really bothered. Just wish I could slap the fuckers like I do at the pub.”

“I’ll tell you from experience that it doesn’t go down too well if you do that,” Alistair said.

“Yeah, I figured.” Siofra scowled. She could see guys drifting towards her as the song playing drew to an end, and she made a point to sit down next to Kit with her back to them.

Alistair smirked. “God, his face was priceless then, Siofra.”

She grinned back. “Good, it can be priceless somewhere else. I gotta take care’o my princess.” She reached over and stole a piece of Kit’s roll, since he was tearing it apart more than eating it.

“Kit, eat some of that. Don’t let Miss Gannet eat it.”

“Oi! I’m not the one whose fat arse left for bread and came back with cake.” Siofra huffed.

Kit picked up one of the tiny morsels of roll, chewing slowly as if he needed to make it last.

“The woman gave me cake,” Alistair retorted.

“Probably cause your fat arse looked hungry.”

“Well I am. I’m eating one cupcake, Mother.”

“Don’t call me that unless ya want me to whoop your arse.” Siofra smirked.

“We can provide the entertainment.”

Siofra just rolled her eyes, grabbing a flute of champagne from a passing waiter and sucking it down. “Come on, lads, we can’t hide at the table all night.” She stood back up and offered a hand to Kit. He sighed, not excited to dance again, but knowing she was right.

“Be careful with him,” Alistair said.

“I will. I’m keepin’ ‘im to myself this time. Those other whores had their chance.” Siofra scooped Kit up as easily as a child would lift a doll, twirling back onto the dance floor.

The rest of the night passed in relative peace, though Kit was nearly comatose with exhaustion by the time the clock struck midnight. Guests toasted and cheered, and he stumbled around on Siofra’s arm wishing everyone merry Christmas and farewell. They didn’t have to bother saying goodbye to Reggie - by now, he was so plastered, the Queen herself could’ve sung him a carol and he wouldn’t have remembered in the morning.

Though she’d had more to drink than her beau, Siofra was still quite steady on her feet, practically carrying the tired and tipsy Kit back to the front door. Alistair had only sipped one glass, so he held Kit by his other arm. The servant girl from earlier came bustling out with their coats, and Siofra made sure to bundle Kit up before they stepped outside. Taddy was loyally waiting in the drive, but today, he was sitting in the driver’s seat of a sleek black Volvo rather than his usual Bentley. The SUV had been packed to the brim with luggage (mostly Kit’s, along with a bag or two from everyone else), and the middle row seats were occupied by Riagán, Cillian, and Finny.

“Oi! Master Scrooge! Ready to attend the Cratchit family Christmas?” Riagán yelled out the window, grinning. Cillian was half asleep beside him, but Finny leaned out the window as well, barking happily.

Kit forced a weak laugh, but he just wanted to get into the car and fall asleep. The brothers scrambled out, allowing Siofra to climb into the back and trade her dress for a t-shirt and pyjama pants. She looked at Kit, “You gonna change before we get on the road?”

“Hm?” Kit had been dozing off on Alistair’s shoulder. Siofra just pulled him inside, deciding it would be easier to strip and redress him herself. Once he was bundled into pyjamas and a robe, Siofra buckled him into the middle row and climbed back out to gather her dog.

Alistair managed to dress himself, tugging Kit’s robe tighter around his shoulders. “Are you warm enough?”

Kit nodded, already nestling down in his heated seat. Now that he was back in the car, Finny was practically tackling Alistair, barking and wagging his tail. Siofra chuckled. “Sorry, he’s gonna be in the back with Cilli.”

Alistair squealed and embraced Finny’s furry neck. “Hello, Finny!” The dog licked his face, climbing into Alistair’s lap. Riagán had settled into the front seat (seeing as he was 5+ inches taller than everyone else, it was only fair), and Cillian in the far back. Siofra plopped down on the other side of Kit, rolling her eyes.

“I guess Fin can just sit at our feet.”

“Just as a warning, I haven’t got any travel tablets so I’m gonna puke at some point,” Alistair said, his voice muffled under a ton of dog. Siofra groaned in exasperation.

“You underestimate me, sir.” Taddy winked at the pile of fur covering Alistair. “Check the console.”

“God bless.” Siofra sighed in relief.

“Thanks, Taddy,” Alistair called. He knew Taddy had mopped his puke off the seats enough times to come prepared.

“Of course, sir. There should be water bottles in the cooler in the back.”

By the time they had left London, Kit was snoring away. Siofra had pulled out a spiral notebook, where she was scribbling notes and lyrics as they came to mind. Finny had settled on the floor of the middle row, his head on Alistair’s feet and his ass on Siofra’s; Kit would’ve complained about being a dog footrest, but he was too asleep to care. Despite his older brother belting along to the radio, Cillian was starting to doze off as well. Alistair doodled idly in his notebook, mostly little cartoons; he couldn’t focus on detailed art in the car, the looking down would make him queasy even with the pills.

Siofra leaned over Kit to peer at Alistair’s doodles. “Whatcha drawin’?”

“You’ll think it’s weird.”

She scoffed. “I always think you’re weird, just show me.”

He’d done a little doodle of Kit and Siofra in their party outfits, but their arms and legs and hair dripped with honey, while the old guys and women around them had little round wings and fuzzy bumblebee bodies. Siofra snorted.

“That’s great. You should make t-shirts or comics or somethin’.”

“I’d like to make comics. Never thought of t-shirts. That’d be even better.”

“Definitely make more money with shirts.” Siofra sat back in her own seat as she remembered she was squashing Kit. “You gonna nap soon?” She asked, stretching and yawning.

“Probably. I’m knackered.” He sighed. “Thanks for taking care of Kit tonight.”

Siofra shrugged. “I don’t mind. Besides, ‘e shelled out a couple thousand quid for my outfit. I’d be a bit’o a bitch if I didn’t at least defend ‘im from thirsty hags.”

“Money like that isn’t important to him. What he needs is someone who really cares. Besides me, ‘cause I’m always on the border of pissing him off.”

“Oh, I know. Don’t think I forgot the mall.” Siofra smirked.

Alistair grimaced. “I hate fighting with him.”

“I mean, he’s pretty fussy. It’s bound to happen, ain’t it?” She asked.

“Still. I can’t stand it.”

Siofra rolled her eyes. “That’s how family is. Ya love ‘em all the time, but ya don’t like ‘em all the time. If ya get along with somebody every minute’o every day, one or both o’ ya are fuckin’ mental.”

Alistair snorted. “Fair enough. I don’t know, I think I’m just sensitive to fights after growing up in our family.”

I think you’re both sensitive to everything, Siofra wanted to say. Instead she just nodded, reaching up to smack Riagán with her notebook. “Oi! X Factor! Stuff it! I wanna sleep.” He flipped her off, but quieted down nonetheless. Alistair stuffed his own notebook in his pocket, leaning on the window to sleep.

#misadventures of Kit #chapter twenty-seven #drama of the big gay #kit #raycraft #reginald #siofra #rafferty #cillian #riagán #alistair #collab #ocsickficsideblog

[dream-interrupted]

I find myself starting to deal with another certain demon from my past lately. This one has come into my life many times. Meet suicide.

My first encounter with suicide was at the age of 14. All my life we lived in a small town, in a small little neighborhood. In my childhood it was the normal to play outside all day and hang out with the neighborhood kids. My neighbor was the same age as me and him and I would climb trees and play all day at his house since he had more fun things to do. His father became the dad I always needed. Always taking me to school and watching out for me. He would teach me how to build things and fix things that usually weren’t broken until after the fact, but all the while it was the parental relationship I was lacking. For eight years I grew up with this man in my life and his son as a best friend. Then at the age of 41 he took a pistol to his head on his front porch. I didn’t understand. My mom tried to explain as delicately as possible but only confused me further. His son however saw the aftermath and was given a more detailed description of what led to these events. He explained to me that some people just become so sad that they don’t want to live anymore. That’s when I realized that I felt that way too. But even as young as fourteen I knew it wasn’t right. Because I felt how angry and sad and mad I was that he chose to leave us all behind. So I knew I couldn’t make anyone feel that for me. But that was short lived. At sixteen I had enough. I was depressed, bullied, talked about, and beaten. I didn’t receive any help from my mom or her husband so I felt like it was my only option. I had stolen my mothers muscle relaxers and took I don’t know how many. Next thing I know I’m waking up with my moms finger down my throat and vomit all over my shirt. Even then my mom didn’t get me the help I needed. Throughout my teenage and early twenties I attempted two more times and failed. The last time I tried my husband at the time had me committed to a psychiatric hospital. It was then and only then did I finally start to receive the help I needed. But that was not the end of the ugly demon.

When I was 20 years old, not long after I was released from the hospital for my suicide attempt, I received a call from my grandmother that my aunt was in the hospital and to please make the six hour drive to see her because she wasn’t going to make it much longer. When I arrived she was on life support and I just remember how purple her face was and the ligature marks around her neck. It was then I knew that she had lost her battle to the very same war I was fighting. I know she tried as we all do. But she couldn’t do it anymore. She had given it all she had. This messed up my grandparents for a very long time. To this day my grandfather has this burning rage inside him that he sometimes cannot control. I know it’s from losing his daughter. I know it’s just pain. And I feel for him. There is nothing more painful than burying your children. But that wasn’t my last brush with this horrible demon.

Not long after I moved away from home my mothers husband left her. She had always been so strong through my childhood I didn’t worry about her at all. I knew she could get through anything. Of course that didn’t stop me from calling almost everyday. After all her and I were best friends. But she began drinking a lot. Mind you she never drank when I was a kid. You’d be lucky to see her with a soda in her hands. And the last I was told she was drinking a case of beer a day. I had gone about a week without hearing from her or receiving any call backs when I started to get worried. I lived six hours away and I couldn’t just go knock on her door so I started calling hospitals worried she had been in a wreck. I was unable to find her but I knew there was a Jane Doe in ICU at a certain hospital. So of course I jump in my car and make the six hour trip. I pull up so nervous I could throw up. I get to the nurses station and let them know my situation. They asked for a description and apparently I was close enough that they let me in to see if it was my mother. The nurse draws back the curtains and there is my mom hooked up to tons of machines. I tell the nurse yes that is my mom. I can’t even get any questions in before she starts handing me paperwork to switch her from a Jane Doe to an actual person. I’m only told that the doctor will come see me as soon as he can. I’m filling out the paperwork and getting as much information as I can in without breaking down. The doctor walks up to me and shakes my hand and begins to explain. My mother was found on her back porch unresponsive and bleeding from her arm. She had cut her wrists all the way up to the bend of her elbow and lost a lot of blood. The doctor explained how if someone had found her only five minutes later she would not have made it. They had to sew her arm up internally and externally and tourniquet it to stop the bleeding. He explains she is still unresponsive and is on a ventilator to help her breathe. The ambulance lost her twice in transit and they haven’t been able to wake her since arriving to the hospital. He ordered brain scans to be sure she still showed signs and f activity but that wouldn’t be performed until the following morning. I’m crying and barely able to listen because I’m just so shocked that this is my mom. She has never shown a weakness to me in her life. She was always in control. Once the doctor finished filling me in he let me go in and see her. She laid there almost lifeless. No movement except for the rise and fall of her chest forced by the machine. I stayed the entire night. The next morning the doctor came in to start her on a med to lighten her sedation in hopes she would wake up. They also did the brain scans and it showed a good amount of activity. Slowly she began to wake up. And her first words were “what are you doing here”? I was furious. All I could think to say was why would you do this. And she simply said “I’m fine”. I just gave it up. I wasn’t going to fight with her like this. She pulled through just fine and I was able to get her into treatment for that and the drinking as well. She is stronger than ever today and we work everyday to fight this demon together. So always be kind. You never know how fast someone can break. Even someone you would deem unbreakable. Thank you for reading! And stay tuned for another demon from the life of Dream Interrupted.

[sophisticated-angel]

A True Love of Mine - Part 9

Character: Sam Winchester

Warning: None

Word Count: 1,836

Pairing: Sam x Reader

Part One - Part Two - Part Three - Part Four - Part Five - Part Six - Part Seven - Part Eight

Summary: In the conclusion to A True Love of Mine, Sam is granted a miracle to save his children and the woman he loves.

Story

   One pleasant night in April in the year 1344, in the middle of a vast meadow, an angel steps through a door in time. He can feel the strain the door puts on the space time continuum. It’s an anomaly of the dangerous sort, the kind the continuum will fight to close, staying open only because the man on the other side is working to keep it so. As it is, the angel only has four hours to find what he came for and get out or he risks being trapped here. The universe knows he’s out of place, too. When he tries to teleport, nothing happens. He’ll have to search on foot.

   Determined, he sets out across the meadow.

*    *    *    *    *

   Sam can’t sleep. His mind is attempting to churn out solutions and fretful thoughts and refuses to take a break. Four years isn’t a long time even when you add a couple of months for the Plague to get to England. Maybe it will be long enough to convince (y/n) to run away with him. He has to give it a shot, at least. Rolling over, he closes his eyes and decides to fake sleep until it’s real.

   Somebody trips outside his window.

   He ignores it, but then the somebody begins muttering to itself in an annoyed tone. Probably one of the servants has had a little too much to drink and is now stumbling around trying to find his room. Sam sighs and gets up. Oh well, it’s not like he was gonna sleep anyway.

   He puts on his belt and tucks the dagger into it as a precaution – he doesn’t know for sure who’s out there – and slips outside, walking around the building until he finds the mutterer. Reaching out a hand, he grabs the man firmly by the shoulder. “Hey, buddy-” the man turns, and Sam comes face to face with someone he hasn’t seen for two years. “Cass?”

   “Sam.” Castiel lets out a relieved breath. “Finally.”

   Surprised and overjoyed to see the angel, Sam laughs. “I thought you guys had given up trying to find me. How did you find me?”

   “The angel who sent you here was offered a deal he couldn’t refuse. We would have been here sooner if he hadn’t – I don’t have time to explain. We have to go.”

   Sam doesn’t follow when Cass starts walking away. Instead, his gaze moves to the manor, silent, dark, and still at this hour.

   “Sam, we have to hurry.” Confused, Cass watches his friend stride off in the wrong direction. “Where are you going?”

   With Castiel trying to keep up, Sam slips into the manor, motioning for the angel to keep quiet. Up the stairs, down the hall, carefully pull the door open. His heart races with excitement. He shakes (y/n) awake and clamps his hand over her mouth before she can scream at the sight of Castiel standing by her door.

   “He’s my friend,” Sam explains. “It’s okay.”

   “What’s going on, Sam?” she whispers. “Why is your friend in my bedroom?”

   “When you said you’d run away with me if there was a place no one could find us, did you mean it?”

   “Yes, but-”

   “I found that place.”

   “There isn’t-”

   “There is. I am sure that where I’m thinking of, no one can ever find us. Come with me, (y/n).” (y/n) says nothing, only stares incredulously at him. On the inside, he panics a little. “Remember I said I’m from a place you’ve never been and will never go?”

   She nods.

   “And how I know the Plague is coming in four years?”

   Another nod.

   “I know this sounds crazy, but I’m from six-hundred years in the future. I got into a fight with an angel and got sent back to this time, but I can go home, and I can take you and our children with me.”

   “Children?” Castiel seems to notice the cradle in which Anthony and Alwynn are sleeping for the first time, and his forehead creases with worry. “Sam, how long have you been here?”

   “Almost two years. Why?”

   “Only four days have passed for Dean and I. The spell we’re using to keep the door open was meant to open that door after the same amount of time had passed here, not two years. There’s too much strain on the door. We have to hurry before it closes again.”

   A hand grabs Sam’s. “What is he talking about? What door? What spell?”

   “That’s our way out. Come on. Help me get the twins.” Sam hurries to the cradle and gently lifts Anthony into his arms. Then he notices that (y/n) hasn’t moved from the bed. “I wouldn’t be doing this if I wasn’t sure about it, (y/n). I know I sound like a madman right now, but I need you to trust me. Can you do that?”

   Slowly, (y/n) nods, stands, and picks up Alwynn. “We’ll come with you.”

   “Sam,” Cass interrupts and pulls him aside. “They can’t come with us. Taking someone from the past could alter the future. They have to stay.”

   “Then so do I.”

   “What?”

   “If they can’t go back with us, then I’m not going either. I won’t leave them, Cass.” And he means it. Sam is willing to give up everything he knew, his brother, his friend, for good. He’ll endure the Plague and anything else that comes his way as long as (y/n) and his children are with him.

   Cass seems to understand this. His task is to bring Sam back, and if he fails, Dean would never get over it. He looks down at the baby in Sam’s arms. Shoulders drooping, expression softening, he gives in. “Alright. They can come, but we have to go now.”

   “You gonna zap us to this door?”

   “I can’t. Traveling back this far has made my powers useless. We have to get there on foot.”

   Sam thinks for a moment. “No, we don’t.”

   Cradling Anthony against his chest, Sam gathers the sheet from the bed and leads the group out of the room. He wills the six-month-olds to stay asleep, silently promises that he’s taking them to someplace better than here, to a place where he and them and their mother can be a family. No one makes a sound as they leave the house, two infants, a baron’s daughter, a powered-down angel, and an unwilling time traveler. Sam leads them to the stables and lights a lamp on the wall.

   Several of the horses are woken by the intrusion, but all but one ignores it. Alexander bobs his head up and down happily. It’s been forever since he was taken for a night ride. Sam hands Anthony to Castiel and leads the thoroughbred out of his stall.

   “Can you help me out one more time, old boy?”

   Alexander nickers.

   Sam hurries as fast as he can to saddle the horse, but despite how much he’s learned over the last two years, he doesn’t feel like he’s moving fast enough, and he’ll still need one more horse in order to get everybody a ride. (y/n) hovers near him, stuck between him and Castiel, pacing a little. In her arms, Alwynn begins to fuss and waves her arm about. Her mother’s gentle shushing does nothing to calm her, and she threatens to turn it into a squall that someone would definitely hear. Sam moves faster.

   “Oi, Future Man, do ye mind tellin’ me what’s happenin’ in here?”

   Startling, Sam whirls around to face the door, and his heart skips a beat when he sees Thomas standing there eyeing the gathering wonderingly.

   “Crap. Thomas, um, this looks really bad, doesn’t it?”

   “It does. Would ye be runnin’ away with milady and this oddly dressed stranger, here?”

   “I was really hoping no one would find out.”

   “No one will, laddie. I’ll not tell a soul.” Without another word, Thomas begins saddling another horse: a mare named Artemis. He gives Castiel a hand up into the saddle and trades him the reins for Anthony. “Do ye know how to ride?”

   “No,” Cass admits.

   “I thought as much. Ye look like you’ve never so much as laid eyes on the beasts.” With a laugh, Thomas moves to help (y/n) get atop Alexander.

   Sam wraps the sheet around (y/n), tying it in the back to make a sort of sling, and helps her cradle the twins in it. Then he swings on behind her, looping his arms around the sides to hold the reins and the woman. “Hey, Thomas, just so you don’t think I’m kidnapping children-”

   “I know they’re yours, Future Man.” Thomas winks. “I’ll not tell a soul about that, neither.”

   “Thank you.”

   “Go on, then. Run off, and take care of milady.”

   “Don’t worry about that. About the Plague-”

   “Are ye still goin’ on about that?”

   “Just find out where Messina is, and then run the other way. Please, Thomas.”

   Thomas shakes his head, grinning. “Alright. I’ll give ye the benefit o’ the doubt. We’ll head back to Ireland after the babe is born. By the way, if it’s a son, we’ll be namin’ him Samuel.”

   Sam smiles. “Thanks.”

   “Now go on. Get goin’, and don’t let me catch ye back here.”

   “Bye, Thomas.”

   Clicking his tongue, Sam spurs Alexander into a trot, and Castiel follows behind a little unsurely on Artemis. They keep this pace until they reach the road, whereupon Sam tells Cass how to change gaits, and they take off at a gallop with Cass in the lead. Eventually they diverge from the road and slow to a canter as they pass through unfamiliar woods. Sam goes on high alert, fully aware of the dangers that might lurk in the trees, and prays that the twins won’t cry and draw attention to the group. Cass takes them to a meadow, and immediately the air becomes electric. The hairs on Sam’s arms stand on end, and he can smell static.

   In the very center of the meadow is a line standing on end. It glows blue and seems to pulse, and the horses are wary of it. They refuse to get closer than twenty feet. Sam gets down and lifts his family to the ground as well, then scratches Alexander behind the ears. He’ll miss this horse.

   “Go home, old boy.”

   He takes Anthony from the makeshift sling, and together, he and (y/n) approach the blue line. Cass observes it, narrows his eyes, and then steps back.

   “Just step into it,” he instructs. “It will pull you through. Dean should be on the other side. I will follow.”

   Sam steps towards the door, but (y/n) freezes.

   “I’m scared, Sam.”

   He leans in to kiss her. This has to work. This has to take him home, take his family home. Dean is on the other side missing his brother and unaware that he’s an uncle now. They’ll make it work. Taking a deep breath, Sam puts his arm around (y/n), shuts his eyes, and steps through the door.

@pureawesomeness001 @27bmm @jarpadandjensenaremyheroes @super-not-naturall @gabriel-themightysugaraddict @mogaruke@mrswhozeewhatsis@hexparker @kdfrqqg @little-castiel13@18crazybutcutealsopsycho @wildfirewinchester @sandlee44

#supernatural #sam winchester #a true love of mine #x reader #medieval!sam #medieval!reader #series #reader insert #sam x reader #part nine #sophisticated-angel

[writerspink]

K-12 Words

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2.1

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3.2

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4.1

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4.2

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5.1

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5.2

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6.1

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6.2

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7.1

capture remark western outcome risk current bold compare resident ambition arrest furthermore desire confuse accurate disclose considerable contribute calculate baggage literacy noble era benefit orchard shabby content precious manufacture dusk afford assist demonstrate instant concentrate sturdy severe blend vacant weary carefree host limb pointless prepare inspire shallow chamber vast ease attentive source frantic lack recent distress basic permit threat analyze distract meadow mistrust jagged prefer sole envy hail reduce arena tour annual apparent recognize captivity burrow proceed develop humble resist peculiar response communicate circular variety frequent reveal essential disaster plead mature appropriate attractive request congratulate address destructive fragile modest attempt tradition ancestor focus flexible conclude venture impact generosity routine tragic crafty furious blossom concern ascend awkward master queasy release portion plentiful alert heroic extraordinary frontier descend invisible coax entrance capable peer terror mock outstanding valiant typical competition hardship entertain eager limp survive tidy antonym duplicate abolish approach approve glory magnificent meek prompt revive watchful wreckage audible consume glide origin prevent punctuate representative scorn stout woe arch authentic clarify declare grant grave opponent valid yearn admirable automatic devotion distant dreary exhaust kindle predict separation stunt

7.2

evade debate dedicate budge available miniature petrify pasture banquet pedestrian solitary decline reassure nonchalant exhibit realistic exert abuse dictate minor monarch concept character strategy soar beverage tropical withdraw challenge kin navigate purchase reliable mischief solo combine vivid aroma spurt illuminate narrator retain excavate avalanche preserve suspend accomplish exasperate obsolete occasion myth reign sparse gorge intense revert antagonist talon aggressive alternate retire cautiously blizzard require endanger luxurious senseless portable sever compensate companion visual immense slither guardian compassion escalate detect protagonist oasis altitude assume seldom courteous absurd edible identical pardon approximate taunt achievement homonym hearty convert wilderness industrious sluggish thrifty deprive independent bland confident anxious astound numerous resemble route access jubilation saunter hazy impressive document moral crave gigantic bungle prefix summit overthrow perish visible translate comply intercept feeble exult compose negative suffocate frigid synonym appeal dominate deplete abundant economy desperate diligent commend boycott jovial onset burden fixture objective siege barrier conceive formal inquire penalize picturesque predator privilege slumber advantage ambition defiant fearsome imply merit negotiate purify revoke wretched absorb amateur channel elegant grace inspect lame tiresome tranquil boast eloquent glisten ideal infectious invest locate ripple sufficient uproar

8.1

apprehensive dialogue prejudice marvel eligible accommodate arrogant distinct knack deposit liberate cumulative consequence strive salvage chronological unique vow concise influence lure poverty priority legislation significant conserve verdict leisure erupt beacon stationary generate provoke efficient campaign paraphrase swarm adhere eerie mere mimic deteriorate literal preliminary solar soothe expanse ignite verge recount apparel terrain ample quest composure majority collide prominent duration pursue innovation omniscient resolute unruly optimist restrain agony convenient constant prosper elaborate genre retrieve exploit continuous dissolve dwell persecute abandon meager elude rural retaliate primitive remote blunder propel vital designate cultivate loathe consent drastic fuse maximum negotiate barren transform conspicuous possess allegiance beneficial former factor deluge vibrant intimidate idiom dense awe rigorous manipulate transport discretion hostile clarity arid parody boisterous capacity massive prosecute declare stifle remorse refuge predicament treacherous inevitable ingenious plummet adapt monotonous accumulate reinforce extract reluctant vacate hazardous inept diminish domestic linger context excel cancel distribute document fragile myth reject scuffle solitary temporary veteran assault convert dispute impressive justify misleading numerous productive shrewd strategy villain bluff cautious consist despise haven miniature monarch obstacle postpone straggle vivid aggressive associate deceive emigrate flexible glamour hazy luxurious mishap overwhelm span blemish blunt capable conclude detect fatigue festive hospitality nomad supreme

8.2

exclude civic compact painstaking supplement habitat leeway minute hoax contaminate likeness migration commentary extinct tangible originate urban unanimous subordinate collaborate obstacle esteem encounter futile cordial trait improvises superior exaggerate anticipate cope evolve eclipse dissent anguish subsequent sanctuary formulates makeshift controversy diversity terminate precise equivalent pamper prior potential obnoxious radiant predatory presume permanent pending simultaneously tamper supervise perceived vicious patronize trickle stodgy rant oration preview species poised perturb vista wince yearn persist shirk status tragedy trivial snare vindictive wrath recede peevish rupture unscathed random toxic void orthodox subtle resume sequel upright wary overwhelm perjury uncertainty prowess utmost throb pluck pique vengeance pelt urgent substantial robust sullen retort ponder whim saga sham reprimand vocation assimilate dub defect accord embark desist dialect chastise banter inaugurate ovation barter muse blasé stamina atrocity deter principal liberal epoch preposterous advocate audacious dispatch incense deplore institute deceptive component subside spontaneous bonanza ultimate wrangle clarify hindrance irascible plausible profound infinite accomplish apparent capacity civilian conceal duplicate keen provoke spurt undoing vast withdraw barrier calculate compose considerable deputy industrious jolt loot rejoice reliable senseless shrivel alternate demolish energetic enforce feat hearty mature observant primary resign strive verdict brisk cherish considerate displace downfall estimate humiliate identical improper poll soothe vicinity abolish appeal brittle condemn descend dictator expand famine portable prey thrifty visual

9.1

stance vie instill exceptional avail strident formidable rebuke enhance benign perspective tedious aloof encroach memoir mien desolate inventive prodigy staple stint fallacy grope vilify recur assail tirade antics recourse clad jurisdiction caption pseudonym reception humane ornate sage ungainly overt sedative amiss convey connoisseur rational enigma fortify servile fastidious contagious elite disgruntled eccentric pioneer abet luminous era sleek serene proficient rue articulate awry pungent wage deploy anarchy culminate inventory commemorate muster adept durable foreboding lucrative modify authority transition confiscate pivotal analogy avid flair ferret decree voracious imperative grapple deface augment shackle legendary trepidation discern glut cache endeavor attribute phenomenon balmy bizarre gullible loll rankle decipher sublime rubble renounce porous turbulent heritage hover pithy allot minimize agile renown fend revenue versa gaunt haven dire doctrine intricate conservative exotic facilitate bountiful cite panorama swelter foster indifferent millennium gingerly conscientious intervene mercenary citadel obviously rely supportive sympathy weakling atmosphere decay gradual impact noticeable recede stability variation approximately astronomical calculation criterion diameter evaluate orbit sphere agricultural decline disorder identify probable thrive expected widespread bulletin contribution diversity enlist intercept operation recruit survival abruptly ally collide confident conflict protective taunt adaptation dormant forage frigid hibernate insulate export glisten influence landscape native plantation restore urge blare connection errand exchange

9.2

feasible teem pang vice tycoon succumb capacious onslaught excerpt eventful forfeit crusade tract haggard susceptible exemplify ardent crucial excruciating embargo disdain apprehend surpass sporadic flustered languish conventional disposition theme plunder ignore project complaint title dramatic delivery litter experimental clinic arrogance preparation remind atomic occasional conscious deny maturity closure stressed translator animate observation physical further gently registration suppress combination amazing constructive allied poetry passion ecstasy mystery cheerful contribution spirit failed gummy commerce prove disagreement raid consume embarrass preference migrant devour encouragement quote mythology destined destination illuminating struggle accent ungrateful giggle approval confidence expose scientist operation superstitious emergency manners absolutely swallow readily mutual bound crisp orient stress sort stare comfort verbal heel challenging advertisement envious sex scar astonish basis accuracy enviable alliance specific chef embarrassed counter tolerable sympathetic gradually vanish informative amaze royal furry insist jealousy simplify quiver collaborate dedicated flexible function mimic obstacle technique archaeologist fragment historian intact preserve reconstruct remnant commence deed exaggeration heroic impress pose saunter wring astound concealed inquisitive interpret perplexed precise reconsider suspicious anticipation defy entitled neutral outspoken reserved sought equal absorb affect circulate conserve cycle necessity seep barren expression meaningful plume focused genius perspective prospect stunned superb transition assume guarantee nominate

10.1

install reticent corroborate regretfully strength murder concise cunning intention holy satire query confused progression disillusion background mundane abrupt multiple enormously introduce emulate harmful pragmatic pity rebut liberate enthusiastic elucidate camaraderie disparage nature creep profitability impression racist sobriety occupy autonomy currently amiable reiterate reproduce cripple modest offer atom provincial augment ungratefully expansion yield rashly allude immigration silence epitome exacerbate somber avid dispute vindicate collaborate manufacturer embellish superficial propaganda incompetent objective diminish statistics endure ambivalent perpetuate illuminate phenomenon exasperate originality restrict anxiety anthropology circumstances aesthetic manufacturing conventional dubious vulnerable reality precedent entity success term critical repair underscore stepmother republican hesitantly classic wary contents prediction immediate invoke notorious implicit excluding input skeptical foster element punish frank humanity profound dessert orthodox substance disappear encourage neighborhood elder superfluous naive ascertain complacent resilient deafening military tend prudent glare acceptance skillfully induce monster beam gullible conciliate vessel petty cantankerous disclose archaeology anecdote disdain electronics substantiate subjective tourism advisable joyful incredible provocative psychological ruins discipline condone indifferent misfortune judgmental industrialize tasty assume astute mission mar protective definitely escape oppress shocked virtual zealous endorse qualification hostile eccentric abstract disparate geographical scrutinize generalization tolerate activity claim dogmatic influential obsolete extol implausible subsequent resource chronic benevolent improve confidential ambiguous seriously dearth perplex hatred throughout dine contemporary evoke essentially economic flagrant obscure alleviate eloquent dreaadful clumsy sympathy victim condemn vigor condescend spontaneous quell reprehensible substantially sleeve equivocal ironic decry errand articulate progressive eradicate refreshments elicit aspiration recently exemplary bribery theoretical disingenuous partisan revere particle nostalgia self-aggrandizement debunk tyranny rhetoric hierarchy warning whimsical venerate commend assert miserable awful vibe constrain undermine explicit differentiate compliment scrupulous contempt erroneous ideal refute imply cynical rash presume insight revival vary delay renounce indignant offensive temperate circumstantial export peep logo advertise suppress distort chunk convoluted denounce overwhelming fertility rigorous acquire arrogant university antagonize profitable indulgent strategic breathing idiosyncrasy profession frugal discern accommodation adversary incredulous disturbance digress social belie roam smug continual pertinent voluntarily elite subtle blame sincerity lick horror censure involvement candid infer futile impetuous exploit bewilder sustain diligent sincere protect sealed musical empathy callous parenthetical insure acorn sarcasm seize sacrificially allege emphatic irrelevant progress diplomatic stunned improvise deride reconcile meticulous deject scientifically incontrovertible pressure justify gloomy depict supplant endurance analogous diary bolster slip contemplate pesticide glow religious advocate negligent creator lament fundamental embrace throne inherent inferior valuable thrive trivial pretense reserved capricious refresh refusal flight boost explanation coherent prevalent tenacious official royalty assassin rub poach delete

10.2

warrant circumscribed somewhat explosive optimistic mandate previously detract opinion intuitive feasible intimate persistent humble simplicity tempt deliberate painful unethical fundamentals discrepancy remorse pessimistic possibility conclusion acknowledge impregnate soberly creation paralyze suitability oblige tranquil medal arbitrate pacify illusory susceptible vibrate vengeance infection democratic stressful grave speculative sample identification stifle obligation revenge organization namely mediocre practical scream weaken consensus affectionate deficient treacherous console isolation ingenious memory melodrama despair awestruck composition regret recommendation celebrity decision devoid opaque ornamentation longevity participate dread restore interrogate aid accordingly mislead embarrassment optimism domestic apt funds virtue geography fundamentally thoroughly press despite horrible chilling rental esteemed disappointment innovative contemplation assign popularize haunt deafen serene percent estrangement suffer extravagant throng estimate comment priesthood mass dreadfully promote periphery animated saying relate clarity triple derivative succeed distortion register suicide improvement discreet inquisition probable curative incident praise convenience baffle covet dreadful genuinely weary undisturbed disgruntled humility renown nonchalant monopoly comedy vague decisive inconsequential announcement fabricated nevertheless vigilant scarce neglectful hushed attainment tedious explode snatch pslm agency sentimental tension adhere meanwhile sacred avert conformity likewise challenger accessible responsibility peril contact event roast fallible catastrophic competitor violate resolute deceive exaggeration discredit intolerable approve paste dimly novelist demeanor norm politician satisfaction obvious vehicle reservation defer involve restoration crush audible assistant backpack attain inanimate commemorate confrontation emigration parasite disperse quantitative laughter policy vulgar occasionally repay effective eulogy starvation empty therapeutic overall immortal encompass inappropriate opportune engagement illustrate turmoil observatory classification expression reminiscence comedian invention depress remedy protagonist gesture texture diplomatic election prolong conducive emotional invigorate curiosity expressive %

K-12 Words was originally published on PinkWrite

[this-ginger-has-no-soul]

Where’s daddy

(A/N): Literally so much angst and pain

Request: Hi ! I love your stories ! Do you think I can request a Bucky x Reader, where she has a 6yo son and he is Bucky's but he doesn't know 'cause of HYDRA capturing him when she found out she was pregnant & they haven't seen each other since, please?

Warnings: ANGST

Tags: @mcuimxgine, @ifoundlove-x0vanessa0x, @saradi1018, @holland-toms, @superwholockian309, @fly-f0rever, @capbuckthor, @l8nitl0vr

    Grant Barnes ran around the park, squealing alongside all the other children. Their mothers watched them from afar, all smiling and cheering their babies on. Some of them even had fathers watching them proudly, their eyes twinkling happily and their heart full of joy. And then there was (Y/N) who was sitting on one of the benches furthest away from the playground all by herself. She had no ring on her finger, no man to kiss her cheek and call her beautiful, she had no husband and Grant Barnes had no father. Perhaps six or seven years ago he had one but that felt like a century ago, a century ago the war ended, a century ago when every woman stopped at the stations to pick up her man, when every wife presented her child to the recently returned soldier but that hadn't been (Y/N)'s case. Rather than go and pick her lover up from the station she had sat at home, breast feeding her brand new baby boy. 

   "Momma!" Grant yells as he approaches his mother, all smiles and giggles despite the sweltering heat of Brooklyn. "Will you come play with me?" (Y/N) smiles as she reaches out to ruffle Grant's hair, a small, disbelieving chuckle falling from her lips. 

   “Baby, don’t you want to play with the other kids?” 

   “No mommy, I want you to come play with me,” Grant tugged on (Y/N)’s sleeve, persistent in his choice. (Y/N) chuckles as they stand up, much to Gran’ts delight as he squeals happily. 

   “What do you wanna play baby boy?”

   “I wanna play soldiers!” Grant exclaims innocently, his eyes shining with excitement. (Y/N) sighs softly as her heart aches, the memories of Bucky slowly surfacing. She had managed to keep them down, try not to dwell on the thoughts of her long lost lover but it was always inevitable- there was always something that would remind (Y/N) of Bucky. The bitter scent of coffee in the mornings, a poster for a new science convention, the smell of fresh sheets, the warmth that would surround (Y/N) every time she climbed into bed; there was always a bit of Bucky in everything, even if he never really was there. 

   “Okay, who do you wanna be?” 

   “I want to be Captain America!” Grant shouted, beaming from ear to ear. Little did Grant know that he was actually named after the man himself, (Y/N) had figured Bucky would have wanted their baby boy to have something to do with Steve and since- well, since he wasn’t around anymore the least (Y/N) could do was name her child after him. 

   “Okay Cap’n,” (Y/N) salutes their baby boy, smiling when he giggled with excitement. “Where’s our first mission?”

   “Over in Germ-Germ-Germ-” 

   “Germany?” (Y/N) suggest lightly, laughing when her son beamed at her. 

   “Yes! In Germany,” He slurred the word a bit, making his little facade even cuter. 

   “Well Cap’n, I don’t see a plane anywhere, how do you suppose we’re gonna get there?” Grant hums, stroking his chin in thought before jumping excitedly at an idea.

   “I’m sure you wouldn’t mind carrying Captain America to battle,” Grant suggest, his blue eyes shining up at (Y/N) with child like hope.

   “Captain,” (Y/N) placed a hand over her heart, sniffling softly. “It would be my honor to carry you to Germany,” And with that (Y/N) slides her arms around her baby boy, marching him across the playground and to a nearby tree or as Grant called it- Germany. Grant squealed in delight as (Y/N) made airplane noises as she all but charged for the trees, more than delighted to make their sweet baby boy happy. All the other mothers and fathers stared at (Y/N) distastefully but she didn’t care, not when Grant was laughing hysterically and having the time of his life. (Y/N) could only have wished that Bucky was here to see him...

~70 something years later~

   Bucky looked down at the file in his hands, about the life he had left behind. There were pictures of (Y/N), looking as beautiful as he remembered her but there was someone else...a little dark haired, blue eyed boy who looked like the perfect combination of Bucky and (Y/N). 

   “His name was Grant,” Fury mutters from his seat, his eyes glued to Bucky’s hands clutching the folder. “(Y/N) named him after Steve,” Bucky gulps, reaching out with a hand to run his fingers along the photographs of what should have been his wife and baby boy. “She found out she was pregnant the day you fell of the train,” Bucky sighs shakily, throwing the folder to the side as he rubs at his burning eyes. He’d left an entire life behind, he’d left behind (Y/N), the love of his life, he’d left behind his family, he’d even left behind a baby he didn’t even know he had. “It’s not too late y’know,” Fury states as he grabs the folder, tucking all the papers and photographs back into manila folder gently. “We’ve kept tabs on Grant over the years...he’s in a home Bucky,” Bucky looks up at the older man, gulping once again. “He’s losing his memory so I suggest that if you wanna meet your kid you better do it now,” 

   And that’s how Bucky ended up where he was right now, standing in front of a white haired nurse in some retirement home. 

   “I’m uh- I’m looking for a Grant Barnes?”  

   “Oh! He hasn’t had visitors in years...” 

   “Yeah uh- I’m a distant cousin, thought I’d come see him for a bit,” The nurse smiles, clutching a clipboard to her chest tightly. 

   “That’s so sweet, he’ll be glad to see you. He’s in room 303 by the way, just down the hall and to the left,’ Bucky gives the nurse a light smile and a polite thank you before he walks down the hall, stuffing his hands in his pockets. All around him the sounds of beeping machines and oxygen tanks filled the air, leaving his heart aching at the thought that his boy- his own damn child- was one of the poor sickly elders here. 

   Bucky’s feet stop abruptly in front of room 303, the door decorated brightly in pink and red hearts, each one stating something wonderful about Grant- about his son. With a shaky sigh Bucky knocked his knuckles on the door, waiting for a nurse or someone to let him in. 

   “Come in!” A sweet female voice called. Bucky gently opened the door, poking his head inside the hospital room. There were two people in the room, an elderly looking man who once looked as though he had been beautiful but age had slowly withered away that beauty and a young female, perhaps around the age of twenty, sitting directly across from the man. “Can I help you?” She asks, smiling at Bucky sweetly. 

   “Uh yeah- um, I’m here to see Grant Barnes?”

   “That’s me,” The old man smiles, gibing Bucky a small wave. “What can I do for you sonny?” God- his own child was calling him son and if that didn’t sting Bucky didn’t know what did. 

   “Um-” Bucky looks down at his hand sheepishly, biting his lip in thought. He hadn’t really thought of what he was going to say when he finally met his own flesh and blood, he thought he’d chicken out and leave before he ever even met his son but now he was here, standing right in front of him. “Was your father James Buchanan Barnes?” The elderly man loses his smile, his face taking on an ugly kind of glare. 

   “What do you want to know about my father?” Bucky sighs again, raking a hand down his face, one that looked almost like his own sons expect much, much younger. 

   “I have a little problem you see- I’m James Buchanan Barnes,” 

   Explaining his situation to his son had been hard, he was almost thrown out of the building until Bucky began to tell Grant things about his mother that no one except himself could know. From there it had been a bit choppy, his son was in shock, as was Bucky, but slowly they opened up to each other and now here they were- talking about (Y/N) as though it were the most normal thing in the world. 

   “You shoulda seen her,” Grant sighs, his eyes twinkling as he looks at the ceiling. “She was so beautiful, all my friends liked her,” Bucky chuckles, smiling so damn widely he was surprised his face didn’t bust in two. 

   “She was gorgeous,” 

  “And strong, so strong,” Grant whispers, breathing out heavily. “She got a job after you- after you died,” Grant hesitates to say the words, almost reluctant to admit that his own mother was dead. “She worked long and hard hours just to provide for me. We were poor but that never stopped her- we may have been low on money but you can bet your bottom dollar that she would find a way to make me and the neighbor kids desert,” 

   “She always was so generous,” 

   “She was the best mom anyone could ever ask for,” Grant smiles a little, a small, tender little thing that had Bucky wondering just exactly what Grant was thinking. 

   “I wish I could have been there-” Bucky sighs, his heart suddenly sinking. “I wish I could’ve seen your first steps, or heard your first words, I wish I could have seen you on your first date or watch you walk down the aisle-” 

   “That doesn’t matter now,” Grant smiles, reaching over to take Bucky’s metal hand in his own, withered one. “You’re here now and that’s all that matters to me...It’s nice to finally meet you Dad,” Bucky smiles, chuckling a bit even with the tears burning at his eyes. 

   “It’s nice to finally meet my son,”  

#Bucky Barnes x reader #Bucky Barnes imagine #Bucky Barnes #the winter soldier imagine #the winter soldier x reader #the winter soldier #marvel #marvel imagine #Sebastian Stan #Sebastian Stan imagine #captain america #captain america imagine #catfa #catfa imagine #cacw #cacw imagine

[chroniclackofselfpreservation]

And The Dragon Will Come When He Hears The Drum

Chapter 3 - rage alone isn't fuel enough to enable me to fly

Back to the Beginning <Previous Chapter / Next Chapter >  AO3

(TW: headaches, extreme cold, numbness, toxic family relationships, flashbacks, mention of a corpse)

(The title of this chapter comes from "Double Helix Kyrie" by Raymond Luczak)

Janus flew through the night without stopping. It had started snowing in earnest after the first hour or so, making his muscles stiff and decreasing visibility. He’d almost run into a snow-capped peak at one point, but the higher he flew, the more volatile the winds became. It was exhausting. Janus had to beat his wings twice as hard to go half as far as he normally would amidst the growing storm. He smelled the air often, on the lookout for any sort of static build up in the clouds. Dragons were notorious for attracting lightning while in the air.

When he at last arrived at the distant village, he couldn't feel his wings at all. Approaching the ground for a landing in the snow-covered meadow behind the healer’s modest cottage, Janus’s legs buckled beneath him and he hit the snow with a thunderous thud. He tried to fold his wings against his back, but the muscles wouldn’t respond, instead content to tremble and be useless. The icy wind slipped beneath his wings and, despite his best efforts, filled them like parachutes, sending him skidding snout-over-tail into the trees at the edge of the clearing.

“Janus?!” a voice shouted over the howling wind. Through the snow, he saw the disheveled healer holding a flickering lantern, shirt half-tucked and feet shoved shoddily into untied boots. Janus needed to shift, but he couldn’t focus long enough with the wind threatening to pluck him off the ground, and his mind threatening unconsciousness. If he passed out, he’d be stuck as a dragon until he came to.

Emile tromped through the knee-deep snow, one hand raised against the blizzard. “Did you fly in this? Janus, you could have been hurt!”

I’m not the one you should be worried about, he spoke to the healer’s mind. At last getting one of his wings under control by shoving up against a tree and crumpling it into place. The other caught another gust of wind and wrenched back, the muscles in his back and shoulders tweaking painfully.

Setting the lantern down, Emile scrambled up Janus’s shoulder—a foolhardy attempt that, with one fatal slip, could have ended with them both stranded out in the snow—reaching precariously far and secured his hands around the first major joint in his wings, dragging them down toward his body. With a lull in the howling winds, Janus at last closed his trembling wings.

Before he could succumb to unconsciousness, Janus made one last-ditch effort to shift. His form shrank instantly, and Emile let out a surprised cry. The healer landed on top of Janus, knocking all the wind out him.

“Oh no! Janus, why did you wait for me to—oh jeez, are you okay?” he fretted, scrambling off of Janus and brushing the snow off him.

“Inside,” he croaked, trying to roll over, to crawl, something. His arms wouldn’t listen to him. They just hung there uselessly, throbbing in the snow. The middle of a blizzard was no place to explain what had happened. Besides, Emile was starting to shake. He wasn’t even wearing a coat. Janus would be fine, the fire inside him more than enough to keep him warm all night if he had to, but the foolishly kind mortal had come out here in nothing more than day clothes.

“Right. Of course,” he said, hooking his hands beneath Janus’s arms and dragging him through the snow toward the cottage. Emile fell several times, slipping in the slush, but didn’t give up.

Janus passed out before they reached the house.

* * * * * * * * * *

Roman was an obstinate prince, and he knew it well. Enough, in fact, that it didn’t surprise him that his sister took advantage of him being sedated to pack up camp and start the brigade’s course back toward the castle. They’d traveled through the night—they must have, given the plush bed Roman was laying in and the faint rays of morning light streaming through gossamer curtains to his left. His head pounded worse than any hangover he’d suffered before, as if someone were driving a metal spike through his eye socket with every beat of his heart.

Squinting through the pain, Roman found himself alone in his quarters, dressed in clean, satin sleep clothes. The fireplace on the opposite wall was empty and cold. The pale stone walls loomed over him, coming together in ribbed vaults at their apex. On the left wall hung various swords and daggers for him to practice with whenever he pleased—and he often did.

His eyes finished their wander around the room at the grand bookshelf near the curtained window. Logan’s books. Roman tried to swallow, but couldn’t get past the lump in his throat. The warlock had been content reading in the palace library, but Roman had used any excuse to be around Logan.

You stole all the books on sorcery?

I didn’t steal them. Just relocated them.

Into your room?

Is that a problem?

Roman remembered Logan’s smile then. He so rarely smiled. It had become a sort of mission for the prince to bring a smile, however faint, to that studious face.

Roman heaved a shuddering breath, biting back the urge to dissolve into hysterics again. Why was no one around? Surely Patton, or even an attendant would be tasked with watching him. He was injured after all.

Who am I kidding? he thought, resigned. My parents would throw a ball if I dropped dead. One less thing for them to worry about.

As if on cue, the door to his chambers opened and a herald stepped through. Roman groaned and pulled one of his many pillows over his face in preparation.

“The Queen is here for an audience with Prince Roman,” the stuffy man announced. Roman flipped him off from beneath the pillow. The herald scoffed and left, the soft click of the queen’s shoes replacing him.

“That isn’t very princely of you, Roman,” she tutted before he could lower his hand.

“Apologies,” he muttered, feigning nonchalance. In truth, being around his mother in such a vulnerable state sent cold fear dripping down his spine. He had nothing to threaten her with.

“Oh, really,” she huffed, plucking the pillow away from his face and tossing it to the floor. “Don’t be so dramatic. Raila told me what happened. Warlocks die all the time. The fools are always overtaxing themselves in battle, leaving themselves vulnerable. It’s too bad, though. Yours lasted far longer than any of mine have,” the queen said, inspecting her nails.

Roman knew she was trying to get a rise out of him, but knowing her agenda didn’t make her words any less infuriating.

“What can I do for you, mother?” he asked, murderously pleasant.

She stroked his cheek with a sharp-nailed hand. “Is it so unbelievable that I wanted to check up on you, dear?”

Roman suppressed a shiver, meeting her gaze defiantly. She pursed her lips, hand pausing on his jaw, unimpressed by his silence.

“Right,” she said, giving his cheek a rough pat that Roman flinched against, despite his best efforts. “Don’t lounge around all day. I’ll expect you at dinner.”

With that said, the queen left.

Roman let out an explosive sigh, running his hands down his face. He swung his legs out from under his blankets and over the side of the bed, forcing himself up into a seat. The room lurched, his head pounding anew. It took several minutes before Roman figured he could stand without immediately collapsing.

There was a knock at the door. “Your Highness?” Patton called through the door.

“What do you want?” he snapped, leaning against his bedpost.

The healer opened the door and stepped inside. “I came to remove the healing sigil, Your Highness,” he explained, holding up his bag. “It should have done its job by now.”

“Healing sigil…?” Roman said.

“I inscribed one on the journey last night,” Patton said with an amused smile. “If you would remove your shirt, Your Highness.”

Roman unbuttoned his top and found an inky black symbol in the middle of his chest. “I’ve never seen you use one of these before,” he said curiously.

“You’d broken three ribs,” Patton explained, motioning for Roman to sit on his bed. He unclasped his medical bag and rifled through it. “I simply figured you wouldn’t want to be stuck in the castle for six weeks while they healed.”

Roman shuddered at the thought. Unable to escape his parents or siblings for a month and a half? He’d rather fight a hundred dragons. Patton took out a bottle of clear liquid and a small metal device that looked like a safety pin with a thimble attached to the end.

He paused, looking up. “How’s your head?”

“Terrible.”

Patton plucked a tiny vial from his bag and motioned for Roman to hold out his hand. He tapped out about a teaspoon’s worth of cobalt blue powder. “Let this dissolve on your tongue. It should help.”

Roman sniffed it quizzically. “What is it?”

“If I wanted to kill you, Your Highness, I would have done it out by the stream,” Patton sighed.

He has a point, Roman figured and downed the powder. Blueberry flavor exploded across his tongue and he almost coughed.

“I’m going to take your pulse,” Patton said, setting an open notebook on the side table. “I can take it on your wrist or neck. Which would you prefer?”

Roman held out his arm, not keen on the idea of letting someone’s hand that close to his throat. Patton took his hand and pressed two fingers into his wrist, just below his thumb, lips moving soundlessly as he counted to himself. Speaking of throats, the prince noticed Patton’s own was free of any sort of bruising or redness.

“How’s your neck?” Roman asked as casually as he could manage, as if he hadn’t literally strangled the man less than twenty-four hours ago.

Patton stiffened, ignoring him for a moment as he finished his count. “Well,” he said, dropping Roman’s hand and scribbling something down in his notebook without looking up at him, “I am a healer, so it’s doing better than it would have ordinarily.”

Roman squirmed a bit. “Right. Well, um, that’s good.”

“I need to listen to your breathing to ensure the ribs have healed properly,” Patton continued clinically. “May I place my ear on your chest?”

“Why do you keep asking me if you can do things?” Roman chuckled.

Patton still didn’t meet his eye. “Because you and your siblings have a propensity for attacking those who touch you without warning. May I?”

“Knock yourself out.”

The healer bent down and pressed his ear to one side of Roman’s chest, the skin-to-skin contact making the hair on the back of his neck rise.

“Deep breath,” the healer muttered. Roman obeyed, biting his cheek against the memories threatening to flood his mind. Logan and him laying in bed together, the warlock’s head resting against his chest, just as Patton’s was now.

“And another,” the healer said, shifting to the other side of his chest, right over his no doubt frantic heart. Roman gripped the blankets until his knuckles were white, forcing himself to take a deep breath.

Patton pulled away, glancing down at Roman’s fists. “Was there any pain while you were breathing?”

“No.”

“Good. I’ll remove the sigil, then.” He uncorked the bottle and poured some into his palm. It came out slowly, a syrup of some kind. Patton spread the strange liquid onto Roman’s chest, careful not to smudge the sigil. He flinched, surprised by how cold it was.

“May I ask you something, Your Highness?” the healer asked softly, almost unsure.

“What is it?”

Patton paused, his fingertips hovering just over the prince’s collar bone. “Have you ever apologized for something?”

Roman snorted. “Of course I have. I apologize to my parents all the time.”

“Other than the king and queen.”

Roman thought back. “I think I apologized to Reid once,” he said. His older brother had had to break one of his fingers to force it out of him, but it was an apology nonetheless. “Why?”

Patton pressed his lips into a hard line. “Nevermind,” he muttered, holding the small metal device just above his chest. “Prepare yourself.”

Before Roman could even open his mouth, Patton squeezed both sides of the pin. Sparks flew from within the thimble-like bowl, and the syrup ignited with a sharp hiss and a flash of green flame. In an instant, it was gone, leaving his chest dry and bare of any markings.

Roman yelped, scrambling back over the mattress. Patton fought a smile.

“You didn’t warn me on purpose,” he accused, heart racing.

Patton blinked at him innocently. “Would you like an apology, Your Highness?”

“Get out.”

“Certainly.” The healer grabbed his things and went to leave, giving a stiff bow.

“Wait!”

Patton hesitated. “Yes, Your Highness?”

Roman swallowed, trying not to sound too desperate. “Logan. Where is he?”

Patton’s expression softened somewhat, his shoulder’s relaxing. “He’s safe and cleaned up in my office. I even put a preservation spell on him.”

“Move him to the dungeons,” Roman said, lowering his voice. “As discretely as you can. Don’t let anyone see.”

Patton’s brow furrowed. “The… dungeons, my prince?”

Roman tore his signet ring from his finger and shoved it into Patton’s hands. “Show this to the dungeon guard and they’ll let you pass. Please,” he begged—perhaps for the first time to someone of a lower social standing than him.

Patton nodded, taking and ring and exiting the room. Roman’s headache was almost completely gone, thanks to that mysterious powder.

It was time to visit his baby brother.

* * * * * * * * * *

Remus paced the cave for what must have been the thousandth time. Virgil lay in his dragon form, eyes half-lidded, panting slightly. The sword hilt still stuck out from between his ribs tauntingly. He’d figured pretty quickly that the blade hadn’t pierced Virgil’s heart. He wouldn’t be alive right now if it had. What was more likely, he’d simply been insanely lucky and only punctured one lung.

Morning light peeked over the mountain peaks, the sky empty. No sign of Janus. The snow had cleared up, at least.

It made Remus twitchy with rage at the thought of that snot-nosed prince injuring, and possibly eventually killing, his best friend’s partner. Janus would probably die of grief. And then Remus would be alone. Again.

Giving in, Remus started toward the cave entrance. “Don’t die while I’m out, Virgil.”

Where are you going? he asked weakly, his tail twitching. There was human blood still smearing its spikes.

“To capture a prince.” He didn’t want to leave Virgil alone, but it wasn’t going to change anything if he did end up dying before Janus got back. Remus would just have to sit and watch.

Instead of arguing, Virgil quipped, Capture? I thought you wanted to rip his head off.

Remus reached the edge of the cliff then turned back, shrugging. “I like to play with my food.” And with that, he tipped backwards into the air with a salute.

[ecotone99]

[TH] The Photographer

“I’m a Photographer. You mind if I take a picture of you and your family?” Simon asked.

“Oh, sure,” the mom answered. “Tom, kids, gather around and smile.”

Simon lifted his camera, took a quick look around to make sure no one was watching, and snapped the picture.

He pulled up the picture on his camera screen, smiling as he examined the picture of the screaming family on the small display. They will look great added to his collection.

Before he walked away, he took a quick picture of the giant tree that the family had been standing in front of.

He spent the rest of the afternoon walking around the park, taking pictures of various plants and some animals that he thought would look great in his collection.

When he was done, he was excited to get home and play with his new toys.

Though he had plenty of money from the life insurance that had been paid out when his wife died, he lived in a low rent apartment in the shitty part of downtown.

He only needed a place to sleep and play. He never had any intentions to entertain, and where he lived, the neighbors rarely talked to each other, which suited him just fine.

He plugged the USB cable into his computer, his smile growing as he clicked on the picture folder and opened his newest collection pieces.

“Ah, come on, Steve,” Lisa began. “Let’s go to the park. It’s a beautiful day.”

Steve really wanted to just relax and watch some college football, but he couldn’t resist her infectious smile.

“Fine,” he relented.

“Yay,” she replied, hopping up and down.

Steve loved the way Lisa loved life. She was always smiling, and always wanted to be outside, whenever the weather permitted. Living in the northeast, fall was creeping in, soon to be followed by winter.

They walked arm in arm down the street, enjoying the tree’s changing colors and the sunny clear sky.

Once in the park, they took their time walking the paths, greeting everyone they passed. People always seemed in better moods in parks.

“I’m getting hungry and my legs are sore,” Lisa said, stopping in front of an empty bench.

“I’ll go get something from the vendor,” Steve replied. “Rest here and I’ll be right back.”

As he walked away, his smile faded a little.

Lisa had been in remission for six months now, but he knew that could change at any time. The only positive that had come from cancer, was that they appreciated the time they had together much more.

He looked back, giving her a quick smile and wave before he rounded the corner and out of sight.

Simon was slowly walking through the park, looking for more people, or animals, that he could add to his collection.

He knew it was only a matter of time before the police found the common denominator of all the missing people. Soon the park will become the focus of search efforts to find the people he had been taking.

While they wouldn’t be able to link him to any of the disappearances, he knew once the park began to become infested with police, he would have to pick a different locale to find new collectables.

The logical part of him told him he should take a break from adding to his collection, and just enjoy the ones he had until things cooled down, but he couldn’t stop. It was like an addiction. All he could think about was finding the next collectible.

He was pretending to take casual photos, when he noticed Lisa sitting on the bench by herself.

“Excuse me, do you mind if I take a picture of you for my collection?” Simon asked.

“Sure,” she replied. “What kind of collection is it?”

He smiled proudly, “It’s a compilation of people, animals, and the energy of the park. I’ve been coming here my entire life, and I find the energy the park provides beautiful.”

Lisa couldn’t agree more.

“That’s awesome!” Lisa said, with a broad smile of her own. “I’d be honored to be a part of your collection.”

Yes, you will be, Simon thought.

He took a few steps back, raised the camera, and took her picture.

His smile didn’t fade as he enjoyed to the beauty of the now empty bench.

Steve returned to where he had left Lisa, holding a hotdog in each hand. Not seeing her there, he looked around to see where she may have wondered off to.

He saw a photographer off to the side taking pictures of trees, so he approached him.

“Excuse me,” Steve asked.

The photographer turned to face him.

“Can I help you?” Simon asked.

“Did you happen to see where a woman that was sitting on that bench went?” Steve asked.

Simon’s smile faltered.

“I’m sorry,” Simon said, a unnoticeable tremor in his voice. “I’m afraid not.”

“Ok, thank you,” Steve replied.

Simon had never run into this problem before, and he was unsure what to do next.

Simon decided to add the man to his collection, but as he was bringing the camera up, more people walked around the bend. By the time they had moved on, Steve was too far away.

Simon considered following him and taking him later, but decided that it didn’t matter in the grand scale of things.

Flustered, Simon left the park, no longer enjoying the scenery.

Steve walked through the front door of their flat.

While it was unusual for Lisa to walk off without telling him, she often still got tired easy, and it wasn’t uncommon for them to cut walks short, so she could get home and rest.

“Lisa?” Steve called out.

He walked around the entire flat, but there was no sign of her.

He had already called her cell phone several times, but had gotten her voicemail each time.

His first instinct was to call the police, but he knew they would just make him wait twenty-four hours before they could investigate.

The air outside had gotten much cooler as he walked back to the park to look for her.

Maybe she went somewhere and then came back, he thought.

Once he was back at the bench where he left her, and seeing she wasn’t there, he tried calling her again, but still only got her voicemail.

“Screw it!” he muttered to himself and called the police.

“911, what’s your emergency?” a lady’s voice came across the line.

“Yes, my wife is missing,” he stated.

“And how long has she been missing, sir?” she asked. He could hear typing in the background.

“A couple of hours,” he answered already knowing what her response was going to be.

“Sir, I’m afraid we can’t do anything until she has been missing at least twenty-four hours,” she confirmed.

“I know, but this isn’t like her,” he said. “We were at the park, I stepped away for a few minutes, and when I came back, she was gone.”

He was expecting exasperation, but instead got silence.

“Ma’am?” he asked.

“Sir, did you say she went missing in the park?” she asked.

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied.

“Please hold,” she said, and then only silence.

After a few moments, a man’s voice came on the line.

“This is Detective Andrews, to whom am I speaking?” he asked.

“My name is Steve Dawson, and my wife’s name is Lisa Dawson,” he answered.

“Are you near the park now?” he asked.

“Yes, sir,” Steve replied. “I’m actually here now.”

“Okay, stay there,” the detective said. “I’m heading over now.”

Before Steve could say anything else, the line went dead.

A very long twenty minutes later, Steve saw the detective arrive.

“Mr. Dawson?” he asked.

“Yes, sir,” Steve replied.

“Can you tell me where you last saw your wife?” he asked.

Steve pointed to the bench. “There.”

“Did you happen to see anyone else around at that time?” the detective asked.

“No, sir,” Steve said. “Wait, I did see a photographer, but that was after she was missing.”

“I see.”

The detective looked around the area for a bit, and then returned to where Steve was waiting.

“I’m afraid I’ve been following a few missing people cases where they had been last seen either in the park, or last told they were coming here. I don’t know if your wife is part of that, but I’m afraid so far we don’t have much to go on. We have yet to have a witness, and there are never signs of foul play. They’re just here one day, and then gone the next. I wish I could say these were isolated incidents, but in a city this big, it unfortunately happens more often than not,” the detective explained.

He questioned Steve for a little longer, gave him his card, and left.

Steve once again found himself alone in the park.

A few days past, and there was no sign of Lisa. Steve had taken time off from work since he couldn’t concentrate. He spent each day walking through the park, hoping to see some clue that would help lead him to Lisa.

As Steve sat on a bench thinking to himself, he saw the photographer in the distance taking pictures.

He didn’t think the man had taken Lisa, but there was something odd about his behavior when he had asked about her sitting there.

He sat in a way where he could see the photographer, but the photographer couldn’t easily see him.

What else can I do? Steve asked himself.

He watched as the photographer took pictures, and then stopped to talk to a couple who was walking by.

He said something to them, the couple smiled, and then took a couple of steps back to allow the photographer to take a picture of them.

Steve gasped as he saw the photographer look around briefly, and then within a split second, the couple vanished.

Steve couldn’t believe what he had just seen. One moment the couple was there smiling, the next, nothing but air.

Instinctively, Steve hid himself.

He peeked up and saw the man walk away.

Confident that was how Lisa had disappeared, he decided to follow the man.

Simon couldn’t wait to get back to his apartment. He hadn’t added to his collection in days. The man asking about his wife right after he took her had freaked him out, but now he felt it was time to get back to collecting.

He walked, wearing a broad smile, and unaware someone was following him.

As far as Steve could tell, the photographer didn’t know he was being followed. He didn’t look around once and seemed to make a straight line for an apartment building.

Steve watched him go into the building, and then picked up his pace, not wanting to lose him inside.

He peeked inside the door and saw the man walking up the stairs.

The front door wasn’t locked, so Steve was able to enter the building and quickly make his way up the stairs just far enough to see where the photographer went.

The man walked down the hallway of the second floor, and approached a door. He turned the key and began to walk through.

As soon as Steve was sure he couldn’t be seen, he sprinted down the hallway to reach the door before it closed.

Simon flew back as something came bursting through the door before it had closed all the way.

He fell to the ground hard, and before he could understand what was happening, a strange man was on top of him.

Simon looked to the door, hoping someone would see what was happening, but the door was closed. Steve had slammed it closed behind him as he ran through.

“Where’s my wife?!” Steve seethed into Simon’s face. He purposely kept his voice down, so that no one would hear him.

Simon began to call out for help, but before he could get a peep out, Steve punched him hard in the face.

“Where’s my wife, you son of a bitch?” Steve asked again.

“I, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Simon replied.

“I saw what you just did to that couple, and I know you did the same thing to my wife!” Steve said again, slamming Simon’s head into the ground.

Simon was sadistic, but he wasn’t brave. It didn’t take long before he told Simon everything.

“She’s in there,” he said, pointing to the computer.

“How do I get her out?!” Steve asked firmly.

“I don’t know,” Simon began. “I only know how to put them in.”

“Why do you do it?” Steve asked.

Simon knew there was only one answer.

“Because I can,” he said.

Steve punched him again, and grabbed the camera.

“Well, guess what?” Steve said, only inches from Simon’s face. “I’m going to put you in there and see how you like it.”

Steve raised the camera like he was going to take a picture of Simon, but Simon stopped him.

“Wait, wait,” he begged. “I’ll release them.”

“I thought you just said you didn’t know how?” Steve said.

“I lied,” Simon replied. “I lied. Please, I’ll release them.”

Reluctantly, Steve let him up.

Simon walked over to the computer, took the SD card out of the camera, and put it into the computer. He typed some commands into the Command Prompt, and then took the chip out and put it back in the camera.

He flipped through the settings, and showed Steve which setting to use to release them.

Before he did anything else, he flipped through the pictures until he came across Lisa’s. His heart sank as he saw her once smiling face was now contorted into a scream.

He clicked the button and in an instant, she was standing before them.

Once she had gained her bearing, she ran into Steve’s arms.

“Steve!” She yelled, unable to contain herself.

Steve returned her hug, but kept his gaze on Simon. He wasn’t about to let him try anything.

“Is everyone you took in here?” he asked.

“Only the ones that survived,” Simon replied.

“Survived what?” Steve asked.

Simon reluctantly walked to the computer and pulled up a game application. It was like a battle game where you were able to choose your combatants.

Steve looked over at Lisa.

“Do you remember this?” he asked her.

“No,” she replied, shaking her head. “The last thing I remember was him taking my picture and then immense pain.”

Steve’s blood boiled. He fiddled with the camera settings, and without any warning, he took a picture of Simon, who quickly disappeared.

Lisa’s heart momentarily stopped when she saw the man just vanish before her.

Before she could say anything, Steve began destroying the computer, breaking every piece, picking them up, and breaking them some more. He used his hands for most of it, but he took the hard drive to a table and using a hammer, he broke it into a thousand pieces.

“Let’s go,” he said, leading Lisa out the door.

Steve and Lisa found a vacant part of the park, and released everyone one by one, except for Simon.

The small crowd of people stared at each other, unsure what was happening, and no memory of what had happened to them.

Once he was sure everyone, but Simon was released, he took out the SD card, and broke it in half, throwing half into a trash can, and putting the other half into his pocket to throw away later.

Everyone jumped when he smashed the camera onto the ground.

“Let’s go home,” he said to Lisa, leading her away from the dumbfounded group of people.

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