#chapter six

[butcherofblackwater]

Chapter Six Eagle Flies & Rains Fall

[redux-iterum]

Red Sun Rising: Chapter Six

(AO3 counterpart here.)

Firestar and Ravenwing were quick to cross the road and cantered home, both silent and their heads heavy with thoughts. Firestar kept going between figuring out how best to talk to Leopardstar and whether they could prevent this war outright. The more cats expressed their doubts to him, the less confident his ideas of negotiations and resolutions sounded, as they insisted they could be fulfilled.

“We’ll have to speak with Leopardstar tomorrow,” Dustpelt said when Firestar reported to him and the elders. “This needs to be acted upon as soon as possible.”

Halftail nodded with a grunt.

One-eye added, “If it were up to me, I would simply deliver the message by the border. The Clans need to be extra diplomatic with each other now, and stomping around on our rival’s territory will upset at least the leader.”

“And probably only the leader,” Dustpelt said, giving Firestar an amused look. “He makes friends with everyone he’s ever spoken to, except her.”

Firestar curled his tail. “You watch. I’ll befriend her in time.”

But, as it happened, he didn’t need to worry. The morning passed, and in evening passing to night, just as Firestar finished his breakfast and was about to head to the border, Teaselfoot trotted into camp, looking baffled.

“Where’s the rest of your patrol?” Dustpelt asked immediately, hurrying up with alarm.

“They’re still hunting.” Teaselfoot looked behind him. “We, uh, got interrupted.”

The buzz in camp immediately hushed as another cat came in after him—a familiar-looking light blue-grey tom with sleek fur and a serene face. Classic to RiverClan, his broad and soft appearance was a stark contrast to the hard faces and massive heights of the suspicious warriors around him. He didn’t look remotely bothered by the folded ears or twitching tails; he simply looked around with mild interest until his eyes landed on Firestar.

“There you are!” the tom said brightly. “Old Kittypetstar, good to see you.”

“Oh, good evening.” Firestar got to his feet and trotted over, tail deliberately high to soothe his Clanmates. “I think we’ve met, but I don’t remember your name. How can I help you?”

“It’s been a bit.” The tom’s tired eyes were crinkled merrily, but his voice was respectful. “I’m Stonefur—RiverClan’s deputy. I asked if I could drop by and bring you with me to a meeting.”

“And you couldn’t have waited by the border for that?” Willowpelt asked testily.

Firestar swept his tail in a gesture for her to stay calm and said to Stonefur, “It’s nice to meet you- well, meet you again. We were actually supposed to visit you tonight.”

“You’ll be visiting with more than us,” Stonefur said. “We’ve got quite a party going on. I hope you aren’t too busy to come? You’re invited as a special guest.”

Firestar let his confusion show on his face, but he simply said, “I’m available. Lead the way.”

“Firestar, are you sure?” Dustpelt came to stand by him, ears back. “Something could happen…”

“It was a pretty pleasant walk through your bush-crowded territory,” Stonefur said—not quite teasingly as much as reassuringly, like he understood Dustpelt’s anxiety. “I smelled not a single thing. Not through the stink of long fur and clawed trees, of course.”

“I’ll be alright,” Firestar said, tapping Dustpelt with his tail. “Stay here and keep an eye on everything. I’ll get home as soon as possible.”

Dustpelt had the sense not to protest in front of a guest, but his expression very clearly tattled on him. He straightened up and dipped his head obediently.

Firestar blinked at him and turned to Stonefur. “Let’s go.”

“You sure you want to leave your deputy here?” Stonefur tilted his head.

“It’s a precaution,” Firestar explained. “One of us should be around if we can help it.”

Stonefur didn’t argue this. He simply turned, beckoned with his half-tail, and trotted out of camp, Firestar following. The buzz in camp returned, though more hushed and uneasy than before.

“Your Clan sure is nervous about you,” Stonefur remarked once they were a good distance away. “And, if I may say, you seem nervous about them. Not even letting them be unsupervised, really?”

Firestar sighed. “We lost so many cats to the dogs: all of our senior warriors and deputies, and some younger cats besides. There’s a reason a kittypet is the leader now.” His heart sagged as the many, many bodies he’d borne witness to forced themselves into his vision. “The terror that brought didn’t go away once the last dog died.”

“Ah.” Stonefur’s voice became subdued. “Sorry. Didn’t think about that.”

Firestar offered him a blink too. “It’s fine. I’m sure that the end of this year will have us calmed down again. I hope so, at least.”

Stonefur nodded, unusually seriously for a RiverClan cat. “Stars know ThunderClan bore the brunt of those beasts’ reign, from what we heard. I noticed your camp was a little empty, but I just assumed there were multiple patrols out.”

“No, just one. The one that found you.”

“Stars above and spirits below,” Stonefur said softly, seemingly to himself.

Firestar weakly twitched his whiskers. “At least spring was kind to us. With so few cats to feed, we overloaded the prey-pile once or twice. We don’t even have to change out where we hunt very regularly—it’s all enough to take care of us.”

“We can be grateful for that, at least,” Stonefur agreed, but he didn’t resume his swimmer’s merriment. “Well, whatever Leopardstar thinks, RiverClan’s grateful the rest of you survived, Firestar.”

Firestar tilted his head, jokingly shocked. “RiverClan being glad for ThunderClan’s survival, huh? I’ve never heard that from your side or ours.”

“There are four Clans for a reason,” Stonefur replied. “We wouldn’t let even our worst rivalries get in the way of preserving our cultures and communities.”

Firestar’s tail curled over his back. “That’s wonderful. Thank you.”

Stonefur’s expression turned cheery again, but whatever he was about to say was interrupted by a yawn, and he instead went with, “Now, hopefully I can catch a nap when we get to where we’re going. Leopardstar heard from a hunting ShadowClanner that you and Blackstar had wanted to get ahold of everyone and she sent out a few cats to the different Clans for a meeting immediately.” He winked at Firestar. “We’ve all been awake since late afternoon.”

She must be testing her Clan’s patience to the extreme, Firestar thought. Is she trying to run RiverClan like ThunderClan or something?

Conversation continued, light and friendly, until they reached the edge of the forest. Stonefur guided Firestar up the border until the bridge was in view. Firestar flinched, imagining hot breath and teeth around his neck, but shook it off as hard as he could and followed Stonefur without a word.

He quickly saw why Stonefur had questioned him leaving Dustpelt behind; the other leaders were seated on the bridge, with WindClan and ShadowClan’s deputies sitting with them. He winced, self-conscious, and raised his voice to call out, “Sorry if we’re late!”

The three leaders looked up as Firestar’s paws landed on the bridge’s stiff wooden planks. Leopardstar, as usual, didn’t look happy, but Rookstar tilted his head in greeting and Blackstar lowered his chin. Deadfoot, somehow pretty stout for a WindClan cat, narrowed his eyes in study of the youngest leader, while a dark ginger molly that Firestar remembered meeting with the name Russetfur replied, “Greetings. Where is your deputy?”

“I didn’t know I should have brought him.” Firestar lowered his ears apologetically. “He’s watching over things while I’m gone.”

“My fault,” Stonefur said. “I should’ve told you. Ah, well. He can hear from you, too.” To Leopardstar, he said, “We’re all here now. Shall we begin?”

“We shall.” Leopardstar looked up at Rookstar. “You wanted to speak first.”

Rookstar slanted his head at her before speaking. “Blackstar mentioned talking to you, Firestar. Something about your Clan’s border being attacked.”

“It is.” Firestar sighed, coming to sit down across from Rookstar. “It’s bizarre. They wait until a border patrol comes by, attack us and then run away without finishing the fight. It’s always a new group of cats, too. I tried to talk to one of them, and all they said was that they ‘fight for their place in heaven’. They didn’t elaborate.”

Rookstar grunted. “Then we all have the same story.”

Firestar blinked, head rearing back a bit in surprise. “Really?”

“Save us, who have been driven away entirely…” Blackstar jerked his head to Leopardstar. “RiverClan’s border has had rogues patrolling it, and WindClan deals with trouble on the road-side.”

“Same as you,” Leopardstar said, straightening up even further and speaking with an almost admirable businesslike sincerity, her irritation forgotten. “We see them a lot easier, because our border is so open and there’s nothing but grassland and barely any trees. They watch us from a distance almost every night.”

“Barley said they’ve been prowling around his Barn, too,” Rookstar added to Firestar. “They’re certainly keen to attack if we come near the road.”

“The trouble is that they know how to navigate places with cars, so chasing them away would result in more potential losses for WindClan,” Russetfur said, to which Rookstar concurred with a hum.

“Do they all abruptly run from you, too?” Firestar asked.

“They do,” Leopardstar said. “I don’t know what they want or why they keep doing it.”

Deadfoot spoke up now. “Figure they’re testing our strength. And our willingness to fight.”

Leopardstar’s claws glinted in the moonlight. “We have plenty of both.”

“Well, hold on—” Firestar lifted a paw like he was going to take a step forward. “I know we usually just fight strangers off, but… I think it would be prudent to at least try to negotiate. If for nothing else, to make some sense of what they want.”

Leopardstar glared at him. “You really think we should talk to rogues?”

“I do, too,” Deadfoot said flatly.

“We don’t have to roll over and let them slice our bellies,” Stonefur agreed, looking amused at Leopardstar’s glare turning on him. “But the more we know about them, the better. Who knows? We could get lucky and scare them into backing off as soon as they get a sight of our teamwork.”

Rookstar looked over at Blackstar. “You got any information about them?”

“I fear not.” Blackstar’s thin tail tapped the ground. It was hard to say whether it was in irritation or nervousness. “They were swift to force us out before we could get a good idea of who they are and what they want.”

“Then what hope do we have of negotiating with them?” Leopardstar wasn’t looking at Firestar, but she was definitely directing the question to him.

“It’s at least worth a try,” Firestar said simply. “Wouldn’t you rather avoid any injuries or death if you could help it?”

There was a slight pause as all the leaders looked at each other. Even the deputies had faces like they didn’t want to concede, but knew he was right.

Rookstar was the one to break the silence. “I agree with Firestar. We’ll attempt to talk with their leader. Or leaders.”

Leopardstar harrumphed, but she didn’t argue.

“Take your entire Clans to the borders where they’ve been attacked the most,” Rookstar went on. “Inform them when they arrive to meet us two days after you talk to them at the neutral grounds, in Fourtrees. Run to tell the rest of us when you do.”

“Fourtrees is a sacred place,” Blackstar warned. “If we are forced to fight, our ancestors and the Three will surely take issue with that.”

Rookstar gave him a flat look. “Ideally, it’ll be on a regular sleeping night. But if you want to frighten them into peace, bring your deputies and four warriors with you. Your biggest and strongest. Make sure they know to come alone and with no intention to fight.”

“We can do that.” Firestar fought the urge to sag a little with relief. “Thank you, sir. I just want this to end without a fight. I know the Clans don’t like talking to outsiders, but…”

“This is a special situation,” Rookstar finished. “We should be willing to act in our best interests.”

Firestar nodded. “And in theirs.”

“I know you’re a kittypet,” Leopardstar said sharply, “but you shouldn’t be concerned about how outsiders are faring, much less rogues.”

A flash of anger in Firestar’s chest caught him by surprise. He controlled it and gave her a pointed blink, speaking calmly. “If they’re a cat and they’re breathing, I will be concerned about them.”

The calico didn’t know what to do with that, clearly. Her mouth was pressed into a thin line as she tried to meet Firestar’s soft gaze and was forced to look away, muzzle fighting to not be wrinkled. Stonefur’s eyes were nearly gone from the crinkling beam of delight on his face.

Deadfoot’s whiskers twitched, but his voice was as deadpan as ever. “We’ll see what happens. Good luck to you all.”

Firestar bowed his head respectfully. “It was nice to see everyone. I hope we’ll meet again before the next Gathering, and sort this all out.”

“May the Three watch us all,” Blackstar said. “And may our wishes of peace be granted.” He stood up. “Have you more to say, Rookstar?”

“Only that you all walk in groups and watch carefully.” Rookstar slowly and stiffly got to his feet too. With a single nod to everyone, and a swish of his overly-long tail, he started walking off the bridge and in the direction of his territory, Deadfoot limping after him.

Blackstar and Russetfur were next to leave, silent and thoughtful. The only ones left were Leopardstar, Stonefur, and Firestar.

Firestar was quickly aware that Leopardstar was not going to leave until he was gone, too, so he got up and dipped his head to them both, saying, “It was very nice to see you again, Stonefur. I hope RiverClan won’t be bothered by the rogues after this.”

Leopardstar grunted, ears back and eyes narrowed doubtfully.

Does she not believe I mean that? Firestar thought. He held in a sigh and turned, trotting off the bridge and heading back into the woods.

It was a funny thing—as soon as his feet were off the planks, his chest settled and a sense of safety rushed through his body, both things he hadn’t realized in his tension until now. He hadn’t been in any danger, though, and he’d known that the whole time. Was he really that shaken by his nightmares?

Oh, well. The important thing was that his idea had gone over well.

He padded into the woods, his mind wandering over potential outcomes of the meeting with the rogues. Best-case scenario, maybe they’d have allies in the future, if he could keep things friendly! Sure, that was far-fetched—even he knew that—but he could dream. Worst-case scenario…

…He didn’t want to think about the worst-case scenario.

[park-jimin-isnt-real]

"war of the gods" chapter six

pairing: taehyung x reader rating: PG-16 genre: fantasy, angst this part: the start of a long journey. tw: after-battle destruction, big emotions (anger, fear, betrayal) word count: ~4.1k posted: april 12th 2026; unedited war of the gods masterlist

The walk from the palace to the lower city was a sensory blur of gray ash and copper-tasting blood. Y/N moved through the wreckage like a phantom haunting its own grave, her shadow stretching long and jagged over the broken cobblestones. The smoke clung to her skin like a second, filthier soul. Her boots moved with a mechanical precision, sidestepping the shimmering puddles from burst water mains and the discarded, notched weapons of men who would never pick them up again.

She passed a fallen banner of Katayn, the silver lion half-submerged in a gutter of black sludge. It looked pathetic—a strip of silk that had promised protection and delivered only a shroud.

The citizens she had once shared bread with—the ones who had laughed at her stories and sold her ribbons—now recoiled as she passed. The air around them curdled with the scent of unwashed fear. Mothers yanked their children into the shadows of blackened doorways, their eyes wide with a primal terror that made the hollow void in her chest expand until it threatened to swallow her whole. They didn't see the girl who had catalogued tax records anymore. They saw the girl who had made the earth scream. They saw the catalyst for their ruins.

She didn't go to the church. She couldn't face the crushing weight of Jin’s disappointed kindness or the suffocating, sterile smell of medicinal herbs. Instead, her feet led her to the only place that didn't demand she be a hero or a healer: the heavy, scarred timber doors of The Cat’s Nap.

Inside, the pub was a tomb. A single shutter hung at a broken angle, allowing a solitary sliver of dusty sunlight to spear through the gloom, illuminating the motes of ash dancing in the air. The familiar scent of stale ale and old, spilled tobacco was the only thing that felt real—a tether to the girl she had pretended to be. She sank into her usual stool, her hands resting flat on the cold, gouged wood of the bar. She waited for the world to stop spinning, but the silence only made the ringing in her ears louder.

The door creaked open shortly after, the uneven, heavy thud of boots announcing a visitor. Yoongi didn't say a word. He didn't offer a platitude or ask for a tab. He hobbled toward the bar, his tunic shredded at the shoulder and a dark, plum-colored bruise blooming across his cheekbone like a storm cloud. He reached behind the counter, his fingers steady despite the grime, and snagged a bottle of the strong stuff. He took his usual corner seat right next to her, the smell of blood and cheap gin radiating off him.

The silence between them was a physical weight—a bridge that had been washed away by a flood, leaving them on opposite banks. She didn't move for hours. Her mind was a kaleidoscope of a brotherly smile and the skeletal, spiked armor of a warlord. She kept seeing Jungkook’s eyes—the way they hadn't changed even while he stood amidst the dead. Jungkook was alive, but he was a monster. He had destroyed her peace while wearing the face of her greatest friend.

The silence detonated.

The doors burst open, the metallic clash of greaves against stone echoing like a cannon through the empty room. Taehyung stormed in, his silver armor caked in soot and dried ichor. His eyes—usually so bright, so full of the mischief that had kept her grounded—were now shards of ice, sharp with a pain that made her flinch. She was almost surprised it had taken him this long to find her.

He stopped a foot away from her, the heat of his anger radiating off his plate mail in waves. "Who are you?" he demanded. His voice was a quiet, vibrating firmament that demanded an answer or a blood-sacrifice.

She blinked, but she couldn't bring herself to look up. She traced a knot in the wood of the bar, imagining it was a tiny, solitary island in a vast, dark sea.

"Y/N!" He slammed his gauntleted fist onto the counter. The sound was a hammer meeting an anvil, a violent crack that made the glassware rattle on the shelves. Yoongi’s hand twitched instinctively toward a hidden knife beneath the bar, his eyes narrowing, but Y/N remained as still as a statue. "Who. Are you."

She took a slow, rough breath. The air tasted of smoke and old lies. Finally, she lifted her head and met his gaze. The flood of emotions in his eyes was staggering—anger, agony, and a betrayal so deep it felt like a physical wound. It was the kind of look that fueled the very wrath she was trying to keep from drowning them both.

"I am a twelve-hundred-year-old demigod with the power to level this city," she said, her voice unnervingly steady, devoid of the warmth he knew. "I was sent here from a world that died before your ancestors learned to build with stone, tasked by the Ancient Gods to stop a Darkness from escaping the dimension they bled to trap him in. Does that answer enough of your questions, Tae? Or do you want the names of the stars that burned out while I waited to wake up?"

She watched his reality buckle. His mouth opened and closed, his mind trying to reconcile the girl who liked salt air with the creature of myth standing before him.

It was Yoongi who broke the tension, the sound of a bottle cap unscrewing clicking in the quiet. "Answers all of mine," he muttered, tilting the bottle back and taking a pull that would have leveled a lesser man. "You want different drink, or are we staying with the hard stuff?"

"How long have you known General Kathan?" Taehyung demanded, ignoring the older man entirely. He leaned into her space, his voice trembling with accusation. "Did you know about the attack? Is that why you took me to the beach? To pull one of the best blades in the guard away from the palace gates while he slaughtered the King?"

The accusation stung worse than the rubble that had bruised her ribs. Y/N looked away, her jaw tightening until it ached. "Jungkook is my brother. I spent a year mourning him, thinking him dead. I didn't know he had traded his soul to Ravanis, and I certainly didn't know he was coming for this city." She glanced at the knight from the corner of her eye, a spark of her old fire returning. "And you came to me at the beach, Tae. I didn't ask for your company. I went there to find a peace you people don't know how to give me." The words were harsh and untrue; this past year had been the most peaceful one she’d ever had.

"The King is dead!" Taehyung’s voice finally broke, rising to a ragged shout that bounced off the rafters. "The city is a ruin! The army is—"

"Give her a break, Taehyung," Yoongi interrupted, his voice raspier than usual, carrying the authority of a man who had seen too many wars and buried too many friends. He didn't look up from his drink. "She's trying to process the fact that her dead brother just burnt her house down. Let her grieve. The dead aren't going anywhere, they’ll still be dead tomorrow."

Taehyung glared at them both, his chest heaving under his cuirass. He looked like he wanted to scream, to arrest her, or to collapse into the dust—perhaps all three at once. Unable to find words that wouldn't shatter him, he turned on his heel and stormed out, the heavy oak doors swinging violently in his wake.

The silence returned, thinner and colder than before. She felt the weight of the millennium pressing down on her shoulders, making her feel every one of those twelve hundred years. She looked at her hands—the same hands that had cracked the palace floor—and wondered if they would ever feel clean again.

"So, uh," Yoongi said after a long minute, his voice losing its bite. "You really twelve hundred years old?"

Y/N glanced at him briefly, a shadow of a smile ghosting her lips. "Twelve hundred twenty-six, if you want to be specific."

Yoongi nodded slowly, taking a long pull from the bottle. He studied the dim, cobwebbed rafters of the pub, then looked back at her. "You look good for your age. Must be the salt air. Or the lack of taxes."

A small, involuntary laugh escaped her—the first human sound she’d made since the world ended all over again. How many times could one person’s world get destroyed before there was nothing left to break?

"The stories," Yoongi said, his tone turning serious as he leaned back. "The city above the clouds. The blue dragon in the well. All of it? You weren't just spinning yarns for the locals to get free drinks?"

"All of it," she whispered. "Every word I told you was true, Yoongi. I just... I wanted to be the person everyone thought I was. Just a girl with a big imagination and nowhere to go."

Yoongi grunted, his eyes softening. "I figured the dragon was real the second I felt the cobblestones turn into a wave under my feet. No normal girl does that, not even the ones from spirited families." He looked at her sideways, his expression turning grim. "What are you going to do? He’s your blood. But he’s the one who put our leaders in the dirt."

Her small smile vanished. She thought of Jungkook’s joyful, terrifying face and the way he held Inara—her own soul—like a trophy won in a raid.

"He’s not the brother I knew," she said, her voice hardening into steel. "He said he had to take me to him. He’s serving someone, Yoongi. Someone who wants the world to look like Katayn does right now. I have to get my sword back. I have to find out what they did to him—and then I have to stop it."

"Well," Yoongi sighed, sliding the bottle toward her. "Better finish that drink first. I have a feeling terra-whales and blue dragons aren't the biggest things you’re going to run into out there."

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The church felt like a hollowed-out ribcage in the dark. Usually, the air here was a thick, comforting soup of beeswax, sun-warmed incense, and the dusty vanilla scent of old parchment. Tonight, that sanctity had been violated. The atmosphere was sharp with the remains of Jungkook’s forced entry and the metallic, cloying stench of blood that drifted in from the makeshift infirmary in the nave, the need for more room for the injured increasing each hour. It was the lingering ghost of Ravanis—a cold, artificial static that made the hair on Y/N’s neck stand up.

She moved through the stone-walled pantry with the practiced, predatory silence of a girl who had once hunted in celestial forests. She took only the essentials, her movements jerky and utilitarian: a small linen sack of dried grain, two leathery strips of salted beef, and a sturdy, brass-capped waterskin.

Every item felt like lead in her hands. These were the winter stores of a kingdom that was currently bleeding out, and the weight of the theft burned. She felt like a scavenger picking over a fresh carcass.

"The sourdough on the middle shelf is fresher," a calm, weary voice drifted from the shadows. "The rye will be moldy by the time you reach the foothills."

Y/N spun around, her body coiling instinctively. Her hand flashed to her hip, searching for a blade that wasn't there—a reflex that made her fingers twitch against empty air.

Father Orin stood in the arched doorway, a dim, stuttering lantern clutched in a hand that shook with palsy. He looked impossibly small beneath the soaring Gothic vaults. His white robes were no longer pristine; they were smeared with soot and the dark, brownish stains of dried blood. His eyes were rimmed with a raw, red exhaustion—the look of a man who had spent the last six hours absorbing the final breaths of the dying.

"I... I was only taking what I needed to survive the night," Y/N whispered, her voice cracking like dry glass.

"Take more," Orin insisted, stepping into the pool of amber light. There was no judgment in his tone, only a profound, quiet pity that cut deeper than Jimin’s sharpest accusations. "The road ahead is a hungry one, and the winters in the high passes have no mercy for your pride. Take the heavy wool cloak from the infirmary hook. Jin won't miss it. He is currently neck-deep in the screams of the living. He has forgotten the meaning of the cold."

Her heart stung at the mention of Jin. She hadn’t seen him since he warned her away from the city, hoping that her absence would be enough to save everyone. It was a bitter irony that whether she was present in Katayn or not, the damage would have been the same. The target had been on her back since she washed ashore.

Orin sank onto a small wooden bench with a groan of stiff joints, setting the lantern on the floor. It cast long, flickering shadows that danced like giants against the stone walls. "I owe you an apology, child. And I suspect King Haedrich would have offered one as well, had he a throat left to speak with."

Y/N froze, her hand hovering inches above a jar of preserved honey. "For what? You gave me a home when I was nothing but sea-salt and silence."

"We gave you a home built on a foundation of secrets," Orin sighed, rubbing his face with a trembling hand. "The artifact—the silver sword the General reclaimed today. It washed up on the shingle the very same morning the scouts found you unconscious in the surf. Haedrich was a man of logic, but even logic fails when confronted with an omen. He believed the blade and the girl were two halves of a single catastrophe. He thought he could protect Katayn by keeping the weapon in the dark and the girl in the light."

A cold, crystalline surge of realization flooded Y/N’s chest, making her breath hitch. "It was here? I spent a year staring at the horizon, mourning a piece of my soul that was sitting in the king’s basement?"

"It never truly went dark," Orin murmured, his eyes unfocused as if seeing the blade's glow through the floorboards. "Since the hour you crossed the threshold, it pulsed. We thought we were guarding a holy relic. We didn't realize we were holding a heart captive."

"It belonged to me," Y/N said, her voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "It was a gift from the Nine. A blessing to ensure I could execute their will. I thought the sea had swallowed it. I thought I was alone."

Orin looked at her then—truly looked at her—not as a demigod or a threat to his city, but as a girl who had been forged into a weapon before she was even a woman. "You speak of the Nine with a great deal of salt in your voice, child. Do you still walk in the warmth of their light?"

"I hate them," Y/N spat, the raw honesty of the words vibrating through the small room like a strike on a tuning fork. "I hate what they’ve done to my family. I hate that they left Jungkook and I in that stinking vault for a thousand years while the world moved on and forgot our names. I hate that they made me a relic in a world I don't recognize."

She braced herself for him to recoil, to scream heresy and call for the guard. Instead, Orin simply nodded—a slow, sorrowful movement.

"The gods deal in empires and eras," he said softly, his voice echoing in the pantry. "They move the mountains but often forget the cost of the flowers growing on the slopes. If you hate them for the silence they gave you, I cannot find it in my heart to tell you that you are wrong."

Y/N finished packing in silence, the sack now heavy with the salted meats and grain Orin had pushed toward her. She stood by the side door that led to the graveyard path, her silhouette sharp against the moonlight.

"I won't wish a blessing from the Nine upon you," Orin said, standing up with a wince. "I don't think you’d thank an old man for the insult. But... I will give you a traveler’s blessing. May your feet find the solid ground when the world turns to water, and may your heart find the rest the heavens were too busy to give you."

Y/N looked at him for a long moment. The bitterness in her chest, the volcanic wrath she’d been nursing, softened just enough to let her bow her head in a silent, genuine salute. "Thank you, Father. For the bread. And for the truth."

"You should sleep before you go," he suggested, though his eyes told her he knew she wouldn't. "And Y/N? Don't let the shadow of that general's armor hide the boy you remember. He is lost in a very deep woods, but the world is wider than Ravanis’ reach. Perhaps he can still be found."

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The predawn air was a razor, slicing through the thin linen of Y/N’s tunic as she slipped through the church’s side gate. She had managed perhaps two hours of fitful sleep, her mind a fever dream of crumbling stone, the smell of blood, and the terrifying radiance of Jungkook’s smile.

She reached the main gate of Katayn, where the towering oak doors—once symbols of safety—were now broken, charred skeletons. The city behind her was unnervingly quiet. The only sound was the distant, rhythmic clink-clink-clink of a blacksmith’s hammer, already at work mending the armor of the men who had survived. It was a lonely, industrial heartbeat for a dying city.

She adjusted the weight of her pack, bracing herself for the long silence of the road. But the road wasn't empty.

Sitting on a mounting block by the stables, tossing a small pebble into the air and catching it with bored, calloused precision, was Yoongi. He didn't look like a barfly anymore. He looked like the shadow he had always hinted at being—sharp, weathered, and ready.

"You're late," he said, his voice a low rasp. He didn't look up. "I figured a demigod would be more of a morning person. Or maybe you just like the dramatic entrance?"

"Yoongi, go back to the pub," Y/N said, her voice heavy with weariness. "I’m not going for a hike. I’m chasing a Ravanis general. It’s dangerous, it’s thousands of miles, and I don’t need a guide."

"You don't need a guide?" Yoongi repeated almost mockingly, finally meeting her gaze. His face was a map of bruises, but his eyes were sharp as flints. "Kid, you've been here a year and you still get lost looking for the damn bakery. If you want to go east to Ravanis, you have to go through the Northern Pass. Between here and the first port, there are three marshes, two dead-zones, and enough goblins to make you wish for a terra-whale to swallow you whole. You aren’t doing this alone."

Y/N opened her mouth to argue, but the sound of frantic, uneven shuffling interrupted her.

"Wait! Wait for me!" Jin stumbled around the corner, his pack lopsided and a heavy leather medical satchel bouncing violently against his hip. He was breathless, his face flushed scarlet in the biting morning air, looking entirely like a man who had never spent a night outside a city walls.

"Jin? What on earth are you doing?" Y/N asked, her brow furrowing in genuine concern.

"Father Orin," Jin gasped, doubled over and clutching the gatepost for support. "He said... he said you’d need a healer. And someone to make sure you actually eat something other than salted leather for the next six months. He sent me. And I’m not—huff—I’m not staying behind to watch the infirmary turn into a morgue."

"I am not leading a rescue expedition!" Y/N snapped, her patience finally fraying. "This isn't a church outing, Jin—"

"We know exactly what it is."

The voice was like a whip-crack. Jimin stepped into the first pale light of the rising sun, followed closely by Hoseok and a silent, brooding Taehyung, each carrying their own packs of supplies in addition to the weapons on their hips and backs.

Jimin looked livid. His silver armor had been scrubbed clean of blood, but his expression was still stained with the betrayal of the courtyard. He looked at her not with friendship, but with the cold calculation of a jailer. "You think you can just crack the earth, kill our King, and then walk away on some private revenge plot while we’re left to bury the dead? No. You brought this to our door. You’re our responsibility now."

"We’re coming to make sure you actually finish the job," Hoseok added. His tone was lighter, but the usual sunshine in his eyes was replaced by a grim, forced optimism. He gave her a small, hopeful wave that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Plus, Katayn is a bit... gloomy right now. A road trip sounds better than sitting in the rain, doesn't it?"

"Even I know that's bullshit, Captain," Jin muttered, and Y/N felt a jolt of shock to hear the word fall so naturally from the healer's mouth. "What are you actually doing here?"

Jimin’s rage simmered down into a profound, hollow sadness. "Someone needs to alert Princess Soyeon of her father's passing and escort her back from Aethelis. The crown belongs to her now."

Y/N closed her eyes. She had heard the stories of the King's daughter, studying magic in the desert city. Her heart ached for the girl; she knew the exact weight of the crown being thrust upon a fatherless child.

"Father Orin mentioned a small group would be traveling north this morning," Hoseok finished, his voice steadying. "Traveling in numbers is safer. For everyone."

Y/N looked at Taehyung. He didn't say a word. He wouldn't even meet her eyes. He just stood there, his hand white-knuckled on the strap of his shield, his gaze fixed on the dirt. He was a shadow of the boy who had sat with her on the beach less than twenty-four hours ago. The power in her blood felt like lead, heavy and hot.

"Listen to me," Y/N sighed, her voice dropping into that low, ancient resonance that made the very air hum with power. "I am going to find my brother. I am going to beat the soul back into him, and I am going to take back the sword he stole. It is a family matter. It is an Ancient matter. You will only get hurt. Or worse."

"We're already hurt," Jimin countered, stepping directly into her space, his eyes flashing with a mix of defiance and grief. "Varian is dead. The King is dead. If you want to fix this, you do it with the people you broke."

Yoongi adjusted the strap of his pack and started walking toward the north road without waiting for her permission. "Ravanis is on the southern tip of the Eastern Continent, Y/N. We're on the southern tip of the Western. That's a lot of ocean between here and your brother."

"You’ll get a boat at Port Maris," Hoseok said helpfully, falling into step behind Yoongi. "It's only a few weeks' walk north. Plenty of time to get used to the blisters and the bad jokes."

Y/N looked at the five of them—the healer, the guide, the soldier, the scout, and the boy whose heart she had shattered. She was a demigod of the Second Age, a relic of a world that had mastered the stars, yet she felt completely outmatched by five mortals with a sense of duty.

"Fine," she whispered, turning her face toward the cold northern horizon where the clouds were gathered like an army. "But don't say I didn't warn you.”

As they took their first steps away from the ruins of Katayn, the sun finally crested the horizon, painting the road in a bloody, brilliant gold.

[theoneweoughtaspare]

༺𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐒𝐢𝐱,༻  

Please read 𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝑭𝒊𝒗𝒆 ~ Ronnie’s POV and 𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝑭𝒊𝒗𝒆 ~ J.D.’s POV before reading this!

Ronnie’s POV:

September 30th 2025

Dear Diary,

ℋℯ𝓇ℯ’𝓈 𝓉𝒽ℯ 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓉𝒽ℯ𝓎 𝒹ℴ𝓃’𝓉 𝓉ℯ𝓁𝓁 𝓎ℴ𝓊 𝒶𝒷ℴ𝓊𝓉 𝓌𝒽𝒾𝓁ℯ 𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓎𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒾𝓃 𝓉𝒽ℯ 𝒽ℴ𝓈𝓅𝒾𝓉𝒶𝓁 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝒶 𝒸ℴ𝓃𝒸𝓊𝓈𝓈𝒾ℴ𝓃 𝒶𝒻𝓉ℯ𝓇 𝒻𝒶𝓁𝓁𝒾𝓃𝑔 ℴ𝓃 𝓎ℴ𝓊𝓇 𝒶𝓈𝓈 𝒾𝓃 𝓉𝒽ℯ 𝓈𝒸𝒽ℴℴ𝓁 𝑔𝓎𝓂 𝒶𝒻𝓉ℯ𝓇 𝒽ℴ𝓊𝓇𝓈: 𝓲𝓽 𝓰𝓻𝓪𝓷𝓽𝓼 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓪 𝓬𝓸𝓾𝓹𝓵𝓮 𝓭𝓪𝔂𝓼 𝓸𝓯𝓯 𝓯𝓻𝓸𝓶 𝓼𝓬𝓱𝓸𝓸𝓵 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓰𝓸𝓭 𝓭𝓲𝓭 𝓘 𝓷𝓮𝓮𝓭 𝓽𝓱𝓸𝓼𝓮 𝓭𝓪𝔂𝓼 𝓸𝓯𝓯. ℳ𝓎 30 𝒽ℴ𝓊𝓇𝓈 𝓉ℴ 𝓁𝒾𝓋ℯ, 𝒶𝓁𝓉𝒽ℴ𝓊𝑔𝒽 𝓈𝒽ℴ𝓇𝓉ℯ𝓃ℯ𝒹 𝒶 𝒷𝒾𝓉 𝒻𝓇ℴ𝓂 𝓌𝒽ℯ𝓃 𝐼 𝓌𝒶𝓈 𝒸ℴ𝓃𝓀ℯ𝒹 ℴ𝓊𝓉 ℴ𝓃 𝓉𝒽ℯ 𝑔𝓇ℴ𝓊𝓃𝒹 𝒷𝓁ℯℯ𝒹𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒻𝓇ℴ𝓂 𝓂𝓎 𝓈𝓀𝓊𝓁𝓁-𝒽𝒶𝒹 𝒷ℯℯ𝓃 𝓂𝒾𝓇𝒶𝒸𝓊𝓁ℴ𝓊𝓈𝓁𝓎 ℯ𝓍𝓉ℯ𝓃𝒹ℯ𝒹 𝒾𝓃𝓉ℴ 54. 𝒴ℯ𝓉 ℯ𝓋ℯ𝓇𝓎 𝒹𝒶𝓎 𝐼 𝓈𝒶𝓉 𝒾𝓃 𝓉𝒽ℯ 𝒽ℴ𝓈𝓅𝒾𝓉𝒶𝓁 ℯ𝒶𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒶𝓅𝓅𝓁ℯ 𝓈𝒶𝓊𝒸ℯ 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓌𝒶𝓉𝒸𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓉𝓋 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝓂𝓎 𝓅𝒶𝓇ℯ𝓃𝓉𝓈 𝐼 𝒸ℴ𝓊𝓁𝒹 𝒻ℯℯ𝓁 𝓉𝒽ℯ 𝒸𝓁ℴ𝒸𝓀 𝒸ℴ𝓊𝓃𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒹ℴ𝓌𝓃 𝓉ℴ 𝒯𝓊ℯ𝓈𝒹𝒶𝓎 𝓂ℴ𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓌𝒽ℯ𝓃 𝐼’𝒹 𝒽𝒶𝓋ℯ 𝓉ℴ 𝑔ℴ 𝒷𝒶𝒸𝓀 𝓉ℴ 𝓈𝒸𝒽ℴℴ𝓁. 𝐼 𝓉𝒽ℴ𝓊𝑔𝒽𝓉 𝓂𝒶𝓎𝒷ℯ 𝒾𝒻 𝐼 𝓌𝒶𝓈 𝓁𝓊𝒸𝓀𝓎 𝓉𝒽ℯ 𝓈𝓊𝓃 𝓌ℴ𝓊𝓁𝒹 𝒷ℯ𝑔𝒾𝓃 𝓉ℴ 𝓈𝒽𝒾𝓃ℯ 𝓂𝓎 𝓌𝒶𝓎 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝑔ℴ𝒹 𝒽𝒶𝒹 𝓂ℯ𝓇𝒸𝓎 ℴ𝓃 𝓂𝓎 𝓈ℴ𝓊𝓁 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 ℋℯ𝒶𝓉𝒽ℯ𝓇 𝓌ℴ𝓊𝓁𝒹 𝑔ℴ ℯ𝒶𝓈𝓎 ℴ𝓃 𝓂ℯ 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓇ℯ𝒶𝓁𝒾𝓏ℯ 𝓌ℯ 𝒷ℴ𝓉𝒽 𝓈𝒶𝒾𝒹 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈 𝓌ℯ 𝒹𝒾𝒹𝓃’𝓉 𝓂ℯ𝒶𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓃𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉…

𝓡𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽, 𝔀𝓱𝓸 𝓪𝓶 𝓘 𝓴𝓲𝓭𝓭𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓼 𝓲𝓼 𝓗𝓮𝓪𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓻 𝓒𝓱𝓪𝓷𝓭𝓵𝓮𝓻 𝔀𝓮’𝓻𝓮 𝓭𝓮𝓪𝓵𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝔀𝓲𝓽𝓱. 𝓣𝓱𝓮𝓻𝓮’𝓼 𝓷𝓸 𝓶𝓮𝓻𝓬𝔂 𝔀𝓱𝓮𝓷 𝓼𝓸𝓶𝓮𝓸𝓷𝓮 𝓯𝓸𝓻𝓼𝓪𝓴𝓮𝓼 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓵𝓲𝓸𝓷𝓮𝓼𝓼.

𝒲ℯ𝓁𝓁, 𝓈ℴ𝓂ℯ 𝒶𝓈𝓈𝒽ℴ𝓁ℯ 𝒽𝒶𝒹 𝒷ℯℯ𝓃 𝒻𝒾𝓁𝓂𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓉𝒽ℯ 𝓌𝒽ℴ𝓁ℯ 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒶𝓉 𝓉𝒽ℯ 𝒽ℴ𝓂ℯ𝒸ℴ𝓂𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓅𝒶𝓇𝓉𝓎 𝒮𝒶𝓉𝓊𝓇𝒹𝒶𝓎 𝓃𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝑔ℴ𝓉 𝒾𝓉 𝓊𝓅 ℴ𝓃 𝒯𝒾𝓀𝒯ℴ𝓀 𝒷ℯ𝒻ℴ𝓇ℯ 𝐼 𝒽𝒶𝒹 ℯ𝓋ℯ𝓃 𝓌ℴ𝓀ℯ𝓃 𝒻𝓇ℴ𝓂 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝒸ℴ𝓂𝒶. 𝓘’𝓿𝓮 𝓰𝓸𝓷𝓮 𝓿𝓲𝓻𝓪𝓵 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓷𝓸𝓽 𝓲𝓷 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓰𝓸𝓸𝓭 𝔀𝓪𝔂. 𝒢𝓇ℯ𝒶𝓉, 𝐼’𝓂 𝒶𝓁𝓇ℯ𝒶𝒹𝓎 𝑔𝓇ℴ𝓊𝓃𝒹ℯ𝒹 𝒻ℴ𝓇 𝓉𝓌ℴ 𝓌ℯℯ𝓀𝓈 𝒻ℴ𝓇 𝓉𝒽ℯ 𝓌𝒽ℴ𝓁ℯ 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓃ℴ𝓌 𝐼’𝓂 𝓉𝒽ℯ 𝓃ℯ𝓌 𝒻𝒶𝒸ℯ ℴ𝒻 𝓅ℯℴ𝓅𝓁ℯ 𝓌𝒽ℴ 𝒹𝒶𝓇ℯ 𝓉ℴ 𝒹ℯ𝒻𝓎 ℋℯ𝒶𝓉𝒽ℯ𝓇 𝒞𝒽𝒶𝓃𝒹𝓁ℯ𝓇 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒹𝓇𝓊𝓃𝓀 𝒹𝒾𝓈𝒶𝓈𝓉ℯ𝓇! 𝒲ℯ 𝒶𝓁𝓁 𝓌𝒶𝓃𝓉 𝓉ℴ 𝑔ℴ 𝓋𝒾𝓇𝒶𝓁. ℬ𝓊𝓉, 𝓌𝒽ℯ𝓃 𝐼 𝓈𝒶𝒾𝒹 𝐼 𝓌𝒶𝓃𝓉ℯ𝒹 𝓉ℴ 𝑔ℴ 𝓋𝒾𝓇𝒶𝓁 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝓌𝒶𝓈 𝓝𝓞𝓣 𝓌𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝐼 𝓂ℯ𝒶𝓃𝓉! 𝒢ℴ𝒹 𝒶𝓁𝓁 𝓉𝒽ℴ𝓈ℯ 𝒷𝓊𝓁𝓁𝓈𝒽𝒾𝓉 𝓋𝒾𝒹ℯℴ𝓈 ℴ𝒻 𝒹𝓇𝓊𝓃𝓀 𝓅ℯℴ𝓅𝓁ℯ 𝒷ℯ𝒾𝓃𝑔 “𝓈𝓉𝓊𝓅𝒾𝒹” ℴ𝓃 𝓎ℴ𝓊𝓇 𝒻ℴ𝓇 𝓎ℴ𝓊 𝓅𝒶𝑔ℯ𝓈 𝒶𝓇ℯ 𝒻𝓊𝓃𝓃𝓎 𝓊𝓃𝓉𝒾𝓁 𝒾𝓉’𝓈 𝓎ℴ𝓊. 𝓦𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝓪 𝔀𝓪𝔂 𝓽𝓸 𝓰𝓸 𝓿𝓲𝓻𝓪𝓵.

ℋℯ𝒶𝓉𝒽ℯ𝓇 𝒽ℯ𝓁𝒹 𝓉𝓇𝓊ℯ 𝓉ℴ 𝒽ℯ𝓇 𝓌ℴ𝓇𝒹, 𝐼’𝓂 𝒶𝓃 “ℯ𝓍-𝓈ℴ𝓂ℯ𝒷ℴ𝒹𝓎” 𝓃ℴ𝓌. 𝒩ℴ𝒷ℴ𝒹𝓎 𝒹𝒶𝓇ℯ𝓈 𝓉ℴ 𝓁ℴℴ𝓀 𝒾𝓃 𝓂𝓎 ℯ𝓎ℯ, 𝓁𝒾𝓀ℯ 𝐼’𝓂 𝓉𝒽ℯ 𝒸𝓇ℯ𝒶𝓉𝓊𝓇ℯ 𝒻𝓇ℴ𝓂 𝓉𝒽ℯ 𝒷𝓁𝒶𝒸𝓀 𝓁𝒶𝑔ℴℴ𝓃 ℴ𝓃 𝒶 𝓇𝒶𝓂𝓅𝒶𝑔ℯ! 𝐼𝒻 ℋℯ𝒶𝓉𝒽ℯ𝓇 𝒹ℯ𝒸𝒾𝒹ℯ𝓈 𝓎ℴ𝓊’𝓇ℯ 𝒹ℯ𝒶𝒹 𝓎ℴ𝓊 𝓂𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉 𝒶𝓈 𝓌ℯ𝓁𝓁 𝒷ℯ 𝒶𝓇ℴ𝓊𝓃𝒹 𝒽ℯ𝓇ℯ. ℰ𝓋ℯ𝓇𝓎ℴ𝓃ℯ 𝓉𝓇ℯ𝒶𝓉𝓈 𝓂ℯ 𝓁𝒾𝓀ℯ 𝐼’𝓂 𝓃ℴ𝓉 ℯ𝓋ℯ𝓃 𝓉𝒽ℯ𝓇ℯ, 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓉𝒽ℯ𝓎 𝒸𝒶𝓃 𝓈ℯℯ 𝓇𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝓇ℴ𝓊𝑔𝒽 𝓂ℯ. 𝓢𝓸𝓶𝓮𝓽𝓲𝓶𝓮𝓼 𝓘 𝔀𝓸𝓷𝓭𝓮𝓻 𝓲𝓯 𝓪𝓷𝔂𝓸𝓷𝓮 𝓬𝓪𝓷 𝓱𝓮𝓪𝓻 𝓶𝓮…𝓗𝓔𝓛𝓛𝓞! 𝓘𝓼 𝓪𝓷𝔂𝓸𝓷𝓮 𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓻𝓮? ℳ𝒶𝓇𝓉𝒽𝒶’𝓈 𝒷ℯ𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒷𝓊𝓁𝓁𝒾ℯ𝒹 𝓌ℴ𝓇𝓈ℯ 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓃 𝓊𝓈𝓊𝒶𝓁. 𝒪𝒻 𝒸ℴ𝓊𝓇𝓈ℯ 𝓈𝒽ℯ 𝒻ℴ𝓊𝓃𝒹 ℴ𝓊𝓉 𝒶𝒷ℴ𝓊𝓉 ℋℯ𝒶𝓉𝒽ℯ𝓇’𝓈 “𝓅𝒾ñ𝒶𝓉𝒶” 𝓈𝓉𝓊𝓃𝓉 𝐼 𝓂ℯ𝒶𝓃, 𝒾𝓉 𝓌𝒶𝓈 𝒶𝓁𝓁 ℴ𝓋ℯ𝓇 𝓉𝒽ℯ 𝒾𝓃𝓉ℯ𝓇𝓃ℯ𝓉 𝓉ℴℴ 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃 𝒽ℴ𝓊𝓇𝓈. 𝐼 𝓈ℯℯ 𝓉𝒽ℯ 𝓌𝒶𝓎 𝓈𝒽ℯ 𝓇ℯ𝒸ℴ𝒾𝓁𝓈 𝒾𝓃𝓉ℴ 𝒽ℯ𝓇𝓈ℯ𝓁𝒻 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽ℴ𝓊𝓉 𝒶 𝓉𝓇𝒶𝒸ℯ ℴ𝒻 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝒸ℴ𝓃𝒻𝒾𝒹ℯ𝓃𝒸ℯ 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒽ℯ𝒶𝓇𝓉 𝓈𝒽ℯ 𝒽𝒶𝒹 𝓌𝒽ℯ𝓃 𝓂𝒶𝓇𝒸𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓊𝓅 𝓉ℴ ℛ𝒶𝓂 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓃𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓂𝓎 𝒽ℯ𝒶𝓇𝓉 𝒷𝓇ℯ𝒶𝓀𝓈 𝒻ℴ𝓇 𝒽ℯ𝓇. 𝓢𝓱𝓮 𝓵𝓸𝓸𝓴𝓼 𝓼𝓸 𝓵𝓸𝓼𝓽…𝒮𝒽ℯ 𝓈𝓉𝒾𝓁𝓁 𝒹ℴℯ𝓈𝓃’𝓉 𝓀𝓃ℴ𝓌 𝓌𝒽ℴ 𝓌𝓇ℴ𝓉ℯ 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓉ℯ𝓍𝓉. 𝓑𝓾𝓽, 𝓘 𝓭𝓸. 𝐼 𝑔𝓊ℯ𝓈𝓈 𝐼 𝒸ℴ𝓊𝓁𝒹 𝒶𝓁𝓌𝒶𝓎𝓈 𝓉ℯ𝓁𝓁 𝒽ℯ𝓇 𝓉𝒽ℯ 𝓉𝓇𝓊𝓉𝒽 𝓃ℴ𝓌. 𝒯𝒽ℯ𝓇ℯ’𝓈 𝓇ℯ𝒶𝓁𝓁𝓎 𝓃ℴ 𝒷ℯ𝓃ℯ𝒻𝒾𝓉 𝒾𝓃 𝓀ℯℯ𝓅𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓊𝓅 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝓉𝒽ℯ 𝓁𝒾ℯ 𝒶𝓃𝓎𝓂ℴ𝓇ℯ, 𝓻𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽? ℬ𝓊𝓉, 𝐼 𝒹ℴ𝓃’𝓉 𝓀𝓃ℴ𝓌 𝒾𝒻 ℳ𝒶𝓇𝓉𝒽𝒶 𝒸𝒶𝓃 𝓉𝒶𝓀ℯ 𝒶𝓃𝓎𝓂ℴ𝓇ℯ 𝒽ℯ𝒶𝓇𝓉𝒷𝓇ℯ𝒶𝓀 𝓇𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉 𝓃ℴ𝓌. 𝐼𝒻 𝓉𝒽ℯ 𝓉𝓇𝓊𝓉𝒽 𝓌ℴ𝓊𝓁𝒹 𝓀𝒾𝓁𝓁 𝒽ℯ𝓇 𝒷ℯ𝒻ℴ𝓇ℯ 𝐼 𝓂𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉 𝒶𝓈 𝓌ℯ𝓁𝓁 𝒷ℯ 𝒹𝒾𝑔𝑔𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒽ℯ𝓇 𝑔𝓇𝒶𝓋ℯ 𝒷𝓎 𝓈𝒶𝓎𝒾𝓃𝑔 ℛ𝒶𝓂 𝒹ℴℯ𝓈𝓃’𝓉 𝓁ℴ𝓋ℯ 𝒽ℯ𝓇. 𝒴ℴ𝓊 𝓈ℯℯ 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓇𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉? 𝐼 𝒽𝒶𝓋ℯ 𝓉ℴ 𝓀ℯℯ𝓅 𝓁𝓎𝒾𝓃𝑔. 𝓘 𝓱𝓪𝓿𝓮 𝓽𝓸.

𝒜𝓃𝒹 𝓉𝒽ℯ𝓃 𝓉𝒽ℯ𝓇ℯ’𝓈 𝓉𝒽ℯ ℯ𝓁ℯ𝓅𝒽𝒶𝓃𝓉 𝒾𝓃 𝓉𝒽ℯ 𝓇ℴℴ𝓂: 𝓙.𝓓. 𝓱𝓪𝓼𝓷’𝓽 𝓼𝓽𝓸𝓹𝓹𝓮𝓭 𝓽𝓻𝔂𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓽𝓸 𝓽𝓪𝓵𝓴 𝓽𝓸 𝓶𝓮 𝓲𝓷 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓱𝓪𝓵𝓵 𝓼𝓲𝓷𝓬𝓮 𝓘 𝓯𝓲𝓻𝓼𝓽 𝔀𝓪𝓵𝓴𝓮𝓭 𝓲𝓷 𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓼 𝓶𝓸𝓻𝓷𝓲𝓷𝓰. 𝐼 𝓈𝓌ℯ𝒶𝓇 𝐼 𝒻ℯℯ𝓁 𝒽𝒾𝓂 𝓌𝒶𝓉𝒸𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓂ℯ 𝒹𝓊𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒸𝓁𝒶𝓈𝓈…𝓟𝓻𝓮𝓽𝓽𝔂 𝓬𝓻𝓮𝓮𝓹𝔂, 𝓻𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽? 𝒞𝒶𝓁𝓁 𝒾𝓉 𝒹ℯ𝓈𝓅ℯ𝓇𝒶𝓉𝒾ℴ𝓃 𝒷𝓊𝓉 𝐼 𝓈ℯℯ 𝓇𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝓇ℴ𝓊𝑔𝒽 𝒾𝓉. ℋℯ 𝓌𝒶𝓃𝓉𝓈 𝓉ℴ 𝒶𝒸𝓉 𝓁𝒾𝓀ℯ 𝓃ℴ𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒽𝒶𝓅𝓅ℯ𝓃ℯ𝒹, 𝓁𝒾𝓀ℯ 𝐼 𝒹𝒾𝒹𝓃’𝓉 𝒿𝓊𝓈𝓉…𝑔ℴ 𝓇𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝓇ℴ𝓊𝑔𝒽 𝒽𝒾𝓂 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓃𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉. 𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝔀𝓱𝓸𝓵𝓮 𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓷𝓰’𝓼 𝓰𝓸𝓽 𝓶𝓮 𝓹𝓻𝓮𝓽𝓽𝔂 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝓮𝓭. 𝐼 𝒽𝒶𝓋ℯ 𝓈ℴ 𝓂𝒶𝓃𝓎 𝓆𝓊ℯ𝓈𝓉𝒾ℴ𝓃𝓈 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝐼 𝒹ℴ𝓃’𝓉 𝓀𝓃ℴ𝓌 𝒾𝒻 𝐼 𝓌𝒶𝓃𝓉 𝒶𝓃𝓈𝓌ℯ𝓇𝓈 𝓉ℴ 𝓎ℯ𝓉. 𝓐𝓷𝓭 𝔂𝓮𝓽 𝓘 𝓼𝓽𝓲𝓵𝓵 𝔀𝓸𝓷𝓭𝓮𝓻 𝓲𝓯 𝓘 𝓭𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓶𝓮𝓭 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝔀𝓱𝓸𝓵𝓮 𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓫𝓾𝓽 𝓘 𝓴𝓷𝓸𝔀 𝓽𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝓼𝓸𝓾𝓷𝓭𝓼 𝓬𝓻𝓪𝔃𝔂…

𝓑𝓮𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓪 𝓭𝓮𝓪𝓭 𝓰𝓲𝓻𝓵 𝔀𝓪𝓵𝓴𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓲𝓷 𝓪 𝓼𝓬𝓱𝓸𝓸𝓵 𝓯𝓾𝓵𝓵 𝓸𝓯 𝓰𝓱𝓸𝓼𝓽𝓼 𝓲𝓼𝓷’𝓽 𝓪𝓵𝓵 𝓲𝓽’𝓼 𝓬𝓻𝓪𝓬𝓴𝓮𝓭 𝓾𝓹 𝓽𝓸 𝓫𝓮 𝓲𝓷 𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓼𝓮 𝓽𝓻𝔂𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓽𝓲𝓶𝓮𝓼. 𝓑𝓾𝓽, 𝔀𝓱𝓪𝓽’𝓼 𝓪 𝓰𝓲𝓻𝓵 𝓽𝓸 𝓭𝓸?

✎𓂃Ronnie☆

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As I walk through the cafeteria I scout my options on where to sit. Lunch food is crap as always, the lunch tray is in my hand but the too familiar hectic sounds of a high school caf sound more distant than they’ve ever been. Kurt and Ram don’t even smack my lunch tray or say I’m “looking good today”. No, they just ignore me. Wow, even the sluggers are giving me the silent treatment now too. Gotta give it to Heather-only a teen of her stature could keep Ram and Kurt on a tight enough leash they don’t chase a bone or bark and gnaw on a “treat”. Normally I’d sit with the Heathers on a day like this, but that was before I royally messed up.

I don’t have to approach their table, I could sit with Martha…I look over at Martha’s table, the table I used to sit at too before the glitz and glamor of being popular. My best friend sits alone, her head down as the people at the nearby tables gossip about the piñata, replaying the video over and over again. Ugh, I want to pry those phones out of their hands and yell “Hey! Stop watching that!” But, I don’t. Instead I stand there frozen and helpless when I should’ve been anything but. God, why won’t my mouth open. Don’t just stand there! DO SOMETHING?!

With one more attempt at self preservation, I hold my breath and walk over to the Heathers’ table. Freedom in the hospital was nice while it lasted but now that it’s Tuesday it’s time to kiss Heather’s ass for forgiveness.

The table looks to be in order. Heather Mac sitting in what looks like perfect and poised posture telling some story about her squad (cheer captain always has the hot gos) while flailing her arms around in a way that was less poised. Heather Duke was binging again with the intention of vomiting after lunch to “maintain her weight and not gain any more pounds” she looked like she was going to need another forged note to get herself out of this one. And Heather Chandler sat at the end of the table like a queen observing my last supper. Within a few steps of the table all three stopped what they were doing to look me dead in the eye.

“Hey…”

I tried to sit down on the end closest to me but Heather scooted over into my seat before I could, her eyebrows were furrowed in annoyance and she had almost a look of confusion that I had the balls to come over here after everything before looking back down at her tray. Right. Of course. Too scared to say anything to my face yet her actions speak volumes.

“Ronnie, who said you could sit with us?” Heather looked at her nails instead of me, like my speaking was already an inconvenience for her.

“I’m sorry, what? You did. Remember?” I shrug, looking away. Great, I’m already embarrassed I even tried.

“I actually said your invitation to the lunch table would be revoked starting on Monday, remember?”

“Come on, Heather don’t be ridiculous. We both said things that night we didn’t mean.”

“Did we?” She tilts her head, eyes narrowed.

“Uh, huh. I came here to apologize.” I nod with my shoulders tense. “And I bring lunch as a peace offering.” I bow towards her, holding my tray out in front of me. I can feel all the eyes watching but right now all that matters is Heather accepting my proposal.

“I’d prefer if you did this on your knees, in front of the whole school.” She smirked.

I force a smile, trying to ignore her humiliating “joke”. You know Heather-she loves to make jokes like that…“Anyhow, I’m really sorry.” I say quietly with my head down.

“Do I look like I’m kidding?” She leaned closer, her voice growing serious. “Down.” She growled at me as she pointed downward.

I look around at all these kids watching me with bated breath, nobody helping me, but everyone watching. HELLO?! Is anyone here?! Please!

It was then I realized it was stupid of me to ever think I’d belong with them, that I could survive being with them. No, I’m a dog they’re yanking on the chain of.

I got down on my knees slowly, looking up at Heather from the table, Heather was staring me down with smug amusement and Heather watched with guilt written across her face in bright yellow ink. Heather smiled at me as she stood up and walked over, observing me from above.

“Nice.” She leaned closer to whisper to me: “But, you’re still dead to me.” Her smile grew wider in girlish and cruel mockery.

I shouldn’t have come here. They were never going to let me back in. I’m not welcome anymore.

“I’m sure the loser nerd table is looking for more people, Ronnie. Don’t fall and hit your head again, sweetie.” She perked up with a wave.

I stood up and left the cafeteria with my head down, but this time? Heather Mac didn’t follow me out…

Well, here we are. Back in the bathroom stall again. Alone. Outside the totally gross cleanliness of eating in a bathroom I guess it’s not so bad in here…

Fuck, what am I saying this is really bad.

At least when I was a nobody I could actually eat in the cafeteria. Sure they’d bully me and smack my lunch trays but, I wasn’t alone. You heard her I’ll be lucky if they ever let me back into the cafeteria again! Instead I’ll be sitting on this real *classy* toilet to eat my lunch, knowing nobody’s going to come looking for me. Not that I want to be found anyway. Now that I’m an ex-somebody I might as well not even exist anymore! Can you imagine? Not even being seen or heard by anyone around you, let me tell you it’s NOT fun. Be careful what you wish for, folks! If you want people to leave you alone they will…But at what cost to your dignity? God, J.D. was right, I should’ve never bowed to them. I should’ve sat with Martha but I didn’t. Why didn’t I just sit with Martha? She would’ve welcomed me back with open arms if I just asked if she was free for movie night tonight! If I even deserve to be welcomed back after being such an awful friend to her about Ram…

September 30th 2025

Dear Diary,

“𝐼 𝒷ℯ𝓁𝒾ℯ𝓋ℯ 𝐼’𝓂 𝒶 𝑔ℴℴ𝒹 𝓅ℯ𝓇𝓈ℴ𝓃” 𝓡𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽, 𝔀𝓮𝓵𝓵 𝓵𝓸𝓸𝓴 𝓱𝓸𝔀 𝓽𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝓽𝓾𝓻𝓷𝓮𝓭 𝓸𝓾𝓽.

𝓐𝓶 𝓘 𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓵𝓵𝔂 𝓪𝓷𝔂 𝓫𝓮𝓽𝓽𝓮𝓻 𝓽𝓱𝓪𝓷 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓗𝓮𝓪𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓻𝓼 𝓸𝓻 𝓭𝓸 𝓘 𝓳𝓾𝓼𝓽 𝓹𝓻𝓮𝓽𝓮𝓷𝓭 𝓽𝓸 𝓫𝓮?

𝒩ℴ𝓌 𝓌ℯ’𝓁𝓁 𝓃ℯ𝓋ℯ𝓇 𝓀𝓃ℴ𝓌…

﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

My head already hurts I don’t need the waterworks.

Maybe I don’t have to leave this stall, right? I can just stay here for the rest of senior year like a demented bathroom ghost and nobody will ever make fun of me or laugh at me again…The only freedom I can taste is a life behind this stall door, free and safe and sound-

“You know, bowing to the enemy only proves your own submission to her rule.”

Woah! I almost jumped out of my skin as I realized I wasn’t alone in the bathroom anymore and that a familiar pair of boots were standing in front of the stall door.

“I thought you were done with Heather.”

“And I thought I knew you, guess we both thought wrong…” I sniffle with annoyance.

There’s a long pause before I hear a small click of his tongue. “Ok,” His typical nasally cadence grew higher. “You’re mad I didn’t tell you about my affliction. I get it.”

I roll my eyes. Yeah, well the fact he came in here even after my constant avoidance proves otherwise so…

“I don’t think you do. Just leave me alone, J.D. Besides, you’ll get caught standing in the girls bathroom like this.” I rub my nose, trying to hide I’ve been crying as much as possible behind a stern voice.

“And leave you alone here crying?” He sat down on the ground in front of my stall. “Guess you really don’t know me at all then. Oh, and believe me getting caught won’t be a problem for me.”

“Right how can I forget you’re…whatever you are…”

“I’m dead, Sawyer. Does that give you the satisfaction you want to hear aloud?”

This can’t be happening. This can’t be real, I’ve got to be going crazy and seeing things! There’s no other explanation. He can’t be real. I don’t believe in ghosts…

Then why does he feel so real when he talks to me?

“Why didn’t you tell me?” My voice suddenly grows softer and more fragile as I begin to feel the tears pouring again.

“Cause I knew you wouldn’t believe me.”

I put the tray on the ground and cross my arms, “Who says I believe you now?”

“I can’t say for sure but, you are still talking to me and I’ll take what I can get.”

“For how long?” I look down at the sliver of his back I can see under the stall door, facing opposite me.

“36 years give or take, it starts to get blurry.”

“Jesus, and I thought high school was bad for us.” I blurt out without thinking before cursing at myself and putting my hands over my mouth with wide eyes. “Can our other classmates-”

“To my knowledge it’s just you.”

Great, lucky me. I’m the only one in this school that sees the dead kid. “I see dead people” is going to look great on my resume after college! No wonder he took up with me, I mean god knows when he’s spoken to anyone else! I hate that I’m starting to feel bad for him…

“Do you have any family left here?”

“I don’t know. My dad owned a deconstruction company in the 80s. Seems the old man liked tearing things down. You seen the commercial?” His voice suddenly shifted into like a higher pitched Texan accent: “‘I’m Big Bud Dean if it’s in the way I’ll make your day!’”

My face lights up instantly. “RIGHT! And then he pushes down on the plunger and the screen blows up!” I push down on the air before gesturing a big explosion with my arms and laugh. “That’s your dad? God, I saw that commercial all the time on my parents’ old VHS tapes! I didn’t know Big Bud had another son!”

“Another?”

“Well, yeah.” I shrug. “He left the business in the family gave it to his first son. Didn’t know he had a brother is all.”

“So, I see…Nice to know my old man held true to his word. He always could make another son anytime he wants…”

My face drops and eyes widen as I process what he just said. God, it feels like my heart’s about to beat out of my chest. Shit.

“He replaced me.”

“J.D. I’m so-”

“It’s ok.” He answered too quickly, cutting me off. “The pain gives me clarity.”

How can pain possibly give anyone clarity? Come on, pain is pain…

“If this place sucks so much why don’t you leave like the rest of us? Travel the world? Nothing’s keeping you here.”

“Believe me when I say I’ve tried. It was the winter of 89, I had just woken up from my eternal slumber and already wanted to leave. No point in staying, you know-so I walked within a couple steps of the exit before being brought back down to where I died. I tried again to no avail too. Every exit, even going out through the windows. I can’t leave. Nobody can see me. I’m alone.”

“Well…I guess that makes two of us.” I try to cross my arms and sound strong as I look up at the ceiling so I don’t see him still sitting there all sad like that.

“I don’t want to fight anymore.”

“Don’t give me that.” I sigh. “Can we just-sit here in silence for a bit please before I regret accepting your apology?”

“Fine by me.”

And so we sat there in silence for the rest of my lunch period, both sad in different ways but that feeling of connection, in knowing we weren’t going it alone and that we heard each other even if we didn’t say a word charged the air with something that, well I don’t know how to describe…

Later in the day after class J.D. and I hung out in the stairwell next to the gym. Believe me, I was still mad at him for keeping all this stuff a secret but right now? It was the best company I could get. It was while we were sitting together Heather McNamara and a group of her fellow cheerleaders ran into the gym with their pom poms in hand. J.D.’s eyebrows shot up as he pressed his tongue to the inside of his cheek-he always does that when he’s thinking about something…

“What’s with all the pom poms?”

“Cheer practice,” I roll my eyes before resting my hands on my knees. “Big pep rally Friday night.” My eyes widen in fake innocence as I pitch my voice up and shrink into myself sweetly. “GO ROTTWEILERS! GO TO HELL GO TO HELL NOW!” I smile teasingly.

J.D. looks amused, tilting his head down before turning his head to me. “Not a bad impression.”

“Oh, not a big pep rally person, huh?” I gently punch where his arm would be, leaving just enough room to not freak out his body again.

“I’m more of a sit in solitude in the library man myself.” He smirks back before leaning closer. “Believe me, there’s nothing to be cheerful about here at Westerberg.”

“Heather’s doing a speech for it. Heather’s been telling her she should ‘rehearse more,’” I put my hands up in quotation marks. “But, you know Heather. God, she thinks she’s invincible. What I wouldn’t give to wipe that smug look off her face. Would be a shame if something went wrong at the pep rally.”

He narrowed his eyes and looked back at the gym door. “Yeah, real shame indeed…”

“Maybe if we’re lucky she’ll fall in her heels or as my revenge I can replace her queue cards with something out of Cards Against Humanity. Now that’ll embarrass her in front of the whole school!” I tilt my head to face him. “People pull out their phones and bam!” I gesture with my hands. “All over the internet by Saturday! Or better yet she just drops dead!” I laugh before my face falls into exhaustion and frustration as I lay my head down on the stairs.

J.D. follows my lead and does the same. “Heather Chandler…now that’s one person at this school who really deserves to die.”

“Right like anyone could actually do anything to Heather. You’re a ghost, J.D. You aren’t human anymore you can’t interfere with us living guys.” I bite back with a smile and snarky hand wave away.

J.D. doesn’t say anything for a long time, staring up at the ceiling again like he’s thinking about something I couldn’t possibly imagine. Great he’s doing that “zoning out in his own dark world” thing again...

“Hey, earth to J.D.” I wave my hand in front of his face. This seems to work as he blinks and looks back over at me. “Forget it.” I respond sternly. “You can’t be serious, nobody deserves to die, you know that…” I try to laugh it off before my face turns to serious again. “Right?”

“They don’t?” He tilted his head, eyes baring into my soul like he’s searching for an honest answer.

I don’t know what to say to him, I know the answer is obviously no. No. Nobody deserves to die, no. But, it would be a lie to say I’ve never thought about it. We all have. That doesn’t mean we’re actually going to do anything about it. Hurting people isn’t something I’d do. Besides J.D. is probably just kidding around…That’s not something he’d do either. Forget it, I shouldn’t have said anything. Why did I say that? It was just a lapse in my thought process. Some things probably shouldn’t be said out loud where the whole school can hear you…

“You’re not funny.” I smile before crossing my arms and pouting overdramatically, so “offended” by his joke before looking up at the ceiling too.

“Alright,” He puts his hands up defensively before turning back over and grinning at me. “I’m sorry.”

He leans over like he wants to kiss me, even though we both know we can’t. In that moment the space between us has never felt wider and yet so small.

“Do you think it’ll be ok?” I ask abruptly before nodding, my eyes looking away from him. “Like in the end by graduation and shit…” I say it like another joke but my eyes are serious and vulnerable.

The look in his eyes soften as he looks back down while moving his jaw:

“I hope so.”

READ 𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝑺𝒊𝒙 ~ J.D.’s POV HERE!

[carouselgirl77]

𝐴𝐹𝑇𝐸𝑅𝐻𝑂𝑈𝑅𝑆

chapter six

we've got time

michael jackson × camille beaumont

new york city, ny • december 5th, 1977

word count: 1,790

"What?" Camille asked, looking back, dumbfounded.

"A fried chicken place."

"Why?" 

Michael shrugged. "I'm hungry."

She shook her head in confusion. "No, Michael. Why are you asking me?"

"I was having fun," Michael replied, a smile painted across his face as he shyly looked back down at the brown paper bag in his arms.

The proposal was so odd that any sort of answer was caught in her throat. She ran through all the many reasons she should say no.

The press would see him go into her car. They had nowhere to eat it, and she sure as hell wasn't going over to his apartment. Fried chicken was probably the weirdest place for a first date. Was this a date? Was he asking her on a date? There had to be some handbook out there that directly stated against two of the biggest entertainers in the world getting fried chicken on a random Tuesday.

Michael interrupted before her thoughts could go any further. "We can have Vinny drive around the back. He can pick me up there five minutes or so after you go in."

He wasn't wrong. It could work. That realization was somehow worse.

She stumbled over her words, trying to form a reply. "Uhm... okay," she nodded. "That could work."

Michael smiled back. "So that's a yes?"

She reminded herself again that she should say no, but somewhere in the last twenty minutes of them record shopping, she decided to stop trying to convince herself she didn't want to.

"I guess I'm getting fried chicken with Michael Jackson right now." 

Camille sat for a long moment, just watching him. Waiting for him to take it back. To say that he was just joking and it was utterly absurd to get fast food with someone he barely knew. 

"Well, let's go," he urged, his hand pointing at the door. 

Camille snapped back. He never said anything against it. She looked past him, back at the front counter. The teenage girls had thought they already left, and continued laughing and talking. She took a sharp inhale in, and finally followed outside, agreeing to his plan to meet him out back.

Vinny stood exactly where she left him, guarding the door, a small group of fans already outside in the snow, waiting for her. Vinny went to bring his hand to her back, guiding her back to the car when she stopped.

"Everything okay?" Vinny asked. 

Camille stood on her tiptoes, whispering in his ear. She opened her mouth, looking for a rational way to put it, but closed it again. 

"We're... uhm," she started. "Getting fried chicken."

Camille kept smiling and waving, though Vincent's confusion made it increasingly difficult to pretend this was a normal conversation.

He lowered down to her ear. "You're what?"

Camille continued to smile, but just by Vincent's reasonable confusion, her expression slightly faltered, obviously embarrassed.

"Fried chicken," she barely muttered. "With Michael."

Vincent slowly nodded, now leading her back to the car. He decided he could talk further in about thirty seconds in the car when they weren't in front of a mob of people.

He opened the rear passenger door, letting Camille slide in before shutting it behind her. Five minutes later, the car pulled around the corner of the back of the building, Michael already leaning on the brick wall with his hands tucked into his jacket pockets.

Vincent unlocked the door and Michael stepped into the back next to Camille. The car was completely silent for about ten seconds, before Vincent adjusted the rear view mirror, glancing between the two of them.

"...Will one of you explain?"

"Kentucky Fried Chicken. It's two blocks away," Michael chimed in, smiling back at the mirror.

Vincent readjusted the review mirror once, it now fully facing the back mirror, nodding. 

"Alright," he stated, focusing back towards the wheel and pulling off of the road. 

After the adrenaline had worn off, Camille finally sat in the silence. She was, in fact, hanging out with a random musician and getting fast food as a first date; if that's what this was. She held onto the paper bag in her lap, clutching her finger past the outline of one of the record's corners. The grip itself was enough of an answer to what was running through her head.

Michael noticed her staring out the car window, his gaze falling down to her hands. Her knuckles were practically turning white from her fingers curling around the bag in front of her.

"You'll bend the corners," he said quietly.

Camille blinked, so pulled from her thoughts she wasn't even sure she heard him speak.

"Huh?"

"The records," Michael pointed. "You'll bend the corners if you grip it like that."

Camille let an airy laugh out. "Oh," she croaked, looking down at her hands and now resting them in her lap.

Michael watched as she rested her hands in her lap. Even then, her fingers never quite relaxed. 

"I didn't think you'd say yes," he admitted, trying to pull her from whatever thought took her.

Camille took a sharp inhale, moving her head to look back out of the window. She wasn't looking at the city though, and instead at the reflection inside the car of Michael watching her. 

"Yeah," she quietly laughed. "I didn't either."

"Well, I'm glad you did."

She smiled, and just within a few seconds, the tension was right back. Before either of them could think of something else to talk about, Vincent pulled into the parking lot. He parked, shifted the car off, and turned to look between them both in the back seat. Their bodies were so far from each other he could've been convinced there was some kind of forcefield separating them. 

"So," Vincent said. "What am I getting?"

Camille turned to look at Michael. "I've never been here before, what's good?"

Michael's face lit up. "Seriously?" he asked. He turned towards Vincent again and listed off enough things to feed a family of four.

Vincent nodded, scribbling the order on the back of a receipt before leaving the car to go inside and locking it.

The lock sounded a click after Vincent locked the door behind him. 

Camille laughed, and finally broke the ice. "Who is going to eat all of that?"

"I didn't know what you'd like!" Michael laughed. "You'll just have to try everything."

"Everything is literally half the menu," Camille shook her head, her shoulders shaking as she bent over giggling.

"I was hungry."

"You've said that," Camille replied, a smile tugging at her lips.

"I still am."

"Where does it all go?" Camille asked, looking down at his figure. 

Michael smiled, glancing down at his own frame. "I dance a lot," he lightly replied. 

After they both finished their last huff of a laugh they sat for a second in the silence. Michael scooted closer, just slightly, but enough to snap the tension between them.

"How have you never had Kentucky Fried Chicken?" 

"I grew up in Los Angeles," Camille shrugged.

"You are aware there's still fried chicken in LA, right?"

Camille looked back, a small embarrassed smirk on her face. "I've never really had any fast food. My mom never let me," she shrugged, scanning around the parking lot behind the dark tinted glass. 

Michael stared at her for a long moment. "Not even McDonald's?"

Camille just shook her head.

"Burger Chef?"

"Nope," Camille smiled.

Michael's eyes widened more and more after each disapproving nod.

"My mom used to say I'd make me fat," she huffed a laugh. "Anyway, we had a cook at home, so it wasn't much of an excuse."

Michael stared in disbelief. Partially from the fact that Camille had never had a real burger or fries, but also that a grown woman would say something like that to her child.

Camille examined Michael's shock, trying to make her previous statement seem less harsh. "No but—It was okay! It's a funny story to tell now. I don't think I could ever complain about having a private chef." 

Michael's expression softened. "I don't think kids should have to worry about things like that."

For the first time since getting in the car, Camille didn't have a quick reply. She shrugged, trying to brush it off.

"I survived," she stated, almost matter-of-fact. "Besides, I'm making up for lost time."

Michael titled his head. "Meaning?"

"Meaning I have twenty years of fast food to catch up on," Camille giggled.

"Well, we've got time."

Camille looked over at him, and just smiled. For a moment, it felt like she wasn't being looked at, but instead, just, invited. He looked at her for more than the scrutinizing tabloids, the invasive paparazzi photos, and the drama of her private life. Instead, he truly just wanted to introduce a friend to his favorite fast food. Something in her chest loosened, quiet and unnameable, but just present enough to notice.

"...I guess we do."

"I knew we should've ordered more," Michael nodded thoughtfully. 

Camille laughed, really laughed this time, her shoulders bouncing as she bent at the hips. She shook her head, still smiling as she leaned back into the seat. Michael laughed with her, but watching her more than the joke. He noticed this laugh, the one in the back of a car talking about fried chicken, sounded nothing like the faux laugh he'd hear at parties. This one lingered longer; reaching all the way up to the corners of her eyes, slightly wrinkling them. 

A quick knock at the glass of the driver's door interrupted their laughter. Vincent pulled the door open, both large paper bags tucked under his arms, the cold December air rushing into the car, carrying the scent of warm biscuits, pepper, and grease. The gleam from outside the restaurant window caught the steam rising from the bags, reflecting a golden glow across the snow for a moment. 

Vincent handed the bags to Michael in the back, but paused for a second before he did, glancing between the two of them. Five minutes ago, they'd left enough space for a third person in between them. Neither of them remembered moving, yet somehow, the invisible line between them had snapped. 

Vincent climbed back into the driver's seat, shutting the door. The rush of the winter air quickly gave way to the warmth trapped inside the car. He started the car, the orange overhead light quickly dying. He glanced back through the rearview mirror.

"So," he acknowledged. "Where are you eating this?"

Michael didn't hesitate. "34-12 36th street."

Vincent nodded, pulling out of the parking spot. 

"Got it."

Camille looked over to Michael. "You're not going to tell me where we're going, are you?"

Michael smiled back, his eyes softening. "It's a surprise."

She held his gaze before a quick laugh escaped. "Alright," she nodded.

Camille settled in her seat, the paper bag of records was now sitting on the floor, replaced by the large bag of the food. Outside, the city blurred in streaks of gold beyond the window. 

Strangely, she couldn't remember the last time she was content with not knowing what was next.

✶ ݁ ˖

read the rest of afterhours!

read my other works

[astrangecaseaday]

chapter 6 paragraph 2

incident of dr. lanyon

On the 8th of January Utterson had dined at the doctor’s with a small party; Lanyon had been there; and the face of the host had looked from one to the other as in the old days when the trio were inseparable friends. On the 12th, and again on the 14th, the door was shut against the lawyer. “The doctor was confined to the house,” Poole said, “and saw no one.” On the 15th, he tried again, and was again refused; and having now been used for the last two months to see his friend almost daily, he found this return of solitude to weigh upon his spirits. The fifth night he had in Guest to dine with him; and the sixth he betook himself to Dr. Lanyon’s.

[jamysmith]

On Warm Ice (Heated Rivalry | Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov)

Chapter 6/15ish | Explicit

marriage of convenience/canon divergence/situationship era

Ilya's future in hockey is uncertain, so he and Shane decide that getting married will solve all their problems.

Read Chapter Six on AO3

‘Maybe he’s got a girl,’ Mitty called out from the other side of the room. ‘There was that photo the hot chick posted the other day of her and Shane.’

‘What? No. There’s no girl,’ Shane retorted, turning his gaze away from his teammates’ overly interested faces. ‘She was just some fan, alright, she stopped me for a photo while I was out running. I haven’t had a girlfriend since Jessica.’

Hayden winced. ‘Right. Sorry.’ Then an idea seemed to strike him. ‘What about that Lily chick you’re always texting?’

Shane dropped his glove, and hurriedly bent down to pick it back up, hiding his flushing face. ‘Hayd, I don’t want to talk about it. It was just family stuff, alright? And… and Lily’s not my girlfriend, it’s nothing like that.’

Hayden patted his arm. ‘Sorry, buddy. You know we care about you. Maybe you should ask this Lily out, you know? Maybe she’s the one. You don’t know until you try.’

continue on AO3

Read from beginning on AO3

[megwoodhp]

🔥Star Crossed🧚‍♀️

Johnny Storm x Megan Gwynn (Pixie)

Fantastic Four/X-Men

Chapter 6 Babysitting Blunders

"Exactly how many times do you babysit on a monthly basis?" Megan asked, looking down at little Franklin, who was on the living room rug, surrounded by books ranging from pictures only to textbooks on quantum physics.

"This month is an anomaly," Johnny told her. He sat on the couch next to Franklin and picked up a book off the floor.

A few days had past since the incident with Mad Thinker, but that wasn't the part that Megan remembered the most from that night. It was the way Johnny looked at her amongst the clouds and stars. The divide between them, but also the undeniable attraction that made her heart beat faster when she was around him. He also irritated her in a way no other man had.

"I thought Reed said H.E.R.B.I.E. was capable of babysitting Franklin?"

"When he was a baby, sure," Johnny said, and opened the book on his lap. "But he turns two in a couple of weeks. Herbert needs the extra help."

The little Robot rolled its way into the living room and Johnny scratched his head. He beeped and booped, before heading to Franklin and stacking the books into a pile. Franklin's brows furrowed as he took the books out of the pile and scattered them over the floor again.

"He's very particular, isn't he?" Megan smirked.

"About a lot of things, yes," Johnny replied, chuckling.

"So, where is Ben tonight?" She asked and sat down beside him on the couch.

Johnny rested his hands behind his head and fell back against the couch cushions. A faint smile curled at the corner of lips. "A date."

Her head whipped over, eyes wide. "Ben has a girlfriend?"

The smile only grew wider on Johnny's face as he turned his head to face Megan. "Yup. They've been together for about six months now, I think."

"And she didn't come to family dinner?"

Johnny shook his head and got up from the couch. Franklin's attention briefly went to Johnny before returning to organizing his books. Johnny headed over to the kitchen and opened the fridge, pulling out a glass container with a light blue rubber lid on it.

Content that Franklin was busy with his literature, Megan got up from the couch and made her way to the kitchen. She sat on the stool across from Johnny while he pulled open the container and lifted it to smell.

"Why doesn't she come to family dinner?" Megan asked.

He grabbed a paper towel and laid it over the glass dish. "Ben said, she's afraid we won't like her."

"Wait. What?" Megan's eyes widened like saucers.

"I guess we're intimidating," he grinned while placing the dish into the microwave.

"That doesn't look like enough dinner for all of us?" Megan inquired, nodding her head at the microwave.

"Because it's not for all of us. That's Franklin's dinner."

Then what are we having for dinner?"

His grin grew just as the microwave beeped. "It's a surprise."

The savory scent of tomato sauce wafted out of the microwave when Johnny opened it. He pulled open a drawer beside the sink and pulled out a fork, using it to stir the noodles and sauce. Megan breathed in deep and her stomach responded with a loud grumble.

"I hope we aren't waiting too long to eat," She said, adjusting herself on the stool.

"Not at all. Franklin usually goes to bed not long after he eats, and right after I'll get ours started."

"You're going to cook?" She laughed. "Isn't that H.E.R.B.I.E.'s job?"

"Not all the time," He replied. "Wanna grab Franklin for me?"

With a quick nod, Megan swiveled on the stool and jumped up. H.E.R.B.I.E. was no where in sight when she reached the living room. But he wasn't the only one missing. The circle of books was still there, but Franklin was not. She peaked under the couch and end tables, lifting up the throw blankets as well, just in case.

"Franklin," She said softly, "Are you hiding?"

No response. Not even a babble.

"Johnny," She said louder and turned her head back to the kitchen.

"What's up?" He hollered back.

"Franklin isn't here."

The sound of silverware on glass stopped. Within two seconds, Johnny was at her side. His arms crossed over his chest and his brows furrowed. Megan couldn't help but take notice of his biceps straining against the maroon fabric of his t-shirt. She shook her head, trying to get the thought to go away. There were more pressing things. Like where Franklin was.

"Does he usually do this?"' She asked.

"What? Hide? Not usually."

"I checked under everything," she told him, lifting one of the throw pillows as if Franklin would be under it. "Where could he be?"

"Let's divide and conquer," He said, "There are only so many places here a two year old could go."

"Right."

He raised his hand for a high five. She smacked her hand hard against his and went racing off to another side of the house.

Johnny pushed open the door of the nursery. The lights were off. The room was faintly illuminated my the city lights peaking through the curtains. He checked under the crib and inside the closet, before moving to the dresser and checking each drawer. But, no luck. He wasn't in the nursery.

He moved from room to room, each one a bust. Where was his nephew? At the start of the search he wasn't panicked, but with each room being cleared the worry was bubbling up. He hadn't heard the elevator at all, so Franklin had to be on either the first or second floor of the house, and that's if Franklin took the stairs. He knew how to use them. Johnny remembered Sue working with Franklin on that. But every room on the second floor was empty.

"Megan," He shouted from the top of the stairs.

She ran out of the laundry room and stopped at the bottom of the stairs. "Any luck?"

He shook his head. "You?"

"No," She said, her voice shaky.

He noticed the concern in her eyes.

"We'll find him," he said, trying to reassure himself as well as her.

"Where did H.E.R.B.I.E go? Maybe he's with him. He knows how to use to elevator right?"

"Yeah, but I never heard it open or close," Johnny replied.

"We were pretty busy talking in the kitchen Johnny, we could have missed it."

Both of them turned to the elevator. "Reed's Lab." Johnny said softly and rushed to the elevator with Megan in tow. He pressed the down button and waiting impatiently, tapping his foot. His lips pursed as the doors opened with a ding. They rushed inside and he pushed the button for the lab. Only a few moments passed and the doors opened.

The lab was quiet save for the small beeps coming from H.E.R.B.I.E, who was in front of Reed's large curved chalkboard. Franklin was beside him, a piece of chalk in hand. Johnny let out a sigh of relief as they made their way over to the pair.

"Whatcha doing buddy?" Johnny asked Franklin, kneeling beside him.

At Franklin's level on the chalkboard were equations. Johnny knew the boy was intelligent beyond his years, but what was written before him blew his mind. Franklin was trying to work out the wormhole equations his dad still had scribbled higher up on the board.

"Is that what I think that is?" Megan asked, kneeling on the other side of Franklin.

"Yeah, and it looks like he's closer to a solution then Reed is."

Franklin brought the chalk back to the board and wrote a few more lines. Johnny couldn't pull his eyes away as the toddler wrote out more of the theoretical formula.

"Should we let him continue?" Megan whispered.

As much as he wanted to let Franklin keep going, he knew he had to get his nephew fed and to bed or else Sue would give him an earful about the strict schedule she'd set for him.

He shook his head. "Come on little man. Let's get you some dinner."

Johnny grabbed the chalk from the boy's hand and set it on the ledge of the chalkboard, then lifted him up into his arms. Megan and H.E.R.B.I.E. follow behind as they all filed into the elevator, taking it back to the main floor of the house.

The rest of the night with Franklin went off without a hitch, but Johnny couldn't get the equations out of his head as he opened the box of spaghetti pasta and dumped it into the boiling pot of water. How could he know more about how to get Megan home than Reed did?

"I love spaghetti," Megan beamed, pulling Johnny from his thoughts.

He let a smile grow on his face. "Well, good, because you're about to taste Johnny's special spaghetti."

"What's so special about it?" She asked, resting her chin in her hands.

"Can't tell you."

"That's not fair," she grumbled, but the curl of a grin on her lips gave away that she wasn't really upset about it.

He grabbed a spoon from the spinning container that held all the large utensils. Lifting the lid off the top of the saucepan, he stirred the contents and pulled the spoon out. He leaned over the island and held the spoon out to Megan.

"Taste."

She lifted her head from her hands and wrapped her lips around the tip of the spoon. She let out a moan, and her eyes closed. A flicker of heat shot from Johnny's heart down to his groin at the sound of Megan's enjoyment. His heart rate quickened the moment Megan's lips left the spoon and her tongue ran over her upper lip.

"That's delicious," she said as her eyes fluttered open.

His cheeks heated, and he set the spoon down on the towel beside the pan.

"I'm glad you like it," he choked out.

"You gonna tell me what's in it now?" She giggled.

"Nope."

His gaze remained on her, so lost in her black and white eyes, that when she jumped up from the stool, it startled him.

"Johnny! The noodles are boiling over!"

He blinked rapidly. Megan turned the knob of the burner, lowering the heat. Her wings fluttered as she turned her attention away from the water.

"Sorry, I was uh, distracted."

"Oh, yeah?" She asked.

His breathing was shallow, watching her turn away from the pasta to face him directly. She took a few steps towards him, but he took a few back. He wanted her, but the time between them was finite. He had to be logical about her. About them. With Franklin's help, Reed would figure out how to get Megan home sooner than he thought, and that meant he shouldn't get attached. More than he already had.

"Everything okay?" She asked, her eyes hooded as she took another step towards him.

"Megan," he said in a low voice.

"Johnny."

Her pink hair fell over her shoulders, and he wanted to reach out and touch it, but he stopped himself. He took another step back, slamming into the fridge.

Her sultry eyes changed in an instant to frustration. "Why do you keep doing that?"

"What?" He asked, playing dumb.

"Backing away from me Johnny," She said through pursed lips.

"I don't know," He lied.

"Johnny." She whined loudly.

His chest rose and fell slowly as she closed the distance between them. "You're going to leave at some point," He replied softly.

She stopped in her tracks. "Yeah, but I'm here right now. Doesn't that count for something?"

"It does, but—"

"You can't tell me in this moment, you don't want to kiss me," She grinned, resting a hand on his chest.

He brought his hand up to rest gently on her wrist. "Megan, this is going to end. We both know it. Doesn't that concern you?"

"Johnny, shut up." She scolded. "Do you want to kiss me or not?"

He was taken aback. "Do you want me to kiss you?"

"There is no way you are actually asking me that right now." She replied in disbelief.

"It's a simple question."

"Dammit Johnny, kiss me!"

His lips crashed into hers before he gave his brain a moment to think. Her hair was soft in his fingers as he reached up to pull her deeper into the kiss. Sparks of fire raced through his body from her moans. Her hands moved up to his neck, and she kissed him back frantically.

He heard her gasp when he wrapped his free arm around her waist and lifted her onto the island beside the stovetop. His body rested perfectly between her open legs, that proceeded to wrap around his waist, pulling him closer to her.

Her whimpers of pleasure only spurred him on, letting his lips part. She followed suit, as her lips opened and his tongue intertwined with hers. A low groan escaped his lips, and he couldn't stop himself, letting his primal urges take over. He scotched her farther on the island, and she laid back; her legs still clamped tightly around his waist. A loud crash of metal and plastic told him the utensils were now on the floor.

Her taste was intoxicating to him. He couldn't get enough, until he felt her body wince under him.

He broke the kiss as his attention turned to her wings.

"Are you okay?"

Her breathing was rapid. "I'm fine," She said, gasping for breath. Her hand wrapped around his neck and she pulled his lips back down to hers.

One of his hands roamed her side, memorizing every curve of her body. She was gorgeous. Every inch of her was perfection. Her free hand, that wasn't holding his head down to hers, moved to the hem of his shirt. Her fingertips moved under the fabric and over his abdomen. He let out a gasp of his own from the crass of her soft skin on his.

He let his own free hand move over her breasts and up to her wings, where he let the tip of his finger trace along the delicate iridescence. Her response was instant. Her back arched, and her hips moved against him. His cock hardened, and he was sure she felt it because the grip she had on his waist tightened with every rock of her hips.

Her lips broke from his and her head threw back while his fingers moved gingerly along every line of her wings.

"Johnny," she whimpered. "Oh God."

"I want you Megan," He groaned. "Dammit, I want you."

She increased her movement against him and his head dipped down to place heated kissed on her neck.

"Johnny," she moaned as her hand moved further under his shirt until it reached his chest.

Ding

The sound of the elevator reaching the first floor of the house carried into the kitchen. Johnny's lips left Megan's neck, and he jumped off of her quickly. When his foot hit the tile floor, he felt himself slipping on a puddle of water before he could stop himself. One of Megan's legs was still hooked around him, and she came toppling down to the floor with him. His head hit the cabinet with a thud, and Megan fell into his arms.

"Ouch," He groaned, reaching his hand up to his head.

Megan laughed and brought her own hand up to his head. "You okay?"

"What happened here?" Reed asked, coming around the corner.

Sue peaked around him, a smirk forming on her lips.

"We just slipped," Megan giggled.

"Yeah," Johnny agreed with her with his own giggling. "We slipped."

"Why didn't you have H.E.R.B.I.E. cook dinner?" Reed asked.

Megan turned her attention back to Johnny and their eyes met. A knowingness passed between them as they continued to laugh.