#uncle gale didn’t make the cut

[lazylittledragon]

kit's drawings of his fam are impeccable lmao

he’s v talented

#bg3 #dadstarion #his favourite people #uncle gale didn’t make the cut #devastating

[httplilyyy]

𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐃 | 𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐀 𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐏𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑

pairing: tara carpenter x reader

summary: the secret is out 

warnings: descriptions of violence, (possible) multiple character death, knives, guns, descriptions of blood (lots of it), swearing, angst, scream vi spoilers, bad writing

word count: 5.4k

a/n: this is a bit of a lengthy chapter but it’s one of my favourites.

scream masterlist | prev. part | next part

004. red right hand - nick cave & the bad seeds

‘you'll see him in your nightmares.’

‘What’s your favourite scary movie?’

Those words were written on the wall, a ghostface spray painted just above the chilling question in an old alleyway. 

Everywhere you looked something screamed at you to run the other way. You walked alongside Tara and Sam, the younger of the two holding onto your hand, afraid that you would disappear in a blink of an eye.

“Jason and Greg were little Atlantan rich boys.” Gale explained as she walked ahead of everyone, guiding you all into the warehouse. “They used fake names to rent this place.”

“How did you find it?” Kirby questioned, jogging forward to walk beside Gale.

“It’s called investigative journalism for a reason, how didn’t you find it? Weren’t you tracking them?”

“I went through their financial records dozens of times and this was not in any of them.” Kirby huffed as she looked up at the warehouse. “It doesn't make sense.”

“Don’t worry,” Gale smiled feigning sympathy, “I’m just really good at my job, you’ll get there.” 

Gale pulled a key card from her bag and opened the door to the warehouse, the rest of you following the woman inside. Gale also grabbed a flashlight, turning it on so she could guide the rest of the way. 

“What is this place?” Sam asked as she walked in, looking around at the cobweb littered walls. “What’s with all the security?”

Gale switched on the lights allowing you to finally see what you had just walked into.

“It’s a movie theatre.” Tara stated as she looked around.

“It’s not just a theatre. It's a shrine.” Gale said, nodding to the memorabilia placed all around the theatre.

Your head snapped to the stage, watching as the curtains rose up to show nine mannequins with black cloaks, the ghostface masks missing. 

Interested, you took a few cautious steps forward, each item was from the past ghostface’s and their victims. 

“They’ve got the whole damn franchise.” Mindy spoke loudly as she walked around, taking in everything that she could.

“Chad.” Mindy gasped softly.

“Hmm?” The boy replied.

“This was uncle Randy’s.” Mindy said, looking at an old t-shirt. “They’ve got everything.”

“Is that-” Tara started, looking over at Kirby.

“The knife I was stabbed with.” Kirby finished, a sorrowful look on her face.

“You have all been through so much.” Bailey said, looking around the room.

“Who drew all these- woah wait.” Mindy said, cutting herself off as she looked intently at an old photo.

“What’s up?” Sam asked, looking over to the girl.

“There’s a child in this.”

Your head snapped up from looking at an old piece of memorabilia and at Mindy. There's only one child who that could be. You. 

“What the hell?” Chad mumbled, walking over to his sister so he could have a look himself.

“Y/n? Is that- is that you?” Mindy questioned, looking backwards and forwards from the photo to you.

“I uh- I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You replied, turning your focus onto something else.

“This kid. It looks like you.” Mindy persisted.

You knew you would have to share your secret some time soon but you weren't ready for it to be this soon. You turned your head to Kirby who gave you a discrete nod then you looked at Gale, the older woman giving you a warm smile.

“Okay, I- yeah it’s me.” You said, suddenly finding the floor very interesting.

“What the hell.” Chad exclaimed, looking over to you. “Y/n-”

“Look- I- I’m sorry, okay! I just didn’t know how to tell you-” You said, trying to explain as you walked towards the two only for them to take a step back.

Taking the hint you stood in your place, in the middle of the theatre, with everybody watching you. You internally chuckled, this all seemed like some horrible play and you had no way out of it.

“That your sister was a Ghostface?!” Mindy said loudly, hands raised beside her.

“Half sister. Different dads.” You mumbled with a shrug.

“Y/n, why wouldn’t you tell us?” Tara questioned quietly, as if her voice was going to break if she spoke any louder. She was going to move towards you, only to be stopped by Sam.

“I tried to.” You said, heart breaking at all of your friends looking at you as if you were the killer. “I really did- you have to believe me.”

“Y/n-” Sam tried.

“Please.” You said, voice cracking as you tried not to cry.

Sam looked hesitant and so did Tara, although the two of them wanted to comfort you, they didn’t know whether to trust you. 

“You don’t trust me, do you?” You stated, voice breaking as tears brimmed your eyes as you looked around at your friends.

“Y/n-” 

“It's fine.” You sniffled, wiping away your tears. “It’s fine.”

You looked at everyone around you, feeling like the walls were caving in and you needed to escape, but you didn’t know where to go so you went up onto the stage. 

Everyone watched you, moving out of your way as you passed them, as if you had something contagious. 

Your heart cracked, you looked back at the people who you once called your friends before standing in front of the ghostface mannequins.

It suddenly felt as if you were under water, you could hear people talking but their voices were muffled. You could also feel eyes on the back of your head, as if it were a target. 

You looked at the past ghostfaces, stopping in front of one that had left you in a trance but to you it was more of a nightmare.

Jill’s name was shown at the bottom of the costume, a shiver went down your spine at the memories of that night. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, trying to not let your mind slip back to that time.

But it was no use.

You sat on the floor, hands and feet bound with duct tape, along with your mouth. Your eyes were red raw, tears flowing down your cheeks as you looked up to your older sister. 

The person you used to look up to the most stabbed her accomplice. He doubled over in pain, bleeding from where Jill had stabbed him, right in the heart, a look of betrayal flickering over his expression.

“There’s been a change of plans.” Jill smiled manically. “The problem with you Charlie, it’s always been about killing Sidney Prescott. My plan is a little bigger. I’m going to become her.” 

And with that, Jill stabbed him again. Charlie couldn’t believe what was happening as he stared at the woman, stunned and shocked. Before falling back and crumbling to the floor.

Jill looked down at him with a glimmer of diabolical glee. She gave his body a quick kick with her foot but his body didn't move. The realisation crossing your face, he's dead and your sister had killed him.

“How did you turn into this?” Sidney asked, looking between Jill and Charlie's now dead body, a glimpse of you being caught in the corner of her eye.

“Nothing is ever what it seems. Your words, Sidney. I've always been this. You know what it's like growing up related to you? All you hear is Sidney this, Sidney that, Sidney, Sidney...You were always so fucking special. Now it's my turn.”

You watched on in fear, Jill taking her knife and pointing it at Sidney, a sickening smile taking form on her face.

“And now you have to die. Those are the rules.”

“What rules?”

“There's only room for one lead. Let's face it, Sid, your ingenue days are over.”

Jill advanced on Sidney, stabbing her with the knife. The older woman gasped in pain leading Jill to stab her again. Sidney dropped to her knees, now losing a lot of blood but desperately trying to stay awake.

Then everything felt as if it moved in slow motion, Sidney’s body fell limp to the floor, you looked at her hopefully, begging for her to get up but she didn’t move.

You let out a scream, the duct tape against your mouth preventing you from being too loud but the sound still startled Jill. 

Her head snapped towards you and it was as if her gaze softened but you knew that was too good to be true. 

Jill made her way to you, kneeling in front of you. You tried to back away in fear but you couldn’t do anything due to the duct tape around your wrists and ankles.

“Oh, my sweet baby sister.” Jill said sweetly, holding a hand up to your cheek.

You flinched away, even more tears falling from your eyes as you whimpered at the sight of Jill. You looked into her eyes, trying to find the Jill who was once your sister, your best friend, but she was nowhere to be seen.

“I really wish I didn't have to do this.” Jill said sadly and you would’ve believed her if it wasn't for the sickening smile on her face.

You violently shook your head from side to side as you watched Jill edge her knife closer and closer to your side, just under your ribs. You squirmed, kicked, thrashed and screamed, begging Jill with your eyes not to do it. 

But she didn't listen. Her knife went into your side and then everything went black.

“So somebody killed these chuckle fucks and took over?” Chad questioned, snapping you out of your haze.

You turned to see that everyone was now on the stage, each of them going backwards and forwards from eyeing you up to looking at a mannequin. 

“Someone who believes that Sam masterminded woodsboro and perhaps Y/n now too.” Gale said. 

“Wait what?” You questioned turning around to face the older woman, shocked at the statement but you cowered back as everyone's eyes turned to you.

“If this were a normal stab movie, this would be the killer's lair.” Mindy explained from where she stood, giving you a quick side eye.

“Which means this isn’t a normal stab movie.” Kirby added.

Tara breathed heavily, looking between you and her sister before storming off. You went to go after her but after a hard look from Sam you realised you weren’t wanted.

You gave a silent nod, tears forming back in your eyes as the back of your throat burned. You could feel your heart rate increasing, your hands going clammy as your breathing picked up. The theatre walls closing in on you. Not being able to breathe, you looked at everyone before you ran out on your own.

Finally getting to somewhere where you could calm down, you placed your hand against a wall and took in a deep breath. You were startled by the sound of your phone ringing and you already knew who it was.

Pulling your phone out of your pocket, you answered the call, squeezing your eyes shut, you prepared for their voice.

“Y/n, y/n, y/n.” Ghostface tutted. “Walking off on your own, very brave choice.”

“Yeah, well I like my chances.” 

“I wouldn’t get so comfortable.”

“Okay… you’re boring me.” You huffed, taking your phone away from your ear and ending the call.

“Wait wha-”

You shook your head with a sigh, placing your phone back in your pocket before walking back to where everyone was. You saw Gale and Kirby making their way to Sam and Tara so you thought you’d tag along.

The older women both made sure you were okay and with a nod of your head, they knew that you were alright.

“I’m sorry.” You heard Sam whisper to Tara.

“Just drop it Sam.” The younger Carpenter said before walking away from her sister.

“Tara-”

“We’ve got her.” Kirby smiled, motioning to you beside her. 

Sam gave you a look but you walked off with Kirby before she could do anything about it leaving her with Gale.

You found Tara sitting by herself, at the top of the theatre, looking down at the stage all caught in her thoughts.

She heard the two of you coming so you sent her a small smile but you didn’t make your way towards her, opting to stay by the door as Kirby sat beside her.

“How’d you get past what happened to you?” Tara questioned, picking at the skin around her fingers.

“I almost died after I was stabbed.” Kirby said. “Technically I did die. For four minutes. When I recovered I got mad. I didn't want to spend the rest of my life being afraid of monsters. I wanted the monsters to be afraid of me.”

“I like that.” Tara said, clearing her throat before she turned to you. “What about you y/n? You’ve been through this twice.”

“Oh I uh- I-” You struggled, not knowing if Tara actually cared or if she was feeling sympathetic. “I’m the same as Kirby, I almost died but I didn't want to let that determine the way I lived the rest of my life. I mean yeah, sure, it sucked and it took a hell of a lot of therapy to get over my sister stabbing me but I got there in the end.”

The three of you were snapped out of your little bubble when you heard the doors open, Bailey, Sam and Gale walking towards you three.

“Sorry to interrupt.” Bailey said, the two women walking behind him. “But I think I have an idea about how to turn the tables on this creep.”

“Yeah.” Gale agreed. “And we’re in.”

“Sorry Gale, no press allowed.” Kirby said, raising her hands to the side. “Police business. I’m good at my job too.”

“Ooh, she got you there.” You chuckled. 

“Okay, so let's go.” Tara said, finding a new determination in her.

“About that,” you mumbled, scratching the back of your neck, “I’m going to stay with Gale, if that’s okay?”

“Of course.” Gale beamed. 

“No, y/n. We need to keep an eye on you.” Sam said.

“Wha-”

“I can handle myself, Sam.” Gale said, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder.

“You text or call if anything happens.” Sam said firmly, giving you one last look before walking out with Tara, Bailey and Kirby hot on her tail.

“They’ll come around eventually.” Gale said softly, feeling your shoulders deflate.

“Yeah.” You sighed sadly, kicking the ground by your feet.

“C’mon, what do you want to do?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Take out back at mine?”

“Uh, yeah. That sounds like a good idea.”

The two of you made your way out of the theatre and into Gale’s car. The both of you sat in silence but it wasn't awkward, it was comforting. Your head rested on the car window, watching everything go by as you were stuck in your thoughts.

The journey to her apartment wasn’t long and before you knew it, you were riding the elevator up to her floor.

After Gale unlocked her door, she let you in first. You took in your surroundings and chuckled at how poor you were compared to Gale.

“So this is what it must be like to be really, really rich.” You said, walking into the living room.

“Being a reporter has its perks.” Gale said, giving you a teasing smile.

“It sure does.” 

“I never got to ask you about the attack at Sam and Tara’s apartment, and with everything that happened earlier, how are you?” Gale questioned, sitting beside you on her sofa with her laptop in hand.

“I’ve been better but it’s nothing I can’t handle.”

“You miss her, don’t you?”

“Who, Jill-?”

“No. Sid.” Gale said with a sad smile on her face. “She’s been with you through it all and this is your first time without her.”

“Of course I miss her.” You said, fiddling with the fabric of your top. “But she needs to stay safe, away from here. Away from me.”

“She misses you too. And don't think like that.” Gale said, her gaze on you softening. “She changed her number, I can give it to you if you’d like.”

“I’m not sure.” You said, playing with your fingers.

“Just give me your phone.” Gale said, holding her hand out.

“Okay.” You said reluctantly, placing your phone in her hand.

“Thank you.” Gale said, quickly typing in Sidney’s number before handing your phone back to you. 

“I don’t think I ever said thank you. For everything, back in two-thousand and eleven, last year and now today. So, thank you.”

“You don’t need to thank me, y/n. I’ll always be there for you, just like Sid.”

“Although you may still see me as a nine year old, I've got your back too.”

“How about, when this is all over, you can come and live with me? Only if you’d like to of course.” Gale said, nudging you with her elbow.

“I’d like that.” You smiled.

“Now, ‘no press’, who does Kirby think she is?” Gale huffed, opening her laptop. “Bitch, last time I saw you, you were in glee club.”

You shook your head with a smile, leaning back on the sofa to get a look at what Gale was doing.

“Forgive me if I don't trust you to keep them safe.” Gale went on to imitate Kirby.

“I’m going to order food, do you want anything?” You asked, opening up your phone.

“Oh, yes please, I'm fine with whatever.”

“Okay.”

You looked through a couple of take out places but ultimately decided on pizza. You placed your order and put on a movie to kill some time. 

After about half an hour you got thirsty so you got up from your spot to get a glass of water, as you were about to ask if Gale wanted one, your phone started ringing.

“Your phone, y/n.” Gale said, looking up from her laptop.

“You can answer it.” You replied, finishing your drink and putting the glass in the sink.

“Hello?” Gale answered.

“Hello, Gale. It's strange that you and I have never spoken on the phone. This is long overdue.” 

“Who is it?” You asked, walking over to the woman as you watched her shoot out of her seat.

“It’s Ghostface.” Gale mouthed.

“Shit.” You muttered. “Give the phone to me.”

“I agree.” Gale replied over the phone, holding a hand up to you as she shook her head.

“I figured after all these years you’d want an interview.”

“I’m going to call the police.” You whispered, picking up Gale’s home phone before walking out of the room.

“You figured right.” Gale said, looking at her phone as it buzzed on the coffee table, Sam’s name coming up as the contact. “So what's your motive this time? You angry at the movies or are you just trying to stay relevant?”

“Well I could ask you the same. Don't you know the legacy characters are disposable now. Nobody cares about last century's heroes.”

“Then why bother with me at all?”

“Call it nostalgia. Or maybe you deserve to be punished for all that money you made off the misery of others. Maybe it's time someone made a buck reporting your death.”

“You know you're like the tenth guy to try this right. And spoiler alert, it never works out for the dip-shit in the mask.”

“Oh but they certainly leave a mark before they go, don’t they? Richie and Amber managed to butcher Dewey, carved him up like a christmas goose. How does it feel to lose the only man who ever loved you?”

“Fuck you.”

“How does it feel to know that you weren’t there for him at the end? Not there to give him comfort as he died screaming in his own guts.”

“You’re the one who’s gonna die screaming.”

“Maybe, but you won’t be there to see it. You couldn’t stop what happened to Dewey. Just like you wont be able to stop what’s coming.”

“Hey, the police are on their way.” You said quietly, running back in the room.

“Is that, y/n I hear?”

“What do you want?” Gale questioned.

“How about you put them on the phone.”

“No chance.”

“Oh, I'd do it if I were you, Gale.”

“Fine.” Gale reluctantly said, handing you your phone.

“Hey, Ghosty.” You said, taking your phone from Gale and holding up to your ear.

“Hello, y/n. How’s it feel to be cut off from the friendship group?”

“How do you know about that?”

“Oh I know everything. I thought you would know that by now.”

“I guess so.”

“Now, how about a game of hide and seek?”

“I’m sorry?”

“I’m hiding, you come find me.”

“And why would I want to do that?”

“Because I'll gut you like a fish before you have the chance to step foot out of this apartment!” The Ghostface said loudly down the phone. “So, y/n, let me try that again. Do you want to play hide and seek? I’ll make it easier for you by saying if you’re hot or cold.”

“How about a game of Marco Polo. I think that’s a little more interesting.”

“Or I can go back to the originals and ask, what’s your favourite scary movie? It doesn't work like that, y/n. You play by my rules. Hide. And. Seek.”

“You really are a sick fuck.”

“Cold.” Ghostface said, ignoring you and starting the game of hide and seek.

You sighed to yourself, walking towards the kitchen where Gale looked at you with confusion written all over her face.

“Colder.”

“What's going on?” Gale mouthed.

“Hide and seek.” You mouthed back.

“Y/n, no!” 

“I’ll be fine, just wait here.”

“What’s taking you so long, y/n?”

“Taking a stroll, you impatient fuckface.” You replied, walking back to the living room.

“Warmer.”

You walked back to where you had called the police, and came across multiple doors, one on your left, two on your right and one at the end of the hall.

You opened the first on your right, only for it to be an empty bathroom.

“Warmer.”

The next one you opened was the one on your left, again empty.

“Warmer.”

You decided to go for the one at the very end of the hall but it was empty too, only leaving one door left to open.

As you grasped the handle you let out a shaky breath, pulling it open with speed.

“Bingo.” Ghostface said, ending the call as they jumped out of the cupboard, stabbing you in the stomach.

“Ah! Fuck!” You yelled, holding your stomach as you fell to the floor, the ghostface standing over you menacingly. 

The Ghostface tilted their head to the side, preparing the knife in their hand to bring it down onto your body.

Gale, from the other room, heard your scream and rushed towards you. Stopping in her tracks seeing the Ghostface next to you.

The Ghostface turned their head towards Gale, tilting to the side slightly, looking backwards and forwards from you and Gale. 

Their shoulders sagged, shaking their head as they looked down at your body before speeding their way over to Gale, leaving you to bleed out on the floor.

“Gale.” You shouted weakly, desperately trying to stop the bleeding from your abdomen.

If being stabbed once in one day wasn't bad enough, it just had to happen again. You could hear things crashing in the kitchen along with Gale’s attempt to keep the Ghostface away from her. 

Using all of your strength, you opened a door that led you to Gale’s bedroom. You pulled yourself along the floor and situated yourself in her walk-in closet. 

You let yourself breathe for a moment, looking down at your wound when you let out a small grunt as you applied more pressure, your head slowly starting to become dizzy as you felt your eyelids drooping. 

All of a sudden, the heavy breaths of Gale became closer, the woman running into her walk-in closet and slamming the door behind her, making sure it was locked.

“Oh God, Y/n!” Gale said worriedly, rushing over to you, applying pressure on your wound.

“I’m fine, Gale.” You said, struggling to form a sentence as you looked over to the door where the Ghostface pounded on it relentlessly. 

“No you're not! Oh God! You have to stay with me!”

“Gale, deal with the Ghostface, I promise I'm fine, I just need to catch my breath.” You said, placing a hand over hers and giving it a gentle squeeze.

Gale gave you a reluctant nod before getting up and opening up a cupboard where inside was a case containing her gun. The case had a lock on it, causing Gale to try a few times before she could finally open it.

Once she had the gun out of the box, she shot towards the door and at the Ghostface and it all went quiet. 

“How’s that for nostalgia, fucker!” Gale shouted, tightening her grip on the gun.

Letting out heavy breaths, you finally thought you were safe but you should’ve known that the Ghostface wouldn’t have given up that easily. The sound of a phone ringing causes both you and Gale to jump.

The older woman looked to her side, where the phone sat, right next to a picture of her and Dewey. Keeping her gun facing the door, she walked over to the phone and picked it up.

“You missed.”

“Sure I did.” Gale replied sarcastically.

“You win, I'm in the elevator heading for the ground floor.”

“Sure you are.” Gale scoffed, making her way towards the door shooting at it once again.

“Maybe you did hit me. Maybe I'm wounded. Or maybe I'm wearing a bulletproof vest.”

“That’s why I’m going to shoot you in the fucking head!” Gale shouted, opening the door.

“Gale no!” You yelled, finding some strength in you to pull you up to your feet. You held onto the wall, walking slowly after Gale, watching as she made her way back into the living room.

“You would’ve made a good killer Gale. Sidney would never have made sense and Dewey was a fan favourite but you cracking under the pressure and turning into Ghostface would've been a great twist.”

“Keep talking, asshole.” Gale said, manoeuvring further into the living room. You couldn't keep up with her, having to lean your back against the wall to catch your breath.

“Mhm, sure.” They chuckled. “What do you wanna talk about? You never got to be the leading lady, did you? It was always about poor sweet Sidney sucking up all the oxygen and what did that leave you to be?”

“The brains and the sex appeal.” Gale deadpanned.

“Sorry for stabbing y/n. Being through all this twice didn’t help much.”

“It sure didn’t.”

The Ghostface didn’t reply, not with words, they just laughed over the phone.

“Can you hold please?” Gale asked rhetorically.

“What?”

Gale took the phone away from her ear, dialling her home number causing a phone to ring in another room. Gale turned around fast, shooting at where the noise came from which was soon followed by a groan and a thump.

The ringing continued as she made her way to the door but as she went to open the door, the Ghostface jumped out and stabbed her in the shoulder. She tried to shoot them but they knocked her gun from her hand.

Hearing Gale let out a guttering scream, you pushed yourself off the wall and made your way to her as quickly as you could. 

You rounded the corner and saw Gale sitting on the floor, her back to a wall as the Ghostface plunged their knife into her side, just like they did to you. 

“Gale!” You said, walking over to her but you were weak, your legs giving out underneath you causing you to tumble to the floor. “Fuck!”

Gale had managed to push the Ghostface off her and she tried to make a run for it but they were hot on her tail. She smacked a vase over their head, but they still got up. 

She ran around her living room, desperately trying to get away but the Ghostface caught up to her. Before they could stab her, Gale flipped them over her shoulder and they smashed into her coffee table. The Ghostface knocked out cold.

Gale looked to her side, seeing you struggle to get to your feet. She made her way towards you and the two of you met in the middle. You laid on your back, staring at the ceiling as Gale sat on her knees applying pressure to your wound.

“You promised me.” Gale sobbed, watching as blood slipped through her fingers. “You promised me you were fine!”

“I am.” You reassured. “I am, now go finish the job.” 

“You better be awake by the time I get back.” Gale said, looking intently into your eyes.

“I will, I'm coming to live with you, remember?”

“Do not close your eyes!” Gale said, crawling away from you and back to the Ghostface. 

She picked up their knife, looking back at you once before she brought it down onto the Ghostface. However, before she could make contact, the Ghostface picked up a shard of glass and stabbed it into her abdomen.

You heard Gale let out a low groan but you couldn't move, a lone tear falling from the corner of your eye. 

The Ghostface took back their knife and went to push it onto Gale’s head but she used all the strength she had left and held the knife away.

“Fuck you!” Gale whispered tiredly.

When you thought the Ghostface was going to kill her, you heard Sam and Tara run into the apartment.

“Hey, fuckface!” Sam shouted, picking up Gale’s gun and shooting it at the Ghostface.

The masked killer quickly got up and ran away, dodging bullets that were firing their way.

“Gale!” Tara exclaimed, rushing over to the woman, Sam following quickly after. 

“Shit! Gale!” Sam said, placing pressure on Gale’s wound causing her to groan. “Sorry. I'm sorry. I should’ve known he was going to come after you, I'm so sorry.”

“He didn’t get me. Tell Sidney, he never got me.” 

“Hey, no you’ve got to stay awake.” Sam said, watching as Gale slowly closed her eyes.

“Y/n.” Gale said, fighting to stay awake but she finally let her eyes drop and sleep overcome her.

“Gale! No, Gale!” Sam exclaimed.

“Shit!” Tara panicked, looking around her. “Where’s y/n?”

Tara spotted you behind a chair, blood pooling all around you as you didn’t move.

“Y/n!” Tara shouted, rushing over to you. “No, no, no, no. Please stay awake. Please.”

“They’ve got terrible aim.” You croaked, a small smile forming on your face as you placed a hand over Tara’s.

“I’m sorry, God I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry.” Tara cried, trying to stop the bleeding from your stomach as tears rolled down her cheeks.

“It’s okay.” You grunted as Tara applied more pressure. “Maybe this proves that I'm not the killer.”

“Even when you’re dying, you still annoy me.”

“You love me.” You smirked. “Even if you won’t admit it to me yet, I know you do.”

“I should’ve believed you.” Tara said, crying even harder. “I do, I do believe you now. I promise, now you’ve got to stay awake, okay? You’ve got to.”

You heard the elevator ding, two paramedics rushing into Gale’s apartment. One going to Gale the other over to you. 

“Out of the way.” The paramedics said to Tara and Sam.

“No!” Tara shouted, trying to stay as close to you as possible and Sam did the same thing with Gale.

You placed your hand on Tara’s arm giving her a look. She shook her head, tears flowing even faster now but you persisted and she eventually gave in.

Tara walked over to her sister, the older girl pulling her into her arms as the two of them watched as the paramedics tended to you and Gale.

“Checking.” One paramedic said, putting two fingers to Gales' pulse point. “We’ve got a weak pulse. Get the back board, we need to move now.”

Sam let out a teary sigh, nodding her head finally calm knowing that Gale was okay but then her attention turned to you. 

Tara couldn't seem to keep her eyes off you, afraid that if she did you wouldn't make it.

You weren't sure what happened next. One moment police officers and paramedics were rushing into Gale’s apartment and then the next- well, you didn’t know.

Everything was white.

#tara carpenter #tara carpenter x reader #tara carpenter imagine #tara carpenter imagines #jenna ortega #jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega imagine #jenna ortega imagines #scream vi #scream 6 #scream

[gale-gentlepenguin]

Gale Rewrites the season 5 Finale

Now personally I really didn’t like the way this finale went. It did have some great ideas and concepts. But then the problems come in.

(As requested by the poll)

So the question is Where do I start?

I guess let’s start with Conformation.

____________________________________________

To be completely honest the plan that Gabriel and Tomoe came up with was smart. Making a magical illness that the alliance could help counter making tech addicts.

But I think what I would have made some tweaks.

1. The whole having Ladybug and chat noir supposedly kidnap Adrien and Kagami. It is unnecessary. Just have the rings Lock onto their fingers once a certain percentage of users hit and the simply have the rings transform them having them be locked on bots while the user is stuck in bliss of the peace. It’s a lot less convoluted and still accomplishes the goal without needing an additional few minutes to explain what’s happening. And then bam. Less opposition, and less need for explaination.

2. Felix gets involved. He decides that he can’t simply rely on Ladybug to confront his Uncle and kagami's mother. also these Alliance rings have gone too far. He breaks out Kagami and Adrien. Getting the rings off of them and getting them out before the alliance activates phase 2. This also helps Adrien get out of his slump. Because an argument would ensue and Felix let’s it slip that Marinette is going to confront his father. Which has Adrien decide he needs to go to. Even without Plagg. So they head to Paris.

Also the sentimonster he created was named Rescue, and it has a design similar to Feast (before akumatization), but instead of being Blue, he is green and the symbol on him is not the guardian symbol but the Japanese character for Freedom. Felix plans on Rescue being his last sentimonster and letting him live freely after.

(Also Felix’s and Kagami’s nightmares get revealed. Felix is seeing his father return and take his freedom. Kagami’s is being alone with no friends again)

3. Nathalie doesn’t just stop moving when telling Ladybug. She urges Ladybug to go and hurry. So Nathalie doesn’t just drop, not yet. Though she is on deaths door. (This is important for later.)

4. Alya and the resistance agree with Mylene and take the rings off before that little announcement, especially after Mylene points out how weird the rings are for being a perfect counter to the night torment. Thus saving everyone but Ivan who is too scared to take off the ring and it results in the similar scene.

5. Tomoe tries to warn that the kids escaped but Gabriel but is busy

With all these changes it still results in Bug Noire vs Monarch. But Adrien is outside and goes in

____________________________________________

Now for Recreation.

Monarch and bug noire start their fight and it gets intense like in canon.

Thanks to the security measures, Adrien can’t get in normally. So Argos suggests the window.

The iconic windows Monarch looks through, and he goes through it with them.

There Adrien sees all of the enslaved Kwami. He is horrified. And Felix seeing what his deal has brought is equally horrified. This means that Monarch was Gabriel.

And Adrien gets furious at Felix for knowing and making the deal. Which Felix ADMITS was wrong. Kagami keeps the peace.

Meanwhile, Tomoe reveals her back up plan. A Super miraculizer armor. Basically a Red version of it and puts it on, she is going to track down her daughter.

Cut to Lila still doing Lila things.

Kagami and Felix managed to shut down the miraculizer. So they all go inert. Meaning everyone is frozen. Except then Tomoe shows up. And her has a unique set up with her powers. Not linked to the other Miraculized. Argos and Rescue fight against Tomoe/ Kiseki Gozen.

And cut back to Gabriel fighting for his life, And everything is near checkmate.

Which causes Monarch to freeze, cause the hand has Adrien’s amok on it.

And there she detransforms just like in canon. Trying to talk him out of it.

Adrien rushes down to confront his father, and arrives just as Gabriel goes to use venom.

But Adrien calling out to him caused a stall, just enough for Marinette to avoid the attack but the movement caused her to drop the cat miraculous.

Adrien drops down and confronts his father. Then sees Marinette there and asks what she is doing down here?

But Gabriel smiles, his feint may have failed but now he has a back up.

“Adrien, I order you to get her miraculous.”

Adrien looks at his father angry but suddenly felt his body move on its own. What’s going on? Why is he not disobeying his father. He’s the bad guy!

Marinette pleads with Adrien, telling him not to.

Adrien picked up the ring.

“I… can’t stop myself… I’m sorry Marinette.”

He transforms revealing he’s chat noir. Ladybug was absolutely stunned

Shocking monarch too, but he laughs saying of course fate would have the ring under his nose the whole time.

Marinette transforms with tears in her eyes. Ladybug vs chat noir.

Argos and Rescue losing to the different powers of Tomoe, and is about to end Argos. But Rescue takes the hit and is killed in his place. Argos cries for Rescue, which Tomoe dismisses saying it was just a monster. Kagami snaps back and breaks all the kwamis out of their containers. They attack Tomoe and her powers gone. Tomoe orders Kagami to help her. To which Kagami tells her.

“You can’t control me anymore.”

Ladybug pleading with Chat noir/ Adrien to stop. Adrien saying he wanted to tell her he was chat noir but not like this.

Marinette telling him that she wanted to save him, that she wanted him to be free. That she loved him.

Adrien tears in his eyes activates cataclysm, but in some act of defiance hits himself with it. Causing him to scream and stun Gabriel.

Chat noir falls to the ground.

Gabriel screams asking why he did that.

“I’d rather die than hurt Marinette. I’ve done that more than enough times.”

Gabriel starts backing up. He got all his rings back and tried using them, but it’s no good. So he falls to his knees in defeat. It’s over he’s going to die. Nathalie is going to die, and his son will be alone.

Argos and Kagami drop down to see the aftermath. Marinette and Adrien are detransformed. Felix and Kagami are glad they are okay. The Kwami behind them.

Marinette and Adrien look at him. Wondering what to do.

(Now here I have 4 options)

1. Marinette uses new ladybug power because power of creation is limitless and cures Gabriel. Then Nathalie. Saving them both.

2. It’s too late for Gabriel and he turns to ash. But Marinette remembers Nathalie, and using the Rooster miraculous have create a power of healing which fixes Nathalie.

3. There is no powers that could fix it, so it ends with both Nathalie and Gabriel passing on.

4. Ladybug’s power can save Nathalie but Gabriel it’s too late because Ladybug awakens the power only when seeing Nathalie again.

For the sake of trying to keep things as consistent with the season 5 finale. I will say 2 or 4 happened

Nathalie gets cured, Adrien gets his amok rings. And Ladybug casts miraculous cure. Fixing all the damage done by the miraculized.

Cut to the time skip weeks later.

Tomoe was arrested for conspiring with Monarch. Gabriel Agreste was revealed to be monarch. The Graham de vanily family seized all the assets regarding Gabriel Brand.

The alliances were scrapped and recycled. Bustier is mayor.

Nathalie was healed and took over as Legal guardian interestingly for both Adrien AND Kagami. Turns out those contracts Tomoe and Gabriel had signed was that should anything happen to the other, the legal Guardian would fall between her or Gabriel. And Nathalie was named in that agreement as the 3rd party in the case of both being lost.

Marinette fixed up the miraculous and explained what happened to Suhan and Alya. Alas She, chat noir couldn’t find the butterfly for some reason.

Emilie was given a proper grave. The garden area was turned into a pool area. And things are in a way like they were from the aftermath.

(Also show some clips from the fights around the world and that can be the miraculous world cameos)

Argos earned his role as a hero. Amelie moved to Paris as she is in charge of rebranding Gabriel. Also we get to meet the Graham de vanily Family.

Adrien and Marinette get their cute fountain scene with twists. Adrien being afraid of ending up like his father, but Marinette telling him she will be with him always. Even if it’s just the two of them against the world.

Then they kiss (also their miraculous reacts so it has all the lovesquare flash. So Marichat kiss, Ladrien kiss, and Ladynoir kiss. Because All sides of the square resolve)

(I know I skipped the wish, and yes I know we miss Gimmi and the true forms of kwami. But tbh it’s not that important and could be shown later)

Lila also gets her miraculous and gets to be the villain of season 6.

#miraculous ladybug #ml #ml season 5 rewrite #that’s my fix #yes it’s self indulgent #but it’s good #adrinette #ml critical

[wellthebardsdead]

Falûne: Shadowheart please! You can’t do this you can’t kill her! I’m begging you!

Shadowheart: … *raises the spear to kill Aylin*

Falûne: NO! *grabs it and struggles against her*

Shadowheart: IVE WAITED MY WHOLE LIFE FOR THIS! AND IF I HAVE TO STEP OVER YOUR CORPSE! SO! BE! IT! *pulls the spear up knocking Falûne across the face and shattering his brittle grafted horns down to stumps, a purple light weeping from them before fading out as the curse is lifted from his mind*

Falûne: *stunned from the blow, staggers back from her and directly off the platform, plummeting into the abyss*

Astarion: MY LOVE!

Gale: FALÛNE!!! *jumps down after him readying fly to get them back up to the platform*

Shadowheart: *staring at where he fell in shock* what… what have I done?… *drops the spear letting it fall into the shadowfell too*

*after freeing Aylin and defeating ketheric*

Falûne: *staring at his ‘prayer book’ the illusion from the pages lifted to show the mantra and secret messages fed into his mind, ‘I am not a devil, I am not evil, I am good’* … *sets the book down and looks down at his body, seeing it for what it is. No disfigurement, no mauled flesh now scarred. Just a lean, blue tiefling body, covered in glowing white internal writing, a seal to contain his cambion form* … *quietly picks up his mirror and stares at the broken stumps that were his horns, before looking past himself to see Raphael standing behind him* …You really are my uncle…

Raphael: and you really are a devil. But a devil with a kind heart, does not an evil devil make. *walks to him and gently turns his head to face him, staring not at his eyes, but at his horns* you remember everything they did to you, don’t you?…

Falûne: *nods* I remember how they… how they bound my wings, how they held me down as they cut my horns off… how much it burned when they sealed my real form away into… *looks down at himself* this… then I remember the mirror, I heard shars voice… *sighs* I remember the beatings, the cane to my fingers and the taste of blood in my mouth… every time I behaved wrong they… they hurt me and made me forget.

Raphael: behaved wrong?… you mean behaved like a child. Because you were a child…

Falûne: …I was a kid… *tears up* I was just a kid…

Raphael: *pulls him into a hug and holds him tight* you didn’t deserve any of it… *places his hand over his horns, feeding some of his magic into them and making them grow into tall Cania spikes as they were always meant to be*

Falûne: *sniffles and cries into his uncles arms* wh-why did father Keldran hate me so much?… why did he think I was born evil?…

Raphael: you may have looked like a devil… but he has the heart of one.

*the next morning*

Aylin: your wings are magnificent little moon!

Falûne: *now in control of his cambion form, but still nervously looking to Raphael in case he loses himself again to his grandfathers influence* r-really?

Raphael: *standing idle, not looking at him but around him, like he’s aware of something he’s not* don’t be shy, open them up.

Aylin: Yes! Listen to the son of Cania! Let me see them in their full glory!

Falûne: *nervously opens them up wide and tries to stand proud*

Aylin: INCREDIBLE! LET US FLY!! *grabs his hand*

Falûne: wha-AAAAAAAAAHHHH!!! *screams as he’s yoinked into the air*

Raphael: Nephew?!

#Falûne Tav #Falûne oc #aylin bg3 #shadowheart baldurs gate 3 #Shadowheart is wracked with guilt and Raphael isn’t fully sincere in his comfort but he doesn’t want to risk what’ll happen #if Lûne is left to his grief 😬

[donnetellotheturtle]

River BG3 drabbles

“Wait weren’t you born in baldurs gate?” Wyll asked.

River chuckled, looking at the fire. “Yes, technically. But I was born on the river…that’s why they named me that you know. Mum was a trader who had this great big ship.” River smiled to themselves. “We would go up the river and visit baldurs gate for a week or two, then down the river to the forest were mums family was.”

River shifted, pulling up the side of their blanket. “But my favorite times, was when I was on the water, and mom was steering and there was crew people all around. I had so many aunts and uncles and big brothers and sisters, cause they were my family…” River trailed off for a second. “they still are.”

“you must miss being on the river.” Shadowheart said.

“I do sometimes. But I have new family here. With all of you. That makes me feel a little less homesick.”

Astarion laid on his back. “that’s very cheesy.”

River threw their pillow at him and the small crew erupted into laughter as he groaned, then huffed.

“I love you too, Teri.”

“…Don’t call me that.”

“too late.” Gale, who had been quiet the whole time spoke up. “that’s what you’re called now.”

“What about your mom?” Gale asked.

“hm?”

“you said you grew up on her boat. What was it like?”

River chuckled. “well, she didn’t teach me the things moms usually teach…she taught me to be wary of strangers who lure you away from others. She taught me to be kind but never gullible. She taught me to keep your most important secrets in your chest, never in the heart.”

“meaning?”

“Meaning, don’t let the secrets consume you…I was taught that I never owe anyone kindness, bur always my help. It’s never pity I use when I fight for others.”

“well, your mom sounds like a treat.” Astarion said. Another pillow directly to the face.

“She was!”

“Was?”

“…..she died a year ago. Marring fever.” River smiled ruefully to themselves. “She was strong willed, right up to the very end. She told me, “River Dune Rize, you will change the world just by being you. Don’t let anyone bring you down. Don’t let any of them cut you down.” ….that was the last somewhat coherent conversation I had before the fever took her.”

“I see…” shadow heart mumbled.

“I’m sorry.” Wyll said.

“don’t be. I’m going to see her again. When my times up. So there’s no sense crying anymore.”

--

Gale woke up to the sound of crying from rivers side of camp. He frowned, then moved over.

“River”

They gasped, seeing Gale. They had clearly thought everyone else was asleep. They quickly wiped their tears. “Oh Gale…I um, sorry. Did I wake you up?”

Gale sat. “what’s wrong?”

“nothing. It’s just…it’s nothing. Don’t worry “

Gale just raised an eyebrow.

River looked to their feet. “…fine. Everything’s is a lot…but today…today was…”

“was this about the siblings?”

They nodded. “I couldn’t save them…I couldn’t fix it.” They sniffled. “I…”

Gale didn’t know what to do, really. But he wrapped an arm around River and pulled them in. It was a moment before River let out everything they had been feeling. Everything that they had been holding in.

When the sobs finally subsided, River pulled away. “sorry I got your shirt all wet…”

“Don’t be…thank you for confiding in me.”

“Please don’t tell the others. I don’t want them to know about…everything.”

“theres nothing wrong with feelings.”

“There is when our lives are at stake. Feelings could cost us everything…I let that hag go because I felt guilty and scared. Now she’s just going to hurt someone else.”

Gale paused for a moment, then stood. “cone on, we better get some rest. You’ve had a long day.”

River nodded and took his outstretched hand, letting him pull them up. He wrapped an arm around them again.

“Gale…im glad you’re my friend.”

“I’m glad you’re mine.”

#River #My oc #bg3 #shadowheart #astarion #wyll ravengard #bg3 wyll #shadowheart bg3 #shadowheart baldurs gate 3 #astarion baldurs gate #gale of waterdeep #bg3 gale

[bg-sparrow]

I had such an incredible time at Back to the Future: The Musical this past Saturday! I decided a couple of weeks ago on a much-needed solo adventure when I was able to score tickets in the eighth row for a good price!

Coming from the Pittsburgh area, it’s about 6 hours’ drive to the Big Apple. I left at 4 AM and followed the sun across Pennsylvania, sneaking a snapshot when the fog broke long enough (it was so foggy!).

There was also some lovely flora and fauna amidst the fog at the rest stops, particularly at the PA-NJ border.

Now, I have been to NYC three times before this in 2007, 2008, and 2009. Coming back felt like the most special and most normal thing at the same time. I missed it! While I could never live in a city, I enjoyed taking in the awe of the big buildings and novelties Times Square had to offer a couple of hours before my show (I should have went back for that Reese’s candle, but I def had NY Cheesecake for dinner).

Now the show? Amazing. Spoilers below the cut.

First off, let me assure you that whatever seat you have, you will hear the show. I’m pretty sure my hearing was a tad damaged from the sonic booms and big chorus numbers, and I had a decent headache from it, so just be warned that it was a bit louder than anticipated. If you’re in the last row of the mezzanine, you’ll hear it all, I promise!

Some of my favorite things about the performance:

Hugh Coles makes it look like they plucked George McFly straight out of the film. He was incredible and by far the perfect embodiment of his character. So if you’re a big George fan, this is your show! If you’re not, he will make you fall in love with him! Incredible!

Roger Bart makes a joke about going to 2020 and there is no disease and a few people really cackled at that, and he broke character to look at someone and say thank you. Then, for probably 45 seconds, he broke character laughing with us over it, and Casey (Marty) is just standing there looking perfectly confused without cracking. It was a delightful way to start the second half!

Super enjoyed that when Marty meets Doc and is first trying to convince him to come see the DeLorean, Doc sees him go right for the flashlights in a drawer he couldn’t possibly know they were in, making him realize this kid might be who he says he is. I don’t know why that little detail stuck out to me as so significant, but it did. It was so satisfying from a storytelling perspective.

I loved George and Marty’s number in the backyard. We don’t get to see a lot of Marty really positively connecting with his dad in the movie unless it’s serving the “saving himself from non-existence” plot. I loved the genuine father-son feel of Marty dancing and George trying to copy him and Marty celebrating him for it. That felt good. One of those things theater is really good at capturing!

They filled the auditorium with bubbles during the Enchantment Under the Sea Dance and OH, talk about immersive atmosphere. Loved seeing everyone reach up to pop at least one bubble, like we were accepting some kind of offering. So fun!

Jennifer’s UNCLE HUEY. NICE.

The stage changes to the story were acceptable and believable. I almost didn’t realize the whole skateboard chase didn’t happen til the scene before the dance in the diner. Good job of keeping things succinct by combining various scenes and keeping the pace smooth!

This is nothing, but I saw a fake flower go flying off a bouquet and almost immediately one of the Texaco guys just tucked it in his rag when his staging brought him close enough during the number and kept going. I love seeing how discreetly the “oops” gets fixed on-stage.

After the show, I was out back to have my playbill signed by the cast when BOB GALE walked within a foot of me. I froze. I wasn’t sure. It has been my goal to ask this man the month and day of Doc Brown’s birthday for years and I BLEW IT. But he was quietly trying to get out of there I think. Someone got a quick photo with him before he disappeared in Times Square and UGHHH I can’t believe he was RIGHT THERE. (My friend who went to the 8 PM show said Alan Silvestri was there! How cool is this??)

My playbill was signed by all of the cast minus Roger Bart. He did not leave the theater that any of us saw. I did get to catch a photo with Mayor Goldie Wilson on his way back in, though!

I also got to meet up briefly with @bri-to-the-future and give her a 60s Doc I crocheted for her! How fortuitous that we got to see the show on the same day and meet face-to-face!

And then it started raining, my hotel didn’t get my reservation, and I was so mad that I just drove the six hours home (do not recommend). 🙃

It was certainly an adventure! I’m so glad I finally got to see it in-person, and I definitely recommend it! Now I can officially talk musical! 🎵 🎶

#back to the future #bttf #bttf the musical #back to the future the musical #road trip #new york #broadway #winter garden

[winderlylandchime]

I came on your blog to send you a few updates about my brother because the man is a gift that keeps on giving and then I saw that you tagged one of the posts about wanting an update about my brother. Gotta love it when the planets align that way haha. I apologize for how long this is but it has been an interesting week in my brothers life so I tried my best to keep it short and failed as you can see lol.

First of all I had to break the news to him about Randy retiring from acting to become a therapist. And it went just as how you’d imagine it to go if you imagine a grown man with a tendency to be childish and dramatic reacting to it. So many things happened so I gotta tell you the highlights: We were on facetime and I told him, he screamed (an actual AHHHH while holding a hand to his chest) and then went ‘of fucking course! The second I join the fucking party, he decides to fucking retire. And I’m supposed to NOT take it personal?!’. And while he was going on about it he was also doing something but i didn’t see what and all I saw was him grabbing scissors in a really stupid way (they were pointed towards him) so I went ‘ummmm’ and he goes ‘what? Oh come on, not even I am that fucking dramatic. I’m making myself a *said so that the last letter made a pop type of sound* crop top.’ And then he enthusiastically showed me the shirt that had A LOT of writing on it and he cut it so that only the first word is on it which is “HOLE”…. He is very proud of it btw, plans to wear it to his PT next week.. i swear he lives his life like a reality show mixed with a sitcom.

Anyway, he can’t believe Randy is actually going to be a therapist. Like at all. And then he goes ‘that’s so fucking weird though. Blondie a therapist. There’s no way people won’t recognize him..*long pause* do you think Gale also has a normal job now? Imagine he’s like a professor or some shit since he is nowhere to be found (me: how do you know that?)….i may have googled him..seriously is he even alive still?’ (ngl now i keep wondering if Gale also said fuck it and got a normal job) and then what followed was him gasping and then looking up at the ceiling and going ‘dear god.. i know i talk a lot of shit about you but if you could PLEASE make some gay dude go viral with a tweet or a dumb tiktok video about how Blondie is his therapist, that would be so fucking dope. Thanks bye’ and now I can’t stop thinking about the possibility of some gen z kid making a tiktok about it..

The good thing about this week is that he is finally covid free so i was talking to a non-feverish person which tbh not much difference, the bad thing is the dude somehow managed to get laryngitis so he’s losing his voice at a speed of light and while he was going on and on about Randy, he kept losing his voice more and more..which obviously made things for me, his little sister, a lot more fun. He was completely raspy yesterday and today he kinda still has a voice but not really. And no, none of this has prevented him from not talking about Randy retiring. It’s been over 24 hours.. Mom was annoyed with him because he will lose his voice talking about a middle aged white gay man, so he is balancing it by also talking about Gale aka a middle aged white straight man.

He also got really angry because he discovered that QAF online doesn’t have the right soundtrack (he already knew that but forgot). He was so upset about that that he was going on about it for at least 5 minutes while sounding like a dying goat. He then tried to bribe me to send him my dvds..So now his mission for 2024 is to somehow/somewhere find the dvds. Mom is hoping he doesn’t succeed because she knows full well what would happen aka he will force her to watch it. However our uncle is betraying her by helping him because the 69 year old gay dude likes drama. Mom thinks the fact that she lives 20 minutes away will stop my brother from making her watch it.. She clearly underestimates him.

And then probably my second favorite part because I got to witness it all through texts and voice memos and facetimes is that while he had covid, he had a lot of free time so one day he said fuck it and started going through everything qaf related online. So here’s a bit of a rundown of his 20 years late opinions: He is (still) angry at Hal, he’s angry at one of the writers (i forgot his name but it’s the writer who talked shit about Randy publicly), he has mixed feelings about Dan and Ron just because he’s not very fond of old men but he is also sure as fuck that they had issues with Randy, he found out that Michelle has a child with Bryan Singer and now he doesn’t like her because “i have morals.” He again remembered Gale was Pentecostal and that threw him in for a spiral at 3 am and what followed was a feverish rant about cults (which made no sense but that’s okay). He found old interviews where Randy was not so fond of qaf and that made him have some feelings but it ended up with him announcing a “war” against writers. And then he circled back to his anger at Hal because he decided that he was clearly jealous of Gale/Randy’s attention. He has range ngl. This is also where he decided Gale is a missing person because ‘seriously how the fuck can nobody post anything about him? Make him go to some charity event or some shit, I miss my man.’

Then on the day that I told him Randy is retiring which was like 2(?) days ago, he called me because he listened to the Poly episode of Randy’s podcast again (this lead to me later telling him since he didn’t see the new ep since this was the only one he had saved) anyway he called me to ask ME about if I* think he could be polyamorous (having siblings that youre close with is such a weird fucking thing). Then he decided I was not the right person to ask so he called our aunt who actually is polyamorous while he was on facetime with me and I got to witness the beauty that made me and my neighbor laugh way too hard (i wish you could hear/see him but just imagine a toddler covered in chocolate trying to make a point with an attitude how he totally didn’t eat the chocolate) because our aunt hit him with ‘i mean…stranger things have happened but also (his name), you broke up with your ex girlfriend because she wouldn’t share her purse with you’ He argued it with this and I quote ‘okay FIRST of all how DARE you bring that up, you know I’m still sensitive about that, 2nd the purse matched my outfit so it was rude she didn’t share. 3rd, I shared my two purses with her whenever she asked because sharing is caring, see that proves my point, 4th the purse was in a box for donations so once again: RUDE on her behalf and 5th and probably most important part: she cheated on me with her cousin’s girlfriend 2 days before so I think the least I deserved was to be allowed to borrow a fucking purse.’ Reader, I need you to understand that this happened like 10 years ago when he was like 25. Till this day he is more upset about the purse part than the cheating part. He was upset about that for a week until she texted him she thinks she’s gay and then he went ‘oh..i mean you couldve just fucking said so..btw did you throw that purse away?’ Our whole family still makes fun of that (in a nice way) bc he really didnt care about anything except the purse but also because he hit on a girl at bar once and she told him she’s gay and he pulled up instagram and showed her our accs and went ‘i got a sister or an ex, whose number would you prefer’ so he’s definitely still upset over the purse. Btw the jury is still out on him being able to share a whole human.

And also today which is why I’m sending you this now, I woke up to these next texts: ‘what if i change my therapist and I go to Randy? How fucked up would that be?’ ‘Imagine I end up in his office and just start talking to him about qaf’ ‘wait hold up, imagine if I didn’t know it’s him! And i show up in my Justin shirt and go on this long speech about this show and Brian and Blondie…at what point do you think he’d stop me?’ ‘Okay so I texted (his therapists name) and after he was done being mad at me for asking him dumb questions under the impression of emergency late at night, his only words were ‘in my humble professional opinion, (his name), it would be BEYOND fucked up’ but I think he’s exaggerating, what do you think?’ ‘So what kind of therapist do you think he’ll be? Like one on one ‘you got depression, heres pills’ type or couples or what?’ ‘Also do you think he’ll be a cool chill therapist or will he be one of those that look like they escaped their Mormon family and have a stick up their ass?’ ‘Do you think my man is also doing some random work now? Like mechanic or something?’ ‘My man as in my man Gale btw’ ‘no but fr imagine you go to therapy and the dude who you watched fuck on tv is your therapist… at what point do you tell him that you know what his booty looks like?’ ‘His choice in clients are limited.. either kids with no social media or like the fucking Amish’ So I would say he is handing the Randy retirement/therapist news about the same as all of us… or worse.. I actually can’t decide.

Dear sweet anon! I put out into the universe that I wanted updates from you and your brother and the universe delivered.

First of all, we are all devastated about Randy retiring from acting/public life. But also, as a therapist, I do support this journey for him. I do think it will be hard but he will have supervisors along the way to help him navigate the fact that there is footage out there of his butt on a Showtime show. Either that or he can only see clients who are toxic levels of heterosexual.

Speaking of your brother's idea to covertly become his patient, may I direct you to this anon I received? Here THE FANDOM KNOWS YOUR BROTHER AND PREDICTED HE WOULD WANT TO INFILTRATE RANDY'S THERAPY PRACTICE.

The soundtrack online is a travesty and is also homophobic. Would your uncle help me find the DVDs too? I have S2 but not the rest. (I don't even have a DVD or Blu Ray player but I also bought the entire David Tennant Doctor Who collection on Blu Ray (well minus 14 I guess) so at this point I'm just collecting stuff. (I do have a link to a google drive with all the episodes but you or your brother would have to reach out to me by DM here or on discord (thataj.) because I can't post it publicly (it's not actually mine lol).

I think it is very polyamorous to break up with someone for not sharing. Also, I am now curious about his collection of purses. Isn't sharing the name of the game in polyamory?

I think all of his opinions about everyone are so valid. We do get one (1) proof of life from Gale on social media per calendar year. Usually on someone else's account. I know there was a post of him in 2023 so we need to look out for 2024. I do NOT know what he is doing to earn a living these days. It is very likely he has a job that is not in entertainment or at least not on stage or on screen. Maybe entertainment adjacent?

Thank you so much for this update. I love that this continues to cause drama and discussion in your family. I love that your brother's therapist is fully involved. And I love that you continue to share your family with us.

#ask winderlylandchime #dear sweet anon #queer as folk #a straight man watches qaf us 2000 in the year of our lord 2023 #2024 edition

[thegirlonpeetamellark]

Everthorne Farms - Part 2 by Court81981

So I appreciate the response this little pumpkin patch/Scare Farm drabble got at Halloween, and while I didn't plan anything beyond that, listening to Taylor Swift's Christmas Tree Farm invited this little Part 2 to unfold in my head. It's edited hastily but I hope you enjoy. Thank you for all the continued support. There are more updates coming in the New Year, and yes, I hope 2022 is the year that sees CMP complete.  And El, thanks for putting up with me! Love you. to pieces. Merry Christmas and Happy New Year to all! XOXO Court

“Can you believe it’s snowing?” Prim dances past me and peers out the tiny window of the shed. “It’s never snowed on opening morning!”

“It’s just a few flurries, Little Duck. Nothing to get too excited about,” I reply as I check the hot chocolate and cider urns and make sure the extra package of cups is nearby. “This is all just about ready. You’ll be okay in here?”

Prim rolls her eyes at me. “None of the early arrivals ever even come inside. I think I’ll be fine.” I cross the shed and come to stand next to my sister, glancing out the window. I can see headlights near the start of the driveway, even thought we don’t officially open for another hour. I look across the lot to where Gale and some of our seasonal workers—mostly guys who go Panem High with Prim and me—are hauling the dollies and saws out of the garage.

The four weeks between Halloween and Thanksgiving are quiet at Everthorne Farms; the whole winter is, for the most part. But for a few weekends in late November and early December, we operate our Christmas tree farm, and Saturdays and Sundays are busy from open to close. The very first day people can come to tag and/or cut is the busiest, and that would be this morning.

The shed handle turns and Prim and I both jump back, a blast of icy air hitting us as our uncle Haymitch steps inside. A couple of snowflakes cling to the ends of his graying dirty blond hair.

“You girls ready to work?” He gives us his trademark smile, which is really more of a half scowl half smirk, and doesn’t wait for an answer before he thrusts a stack of tree tags at me. “Might as well start. There’s a decent line out there already. We’ll give it another 20 minutes, but once it reaches the main road I’m gonna let people in. Okay?”

“Okay,” I agree. I bump Prim’s hip and we exchange a smile. I grab my wool beanie and jam it down over my ears before taking the tree tags from Haymitch.

As I step outside the little shed, I pause to revel in the moment. The faint dusting of snow definitely adds to the mood. Prim is right; I can’t remember a time when we had any kind of snowfall on our first day. It’s not something we’d usually root for. A lot of snow would make most of the tasks related to cutting down trees more challenging, not to mention what it does to the roads our visitors need to travel on. But this gentle tumble of flakes won’t hurt anyone, and it’s so, so pretty.

“What does that guy think he’s doing?”

I nearly jump at the sound of Gale’s voice and I shake myself out of my reverie to turn to him. I hadn’t even heard him come up beside me. Our years of hunting have made us both fairly stealthy.

“What guy?” I ask. Gale jerks his chin in the direction of the road, where I see a vehicle coming up the other side of the driveway, completely ignoring the line. We have signs at the bottom of the driveway, since we use the right side to manage traffic flow as customers leave with their trees. Obviously, that’s not a concern at this hour, but it’s pretty audacious of someone to think they can bypass the line.

But as the vehicle nears, I realize I recognize it and my pulse quickens. I chide myself for the reaction, but my heart also seems to think it needs to join in, and it decides to rouse butterflies in my stomach.

Since Homecoming Night, when Peeta Mellark surprised me at the scare farm and asked me to dance with him under the stars, we’ve been spending a lot more time together, though hardly any of it has been outside of school. Just as my busy schedule calmed a bit, his exploded, between the start of the wrestling season and his hours at Mellarks’ Bakery. (It turns out I’m not the only one who has to toil at a family business, and Peeta explained to me that other than wedding season, the holidays are just plain crazy at the bakery.) Our relationship, if that is what you can call it, consists mostly of him waiting for me at my locker in the mornings and eating lunch together. We’ve had one date, to the movies. I’d be lying to myself if I said I wasn’t anxiously waiting for a second date. Or a kiss. So far, Peeta has been a perfect gentleman around me. It was only last week that he started knitting our fingers together when he walks me to my first period class.

“I think that’s Peeta’s Jeep,” I say. Gale’s face contorts in less-than-concealed disdain.

“So. What the fuck does he think he’s doing?” Gale repeats. I ignore him and start towards the Jeep. It comes to a stop and I can now clearly see that it is indeed Peeta behind the wheel. He hops out of the vehicle but leaves it idling.

“What are you doing here?” I ask and hope he doesn’t think it sounds accusatory. To be safe, I smile at him. (If things between us had progressed more maybe I could have greeted him with a kiss. Or maybe not, with half my family watching.)

He grins at me, though it’s laced with shyness, and then immediately moves for the rear driver’s door of his Jeep. A moment later, he approaches me, his arms laden with an enormous tray of cookies.

“I know it’s your opening day, so I thought maybe you’d like these. You told me about the hot chocolate and cider you put out for customers, but you didn’t mention any food.” He nods towards his Jeep. “There’re three more of these and a few trays of muffins.”

“You made these? For us? Peeta!” I exclaim, marveling at the rows of snowmen and snowflake cookies. “These look too pretty to eat.”

“It wasn’t any trouble,” he says. “We already make hundreds of these for the bakery, so what was a couple dozen more.”

I shake my head, incredulous at his gesture. “Your parents were okay with you giving your inventory away?”

His grin morphs, turning a bit sheepish. “My dad said what my mom doesn’t know won’t kill our bottom line.” I grit my teeth and hope Peeta’s right. His mother is not someone I’d want to see angry. I’ve never gotten more than an icy glare from her when I’ve delivered fruit or pumpkins to Mellarks.

“You wanna show me where to put this one and then I’ll bring in all the others?” he asks.

“Oh! Yeah. I can grab one too.” I start towards his Jeep.

“It’s okay. I’ll get them. I know you’re busy. That’s quite a line already.”

“Opening Day is always like this. Everyone wants to be first into the fields, as if the absolute perfect tree won’t be there any later.” I wave an arm towards the acres and acres of trees. “Because as you can see, the selection sucks,” I joke.

“Yeah, it���s probably safe to say you won’t run out,” he replies.

“Well, we could,” I counter. “We only sell from a few designated areas each year, and yeah, we do have a set number that can go. It’s generous, but we have had years where we’ve sold out.”

I lead Peeta up to the little shed that serves as our headquarters for the tree farm, where most people pay for their trees (though many of our repeat customers just hand their cash right to Haymitch) and we offer the aforementioned hot cocoa and cider. There are also some ornaments and wreaths for sale. I glance over towards my uncle and instead find Gale’s arctic stare aimed at Peeta. I challenge him with my own frosty glower and he turns to mumble something to his brother Rory.

“Haymitch!” I call. “Peeta’s brought us cookies and muffins to put out with the cocoa and cider. There are more trays in his car if anyone wants to help.”

Haymitch nods and orders a few of our newer seasonal helpers—two guys who I think are sophomores but whose names I have yet to learn and Gale’s youngest brother Vick—to get the remaining trays from Peeta’s Jeep. I hold the shed door for Peeta and we trundle inside.

“Ohmygosh! What is this?” Prim jumps off the stool behind the register and comes over to peer at the tray.

“Hi, Primrose,” Peeta greets her. Prim’s face splits into a huge grin.

“You can call me Prim. Everyone does. Are those for us?” Prim gapes at the gorgeous cookies.

Peeta nods. “For your customers, actually, but you can definitely sneak one or two for yourself.” He winks at her, and I can see my little sister practically melting at his feet.

I motion to the table where the cocoa and cider are. “Let’s put them down over there.”

Once Peeta turns and walks across the shed, Prim arches her blonde brows at me and wiggles them suggestively. I shoot her a look of playful admonishment and move to help Peeta get the cookies set out. Vick and the other guys cart in the remaining trays and Prim and I help Peeta arrange the muffins alongside the cookies. We leave most of the trays covered, since Prim says she can manage replenishing the treats as they dwindle.

“This was so nice of you, Peeta!” she gushes. Her gaze flits from muffin to muffin until it lands on one. “Are these all different?”

Peeta glances over at me, and he rubs at the back of his neck. “Ah, yeah. Well, sort of. There’s some cranberry, spiced rum, and gingerbread. Those are our holiday flavors, so I figured they were best to bring.”

“You really went through a lot of extra work for us,” I say. Peeta’s cheeks, already pink from the cold, flush darker.

“It’s no trouble at all. Not for you, Katniss.”

And now my cheeks are probably fast on their way to matching his. I respond with a smile as I try to get the butterflies flapping around in my stomach under control.

Prim plucks a muffin from the tray and peels back the wrapper. Her eyes close as she raises the muffin to her mouth inhales deeply before biting into it.

“So good,” she moans after she swallows her first bite. She opens her eyes and thrusts the muffin at me. “Try it, Katniss. It’s soooooo good.”

I can’t very say no, not given how kind Peeta’s gesture is, so I accept the proffered muffin and take a small bite, aware of Peeta’s expectant gaze on me. His eyes drop to my mouth as I chew and fight to contain my own moan. Good is an understatement. It’s delicious. Moist, and sweet but not overly so. Just the right traces of nutmeg and cinnamon and cloves to complement the ginger flavor.

“Peeta, this is amazing,” I praise, and the smile he rewards me with is so effusive that those damn butterflies start swarming again.

“Katniss!” Gale barks from the doorway. “Haymitch said he gave you the tree tags.”

“Ah, yeah, I’ve got them,” I reply, patting my coat pocket.

“Then start using them. The line’s reached the main road and we need to start surveying who’s tagging and who’s cutting.” He slams the shed door behind him. I aim daggers at where Gale just stood, annoyed by his bossier-than-usual-and-overtly-icy tone.

“I should let you get to work,” Peeta says quietly.

“Yeah,” I say. As we head towards the door, Prim calls out, “Watch out for the mistletoe!”

Peeta’s gaze wanders up to the rafters, where a cluster of mistletoe is suspended just above the shed door. He looks back to me, a nervous and slightly embarrassed smile lifting his lips. “After you,” he says, as he opens the door, careful to stand back out of the path of the mistletoe. My mouth twitches and I can only nod at him. Not that I want my first kiss to be out of some stupid holiday legend/obligation, or with my sister as witness, but there is a thread of disappointment that unspools in my gut and strangles those damn butterflies into submission.

“Wow, the line is long,” Peeta remarks as we trudge across the lot. “I don’t know if I can wait in that.”

“What do you mean?”

He looks over to his Jeep. “I mean…I brought my car and not the delivery van because…I, uh, convinced my parents to get a live tree this year and I didn’t know how easily it would tie to the roof of the van. But I guess I didn’t consider the line would be that long, and I am supposed to be at the bakery til noon. Working,” he adds. “I’m technically on the clock now.”

“You want a tree?” I ask, incredulous.

“Yeah. Is that ok?”

“Of course it’s ok! And forget about that,” I add, gesturing to the line. “You get executive privilege. You only brought us cookies and muffins and…” I trail off, unsure if I should actually utter what is edging closer and closer to the tip of my tongue.

“And what?” he prompts. A few snowflakes settle on those mile-long eyelashes of his, and he blinks them away.

“And so you get to be first,” I finish, unable to bring myself to say “and because you’re my boyfriend.” I flash him a smile and order him to stay put while I sprint across the lot to hand the tree tags to Darius.

“You know what to do, right?” I ask. Before Darius can respond, Gale glowers at me.

“What’s stopping you from doing it?” he says, his stony glare fixed on Peeta.

“I’m taking Peeta out to get his tree. It’s the least we can do so he can get back to work.”

Gale mutters an obscenity under his breath, but I ignore him and confirm Darius is okay with going from car to car to ask if they’re tagging or cutting. He assures me it’s fine and with a wicked grin tells me to go back to my boyfriend. Hearing that word spoken aloud invites a smile to my lips and a whirl low in my belly.

So why couldn’t I say it to Peeta?

Pushing away the thought, I grab a saw from the big shed and a dolly and drag it towards Peeta.

“Ready?” I ask him. He looks at the large saw and then his eyes meet mine.

“You’re going to cut it down for me?”

I narrow my eyes at him and lift my chin. “Are you questioning my ability to do my job?”

He shakes his head vigorously, snowflakes flying off his Panem High Wrestling beanie. “No, no! You’re just…you’re…”

“I’m what?” I arch a brow at him.

“Never mind. Forget I said anything.”

“I can’t get the trees onto the cars without help, but I can hold my own when it comes to sawing and loading. This helps.” I kick at the dolly. Peeta holds his hands up in supplication.

“Again, forget I said anything. I’d never doubt you, Katniss,” he says, emphasizing the latter part of his words as he stares deep into my eyes. I relax a little, exhaling. Peeta doesn’t have a mean bone in his body; I definitely overreacted. Typical me.

“C’mon. Lead the way.” He grins at me, and all the rest of the tension leaves my body. He’s so, so hot. Unfairly attractive, really.

I return his smile. “Okay.”

We start walking towards the front east field, our boots crunching on the frozen ground, the dolly bumping along behind me. Peeta slows his gait and glances behind us, then he looks off to his left.

“What?” I ask.

He motions towards one of the back fields. “Are you allowed to take from there?”

“Yeah. That one.” I point to the one farthest west on the property. “We didn’t cut from that section last year. But the trees are pretty big.”

“Our living room has a vaulted ceiling. I think I want a big tree. After all, this is the first live tree I’ve ever had.” His blue eyes shine with genuine excitement, and I can’t help but smile at his enthusiasm.

“Then we’ll go back there.” I change course and we cross the main field. Peeta chatters as we walk, talking about how busy he expects the bakery to be this weekend and how he’s not sure he’ll get his paper for AP English done by midnight tomorrow night, and why our AP Bio teacher thinks it’s okay to give a major test on a Monday. I stay quiet, letting him dominate the conversation. Peeta’s a natural conversationalist; I am not, but I join in his lament about the biology test.

“Maybe we, ah, could study together,” I suggest.

“Really?! I mean, yes, yeah, definitely!” He grins at me, and despite the frigid temperature, I feel warm everywhere.

We reach the edge of the section where the largest trees are. Since this is his first live tree, I figure I should help him out a little, so I caution him to check for branches that are already brown or are sparse of needles, because those will not last as long as fully green trees once they’ve been chopped down and stuck into a tree holder. His eyes sweep over the rows and rows of trees and his grin turns almost giddy.

“These all look good to me. I don’t even know where to start.”

“Well, you can take as much time as you want to look,” I say, even though I know he said he needs to get back to the bakery, “and when you find something you like, just let me know.” He knits his brows and blows out a breath. The white puff hangs in the air for a moment before dissipating. Then he cranes his neck, looking back towards the lot, which isn’t fully visible from where we are. He glances back to me, smiles, and starts meandering between and around the trees. I keep a few paces behind him, content to let him study each tree he approaches. The snow continues to fall, though even more lightly than earlier; just a smattering of flakes here and there.

Peeta is pretty far into the field when I hear him say, “This is perfect.”

I glance at the tree he’s standing beside and gape at him. “Are you serious? That tree is like twelve feet tall and—” I lose my words when Peeta steps towards me and gently takes the handle of the dolly from me. He lowers it to the ground.

“Put down the saw,” he says gruffly. The tone of his voice has me immediately complying. My stomach does a swan dive as his gloved hands cup my jaw. “It’s perfect for me to do this,” he whispers. His cold nose brushes my cheek as he descends on my mouth and his lips nestle against mine. Almost immediately, he draws back and gazes at me expectantly. His right palm gently caresses my cheek. When I smile at him, my lips tingle.

“I’ve been waiting to do that for…” One corner of his mouth quirks up. “Well, you probably don’t want to know how long I’ve thought about kissing you.”

“Well.” I draw a shaky breath to get my emotions under control. “If you had kissed me that night at the scare farm you could have been doing it a lot more.”

He stares at me, his blue eyes probing. “I guess I’ve been overthinking it. I just wanted it to be perfect, since…yeah, I’ve been thinking about it for years.”

“So that’s what you meant by perfect?” I exclaim and motion to the enormous tree behind us. “You don’t want this tree? Do you even want a tree?”

He laughs. “Yes. I mean, yes I want a tree, but yeah, no, not that one. My mother would kill me. But this tree is the right size to make sure we had privacy. If I wanted an audience for our first kiss I would have kissed you under that mistletoe.

“And with the snow falling and everything,” he continues. “Well…I hope it was perfect for you.” He gives me a smile I feel right beneath my navel.

“As far as first kisses go, it was perfect, yes,” I reply.

“First kiss…with me…or…” he winces and trails off, then rubs at his jaw with his free hand. “Sorry. That’s none of my business.”

“I don’t care,” I say. “First kiss ever.”  His blue eyes widen in shock, but I swear I see a tinge of pride flicker in them too.

“Really?” he asks, incredulous. “I’m…I’m your first kiss? I just assumed…” And again, he trails off.

“Assumed what?” I prompt.

He grimaces slightly. “You. Gale Hawthorne.”

“What!” I exclaim. “No. What. No. Gale and I are friends. Nothing more. I’ve never once thought about kissing Gale.”

Peeta presses his lips together, and he looks like he wants to say something, but he falls silent for a moment. “I’m really glad I could be your first kiss, then,” he says quietly.

“Me too.” I smile.

He leans down and his breath fans across my lips, a shock of warmth against the cold. “Can I be your second kiss too?”

In response, I loop my arms around his neck. “Yeah. And my third and my fourth…” I say, before I crush my mouth to his.

#everlark #thg #court81981 #everlark fanfiction

[lethesomething]

The Ghost and the Witch, part 2

This is a continuation of The Ghost and the Witch (which you can read here), a small Ghost of Tsushima fic that I wrote to Deal With Things, but that needed extra fluff. So have that, I guess. There is also technically (?) smut, in the victorian sense where anything that happens is badly hidden in subtext and obvious symbolic imagery.

“You’re new.”

Jin startles at the voice that seems to come out of the air itself. It has been six days since his uncle brought him to Castle Shimura, and it’s the first time he’s ventured this far out into the garden by himself. The grounds are vast and meticulously kept, but this area feels different, a low corner near the outer wall, mostly obscured by a large cherry tree. The small plot of land is utterly covered in white and pink petals, but it looks like someone is also growing a kitchen garden here.

“Are you the Boy?”

The voice calls out again and this time he spots its owner: a young girl up in the tree. She looks about his age, with two braids coming down her shoulders and dressed in a hakama of some quality. She looks out of place, in as much as anyone looks wrong stuck in a tree. 

“What are you doing there?” he asks.

The girl looks down at where she’s perched on a wide branch. “Sitting,” she says.

“Well. Yes, I can see that,” he concedes.

“The view is nice, you should try it sometimes,” she says with a half mocking smile. Then she starts clambering down. “They say lord Shimura has taken in a ward,” she goes on, as Jin takes a few steps forward, unsure of whether he should try to catch her. The girl ignores his panic and hops down in three calculated movements. “So that’s you, yeah?” she says when she drops to the ground.

“Yes,” Jin says, composing himself. “I am Jin.. Lord Sakai.”

The girl does another one of her half-smiles and then finally treats him to a proper bow. “Pleased to meet you, Jin Sakai. I’m ___. My father is the head of the guard.” She points to the nearby tower. “He can see halfway across the island from there.”

“Well it is an important strategic location,” Jin says, parroting his homework from the past few weeks. “Whoever controls the castle, controls the island.”

You tilt your head at him. “Sure,” you say. “It sounds like you’ll fit right in.”

He drifts into your house in the woods like leaves on an autumn wind, a quick slide of the door and suddenly he’s there, a presence that darkens the shadows cast by a late evening. 

“Jin?” You look up from your work. “Are you alright?”

He says nothing, and that is answer enough. There’s something wrong with his posture, a slump, a wobble, and you rush up to meet him and pull him into the light of the fire. 

“Show me.”

“It’s not as bad as it could be,” he mumbles, while you quickly remove his helmet and place it on the ground, antlers glistening a rusty red. 

“What happened?”

“Mongols,” he says, his voice hoarse, “Perhaps a few more than I had anticipated.”

“Were you followed?”

“They’re dead.”

“Alright.” You loosen the straps of his gloves and take them off, before setting to work on his pauldron. The leather is wet, the bands caked in something slick that combines with the shaking of your fingers and makes them difficult to dislodge. 

His hands, rough, scarred but surprisingly stable, fold over yours. “Let me.”

“Right,” you say and you hurry to fill a bowl with warm water by the fire. You open a box by the fire and rifle through it, fingers scurrying over boxes and pouches and pots until you find the clearing salts, which you dump in the bowl. When you turn back, Jin has taken off his pauldrons and untied his armor.

You point to a mat by the fire. “Sit.”

“It’s really not that bad, “ he says when you help him out of his chestpiece. 

“If you have come here for my help, it’s bad enough.”

He does not argue. He sits quietly while you wipe away the blood and assess his wounds. The gash on his arm is shallow if jagged. But there’s a cut in his side that looks deep. The edges of it are laced with a grey, ashy dust that smells of poison and rot.

You clean it off as best as you can. “We’ll have to hope it is not infected,” you say. 

He hums, a low sound that is more of a tremor than a response. You glance up to see his eyes are not looking at you, but through you, glass beads staring into nothingness. You put a palm to his forehead. Fever.

“Stay awake a little longer, Jin,” you find yourself saying, “I need you to hold this.” You smear ointment on his skin and place a piece of silk over it. Then you move his hand there. “Try to push down while I bandage this up.”

He nods absently and you set to work, moving as quickly as you can, trying to ignore the dangerous sway in his form, a mighty tree falling in slow motion. By the time you have bandaged his abdomen and his arm, he has mostly collapsed, barely staying on his knees, his head leaning against your shoulder to remain upright. His eyelids have fallen shut, although you can see his eyes twitch underneath. Perspiration beads on his forehead. “This will have to do,” you whisper.

With effort, you lay him down on the mat and cover him in blankets. His breath is ragged, shallow. You clear away your previous work and prepare a fresh bowl of water and a cloth, which you set by his side.

Outside, the wind howls an angry, desperate roar. You stoke the fire and brew a pot of tea. It will be a long night. 

-----

Jin closes his eyes and breathes in the smell of early autumn. The salt in the air mixes with the earthy scent of leaves and wood fires. After his time away at training camp, it feels comforting to return to his uncle’s castle. He stalks the grounds like a cat, reacquainting himself with its many nooks and crannies, taking stock of the small changes in plants and people. The sound of running feet wakes him from his investigation and he turns, smiling to see you racing towards him. 

You’re improperly fast, bounding down the path like a wild foal that has just discovered the joy of speed. “Jin!”

You abruptly stop just short of him, then take a breath and bow. “Welcome back, milord,” you say, and Jin has to bite back a laugh at the sudden politeness. 

“Thank you,” he manages instead. “What made you so excited?”

You look up with a sparkle in your eye. “The camellia’s started blooming! Come see?”

You turn around and dash off again, your figure a fluttering, billowing sheet tugged off the clothesline by a strong gale, free to whirl and spiral down the path. 

 Jin shakes his head briefly and follows, measuring his pace while he watches you dance up the steps, until you stop and wait for him. 

“You’re slow,” you say when he catches up.

“I’m Deliberate,” he argues.

“Why?”

“A samurai does not rush into things.”

You nod thoughtfully and slow down to match his step. “Did you learn that at camp?”

“I have been learning that for a while,” he says.

“Mmm,” you say, letting your fingers glide through the grass framing the path as you walk beside him. 

“What else did you learn?”

He thinks on it a while, and then something resembling a smirk forms on his lips. “I’ve been learning about women,” he says. 

You raise an eyebrow at him. 

“Ryuzo says I should be careful with them. That some of them are out for my titles and money.”

You do not look convinced. “Who’s Ryuzo?” you ask. 

“My friend.”

“Well he sounds like an idiot,” you say, shrugging.

“He’s not,” Jin starts saying, but when he looks toward you, your face is darkened. “Besides,” he says “I’m sure he didn’t mean, uh, you.”

“What I’m ‘women’,” you say in a mock guffaw. 

“Depends on the definition,” he huffs. 

“Oi!”

Jin chuckles and sets off running toward the cherry tree, now chased by a girl calling him mean. 

When he reaches your small garden, the sight stops him in his tracks. The bushes, once a dull green, have sprouted dozens of small, perfectly formed pink and red flowers. They dot the garden like jewels glistening in the sun.

“Aren’t they beautiful?” you say, coming up behind him.

“They are,” he nods.

He reaches out to touch one, fingers brushing over the small, soft petals. 

“My mother used to love these,” you say, wistfully running your hands over the leaves. “She’d wear them in her hair. She was so pretty.”

“I can imagine that,” Jin says quietly.

“Huh?”

He turns his attention back to the flowers. 

“Why don’t you try one?” he says.

“I sincerely doubt it would suit me, Jin.”

He shakes his head and chooses a perfect red bloom, carefully picking it off the branch. “Here.” 

He hands it to you but you just hold it in your palm, staring at it, and then at him.

“What?” he says. “Just try it. It will be like honoring your mother.”

“Right,” you mutter, and slide it into your braid. 

“There,” he says. “That looks very nice. I bet your mother’s spirit looks down on you with pride.”

You gently touch the bloom, a soft smile on your face as you look around the garden, resplendent in sunlight. “Maybe,” you say.

----

Jin’s body feels heavy, as if he’s dropping to the bottom of a bog, weighed down with stones and pricked with a thousand knives. His skin burns and his veins are filled with lead. 

He’s vaguely aware of movement next to him, of cool cloth soothing his forehead before his spirit sinks down into the muck again.

When he next wakes up, it is to the sound of wind rustling outside. He opens his eyes slowly, and tries to focus on the rafters high above him, laden with drying herbs. The smell of burnt wood hangs in the air and he becomes aware of a dying fire glowing to his side. He turns his head, and the movement feels like hammers pounding on an anvil. 

On the ground next to him is a bowl, a pile of bloodied bandages and, a little further on, you, curled up against a stool. Your hair is tousled, your skirts gathered around you and your face buried in your arms in a way that looks uncomfortable. 

The light of a winter’s morning seeps through a high window, casting long, stark shadows that stretch stalks into trees and bottles into towering columns. In the midst of it all your sleeping form stands out as an island of light, a sprinkle of silver dust in a sea of shadows. 

Jin closes his eyes again and lays back. He’s weary, and the pain sears through his veins, but he no longer feels like he’s drowning. The sack of boulders that sat on his chest has lifted. “Thank you,” he whispers. “Again.”

---

Jin hurries down the steps to the cherry tree and finds you exactly where he expected, sitting amongst the fallen camellia’s. “Hey,” he says when he enters the space. 

You do not move, don’t even shiver against the cold of a winter’s evening. “Hey,” you say. 

The voice only barely sounds like you. A sound that he remembers being clear and melodious as birdsong is now nothing more than a scraping whisper, a tarnished bell filled with ash and sand.

He approaches carefully. “I came to find you,” he says. “People are worried.”

You shrug. 

“I’m sorry,” he adds. “About your father.”

When he hears no response or protest, he takes his scabbard and slowly lays it before him, kneeling on the ground next to you. The two of you sit there, surrounded by the overly sweet, sickly smell of faded flowers. 

“He died a warrior's death,” Jin says. “He was protecting this place. Protecting you.”

You say nothing, but he can hear you breathe. A series of choppy inhales, followed by long drawn out sighs. 

“I understand,” he says. “How hard it can be. How difficult it is to face that loss. If there’s anything i can do-”

You shake your head. “Just sit with me for a bit?”

Jin nods and folds his hands into his lap. He closes his eyes and focuses on the quiet, on the shadows of the trees looming before him like stone monuments, on the cold sea wind carrying crystals of salt and ice to fill the sky above you.

----

“There’s a good horse.” Jin moves his arm to pat Kage’s mane but stops halfway, wincing at the stabbing pain in his side. “Looks like you’ll be resting here for a bit longer,” he says.

The horse nuzzles his shoulder, whinnying softly. Raindrops drizzle through the trees, cascading on an elaborate journey from branch to branch, only to fall to the moss beneath his feet with a dull, muffled plop. 

Moisture fills the air in this small clearing, droplets so thick he can taste them on his tongue. It deepens the shadows and further obscures this place, the house already veiled by layers of green and black like a widow mourning the passing of the summer sun. 

Jin carefully unties the bridle and takes it off. The horse immediately shakes out its head. “Feels nice, huh?” Jin says, and he moves to take off the saddle as well. “I’ll brush you down tomorrow, so enjoy the rain on your back while it lasts.”

His movements are slow and deliberate. The horse stomps its hoof. 

“Alright, alright,” Jin says when he finally loosens the saddle. “Off you go.” The horse takes a few steps, and the saddle slides off, dropping to the rain scattered ground. “This needs cleaning anyway,” Jin sighs.

He watches as Kage wanders over to a basket of straw he put down and starts munching. Then he takes a deep breath and bends over to pick up the saddle, grimacing at the feeling of being sliced open once more. He straightens and blows out a breath. Kage eyes him from a distance. “Don’t you start,” Jin says.

When he enters the house, the scent that greets him is earthy, the herbs and wood he’s gotten used to now laced with something deep and gamey that makes his mouth water. He sniffs. “Hare?”

“It was in one of my traps,” you say, stirring a pot bubbling over the fire. “I figured you could use the strength.”

With that, you get up and take the saddle and bridle from him. “How are you feeling?”

“About the same as the last time you asked,” he says. “I’m… fine.” He walks over to the fire to sit down, and tries his very best not to flinch. He fails.

You give him a weary look. 

“But I could probably use the strength,” he adds. 

You nod and prop up the horse tack to dry. “How is he,” you ask. 

“Stubborn.”

Another weary look. 

“You don’t have to worry about Kage,” Jin says. “He’s not wounded, and he’s fine wandering around the forest for a bit.”

With a nod, you return to your cooking.You throw some chopped burdock root in the pot, and millet to thicken it. The feeling of being watched makes you look up. 

Jin sits, watching you make stew with a soft grin on his face. 

“What?” you say.  

“Nothing,” he chuckles. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“But?” you ask, returning to your work. 

“There was a time when I would wonder what it could be like,” he says. “If you were to make something like this for me. Lord Shimura’s cook said you were quite talented, though I don’t think she approved of the random plants you’d bring in.”

You laugh. “One of the teas I brewed for her did end up giving everyone strange dreams,” you say. 

He blinks at you.

“It was an accident,” you add.

“Of course,” he says. “Either way, I used to imagine scenarios like this, embarrassing as that may be.”

“Were you half-dead in those daydreams, Jin?”

“No,” he says. “I was quite healthy, and content, and we were living in Omi.”

You nod, as if you can see the images yourself. “That would have been nice.”

He watches in silence for a while, matching the pictures from his teenage dreams to the vision in front of him. The girl, the woman, the fire and the smell of game. The knicks on your hand and the frayed edges on your garment. “I’m sorry,” he says.

You smile and shake your head. “Life rarely goes how we imagine it as children.” Then you sit back. “Do you regret it?” you ask softly. “Looking back on everything now?”

You’re not the first to ask, and the answer is no different now. “The actions I chose,” he says, voice only slightly hoarse this time. “I would do them all again.”

You nod. “That’s alright then.” And with that you pick up a small bowl and scoop it full of stew, before handing it over. “It’s not the most glorious meal you’ve ever had, but it will do.”

The two of you eat in silence for a while, nothing but the sound of crackling fire and the occasional huff outside, from Kage plodding around in the clearing in front of the house.

“This is good,” he says. 

You nod. “Of course it is.”

“I should have known you’d be confident,” he snorts. “You never did hold back to try and seem more proper.”

“I held back plenty,” you say, and put down your chopsticks. “But also, you barely ate in days. This stew would have to be pretty bad for you not to enjoy it.” You put the bowl to your lips and tip it back, savouring the spiced sauce. 

“Still, it is pretty good,” Jin nods, munching happily. 

“I’m glad I got to taste your cooking after all. It’s close to how I imagined.”

You smile softly. “Good,” you say.

----

The salted air stings your face as you survey the world from the guard tower. You can see halfway across the island from here. Your eyes follow the coastline north to the snowy covered flanks of the mountains, and south all the way to the swamps, with Kaneda Castle rising above them.

Below your feet, waterfalls pour down into the sea, an endless gurgling that was always so familiar to you, but now feels distant and annoying. 

“There you are.” Tetsuo, who used to be one of your father’s men, comes climbing up the ladder. He’s a friendly sort. Broad shouldered and scruffy. “I was sent to find you. The cart is ready.”

“Alright.”

The man watches you for a moment, while you take in the views one last time. He fidgets when your eyes come to rest on the main tower of the castle, its highest floors home to the lord and his nephew. “Do you, uh, need a moment?” he says carefully. 

The tower feels oddly imposing in the light of early morning, its height looming over the grounds and the people below, a stone monument against a lead sky. 

There’s no fires there at this time. There’s barely any movement. Just still halls and the shuffling of servant feet as they try to remain invisible and unheard, mice in their own home. 

You shake your head and turn to Tetsuo. “I’m fine,” you say. “Let’s go.”

---

The muffled tones of a flute come floating out of your house when you return from the forest with a belt of wood and some mushrooms you found. 

The melody is soft and a little nostalgic, a sound both melodious and weary at the same time. 

Jin concentrates on his breathing, a steady, stable pace to produce the right notes, but then you drift into the house like a fluttering bird, carrying the winter wind on its wings. He can smell the promise of snow on the air as you flit by in a whirl of fabric and drop a few logs next to the fire.

“Oof,” you say, and you rub your hands in the soft glow of the hearth. 

Jin puts down his flute. “Are you cold?”

“It’s freezing out,” you reply, shrugging off your coat and shawl.

“I made tea,” he says. “Why don’t you sit for a minute.” He leans forward and pours two cups from a small pot. The wound in his side stabs in protest, but it no longer makes him flinch.

You hang up your coat and kneel beside him, taking the cup in both hands and breathing in the fragrant steam. 

Your eyes flutter closed and Jin watches as your face, flushed from the cold, relaxes into a smile. He carefully takes the blanket that’s draped over his shoulders and extends it to cover yours. 

Then he leaves his hand there, a gentle weight at your back. He can feel you tense for a moment, before you relax again and take a sip. 

“I made room for Kage in the shed,” you say. “Put some animal skins on him too. He should be alright for tonight.”

“Thank you,” Jin whispers.

“You’ll be leaving soon, won’t you.” You hold the cup to your chest, staring at the fire. 

“My wound is better,” he says. “And I still need to liberate this island.”

“And then?” The words hang in the air like a puff of smoke, drifting ever upwards but refusing to dissipate.

Jin quietly sips his tea, the warmth of it welcoming but edged with a hint of bitterness from the burnt leaves. “I don’t know,” he says. 

He moves his hand further to your side and finds that you lean into his warmth. “I care for you,” he finally says. “Always have. But you already knew that.”

You nod mutely.

“I don’t know what could have happened, or what would…”

“We are very different people now,” you say, and your voice sounds oddly far, a faint whisper beneath the crackling of fire.

“True,” Jin says. “But we’re here now.”

You look up at him and your wide eyes hold a sky’s worth of stars. That same spark he saw so long ago, buried but ever burning beneath it all. He gently kisses your forehead. 

And when you don’t pull back, he kisses your temple, and the top of your cheek, right beneath your eye. “Do you want this?” he asks. 

You hesitate for a moment, eyes searching the lines in his face, the scars on his brow. Then you put down the cup and let your fingers smooth back his hair, trace the line of his jaw. “I do,” you say, and you lean in to touch his lips to yours.

Flames lick at the logs in the hearth, a slow, burning heat that consumes everything in its path. It spreads an orange glow that lights up the inside of the hut, growing shadows from teacups and lining the two bodies moving there in a copper gleam. 

The fire simmers slowly, steadily throughout a cold winter’s night. It sparks and sizzles, breathing warmth and life into the darkness. 

And it burns, and burns, through that night, until all that’s left in the cold light of morning is a faint glow drawn from spent wood, and soft breaths under layers of blankets.

#jin sakai x reader #ghost of tsushima #fanfic #fluff #technically smut? #comfort fic

[seasonsofeverlark]

Apple Cinnamon Buns

Author: @hutchhitched​

Prompt: visual prompt [submitted by @mandelion82​]

Rating: T

Summary: Katniss and Prim enjoy a late fall day at a Christmas market when Katniss discovers a booth that sells the most delicious treats and run by a delectable man with deep blue eyes and wavy blonde hair.

Author’s Note: Visual prompt under the cut.

_________

Katniss shivered and tugged her fleece jacket tighter around her shoulders. She was used to being up this early but not surrounded by people at this hour. The sun was barely over the horizon, but Panem’s Harvest Festival was already in full swing. Prim, her little sister, bopped along beside her, a grin on her face, as the Everdeen sisters prepared to take the world by storm.

Or attempt to get ahead on Christmas shopping, at least. It wasn’t that serious.

“Who do you have to shop for?” Prim asked, yawning as she spoke. She wasn’t a morning person, and the fact that she’d pestered Katniss for weeks to attend as well as gotten up early when she didn’t have to was evidence enough the Harvest Festival was important to her.

“Not too many,” Katniss answered, rolling her Christmas list like a movie trailer in her head. “Gale, Mom, Uncle Haymtich, you. The usual.”

“Gale, huh? Is that because…”

“We’re just friends, Prim. I’ve told you that a million times,” Katniss insisted. “I’m not interested in anything else. Neither is he. I’m like his little sister. He doesn’t look at me that way.”

“Maybe you’re not interested in anything else, but I’m about a thousand percent sure that he wants more than friendship from you.”

“Whatever.”

Katniss didn’t mean to be dismissive, but what Prim said just wasn’t true. Gale and she had been best friends for years, and there’d been nothing between them other than a deep friendship the entire time.

“Agree to disagree,” Prim chirped, thoroughly unconcerned. “I have to get something for Mom and Haymitch, too. Let’s work on those, and then we can take off on our own to finish shopping. Sound good?”

“Sure.”

They ambled together, strolling through the stalls, checking out crafts and decorations and all sorts of unusual things Katniss would never have thought would make good gifts until she saw them. They decided on an antique brandy snifter for their uncle and a basket of pampering products for their mother before separating to shop for each other. Katniss had just found and purchased a really cool pocketknife for Gale and the softest pair of cashmere gloves for Prim when she turned the corner and spied a refreshment stand. Her stomach rumbled at the sight.

“Oh, I need some of that,” Katniss murmured, her eyes wide.

She approached slowly, reading signs and sniffing the different aromas that wafted from the stand. Drawn by the promise of something delicious, she drifted close before stopping and staring. She could almost swear she was under a magical spell. Another customer jostled her as she stood, and she shook herself. Just then, she heard a deep voice, sweet and spicy like pumpkin pie.

“Can I help you?”

Katniss locked eyes with the man behind the counter, her eyes captured by his deep blue gaze. Kindness danced there and life and contentment. She wasn’t sure what he was selling, but she wanted all of it.

“I’m— I’m not sure,” she answered, moving a little closer and returning his wide smile. White teeth glimmered behind full, pink, kissable lips. Ashy blonde hair flopped in waves over his forehead, and he tossed his head to get it out of his eyes. Sapphire eyes deep as the mines from which they came sparkled. She wanted to tumble into them and fall forever.

“Hungry? Thirsty?” he asked.

“Yes,” came her immediate response before she blushed bright red. His smirk indicated he understood she’d been talking about another kind of hunger.

“If you want a little something of both, I can make suggestions.”

She nodded, eager for him to keep speaking, craving the sound of the rumbled baritone that filled her ears when he addressed her. Her eyes roved over broad shoulders under red and baby blue flannel sleeves that were rolled up to reveal strong forearms ending in masculine hands with long, tapered fingers. Artist’s hands, she thought. They had to be. When they gestured, she remembered he was talking and snapped to attention.

“Do you like sweet or savory?”

Katniss gaped at him, unable to speak. There was something about the way he’d said the word sweet that made her want to climb over the counter and jump him. Since that was completely inappropriate, she forced herself to answer.

“It depends. I like a little of both.”

His pupils contracted, and he cleared his throat. “Well, we’re known for our apple cinnamon buns, which you can see on the sign down in front. I’d suggest trying one with a scoop of ice cream, but we also have cheese buns if you’d rather try something savory.”

She hesitated, tempted by the idea of cheese buns because they sounded overly delicious, but if they were known for something else, who was she to turn it down?

“I’ll take the apple cinnamon bun, please.”

“Ice cream?”

“I guess?”

He studied her. “Yes, I think so. You’ll enjoy it more that way, I think. Very creamy. Evens out the texture and mixes well with the tartness of the apples. Or we have apple crisp, if that’s more to your liking.”

“No, I like buns,” she blurted and felt her face grow even hotter.

“Funny,” he said with a smile, “so do I. Now, for the drink. That’s harder. We have so many options, and you look like you’d appreciate several of them. My first instinct is apple cider, but that’s a lot of apple going on at once. What about hot chocolate? I think that could be more your thing.”

“I love hot chocolate,” she admitted with a grin. “It’s my favorite.”

“That doesn’t surprise me somehow. You have that look.”

“What look is that?” she asked and was mildly surprised it sounded a little bit like flirting. “Hot? Or Chocolate?”

Blushing furiously, Peeta stammered an answer. “N-no! Just…you… I meant… Yes, hot— That’s not what I meant. More like sweet. With some substance. God, kill me now.”

“Please let me have my bun and sweetness before you’re murdered.”

She ducked her head, embarrassed at her brazenness. What was up with her? This wasn’t her modus operandi with men. Usually, she kept as far from them as possible unless it was Gale. But there was something about this guy. He was gentle and funny and interesting, and she wanted to keep talking to him forever.

Unfortunately, the woman behind her coughed, indicating her impatience, and he hurried to get her food. His co-worker finished with his customer and motioned to the person behind Katniss in line who flashed a glare as she moved up to the register. Katniss didn’t bother to respond, she remained focused on the man warming up the apple cinnamon bun, topping it with a dollop of ice cream, and pouring a cup of hot chocolate. Before he turned back to the register, he counted out a few marshmallows and then added two more to her drink.

“Here you go,” he said. “That’ll be $7.50.”

Katniss fished in her wallet, produced her debit card, and tried to hand it to him. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m so sorry, but we only take cash.”

Her face drained. She didn’t have any on her. She rarely carried it, and she hadn’t even thought about pulling out any to bring with her today.

“I-I don’t have any. I’m so sorry.”

The other customer left with her food, and his co-worker, likely a relative since they were so similar in appearance, slipped out the back of the booth leaving them alone.

“Don’t worry about it,” he urged softly. “It’s my treat.”

“You can’t!” she protested. “I’ll find my sister and see if she has cash. I’m… This is so humiliating.”

“Hey,” he said, his tone gentle, “it’s my treat. I know you’re going to love this, and word of mouth advertising is worth more than the cost of a bun and drink. Take it. Please.”

“I couldn’t. Seriously.”

“Please. I insist.” She hesitated for several moments, until he confessed, “Please, because if you wait much longer, my brother’s going to be back, and he’ll see what I’m doing. He can be, uh, a bit of a jerk, so you’d really be doing me a favor.”

She inhaled and held it for a beat before accepting his offering. “Thank you, uh…?”

“Peeta,” he said with a smile. “Peeta Mellark. This is my family’s booth.”

“Katniss Everdeen. Merely a customer at Panem’s Harvest Festival.”

“Well, I’m glad you chose to patron us. It’s been a highlight of the weekend, so far.”

Peeta’s brother returned, and he straightened, standing upright instead of leaning toward her over the counter. “Come by again before you leave,” he suggested. “I’d love to meet your sister.”

Katniss backed away with a nod of thanks. He obviously didn’t feel comfortable continuing the conversation with his brother next to him, so she decided to take the win and go. Glancing at the time, she realized she should be thinking about meeting up with Prim soon. First, though, she was going to eat her apple cinnamon bun and drink her hot chocolate.

The first spoonful melted on her tongue, and she released an indecent moan that would have horrified her if she hadn’t been in the throes of an orgasm in her mouth. There wasn’t a word to describe the explosion on her taste buds, but it was something to the effect of every superlative she could imagine. The hot chocolate was even better. She briefly considered selling herself on the street to get another cup.

“What are you doing?” Prim asked when they met up again. Katniss sat in a stupor, high on sugar and calculating how much more she could eat without quadrupling her daily caloric intake.

“How much cash do you have on you?” she demanded, eyes rolling.

Confused, Prim stared at her. “Why?

“There’s this booth. Best thing ever. Have to go back. They only take cash.” The words tumbled out in a half-coherent babble, but she didn’t care. She needed more of what Peeta had given her.

“Okay,” Prim agreed, although she flashed Katniss a look that indicated she thought her sister was losing it.

Katniss bounced to her feet and grabbed her purchases. Dragging Prim along by the hand, she wound through the stalls until she found Peeta’s booth again. He was still there, helping customers with a friendly smile.

“Oh,” Prim breathed. “I get it now. He’s gorgeous.”

“His buns are better.”

“Well, I can’t see them from here, but I’ll take your word for it.”

Katniss smacked her on the arm. Indignant, she snapped, “His apple cinnamon buns! Get your head out of the gutter.”

“Hard to keep the thoughts pure when a guy looks like that.”

“You know what, Prim? You’re absolutely right. He’s stunning. Let’s go get some of that.”

Katniss had every intention of laying her hands on more of Peeta’s buns. With any luck, she’d get his phone number, too.

#everlark #everlark fanfiction #autumn #autumn 2020 #hutchhitched #submission #prompt

[butternuggets-blog]

OLD ENOUGH TO KNOW BETTER

@baldwin-montclair @adowobsessed @sylverdeclermont @lady-lazarus-declermont @nicki-mac-me @thereadersmuse @kynthiamoon @adowbaldwin @profoundme444

Part Eight

Summary: Baldwin de Clermont manages to upset an ancient hag. He wakes up.. different.

'Mummy, may I please feed Apollo some fish?' asked Philip.

Diana and Matthew shared a glance. They had known this day was coming, but they didn't have to like it.

'Apollo?' Gerbert and Domenico echoed.

Baldwin sighed and hid his bowl of porridge beneath the table as Diana plastered a cheery smile on her face and nodded.

'Of course darling'

The griffin burst from Philip’s side onto the table, scattering plates and flipping Domenico’s scrambled eggs into his lap. Philip dissolved into a gale of laughter, while Gerbert watched the familiar with a mixture of awe and poorly-disguised greed.

‘AH-AH! Down!’ Diana frowned, sternly pointing her finger towards the floor. Phillip smiled and patted the side of his chair.

‘ ’Pollo, sit!’ the familiar perked up at the sound of its name and leapt across to squat beside its master. Phillip dropped some of his sardines into Apollo’s gaping mouth; the griffon chewed delicately on them, then swallowed.

‘And do you have a familiar?’ Gerbert asked, voice dripping with syrupy sweetness as he turned towards Rebecca. She stared at him over her cereal.

‘A pterodactyl’

Domenico let out a loud snort of derision.

‘Yeah, right’

He glanced Baldwin, then Diana and Matthew, as the silence stretched.

‘..right?’

The snowfall in Sept Tours had been unusually heavy that year. Both the castle and the surrounding village were covered in white, long thin icicles hanging from the edges of roofs and cars being swallowed up by snowdrifts.

The twins had been barred from going outside until Marthe borrowed Apollo and Corra, using them like intelligent flame-throwers to melt the iced-over pathways through the gardens. Now Becca was running around trying to find her bobble hat and gloves; Phillip was hopping awkwardly as he tried to pull on his boots and wrap his scarf around his neck at the same time.

Baldwin would never admit it, but for the last few weeks he had been using Diana as a human weather barometer. If she looked outside in the morning and decided to wear a coat, Baldwin would quietly copy her. 

He didn’t have to today. Marthe had been on a shopping spree, and dropped off a thick black coat, beanie, gloves and scarf. She’d bought similiar items for Gerbert and Domenico as well, although instead of a beanie, Gerbert was sporting a russian-style fur hat with earflaps.

The twins went hurtling out the front door, screaming with delight and launching themselves face-first into the nearest snowdrift. Domenico slipped on the slick pavestones almost immediately, reflexively grabbing the back of Baldwin’s jacket as he fell, dragging Baldwin down with him.

Gerbert chuckled as the two men, cursing loudly, untangled themselves.

‘Be careful; you wouldn’t want to break something would you?’ he smiled. Baldwin ignored him and headed off after the twins, while Domenico paused, a slow grin spreading across his face.

‘Don’t you da-’

‘Oops!’ Domenico spun Gerbert’s wheelchair around and pushed. It sailed forwards a good metre or so before careening wildly off the path and into a mound of snow.

Gerbert let out an indignant scream of fury but it was muffled by a mouthful of ice. Coughing and spluttering, he managed to half-crawl forward on his elbows until he could turn onto his back, facing up towards the sky. Now he just had to get up the energy to flip the wheelchair off him.

‘Oh, that’s disgusting!’ he grimaced as the snow that had slipped down the back of his jacket began to melt. He spread his arms out and tried to wriggle so that the moisture warmed up and evaporated faster.

The ghost of his childhood suddenly giggled in his ear. If he scraped his arms up and down, then-

No. That was idiotic.

...still...

Gerbert craned his head forward. There was no one else around.

If anyone spotted the impressions in the snow he could pass it off as him flailing, trying to push himself up.

He checked again. No one was watching.

Gerbert chuckled quietly to himself, and made a snow angel.

***

In spite of himself, Domenico was actually having a lot of fun.

He had reluctantly, then enthusiastically, helped Phillip make a snowman (Becca and Baldwin’s snowman was three times smaller, but much smoother and compact), then halfway through setting up a tobogganing jump and a small igloo Domenico managed to sneak up behind Baldwin and dump a handful of snow down his back.

The garden would be his grave.

While Baldwin frantically built a miniature Hadrian’s wall, Becca rolled snowball after snowball, reaching cautiously above the barricade to lob them at Domenico and her brother. They were bunkered down in a shallow crater, having forgone proper shielding in order to focus on making ammunition.

‘Slightly to the left Rebecca!’ Gerbert called out. He had wheeled himself to the top of the toboganning jump and was parked there, occasionally shouting advice.

‘SHUT UP OLD MAN!’ Domenico pegged a snowball towards Gerbert; the shot went wide, sailing over Gerbert’s head. He ducked down to avoid a snowball to the face from Baldwin, and whispered in Philip’s ear. The boy nodded enthusiastically, giggling.

There was a loud swooshing noise and Apollo launched into the air, bee-lining towards the other fort.

‘AERIAL ASSAULT!’ Philip and Domenico screamed. Baldwin swore and threw himself over Becca, who looked absolutely furious. Apollo made a noise like a cat being sick, and a volley of snow balls rocketed down, thudding into Baldwin’s back.

Becca, wriggling a hand out from beneath her uncle, aimed carefully. A column of fire suddenly erupted beneath Apollo, lightly singeing its feathers and sending the startled griffin pinwheeling back towards its master, shrieking loudly.

Marthe ambled into view, serenly taking in the chaos before her.

‘Lunch time!’

Gerbert wheeled himself back towards the castle, the twins and Baldwin shoving each other and arguing as they trailed along in his wake. Domenico, staying behind for a moment to pretend to re-tie his shoes, glanced furtively around to make sure no one was watching, lay down on the ground, and gave into the childish urge that had been buzzing around the back of his skull for the last hour and made a snow angel.

****

The tobogganing slope worked well. Really, really well.

Too well.

It had originally been a giant mound of snow, compacted by hand and shovel. There were pockmarks and it crumpled slightly around the edges after each use, but it held itself together.

Then Pip froze it.

Now there was a solid, nearly indestructable toboggan slope-shaped iceberg sitting in the middle of the lawn. Pip had immediately rushed to the top; the speed with which he went whizzing off the end was enough to launch the toboggan into the air and carry him an extra five metres, cackling hysterically.

Baldwin went and fetched the riding helmets.

After that there was no stopping the twins. Becca and Pip pushed themselves off the top of the slope more and more aggresively, while Domenico pushed a series of makeshift treebranch markers into the ground to see who’s toboggan flew the farthest.

Pip even extended the top of the slope so they could get a running start. In hindsight, this was absolutely the moment Baldwin should have put his foot down and been the responsible adult, but he had a two metre lead on Domenico and wasn’t about to let that crawly little git win.

Hence, the snow shoes.

Baldwin strapped the metal spikes to the bottom of his boots, careful not to cut himself. He put his toboggan on the slope in front of him, ground his heels into the ice, and tensed.

‘Ready..’ Becca raised her mittened hand in the air, ‘Set....GO!’

Baldwin sprinted forward, throwing himself onto the toboggan as just as it tipped over the edge. The extra boost of power from the jump caused the toboggan to shoot forward, gathering speed at an alarming rate until it reached the end of the slope and launched into the air.

‘OOF!’ Baldwin gasped as the breath was knocked from his lungs, the toboggan landing hard on a frosted-over patch of ground. Marker after marker whizzed past, the twins chanting and whoops of joy turning into concerned yells as Baldwin overshot the final marker and went careening up and over a hill, straight into the treeline.

Baldwin grit his teeth, cursed, and pulled on the brakes. He missed a rapidly approaching oak but the toboggan flipped, throwing him clear. He went rocketing into a hedge, skidding to a stop on the other side bruised, bleeding, and lying half-buried in a snowdrift, but alive.

‘Ow..’

He flexed his fingers and toes; nothing seemed broken. Relieved, and slightly out of it, he gingerly spread his arms and did a small snow angel to celebrate.

Author’s Notes

- Luna the pterodactyl is not canon in this story. Becca was f**king with her new uncles ^^

- I don’t think familiars in the ADOW universe can breathe elements, but I don’t care

- Marthe and Alain have zoom-lens cameras and absolutely took photos of Gerbert, Domenico and Baldwin making snow angels XD

#adow spoilers #adow #baldwin de clermont #baldwin montclair #philip bishop-clairmont #rebecca bishop clairmont #rebecca bishop-clairmont #domenico michele #gerbert de aurilliac #a discovery of witches #all souls trilogy #all souls series

[theawesomeally]

Before We Met (Preview)

Prologue

In a world inhabited by mythic creatures, love was commonplace several millennia ago, though difficult to master. After his training advances over the decades, his powers became obsolete and were largely discarded.

[The camera zooms in on the city and two blazing specks of light dash all over the place as one shoots lasers at the other. We then see an enemy aircraft flying throughout while it's chasing a young man, who is running from the pursuer. We see full closeups of a guy in his craft and Rocky as he runs. The scene freezes after an explosion with Rocky barely missing it.]

[voice over]

Through the years I have been known by many names. Marshmallow, The Furry Lover, The Daredevil, Frisky Two Times and then The amazing Ryan Reynolds. But to most, I am Rocky, the awesome one!

[Some other women, leaning across the wall, and Rocky getting his shades from his pocket. Put it onto his eyes. While he puts his hoodie onto his shoulders. Rocky was dressed like a gentleman, but he fought with honor or dignity and pulled at the knot into his tie. Females are not meant to grab his attention, and if it does. To be fair, he heard most of what he'd said up to this point. The parts that weren't of his interest, anyway.

Okay, maybe that wasn't much]

His sigh is heavy with exasperation,

"Can you keep your dick in your pants at the gala?"

Grab his phone from his pocket, automatically switching it out of Bluetooth mode, and bring his earphone up to his ear.

I will never forget you, Margarita. [The female stops and cringe after hearing the name. His blue prominent eyes were not well adapted to winking. They were rather of the sort that closes solemnly in slumber with majestic effect.

Rocky pretend to consider as Rocky step out of the car and button his tux jacket. "Hmm."

"Nice wheels, sir," the valet says, unconcerned that he was on the phone. Rocky pull out his wallet and flash a fifty-dollar bill. "Take care of her and this is yours."

"Yes, Mr. Rocky."

"I mean, Rosa. Uh...sorry. I think maybe I should go.???." She wrapped her arms over her chest and shook her head with a smirk curved across her face. Rocky grinned and raised an ironical finger in salute Rocky starts backing away. "You can't get away with it." the security guard muttered, holding out one hand. He was moving very slowly, thinking Rocky was the enemy or something. Blinks at her as a farewell, but glance with a smug as he sees the vampire's ring. Mind was so wrapped up in thought that he didn't notice the familiar vampire standing behind him. A vampire with bad breath psycho. "Hey, come on, dickie! You're trashing public property here!" He is thinking about how he had to sneaked up onto the roof and is currently standing a few feet behind him.

Rocky then gently slides the ring off the vampire's finger using his katana.

Light glinted off a myriad of his Katana and the vampire ring. Spray from the dust to blew up into his face, but sweat more than seawater moistened his palms as he gripped the eagle. His eyes were as blue while the vampires eyes were cold as the stormy weather.

"Hey, it's Gale calling," says Rocky called over his shoulder to one nefarious vampire. "Love the shiny suit. Really brings out the sex trafficker in your eyes." Rocky had commented, half jokingly and straight up confident, how that guy would have been considered handsome - if he ever bothered to smile.

Cut to a shot of a cliff.

A grim expression again carved itself into the soldier's face as he gazed up at the jeering vampires, their bodies smeared with blood, upon the cliff tops. Even the most cowardly of tribes in Gaul would fancy its chances from such advantageous ground, one being was mused. The sound of their jeers was occasionally accompanied by the high pitched swish of an arrow, as the odd archer tried his luck. Invariably the missile would zip harmlessly into the sea, or at best a thud could be heard as it struck as a human shield or the solid surface of the earth.

Cut back to the fighting scene. Rocky is skewering a guy with his swords, and kicks the vampire in the chest, sending him back down and puts his sword away. The guy gasp and starts fighting with Rocky. This continues for awhile until Rocky get's away again. Using two fingers he salute the vampire as a goodbye.

Making a soft chuckle. He flicks the vampire ring up into the air. It comes back down and lands into one of the streets, causing his background to explode. The shards of fire fell in slow motion behind him.

He is consumed in the explosion, as his body can be seen flying off the ground, flipping off the camera as it goes. "Oh, fuck." Rocky mutter under his breath. "Oh, I'm sorry." A small apology leaving his lips with a smirk.

"That will teach you, not to mess with me," A familiar voiced ask, up righting his head as he walk over the circles and appeared in front of him,

(narrator)

So, I know what you're thinking. Why is that incredibly handsome guy being chased by a madman with a huge shiny fangs from the Civil War?

[The scene freezes after an explosion sending Rocky flying off the ground from the ground. After the dust settles, leaving Rocky lying unconscious on the ground.]

This guy's got the right idea. Well, to be honest, it feels like I've been the captain of my whole life. Is this too much? Am I going too fast? It's kind of what I do--You know what? Let's back up.

[We see the whole fight going in reverse as well as frames of future clips for a split second each time, one passes as Rocky mimics a rewind sound effect] Cut to close-up of Rocky gets up to his feet. Cut to him sitting on the side of the gable roof at night. Wondering how long it would be before he saw the city again. He had been born with a wandering heart, and he embraced adventure, unafraid to face the dangers often presented by journeys into unknown places. Leaving civilization behind for the wilds of the frozen north, legs dangling over the side as he listens to his Walkman next to him playing 'Shoop.' Rocky was vaguely singing along, making hand gestures along with the lyrics, but he was focused on his own drawing, while listening to the music and coloring a picture with crayons. We see that the picture he's drawing is him shooting the vampire in the head, he was doing it with some crayons he had with him.

It was fun to see that getting shot in the head, even if it was just a crayon drawing. He'd never soon change it to a reality. And then turned his head and stared directly at the camera, or the person reading, or just whoever balls happened to be paying a lot of attention to him.

Wha- Oh! Oh, hello. I know, right? Who's balls did I have to snap to get my very own story? I can't tell you, but it does rhyme with dick. And let me tell you; he's got a nice pair of fucking underwear, he finished in an Swedish accent.

They'd get that joke, right?

Anyway, I got places to be, a kiss in the ass to fix, and - oh! hot weird vampire to kill.

He watched eagerly as the flashes of light began to appear below him – lots of rippers were a very dramatic little shit, after all – we're panning quickly towards the edge of the roof he was sitting on. Now having an appointment to keep, Rocky was quick to get onto edge of the roof and, in one fluid motion, opens a music playlist called Tunes of Anarchy on his Walkman, and the song "Where Evil Grows" by The Poppy Family stays playing in the background as he jumped off the roof, landing in one of the coolest bar in Mystic Falls. It seemed that they had been drinking peacefully, listening to 'Angel of the Morning,' but when Rocky landed and that's when their peaceful night was over.

They look around for which they finally see as Rocky stands at a wooden doorway wearing a cowboy hat, black sunglasses, and red a white hoodie as he opens a music playlist called Tunes of Anarchy on his Walkman. Opens up and the door swings open and the music resumes with people dancing and lights flashing as he goes inside the bar.

Nothing.

Absolutely positively not a fucking thing.

First one person turned, noticing him. Then more followed, until the whole patron was hushed, waiting. Everyone was watching, the same bewildered look on all of their faces. Eyebrows raised and narrowed eyes, etc. God, for months he'd played this moment over and over inside his mind. It most definitely never turned out like this. Whatever this was.

As he walks up to the bar. The room was narrow and about 90 feet deep. Light did manage to worm its way into the establishment, though. It seeped through the windows scattered along the walls, and through the gaps in the door between its wooden panels. A bar on the left at the front, then some upholstered horseshoe benches, then a cluster of freestanding tables on what, on other nights, might have been a dance floor. Then the stage, with the band on it. The band looked as if it had been put together by accident after a misfiling incident at a talent agency. The bass player was a stout old black guy in a suit with a vest. He was plucking away at an upright bass fiddle. The drummer could have been his uncle. He was a big old guy sprawled comfortably behind a small, simple kit. The singer was also a harmonica player and was older than the bass player and younger than the drummer and bigger than either one.

The guitarist was completely different. He was young and white and small. Maybe 20, maybe 5-foot-6, maybe 130 pounds. He had a fancy blue guitar wired to a crisp new amplifier and together the instrument and the electronics made sharp sounds full of space and echoes. The amp must have been turned up to 11. The sound was incredibly loud. It was as if the air in the room was locked solid. It had no more capacity for volume. But the music was good. The three black guys were old pros, and the white kid knew all the notes, and when and how and in what order to play them. He was wearing a red T-shirt and black pants and white tennis shoes. He had a very serious expression on his face. He looked foreign. Maybe Russian.

I watched them for a minute, and then I looked away. My name is Rocky, and once I was the most wanted man, with heavy emphasis on the past tense. I have been out nearly as long as I was in. But old habits die hard. I had stepped into the bar the same way I always step anywhere, which is carefully. One-thirty in the morning. I had ridden the train to West and walked south on Sixth Avenue and made the left turn on San Francisco bar and checked the sidewalks. I wanted music, but not the kind that drives large numbers of patrons outside to smoke.

His attention was taken away from patrons. It was at that point that he saw the young beautiful woman alone at her table, Her name tag read Katy, and her shirt clung tightly around her chest. Her hands worked quickly and gracefully with the bottles as she poured them another and took the empty's away.

I watched her in the gaudy, reflected light, with the music shrieking and pounding all around me. The two guys watched her. Her bodyguard watched her. She watched the guitarist. He was concentrating hard, key changes and choruses, but from time to time he would lift his head and smile, mostly at the glory of being up on the stage, but twice directly at the girl. The first of those smiles was shy, and the second was a little wider.

What met my eyes was a beautiful girl with golden hair and a bright smile that melted my heart. She was blond and blue-eyed, American woman who have a glow, and a smoothness complexion. She lives in New York, singing, listening to a band, and I was in love with her angelic voice. That was clear. There I was, a guy further back in the room, stood in the room staring at her. I was 6ft tall, wide man with a white hoodie and a black leather jacket under a hoodie. She was part of the reason I was here with her back in a city when we were at the age of 19 or less.

It wasn't the kind of glossy place that had a policy about dating rich girls, either for or against. Some call it a gold digger, and I guessed they had looked at her and her minder and made a snap decision against trouble and in favor of tips.

The part of her gaze that wasn't wary was filled with adoration, and it was all aimed in his direction. She was rich. She was alone at a table near the stage and she had a pile of A.T.M fresh twenties in front of her and she was paying for each new bottle with one of them and she wasn't asking for change.

She was a waitress and I loved her.

The woman stood up. She butted the lip of her table with her thighs and shuffled out from behind it and headed for the counter in back. I got there first. The sound from the band howled through it. The ladies' room was halfway down. The men's room was all the way at the end. Rocky leaned on the wall and scanned the room. As Rocky watched her walk in and squeeze through the crowd and she sat down on the bar stool, 1 feet away from him.

"Hey, Raoul, look what this kid dragged in. Oh, wait! That is the guy!," but they didn't hear. Too much noise. He caught them by the elbows, one in each hand. They spun around, as if ready to fight, but then they stopped. Fortunately for him, the first two who approached her were quick to heed her dismissal. She wasn't there to mingle with huge ass in leather jackets. She was just there to grab a drink and relax and pretty sure she made that pretty clear when she shot the first couple of idiots down.

The third guy, however, wasn't ready to take no for an answer.

"How about you let me buy you a drink, sweetheart?"

Their sex appeal eyes pried upon their eyes from the television screen above the bar and looked at the newcomer. With his hair greased back and one-size-too-big biker jacket on, the guy looked like prime wife-beater material. Perfect. Just what they needed to interrupt his evening.

"Thanks, but I'm good," she said curtly, gesturing to the beer bottle in front of her.

"That's it? You're gonna chug that shitty beer and call it a night? Come on, let me get you a real drink."

She scoffed. "What? Like those idiots you got over there?" she glanced past him at the table where he and a couple of his friends had been sitting.

"It's a warm-up. Trust me, honey, we're just getting started over there. You should join us."

She wanted to roll her eyes. "Like I said, I'm good."

She made the move to turn away and focus her attention back on the football game on the television when the guy grabbed her by the arm.

"What the hell's your problem?" This guy gripped her arm tightly, this guy's face practically scrunched up in a beastly snarl. "I don't like to be ignored, y'know?"

She yanked her arm out of his grip and stood up to face him directly. She knew pretty damn well where the conversation was headed and sure as hell were not about to get in a bar fight with their ass glued to the seat.

Before she could open her mouth, a familiar voice spoke up from behind her.

By hearing it and raising their head to turn to his voice, her smile grew a tad wider, recognizing the voice immediately. They simply looked so annoyed, at least much more than usual. His lips pulled into a tight frown, while their eyes narrowed, eyebrows furrowed, back hunched over slightly if you'd look hard enough. Yep, those guys are just being grumpy as usual, but seemingly much more grumpy, except with their eyes laced with the slightest bit of concern. For herself, most likely.

The said person stopped, and looked over their shoulder to the voice. She put on a mellow look close to her usual one. Confrontation- unnecessary confrontation- was not exactly his thing. He tended to avoid fights like these. He could hold his ground better than most, but he preferred to keep out of the brawls and spats that others got involved in.

A voice caught his ear, she sounded like she needed help, despite the overconfident tone the stranger used. "Look, I don't wanna interrupt, but is this guy bothering you?" he looks up at her and says greeted casually, as casual as someone could be hanging for dear life. She looked up at me, startled that he was there. "I'm sorry. Did I scare you up?" he softly asked, when she turned to get a good look at the stranger in his handsome voice. She wasn't expecting the sight she was met with. A pair of piercing blue eyes smiled over her, puffing out her cheeks childishly when she looked at him. After she looked to her right to find Rocky taking his place beside her. Her pinkish lips turned up in a small smile as she ducked her head briefly with a laugh before tucking her hair behind her ear, "No, you did not," she said. He couldn't keep the amusement out of his voice. She turned her head to look at him, catching his gaze with her own. He gave a small smile, stroking her hair softly with his index. "So, What exactly are you doing here?" she said softly, trying to maintain an even tone of voice.

"Oh you know, I was just passing through the neighborhood when I thought I caught a whiff of filthy human garbage coming from this place," he said,

"And sure enough here I am."

Desire pools dark and deadly in his groin. Gaze up at her, releasing her lip. Katy flush a deep crimson in her cheeks, and he runs his index finger down her cheek before handing her the headphones. "I'd like to kiss you, too, but you won't let me down, are you?." Rocky asked her. Besides, he's pulled the straps so tight he can barely move.

Amused smile on his lips, he's wearing his enigmatic half smile. He glances down at her, light blue-gray eyes alive, he glances up when she looks at his way and their eyes lock. And in that brief moment, she was paralyzed, staring at the impossibly handsome man who gazes at her with some unfathomable emotion. His gaze hot, burning into her, as they lost for a moment staring at each other.

It's there in the air between them, that electricity. It's palpable. He can almost taste it, pulsing between them, drawing them together.

"Oh my," she gasps as she basks briefly in the intensity of this visceral, primal attraction. The two men stood back, saying nothing, but looking at him with hard eyes.

Katy had, somehow, stammered out some sort of reply that must have made her look insane. Coby, hearing her, had come over to check on her and had ended up having her go make Rocky's a drink while they chatted. Ever since that first meeting, though, Katy had completely fallen for Rocky. There was something about his smile, or maybe it was his eyes? Whatever it was, it made Katy's entire body feel light as a feather.

To be continued....

#myoc #fanfic #writters on tumblr #wattpad #my fanfiction #origial character #writting #TVD #tvd x reader #tvd universe #tvd rp #tvdfamily #vampire diaries #stories #novel #wattpad writer #Rocky X OC #comedy #original story #story #story time #story telling

[jungcity]

from saint. | love, eternal.

7:08 AM. 20** 

What should I call you? But hi, diary. I am Saint. Saint Jung. Son of Jung Jaehyun and Y/N Jung. Today, I am seven years old. I asked Daddy Taeyong to buy me a really, really, really old diary. I don’t know where he found you, but I am glad to write on you. 

Mom is busy, so is Dad. They said seventh birthday is important and must be grandiose (I hope I spelled that right). But to be honest, I want it to be as simple as possible. Since I am not really comfortable with parties. Dad insists I should wear suit (it’s itchy), but Mom only laughed at him and told me I should wear something casual.

Mom has been cooking all night long for my birthday. Dad said we could order food in a restaurant, or we could contact a famous chef from Seoul to cook my birthday dishes. I don’t know if this is my birthday or my parents’. I hope that doesn’t sound disrespectful. 

Yesterday, my zipper’s bag snapped open because of its content. Gladly, I am already inside the limo when it happened. My classmates had thrown me an advanced birthday party at school. Judy, Heidi, Gale, and Anika gave me tons of chocolates. I hope I could eat it all but I have to share some for my family. Mom wouldn’t be pleased if I ever get toothache. 

That’s it for today, diary. 

P.S.: I heard Mom and Dad talking about my angel blood last night. I didn’t understand one bit of their conversation. But I hope I will, someday. 

—

8:26 PM, 20** 

Hi, diary. This is Saint Jung once again. We have written letters for our moms today. Miss Rona was pleased to read mine. She said the letter does not look like it came from a seven year old. Oh, I know, you’d like to read one of the excerpts of my letter right? 

Well, here it is: Mom, thank you for shining like a star in our lives. You are the light in the darkness. I love you. And Dad. 

That’s it. Was it too cheesy? I have to give the letter to Mom. I hope she does not cringe. 

—

3:11 PM, 20** 

This is Saint Jung. I already gave the letters to my Mom. She cried. So hard. I was afraid Dad would scold me when he returned from work. But he only sat with me on the veranda.

It’s odd. Because I was wearing my pajamas and Dad was wearing his suit. Someday, I’d like to be just like him.

He wasn’t mad. In fact, he was glad. And we’ve exchanged stories until I fell asleep. 

“Mom cried,” Saint said, lips quivering. Jaehyun’s heart thudded because of his son’s face. He couldn’t believe this bundle of happiness is his own flesh and blood. 

“Because she was so happy to read your letter,” He patted Saint on his head. 

“Really?” the little boy asked, wiping his eyes off tears. Whenever he looked at his son, it was always like seeing the little version of him.

“Come here, bud.” He smiled. Saint sniffed before sitting on his lap, still wiping his eyes. 

“Did I hurt Mom?” 

Jaehyun let out a chuckle, “Of course, not. You made her so happy today. I am so proud of you, Saint.” 

Then he kissed the little boy on the cheek. Saint giggled, flashing Jaehyun his two deep dimples. 

“Will you write Daddy a letter, too?” He asked, hugging his son tighter. 

“Of course, Daddy.” 

The both of them held each other under the stars. With his arms draped around Saint, and the little hands of his son hugging his torso. They stayed like that for an hour. Exchanging little stories about Jaehyun’s work and Saint’s school. 

“One day, I hope you’ll be happy as I am, Saint.” No response. Then Jaehyun heard soft snores from the little boy. He chuckled. Then he carried his son to his bed, tucked him in, and kissed his forehead. 

—

 9:14 PM. 20** 

Summer vacation has started. And we are here in Greece. All of us. Including my other daddies and Mama Yuqi, and Mama Chaelin. Mama Yuqi brought Zion with him. 

Zion, he is my cousin. Mama Yuqi and Daddy Lucas’ son. He told me we should go explore Greece on our own. That boy. If I inherited my Dad’s silent demeanor, Zion inherited Daddy Lucas’ extroverted side. No wonder Mama Yuqi’s always on edge with him. 

But of course, I said no to his offer. You might call me a bore. And I might be a bore. I just do not want to worry Mom. Dad would never like that. Mama Yuqi said Dad is the human embodiment of petrifying when he’s angry. 

 — 

 8:56 PM. 20** 

Dad and Mom fought. Over apples. I don’t know if I should laugh, or cry. It’s their first time fighting. And it’s… because of an apple that wasn’t precisely cut. 

I stumbled upon Mom and Dad hissing at the kitchen. 

“You’ve been doing this for so long, chérie.” Dad said, frustration was clear in his voice. 

“Why are you so sensitive today?” Mom asked. 

Dad sighed of frustration, “Because—” 

“Mom? Dad? Are you fighting?” 

It was obvious that they were. But Mom quickly hugged Dad and pretended to wipe his mouth. “You are so like a child when you eat!” She pinched Dad on his cheek, and I know that hurts. 

“We’re not, baby.” Dad said through his dimpled smile. 

I shrugged and walked straight to the refrigerator and grabbed some milk. “Dad, what is ‘fuck’?”

By my words, Mom gasps. Dad choked on his apple.

“Where did you learn that word?” Mom asked, kneeling in front of me. 

“Zion said it’s a magic word,” I told her, cupping the box of milk with my little hands. 

Mom turned to Dad, “Call Lucas.” She said. Then she looked at me, “That’s a bad word, honey.” 

I blinked, “Is it Mom? But Zion said it is a holy word. Because fuck creates babies.” 

“Call. Lucas. Now!” Mom repeated, there was a warning in her voice that made Dad dashed for the telephone. 

After that, Zion didn’t talk to me for weeks. Because according to him, I ‘betrayed’ our friendship. But then came his birthday, and my gift, he could not possibly say no to that. And he ended up forgiving me. 

 —

 1:37 AM, 20** 

Hi, this is Saint Jung. You’re probably wondering why I wrote this in such late time. I am now eighteen. Eighteen means parties, girls, and trouble. I just came back from one of Zion’s party. Uncle Lucas, (it’s odd to call him Daddy) and Mama Yuqi had gone to another country to celebrate their anniversary. Leaving their house to Zion’s hands. 

Zion. Alone. Mansion. What did I expect?

It was a mess. There was trouble. Zion made out with different girls tonight. 

But I didn’t. No. I did. I did make out with one girl from my class. Her name’s Veina. (Mom will prolly scold me for this)

We made out. And I think… this is so odd. I shouldn’t be doing this. I shouldn’t be writing this on here.

But her lips, damn, it was like velvet cake against mine. She smelled like lavender with a mix of strawberry. I could not name her scent exactly. She was unique. 

 — 

 3:42 AM, 20** 

I got into a car accident. Right. The good boy Saint in an accident? A nightmare. 

Mom was angry. Dad was furious. 

I feel like shit when Mom cried at the hospital, I hate seeing her cry. And I hate myself to be the one causing her tears. All of my uncles has paid me a visit, with a lot of scolding and pinching ears. Uncle Doyoung was beyond furious, even furious than Dad. With what happened, he postponed giving me a Ferrari. Right. He promised me that car, months ago. But Saint has been a bad boy. 

Zion was laughing and rolling on the floor when he visited me. The only thing that stopped him was the shout of Mama Yuqi. 

And yes. I’d hate to say this, since I don’t want to sound so self-centered and narcissistic, but yeah, a lot of girls had been on the hospital to visit me. Of course, rudeness isn’t in my vocabulary. And I’d feel an absolute jerk if I didn’t show kindness to the girls. Mom is a girl. A woman. Call me old-school, but I believe that when you hurt a girl, it would be like hurting your own mom. 

After all the commotion, Dad sat beside me. While Mom sleeps on the sofa. He sat beside me and I swear, my breath hitched when I saw tears in his eyes. Dad never cried. Or so I thought. 

“Be careful next time,” was his words, before leaning in to me and kissing my forehead. 

I know. Don’t judge me diary. I know it’s cheesy, and unmanly-like. But that’s my Dad. He’s loved every fiber of my being ever since I was born. 

 — 

 11:23 PM, 20** 

I got into a fight. And we had to move houses because of the trouble I’d been into. Worrying Mom is on the very least of my priority. But I guess I’ve been born to worry her. 

Some dickbag in school called Dad an alien. I have to be honest, Mom looked like she’s near her forties. Yet Dad looked like a twenty-three year old man. It doesn’t make sense to me, either. But hearing my Dad being called an alien has sparked an anger inside me I didn’t know existed. 

So I threw the punch. And I hit him until he’s a bloody mess on the school hallway’s floor. Bad temper, I must admit. 

And now we are here. Far from the city. In the middle of the forest. Near Uncle Doyoung’s mansion. Right.

Yes, Zion laughed at me until his chest hurts that he needed a nebulizer to help him breathe again. 

 — 

 4:09 AM. 20**

This is Saint Jung. Twenty-one at long last. I want you to know, diary, that I am writing this entry with bloodshot eyes and alcohol drowning my lungs.

It’s my first time to drink like this. 

But what would you do if your mother and father told you that you’re half-mortal, half-angel? And that you would live a long life. Without a mother. And that your mother would be reincarnated someday? But the take is that she won’t be able to remember you. 

It’s fucked up. It’s beyond me. 

But now I understand. I understand why I seem to have this divinity inside me. Why I could run faster than Zion even in his wolf form. Damn, I should’ve known that something is up with me too, when Zion admitted that he is half-wolf, half-human to me.

I should’ve asked Dad when I felt my system convulsing with power. Of strength. Of something I did not understand then. 

Dad. Wait, diary, I have to process this one. Give me a minute to breathe.

Dad is Lucifer. Right. The banished angel from heaven. The morningstar. The Prince of hell. He is a f u c k i n g angel. And I am a f u c k i n g nephilim. I would’ve ended up not believing it, if only Dad didn’t show his wings. Fuck. Sorry for the curses Mom. I had to.

I couldn’t process this in one night. But I need to. So Mom would never cry in front of my door again. Begging me to open it. 

 — 

 2:29 AM. 20** 

Mom and I, we’ve talked. She showed me a picture of a girl with black hair and blue eyes and told me she was Aurora. Mom said it was her one hundred years ago.

Why am I only knowing all about this now? I don’t have any idea. But I am glad they deemed me worthy for this mind-boggling information. 

Aurora was Mom’s face one hundred years ago. Aurora’s reincarnation was Mom today. 

Mom said she would die one day. Her face would disappear from this world, but her soul will not. She said, with tears in her eyes, that I should wait for her to be back. I should wait for her be reincarnated again. 

She’s my mother. She’s my everything. She’s the only flower in my garden. And Dad. Of course, I will wait for her even it takes her a thousand years to be back.

It hurts. I know that sounds weak. But it hurts. I am hurt. I don’t want to wake up one day without her. I think I’d rather die than be parted away from her. 

“Saint,” Dad called out from behind my door. I stood up and laid the controller on the bed. 

“A minute?” He asked. I nodded and guided him towards the veranda. It was frightening, to see Dad. He was so like me I always thought I’m looking at the mirror every time I stand face to face with him. He could pass as my doppelgänger. No joke. 

“How are you, Saint?” He looked at the horizon of gleaming lights far away from us. 

I propped my arms on the railings before answering, “Wrecked.” There’s no point in lying. Dad could smell a shit from miles away. 

“I was like that when I knew about your mother’s real identity,” He smiled a bitter one at me. “Pushed her away. Like a douchebag in a cliché novel, said your Mama Chaelin.” Then he shook his head while sighing, “But where did all those pushing led me? Back to her.” 

“That’s romantic, Dad. But forgive me if I am too hurt to comprehend.” I admitted. 

Dad put his arms around my shoulder, pulling me closer to him. “We have to be strong for your Mom,”

Surprisingly, a hot feeling around my eyes blurred my vision. It took me a while to realized that I was crying. “I can’t lose Mom, Dad. I can’t.” was what I said between sobs.

Dad held me tighter and closer while I sob that night. 

Losing Mom would be my downfall. It is the bane of my existence. I would simply shut down once it happens. 

 — 

 That was Saint’s last entry. He never continued his diary ever again after knowing the truth.

#love eternal #bonus chapter #sobbing #i love the pain #ctto 🤍

[monkeebratz]

Gotham Seamstress Marinette - Uncle Ozzy

Initial Idea | Uncle Ozzy (you are here) |

One of Arthur’s most frequent customers is, of course, Oswald Cobblepot, The Penguin. The man wears almost exclusively suits. C’mon now. (Also the Penguin I’m most family is the one from The Batman animated series so forgive me if this seems. Odd? OOC? Idk I’m just here to have fun.)

And Ol’ Ozzy doesn’t think much of the little girl that’s started helping Mr. Berstein out around the shop. She works fast, doesn’t say much. Pretty little thing. (Not that Ozzy is looking at a child like that, get your mind out of the gutter. There’s a reason his Kabuki girls shadow him everywhere, and the Lounge has mostly waitresses running about. The lot of them are young, but nobody ever said Oswald Cobblepot wasn’t a gentleman, and no gentleman would ever put his hand to a woman. Catwoman doesn’t COUNT damn it.) 

Of course, he doesn’t think much of her until she’s stuttering over her words after he asks what she’s looking at so sharply. Something about the cut of the suit. Its difficult to pick through the nonsense to get to the meat of the matter but something about a single breast suit with some kind of pattern. When he demands she show him what she means, she pulls out a slip of paper, quickly scribbling out her design. And Ozzy won’t lie, its... flattering. More so than the damn American style suits that are still all the rage in Gotham right now. And the girl, Mari, is waving her hands and fluttering about to pick out a handful of fabrics, layering them against each other and explaining how they work together and he won’t lie... he likes it. Tells her as much and the girl grins ear to ear and makes little notes on the page, setting aside the paper and nodding along. 

Neither of them notice Mr. Berstein in the background, white knuckle gripping his tape, watching the scene play out in front of him. His Girls notice, of course, and tell him later in their harsh, whispered tones. Bah. Like he’d hurt a little girl for doing her job.... He may have to have a word with ol’ Jay about that. He liked this girl, and if she could make this old bird look good, well. He didn’t care to be replacing a seamstress who could do her job and do it well. No reason to have his old friend torment the girl into making mistakes. 

Mari starts making most of Oswald’s suits herself, adding in fun little details. And, now, most petty thugs know better than to mess with Arthur or Mari and get on the bad side of the Rogue Gallery. But not everybody. 

The Penguin shows up to find Mr. Bernstein doing some adjustments to his latest commission and he’s all sorts of cagey about where Mari is. Now, Cobblepot and the Kabuki Girls don’t take too kindly to him acting like that and there may be some threatening and, well. Arthur quietly explained that Mari got mugged coming home last night. She said the other guy looked worse, but she got hit pretty hard and she wasn’t going to be up for finishing anything anytime soon. 

So Oswald and the Girls push past Arthur to go upstairs (he and Mari live above the tailor shop) and go to see her, Arthur sweating buckets the whole time. And Mari’s just kinda laying on the couch, beat to all hell and she squeaks like a little mouse, quickly ducking into her little blanket burrito when she sees them. (She’s hiding the kwami that were comforting her. But they don’t need to know that.) 

Oswald goes all Papa Bear and demands a description of the men/man who did this and Mari gives it to him only if he promises not to kill them or anything drastic. And he DOES make that promise. The Girls, however, don’t. Nobody touches their sweet little Hime. (She hadn’t flinched back when they’d taken off their masks in front of her for a new set of unitard’s and kimono’s, carefully fitted and adjusted to not get in the way of their work. Had smiled and said how pretty their eyes were, how lovely their hair. Nobody touched their sweet girl, and nobody touches Mr. Cobblepot, and got away with it. Not now. Not ever.) 

Once Mari is all healed up, he insists that he call him Uncle Ozzy, and the Girls insist they call them Peri and Gale. They can’t manage more than a harsh whisper, and refuse to give any other names, but Mari never gives her full name either, so. That’s fine. 

Now, Ozzy and the Girls continue wearing Mari’s designs. And, now, Marinette hears of the upcoming Wayne gala, and in a fit of inspiration, draws up matching outfits for the three of them. And maybe one for herself. And Ozzy pays her for all four outfits, and tells her he’ll bring her as his plus one to this gala. As long as it all gets done before hand. She, of course, tackle hugs him and squeals with happiness bc you’d better believe Mari is going to get this done asap!

(And holy descriptions Batman, here’s the ideas for their outfits that I may try to draw one day. Maybe.

Oswald Cobblepot - British Style Single Breasted Suit. Off silver/cream color with metallic snowflake detailing. Very subtle. Very light almost pastel orange-yellow waistcoat. A more saturated red-orange tie and matching handkerchief in his jacket breast pocket. Typical matching top hat and shoes in a slightly darker gray to match the suit. 

Peri and Gale - Masks with high flush looking blush and very pale blue lips. Decorative hair combs and flowers in silver and pale, ice blue. Their unitards are a similar simple, pale blue. Kimono has inner most layers of deep blue, getting paler and paler until you have the silver blue outside layer. Same metallic snowflake pattern as Ozzy’s suit. The bottom of the kimono and its sleeves have added details of penguins in the same orange-yellow and yellow-red as Ozzy as well. Obi is the same blue as the middle layer of the Kimono, a mid tone blue, with bronze details of peregrine falcons and nightingales, respectively. Orange-yellow obi belt and red-orange obiage. 

Marinette - High neck, backless, mermaid style skirt, dress. Fade from black at her neck to the same off silver everybody else has. Metallic snowflakes on the silver area of the skirt that fade out with the black. Very top of the dress is a yellow ribbon that ties in a bow at the back of her neck and hangs down to just below her  knees.)

Ozzy intrudes Mari to the Wayne’s and its. Something. 

#miraculous ladybug #batman #maribat #miraculous ladybug au #gotham seamstress marinette au #marinette dupain cheng #kabuki twins #batman au #i'll organize and add tags later when i'm not sleep deprived but HERE IS THIS I GUESS #oswald cobblepot

[bellatrixobsessed1]

Kissing Dead Pearls (Final Part)

There are places where lives unfold and places where lives come to an end, more often than not these places are one and the same. Sometimes these places are quaint harbor towns where buildings are centuries older than any of the citizens currently hustling in and out of them. Sometimes these places are have cliffsides that are older than even the buildings, worked at and eroded by waves significantly more timeless than them. Often these cliffsides see thunderous clouds and tempestuous waves, lit by forks of lightning and filled by curtains of rain. And more often than folks like to admit, these towns have their ghosts; sails on the horizon during a storm, ladies in billowing white dresses that stand at the edge of cliffs, and speters that travel through arches of limestone. It might be that the towns folk get bored and invent legends, or perhaps it is a tourist thrill, still it could be that some of the inhabitants need a good ghost to keep them secure in the realm of the living.

In such a town, the rain could be pouring and lightning could be bursting in the sky. People might be rushing to pack in their picnic food and snatch up their umbrellas. Some of them are too late, like a boy named Jet and a girl named Jin. Their umbrella has lifted out of the sand and is riding the gales out towards the sea. It wasn’t his idea of what a date should look like, but at least it was a thrilling one.

Others have more luck on their side; more or less. A married couple could be safely tucked into their restaurant had they decided to take down their patio umbrellas and move their chairs inside sooner.

Inside of a restaurant called La-bsters there is a rather interesting cluster of people. Mostly there are tourists and people who have hustled into the building for shelter from the rain. But there are also two teens interviewing for their first jobs. A girl will venture out of the town for the first time to study marine biology and her friend, Toph will take her place waitressing for the restaurant. There is also a bald boy and his dog, the three are an inseparable duo and Aang swears that he will teach the dog to be a good employee too.

The restaurant is cozy. It is home. In a quaint harbor town that seems caught within a bygone era, anywhere is home really. It is no wonder that some people are hesitant to leave. When home is so warm and inviting, so safe and unchanging, why would a person ask to leave?

For some it is a need for change, a yearning for something new. A desire to see the world with a knowing that they can come back to their harbor town and see it nearly as it was when they had left. Nearly, but not quite. For everything evolves. Everything changes. And if you know a place well, then the most subtle of changes are extraordinarily profound.

The rain pummels the roof of La-bsters as Toph high fives Aang, “Congrats on your first summer job, Twinkle Toes!”

“Yeah, you too.” He smiles meekly.

“When do we start?” She asks.

“How about on the first day that we have some sunny weather?” Hakoda offers.

A table away sits a group of four, they split a platter of fries, onion rings, and hot wings. Azula douses the wings in an extremely generous amount of spicy dipping sauce. “Seriously, I can’t eat this!” Sokka exclaims, eyes watering. “My mouth is burning!”

Azula smirks. “Yes, that’s the point. Either you’re going to build up your spice tolerance or I am going to have all of the wings to myself.”

“Not if I can help it.” Zuko plucks one of the wings. He takes his first bite. After swallowing he clears his throat. “I’ve been meaning to ask you something, Katara.”

“Go ahead.”

“We’re still having a hard time building the lighthouse back up after how far behind we’ve fallen. I was planning on opening up a restaurant of my own. It’s going to be more like a bakery and I’ll run it from the lighthouse.”

“My idea.” Azula cuts in.

“I thought that it would be smart to…” He backtracks. “Azula thought that it would be smart to partner up with La-bsters. It’s going to be folklore and ghost story themed and stuff. Do you think that your parents would want that.”

“Ask them, Zuko.” Katara laughs. “They’ve never said no before!”

“Speaking of parents, how has your dad been?” Sokka asks, nostrils still flared from his second attempt to eat one of the wings. He fans his face.

“He’s a year sober now.” Azula replies.

“He and uncle are planning some kind of road trip to relive the glory days.”

“Why are you cringing?” Katara laughs.

“Do you know what their glory days looked like?” Zuko asks.

“Father just wants to make up for wasting so much of his time on drinks and grief.” Azula shrugs. Silently, she thinks that he just wants to enjoy one more summer before life moves on. Or maybe she is just projecting; for as much as she had fought Sokka on it, it would be nice to have one last summer where everything is as it was, simple and thrilling. Now that she has eliminated his hesitancy, she will indulge him in one more summer of old habits and nostalgia.

She will begin it with one final surf competition and end it with the annual beachview music festival.  That will be nice, considering that they’d missed last year’s. She peers at her surfboard, which she has propped up against the corner. She is going to miss it, how could she not when she had spent so much time riding waves on it? But it is time to put it aside, the sea calls her in a different direction and she has already made the necessary arrangements to answer it. And besides, she thinks it would be kind to allow Chan and Ruon their time to shine. They have more passion for the sport than she. They have worked their whole lives for that competition.

They will be performing Port TuiLa’s first partner routine. ‘Brave and risky! Daring and fun!’ So the townspeople declare. She will do her own routine, but it will be more lax and mundane. Her father and uncle will be there with bouquets of hibiscus, lais, and smoothies, weather she wins it or not. There will be a party in their backyard, a BBQ that doubles as her birthday party and her victory celebration. She will slip an invite to Jet; if he makes an appearance it will be just like old times. If he steers clear...she supposes that, that is just the nature of things. People get hurt and people grow apart.

“Go and ask them, Zuzu.” She nudges as Hakoda enters the building completely drenched.

Zuko takes a deep breath, stands, and rolls his shoulders. Azula rolls her eyes. “So dramatic. How long have we known them?”

Katara laughs and gently pushes him forward.

“Have you decided what you are going to do yet?” Azula asks.

Sokka bites down gently on his cheek. “Khozen has been teaching me to sail again. I know that you wanted me to leave Port TuiLa but I don’t think I’m ready for a change that big and I don’t really like the idea of college anyways.” He rubs the back of his head. “I was thinking of learning to fish, that way I can help bring in some seafood for La-bsters and be around for mom and dad after Katara leaves.”

Azula blinks. “That actually sounds like a good plan.”

He chuckles, albeit, a little nervously. “Yeah. I figured that, that way I could start something new but also stick to the place that makes me happy.” He pauses. “It’s just gonna be weird not having you guys around.” He gestures to she and Katara.

“You’ll have Zuko.” Katara points out.

“We’re trying to make him feel better, Katara.”

“I can still hear you guys!” Zuko calls.

Sokka gives a snorting laugh. The kind that works its way around the table and reaches the door. From its frame a sopping wet Mai remarks, “well that’s my one laugh for today.”

“What are we talking about?” TyLee asks.

“Plans for the future.” Azula pulls up a chair. “Suki and I are going to beauty school! She wants to learn to do special effects makeup. I’m going to make everyone in Port TuiLa beautiful!”

“Good luck with Long Feng.” Mai mumbles and helps herself to a french fry. “I’m going to study mortuary science. It’ll give me something to talk about at dinner.”

“What about you, Azula?” TyLee asks. “You still going to pro-surf?”

It hadn’t really taken much thought to decide, not when the path had made itself so clear. She shakes her head, “no, I have something different in mind.”

“Does father know?” Zuko asks, taking his seat.

“He will.” Azula replies. That is her only hang up, the prospect of disappointing him. But she thinks that her desired career is admirable enough. Surely it is indisputably well suited to her. “I’m going to be a coast guard. I already have experience, more than I should.”

The sea has taken a lot from her but she has taken a lot back. And she will take more back, more and more until it doesn’t hurt. More and more until she knows that she can see her mother again with the ability to inform her that her death didn’t amount to nothing. The waves may have stolen her life but they haven’t stolen the energy she put forth.

The sea will take more lives, likely it will take them right out of Azula’s hands. But it will take less than it would have if she gets her way.

“Thanks to you,” she looks at Sokka, “and all the attention that your story got, I think that my chances are very good.”

“Hey, can we stop talking about the future now and start living in the moment!?” Toph calls. “I’ve got five dollars for the jukebox and twenty for the arcade.”

“How about we spend twenty on the jukebox and five on the arcade?” Sokka asks.

Azula elbows him. “Do you even know twenty dollars worth of good songs?”

“I know plenty of amazing tracks!”

She slings her arm around him. “Your music taste is still stuck on hits from ten years ago.”

And so they listen to twenty dollars worth of songs that she hasn’t heard since they were kids. Their summer starts with the past and plays out as it always has, right until when the leaves would start to change. And just as they always have, they close the summer with an all night music festival on the beach. Sparklers, smoke bombs, and melting ice cream cones. Fireworks and kisses and the same gaggle of friends. The same group plus one, not that Jin hadn’t been an amusing addition.

.oOo.

It only makes sense that she departs on a stormy night. Her car is loaded and the remaining tents and banners of her goodbye party flap in the wind. Sokka presses his head to her forehead and gives her a rather lengthy kiss. Long enough to have her father retreating back into the house to fetch her a parting gift. She won’t open it until she reaches boot camp. It is a simple photo album that her mother had made.

She pulls out of the kiss and Ozai hands her the giftbox. “Your mother would be proud.”

“And you?”

Ozai sighs. “I think that you already know the answer to that.” He ruffles her hair. He hasn’t done that in ages. “I best see you in a uniform when you visit for the holidays.”

“You will, father.” She smiles.

“Take care of father?” Azula requests quietly to Zuko. “Keep him on track, okay?”

“I’ll keep him busy.” Zuko promise with a gesture to the lighthouse and his brand new business. “Trust me, I will.”

She doesn’t doubt it in the slightest. “Alright, well I’m getting soaked so…”

“I’ll see you later, Azula.”

She nods and gives a little wave.

Sokka puts his arm around her and leads her to her car. She buckles herself in and turns her head for one final kiss. “Call me when you get there.” It isn’t a question. “Of course I will, Sokka.” She answers anyhow. He waves again and she rolls up her window. Windshield wipers throw drops off of the window as she steers her way down the winding lighthouse driveway.

The Sea Candle rests on the cliff shining her way as it always has. And it will be there to guide her home when the day comes. She casts one final look at the town in her rearview mirror. She can swear that, in the beam of the lighthouse she can see faint sails, bobbing haphazardly in the waves.

#Avatar The Last Airbender #Azula #Sokka #Sokkla #Zuko #Katara #Zutara #Toph #Aang #Suki #Mai #TyLee #Ozai #Iroh #Jet #Fanfiction

[swishandflickwit]

a million nights i've lived this quiet (i need to know if you hear this too) — 1/1

Summary: “That looks dangerous.”

“I eat danger for breakfast,” he snits, tone dry as a desert and the effect just as unpleasant.

She raises an unimpressed brow.

“You’ve been spending too much time with Toph.”

He smirks.

“That one’s on your brother, actually.”

“Figures,” she mutters with a roll of her eyes.

zutara + haircut

Ratings: General Audiences

Words: 2.8k

Warnings: unbeta'd, fluff, fluff without plot, haircut, hugs, hand holding, canon divergence (i think?), sozin's comet, set somewhere in the old masters (because as usual, we throw canon in the blender), generally a lot of wholesomeness all around, gratuitous use of sun and water metaphors (as you do when it comes to zutara), basically zuko and katara share a quiet moment before canon hits the fan lol

AN: i see a lot of zutara post agni-kai but what about zutara pre-agni kai huh?

Title from: wanna know by sabrina claudio

Other song inspirations include: frozen also by sabrina claudio and this version of chasing cars originally by snow patrol, covered by the wind and the wave. highly recommended listening.

Also on: ff.net | AO3

Other writing

Tagging: @jerkbend by request! hope you enjoy this one bb <3

-//////-

"That looks dangerous." 

He doesn't chuckle, but neither is he quick enough to suppress the tug curling at the right corner of his lips—his mirth incontestable even through the warped looking glass from which she views him, stood as she is at the opening flap of his uncle's tent.

By the time she fully steps into the living quarters, his face is schooled into the deeply discontented, partly pained-to-be-alive glower he so favors.

"I eat danger for breakfast," he snits, tone dry as a desert and the effect just as unpleasant.

She raises an unimpressed brow.

"You've been spending too much time with Toph."

He smirks.

"That one's on your brother, actually."

"Figures," she mutters with a roll of her eyes. "What with half his brain being in his stomach..."

The laughter that the gibe yanks from the firebender is biting and brief, but Katara's breath hitches at the sound all the same. She latches on to it, holds it somewhere between her throat and chest, not too distant from the pitifully hollow space in her heart that she isolates from the bitter, ugly parts of her that are forged in battle and conflict.

"Should you…" is there a delicate way to phrase such a question? No, judging by the dirty look he throws her way, guessing at her thoughts, no there is not. She stifles the giggles bubbling at her throat with herculean effort, before remarking rather bluntly, "Are you qualified to handle that?"

He maintains his glare a second more before bowing his head and releasing a hot huff of air towards the ground in resignation. He places the mirror—from which the whole of their interactions had been exchanged thus far—atop the low table in front of him, then shifts so the entirety of his figure faces her. When he lifts his gaze, the veil of gloom that so frequents his visage has dissipated enough to allow a brittle smile to peek through.

"Probably not," he concedes with an amiability uncommon to his appearance. "Will you help me?"

But she likes the way the expression settles on him. It quells the ragged contours of his scar, somehow—his eyes seemingly unburdened by the sorrow he often declines to share, for once. As if in putting breath and voice to the request, he's quieted the ghosts of his troubled past for the moment to be fully present, here. 

With her.

So when his metal-ladden hand falls almost shyly towards her, his stare gentle but no less piercing in its signature, sun-blessed intensity—obscured as they are by his unruly, ebony tendrils—she smiles. It is a fragile thing, muscles straining as they pull from the recesses of memories she also staunchly refuses to be tainted by war, but there—its sweetness shaped after her mother's loving lullabies, built in her father's effervescent embrace, and fashioned from each of her friends' unconquerable spirits. 

She catches him, fingers winding into the shears in his grasp, and there is nothing for her than to accept.

"So what do you wanna do," she starts, eager to dispel the solemn atmosphere. "Some more layers? A buzz cut? Oh!" she nicks at the air experimentally, gleefully. "How about we just cut everything off?"

"You look way too happy to have an excuse to point that thing at me. That very sharp, very death-inducing thing."

"Shut up!" This time she lets her laughter loose, shoving at him playfully so that he's once again turned to the wooden chabudai. "Seriously," she cajoles until he picks up the mirror and through it, she glimpses his sedate mien. The levity in her demeanor fades, pitch dipping instead to match his contemplative stare. "What do you want?"

"I've been asked that a lot this past year," he sighs, bending his legs into a lotus position before slumping in on himself. "Yet I don't think I've ever really given a straight answer."

Task temporarily forgotten, she abandons the scissors at her feet to squeeze both his shoulders in reassurance. "Well whatever it is, I won't judge, if that's what you're worried about."

"I know. You're a great friend," he leans into her touch, and she beams at both the declaration and the rare show of guileless affection. "Fortune rarely sees fit to favor me but I'm really lucky I get to call you so."

The gravity of his proclamation has distress roiling like a tsunami underneath her skin, tempered only by the tinge of whimsy that weaves itself into his articulation. More curious than concerned now (although the stale taste of it lingers on her tongue), she lets her alarm abate at his unexpected resonance. She folds into a seiza at his left, fingers trailing the stalwart line of his back as she goes before placing them serenely on her lap, in absolute symmetry to their figures from last night. And just like she did then, she does so again now, ears at the ready and heart wide open so she can be the friend he needs, someone deserving of his reverence.

(Someone, she thinks as flickers of retrospection—of fighting against him slowly evolving into fighting with him—burst into brilliant clarity, worthy to be at his side.)

"You asked what I wanted," he rasps, low and tenuous.

He meets her stare and she hopes the encouragement in her chest burns soft like an ember through her eyes, enough to fuel the feeling of safety that ignites all too easily the more they orbit each other's presence. He inhales deep in a way that is familiar from his meditations then releases, a surrender in the exhalation—as if his apprehensions could drift away in the warm gale.

"Peace," he whispers, breaking their connection to look down at his fidgeting hands. The revelation is wrapped in such unfettered fear, as if in admitting the longing he has secured its impossibility instead of the inevitability she knows it to be, and she aches for him. "I want to put a stop to the bloodshed, an end to the suffering of both my people and yours and the rest of the nation. I want there to be a place for my soldiers to come home to. I want my mom," he sighs shakily, "and for no child to ever feel what it's like to lose a parent and for no parent to have to fear for the lives of their children as they're forced to this—this—needless slaughter. I want Toph's parents to see her for the capable woman that she is and for Suki's fellow warriors, her family, to be okay. I wish Sokka's plan succeeds, whatever it may be, and that I could guarantee your father's safety and that of your tribe. I wish my sister wasn't so messed up and that I didn't have to keep relying on my uncle to clean up after me when he's already lost so much to this fight. I wish the Spirits weren't so cruel as to put the fate of the world on the shoulders of a twelve-year old. I wish—I wish I could take back the past year, the past hundred years. I wish I could make up for all of it. I wish…" his gaze darts to her neck, digits hovering just shy of the luminescent pendant there, but not touching. 

"I wish I could bring her back for you." He drops his fingers before he can make contact. His whole body wilts with the motion before he tightens his hand to a fist at his thigh. He shakes his head, craning it towards the ceiling where he directs his smile, devoid of any humor when he adds, "But yeah, a trim should do it."

Her heartbeat is loud in her ears in the wake of the silence his confession inflicts. The weight of his monumental aspirations sits heavy on her chest yet strangely enough, it doesn't leave her shaky. If anything, it strengthens her, grounds her, lends fire to the ice in her veins so when she moves, it's with the lofty grace she knows she possesses but doesn't always feel—the skill of a master and the experience of a hardened soldier encased in her fourteen-year-old bones.

But she is grateful for it anyway, when she positions herself at his back and the scissors don't tremble in her grasp when she loops her fingers around it.

"Yeah," she murmurs right back, smoothing her digits through surprisingly silky locks. "Yeah, I can do that."

She doesn't deign to push her skill given how dim it is—both inside and out, the sun sequestered by its billowing companions like it's taken refuge because it knows the blazing, celestial wildfire to come—and that there isn't much to cut in the first place. His tresses are at that awkward length of too long to be considered short but too short to be tied up into a bun or tail. So she merely evens out what she can, tidying stray tufts and snipping at scraggily ends, grappling at any excuse to keep her hands on him. And when that same excuse runs thin—because there's only so much she can cleave before she makes good on her drollery and indeed hacks it all off—she summons the dew drops hugging the blades of grass from outside the former general's tent. She glides the ribbon of water where her hands cannot reach, siphoning the severed hairs from his person and his clothes, before discarding the soiled glob completely.

"Thank you, Katara," he mumbles, though his focus remains on the distortion his image projects on the once cast-aside mirror, particularly on his marred skin. She wants to do something about the melancholy etching his warped effigy—a stark contrast to the hue of near-tranquility that had painted itself beautifully across his pale, elegant features—so she resumes her place at his left, sitting side-saddle with her left hand propping her up and her legs curved comfortably behind him. She narrows her vision onto his profile—the pucker of his mouth, the acuate bridge of his nose, and the graceful sweep of his jaw—then lays down her query with dogged finality.

"Will you do something for me?"

"Name it," he vows in that inordinately earnest manner of his, his countenance brightening enough to keep the deceitful umbrages at bay, that she feels almost bad for asking. "Name it and it's done."

She tuts. "I can't promise it will make up for everything, and it certainly won't be easy."

"I'm used to the fight." There is no arrogance in his enunciation, only a steeliness and determination that is uniquely Zuko. "I'll do whatever it takes."

"You promise?"

"I swear it, on my uncle's life—my mother's, wherever she may be—my nation—"

"Your honor?"

He chuckles—a little broken, a little watery and not enough amusement—but does accede. "Especially on that."

"Then forgive yourself, Zuko." He drops the looking glass in shock, head abruptly swiveling towards her in a dazzling collision of blue and amber, though she does not cower—her own renowned stubbornness stoking her fortitude when she simply holds his scrutiny. "And live. Live to see your soldiers come home. Live to reunite families, to find your mother. Live long enough to create the peace you seek, and to revel in this new world you will help rebuild, help heal. Because Aang's going to save the world. But you? You're going to change it."

I hope I'm there with you when you do, she wants to say, for he may not be able to alter the past but the future—

The future will be his to shape.

So she blinks back the mysterious haze in her eyes and swallows against the lump in her throat, and teases him instead, "I mean, you're not half as useless as I thought you were after all, so you could definitely do it."

"Your vote of confidence is astounding," his inflection is wry, but she is an excellent student and he had fast become her favorite subject. She knows him, and sees the carefully cultivated rancor for the barrier that it is, hoarding all the anguish and the grief but all that overwhelming love, too, that he is so hesitant to give. And who could blame him? When he's been shunned to darkness for every moment he's attempted to part with his vulnerability. All that radiance too afraid to shine, and she wants to tell him to let the light in.

(If Aang won't kill Ozai then she will convince—not that it would take much—Toph to dig the deepest, murkiest, most rodent-infested hole for the monster who dared to smother his own son's flame.)

"And I guess," she toys with rescinding, then thinks better of it, trading banter for sincerity when she unfurls his still-clenched fist and slides her fingers in the spaces between his. "Maybe I like having you around."

And, oh, but there it is—the soaring of the dawn, and all the exaltation of new beginnings it brings with it, in the exquisite harmony of his golden gaze.

"So," he hums, twirling the tawny ringlet right by her collarbone round his pointer before tucking it behind her ear. She reels with the gesture, tilting into his space. "Forgive myself, huh?"

"And live, of course," she miffs, albeit wetly. "If not for yourself, then for your uncle who loves you dearly." She tips her chin up defiantly, daring him to contradict her. "For all of us, who love you dearly."

"Is that all?" He rolls his eyes but that elusive, frolic quirk toils with his lips. He inclines his head until their noses are but a scant few millimeters apart, buzzing impishly, "Anything else I can do?"

"Actually," she hems, stroking at a badly-hewn strand by his cheek with just a pinch of regret before resolving not to volunteer for the act of cutting his hair again in the foreseeable future. "There is." 

She bites her lip, wondering if she should request it at all before ultimately throwing caution to the wind. "We still have some time. Can we just pretend for a little while…" but no, the thought of ignoring the war even for a few minutes reeks too much of Lake Laogai so she amends. "Just stay here with me, please? Just—" 

She brings their joined hands to his chest where she can sense his heartbeat, as strong and as steady as the soul it vivifies. With the tip of her finger from her other hand, she traces the frame of his too-tense lips until it is slack with repose, trails a featherlight pathway to the outer ridges that make up the border of his scar. 

"Be quiet with me."

Those scorching orbs dance about her visage like the flickers of a candle—except he is more wax than flame when she cups his scabrous flesh, and he melts into her caress.

"I would do it just because you asked," he utters in the most dulcet of notes, and she is honored, for she recognizes the tenderness for the offering that it is. "Whatever happens out there, I'm glad it's you," he sighs, just once more. "I'm glad it's you with me."

"Together," she agrees, chin slumping onto his shoulder for purchase at the alluring giddiness his words incite. She is whirling, unmoored, until the digits of his own free hand anchor at the downy arch of her waist. He nudges, and she ebbs into a pool of untouchable calm on his lap, awash as she is in the current of him.

She closes her eyes, and when he follows suit, content to flow at her pace like he always does in return, a piece of her she hadn't even realized was aslant slots right into place.

They are hours away from the most important battle of their lives, one in which its outcome could very well destine the course of the next hundred years. Katara will not know the caliber of her entreaty, the importance of his promise, until the comet is at its zenith and her life is a paroxysmal brand seared across his middle like a supernova.

But for now, foreheads touching and their fingers seamlessly twined right above his vibrantly thrumming heart, she stows this moment beneath her ribcage, right in that war-untouched trove that pulses to the rhythm of his heart.

They are steeped in stillness, disrupted only by the din of the busy camp, and even that fades away as their breathing syncs.

Somewhere outside, the sun coasts along the heavens, beams of brilliance wrestling against its adumbrate prison. 

The clouds part, feeble rays snagging at the canvas archway of their shelter.

The light pours in.

The shadows recoil.

And together, they shine.

-//////-

AN: okay this was supposed to be an exercise in brevity and restraint but uh, i don't think i succeeded?? but given that my goal was less than 2k and we're clocking this in at 2.8k, all things considered, i see this as an absolute win lmao so if you would be so kind as to let me know if you liked it, that would be stupendous!

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#zutara #zutara fanfiction #katara #zuko #zutara fan fiction #zutara ff #zutara fluff #zutara friendship #swishandflickwit ff #ngl im so sleepy rn #i posted this instead of sleeping #its all about the forehead touching and the HANDS #zutara owns my life #this is the proof