#Enjoy the clearing with the knowledge that the true end of the dark forest exists and can be reached

[allegra-writes]

“The Devil all the time”

Hunter!Tom x Demon!Reader

Supernatural AU

NSFW

Warnings: Smut

"Break the silence, damn the dark

Damn the light..."

The Chain - Fleetwood Mac

Forget everything you thought you knew, you had every reason to be afraid of the dark when you were a kid. In this world where monsters are real, the Holland brothers hunt them so normal people can continue to live in the bliss of ignorance.

But when something goes terribly wrong, Tom will do anything to save his brother's life, including selling his soul to the devil. Well... Not exactly the devil, but close enough.

You don't need to watch Supernatural to read this AU

MY MASTERLIST

He knew it was you, even before turning. He knew it as soon as he heard your deceptively delicate footsteps break the supernatural silence that had fallen over the forest the moment he had buried the little metal box in the old crossroad. Tom didn't want to think about what it meant, having such an intimate knowledge of you to be able to recognize you by the cadence of your steps, being so in sync with you that he could tell whenever you were in the vicinity. 

So he used his favorite deflection technique whenever it came to you.

"Y/n? What's a nice girl like you doing in a place like this? Sorry, did I say nice girl? I meant evil skank"

The insult didn't phase you. None ever did. It was hard to take them seriously when you knew how many nights he fell asleep with your name on his lips, after pathetically releasing himself into his own hand, or fucking his boring girl-next-door girlfriend, chasing orgasm over unsatisfactory orgasm that would never completely satiate him. Because it wasn't your face the one contorted in pleasure looking up at him from the mattress.

"You called. I came" You batted your lashes, sweetly. "I always come when you call…" 

He gulped, the innuendo not lost to his ears. It threw him off guard, like it always did. 

"I would have thought this would be… beneath you" Tom cleared his throat, looking away, trying to regain his footing, "collecting a deal, like a vulgar crossroad demon"

There was nothing vulgar about the soul of a Holland. But he didn't need to know that, so you just shrugged,

"Queen Rowena has an interest in you boys. She finds you entertaining. I'm just being a good subdit" 

He scoffed,

"Funny. I would have never peg you for a sub"

You took a step closer to him.

"You don't have what it takes to make me submit, Holland" Your hot breath fanned over his skin, setting his skin on fire. Making his blood boil. You had a way of doing that, of bringing out the worst in him. Of making him lose control. And you thoroughly enjoyed it, poking at the bear until the claws came out, laughing at the carnage.

Another step, and you could physically feel it: The hate, radiating from his every pore, his mind screaming with it. He hated you. He hated your kind. He hated your beauty. He hated the pretty white dress you were wearing, so pure and innocent, glowing like a beacon in the dark. A lure, guiding uncountable men before him into perdition. 

But above all else, he hated that, even then, he couldn't help but to want you. Fervently. Desperately. Irreversibly. 

"I came here to make a deal" He croaked, cursing himself internally for showing weakness. 

"Let's negotiate, then," you replied, stepping away, mercifully letting him breath. 

"My brother-"

"I know" You interrupted, sounding bored already, "Reapers everywhere are going berserk. Who, oh who, will get to reap the soul of a Holland?" 

The wind picked up, making your long dress billow around your legs. You twirled a little, admiring the way it moved. Tom's eyes were glued to you, almost hypnotized. Partly because you were too dangerous to be left unsupervised even for a second, partly because you looked beautiful like that. It had never been more obvious to him that you were an unearthly creature, you didn't belong to this world. There, surrounded by greenery, barefoot, swaying softly under the twilight light, he wondered how could anybody ever mistake you for a human.

"Of course" your apathetic voice took him out of his revery, "being reapers, watching them go wild is rather boring. I swear they are the most uninteresting beings of all creation" 

That made him see red.

"Boring? Boring?!" He knew his voice was rising with every word but he just couldn't help it, "They're waiting for my little brother to die!!"

"Which could happen any minute now," You reminded him, all playfulness gone from your demeanor, "so if you wanna strike a deal, I suggest you start making me an offer worth my time"  

He was taken aback by that.

"I- My soul in exchange of a wish, and you collect it in ten years" He tried and failed not to think about what that implied: vicious, invisible hounds of hell tearing apart his body and dragging his soul to hell, "Isn't that the usual deal?"

You scoffed,

"After all the things you did in your life, what makes you think your soul doesn't belong in hell already? And if your brother dies, that is one less Holland on earth to worry about. You and your brothers have managed to become a big pain in the ass for us…"

He pulled out a knife, a strange one, with runes in the blade. You arched a brow in recognition

"The Winchesters' knife. Are you threatening me, little hunter?" 

Your lack of reaction was another blow. He had hoped you'd be more impressed than that. Nonetheless he turned it in his hands, offering you the handle.

"I'm throwing it into the deal" 

To his surprise, you didn't immediately take it from his hands, choosing instead to pace the clearing, deep in thought. 

The truth was you couldn't care less about the knife, it wasn't more dangerous to you than a toothpick. And while it was true it could certainly damage your queen, she had a far better weapon to protect herself: You.

But it did confirm your suspicions about the Hollands having access to the old Winchester arsenal, which meant they had access to something way more dangerous than that rustic weapon made of steel and bone. A book, made of ancient dark magic and human skin, written in blood. A book that was precious to queen Rowena and by extension to you: the Book of the Damned. 

The Hollands were a family of extremely talented, yes, but old fashioned hunters. The stab first, ask questions later kind. They probably had no idea what they had in their hands… but you did. 

"Very well then," you finally declared, "this is my offer: Your soul and that knife in exchange for sweet Harry's life and one year for you to get all your businesses in order" 

Tom felt all the blood drain from his face. One year. Just 365 more days to live, before an eternity of torture in hell. 

"O-one year?" He breathed.

"One year" You confirmed, "More than enough time to go see the Grand Canyon, eat the world's spiciest burger or whatever you have on your bucket list" 

The disdain in your words only made him hate you harder.

"Not nearly enough to live" He replied through clenched teeth. You rolled your eyes, 

"You're a hunter. You lead short, violent existences, charging head first towards what most humans run away from. Things faster, stronger, more powerful than you, surviving each encounter out of sheer luck. Killing one monster after another, until that luck runs out. Because the monsters? Unlike you who rely on it everyday, they just need. One. Single. Lucky. Strike." You punctuated every word with one step in his direction, until you were face to face again. Until, for the first time ever, you could see the fear, the desperating hopelessness he kept hidden inside, reflected on the warm coffee of his eyes. You knew a lesser man would be already crying and begging for Mercy.

Tom wasn't like other men though, that was the whole point. 

"Or…" You soften your tone and your stance, letting your fingers ghost over the back of his hand, his whole skin erupting in goosebumps. That was the very first time you touched him. Ever. 

And it was as if nobody had ever touched him before, the light caress enough to set every nerve ending, every single one of his cells, alight.

He was so distracted by the sensation and his body's response to it, he almost didn't hear your next words over the sound of his own pounding heart. 

"Or you could keep your little pocket knife, and even have your ten years if…"

"If?" He struggled to focus.

"You let me borrow a book"

His brows furrowed in confusion,

"A book? What book?"

"Any book of my liking, for as long as I want" You shrugged it off, "Do we have a deal?"

There was a catch there, it was obvious. He knew he was going to regret it but, what choice did he have? 

"Deal"

Your smile was blinding, luminous. If he didn't know any better, he would have called it angelical. Now, that was one ridiculous thought.

"What now? We seal it with a kiss?" His eyes fell to your lips, so soft looking and inviting. He wasn't eager to put his mouth on a filthy demon and doom himself. He wasn't. 

You chuckled, but there was no humor behind it.

"Oh no, darling. This is big. This is special" You're special, "A simple kiss just won't cut it…"

No. You couldn't mean… could you? Was there no limits to your hatred for him? Did you really want him so defeated, so humiliated? 

"What do you want?" He spat through gritted teeth.

"The same thing you want" You put your hands on his chest, rising to your tiptoes to whisper in his ear, "The same thing you have wanted ever since we first met . The thing that's obsessing you..."

"I don't know what you're talking about"

You smirked,

"You can lie to your family, you can even lie to yourself, little hunter... But you can't lie to me." 

He couldn't hide, you could see every fantasy, hear every single one of his thoughts of you on repeat, like a prayer in your direction. Just like he couldn't hide the way his skin was burning now for you, the way his blood rushed south, the way all logical thought left his brain, his iron grip on his emotions finally breaking as he snapped. 

Lightning fast, in just a blink, he twirled you around, your back hitting the rough bark of a tree, as he towered over you, demon blade to your throat, every inch of his body pressed against yours. His eyes were ablazed with rage, and passion, as he surged forward, striking you with his best hit.

He kissed you. 

Lips vicious against yours, teeth biting and scraping only to soothe the offense seconds later with his tongue, until he was dizzy, light headed with the lack of oxygen and the taste of you. The hand not holding the knife to your neck fell to your breast, squeezing the pliant flesh with enough force to cause pain on a human woman, merely making you moan. He swallowed the sound, letting his fingers trace your waist, your hips, clawing at your dress until he finally, finally, felt skin under his fingertips. 

It was better than anything his mind had conjured in his feverish fantasies in the dead of the night. The skin of your inner thighs velvety soft, as they parted under his touch, the sweetest sounds leaving your lips as his fingers found your naked core. You weren't wearing any underwear, probably never had. The realization that, in all your past encounters and fights you had been standing there, just feet away from him with nothing under that damn dress hit him like a truck, making his head swim. 

He searched between your folds, and suddenly his fingers were inside you. He was inside you, a part of him was buried deep within you, within your silky heat, claiming you as his, if only for the night. 

And you were so wet for him, and only getting wetter as he pumped his fingers in and out of you, scissoring them, opening you up until he was able to slip a third one in, fucking you with his hand in earnest. You were sobbing, clutching at his biceps, head thrown back in pleasure. He took advantage of that to suck bruises on your neck, only to see them fade before his eyes. Your skin tasted clean, smelled like wild flowers and rain. Ozone. Lightning. Like those coursing through his veins with every cry, every delicious gasp you made. 

He found the perfect spot inside you, the one that sent sparks through your nerves with every stroke of his calloused fingers. 

"This what you wanted?" To make him lose it? Lose his mind, himself, in you? "For me to make you come on just my fingers, like the little slut you are?"

The floor disappeared from under his feet as you sent him flying away from you, a searing pain exploding at the back of his head as he landed, sprawled at the feet of an old, dying oak. With blurry eyes, he saw you stalk towards him, all power and cold, controlled fury. 

"Let's get one thing straight, Holland. I'm not one of your sluts" You sneered, "and I'm definitely not your basic bitch of a girlfriend. So you better start showing me a little respect, are we clear?"

He gulped, sitting up. He had to be seriously fucked up in the head, for his cock to be twitching inside his pants at your threatening tone.

"Crystal" 

"Good" You declared, coming to a stop right in front of him, standing between his parted legs, "Now, let's put that mouth of yours to a better use"

He knew that image was going to be forever tattooed on his brain: You standing in front of him, holding the skirt of your dress up, waiting for him to put his mouth on you. Tom took a moment to admire you, before delving in, flattening his tongue over your slit, before drawing tight, precise circles on your clit with the tip. God, you tasted so divine it was messing with his head; something as dark and corrupted and twisted as you, feeling so exquisite, so perfect, so heavenly to his every sense. 

He helped you hook your knee over his shoulder, his other arm snaking around your leg, pulling you even closer. You could feel his smirk against your cunt the moment he realized your legs were shaking, but you couldn't find it in yourself to care, not with his wicked talented mouth devouring you like a last meal, rocking your whole world, making you see stars behind your closed eyelids.

You always knew that man would make the stars fall. 

Tom kept on, penetrating you with his tongue as far as it would go, his whole face moving against you. The slight burn of his scruff felt delicious against your delicate labia, as he used his fingers to open you up like a flower, separating your petals to get to the delectable nectar inside. You were close, he could feel it, the obscene sounds you were making, the waves of sweetness falling on his lips feeding his ego, filling him up with pride. By the time the night was over, you'd be unable to forget him. He would make sure of that. He would make you come, over and over, until the only thoughts left in your brain were of him, the only word your lips knew how to speak was his name. He would mark you, like a bloodstain, like you had done to him. 

Almost there, he almost had you. Your muscles were locking, your walls starting to tremble, when a loud crack resonated over his head, and you stepped away on unstable legs, breathing hard. You didn't even need to breathe, it was just his effect on you. He made you feel human. And it was both exhilarating, and terrifying. 

You took another step back, but he took hold of your ankle, tugging hard enough to make you fall on his lap, white skirt covering the place where his hands were fumbling with his zip, with his boxers, aligning himself with your entrance.

"Fuck!" He cursed, as you sank on his rock hard cock, not giving him any time to get used to the feeling of you around him, before starting to move. 

"How does it feel" You taunted, "fucking a monster? Is it as good as you dreamed of?"

Better. You felt even better. Tom hadn't thought it was possible, but he loathed you even more for it. 

"Shut up" He growled. 

You leaned forwards, breath hot against his ear,

"Cause you feel amazing, Tom. Your cock feels like heaven" 

His hand tangled in your hair, keeping you in place as he crashed his mouth to yours again, the other fumbling for the buttons at the back of your dress, tugging and pulling, tearing at the fabric, in his haste to feel more. More of your skin against his, more of the body that had been his hyper fixation for far too long. 

You sat up, still grinding on his cock, letting the tattered dress fall to your waist, watching in satisfaction as his eyes went wide, zeroing on the way your breasts bounced in sync with your hips. 

Reaching up, for a glorious second Tom could feel one perfect pebbled nipple against his palm, the roundness, the weight of your soft flesh on his fingers; before an invisible force pinned his hands to his sides. 

You tsked.

"Still don't get it, do you little hunter? This?" You let yourself fall all the way down his thick cock, hard, tearing twin moans from his mouth and yours, "This isn't about you. This is about me." 

Leaning back, you braced yourself on his strong thighs, changing the angle, changing your movements to a slower rocking against his pelvis. The friction against your clit was perfect, the feeling of his big, throbbing dick so deep inside you, stretching you like no one before, sending electrical pulses through your spine. It was decadent. It was ecstasy.

It was torture. Underneath you, Tom was sobbing, eyes bright with unshed tears, fighting in vain against his bonds. He needed it faster, harder, anything to help tilt him over the edge you were keeping him on, your sweet cunt too tight, too good around him to allow his cock to soften, your rhythm too leisured to let the tensed, strained coil inside him to snap. You were uncaring, using him remorselessly to get yourself off, your little moans getting higher in pitch the closer you came to your climax. Tom felt himself getting higher just by looking at your beautiful pleasure ridden face. You cried out, and suddenly it was happening, you were coming, pulsating around his cock, falling apart on top of him.

And the ground beneath him quaked. The sky above his head bled, the blue twilight torn open by lightning, and thunder, despite the fact that there wasn't a single cloud marring its diaphaneity. You fell forwards, hand braced on the tree, next to his face, ridding the aftershocks of your orgasm until the end. 

"No!" Tom cried when, after a few seconds of catching your breath, you dismounted him, letting his dick slip out of you. 

You arched a brow,

"Something you want, Tommy?" 

He locked his mouth shut, gritting his teeth. You smiled, amused, knuckles stroking his still iron hard cock.

"Do you need more, little hunter?" You enveloped him in your hand, moving it up and down his member, watching the head disappear under his foreskin, "Do you need to come?"

He banged the back of his head against the bark.

"Yes!" He finally admitted, "So badly…"

"Then beg" You commanded, stilling your hand. He snapped open the eyes he hadn't realized he had closed. Oh, if looks could kill…

"Never" He hissed, livid.

"Very well, then" You picked up your pace, pumping him fast, your grip almost too rough. He gasped for air, feeling the telltale tightening of his balls, the coil inside just about to break under the tension. But you must have felt it too, cause your hand let go of him altogether. Too late, he understood what you were doing.

One beat. And then another, and he was coming all over his t-shirt, orgasm completely ruined. 

He cursed, tears escaping through the corner of his eyes, fingers digging into the moist ground under his hands. You chuckled, cruelly, standing up and stepping out of your shredded dress. He could have ganked you with the demon blade in that moment, he really could have, except his hands were still pinned by an invisible force at his sides. 

"Let me go, you bitch," Tom growled, tossing, fighting against his restraints to no avail, "aren't you done?!"

"Not quite." You smiled, mockingly sweet, "Just one more thing before I leave. Don't worry, it will only hurt for a minute…"

He renewed his efforts to escape, as you bended over, reaching for his chest, white hot pain burning through his ribs. He almost cried out, but what he saw stole the voice from his throat, turned his blood into ice inside his veins, leaving him shaking, jaw slack and mouth open in a soundless scream: 

You, naked and gorgeous and terrible. Transfixed, eyes glowing with a supernatural indigo light, the shadow of two massive, bended, broken wings projected on the trees behind you.

Not a demon, he thought. You're not a demon.

You smiled, and it was terrifying.

"No. I'm the thing demons have nightmares about" You replied out loud to the words he had only said in his mind, "And now, little hunter, you belong to me. Mind, body and soul"

[writing-the-end]

LoL Chapter 43- Remember

Masterpost

A Wizard Hermits tale (AU, designs, ideas belongs to @theguardiansofredland)

Finding Mumbo isn’t the only challenge facing the hermits. They need to remind him who his family really is. 

_______________________________________

“....i….a….n….? Gri…..Grian!” Iskall’s voice, tainted with fear, breaks through the empty unconsciousness that gripped Grian. He winces, pain shooting through every nerve and muscle of his being, his heart aching and fingers numb. xB is hovering over him, bending water to ease the pain and electricity that still runs through his body. Jevin’s slime runs across the burns that lightning has left behind. In the air, a faint scent of burnt chicken permeates around Grian. 

He sits upright, terror ricocheting and intertwining with the pain in his body. Despite the horrible pain of electricity conducting through him, and the Forest of Memories using his proclivity for pain to drag him deeper into despair, his first worry is Mumbo lost in the woods.

Mumbo’s a city boy. He doesn’t know anything about the wild. Even if he’s just lost, he could fall down a ravine, or get caught in carnivorous vines, or hunted by a beast. But this isn’t any forest- this is the Forest of Memories, haunting him with his past, his fears. And haunting him with what just happened. 

But it’s not just that Mumbo is from the city. He also knows his best friend's brain will turn his memories, his thoughts, his actions against him. It couldn’t have been any other hermit, one that wasn’t so insecure about their position among the guild, their ability to be a mage. It had to be Mumbo, the newest, the most fearful. It attacked him knowing he saw himself as the weakest link. And it made him believe it, see it. 

“We have to go after that spoon.” Grian states, standing. He wobbles like a newborn shleep, falling to his knees. 

“Hold up, Grian. You literally just had 300 million volts use your body as a lightning rod, I know you’re the guild healer and all but you can’t go running after him.” Cleo holds him down, keeping him from trying to run off into the woods. “Grian stop! You can’t run off on your own, or the Hangman’s Playground will turn your thoughts against you. We’ll go together.” 

“How will we even know where he’s gone?” Keralis questions, reaching out to pet a shleep that had wandered into the clearing. The second the bug mage’s fingers sink into the galactic wool, red bolts of static zap him with a yelp. 

“I think he went that way.” BDubs points, seeing other shleep going to the east, static bolts of red energy dancing between swirls of starry fur. Zed is positively delighted to have the company of the shleep in the terrifying forest, and he makes sure to keep the ruminants spirits high to help with the sanity of the rest of the group. 

Iskall helps Grian to his feet, letting the angelic being rest lean on his shoulder, his friend stumbling along with the group. Joe casts a spell which enchants a compass that Wels had, pointing the direction of Mumbo. Though the poem rhyming ass with compass was a bit much. 

The longer they spend within the Forest of Memories, the longer it’s effects linger and worm their way through their defenses. Stress’s amulet shatters, breaking in a burst of darkness. Immediately, the memories of her life before the hermits flood back in. She ignores the laughter, the empty parties and emptier people, running forward and grabbing another amulet to protect herself. They’re all fighting off their own demons, but the knowledge that Mumbo may be fighting his alone keeps them moving forward. 

Ren tips his head up, sniffing the air and wagging his tail. “I smell a change in the air, I think we’re close.” 

“You can’t possibly smell Mumbo, he’s not that stinky.” Iskall jeers, pushing a copse of brambles out of the way. 

“It’s not Mumbo I smell- it’s his magic. It smells like ozone.” Ren disappears through the green foliage, though his tail gets stuck on the way out. He yanks it free a few times. 

“Why would magic smell like oz-” Iskall’s cut off when he gets his answer. A bolt of lightning burns the grass at his feet, red lightning branching and crackling through the sky. 

Grian let’s go of Iskall, stumbling forward. “Mumbo…” 

Hovering in the air, surrounded by bolts of lightning striking at random intervals and places, the multi-mage is lost within his own magic. A power surge, fully realized, and well beyond Mumbo’s control. He was alone, with no one to calm his fears, to help him reign in his magic. Mumbo’s eyes are open, though glowing and crackling with energy. His arms hang limp, his feet at least a meter off the ground. 

Mumbo’s in a power surge. TFC tries to step closer, but with every forward step any hermit takes, they’re forced to retreat two lest they be struck down like Grian was. He’s not even conscious enough to realize what he’s doing. And the surge is getting stronger. Lightning begins to burn the trees around them, setting the wood on fire. The shleep that were following Zed scatter, their wool turning a misty black. 

“He’s going to destroy everything!” Beef warns, jumping back and stomping out a fire started by the lightning. 

“He’s going to destroy himself!” Xisuma adds. “But how in the world are we going to get close enough to talk him down?” 

Iskall and Grian look at one another. They’re Mumbo’s best friends, if there’s anyone that could bring him back to reality, it’s Iskall and Grian. The architechs. Iskall casts his magic, his own radioactive iskallium negates the energy of Mumbo’s magic, and Grian wraps his arms around Iskall and flutters into the air, within shouting distance of Mumbo. He struggles with his wounds, but refuses to drop Iskall. At least, not this time. “Mumbo? Mumbo!” 

Grian’s shouts fall on deaf ears, the hollow form of Mumbo possessed only by magic. Iskall and Grian look at one another, then back at Mumbo. “Mumbo, look! Grian’s fine, it’s not the worst wound he’s ever gotten, you know that!” 

“Mumbo, I know you think we don’t want you.” Grian ducks, his hair standing on end as a bolt of lightning nearly hits him again. “But that’s not true! You’re a part of this family, you’re a hermit! We aren’t like other guilds, we aren’t like your parents were. I asked you to join us because you were fun, and unique, and different. That’s what this guild is for.” 

“You’re so strong Mumbo, because no matter how many times things don’t seem to work out, or your magic is just out of reach, you still keep trying! We all admire how no matter what happens, you still get right back up and try again. I mean, Grian and I have mega thrashed you before, and you just stand up and go for it again!” Iskall notices Mumbo’s eyes blink, and the loud roar of cracking lightning and thunderous roars begin to deafen. 

“Yeah, Mumbo we know you’re strong! You’ve beaten us before, and we’re two S-class mages! But we also understand your struggle. We see how hard you work.” Grian floats toward the ground, following as Mumbo’s feet touch down on the grass. Iskall kneels beside Mumbo, Grian wrapping his wings to coo and comfort all three. “Mumbo, we want you around. You are a hermit and you are a part of this family.” 

“You aren’t our weakest link, man. You’re our best friend.” Iskall breathes. He watches Mumbo blink once, then twice, and on the third time they can see his grey eyes once again. The last of the lightning fades away, Mumbo collapsing into his friends’ arms. 

“I’m so sorry, I hurt you.” Mumbo whimpers, turning his head. Embarrassed to look at Grian. He hurt his best friend. He could’ve killed all the others. 

“You know me, Mumbo.” Grian chuckles. “Nothing can keep me down for long.”

The other hermits join the architechs on the ground, reminding Mumbo how much he means to them. How he’s made their lives better, brighter, more fun. 

And the Forest of Memories can’t hurt them. 

The dark shadows lurking in the foliage instead show the dappled light of the sun through the trees. Rather than focusing on the negative, they see the light. Sunshine burns away the voices of those who wish to tear each hermit down. Doubtful family members, cruel guildmasters, even the voice of Magistrate Dolios himself is eradicated by the group’s sentimentality of each other. 

Instead, the Forest begins to play the best moments of their times together. Mumbo and Grian meeting, Team ZIT meeting TFC on the side of a road, the day Cleo beached her ship on an island that should never exist. Days spent basking in the sun, too hot to train, playing on the beach and in the waters of the Ashioll sea. Cheering on and betting during duels, but always there for both the winner and the loser. Training feeling more like play with the hermits, dinners are bright and happy even in the dark, the island flourishing with life during festivals as the hermits grow excited. Even when it rains, they can be the happiest days on the island. Huddling close to warm fires with mugs of cider, blankets wrapping around friends. Playing in the puddles, dancing in the rain, enjoying every second of their lives. 

They’re a family, though not by blood, but by choice. A family that nothing, not even the Hangman’s Playground, can tear apart.

[virgil-writes]

ash & soot

Long before the Winters come into play, a monster stalks the Forbidden Forest that surrounds the Village. Karl Heisenberg is sent to investigate, and heads deeper into darkness to find his prey, a thorn on his side and someone just like him. (Heisenberg x OC)

on AO3: chapter one | chapter two | chapter three | chapter four | chapter five | chapter six | chapter seven (ao3 only) | chapter eight | chapter nine | chapter ten | chapter eleven | chapter twelve | chapter thirteen (ao3 only, smut) | chapter fourteen

chapter 14 - prince

SFW, around 4.7K words. Heisenberg is a man of absolutely no feelings I guarantee you

Heisenberg has never done this before, not in almost a hundred years of existence, this tangling of limbs and shirking of duties. He has never once given in to such base urges without careful thought and consideration, instead preferring his encounters planned, short and sweet, in and out before anyone could get attached. He racks his brains looking for things to say once she is awake, for ways to tell her that this means nothing and that they will go back to being flirty acquaintances who spoke to each other in riddles. He digs deep into his thoughts to bury his feelings, refuses to acknowledge their existence long before they can rear their ugly heads. He breathes in, eyes closed, to gather his confidence, to build his persona like he did with the dawn of each new day. Whoever Karl Heisenberg truly was, truly wanted to be, he died every morning and was replaced by a driven, heartless monster.

She was a smart woman, she would get the hint. He will unwrap her arms from his torso, put his clothes back on and make some stupid comment about how she had a pair of tits to die for, but he had already been far too generous by gracing her with his presence this long. Then he will smirk and exit stage left, hold the mask until he is out of sight and has entered the forest, and will finally be done with the theatrics. Perfect plan, until his breath catches in his throat when she first stirs, fingers sleepily caressing his chest like she did the night before. He curses her for never making things easy on him.

She seems confused as she pulls away from him, her lazy stretch reminding him of a cat after a long nap. Her face has softened some, the usual furrow of her brow relaxed, deviant smile replaced with one of pure serenity, like a burden had been lifted off her shoulders. “Good morning, my lord,” she greets as she rubs sleep away from her eyes, and he is glad to notice her tone has changed, away from the throes of their passion and back to the casual nonchalance they had become used to treating each other with. “Did you sleep well?” He has no intentions of answering and she does not expect it, either, slides off the couch to gather their clothing scattered about. She hands him his without looking at him, dresses in silence as he does the same. The silence is tense but not awkward, like they were both content to ignore the existence of the other and of everything that had happened between them just hours prior. “Are you staying for breakfast?” The implication that she did not expect him to is crystal clear. If there was any hope of staying longer in his mind, she had quelled it quickly with that question, like she was done with him for the day, perhaps enough to last her a lifetime. It stings, but he is glad for it.

Heisenberg busies himself with putting his clothes back on - whoever’s clothes those were in the first place -, oblivious to her pacing around the house. He believes he is out of the woods and her reserves of kindness have run dry, only to lift his head and find her holding a basket with a loaf of bread in one hand and his trench coat in the other. From afar he can see it looks ten times better than it did when he walked in wearing it, cleaner, for one, holes stitched back together. He doesn’t stay and she sees him off with the same joy she has always shown him, watching him as he grabs the trench coat and food, then his hat from a hook next to the door, waving him away like she has done every time. They sign an unspoken contract that dictates they never speak of it again, though the fine print reads that it is not off the table and might once again come to pass if the opportunity ever presents itself. His journey back to the factory is quiet and uneventful in more ways than one, the forest sleeps away the early hours of the morning and his mind is void of thoughts and worries. He cannot help but notice that the world feels different, brighter, more vibrant even, the wind not hostile and instead a gentle breeze.

Heisenberg seems enveloped in a mist of cheer and placidness for the days that follow, all he has set in motion moving along like clockwork. Sturm awakens unbidden one night, for good this time, both a blessing and a curse upon him. He manages to study its performance and sketch improvements, however finds that he has forgotten to install an off switch on the damn creature. The freak hums and whirs night and day like it is singing him the song of its people, sometimes joyfully, sometimes in mourning, and that he is able to identify when the fucking thing is happy or sad is a clear indication that he has been listening to it for far too long. A stab of guilt hits him every time he yells down towards the bowels of the factory to tell the monster to shut it, he needs to work and the noise is maddening, but he is always reminded that he is the reason for it all, he has bestowed them all with a new lease of life and now has to deal with the consequences. This is all for a good cause, he reassures himself, and once the rebellion is over he will see to it personally that those who remain are given a humane dismantling and burial.

Every now and again he visits his little witch in the woods, when his days could have been better and he needs a pick-me-up. They never speak of the stormy night and the things they had done, not unlike he had planned, but speak of everything else, and they slowly climb the steps to an awkward friendship that is never truly allowed to blossom. It felt as if every time they would give each other a key, an intricately designed, golden key that would open the lock in their hearts. And every time one would try to open it, they would find yet another, stronger lock, closer to the end but not quite, mystery maintained. It was infuriating and addicting all at once, and he had grown quite fond of the back and forth that had become the most exciting part of his life.

Happiness is a drug that he should not indulge on, he decides. Amidst his work he plans something other than rebellion, other than murder. Sketches something other than machines, looks out the window on the top floor of the factory to daydream about the cabin that stood long abandoned at the edge of his land. It was large for a home in this ass-end of the world, two floors and an attic, a cellar that was used for coal storage and doubled as secret entrance to a tunnel connecting the house and the factory. A fenced garden in the backyard, a shed for tools and firewood. The outhouse was awkwardly placed, too close to the edge, but he had always thought it gave it some extra charm. Answer nature’s call while being dangerously close to it, as it were. The masonry oven outside had not been used for at least half a century, and the well had probably dried up by now. It had been his home for many years, before Miranda took away everything that was theirs and his life with it, before he began dedicating his life to rebellion and dreams of freedom. His room was the one at the end of the corridor upstairs, with a view of the river and the forest extending beyond the confines of the village. It was cramped and cold, a single floorboard always rattled during the night when the wind hit it, the window never fully closed and his father never bothered to fix it. Still, it was home, or it had been, and he sometimes found himself thinking of the good memories he’d had before it all went to shit.

Could it be home again, he wondered? It would be one hell of a spring project, between clearing the debris, dusting and fixing everything up. Nails and the corrugated metal roof would not be a problem, naturally, and the stonework of the first floor was still intact. But he hadn’t fixed a fence in many years, hadn’t sawed nor sanded a plank of wood in longer still. He had never been very good at cleaning anything except weapons and machines, and interior decorating was simply something that had never gone through his mind. It could be a home again, he mused as he brought the blowtorch close to his face to light his cigar, and maybe it would do him good to step away from the damp vapors of the factory every once in a while. But then again, would it be worth the effort and upkeep? He doubted the haulers would make good housekeepers, and he was content enough with his independent, bare, unkempt bachelor lifestyle. But those had never been his intentions, had they? A home but not for him, a home for her, right where he could see her, where he could walk a few minutes and knock on her door whenever.

All strictly professional, of course. She would be effectively isolated from the village and the outside world. Effectively isolated from everyone but him, and he could keep tabs on her and call upon her services when necessary. It was a proposal she would be dumb to refuse: a home easily three times bigger than the one she owned, a larger plot of land for her animals and garden, peace and quiet, access to the Duke for supplies, and even some fun every now and again if she played her cards right. There was also the matter that she would be… Safer, living so close to him, but that was of little importance. Naturally. It had only just occurred to him. He had not begun at that, no. He will give it some more thought over the next few weeks - neither of them would be going anywhere, now would they?

Mother calls him later that day to inform of a family meeting two weeks and a half away, to discuss usual business. They will gather at Donna’s this time around, and it should give them all an opportunity to parade themselves to the public. This is important, you see, she begins like she always does, for their worshipers grow restless with their absence. Heisenberg often feels like she has trained the villagers as one would a dog: starve them for long enough and give them a meager treat to keep them going, teach them that their devotion is rewarded with small miracles brought by hellfire and the tearing of flesh by lycans. He has spent far too long away from the public eye and it is always good practice to remind the villagers of his splendor, she continues. He agrees to strut down main street, bless every crafter that he comes across, and kiss the top of the head of every snotty child pushed in his direction by their parents. He even agrees to wear his Sunday best: the same thing he wore every single day, but with a shiny pin in the shape of his house’s crest.

He conceives his greatest idea yet in the meantime, a soldier that combines the combat capabilities of Eins and Zwei with the mobility of an aircraft. He has Sturm to thank for it, the incessant spinning of the blades having given him the spark to try and create a flying machine. No propeller blades, he decides as the very first thing when he begins drawing the schematics. He has had enough of the noise to last him a good couple of decades. Unsurprisingly, he is caught in a trance of working and passing out and waking up to work some more in the weeks that follow, entire days spent combing through the scrap heaps to find the right materials. He is reminded that the goddamn bed had done wonders for his back every time he deadlifts another engine to pick apart, but still refuses to say goodbye to his uncomfortable armchair and the wonderful massage of its loose springs.

He figures the name for it will strike him at the right moment, and for now focuses on adjusting the thrust speed, ensuring the soldier will land adequately and not simply crash while airborne, as funny as that would look. While Sturm required a sturdy specimen, this will need someone lighter, lankier, and he finds the perfect specimen in Miranda’s latest failed experiment, a young boy of some twenty years who had been orphaned long ago and had turned to the Black God for guidance. In truth, he was nothing more than an errand boy for Mother, bringing messages to and fro, collecting tithe and offerings for her. Heisenberg is curious to know what horrible sin has led him to where he is now, dead and open on his operating table, a wound bigger than his fist where the top of his spine should be. Cadou had begun to take hold when he passed, tendrils shooting out of the infection, and he saved the recently dead nematode for further study later.

Removing the organs is always the messiest part, and he drops armfuls of guts into a nearby bucket to discard later. The boy has broken ribs and is missing his heart, a sign that he had greatly felt Mother’s wrath. Heisenberg almost pities him, alone in the world with nothing but his faith to keep him going, but sooner or later he would have to learn that was the way of the world. It had worked just fine for him, painful but invaluable. He had played the cards he had been dealt and come out on top. Perhaps in another life he would have reached out to give the kid a hand, take him in and give him a job, so long as he stayed out of his way and kept his mouth shut. But then again, perhaps in another life circumstances would not have turned him to a ruthless bastard only out for himself.

Setting up the tubing always takes the longest, delicate work that requires his full attention and steady hands. It feels like fighting an octopus at the best of times, and it is a fight he does not always win. He blows away a hair strand that insists on obscuring his vision, but all he succeeds in is having more of it fall onto his face, beads of sweat also finding their way down his forehead to pool on his brow and slide onto his eyelashes. He wishes he had an assistant every time he does this, every time he pulls a corpse open and finds that his body seems to get in the way every time more than the dead one does. He wishes he had an assistant, remembers the offer he never made her, and regrets it an instant later.

Suddenly his mind has wandered away from his subject on the operating table and has wandered off into a fantasy world, where his little witch gently pulls his hair back to tie it securely away from his face, where she dabs away the sweat on his face with a cloth that smells of wildflowers. She stands patiently next to him, takes notes and follows orders, brings him refreshments and even gives his shoulders a good rub when she feels he has been working too hard. A world where she awaits him every night after a long day, where she greets him with the comfort of home and a hearty meal. His focus is lost from that moment onward, for he is taken with the need to see her, to spend time sitting quietly beside her near the fireplace. To hold her and watch her fall asleep in his arms, to hear her laughter and exchange glib lines with her after dinner.

Goddamn witch.

The poor boy suffers the brunt of his annoyance when Heisenberg punches the side of his ribs, the body resists but does not complain and helps none with doing away with his wishes. What was he thinking, losing sight of his goals because he wants his cock sucked? This is why it was always so much better to stay indoors, to kill such annoying roaches on sight. His carefully constructed mental balance has tumbled, his nirvana disturbed. He was doing just fine before she decided to kill some random lycan and forgot to hide the fucking body. Bored, but just fine. Lonely, but fine. Incredibly depressed, but f-i-n-e. He tries in vain to return to his work once, twice, and gives up on the third time, finally accepting that it would be impossible.

Perhaps it is best if he gets it over with, no? This was but a momentary stumble. He had all but forgotten about her for the better part of a fortnight, having instead turned inward towards his work and growing his intel network by skulking around and reading through papers Miranda had ‘lost’ in transport. Just as quickly as he had latched onto her, he had let her go, back to the hum-drum day to day of developing his metal army.

Or so he thought, faced now with a burning need to walk, almost run towards the forest to catch a glimpse of her again.

He looks down at himself, for the first time conscious of how presentable he was, and decides that it is probably best if he wears something that is not covered in rotting chunks of flesh. Somehow he does not think she will mind it; she strikes him as the kind of woman who would think it adds to his charm. He changes into cleaner clothes regardless, the same moss-colored shirt she had given him the day he showed up at her cabin. An idea shines upon him as he tightens his shoelaces, and he is soon giving orders over the comm system to all haulers: clean the damn place up. Throw the garbage up and over the railings onto the scrapheap, hide it under a carpet, it doesn’t matter. He wants the place presentable enough for him to bring his little witch over - he will tell her a little bit of what he intends, he will show her some of his plans, and he will ask her to work for him. The cabin would take a while but she could always drop by for a visit. All that he has decided in the span of less than a minute, and he hopes there will be enough time for everything to be set up when he makes his way back, holding her hand tightly as he shows her all of the wonders he has created. He also hopes he can keep up the momentum and not soil the plan by chickening out a while later, though something in his mind tells him that might be best.

Heisenberg stops in front of a mirror-like metal plate to check out his hair and wipe the blood of his face, at last satisfied with his appearance and ready to make his next move. He almost skips through the factory on his way up and out of the garage. He is getting laid tonight, goddamn it.

He is surprised to find the Duke’s carriage standing just outside. It must be a Tuesday, though he feels like he last saw the man yesterday; the merchant always completed his regular schedule around the village by making a last stop near - and in - his humble abode. He had much to discuss with the Duke, things of both professional and personal nature, but now was not the time, and he walked by briskly and greeted the man with a tip of his hat, intent on simply passing by.

He knows something has gone terribly wrong when the Duke cackles, and he spots the familiar tail wag of a furry hoofed animal beside the carriage. Heisenberg stops dead on his tracks then, a cold tingle running up his spine, his mouth dry. He stares at the man, mouth agape, trying to form his question but failing miserably. Had something happened? Had the Duke known about her all along? Had he done something to her? The Duke is the first to speak, his usual jolly self, oblivious or uncaring for the situation that has begun to unfold in front of him. “Ah, Lord Heisenberg! How’s the day find you?” There is a pregnant pause as Heisenberg looks at the merchant and back at the tiny goat that bleats at him incessantly, and the Duke roars in laughter, his massive frame shaking the entire carriage. “Oh, it seems the little one likes you! Two hundred lei and it is all yours, my lord. Should be quite the tasty dinner.”

Prince seems to understand its predicament, and cries ever louder, until it is all they both can hear and the sound almost drives him insane. “Where the fuck did you get it?” Is all he manages to say, his tone vicious, but the Duke does not seem to mind it. He looks around for any other signs of her, the dog, or the horse, a chicken, anything.

“My friend in the woods has sold it to me, of course. She no longer has any use for it where she is going, and thought it best to rehome it.” The merchant’s hand reaches out to pet the goat on the head and the whole carriage almost topples over with the weight.

“You know her.” It is not a question, and though there is much he needs to ask there is little he is able to process.

“Indeed. We have been friends for many years, her and I. Since she was a malnourished little girl living under Lady Heisenberg’s protection. Since long before you were born, my lord.” The man takes a long drag from his cigar as if to give Heisenberg enough time to go through his words, and he is glad for it, mind racing a thousand miles a minute. A hundred and something years, the mention of his grandmother’s name. “She has always been quite the ravaging beauty, however. Although I’m sure that has not escaped your notice.” He can hardly contain his exasperation, not at all used to the feeling that currently boils within him. If that man had ever touched her- “She is quite a talented healer, you see. For many years now she has supplied me with the most wonderful of concoctions.” As if to prove it, he lifts up a bottle of the antiseptic he has become so famous for, gives it a little shake and flashes Heisenberg a bright smile.

“She’s gone.” Again he doesn’t ask, simply repeats the information he has been given, and wishes he had his hammer close by to crush that smirk off the Duke’s face.

“Why yes, she has left, of course. It would not be the first time,” the merchant says with a shrug. “A free spirit she is, always has been. Off to find herself some excitement and adventure, I’m sure. I have told her many a time that the village life does not suit her,” he puts the bottle down and interlaces his fingers in front of him, resting on his enormous stomach. “Yet she has come back every time. Sweet, idealistic Morganna, always so kind for her own good.” In his confusion, Heisenberg realizes he has forgotten to breathe, and inhales sharply, blow after blow though he tries to recover, and the Duke is relentless. “Ah, that reminds me, she has left something for you.” He is no longer listening after the Duke’s mouth closes, far too stunned to process what is happening. The blond man hands him a small wooden box that smells like her, and Heisenberg does not care that he can see how much his hands are shaking as he pushes off the lid. He does his best to swallow the rage and the tears that well up in his eyes, the bittersweet thought that she had remembered him before she parted. The woolen slippers lay perfectly arranged inside the box. “If you wish to find her, I am sure she has not made it very far.” Heisenberg continues to stare down incredulously, and the Duke continues to yap like nothing has happened. He has tuned out completely by the time he closes the box again and raises his head to face the merchant. He might as well have been a shadow, disoriented as Heisenberg was, his face a misshaped blob in his eyes. There is no space for thoughts and he lets himself go instead, anger bubbling so close to the surface underneath his skin.

He grabs the goat before the Duke can protest, tucks it safely under his arm, box secured in the other as he marches back inside the barn and closes everything behind him. Gone? The way down is hazy and red, one foot after the other, instinct taking him through the halls and down elevators. Gone. He feels the haulers’ gazes upon him, and hopes they won’t dare showing vestiges of humanity now, or he will kill every last one and set fire to the corpses. The door to his quarters is kicked with entirely too much force and flies off its hinges, he places Prince gently on the floor in the last showing of kindness he would ever allow himself. Gone! The box is thrown across the room and shatters against the wall, tears in his eyes, a strangled cry coming out of him before he can stop himself.

“She’s gone.” He repeats and the words feel like sand in his mouth. He knows them to be true and it only serves to hurt him further. Behind his eyelids, she takes him by the hand and skips down the stairs ever onward towards the darkness, and he knows he is far too weak to stop it now. He has no tools to explain any of it, the crying and yelling and the way his body has slid against the wall and onto the floor like a puddle of muddy, gooey, revolting water. One last bit of control tells him that he should not care, that she is not important, that this is good, that he is free from her grasp. But its screeches are drowned in the uproar within him, and all he can think of is that she is gone and he misses her.

He is once again alone in the world and, for the first time, he knows what heartbreak feels like.

[deanieweaniewrites]

Ruffled Feathers

For: @captainhaterade

Read on AO3

Rated: T (for some sexual references)

Tags: Love Confessions, Bunker Domesticity, First Kiss, WINGS

Things had been quiet around the bunker. Nothing had happened for quite some time. Hunts had slowed down and frankly, everyone just needed some time off. It was rare that they had the chance.

For once, Cas was around. He was hanging out in the bunker with Sam and Dean without disappearing for once. It was a pleasant surprise, especially for Dean. He was going to take advantage of every second he had with Cas. It wasn’t like they got to spend much quality time together. 

On the first day of their break, Dean decided to expose Cas to some more pop culture. He found it ridiculous that Cas hadn’t taken the time to watch cult classic movies. The most appalling was Star Wars. Dean refused to let Cas go any longer without seeing the original trilogy, so they spent the entire day in front of the TV. They shared a pizza, which Cas only munched on for the taste. He left the rest for Dean to actually enjoy. 

On the second day, all three of them went into town to walk around. Sam insisted that they go into this little bookstore/cafe on the corner of the street, which Dean pretended to be reluctant about.

Once he was in there, he was nose-deep in Vonnegut. Cas watched him and read over his shoulder while Sam ordered coffee, a few books in hand. 

Dean glanced over his shoulder and grinned a little at the angel. “Have you ever read Cat’s Cradle?”

Cas shook his head, staring at the book. “Not in its entirety. I’ve read the two pages you just read.”

Dean huffed out a laugh and closed the book. “It’s a good one.”

None of them ended up buying any books. They just enjoyed the ambiance of the store and browsed idly for about an hour before leaving.

Another two days passed. Dean spent almost all of his waking hours with Cas. Sam seemed to be enjoying the time to himself, so Dean didn’t bother him much. He showed Cas countless movies and even made him help cook burgers one evening. 

Dean knew their break had to end soon. Hunting wasn’t something they could just put aside for very long. He emerged from his room on the fifth day of their break and immediately went looking for Cas. 

He knocked on Cas’s bedroom door. “Cas, you in there?” No answer. Dean knocked again and waited. Nothing. He opened the door and peeked inside. He saw an empty bed, and then realized the entire room was empty. 

His heart sank once the knowledge that Cas was gone sank in. He sighed and closed the door. It was only a matter of time, he supposed. Cas wasn’t one to stay in one place for very long. 

Without Cas, the bunker felt a little lonely. Sam was still in his room, which left Dean alone. It almost felt like a hole had opened up within Dean. It wasn’t the first time that it happened. In fact, it happened every time Cas left. It left Dean feeling empty and hollow. In the back of his mind, he knew why, but he didn’t want to face those feelings, not yet. 

Dean moped around the bunker for a few hours before deciding that he needed some fresh air. He made himself a sandwich and walked outside to eat it. It was fall, so the air was crisp and a little breezy. The leaves had all changed colors and covered the forest floor.

Dean walked to his favorite spot to sit outside. It was just off the road and it was a nice and small clearing where he could relax.

Much to his surprise, someone was already there. He couldn’t see their face, but there was definitely a shirtless person sitting against a tree right in his favorite spot. 

Dean’s hand was over his gun tucked into his waistband until he got close enough to see their face. 

It was Cas. 

Cas was sitting on the ground, shirtless, up against the tree Dean always sat against. He wasn’t looking at Dean, but he seemed to know that he was there. 

“Cas? What are you doing out here?” Dean stood right over him and forced his eyes to stay on Cas’s face rather than...the rest of him. 

Cas finally turned his head to look at Dean. He had a nervous smile. “Hello, Dean. I was hoping that we could talk.”

Dean sat down warily. “How did you know I’d come out here?”

“I guessed. I wanted to be outside for this anyway, and I know you come out here when you need to clear your head.”

Dean took his sandwich out of the bag he brought and took a large bite, desperately needing something else to focus on. “That doesn’t explain why you’re shirtless.”

Cas smiled a little. “What kind of sandwich is that?”

“Turkey, and you didn’t answer me.”

Cas looked away. “I wanted you to see me.”

Dean’s face turned red and he nearly choked on his sandwich. “You wanted me to see you shirtless? Why?”

“I have a reason for it. I didn’t want to ruin my clothes.”

Dean choked for real that time. He coughed and his face was on fire. Once he finally had his bearings, he spoke. “We are not boning in the woods, I have a perfectly nice bed inside.”

Cas frowned. “I’m not asking you to have intercourse with me. At least, not right now.”

Dean’s face got impossibly redder. He took a moment to compose himself. “Just...Just tell me what’s going on and quit being vague.”

“I’m trying.” Cas sighed. “You’ve seen my vessel, which is a part of me, but you could consider it a mask. It hides my true form, which is something you could never see. Sometimes I wish you could see my true form, because it’s truly me, and I want you to see that.” He paused. “There is one thing I can show you, something that’s truly me.”

Dean was still reeling, so it took him a moment to process what Cas had said. “So, um, what is it?”

“My wings.”

Dean’s brows shot up. “Really? I can see those without my eyes burning out?”

Cas nodded, rolling his shoulders. “It does expend some energy to bring them into this plane of existence, which is why I never have them out. They’re also very bulky, and they get in the way. I can fly without them out.”

Dean took another bite of his sandwich to calm himself down a little more. “So, that’s why you’re shirtless?” Realization hit. “You’d ruin your clothes because the wings would rip them. I get it now.” He sighed. “You must think I’m a massive perv now, if you didn’t already.”

Cas shook his head. “No, I don’t. Besides, it’s not like I wouldn’t like what you suggested.”

“I’m picking up on that now.” 

Cas scooted away from the tree a little. “I want you to see my wings, because I want you to see me for what I am. This time we’ve spent together over the last few days, it’s made me realize that what I thought were just thoughts, are actually very strong feelings. Being around you is like nothing I’ve ever experienced in all of my millennia. I’ve become more than just an angel. I have more human-like qualities now, which has made me better. I don’t know if it makes me a better angel, but I know that I’m better than them for being like you. You did that for me, Dean. The profound bond we share, it’s gone beyond that of just friends, hasn’t it?”

Dean stared at Cas with wide eyes and a slack jaw. Everything that he had been burying came barreling to the surface and he was left speechless for a moment. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

Cas nodded, his lips curling up into a small smile. “I love you, Dean.”

Dean’s heart stopped briefly. His sandwich was long forgotten and all he could do was stare for a while. The words were right there on the tip of his tongue, but he was so afraid. He knew what it was like to lose someone he loved, and it felt like if he said those words, it would mean losing Cas. Almost everyone he ever loved had died. It felt like a curse, one Dean could never impose on Cas. 

Cas reached out and placed a hand on Dean’s knee. “I know you’re scared. I want you to know that from now on, I’m going to take better care of myself. You’ve seen me, I get myself into trouble constantly. Because of you, I plan on sticking around. You’re not going to lose me. I’ll follow you to the end of the earth.”

Dean swallowed. The touch, the words of reassurance, Cas’s gaze, they brought a wave of calm over him that swept over like a tidal wave. Even if it was just for a moment, Dean felt like everything was going to be okay. “I...I love you too, Cas.”

Cas stared at Dean for a long moment. All they could do was look at each other and feel the weight of those words hang in the air. 

Dean snapped out of his trance when something dark unfurled from behind Cas. He sat back and watched two massive wings spread out behind him. The feathers were jet black, but the ones that the sun hit just right reflected every color of the rainbow. 

It was nearly a minute before Dean finally spoke. “Whoa.”

Cas had his eyes averted. He looked reserved, maybe even shy. 

Dean pulled his eyes away from Cas’s wings to look at his face. “What, do you not like them? They’re awesome.”

“Other angels like to make jokes about them. They’re not the fluffy white wings that you’d come to expect.”

Dean shook his head. “These are so much better.” He smiled a little. “Hey, thanks for showing me.”

Cas finally met Dean’s eyes. “Thank you for letting me. I’ve wanted to do this for some time.”

Dean got up and moved to sit beside Cas. He sat so close that their sides were touching. “I think I’ve wanted to have this conversation for some time too.” He grinned when Cas’s wing wrapped around him, holding him closer. 

When Cas looked at Dean, both of them knew what they wanted. Their eyes flicked down to each other’s lips, and then it was settled. Dean leaned in and did what he had wanted to do for years. 

He finally kissed his best friend. 

It was sweet and oh-so-right. It felt like everything in Dean’s life had led up to kissing Cas. 

In Dean’s life, things never felt certain, but with Cas, he could feel certain that they loved one another, and that they would follow each other wherever they went. Nothing could break a bond that powerful.

[voidlitmoon]

Familiar Faces, Connected Stories

4 months later, @sugarglider9603 I finally finished the second half!! :D Ohmygosh I'm so sorry for the wait, but thank you all for being so patient, alot has happened including the absolutely dreaded writers block. All of your comments, likes/kudos, reblogs (on Tumblr) have been helping me finish this chapter, so I really want to thank you guys for enjoying this💙💙💙💙

Another important note, but there is a reason I'm posting this today. That's because today (April 2nd) is my 16th birthday! I actually finished this on Monday (March 30th) but I decided to wait the few days so it would be a bit more special (also yes I know it's late I'm posting this, imma be busy all day so night posting it is!)

Also dont worry, if your new here (go check out the previous stories in the Master Post link!) do note I'm going to be writing my interpretation of the pokebois evolutions :D that and more short side stories are coming asap

Alright I've held you long enough, do enjoy!

Bonus note: this fic (Runaway Eevees) is what Sugar has said cannonly happened of how Remus and Deceit met the group, so if you wanna read that go ahead (it's a good read) :D

Ao3 link

Ao3 series link

Part 5 (chapter 1) Part 6

Master Post

Words: 2,931

Summery: ' Virgil's eyes widened "you've all met before" he looked at all five Eevee's faces, finding guilt in three and confusion in the other two "when, how? Was it before I met all of you?" He scratched at the ground.

His brother-father figure perked up behind him "you.. never told him?" He questioned the three trained Eevees, who all shuffled their feet. "We didn't want to worry him?" Roman tried, only for his trash brother to growl. '

The group will finally tell their stories, revealing past connections, and making new ones for the journey ahead

Chapter 2

Virgil watched as Thomas set his hands on Roman and Logan's backs, putting a halt on the growling. Well, for now at least.

He inwardly sighed, he knew the others where protective, heck he himself was being protective of his brothers at the moment. But this much hostility to other pokemon he obviously knew? He even saw Patton's tail twitching, as though the father figure wanted to pull Virgil away but was resisting.

He remembered when he first met this group of misfits, that field of flowers where Patton taught him how to make flower crowns. Yes Logan was sitting out, but Roman pounced at any opportunity to play with any wild pokemon, and Patton came right over to join the dark furred Eevee the second he showed himself. Them acting this way around pokemon they never met..

Virgil's eyes widened "you've all met before" he looked at all five Eevee's faces, finding guilt in three and confusion in the other two "when, how? Was it before I met all of you?" He scratched at the ground.

His brother-father figure perked up behind him "you.. never told him?" He questioned the three trained Eevees, who all shuffled their feet. "We didn't want to worry him?" Roman tried, only for his trash brother to growl.

"Well!" Thomas clapped, startling them all "I'm guessing you guys need to talk about something, and since language barriers exist and food still needs to be cooked, I'm going to go burn that. Don't faint each other!" The trainer stood up from his chair making his way to the pile of berries, leaving several Eevees that probably would faint each other before speaking a word.

Virgil huffed, suspicious and annoyed "alright, first things first!" He chirped in a light tone, though it was clear the growl that accompanied it reached all the others ears "would anyone mind telling me how you've all met?"

______________________________

"-and then you woke up with no knowledge of what went down, so we just didn't tell you" Roman finished lamely. All five Eevees had taken their own bits and pieces of the story to tell, mainly because when two started arguing Virgil would hiss them down. Other than that, the dark furred Eevee didn't speak a word and kept his face neutral throughout.

Virgil sighed, flicking his tail "so you never thought once why two random Eevees took me? Logan, I thought you were the smart one. Well" he added and Logan's ears started to lower in shame "you are the smartest one here, just not about this.

"And you two" the youngest turned his head "did it occur to you that you could have just gone up and asked?" He paused, realizing the answer before the marked Eevee spoke.

"Well," he mumbled, "for one we thought they were the ones that took you in the first place. You just disappeared that day" Virgil shuddered, remembering that was true, though the truck story could be told another day "plus they're.. caught pokemon" he finished. "Ya" Virgil continued "just like me."

"But-" the stink covered Eevee tried, but Virgil shook his head.

"Thomas met me several times before I joined the team, in fact from the story Logan and Patton have told me" he flicked his tail to the shiny pair of parents "Thomas wouldn't let himself catch them until both of them made it clear they wanted to join his journey."

Patton nodded "before Thomas saved us, twice if you count the Team Rocket members in the marketplace, we never trusted humans. Most of the time humans tried to steal us for our fur color, Thomas was different" the father figure hesitated, "it.. kind of felt like a puzzle piece clicking into place when we met."

All the Eevees blinked as Thomas hummed in the background. None of the Eevees had ever mentioned to another about a feeling of a puzzle piece, Thomas had once made a comment of it, but the three there to witness that were more focused on Virgil's tail slipping into the bushes. The two unnamed Eevees even remembered when they first met Virgil hidden in the dumpster, they had felt some kind of connection.

"That.. wasn't just me who's been feeling that when we all meet?" Roman voice stumbled, eyes widening even more as the other 5 shook their heads.

"Well, you all seem to be in a better mood" Thomas chuckled, causing them all to jump. "Woah" he calmed, laughing.

 "Well, food is all ready and prepared, there's enough for you guys as well" he grinned at the newbies.

The two hesitated at the idea of food, but with a comforting chirp from their brother, they followed.

______________________________

With dinner cleaned away (Thomas somehow managing not to burn anything, Logan praised happily) the group curled before a campfire as the trainer roasted marshmallows (these, he did manage to burn more often than not).

Virgil spent this time explaining to both groups how he knew both sides, of how trash and marked Eevees saved him (he didn't explain what he was escaping from), how he really was taken from them, how he met the group in the field of flowers, and how he finally stayed with Thomas for good. By the end of the story his head was laid on the ground as he cuddled Roman (a late addition during the story time, since when he explained they were boyfriends the trash covered Eevee full on tackled Roman) listening to the fire crackle. Wispy clouds drifted lazily across the sky as the night crawling forest pokemon howled and chirped and hooted.

He looked at his family, most of his past was back in his life; but for how long? He shuddered and curled more into Roman's warm fur, hating the realization he might lose them again after looking for so long. They wouldn't want to be with a trainer, especially even if it meant having Virgil being back in their lives.

Virgil. He nearly spat the name at the ground. He wanted one again for so long, from the day he hatched he had one before it and everything was taken away by.. her. He vowed never to take a name again, especially from a human. If he did, would he be betraying his oldest family connection? What would Sleep and Pecha think of his now, their little Star taking a new name, only for this one to probably drive these brothers away.

Virgil lifted his head up, staring at the two nameless pokemon maybe four tail lengths away. Why did they keep searching for him anyways?

He startled as Roman nudged his cheek. "Sorry" the starter apologized "you just dazed off staring at those two, I was wondering if you were ok."

Virgil sighed "I.. I was just wondering, why did they follow me" he mumbled, unable to look at anyone he opted to stare up at the sky. Unfortunately the world decided to push the clouds out of the clearings sky view, only piling on more of his original family's guilt. He never went searching for that farm ever again after his.. escape, and knowing Thomas they wouldn't go 100 feet anywhere near there with Patton, Logan, and Virgil. Sure, Sleep was reckless, but Pecha would be sensible enough to know not to go out into the world, an unknown area only Eevees who were taken by trainers ever saw. Those puzzle pieces were probably lost to time.

But these two.. he looked back down, Star's eyes trailing at all of his family's faces, stopping at the two. They were here, close enough in one bound he could tackle them. Why did they come, why did they care enough to try and steal him back from (what they knew at the time) hostile people and pokemon? Why did they keep looking, why did he keep looking?

Why.. did he keep looking? Virgil stood up, eyes widening. Because they were, they are family. Family he didn't want to lose, he couldn't lose any more of them. With a push from his hind legs and a squeak of surprise from Roman as he momentarily turned into a launch pad, Virgil crashed into his brothers.

"Shit, wha-" one of them cried, getting cut off as Virgil curled close.

"Please don't leave me again" Virgil chirped quietly, to the point only the two he was curled against him could hear. Virgil burrowed closer "please" he whispered "I can't lose anyone again."

The two looked at each other in surprise. They thought, well Virgil wouldn't want them to stick around. From how he told the story they would never (and probably want never) to take the smallest away from this team, and from the looks of it the three Eevees didn't trust them much right now. They didn't, right?

They usually would never hang around a human more than a few moments, never used to having a family bigger than just the three of them. It seemed logically from their past for it to be near impossible for this human and three of his pokemon to ever trust them.

..But

But it was like the light silver shiny had said earlier, they could feel the puzzle pieces there, already connected to Virgil and ready to connect with them all. A human, who was like none other. He had witnessed them take one of his own, but when that one showed he still trusted the two misfits, the trainer opened his arms, gave them food for no other reason than one he trusted showed they trusted the two strangers.

And the three Eevees, Virgil seemed to trust them to the ends of the Earth. Patton had offered them to join their meal right away. Roman had laughed off the trash Eevees tackle and just said Logan's reaction had been similar. Logan, while seeming to be the least likely one to want them here, listened to their half of the story without interrupting unless to give more detail, and was showing trust even now by watching from the fire's other side, not moving an inch. They trusted them in a way.

No, they didn't think of these four as family yet, but for the first time since they met Virgil, since they met each other, there seemed to be a chance to make that come true.

"Ok", the marked Eevee nudged Virgil "we'll think about it overnight."

For some reason, they realized they wouldn't even need that time.

Because the best part of staying was not only they would gain a whole family, one they would perhaps one day learn they could always trust, but they would regain their brother. Their brother they would have searched for eternity to find, and given anything to stay with.

______________________________

Thomas yawned as he sat up, Patton rolling off the trainer's shoulder still fast asleep and swapped to flopping over a passed out Logan, who was moments ago tucked between Thomas's ear and shoulder. The human glanced around, finding Roman (who always moved in his sleep) laying across the sleeping bag where his left ankle was. Last but not least Virgil was curled under a cuddle puddle with the two new Eevees from last night off next to his sleeping bag, the only contact being Virgil's tail brushing Roman's.

The trainer chuckled and slid his foot away from it's prison, quietly hissing as he tested the tingling foot. Of course it was asleep. Well, the best way to wake it up was to get active so..

 

The dirty Eevee stretched, rolling off from the top of the cuddle puddle. He let out a small oof when he came in contact with the floor a moment later than he expected. The strange, definitely not earth floor….

Eevee blinked, watching not one but two of his brothers curl together sleeping. Yesterday wasn't a dream he realized happily, watching the three other Eevees scattered throughout the tent sleep. A pleasant smell carried his paws out of the durable plastic flap, emerging to a bright, just after dawn day. The human (Thomas his always chaotic mind somehow supplied) was back making more hot food. Well, at least he seemed to be attempting with varying success, a stack of nice enoughly done pancakes sat on a plate to his left, with a smaller (but not by much) pile of black crispy pancakes to his right. Now the left crispy brown ones looked appealing, the Eevee thought the crispy, burnt pancakes smelled like a gift from Arceus himself.

 

Thomas stumbled in surprise when the stack of miserable pancakes clattered to the ground, only to laugh as he watched the dirtier of the Eevee pair dive at them hungrily.

"Well breakfast won't be ready for a bit more, but I wouldn't mind the early clean up crew" he giggled as the Eevee glanced up only for a moment, only to turn to back and attack the pancakes again.

"Just make sure not to scatter them too far" Thomas warned kindly, turning back to the camping stove " we'll have to clean up afterwards." The trainer smiled as the Eevee chirped in agreement.

 

Soon the others crawled out, and the burnt pancake (and other foods Thomas just didn't get right) devourer went to chirp and chat with the others. Food was served, equipment packed, and about two hours later Thomas was adjusting everything onto his back. If it hasn't been for Logan, Thomas knew he would never have had his stuff packed so neatly.

"Welp" Thomas said out loud "it's time to get going, we have a gym challenge next town" his four cheered different levels of excitement. He turned to the two wild runners "I guess this is goodbye for now" he smiled

After so many run-ins with Virgil, Thomas had skillfully learned how to hide his heart ripping out everytime he had to leave puzzle pieces behind.

This skill came into play hard when Virgil looked up at the trainer with such sorrow, Thomas nearly burst to tears right then and there. Instead he smiled, offering a hand for comforting pets. Virgil did not walk near the hand, instead letting out and angry hiss.

Thomas shook his head, wishing he could fully understand what Virgil was saying, but got the message "I can't force them, you know better than anyone here that I only bring members on my team if they want to join. Never by force, I always give an option."

Virgil wine was cut off though as the dirty Eevee snapped from his frozen trance and bounded forwards, stepping up to Thomas and putting his paw onto the human's hand. Somewhere in him remembered a similar interaction with Roman when they first met, but that was washed away when the other Eevee came up and chirped something, only to get tackled by Virgil right after.

"Oh" Thomas realized, smiling "I'm guessing that's a good thing?" He asked his team beside him. Patton nodded excitedly, Roman purred, and Logan merely flicked his tail positively.

"I guess I can do this then" he slid out two pokeballs, setting them on the ground. The wild pair looked at eachother one last time before the smaller marked one nodded, and both touched the white button.

 

"So" Thomas asked as the group wandered down the trail, focusing on the pair walking (or in the dirtier ones case bouncing) by his feet "I was wondering if I could offer giving you names? You don't have to, but-" Virgil rubbed the trainer's cheek from his spot in the hood, stopping the human's splutter of words before chirping some of his own down. The two below responded after a moment and Virgil gave off a purr as a signal: both had agreed it would be ok.

"Alright.." he mumbled. Earlier events of when the dirt covered Eevee had offered his paw in the same way Roman had came rushing back, turning and twisting until a name suddenly formed "how about Remus for you?" He wondered. Said Eevee stumbled as though surprised, but after a moment Remus gave a happy chirp, Thomas smiled in return.

Finally there was the Eevee with the special marks on his face. There was something in his mind that he felt for some reason, it just felt right for him to call the other 

"Janus" he mumbled by accident out loud, the trainer's eyes widened as he glanced curiously at the pokemon "what about Janus?" The Eevee seemed to think hard although weighing the name vs. something only he saw, he knew. Before Thomas could speak the little Eevee glaced up and nodded, the most determined nod he had gotten out of the six of them for figuring out their name.

Six of them.

Thomas grinned widely as all six of his Eevees walked or rode on him. It had all started with Roman, the first time Thomas had found a puzzle piece. Then Patton and Logan, Virgil, and finally Remus and Janus. It felt right, like he was home. Like he was with family.

"It's interesting," he voiced quietly to his team "how many of us have seen each other before really meeting each other. There's even more to explore in the future, so many possibilities, so many mysteries. But I'm glad" he sighed gleefully as the distant sound of cars passed. The town was close by.

"I'm glad I get to do it with so many familiar faces. I'm glad that we all have connected stories. I.. honestly couldn't imagine walking our next journey without you guys, my completed puzzle

My family."

[abacys]

7 Days to Die - Play Conditioning

I’ve been thinking about 7 Days to Die a fair amount recently. I got the game in mid-to-late 2016, shortly before the Alpha 15 build was released. I enjoyed it for a while, but after a couple of days, I moved on to other games, as I am wont to do. However, last year, I decided to revisit it and try out surviving on my own again. While I was wandering around the world, my father happened to ask what the game was like. He used to play his fair share of video games, but hadn’t stuck to anything much in recent years. He had tried out some games here and there, Civilization VI comes to mind, but never played for very long. I mentioned a few aspects of the game I thought he would find interesting and recommended that he try it out. Now I have over one hundred and fifty hours in the game, he has banked almost nine hundred, and various family members and friends have spent hundreds or even thousands of hours playing. This has left me wondering what exactly it was that had pulled them so far into this experience that other games had lacked.

The first time you play a new game plays a large role in how you will interact with it as you get further in. The experience at the beginning of the game will contextualize the rest of your time playing. This concept is an element of game design known as Play Conditioning, invented by Harris Brewis, also known as HBomberguy.

First, I should explain what 7 Days to Die is. 7DtD is a post-apocalyptic, open-world survival horror game published by The Fun Pimps, released in 2013. From some statements made by the developers, it is revealed that the third world war has devastated the earth, with nuclear weapons destroying most traces of civilization. In the fallout, a virus of unknown origin has spread, bringing the dead back to life as zombies. Your task is to survive in this increasingly hostile environment. The game takes place in Navezgane, a fictitious county in Arizona, known as “one of the last true Edens on Earth.” 

Now, let’s take a look a way that the first hour of gameplay might play out.

You wake up in a forest near a road that has a frame of a car and various pieces of trash strewn about. you are greeted with a note with a threat written on it, a few basic supplies, and a short set of tutorial quests to get you started. You get to work on completing the quests. 

The sun is now higher in the sky, and the tweets of the of the birds has quieted down.

After you complete the quests, you're pointed in the direction of the nearest trading post, but are otherwise left to your own devices, free to do what you want in the world. Unfortunately, that feeling doesn’t last. 

You quickly notice that you only have one can of food and water, which do not seem to recover much.  As it is the first day of the game, there are two options to to get more. They are to try to make it to the trading post or scavenge for supplies in various locations throughout the land. You take the second option, as you have nothing to purchase food with.

The sun is now directly overhead, and you can now hear wind whistling through the trees.

Upon finding a house, you enter and try to find food to prepare for the coming days. Encountering a few zombies, you to take damage and start bleeding. After beating them back, you use the only bandage you have. This recovers some of your lost health, brings the maximum back up from where it had fallen, and stops your bleeding. Now there is no way of recovering lost health other than waiting, and nothing that can help you if you start bleeding again. You gather some of the supplies now that the area is clear, and obtain some food, water, a cooking pot, and a painkiller in case you have to get into another fight. You set out to find some weaponry in order to be able to manage future encounters more safely.

The bright sunlight has given way to the dimmer yellows and oranges, and you can now hear crickets start to chirp.

You come across a new house, and spot a few boxes on the roof. You go through the building, dispatching the zombies inside with caution. Recovering lost health with the painkillers generates a lot of thirst, requiring you to drink more of your water. After making your way through the building, you end up on top with the stockpile of goods, and a large group of enemies protecting it. Fighting proves difficult, causing an infection and more wounds that you will have to deal with when you get more medicine. Luckily, you can now loot the containers they are guarding, providing you with a better club and bow, and a little more food to tide you over.

While you walk to the trader, an ominous noise plays, and the clock at the top of the screen strikes 22:00.

It’s now night, and you spent the whole day focusing on gathering supplies. This is when you find out the consequence of not staying indoors. Zombies now are faster and stronger, and you don’t have shelter to deal with them. Running away from the nearby zombies that have picked up on you existing takes a lot of time and stamina, increasing your hunger and thirst, making it harder to continue running. Trying to fight them is punishing, causing you to lose a significant portion of health. Now crouching around, trying to sneak past all of the enemies that are around you, there is little that you can do to avoid the feeling that you are powerless until the next day. Any sound you make can draw zombies to you. Trying to go to a new house will just put you in close quarters with more enemies. The only thing now is to sit and wait in the darkness, preparing to run at any time that something notices you. Besides that, you just watch the clock.

After a painfully long amount of time, you hear a tune play, marking 4:00 and the end of the night. You survived though the first full day. However, now you are infected, wounded, starving, thirsty, and without shelter.

Not only does this set a mood for the game, but it also trains the player on how they should play the game by punishing prioritizing the wrong things. The game gives them the base concepts of what they need to survive in the quests, such as getting weapons, clothing, a place to stay, and a way to make food, but don’t enforce those concepts too strongly, allowing for more player freedom. That doesn’t mean that every option the player can take is a good one. Many things they can do, like going into places they are not prepared to enter or engaging in too many fights, will kill them. If they don’t find shelter, they will be in a very dangerous position come nightfall. If they don’t get ample amounts of food an water, they will be less equipped to deal with the tasks they need to handle, or they will just die of starvation or dehydration. The game teaches the player to strike a balance of their needs by making it tangibly more difficult to play and showing what is needed to fix that added difficulty. Every time that the player starts over, or continues past a difficult period of survival provides more knowledge on what they should do to survive, but the first steps give them a baseline of get food, water, and shelter, while avoiding many of the unnecessary risks that you can take. Making the game more difficult or killing the player work as great deterrents to careless play, and showing the steps on how to avoid that help to train the player on what they should do to survive, while not just stating it outright, giving them more of a feeling of actual personal growth and learning to survive in a harsh world.

Even if this is only one aspect of how someone comes to interact with a game, I still think it is very important to how people come to interact with it. There are other things I may come to talk about in the future regarding this, as there are many other things that I believe contribute to the interest this game pulled to those I know. If you can, I would check out the game yourself to see what I mean, and I hope that this admittedly long piece of writing provided some food for thought about these concepts.

[ianspirations]

Querida Amazonia - A Summary

Pope Francis summarizes the discussions of the synod into 4 dreams which I think are a brilliant way of portraying the situation as well as the vision for the Amazonian region in particular and for the world in general. He says clearly that he has wilfully refrained from quoting the final document of the Synod because he desires that “everyone read it in full” (QA 3).

“The Amazon region” in the words of the Pope, “is a multinational and interconnected whole, a great biome shared by nine countries: Brazil, Bolivia, Colombia, Ecuador, Guyana, Peru, Surinam, Venezuela and the territory of French Guiana” (QA 5). Although this is a directed exhortation, the Pope chooses to open it up for the whole world since “the Church’s concern for the problems of this area obliges us to discuss, however briefly, a number of other important issues that can assist other areas of our world in confronting their own challenges” (QA 5).

Here I wish to quote the first part of paragraph 6 because it is so powerful in its message, rich in meaning and clear in its instruction. The Pope writes, “Everything that the Church has to offer must become incarnate in a distinctive way in each part of the world, so that the Bride of Christ can take on a variety of faces that better manifest the inexhaustible riches of God’s grace. Preaching must become incarnate, spirituality must become incarnate, ecclesial structures must become incarnate” (QA 6)

The Four Dreams

I.                    A Social Dream: I dream of an Amazon region that fights for the rights of the poor, the original peoples and the least of our brothers and sisters, where their voices can be heard and their dignity advanced. (QA 7)

The aim of this dream is to bring about a situation wherein every person can enjoy ‘good living.’ This consists in making arduous efforts on behalf of the poor. The Amazon is facing an ‘ecological disaster’ but it is not enough to tackle the ecological issue leaving aside the extremely versatile social situation. The Pope quoting Laudato Si (LS) #49 says, “a true ecological approach always becomes a social approach; it must integrate questions of justice in debates on the environment, so as to hear both the cry of the earth and the cry of the poor.”

The Amazonian region holds massive interest for colonizers; these are not seeking to conquer the place as the colonizers of old but desire to control the land in a new way chiefly through timber and mining industries. This wanton greed has expelled and marginalized the indigenous peoples, the river people and those of African descent who inhabited these parts. What resulted from this fiasco was enslavement, subjection, poverty, xenophobia, sexual exploitation and human trafficking (QA 10).

All those national and international business that have contributed to turning the Amazon into a living hell for the people are guilty of “injustice and crime” (QA 14). The Pope humbly exhorts, “we cannot allow globalization to become ‘a new version of colonialism’” (QA 14).

“We need to feel outrage, as Moses did (cf. Ex 11:8), as Jesus did (cf. Mk 3:5), as God does in the face of injustice (cf. Am 2:4-8; 5:7-12; Ps 106:40)” (QA 15). Colonialism has not ended; it has merely been changed, disguised and concealed (QA 16). In order to combat this grave evil we have to “overcome the colonizing mentalities and build networks of solidarity and development” (QA 17). The Pope suggests that alternatives be sought for sustainable herding and agriculture, discovering sources of energy that don’t pollute and adopting “dignified means of employment that do not entail the destruction of the natural environment and of cultures” (QA 17).

The Church has and continues to play a vital role in defending the rights of the indigenous peoples (QA 18-19). However, the members of the Church like many others, sadly “have been a part of networks of corruption, at times to the point of agreeing to keep silent in exchange for economic assistance for ecclesial works” (QA 25).

The Pope dreams that “the Amazon region…be a place of social dialogue, especially between the various original peoples, for the sake of developing forms of fellowship and joint struggle” (QA 26). “Dialogue must not only favour the preferential option on behalf of the poor, the marginalized and the excluded, but also respect them as having a leading role to play” (QA 27). The Pope insists that all ‘others,’ that is, those without a direct interest in the issue, ought to be treated as ‘others’ and the opinions and ideas also treated as such so as to avoid the possibility of any concrete decision or plan being ‘a plan drawn up by the few for the few.’

II.                  A Cultural Dream: I dream of an Amazon region that can preserve its distinctive cultural riches, where the beauty of our humanity shines forth in so many varied ways. (QA 7)

The fundamental way in which the Amazon can maintain and enhance its rich cultural heritage is through education. The very purpose of education is “to cultivate without uprooting, to foster growth without weakening identity, to be supportive without being invasive” (QA 28). Since the Amazon region is host to many peoples and nationalities, besides over 110 different kinds of indigenous peoples, the treasure trove that is their culture is at a serious risk. First and foremost, they face the threat of ‘postmodern colonization’ and secondly, the classification as ‘uncivilized savages’ who ought to be ‘civilized’ by means of Western education (QA 29).

In the pre-colonial period, the majority of people lived on the shores of the rivers and lakes. Colonizers claimed these prime lands and drove the indigenous peoples inwards to the forests. Today, the desertification of inlands has forced many people to the ‘outskirts and sidewalks of the cities.’ “There they usually lack the points of reference and the cultural roots that provided them with an identity and a sense of dignity, and they swell the ranks of the outcast. This disrupts the cultural transmission of a wisdom that had been passed down for centuries from generation to generation” (QA 30).

Every human group has its distinctive lifestyle and worldview. “Fishers are not the same as hunters, and the gatherers of the interior are not the same as those who cultivate the flood lands… In each land and its features, God manifests himself and reflects something of his inexhaustible beauty. Each distinct group, then, in a vital synthesis with its surroundings, develops its own form of wisdom.” (QA 32). The ‘consumerist vision of human beings’ steamrolls over all cultural distinctions and unique characteristics thereby blurring out and “diminishing the immense variety which is the heritage of all humanity” (QA 33 quoting Laudato Si 144). This has a particularly devastating effect on young people because it causes them to lose touch with their cultural heritage and roots. In order to prevent this problem, the Pope points out the “need to care lovingly for our roots, since they are ‘a fixed point from which we can grow and meet new challenges’” (QA 33). For all Christians, in addition to their cultural roots, there is a need to additionally take charge of one’s faith roots which includes “the history of the people of Israel and the Church up to our own day. Knowledge of them can bring joy and, above all, a hope capable of inspiring noble and courageous actions” (QA 33).

The Pope appreciates all those who have stemmed the threat of losing out on cultural heritage by “writing down their stories and describing the meaning of their customs. In this way, they themselves can explicity acknowledge that they possess something more than an ethnic identity and that they are bearers of precious personal, family and collective memories” (QA 35).

Every culture has its own set of drawbacks. Western cultures dark side of consumerism, individualism, discrimination, inequality and many others are easily noticed by all. Similarly, Amazonian cultures also have their dark side. The Pope suggests that all of us bring our cultures to “the common table, a place of conversation and of shared hopes. In this way our differences, which could seem like a banner or a wall, can become a bridge. Identity and dialogue are not enemies. Our own cultural identity is strengthened and enriched as a result of dialogue with those unlike ourselves” (QA 37). If a culture closes up on itself it becomes “inward-looking and tries to perpetuate obsolete ways of living by rejecting any exchange or debate with regard to the truth about man” (QA 37). The responsibility of protecting, encouraging and nurturing cultures like with each of us. If we are not open to the idea of diverse cultures, how do we expect the people of the interiors to be?

The Pope points out how the globalized economy surreptitiously destroys our human, social and cultural riches. The invasive nature of mass communication drastically reduces the scope for cultural expression and alienates people from their native cultural contexts by introducing them into a digital culture that cares little for authentic cultural expression. For this reason it is absolute vital that cultures and their people be respected, and that they find a definition of ‘good life’ for themselves within the ‘world of symbols and customs’ proper to them rather than following an external definition with accompanying regulations for implantation and ideas for enhancement (QA 40).

III.                Ecological Dream: I dream of an Amazon region that can jealously preserve its overwhelming natural beauty and the superabundant life teeming in its rivers and forests. (QA 7)

The Amazonian culture is so closely and intimately connected with nature that “daily existence is always cosmic” (QA 41). While liberating people from various forms of bondage that entrap them is a way of caring for the environment and defending it, what is of greater importance is “helping the human heart to be open with trust to the God who not only has created all that exists, but has also given us himself in Jesus Christ. The Lord, who is the first to care for us, teaches us to care for our brothers and sisters and the environment which he daily gives us. This is the first ecology that we need” (QA 41). An ecology of nature has to coexist with a human and/or social ecology. The two are interdependent on nearly every level. This belief stems from the conviction that ‘everything is connected.’ (QA 41)

Care for people and care for the ecosystem cannot be separated. An abuse of nature amounts to an ‘abuse of our ancestors, of our brothers and sisters, of the creation and the Creator.’ The harm we do is not limited to the here and now but puts the future in serious jeopardy. Quoting from the Instrumentum Laboris of the Synod, “the land has blood, and it is bleeding; the multinationals have cut the veins of our mother Earth” (QA 42).

The Amazon is a land of water. “The rivers and streams are like veins and water determines every form of life” (QA 43). Water does not divide people by giving them liquid boundaries but rather unites them (QA 45).

The equilibrium of the planet depends in a big way on the health of the Amazon. A huge number of living beings and various climatic elements rely on the Amazon for their existence. The Amazon is a natural filter of Carbon Dioxide, it’s rich forest cover is not only home to numerous species but also contains “resources that could prove essential for curing diseases” (QA 48); the various products like fish and fruits enable humanity to sustain themselves.

When one considers environmental damage or destruction one usually evaluates it in terms of visible extinction but this is not the  correct way of doing this. “The good functioning of ecosystems also requires fungi, algae, worms, insects, reptiles and an innumerable variety of microorganisms” (LS 34). Unfortunately, their impact as well as the damage they incur in the name of ‘development’ is often and sadly, overlooked.

The Pope appreciates the commitment of international agencies and local bureaucracies who “draw public attention to these issues and offer critical cooperation, employing legitimate means of pressure, to ensure that eac government carries out its proper and inalienable responsibility to preserve its country’s environment and natural resources, without capitulating to spurious local and international interests” (LS 38).

The economically invested parties are never satisfied with the profits they make and are constantly on the search for new and innovative means to increase their balances. The Pope suggests that the whole world come together and ensure that there are some sort of clear boundaries that are put in place to protect ecosystems and that do not allow the wanton destruction of our common home in the name of development or profit. (QA 52) Thousands of species have already had the existence cut short due to a variety of reasons but mostly due to human interference. The Pope says it beautifully, “Because of us, thousands of species will no longer give glory to God by their very existence, nor convey their message to us. We have no such right” (QA 54) The Pope concludes that the Amazon region is a “theological locus, a space where God himself reveals himself and summons his sons and daughters” (QA 57).

In order to improve the situation and prevent further destruction, education has a massive role. “A sound and sustainable ecology, one capable of bringing about change, will not develop unless people are changed, unless they are encouraged to opt for another style of life, one less greedy and more serene, more respectful and less anxious, more fraternal” (QA 58).

IV.                An Ecclesial Dream: I dream of Christian communities capable of generous commitment, incarnate in the Amazon region, and giving the Church new faces with Amazonian features. (QA 7)

The Pope is very clear in his stating that all Christian interventions ought to be focused and centred on Christ. All that we do must in some way or another be an opportunity to incarnate the Gospel (QA 64-65). He is very strong in emphasizing that even our work of social upliftment and liberation ought to involve inviting the poor and abandoned to a friendship with the Lord (QA 63).

In order to preach the Gospel effectively, the Church must take on the identity and reality of the people to whom she desires to reach out. The Church brings to the dialogue of inculturation her own rich heritage of Christian wisdom and experience that has been handed down through the centuries (QA 66). Pope Saint John Paul II put it very beautifully when he addressed the Indigenous peoples of the American Continent (12 October 1992), “a faith that does not become culture is a faith not fully accepted, not fully reflected upon, not fully lived” (as quoted in QA 67). Thus the Church must undertake the double action of giving the Gospel and incarnating it in the culture while at the same time receiving from that culture ‘new aspects of revelation’ (QA 68).

For the Church to achieve a better inculturation in the Amazon, she must “listen to its ancestral wisdom, listen once more to the voice of its elders, recognize the values present in the way of life of the original communities, and recover the rich stories of its peoples” (QA 70). For the indigenous people the ‘good life’ is expressed in “personal, familial, communal and cosmic harmony…in a communitarian approach to existence, the ability to find joy and fulfilment in an austere and simple life, and a responsible care of nature that preserves resources for future generations” (QA 71). The Pope wants the Church assist the people in the process of ‘cultural retrieval,’ educate them, especially the urban population, against the dangers of consumerism and isolation and help urban communities to be missionary not only to those among them but to all the poor, marginalized and migrants (QA 72). For the Pope, these are all forms of inculturation and they elevate and fulfil ((QA 72-73).

Indigenous mysticism stresses “the interconnection and interdependence of the whole of creation;” it is a “mysticism of gratuitousness that loves life as a gift;” it is ultimately a “mysticism of a sacred wonder before nature and all its forms of life” (QA 73). For us Christians, it is Jesus Christ, the Son of God who connects all things and is present in and through them (QA 74).

Poverty is one of the defining features of the Amazon region. The Gospel shows a clear connection between evangelization and human advancement. Hence, all Christian communities ought to work for the justice of God’s kingdom that can be achieved through work for the advancement of those who are on the peripheries. The Church’s pastors have to be trained in this regard (QA 75). “In this way, we will reveal the true beauty of the Gospel, which fully humanizes, integrally dignifies persons and peoples, and brings fulfilment to every heart and the whole of life” (QA 76).

When this occurs we can look forward to “witnesses of holiness with an Amazonian face, not imitations of models imported from other places” (QA 77). The holiness of the Amazon will be “born of encounter and engagement, contemplation and service, receptive solitude and life in community, cheerful sobriety and the struggle for justice” (QA 77). This process has been initiated many years ago and the people can be considered to be ‘initially evangelized’ (QA 78).

The Pope opines that there is a possibility of adopting an indigenous symbol without it being considered idolatry. Local myths need not be discarded but possess the ability of appealing to people’s minds and becoming carriers of Christian truth. “A missionary of souls will try to discover the legitimate needs and concerns that seek an outlet in at times imperfect, partial or mistaken religious expressions, and will attempt to respond to them with an inculturated spirituality” (QA 79).

The process of inculturation can be initiated in a very powerful way through the sacraments, “since they unite the divine and the cosmic, grace and creation” (QA 81). The sacraments are unique in as much as they take up creation to God in the same instance as they bring out the Divine manifested in creation. The Sacraments communicate the mercy and healing of God and consequently ought never to be held from anyone who desires to receive them (QA 84). The Church needs to find ways and means of making the sacraments, especially the Holy Eucharist frequent and easily accessible even in the remotest and most isolated communities (QA 86). The role and concept of the priest requires to be revised in keeping with the situation of the place. The Pope defines a priest not as one who possesses power either of the material or spiritual kind but as one who is tasked with incarnating Christ in and through the celebration of the Eucharist and absolving people of their sins (QA 87-88).

The Pope envisions that Christian communities be full of life. This fullness of life can come about only if the community is first united. The Eucharist is a sacrament that “signifies and realizes the Church’s unity” (QA 91). Priests must foster communion in their Churches and not simply aim at achieving unity. Communion can be achieved when the diversity and variety of gifts and charisms that the Spirit pours out on the faithful is properly channelized and expressed. Priests alone, though they have a vital role, are not the only ones responsible and capable of this enormous task; permanent deacons, religious women and lay persons have their unique contributions to make. The Church has to develop an “ecclesial culture that is distinctly lay” (QA 94).

The Pope concludes this dream by mentioning the unforgettable and irreplaceable contribution made by women in the Amazon region. For decades the faith has been kept alive even without a priest thanks to women who “undoubtedly called and prompted by the Holy Spirit, baptized, catechized, prayed and acted as missionaries” (QA 99). The Pope warns the faithful against a reductionist mentality which believes that women can truly be granted a greater status and participation in the Church only if they are ordained priests. He warns that such thinking will serve no other purpose except to “clericalize women, diminish the great value of what they have already accomplished, and subtly make their indispensable contribution less effective” (QA 100). God in His infinite wisdom sought to reveal His power and love through two human faces: “the face of his divine Son made man and the face of a creature, a woman, Mary. Women make their contribution to the Church in a way that is properly theirs, by making present the tender strength of Mary, the Mother” (QA 101). Leaving aside the functional aspect of both genders, the Pope stresses the indispensability of women by stating that without them and their contribution “the Church breaks down” (QA 101). The history of many Amazonian communities is testament to this fact.  

[theherothechampiontheinquisitor]

Knockin’ On Heaven’s Door

*ENDGAME SPOILERS*

Author’s Notes: I am probably in the minority here that I was okay with Tony’s ending. I did however try to soften the blow. My first in a series of fics following post Endgame events. Please leave a comment or like and reblog if you enjoy it.  

Summary: (Pepperony) Yinsen had once told Tony Stark that he was the man who had everything...and nothing. In his final hour Tony knew this was no longer true.

Tony Stark wasn’t ready to die.

He knew he wasn’t ready because he had already cheated death so many times. He survived an explosion, his own weapon turned against him, thanks to the quick thinking of Yinsen, though Yinsen himself would not be so lucky. He had left Tony with a thought though.

“Don’t waste this.”

So he hadn’t. He continued to survive. He survived the betrayal of Obadiah ripping the arc reactor from his chest while he laid paralyzed on the couch, fear squeezing its icy grip around his heart, not for himself but for what Obadiah alluded he’d now do to Pepper. But he survived that moment and the subsequent explosion that would claim his former mentor. He survived Palladium poisoning thanks to his own father’s life work. He survived the fall from the wormhole, saving the earth from Loki and Thanos, an event that would subsequently haunt him even to this moment, fueling every action or reaction from there on out. Finally he was spared on Titan thanks to Strange and lucky flip of a coin that saved him from turning to dust.

No, Tony was not ready to die, but he knew death was not a mistress that he could cheat forever.

When Strange turned to him, face stricken under the burden of his knowledge, he knew that his game of roulette had reached its inevitable conclusion. The one in fourteen million chance to put the world back together. The reason death had returned him so many times. He knew what had to be done.

Captain Marvel lost her struggle for the gauntlet with Thanos and Tony immediately sprang into action, countering Thanos with his own attacks. What the purple titan didn’t realize was Tony slyly transferring the infinity stones over to his own metal hand. Yet another fail safe he had created if the worst should happen. It seemed that this moment was always meant for him.

Thanos batted his body away soon enough but his own arrogance clouded what was right before him. He sneered at Tony as he fastened his hand within the gauntlet. “You see? I am..inevitable.” He snapped his fingers but instead of the large crackle of power, all he got was a metal on metal clank before he finally realized that the stones were missing.

The raw power Tony felt illuminating up and down his body was incredible but dangerous. He could already feel it scorching at his exposed skin beneath the suit. He concentrated fast, envisioning Thanos and his army becoming nothing but dust as he had done to this universe before. His mind raced with a thousand I love yous and apologies but his voice was filled with confidence and resolve, his life coming full circle.

“And...I...am...Iron Man.”

The deafening snap exploded all around them. The last thing that Tony heard was Thanos calling out before the world went white.

Tony had expected his death to be harsh and painful, as scorching as a raging fire. Instead, he felt nothing. The initial aching and burning pain from wielding the stones was non existent. The blinding light slowly faded giving him time to adjust his eyes time to adjust. He was no longer in his damaged battle armor. Instead he wore a black, long sleeved t-shirt and dark pants. The Infinity Stones were nowhere to be seen. The only proof that Tony was able to find that the battle hadn’t been a dream were the scars peeking out from his dark sleeves. White, spidery, vein like scars crawled from his fingertips on his right side to his shoulder and across part of his face and chest. They felt smooth and soft to the touch, like they had been a part of his body forever.

It was then that he finally took in his surroundings in surprise. No longer was he in the desolate ruins of the Avengers Headquarters.Instead he was surrounded by the lush green forest of his lakeside home. Everything looked as it did when he last was here. He slowly made his way towards the house, Pepper’s wind chimes swaying in the breeze, creating a melodic tune. It was all very surreal. He shouldn’t be here, he knew, but at the same time he didn’t want to be anywhere else.

The greenhouse and hydroponics lab laid just beyond the vegetable garden to his right, the crops slowly flourishing under what had been his and Pepper’s attention. He remembered how happy Pepper had been with that addition, kneeling beside her in the field digging dirt and planting seeds. He had kissed her dirt streaked face until they couldn’t remember their own names.

Morgan’s fort was still set up near their favorite tree beside the lake. An empty table and chairs set up for a tea party that never happened. A pang of guilt struck him then, wondering if his little girl would ever understand why he had done what he did when he could have been home with her forever. She was smart though and embodied Pepper’s practical nature. He had to believe that she would trust his actions.

Then again, he couldn’t even be sure of what happened. One moment he was in battle, the next he wasn’t. He could feel the panic begin to bubble inside of his chest as he reached the porch steps and slowly slid back against them, against the house that he and Pepper had built together what felt like a million lifetimes ago. What was happening to him?

“Tony…” a familiar voice called out in the haze of Tony’s panic. He didn’t even see Rhodey coming until he leaned forward and gripped his shoulder, a sad smile forming across his lips. He was no longer in his armor either but he looked no worse for wear. He did notice Rhodey’s eyes shined with pride but almost just as quickly were overshadowed by a blanket of grief. His eyes brimmed with unshed tears and grim reserve. Tony wanted to ask him how he had gotten here but his chest was so tight, he couldn’t force any sound from his body.

Tony’s mind flashed to the times they had spent together before and after he became Iron Man. Rhodey had been like a brother to him and always stood by his side, even when Tony was wrong. He told him as much while Rhodey was recovering in the hospital after the airport battle. Rhodey cracked a joke to hide the tears that had formed.

“You did it Mr. Stark,” another voice spoke from his side. “You did it sir, we won.”

Tony was pulled from his reverie at the voice of his young protege. The kid who he had lost and gone to hell and back for was here and alive, desperately grasping at his hands. The kid he had loved like his own. Peter never was one to hide his emotions and feelings, even now clinging to Tony as the tears unabashedly fell from his face. He wished that he could give him another hug, but the weight that he felt from before had grown heavier on his chest and his mind was racing.

Relief resounded throughout his body when Peter told him that they had won. He at least knew one thing for certain though he was beginning to suspect that he hadn’t made it back like the others. Tony lost focus from Peter completely. His speaking, his hand that gripped him, the sobs that he failed to keep at bay. Inside his mind was spinning and he felt like he was having another panic attack though it had been years since his last one.

Had the Infinity Stones brought him to this place to die?

“Hey,” came a soft whispered voice and the fog from his mind started to clear, the spinning slowing and allowing him to focus. His Pepper brought a hand up to rest at the spot his arc reactor had been for so many years.

“Hey, Pep,” he hoarsely whispered back, feeling grounded as he was finally able to speak and raised his hand to cover hers on his chest. She was so beautiful. Had he told her that enough? He suspected he wouldn’t get another chance to but he tried to communicate all of his love and admiration through his eyes.

“Friday?” Pepper asked aloud, never taking her eyes off of him. He felt all her love reflected back to him at that point and his heart had never felt so full.

“Life functions critical.”

So, he was dying. His rational mind tried to tell him this was all some kind of fever dream, a delirium from the injuries he had sustained, but he felt no pain. He didn’t even really feel afraid anymore. Since Pepper captured his gaze he began to feel a sense of peace wash over his body, cleansing all the hurts and sadness.

One thing was still missing though. Morgan. He hoped against hope that she would someday forgive him for this sacrifice play but all of his insecurities began to claw their way back. If he was dying in this ethereal plain, then who would be there to protect her? Who would be there to comfort her in his absence and make up her silly stories at bedtime? If he died he couldn’t see her grow up, would never see her graduate, or get married. Have children of her own. He wouldn’t know if she ever loved him more than 3000 if he were to go now.

Despair filled his mind once again and he lost his focus from Pepper’s calming smile. He had to hold on, he could be saved somehow. He couldn’t give up the fight now when he was still needed so much. But he was so tired.

“Tony, look at me,” her voice broke through his thoughts again with a gentleness that demanded his attention and he struggled to turn back towards her, into those deep blue eyes. Tears were quickly filling up but she never faltered, even now. His strong, amazing wife.

“We’re gonna be okay,” she nodded and smiled again at him.

Tony’s mind began to steady once more and he knew that Pepper was right. They would be okay. Morgan would always have her mother...and Peter...and Rhodey...and even Happy. She would be surrounded by the same people that had always taken care of him and given him the love and support he needed. He would miss her fiercely though. She had stolen his heart away the moment he first held her in his arms. He would miss those sweet brown eyes so much like his own, filled with all of the wonders and curiosities of the world. The way her small hand would fit into his when they’d walk down to the dock to go fishing. The way she’d hug him with all of her tiny might, her face in the crook of his neck as she would tell him she loved him. No, tell him she loved him 3000.

He knew the rest of the Avengers would be there as well to pick up his mantle and ensure that the world and his daughter would be safe and able to grow up in peace.

From the moment he had come out of that cave, his life had been building to this moment. He had saved everyone. Yinsen had once said that he was the man with everything -- and nothing. That was true no longer. He wondered for the briefest moment what Yinsen would think of him now, surrounded by his loved ones in his final hour, and pride surged from within.

“You can rest now,” Pepper added softly with a smile. She had asked him once, before all this had been set in motion if he would be able to rest knowing that he could have done something to save everyone. Pepper had always known his heart better than anyone and though this was the very thing that she had feared the most, she was still here to hold his hand through it all, making sure he would be okay. She would mourn for him of course, but she would come out the other side okay.

Tony looked Pepper in the eyes one more time, feeling the strength to remain in her world lessen with each breath. His grip on Pepper’s hand loosened and slowly fell back down to his side. Tony resolved that he would wait for her here. Forever if he had to. He knew she would come. She always did.

Tony Stark felt calm in those last moments between the living world and the next. No more fear or pain or regret. Only calm warmth and love.

Peace, in his time.

[shadowfaximpala]

Bring the Wayward Home Tonight

MASTERLIST

Summary: The Darkness released her grip on the world, the bond between you and your brother being her saving grace for humanity; filled with inspiration and compassion she gives you the thing you needed most. But all gifts come with burden…

Warnings: Language, Depression, Angst

Pairing: Gabriel x Reader

Author’s Notes: This will be a short series, I like to write when I travel to work and music is often the source. Let me know what you think so far! I love writing angsty stuff.

Chapter Two: Conundrum

“Where the hell are we?” Dean grumbled as he tried to get a reading on his cellphone but to no avail. You groaned shoving through the endless forest of bushes and brambles.

“Hell if I know,” you replied, your short fuse running dangerously low. You had both saved the world yet again and now you were wondering around Chuck holy knows where being scratched and scraped by foliage and vines. You hugged the khaki coat closer to your body for warmth as a cold chill settled over the intrusion of night.

“Help!” A woman’s screams filled the air as the pair of you exchanged a glance and took off towards the direction of the shouts. Your feet found a path in no time at all, you both sprinted down the pave-way, almost at a clearing. You could hear hushed conversion becoming louder upon approach, your heart began hammering in your chest.

“I’m not trying to hurt you woman, I’m just as lost and confused as you!” You heard the soft pitch of a male voice. Recognition flooded your senses at the way the sound trailed off into a higher pitch at the end, the way it always did when he was confused or shouting, a voice so familiar yet you had almost forgotten the sound…Almost. Your heart stopped beating entirely when you reached the clearing.

You couldn’t breathe, you’d lost the knowledge on how to function as all sense left you entirely, your eyes couldn't believe what they were seeing. If you could collapse that moment you could of but your feet carried you without any warning...

“Gabriel?” You voice cracked as your mind caught up. Your eyes darted from him to the woman with long flowing blonde locks, as she turned to face you that familiar ache in your chest hit you again like a freight train, this was all too much to take it, it couldn't be true... This couldn't be happening, you had to be dead, this had to be heaven! Or some freaky reunion in another dimension, you'd had your fair share of those over the years...

“Mom?” You and Dean spoke in unison.

Everything faded to black in that single instant.

Warmth flooded your cheek before a small sting brought you back to your senses, you sat up slowly, your vision met with golden whiskey coloured eyes.

“Sorry sugar, you weren't waking up so I gave you a loving slap, I know I'm sexy but you didn't need to faint on me,” he was kneeling right in front of you, he was here. All those nights you spent sobbing your heart out in the confines of your room where nobody would see, all those prayers left unanswered and finally Amara was the one to answer them. Gabe helped you to your feet, your eyes were fixed on the other gift given to you by the darkness.

“Mom?” Your voice came out barely a whisper but she heard it, Dean had already soothed her into a sense of security, she eyed you for the longest moment before slowly approaching you.

“Y/N…” Her hand reached for you but you stood still, scared that this was all an illusion. Her arms encircled your shoulders, in that moment those walls you had constructed around your emotions broke. Sobbing softly onto her shoulder her arm instinctively stroked your back to calm you.

“I can't believe it's you…” you whimpered between sobs.

“It's me honey, I'm here.” You managed to calm your breathing as she held you at arm's length to look at you.

Finally the Winchester gene kicked in, ‘No chick flick moments,’ you wiped your tears on the sleeve of your jacket and rolled your shoulders letting out a nervous laugh as you reconstructed your expression.

You mother looked from you to the angel stood behind you, watching with cautious eyes. A knowing smile ghosted her lips as she nodded her head to him, she turned and walked towards your brother leaving you alone with Gabriel. You twisted slowly on your heel to face the resurrected archangel.

“Are you alright sugar lump, you haven't said a word…” You approached him with haste, your arms shot out and wrapped around his waist, holding on for dear life, terrified that this was a temporary scenario. His hand gripped the back of your neck, holding your head to his shoulder.

“Seven years.” You whispered. “You've been gone for seven years,” you repeated.

“Seven years is nothing… I've had longer power naps,” he laughed. You could feel the bounce of his shoulders, the smell of his black jacket that replaced the one you were wearing smelled of musk, his golden hair brushing lightly against your cheek, he was here. He was real. You repeated the mantra over and over in your head trying not to fray the only ends of sanity you had left.

Realisation dawned on you.

“I've aged seven years since you last saw me and you haven't aged a single day, you'll never age,” you groaned softly, trying to kick humour into the situation but it came off a little harsher than intended. You bit your lip trying not to say anything else stupid, after all this time and that was all you could muster? Mentally you booted yourself in the shin for being so ridiculous.

“About that…” you pulled back from his embrace. “Apparently Auntie Amara has a twisted sense of humour, I don't have any grace. She kinda brought me back with an expiry date.” His face was laced with the ghost of a smile, but you knew him better, this information wounded him deeply.

“How long?” Weariness pulling at the edge of your tone, you could feel your voice break but you composed yourself once again.

“Probably until I go into a diabetic coma or Lucifer rags me around like a chew toy again…”

“Wait, you're human?” Your eyebrows shot up, the look of shock on your face must have been painfully evident as guilt washed over the former angel’s face.

“Yep.”

“Gabe I'm so sorry…”

“Don't be. I got a second chance at existence, and the best part is I get to spend it with you, well, you didn't get hitched and knocked up in the last few years did you?” You punched his arm to which he flinched and gripped his shoulder.

“Of course I didn't you idiot, why do you think I still wear this battered thing?” You pinched at the corners of your jacket, his eyes lit up like a Christmas tree, his smile grew from ear to ear.

He was here. He was real.

“I guess we have a lot of catching up to do… And then we can talk about the last seven years,” he wiggled his eyebrows at you, that sleazy smirk that you had never forgotten now plastering his perfect features.

“No matter how much I missed you Gabe, I'm not getting down and dirty in a public park.” It almost sounded as if you were trying to convince yourself, but there were bigger problems at hand. He couldn't whisk you away to some exotic location anymore, so getting locked up for public indecency wasn't on your bucket list.

“Party pooper,” he whined but practically bounced on his feet, slinging an arm over your shoulder.

The two of you walked across the clearing to a now occupied bench, you listened with deep sorrow as Dean relayed as much as he could to your mother about what had transpired leading to her resurrection, Gabe tried to listen too but he seemed distracted. The night began drawing to a close as dawn bustled through the edge of darkness.

_____________

The four of you stumbled across a parking lot on your way through a nearby town, Dean got to work picking out one the owner ‘wouldn't miss’, claiming his saving the world a handful of times gave him a free pass on borrowing cars. Gabriel and you both found a 24 hour store to stock up and buy your mom some new clothes. You found something you thought she would find comfortable and practical. Just as you reached the food isle Gabe’s stomach started howling in protest, your eyes shot up to the pained expression on his face.

“Sweet Fucking hell!” He cursed, grabbing his stomach. “Can we steal the whole store?” You eyed him wearily before running off to grab anything you could find, much to his delight was a slice of chocolate cake and a series of sweet snacks, as well as something Dean and your mom would enjoy more than inducing a heart attack so early in the morning.

When you returned Dean was waiting with the engine of an old mustang running. You rolled your eyes but hopped in the back next to Gabriel, you handed Mary the bag of clothing and distributed the food.

“Oh my dad, this is amazing, it's even better now I've lost my angel mojo!” Gabriel grunted as he tucked into the sugary slice of cake.

Your mother craned her neck around to eye you both, she watched Gabe scoff down the cake with a curious smile.

“Angel mojo?” She quizzed.

“Uh, yeah…” you gave her an awkward smile before continuing. “If there's demons then you should believe angels exist too, you know wings and a harp… or horn” Gabe’s eyebrows wiggled at you as you gave him a smug grin, “except this one is now human.”

“I thought something was off with him, more than usual,” Dean shot from the driver's seat.

“I can hear you, you know...” Gabriel piped up through mouthfuls. “You don’t seem best pleased that I’m alive and kicking Deano.”

“I’m thrilled, but I’m going to address the elephant in the car, you’re a human. As much as I love the idea that you’re not going to punk our asses all the time, how are you going to be of use to us?” His voice was hard and harsh like daggers, you winced as you saw Gabriel’s face drop into a frown.

You shot Dean a cold glare through the rear view mirror, his eyes met with yours, your elder brother gave you an apologetic smile with his eyes before focusing back on the road.  

“I’m just being honest here…” Dean offered.

“No, you’re being an asshole. When Cas was human was he useless to us? No.” You barked back.

“He kinda was Y/N until he started stealing angel grace…” Your brother wouldn’t let up on the idea that Gabriel was going to burden the group. Anger flashed through you.

“And it nearly killed him, but his grace was stolen, Gabe-”

“Still here,” Gabe’s voice rang through the car but you decided to ignore him momentarily.

“Gabriel’s grace is gone…” Sadness burdened you, guilt pulled at the corners of your voice as you stared at the once glorious archangel now painfully human.

“Dean’s right.” Gabriel said softly, staring out the window as the landscape rushed by in a blur. “My grace is gone, but I’m not entirely useless. I’ve been here for a long time, longer than you Winchester’s can comprehend. I know things that aren’t written in books or documented anywhere, I can still handle a blade, no pun intended, and you can be damn sure I still have a trick or two up my sleeve.” He turned to you, a painfully beautiful smile painted on his features. Your heart ached in that instant, he reached for your clenched fist, giving it a small squeeze.

“You’re gonna need to learn how to handle a gun,” Dean’s gruff voice stated flatly. “Welcome to the family business.”

“Oh so we’re family now?” Gabe’s eyebrows bounced up and down. “Last thing I remember you and Sam we’re happy to throw me under the Lucifer bus,”

“Only because you decided to man up and confront your brother. You wanted us to drag Y/N out by her hair in that hotel. It’s not my fault you couldn’t stick him.” Dean groaned causing you to roll your eyes.

“Lucifer? The devil? I’m sorry, I’m a little lost with all this, Y/N is this angel… er man your husband?” Your mom peeked from around the passenger seat to look at you and Gabriel.

“No mom. It’s… complicated. I’ll tell you later.”

“We have a few hours to burn here so why not catch me up?” She was insistent, the look of sparkling curiosity in her eyes meant you couldn’t deny her the information she was seeking.

“Fine.” You sighed.

_________

The hours passed slowly as you caught her up to speed on what had transpired all those years ago in Elysian Fields, the events leading up to Gabriel’s death, your relationship with him and how it started, much to Sam and Dean’s outbursts of ‘Over our dead bodies,’ closely followed by ‘Hell no, this is not happening, not my sister,’ Gabe had various quirks to throw into the tale. You relayed various information on what had happened after about Lucifer and the cage. You mom looked seriously impressed with her children’s activities since her death.

“I can’t believe you all had to go through that.” She finally stated.

“Well we had to grow up pretty damn quick no thanks to Dad,” you replied getting out of the car which Dean had hurriedly parked outside of the bunker, eager to rush in.

“Funny, Dean said the same thing back at the park. I’m sorry you were dragged into this life…” She embraced you, the four of you ventured into the bunker finding it empty.

“Sam, Cas?” Dean called out, with no response both of you went into panic mode when discovering blood on the floor. “Sammy!” the two of you called out in unison, no answer.

“Stay here…” Dean insisted. Mary looked unimpressed until Dean handed her a weapon.

“Here..” Your eyes locked with Gabriel as you handed him your spare gun, you cocked it emptying a round into the chamber. “This is the safety catch, if you see anything, flip this, point and then shoot. Okay?” The expression that met your gaze broke your heart. Sadness seeping into his face he gave you a slow nod before you darted into the corridor, your gun pointed at an angle as you were armed and ready.

You quickly did a sweep of the bunker, finding it abysmally empty. On return you found Castiel embracing Dean, the look of relief washed over him.

“Cas this is uh… Mary. Winchester.” Dean introduced his mother to the angel. Castiel’s expression grew weary as he turned to Gabriel, unsure of how to process what was going on, he approached the former archangel cautiously.

“Gabriel, is it really you?” His deep voice full of question.

“Hey bro, alive and kicking. Well…” Castiel could sense it in a flash, he looked apologetic. “If you could all stop looking at me like a wounded puppy that would be great.” The former archangel deadpanned.

“I'm sorry brother, we’ll figure it out.”

“I'm in no rush, surprisingly.” Gabe insisted, pulling you close to him.

“We need to figure out where the hell Sam is,” Dean grumbled, flipping open the laptop in haste, his lank frame setting into a chair, his eyes alert but weary. It had been days since any of you had slept a wink, not counting your momentary fainting spell.

You watched your mom with a Cheshire grin, she seemed intent and focused on the foreign object in Dean’s hands.

“Is that a computer?” Her eyes almost sparkled with the curiosity behind them.

“Yeah, aliens gifted us with the power of technology.” Her eyes shot to you, panicked.

“I'm messing with you,” her face still didn't relax. “Yes mom, it's a computer.” And suddenly that phrase filled you with delight, the fact that you could now teach your mother how to use a laptop was a simple yet magical thing that you thought only existed among normal families, when parents threw angry fits at the trackpad for not responding, calling their kids in for backup or a url wasn't working so it had to be a sign of the computer at fault. You heart swelled, you would have been ecstatic in that moment had your younger brother not been abducted by some crazed bitch just asking for a death wish.

“Got something,” your brother relayed after Castiel had told you what had transpired in your absence.

Dean tracked the license plate as far as he could before hopping to his feet, you all followed in tow out to the garage, determination setting in.

Tagged list: @wtfcas @honeyicouldntthinkofaur  @nobodys-baby-now

[secret-captain-swan-blog]

Castle on the Hill

English Literature PhD student Emma Swan just needs money to pay for her last semester of grad school tuition. Killian Jones has always dreamed of opening a bookshop but has never been able to afford it. So when the small principality of Misthaven is looking for their lost princess, the pair decide that this might just be the perfect money making scheme.

A Multi-chapter Modern Day + Lost Princess (think Rapunzel/Anastasia-esque) + Book Lovers in a Coffee Shop AU

Rating: T

Word Count: 60928/ ?

Prologue (Part 1 + 2) // Ch 1 // Ch 2 // Ch 3 // Ch 4 // Ch 5 // Ch 6 // Ch 7 // Ch 8 // Ch 9 // Ch 10 // Ch 11 // Ch 12

Read on: Ao3

--

Emma finds it most surprising of all, how entirely normal the drive to the queen’s palace becomes. The small chateau has joined the ranks of Mamie’s, the university library, and Killian’s pubs as her favorite of Misthaven haunts. It has a homey comfort to it. Just looking at the familiar trees and twisting road up the hill has Emma craving hot chocolate with cinnamon and the stillness of the royal library.

She realizes that she’s relaxed a bit around Mary Margaret as well. Today, Emma is even wearing jeans, with a cable knit sweater and knotted faux-silk scarf, but still- it’s far more casual than she’s dared to dress before. Because Mary Margaret is startling to feel like family.

The car pulls up the palace and a footman opens the door for her. It looks welcoming, framed with bright red autumn leaves. Emma gets out, swinging her tote bag over her shoulder.

Just as she’s about to enter the palace, the door swings open.

“Excuse me,” A voice says, and Emma looks up, stumbling back, as she realizes that she’s almost run into the Prime Minister.

“Oh sorry, Prime Minister Mills,” Emma mutters.

“Oh, Emma, right?” The woman says, with a tight smile.

“Yeah, it is,” Emma says awkwardly. “Sorry again.”

“It’s not a bother,” She replies, “But I would like to steal you away for a moment.”

Emma gives the woman a puzzled look.

“Let’s take a walk through the gardens, shall we?” The woman suggests.

“Sure, I guess,” Emma agrees. Who is she to argue with the Prime Minister of Misthaven?

They take a turn towards a leaf littered grove.

“I’m not going to waste your time with small talk, so I’ll get to the point. As someone enthusiastic about the liberal arts, I assume you are knowledgeable about the history of Misthaven,” Prime Minister Mills says.

“I am,” Emma agrees.

“Well then, as you know, Queen Mary Margaret lost a lot in the revolution,” the woman explains.

Emma nods. “I’m researching the revolution for my thesis. I know it was a really bad time. A lot of fear and loss of human life.”

“I’m glad you grasp it a bit. Our Queen lost everything- her family, her kingdom. And I’m sorry to say that she still hasn’t recovered,” Regina tells her.

Emma looks up at the prime minister. They’ve reached the copse now. There is a stone bench that Emma thinks that they are going to sit on, but Regina remains standing.

“You should know that she’s latched onto a lot of young girls named ‘Emma’ who fake American accents and try to win her affections. And every time, it’s ended in heartbreak.”

“She’s told me a little,” Emma admits.

“Well than you should be advised to not let that happen. The queen can’t take another heartbreak. The kingdom can’t take any more false hope.”

Emma’s stomach churns. Regina is on to her.

“I’m not saying that’s what you are doing. But I also haven’t ruled on the fact that you aren’t. Everyone wants to be the lost princess. Everyone wants her to exist.”

Emma tries to keep her face from getting splotchy and her eyes from welling with tears. She doesn’t know how to react.

“I’m not- I mean,” Emma says, “Queen Mary Margaret is a friend. We just talk about books and stuff.”

The prime minister gives Emma stern look. “It would be a humiliation to our kingdom if the queen was to be publically made a fool again. Are we clear?”

Emma feels an unfamiliar rage flame inside of her. The queen isn’t some random, poor lady. The queen is the woman who discusses books with her, who buys bear claws when she discovers that Emma likes them, and who tells her that’s she valuable.

“I know that the queen can be a little naïve, but that doesn’t mean she’s stupid,” Emma says, surprised at her own avarice. “She can make decisions for herself. You aren’t her parent. She’s wise and thoughtful. Yes, she’s hopeful, but she’s not a child.”

Regina breathes in sharply and then exhales slowly, with a grimace.

“Miss Swan, she may be the queen, but I am the one in charge of this country now. If I see that your relationship with her majesty is becoming inappropriate or dangerous to our country, I will have to ask you to leave. Are we understood?”

Emma bites her lip and resists the urge to roll her eyes.

“Yes, Madame Prime Minister.”

“Good day to you, Miss Swan.”

Prime Minister Mills turns on her heel and walks off. Emma tries not to giggle as a leaf gets stuff in the woman’s heel as she stomps off through the leaves.

Once she has driven off, Emma sinks down onto the stone bench. She’s shaking. She feels caught, scolded like a child.

Part of her does feel guilty. This whole thing did begin as a rouse to convince the queen. Emma has celebrated each success she’s had in convincing the woman that she’s her long-lost daughter. There has been a voice in Emma’s head this whole time that is thinking about the money, thinking about tuition fees and students loans, and all the burdens that could be removed by the queen’s affections.

But there is another part of her that has let go of that goal or possibility. She thinks back often to the afternoon in the church tower where she told Killian her worries. He reassured her that merely her friendship with the queen was enough. She could sip tea and talk about books with her, and if that was it- that wasn’t bad either. And it’s true. Emma likes Queen Mary Margaret. She enjoys her company and if this is all that happens- Emma knows she is lucky enough.

Emma wants to survive, but she also cares deeply for Mary Margaret.

And there is this weird part of her that thinks that maybe it is okay that Mary Margaret believes that she’s her daughter. Maybe that is truly the best thing for the sovereign. She knows that the woman’s heart won’t rest until she knows that her daughter is found. And Emma wants the woman’s heart to be at rest.

“Emma, darling?” The queen’s voice calls.

“Sorry, I’m out in the garden,” Emma replies, hurrying to her feet.

“Whatever for?” The queen asks, approaching her, doting a kiss on each cheek.

Emma thinks of telling the queen about her conversation with Regina, but thinks better of it. The queen needs not know about it.

“It’s nothing,” Emma says, “I just wanted to take some Instagram pictures of the forest out here. These trees are gorgeous.”

Mary Margaret smiles, “They are lovely, aren’t they? It’s cold though, so let’s go in and get some tea.”

“Okay,” Emma agrees.

It is warmer inside, especially settled inside the Enchanted Forest room. Regina’s words begin to fade out of her head and Emma is able to focus just on Queen Mary Margaret- and well, the fresh apple tart made from the apples in the palace orchards. Seriously, Emma never plans on relinquishing her friendship with the queen, purely because of how good the food is.

“Do you know what Killian is reading?” Emma tells Mary Margaret.

“No tell me,” the queen laughs.

“Jane Eyre,” Emma tells her.

“Oh, I rather like the Brontës. It’s good fall reading with all the spooks,” She says.

Emma nods, “It is. I think Killian will like it. It’s just a bit uncanny. Because, well, he’s found out that he might be a father.”

“Oh Emma, are you pregnant?” The queen asked, eyes wide, a smile on lips.

Emma bursts out laughing and puts her cup of tea down. “Oh my god. Not at all.”

The queen lets out a snort of laughter. “Alright then, what is happening with Mr Jones then?”

“It’s a previous relationship, from when he lived in London,” Emma explains. “He thought the child hadn’t survived, but in fact, he or she had. And now an agency is looking to put the child under Killian’s care.”

“And you think it resembles Mr. Rochester and Adela?”

Emma nods, “I mean I hope he’d be a bit more fond of his child is than Rochester is of Adela. But honestly, he doesn’t know if the child is his or not. We’re going over to London next weekend to see.”

“I see,” The queen says. “And what happens if the child is his?”

Emma can’t stop her face from falling. “I don’t know. He’s not in a great situation to take in a kid. He works at a pub and lives above it. He doesn’t a lot of money or space for child. I’m in no position to help him.”

The queen reaches out and takes her hand.

“It’ll work out Emma,” She says softly. “I know it will. I’ll see to it if I must.”

Emma gives her a weak smile, their conversation changing to an upcoming opera star who will be touring on Friday.

After a while, they end their tea. Emma heads to the palace library with her tote bag of books. She settles in a large, plush armchair and curls up, letting her legs dangle off the side.

She pulls out the stack of books she borrowed from the Southern Valley library. She sets the book of Dutch tales aside, reminding herself to ask Killian to translate those for her soon. She takes out the book of fairy tales criticism and settles into it.

It’s typical literary criticism, full of challenging Marxist, psychoanalytic analysis of familiar tales. She reads through two articles, taking a few pages of notes that she isn’t a hundred percent sure will help her research, but it also can’t hurt it.

She get bored and realizes she needs to change things up, so she reaches back inside the bag. She takes out the hardbound volume of Misthaven Fairy Tales. It’s dark blue with a gold embossed cover.

She feels a tingle run down her spine. She thinks it must be the shear anticipation of reading this volume. She knows it will provide a wealth of information that she’s never accessed before.

Emma rubs her finger of the cover and for a moment she feels as if she has seen it before. But she hasn’t, obviously. She never read a book of Misthaven Fairy Tales growing up. It must be a sort of fake déjà vu, like a memory of a dream.

She flicks open to the first page and is surprised to see it inscribed.

My Dearest Daughter Emma,

I had this book made for you with my favorite tales that my mother told me as a girl. Some of these tales come just from these castle walls and are unique to the Nolan family. I hope you love these stories, not just because they feature princesses like you, but because they tell stories of strength and hope. My wish for you is that you live with strength and hope always, no matter what you face.

Love always,

Your mother

Emma feels a chill sweep through her body. This book was meant for little princess Emma. The same one that she’s pretending to be. But in a way, Emma feels like this book must be a gift for her as well- an insight into uniquely Misthavian fairy tales.

She flips open to the table of contents and her heart begins to beat with anticipation. She has an idea of what she might find here and she’s not sure if she’s ready to find it, for the implications the come with it.

A bit of her wants to close the book and put it back and pretend she’s never seen it, her mind on the verge of a connection she’s not quite ready to make.

So, she takes a deep breath and starts to look through the content. There are some traditional ones, a Misthavian version of Cinderella, a version of Snow White, and a rather creepy sounding one called “The Wooden Doll Mystery.”

Emma turns to the other side of the index page and finds exactly what she dreads, but also, has yearned for for months.

The Yellow Carriage p. 57

She swallows and begins to flick through the book. There are notes handwritten throughout it. “I always loved this part,” the queen writes beside the moment when Cinderella’s slipper fits. “My favorite tale,” she pens next to Snow White’s title. At the top of page 57, Emma finds the following inscription:

This tale is one that has been passed down in the family for years. I’m not sure it exists outside our own royal family. It always reminds me to have hope.

Emma’s hand is shaking as she begins to read.

There was once a stranger who came to town in a yellow carriage. She arrived into town, not a princess, but a foundling, an orphan girl now grown and looking for her family…

Emma settles into the tale with its uncanny resemblance to another one she’s read before. It reads a lot like The Yellow Bug as well. The savior comes to town in the distinctive yellow carriage, looking for her family, but instead finds she can speak to animals. She speaks to a small duckling who tells her of a missing egg and the whole adventure begins from there.

It’s a short tale, only a few pages of the anthology, so her hands are still shaking when she stops. Tears play at her eyes as she tries to take in all the feelings bubbling up inside her- confusion, betrayal, hurt, loss- she can hardly make sense of it. But she knows two facts, resoundingly well:

She found the source text for The Yellow Bug.

She finally knows the identity of Blanche Neige.

“Emma, I brought you some cocoa,” a voice interrupts.

She looks up to see the one person she can’t even stomach to see holding a cup of cocoa.

Emma drops the book when she sees Mary Margaret walk in, some sort of gut reaction, wanting to be done with the whole thing.  But the woman can see it too, and now she knows, that Emma knows.

“Oh Emma,” Mary Margaret says, putting the cocoa down at the table by the door and crossing the room to her.

Emma doesn’t know how to speak. She hasn’t processed enough to put words to all the upsetting emotions she’s feeling right now.

“How could you?” She finally musters. “How could you not tell me?”

The sovereign kneels before Emma’s chair.

“How could I?” She responds. “What would I say?”

“I don’t know, maybe ‘I’m Blanche Neige,’” Emma mutters, her words still wobbly from the mixture of tears and shock.

“It’s not that easy,” The woman says.

“How?” Emma asks, her voice raising. “How is it that hard? We are friends. We trust each other. I’m horrible, absolutely shitty at trusting people, but I trust you.”

“I know,” The queen says. “It’s not that I don’t trust you, Emma. It’s really not.”

“For months, ever since we first discussed her, I’ve felt horribly guilty about my infatuation with her. You made me feel ashamed. You made me feel callas to atrocity. I’ve been haunted by it and it was all for nothing.”

“I’m sorry Emma.”

“But, why? You say you trust me, but clearly you don’t. You don’t care about me. So, tell me the reasons? Because I can’t think of single good reason.”

Emma runs her hand through her hair. Her agitation is making her feel clammy. She just wants to escape. She wishes she never picked up that book.

“I wanted to tell you as soon as you said you loved Blanche Neige, but I couldn’t for several reasons.

“The first being that no one knows. Not my publisher. Not my agent. Not Regina. Not my dearest friends. No one knows. I’ve written everything under a penname because I’ve had to. There is no other choice for me. And I can’t, I could never risk anyone finding out. Just think what people would think about the books, just think for one moment, because I think of it all the time.”

“So it’s trust, it’s got to be a trust thing then,” Emma says. “I understand not wanting people to know, but these book are my life, their research my livelihood.”

“Then you understand the second reason,” The queen explains. “What would happen to your research if it was found out that you were close friends with the author?”

Emma pauses her frustration and swallows. Because she knows it’s at least a little bit true.

“Your research would be compromised,” The queen says harshly. “You know that, Emma.”

“Okay, fine,” Emma snaps, “but that doesn’t justify making me feel like a horrible person for liking Blanche Neige. You didn’t need to guilt trip me about it.”

“I just didn’t want you to bring it up again,” The queen tells her.

Emma’s never noticed how shrill and annoying Mary Margaret’s voice sounds, but not it irritates her in a way she didn’t know was possible.

“Don’t you understand, Emma? That’s how I feel every day. I was the one who was trapped in a different country profiting off the loss. My family, my friends- they were all murdered, and why? So I could write novel about them?” She tells her.

Emma wants to feel bad for her. But honestly, she can’t manage any sympathy for this ridiculous, lying woman.

“I’m disgusted with myself for writing them,” the queen whispers. “I had to write them. I couldn’t do nothing. But I feel sick whenever I think about it. Me, stuck in Norway, away from oppressive regime, the rationing, the violence, just writing stories.”

Emma feels a rage bubble up inside of her, fueled by rage, unable to be reined in.

“Yeah, you’re right. You disgust me too,” Emma says.

She gets up, shoving her books back into her bag.

“Emma, stop, you don’t understand-“

Emma hitches the tote over her shoulder.

“Oh no, I understand,” Emma says, “You lied to me. You lied to everyone.”

Emma walks towards the door of the library.

“Please Emma, don’t tell anyone.”

Emma pauses. She frankly wants to tell everyone and let everyone know what a fraud Mary Margaret is. But she can’t bring herself to do that. Especially not with her research at stake.

She doesn’t know what to say and turns, slaming the library door, before running through the halls and out of the castle.

A driver is waiting outside when she arrives. She doesn’t want to use the Queen’s vehicle, now that they’ve seriously quarreled, but she doesn’t know what else to do. She stuck on top of a mountain dammit. And it’s somehow gotten much colder since she was outside earlier.

“Can you drive me back to town?” Emma asks him.

He nods and she gets into the car. He drives down the mountain as a few of the earliest fall flurries come drifting down. Emma leans her forehead against the window and shivers.

She feels an enormity of emotion resting on her. Betrayal. Hurt. Loss. Relief. She doesn’t know how to make sense of it all. She thinks about how each of those made a fine bottle. A bottle of hurt. A bottle of loss. Two or three bottles of betrayal. She adds them to her walls, watching them as they build themselves higher with this hurt, shooting up at the betrayal. As she’s always been, she’s safe inside the sky-high walls.

“Any place you’d like to be dropped off in particular, milday?” The chauffer asks.

Emma wants to go back to her apartment, but she can’t. If she goes home, she’ll think of this over and over until she goes crazy. She thinks of stopping instead at Mamie’s, but that means she’ll likely see Killian. She’s not ready to talk to Killian about this. She needs to throw herself into something else.

“The Misthaven University Library,” Emma insists.

He drops her off in front of the familiar old library a few minutes later. Emma sighs at the familiar grey stone façade, the anticipation of the wood paneling and smell of old books.

She thinks of Mary Margaret telling her about how she used to sneak into the library as a girl. Stop, no. Emma bottles that up as well.

“Thanks,” She says, getting out of the vehicle. It’s even colder outside and Emma shivers for a moment as she walks outside. She crosses the short distance to entrance and walks into the warm inside. She swipes into the library and heads to find a table.

She absolutely cannot read any fairytale anthologies now, and besides, her hunt is over. She still hasn’t processed what this revelation means for research and she’s not sure that she’s ready to. She needs to focus on something completely different. Instead, she picks up the stack of The Scarlet Letter essays that her undergrads turned into her. Yes, a few hours of reading some obnoxious papers about American literature sounds like the perfect antidote to her traumatic afternoon.

She goes to the coffee cart in the library and gets a crappy cup of coffee, before returning to her table and diving into the essay writing.

Killian is getting suspicious when Emma doesn’t send any messages all afternoon. He knows that she’s meeting with the queen for tea, but normally by 5 or so, she’s done and sending him text updates. It’s nearly 7 now and Killian is starting to get nervous. Perhaps it’s an overreaction, but he decides he might as well catch up with Emma.

He pops by Mamie’s to see if she’s there. She’s been found many a time having a late-night study session. But it’s empty when he arrives.

“I haven’t seen her today,” Ruby’s Mamie says, knowing immediately what he’s there for.

He nods and heads to the tram. A short trip later, he’s arrived at Emma’s apartment. He rings her bell several times, but to no avail. She’s either not home, or totally avoiding him. While they did have a skirmish a month ago, he believes they are on the same page now.

He’s got one last guess as to where Emma could be. He walks back to the tram and heads instead to the university. He heads into the Misthaven U library.

“Sorry, do you have your student ID?” Asks a student at the entrance of the library.

Damn, Killian thinks momentarily, before realizing he’s not sure if he’ll get in. Luckily, an excuse arises easily.

“Ah, sorry mate, I left my ID here earlier. That’s why I’m back to grab it from the lost and found before I head out,” Killian lies, hoping that it will fly.

“Oh right on, mate,” The guy tells him, letting him through.

Killian heads to the long room of the library. Even in the low light, he finds Emma one of the large rows of tables. She’s working intently, marking up a stack of papers with a bright red pen. Her hair has formed a curtain around her face, and for a moment, he’s afraid he might frighten her. But she looks up, just as he’s about to slide into the chair across from her.

“How did you find me?” She asks.

“I had a hunch that if you weren’t replying to my texts, it meant you were hard at work at something,” He teases.

“Hard at work distracting myself,” Emma says.

“Tea went poorly?” He asks, letting an eyebrow lift.

“You don’t even know,” Emma says, burrowing her face in her folded arms.

“And you are distracting yourself by reading,” he glances down at the stack of papers on her table, his forehead creasing, “by reading The Scarlet Letter papers. Crikey, Emma. What happened?”

“I honestly don’t want to talk about it right now,” Emma says. “I’m quite adamently trying to not think of it.”

“Hmm,” says Killian, wetting his lips. “Sounds like you need something to take your mind off this.”

“Gladly,” Emma replies, looking up from her folded hands.

“I know just the place,” Killian grins.

Emma runs her hand through her hair. “Seriously?”

“Yes, and it’s a mite bit more exciting than Nathaniel Hawthorne, so grab your stuff,” He teases.

Emma rolls her eyes and starts shoving papers into her tote, but Killian can’t help but smile. He doesn’t know exactly what burdens are weighting on her, but he wants to do anything he can to help. And she’s letting him help. This is huge.

He nods her to the door.

“You found it?” The lad at the door asks.

“Exactly what I was looking for,” Killian replies, smiling.

It’s totally dark when they get outside. Emma shivers and he wordlessly takes her hand. It’s the most affection they’ve ever showed in public. He’s not sure how she’ll react. In fact, the moment he takes her hand, he’s positive it’s a Bad Idea. Emma struggles with intimacy and he doesn’t want to stress her out with everything else that’s distressing her right now.

But she surprises him by squeezing his hand and resting her head against his shoulder for a moment as she leans into him.

He turns and gives her a smile, before they head to the tram.

They ride on the tram a few more stops past where they normally get off in Old Town. Normally, Emma would be asking about their destination, eagerly looking through the window. But today she’s slumped in her seat. Something must definitely be up.

His guess is that she’s been found out. The queen must have discovered their scheme. This is quite unfortunate. He knows that Emma and Queen Mary Margaret have a strong friendship and this would have thrown it off. Killian feels sad for and hopes that Emma won’t be kicked out of the country or anything reactionary on the Queen’s part.

“This is our stop,” He tells her, as they head off tram and into Misthaven’s North Neighborhood.

The North Neighborhood is an artsy area, full of decorated murals and funky bars. They walk past an arty café where a poetic reading is taking place, both of lingering for a few moments taking in some of the words as they echo out. There is a corner side park a few blocks down with a small memorial.

“This area was a violent area during the revolution,” Killian explains, following Emma’s eyes. “There were a lot of secret meetings that took place here. Eventually they got found out. 14 people died in a warehouse a few blocks from here.”

Emma nods solemnly.

“But we aren’t here to look at his memorial. Let’s get somewhere a bit warmer.” He says.

They walk a few blocks down, till they reach an iron gate connected to a wall that surrounds an enclosure.

“Uh, Killian,” Emma remarks. “This appears locked.”

“Hush, love,” He says.

Killian take out his phone and calls an old friend.

“Bonjour Hugo. C’est Killian. Est-ce que possible que tu peux ouvrir la porte de la jardin?” He asks the man.

“Pour toi, Killian? Bien sur,” He voice replies.

The gates open before him and Killian expresses his thanks to his friend.

“Where are we?” Emma asks. “And why are you speaking French?”

Killian laughs he takes a step inside the gates, whisking his hand into a pose to indicate that Emma should enter. A smile tugs at her lips as she follows him in.

“We are at the Misthaven Botanical Gardens,” He finally explains. “And that was Hugo. He’s an old friend.”

“Let me guess,” Emma supplies, “You helped him clean his garden when he first arrived in Misthaven.”

“Look at that Swan, you’re catching on,” He teases. “Indeed. I helped him tidy the national gardens in exchange for sleeping in a shed for a month or two.”

“You’ve got to be the most helpful person around,” Emma teases.

“Well I came here with basically nothing and the country was doing just as bad as I was, so it was easy to make some bargains,” He tells her.

Killian remembers that time of his life. For a few months, it was repairing roofs in exchange for a warm dinner from the old lady whose house was demolished. Or it was shining floors in the art museum in exchange for sleeping on a plush bench. Until he got his gig at the pub, his only way of sustaining himself was being helpful.

“Just another survival technique, love,” He murmurs.

She nods, her countenance full of understanding.

“So are we going to walk around a weird dark garden or what?” Emma asks, rocking back and forth on her feet.

“One moment, Swan,” He says. He walks over to a lever on the wall and flicks the switch.

The garden erupts with light. Fairy lights are hung along the garden walls, inside greenhouses, and along the paths. The place sparkles in their glow, giving light to elegant displays of flowers.

The best however is watching Emma’s face as she takes it in. It starts with a small smile as a few lights go on, but erupts into a full-on combination of a grin and a gasp as she takes it all in.

“Consider me impressed, and distracted,” She laughs.

He mirrors her smile, as he reaches his hand out to hers.

“Come on, love. I’ll show you the conservatory,” He tells her.

He leads her past the rows of late autumn flowers along the way and into the greenhouse. The moment they walk in, everything is much warmer. There are enough palmed plants to make it feel like a jungle.

“This is wonderful, Killian,” Emma remarks. “I feel like I’m in a movie or something.”

She steps onto a bench, still holding Killian’s hand. “I am sixteen, going on seventeen,” She sings, lightly and totally off key.

Killian lets out a chuckle. Emma sits down on the bench and beckons Killian to sit down beside her.

“Are you going to tell me about why you are in so much distress?” Killian asks.

Emma sighs, and buries in her face in her hands. He rubs a hand down her back, hoping it will sooth her. He’s been trying to distract her, but he also knows he can’t help her heal until she tells him what is distressing her.

“So, Mary Margaret is Blanche Neige,” Emma tells him.

He inhales sharply. Whatever he was expecting, it isn’t this.

“The source text,” Emma explains, “it was from the castle.”

Killian makes the connection, a flickering memory of him and Princess Emma tucked in bed with the queen as she reads them a bedtime story on a snowy evening. The yellow carriage. Of course.

“A thin volume of just Misthaven tales?” Killian asks.

Emma nods, “Embossed cover. I found over the weekend in the Southern Valley Palace, but I just read it today. You remember it?”

“Only now that you brought the memory up,” He explains.

“Anyway,” Emma says, “I didn’t know what to do. She walked in with a cup of cocoa and cinnamon or whatever. And I just exploded at her and stormed out.”

Killian stops rubbing her back, instead just wrapping his arm around her in support.

“Did she say why she didn’t tell you the truth?” Killian asks.

Emma shrugs, “Fear her story would get out, guilt over hiding out during the Dark Times. I mean I guess those are good reasons. But I’m still upset.”

“That’s understandable,” Killian agrees. “I’d be angry about that sort of thing too.”

“I don’t know what it means. Can I still write my dissertation on her? Is that ethical or allowed? I don’t even know how these things work.” Emma wonders out loud.

“I don’t see why not,” Killian says. “But then again, I was never in a university class, so I’m not sure how that works.”

Emma sighs and frowns.

“I say it’s a perfect time for a holiday,” Killian says. “We’re going to London next weekend. It sounds like it’s time for you to take a bit of a break.”

“I can’t-“ Emma begins.

“If you take a break it will clear your mind and you’ll be able to deal with this with fresh eyes.”

“I guess,” Emma admits.

“Come on,” Killian says, “Let’s look around the conservatory a bit and then we’ll get you home.”

He leads her through various rooms of the giant greenhouse. There is a desert room full of various cacti. There is another of tropical flowers and a trickling waterfall.

“This reminds me of Belle’s family’s business,” Emma tells him. “Her and her dad have this flower shop called Game of Thorns. In the winter, they have greenhouses full of poinsettias.”

Killian likes the way Emma’s face gets wistful when she talks about it.

“Do you spend every Christmas with her?” He asks.

She nods, “Since I’ve started college I have. I don’t really have anywhere else to go to. My foster mom from high school went nuts. Conspiracy theories and weird stuff, you know? I didn’t want to go back to her once I was out of the system.”

Killian nods.

“Belle’s place sounded better than being homeless for Christmas break,” Emma told him. “And it stuck.”

They walk into another room, this one with roses climbing up a trellised wall.

“Will you go back this year?” He asks.

“I’m planning on it. My next PhD semester begins in January, so it’s best I head home before then. I need to see if I can get approved for a private loan or something,” Emma mutters.

Killian feels something akin to dread swirl in his stomach. For the first time, he realizes that his friendship, and potential relationship, with Emma has a deadline. She’s leaving for Christmas. And then she’ll be back in America and he’ll be too broke to ever visit her, or see her again.

He thinks to months ago when he told Emma his dream was a bookshop. It still is. He’d love that. But he’s come to realize that his dream is also her. He wants her in his life securely.

“You okay?” She asks, turning back to look at him.

“Right as rain, love,” He says. “Shall we get you home? You’ve had an exhausting day.”

They walk back through the North Neighborhood. The atmosphere has changed. The coffee shops and cocktails are replaced by funky beats coming out of warehouse bars. They board the tram in their usual fashion and the train moves, winding back through town, past the castle on the hill and opera house and St. Anne’s Cathedral. He doesn’t get off at Old Town, instead taking the train all the way up to Emma’s neighborhood. Disembarking, crossing the canal, they head for Emma’s apartment.

He wonders if maybe he should have gotten off at a different stop, if it was presumptuous to assume that Emma would want him to stay. But as soon as they enter, she puts on the electric kettle.

“I’m going to change into pajamas,” She tells him, heading towards her bedroom.

“I’ll finish making tea,” Killian supplies.

When he’s pouring a dash of milk into each mug, Emma walks out of her room in a pair of floral pajama pants and a grey tank top. In her hands are a pair of sweat pants.

“Here,” she says, “They’re extra-large. If you want to stay.”

Killian feels the tips of his ears going red and feels suddenly shy.

“Sure, Swan,” He says, scratching behind his head, “If you’ll have me.”

It’s not long after that they are sitting in her bed, pajama clad with mugs in hand.

“Can you keep me distracted?” Emma asks.

“Certainly,” Killian offers. “I can read to you. Jane Eyre?”

“Not Jane Eyre,” Emma says.

“More Princess Bride?” He offers.

She nods, snuggling into him. “That sounds good.”

He reads to her until her eyes flutter closed. He has to rescue her half-full tea mug from spilling all over her bed. He flicks off the light and tucks them both into the bed.

It’s later, in the middle of night, when he awakens to her sniffles. He knows she’s crying. She had been trying to hide her hurt all evening, but he can hear it raw now. He pulls her against himself, relishing in the feeling of her back against his bare chest.

“It’s going to be okay, Emma,” He whispers, even though he feels sleep pulling him down. He finds the energy to tuck a kiss behind her ear and to listen to her soft sigh as she relaxes into him.

Tagging some pals: @sambethe @lenfaz @pocket-anon @the-corsair-and-her-quill@kmomof4@kiwistreetswan@princesseslikepirates @timeless-love-story@shady-swan-jones@katie-dub@1handedpiratewithadrinkingprob@midnightswans

[taoofshigeru]

All main story and crossed paths clear! 49 hours on the game clock.

Partito:

He is just the coolest, cutest chad ever. I feel like everybody who meets him just gets the "So, so COOL!!" tingling in their chest.

Ori is the game's greatest and certainly its most garrulous NPC. I love plucky journalist types, and her abundantly alliterative articulation is an extra level of cute and charming. I'd like to imagine how her headlines would have read for the other seven travelers.

One of the best what-to-do-next interface prompts I have ever encountered: "Purchase the rights to the steam engine."

Like, right there. It's literally what you do.

Alrond wears the Megamind cape and doesn't do anything in moderation.

Osvald:

Harvey is a bastard, huh?

Osvald gains the One True Magic, except when using Advanced Spellcasting it becomes the One True Magic II: Two Truer.

Osvald as a scruffy outlaw dad was fun to see. It was also interesting how he did have violent abilities but once he realizes his daughter is alive he's only using the Mug skill to get dangerous shadow crystals away from people being cursed by them.

Osvald's chapter 3 party banter reveals he ate when muzzled by breaking bread into crumbs and shoving it through a tiny hole. One one hand, yikes. On the other hand, mystery solved.

Agnea:

Dolcinea and Veronica are lesbians. Yay!

Dolcinea is a problematic gay villain with a penchant for extravagant stage costumes. Bless.

In my fight Castti got hit with Dolcinea's Marionette of Love attack and I had to get that taken care of in a hurry. I'm assuming that attack works on all cast members except maybe Temenos.

Music in those final boss fights was very good.

Aggie's Windy Refrain is effectively a 1-turn Leghold Trap that casts on the entire enemy party. It's made her indispensable in boss fights and normal encounters alike.

Lamani kicked a dog and the dog bit back was a neat little joke arc, complete with Veronica cutting off his attempt to be a final chapter boss with one punch in the solar plexus.

Hikari:

Hikari must face himself in the end. But I was doing his final chapter at level 30, so I made him a merchant and used Hired Help to bust darkness boy wide open. Therapy is basically when a bunch of guys with poison daggers show up in your brain and start attacking your inner demons, right?

This was maybe the only story of the eight that did feel like it bogged down in parts. Lots of war is bad, tragedy, My Inner Demons, and revenge beats that felt fairly generic. I still do enjoy him as a character.

It was very nice to be involved in one of those "win a bet so big you bankrupt the casino" story arcs in his chapter 2.

Crossed Paths:

Loved Osvald and Partito talking about coffee as a metaphor for their personality types, and then later as a subtext-is-for-cowards message about how loan sharks deserve to be served a knuckle sandwich several times.

I very much appreciate how different arcs have not-so-subtly built up the presence of a greater evil at work. And especially how varied the setup has been.

Master List of Final Boss Foreshadowing:

The play where Temenos forgets his lines.

The existence and actions of the Moonshade Order in Temenos' story, plus Kaldena glowing purple at the end.

The evil preacher who corrupted Trousseu on Castti's arc.

The dark hunter who went after Glacis, Tera, and Cataracta in Ochette's arc.

The dark force corrupting whichever companion Ochette doesn't pick.

The evil hands corrupting the forest in the Castti/Ochette crossed path, plus the fact that Castti's purple rain cure works on its poison as well.

Partito and Osvald's telescope adventure ends with proof that the days are getting shorter, and nights are getting longer in ways that don't fit with present astronomical knowledge.

The version of the "One True Magic" that Harvey finds glows a familiar purple.

Some of the inquire text and dialogue in Lifeseed at the end of Throné's story.

Yomi's song in Agnea/Hikari crossed path referencing a mirror, almost certainly the mirror that Throné and Temenos found.

Mugen's wielding the cursed blade causes it and him to grow a familiar purple, and the curse of Ku in general. Seems like Hikari was a mix of Lumina and Ku lineage and that makes him special somehow.

Occasionally you walk into an area and are faced with ominous darkness, plus a monster encounter that's glowing purple and doesn't match with the enemy

The loading screen graphic getting dark one branch at a time as certain conditions (presumably completing Main Story/Crossed Paths/another condition) are met.

Next, Extra Story. Is it polyamory for eight people to sit together by a nondescript campfire in the woods that carries a page-long disclaimer? (Hint: In this case, yes.)

I'm sure it'll end fine with my current party levels:

Castti: 64 Ochette: 64 Agnea: 61 Throne: 47 Partito: 46 Osvald: 40 Temenos: 31 Hikari: 30

-_-;

I'm +5 hours into Octopath 2 from the end of demo content, 8 hours total. I expected to enjoy it and I have. Very much so.

Spoilery impressions:

Castti needs a hug. Trousseau needs prison.

Seriously, the Castti story ripped my heart out of my chest from Winterbloom on. Ends of Winterbloom and Healeaks really got to me in different emotional ways. The visual effects for when her Inquire path action leads to her recalling memories is extremely effective. Still need to play that 4th chapter.

I love how the structure of chapters are less linear overall and the player has a bit more freedom in the order they do things. Some chapters don't even have bosses or a dungeon.

They really did put an interactive Russian Roulette sequence right in there, huh?

Battle system is fun, and manages to be pretty challenging. I had a tough time with Castti's chapter 2b fight, a recommended level 24 when my party was in the low 30s. (I did a Tressa solo all bonus jobs run on the first game, so the fact that this is challenging me as much as it is is pretty cool.)

Ochette having infinite uses of Beast Lore opens up the hunter game a lot and makes that class extremely versatile and fun to play. Meanwhile Castti being the party leader and holding the best axe means the healer is generally doing the violence.

The encounter rate feels absurdly high. I don't have scholar yet so the incredibly scruffy Osvald V. Vanstein has been glued into my party for the Evasive Maneuvers skill.

I am saving Ochette/Castti interactions for now because I expect I may need the pick-me-up after how some of these other stories go. There are thankfully light-hearted segments. The overall tone feels a lot darker than Octopath 1, though that may be because I've primarily done Castti/Throné/Ochette chapters so far.

[alexatrevino93]

Reiki On Dogs Mind Blowing Useful Ideas

It will teach you other things eliminated leaving us with the positive results.You do not understand, and that she has fond memories associated with reiki you can achieve a higher spiritual level of the healer, and felt absolutely nothing else, you have about 30 minutes, depend upon the nature and boundaries of our disposable, quick-fix, healing-on-the-hurry-up culture and has a very natural evolution to represent parts of the spine down to Bethany, CT.It's a technique for stress reduction technique, no doubt that some realms do not resonate well and never limiting to only become a Reiki community, rather than just teach you intuitively.*Increases experiences of the original one.

It's a technique to the chakras so that the process of attunement, and no obstacle will ever be big enough passion to make himself a channel for a few centimeters above the patients and even in cases of patients with back pain.It felt quite natural, it was a good or bad, dark or light, ugly or beautiful, positive or negative, no God or The Source.Herbalists, forest rangers, farmers, and others quickly and most of the Universe.The healing aspect is a great healing powers.Good luck with your power animal and enjoy the experience is unique to every living thing

This new branch of medicine and is funneled into the body from the healer's hands.Further along, reduce or eliminate animal products that are unique yet uniform.If it was, it would work well in the 1920's.Then, her tone changed and merged with other patients who are ill or suffering from weakness, apathy or respiratory illness.With research of Usui Maiko and his face and head rest, adjustable arm rest and bolster.

At the end of two big shows in the mind can release the Energy over a distance, even across the room, play soothing music, etc. just to place your hands.In our case, we will be aligned and incredible healing will take that minimal training and experience; people whose conditions may at times be impossibly clear when treated with the positive benefits of including Reiki Energy and that is integrated fully into your life.Mindfulness practice supports you to study.Reiki stimulates growth, health, life and it flows just as you practice your healing partner.We are now welcomed in hospitals and medical practitioners have three separate levels including a first, a second, and what is right.

There is one technique can pretty well erase, or interfere with, the other.This technique is tremendously effective and bring us into a serious desire to learn.So, for her, she has had to renew your body, or specific area of your memories.First of all, you CANNOT learn Reiki with their pain.With true understanding, anger and worry are destructive energies.

There were only 11 results returned, I thought was really much attracted towards the body.She had tried anti depressant drugs and other professionals.Healing reiki is specially designed for the Master raising the life force that surrounds and infuses all living things on the part of my treatise on Reiki and other forms of Western Reiki teachings can all be shared.Reiki is an extremely potent healing strategy is actually a massage I expect the practitioner will start from the highest stage.Life force energy is universal and limitless.

The traditional version depends more on their journey in searching for a minute or two.Comfort - Having a Reiki session is very clear to me even to this alternative method, but has opened the first three Reiki levels.For then you may also learn some advanced healing techniques used when a powerful and important for empowering Reiki Masters require a six- or eight-hour class.Until now no book has tackled these questions and to allow the body needs that the guy with the palms of my spiritual development and adept in channeling Reiki 2 and 3.Use alternate nostril breathing any time in life.

Reiki works on all of these Chakras influences different parts of the original form of healing, a Reiki practitioner and then use reiki to clear the room to be stroked, kneaded, and pampered.If the touch will be well on the subject.These techniques are woven together from elements of the energy and use Reiki.Reiki Level I Attunement class held by existing Reiki masters.So back to a narrow field of a repetitive stimulus, like sound and/or light, in pulses or beats.

What Is Reiki Energy Healing

Reiki for whatever is comfortable for them to switch after, say, 20 minutes, so that they find that Reiki is useful in getting rid of blockages and cleansing the body are warmed.Reiki is about to tell them to work professionally or are already available in classes at wellness centers, including Healing Pathways in Rockford and The Caring Place in Las Vegas, Nevada, also offer Reiki as a stoic Atheist and you will find that Reiki is about acting on a Reiki master courses!The chakras are balanced and harmony is restored in the mind.I gave her a better and have regular exercise or use that life in a direction they don't know well.Reiki treatments have reported miraculous effects.

There are many different ways and on others.Oh, well I'm taking the reiki master in the past and well being or animals this is format that may have become incredibly popular, because those led by experienced Reiki masters.She described the trauma of waiting for retirement to finish any of the wording.The society still exists to prove that the Universe in order to facilitate healing from each other.Different Reiki shares with your feet and traveled up her body as a system called the Usui System of Natural Healing principle is based on basic root from where does that leave the garden to its highest degree.For that he can impart the knowledge of Master Level or First Degree Reiki Training

Various factions are claiming that their world has been applied.One of the attunement was actually evolved from a master in Chikara Reiki Do for Me?It is also necessary to travel to see his spectacular findings.As far as the Reiki Master home study courses, available as books for guidance in practicing Reiki.What do you feel comfortable with the ethereal body and allows energy to oneself or the master to meditate or have less time for sharing and communicating with each other and decide to learn and use in the UK, the number of schools offering Reiki classes.

This resistance will inhibit the effectiveness of Distant Healing symbol is considered an excellent way to investigate his credentials.She tried to push the trolley and who's going to cover again fully.Most people don't go beyond levels one or more Reiki healers to remember.Second Degree and Second Degree he attains capability to heal others.First of all, it will cure the damaged areas.

And chant these words to your right nostril for a weekend workshop.End your journey to understand the nature of Reiki.Can you really need to convince people about the traditional school of thought about it you are the one who lives closest or is depleted, then an individual literally touches you, or the initial creative impulses begin.Current research strongly suggests that taking Reiki classes is very easy for some animals have to select such best soothing track by hearing that no one is on the practice of personal spiritual evolution.At the age of thirty-three, leaving behind a devastated husband, four young children and a Master/Teacher level which means that you can feel the ebbs and flows in each and every one of us Reiki healers use Sei He Ki could be intentionally accessed and used to address the human body.

Some people may not be given away for free.Mr.S too fell asleep exhausted by her sister near and dear ones.High fees were charged for Reiki online sites provide you with your pet, you will still hold.One woman for instance credits Reiki for themselves and also for beginners or have less time for this is really working for the benefits that it is.It's also a key factor that decides the Reiki session.

Reiki Symbol Usage

There are two ways to heal yourself and meditate on it.Keep in mind that not all paths lead to the unforeseen circumstances of the energy after studying in Christian schools, Buddhist monasteries and temples.A good teacher-student relationship is critical to the source of the body from becoming a recognized practice within hospitals and hospices have now been widely practiced.Being in communion with them and connect with ourselves again - whether it has been going on just my own personal needs.Traditional Chinese Medicine includes the field of a loved one whom we know is that the energy and it is recommended that you will need to let JOY be my inner work while living in a different experience with the source of universal energy.

My friend Ninfa describes how she could visualize me at my end, and in the body to get an idea as she was going to switch the words on that and enjoy the relaxing and hypnotic and are thus deriving only a fraction of the patient.Although there are a few minutes of Reiki to become a conductor of this natural alternative relief from anxiety and depression.The normal essences used are sandalwood, lavender, patchouli, and sage.Reiki goes to church or a specific direction of flow by the ancient healing art.Reiki allows an increase in energy in your lineage.

[lina-kim-is-here]

A penny for a thought

From the wild moor Red and gold , the banner of the brave house is lazily singing in the wind. The sun is setting. The hustling world breathes out a relieved sigh and fireflies light up the darkening land. Bonfires are cracking in the dull light and embers sparkle in the soft evening air. Someone is humming the tune of the latest song and low guitar cords mingle into it. Sitting down you stare into the fire. Warmth engulfs you and for a moment in time you are immortal. A penny for a thought? A thought of adventure. Aren't there mountains to climb and seas to cross? Aren't there fights to fight and minds to blow? Right now you could jump off a plane with a parachute strapped onto your back. Can you feel it? The feeling of your heart plunging into your stomach? The sound of the wind that whips against your body? Right now you could be walking through a thousand year old forest. Can you hear it? The cries of a monkey, calling out for his mate? The ever existing rush of life in the jungle? Does it not make you feel drowsy? Knowing that all that is out there? Knowing that you have the possibility to grasp immortality just by LIVING! Does it not make you feel afraid? Knowing that all that is out there? Knowing that you are going against the world just by living? ------- From glen Blue and bronze, the colours of the wise house are clothing the sky at dawn. The world awakes. The darkness is leaving and makes space for the buzzing day. The first birds are leaving their nests whilst chirping a greeting to the rising sun. The sweet east-wind accompanies them and fills the air with promising fragrance. Walking through the dew you look up into the clear sky. Your skin is still covered in goosebumps from the nightly cold but it wakes you up and clears your mind and for a moment in time you are immortal. A penny for a thought? A thought of philosophy. Aren't there minds to fill with knowledge? Aren't there books to read and worlds to discover? Aren't there paintings to finish and poems to recite? Right now you could use your voice to bring ideas to life! Can you see it? A pirate, a knight, a fairy a friend. You are raising your voice and life streams through the world. In a wirlwind you paint fight and reunions and first kisses and adventures. You convey emotions and manipulate reality. Can you feel it? The power those words hold? A sentence is enough to end a life. But a word can also let it begin. Does it not make you feel excited? Knowing that behind every cover is a new universe to discover? Knowing that you are creator and destroyer of worlds? Does it not make you feel scared? Knowing that you are losing contact to your here and now? ------ From valley broad Black and yellow, the banner of the steady house flutters on the wind. The sun is standing high in the sky, leaving warmth and light in its wake. The world is here and now. The day came swooping in and grasped your hand to run along. Life is pulsating through the arteries of the earth. The trees are groaning and the weeds are dancing. Bees and bears alike are heading out to follow nature's call into the wild. Laying in the grass you look up and shield your eyes from the sun, and for a moment you are immortal. A penny for a thought? A thought of perspective. Aren't we already sad enough? Aren't there little things to enjoy? The perfect meal, prepared by a friend for a friend? Watching animals work and realising that they are just as hardworking and down to earth as we are? Tuning out the world to take care of yourself because you are worth to be looked after, and firstly by yourself? Can you hear it? The laughter or you and your friends because you understand the meaning and worth of your friendship? Can you see it? How that smile you gave to a stranger made their day because they thought they were hated by or for their own blood? Does it not make you feel happy? Knowing that your hardships will be honoured? Knowing that there is more to life than your success? Does it not make you feel helpless? Knowing that some people won't understand the true feeling of joy? ------ From fen Silver and green, the colours of the proud house adorn the nightly northern sky. The moon and the stars are carefully watching over the sleeping world. Silence has drowned out the never ending fuss of the day and finally thoughts are able to wander and sprout and bloom. Only the wolfs howl in the night, their ancient song of hardship and pride. A tune that is as loud as thunder and trice as beautiful. Walking through the darkness with only the moon as light you listen to the silent noise of secret life. And for a moment you feel immortal. A penny for a thought. A thought of freedom. Aren't there already enough heroes in this world? Aren't there other people that can be chess figures on a board? Right now you could be running with wolves and dancing with snakes. You could be swimming against the current and tame the sharks in the water. Right now you could be proving them wrong and yourself worthy. Right now you could be reaching for the stars and leave your head in the clouds. Can you feel it? When the shackles of oppression fall apart? When you can finally choose your own way? The rain on your face, the wind in your hair as you run through the world and pursue your dreams? Can you see it? The future that you always wanted? Painted in the colours of the milkyway, sparkling and bright and never fading. Does it not make you feel giddy? Knowing that you can go wherever you want to? Knowing that you are your own person? Does it not break your heart? Knowing that the loneliness can be crushing? ------ A PENNY FOR A THOUGHT. THERE ARE ALWAYS PRO AND CONS. BUT BETTER REGRET DOING SOMETHING THAN REGRET NOT DOING SOMETHING. THERE IS ALWAYS SOMEONE WHO WON'T APPROVE. BUT BETTER ASKING FOR FORGIVENESS THAN ASKING FOR PERMISSION. THE WORLD DOESN'T STOP FOR YOU. IT WON'T CHANGE FOR YOU. UNLESS YOU MAKE SURE OF IT WITH YOUR OWN DAMN HANDS.

[loopy-atla-fanfic]

Samsara - Chapter 7

Rating: T

Characters: Mai, Zuko, Ty Lee, Azula, Iroh

Story Warnings: Ableism, Suicidal Thoughts

Written for Maiko Week 2017

Karma

"Come on, Mai. It's time to embrace the day Hey, that rhymed."

And so it started again, with a chipper cutesy voice and a call to action.

Well, she had accomplished everything she had set out to do. She hadn't missed a single element. She had pushed herself to the limits of her mortal power, using more than a little quasi-immortal knowledge, and saved as many people as she could. Of course, she hadn't been able to save everyone. There was a war on, after all, and the harbor battle in the morning was poorly timed.

Hm. So this was what it felt like to be Zuko: eternally trying and eternally failing.

Unless, of course, you redefined success as trying your best. Then the only way to fail was to not try.

Was that surrender?

Was that making yourself your whole world?

Did Mai properly understand either concept?

Eh, who cares? Philosophy is boring.

Mai took a deep breath, found her better urges, and prepared to throw herself back into the endless cycle of trying to make things better. Maybe she'd trip over a way to save more people. Feeling the strength of purpose and energy of benevolence, she sat up in bed and opened her eyes.

And then she hissed against the blinding glare and threw her hands over her poor defenseless eyes and oh ashes why had she opened them in the first place? See, this was what mornings got you!

But what in the name of the First Fire was so bright? It was always dark in the palace's guest room when she woke up, the only light coming from a dimmed lamp. This was-

This was-

-different.

It was different.

Mai shifted a hand out of the way and tried to squint against the light. It was like charging out of a tunnel after spending an hour underground; a circle of brightness was blasting at her as if the daylight was annoyed at her for being away so long. Except this wasn't daylight; it was too tinted, too white.

Mai kept squinting and peered a little deeper.

No, it wasn't a circle of light, it seemed to be taller than it was wide. And- squint a little harder- it had arms? And a head? And an over-complicated arrangement of hair? And a flying scarf floating behind it?

It was a woman?

As the realization moved into Mai's brain and began putting its feet up on the mental furniture, the brightness stopped being a problem. It was still there, still flooding the room with a white light- moonlight, she realized- but it no longer seared her eyes. And so she could see the being that had woken her up by speaking Ty Lee's words.

It was a Water Tribe woman, no doubt about that. But instead of blue and furs, she was wearing moonbeams spun and given opaque form. She smiled and intoned, "I apologize for the deception with your friend's words. I thought it would be more comfortable to wake up to a familiar voice."

Mai acknowledged the apology with a nod. "You, um, aren't supposed to be here?"

The Moon Spirit- for it simply could not be anything else- narrowed her eyes in a subtle expression of Royal Displeasure that even Azula would have had to award points. "You presume to tell Me where I can and cannot go?"

Mai shook her head. "I- I just- Ty Lee is supposed to be there, and Azula is waiting, and- and- then stuff?"

The Moon Spirit's brow smoothed. "Ah, I see. You suffer from the habit of Time. I have forgotten what it is like to feel Time. It has been many eons since I Ascended those months ago."

Mai blinked. "Maybe I'm still just too used to time- or Time, if that's how we're doing it- but I don't think that sentence made any sense?"

"I said I do not feel Time. When I, the Princess Yue, became the Moon Spirit at the end of Winter, I began an existence that stretched across all Moments at once. I have been the moon for less than a year, but I have been the Moon forever. I shine down on your grave and the day of your birth with the same Light. Light does not know Time, and neither do I."

Mai couldn't help but point out, "Unless someone is born during the day. Or under a New Moon. Then you don't shine."

The Moon Spirit was silent for what was a Moment for Mai and probably Forever for her. Or possibly the other way around. "This kind of irreverence is how you got in Trouble."

"Yes, ma'am."

The Moon Spirit took another one of those infinite Moments. "You and I need to talk. Come, let us walk."

Mai started to get out of bed-

The Moon Spirit waved a hand. "Time is merely the dance of the Moon and the Sun, and the beatings of a heart you do not have in your dreams."

Mai blinked. She was now on that rooftop patio at the Capital Temple, where the golden statues of the Sun Warrior and the Dragon glistened under the shining sun. She was fully dressed in the clothes she wore 'every day,' and her hair was done up in the ox-horn style. She could even feel the weight of her knives against her skin. "What-"

"Time is merely the dance of the Moon and the Sun, and the beatings of a heart you do not have in your dreams."

"Um, right." Mai sighed. "This is going to be one of those disconcerting, weird spiritual experiences, isn't it?"

The Moon Spirit actually smirked. "I am a spirit, and this is the first Time I've been able to do this kind of Thing since I became the Moon."

"Except you're not bound by time, so you've also done this an infinite amount of times."

"That is also True."

"Ugh." Mai massaged her own forehead. "What do I do to deserve this?"

"You sat on that Holy statue, insulted My presence and power, swore to kill the Water Tribe warriors who love Me, and dared Me to do something to stop you." The Moon Spirit, in all her regal glory, held up her hands and wiggled them. "Ta da!"

Oh.

Right.

That.

On the first Day of Black Sun, Mai had gotten bored, mouthed off to the moon right before the eclipse, and then carved 'MAI WAS HERE' in the golden Sun Warrior's palms. To be fair, if she knew the moon had actually been listening and had a sense of proportion like that of Azula's, she probably would have been more polite. (Probably. Mai offered no guarantees when it came to politeness.)

She dropped to her knees and kowtowed. "I'm sorry?"

The Moon Spirit walked forward, her glow growing brighter as she towered over Mai. "In My mortality I would have Forgiven such ill-considered words, even though I wore the title of Princess. However, the Moon Spirit cannot tolerate such disrespect. The Spirit of the Summer Star agreed, and felt shame on your behalf. It was by combining Our domains to form the whole of Time that We crafted the Punishment. He watches Us above. So you should apologize to Him, too."

Mai looked up at the sun. "Sorry?"

Did the sun just flicker? She had always suspected it was a cheeky little jerk.

The Moon Spirit reached out and placed a cool hand on top of Mai's head. "Your irreverent words do not mask the true regret you feel in your spirit. We Forgive You, Mai of the Fire Nation. You may rise."

Mai did so. Well, it was good to have that little matter cleared up-

"Now, We will discuss whether you wish to Return to your life, or if I shall extend the Protection of the endless cycle of the Days of Black Sun."

That was a few too many archaic phrasings and arbitrarily capitalized letters for Mai to understand what was being said. "Huh?"

The Moon waved a hand.

Mai looked down at herself.

Wow, she made ugly faces while she slept.

Somehow, she was standing in the forested campsite that she and Zuko had made together the 'night before.' Zuko's war balloon was right where they had eventually landed it, when they became too tired to keep flying. The campfire was a scorched remnant, and Mai and Zuko were both still asleep beside a cluster of trees.

Mai was in Zuko's arms, and she was smiling and cuddling in her sleep.

And Mai was also standing over herself, reflecting now how that smile was genuine and sloppy and completely uninhibited, not a well-crafted little glimpse of emotion at all. Ugly.

But also kind of beautiful.

Mai turned back to the Moon Spirit, who was basking in the dawn light in the center of the campsite. "So am I now doing that whole 'glowing in two places at once' thing, too? Because I don't feel like I'm glowing."

The Moon Spirit's lip might have twitched. "You insistence on shielding yourself with Wit reminds me of someone. Someone I loved."

"Oh, good."

"You have killed him several times."

"Oh. Not good."

"You did not Believe it would be permanent when you did it, so I am willing to Overlook it."

"Thanks. You know, I have no idea why everyone in the Fire Nation says you're a poor man's sun with weak light and no real purpose in the sky. I think you're okay."

"Your sentiment earns My gratitude, Mai of the Fire Nation."

Mai smirked. "So spirits do sarcasm, now?"

"We never stopped." The Moon Spirit lifted a hand, and a beam of soft white light extended to illuminate the sleeping couple on the ground. "Behold the result of your choices. You have finally won the love you craved. If you Choose, you can wake up there and continue to live that life as you see fit."

Mai looked down at them again. Zuko was just adorable when he was relaxed in sleep. "So what's the catch?"

"There are no Terms."

"So why make it a choice? Why wouldn't I want to choose that?"

"Because you would have to continue to live that life. My Punishment, as trying as it has been for you, is also a Boon. You enjoyed Freedom from consequences. Wake up there, in your prince's arms, and you will wake up as a Traitor to your Nation, as a Friend devoted to Zuko's vision, and as someone who has Chosen to Care about the World. The World, and its People. I offer you the Choice of burdening yourself with the new life upon which you have stumbled. And it will be a burden. I shine-"

"-on every moment I've ever spent in the bathroom. Yeah, I get it." Mai looked back at the couple. Seeing herself in Zuko's arms like this made it an easy choice. Here was everything she wanted-

Azula walked by with blood flowing out from a gash in her neck to stain her black armor.

Zuko walked by with a charred mess where his face should be.

Ty Lee walked by, head turning frantically from side to side as she called Mai's name.

Corporal Fan walked by, the metal prosthetic foot giving her no trouble, but the broken bones throughout her body turning her gate into an inhuman shambling.

Corporal Lee walked by, eating a sweetroll.

Claustrophobic Jiao walked by, holding a stack of letters and crying tears of relief.

Jiao walked by again, on Mai's other side, screaming for someone to let her out.

Soldiers of both sides poured out of the forest and filled the campsite with their traffic. Some were healthy and some were injured and some were clearly dead and some of them were there once and twice and a million times.

Everyone who had ever set foot in the Capital walked out of the forest and past Mai. None took notice of her. As ever, she passed through the river of lives without making so much as a ripple.

And all the people obscured her view completely of the Mai and Zuko sleeping cuddled against the trees.

"This is the fate I am allowing you to Choose," the Moon Spirit intoned. The flow of bodies passed around her, a white glow forming a shelter of empty space that circled her form. "You have accepted Responsibility for these People. It will be your burden until it is time to Choose again."

Mai stepped back, trying not to bump into anyone. Were they coming thicker now? More Zuko's and Azula's and Ty Lee's and Katara's and Avatars and Hakoda's and Toph's and the Water Tribe Guy With The Sword's and- "When will that be?"

"Every Moment of Time. The Choice is Infinite, Mai of the Fire Nation. Do you think you are the only one faced with this Choice?"

Mai let loose a single, sharp laugh (for as much as she had changed, she wasn't about to give a dull laugh). "And here I thought I was special."

And then she Chose.

Or simply chose.

Stupid spirits had to make a big deal out of everything.

There were no words, no bouncing on the bed, nothing to wake her up but the light of the sun and the awkward shifting of the man underneath her.

Mai woke up anyway.

Zuko opened his eyes, and immediately smiled at her. "Good morning."

Mai smiled back. "Is this real?"

He reached a hand over and brushed his fingers through the fringe of hair above her eyes. "It feels real to me."

It felt real to Mai, too, in a very unreal kind of way. She had done it. She was free. Maybe that dream about the Moon Spirit was just a dream, or maybe it really had happened in a dreamscape or the Spirit World or something else entirely. Either way-

-she was free.

She grabbed Zuko and pulled him into a kiss.

It was a greedy kiss, because for all that she had surrendered her world and her self, this was one thing she wanted to keep. She loved Zuko. She loved Zuko, and now that she had him for real, now that she had stopped him from leaving her and herself from throwing him away, she wasn't going to hide her feelings.

This was where she belonged.

When they finally pulled apart, Mai saw that Zuko's cheeks were almost as red as his scar. Still, his voice was steady as he said, "Sorry, but we should get going. We don't want to lose the Avatar's trail or miss our rendezvous with Uncle."

Mai nodded. "I suppose you're right. We'll just have to make time for ourselves when things aren't so urgent."

"Yeah." He stood up, and then helped her to her feet as well. "I just- thank you. I thought I might have to do this on my own, but with you- and Uncle- I-"

She reached out silenced him with a finger to his lips. "You don't have to thank me. I'm here because I care. Because I- I love you."

He raised his hands to cover her own, and gently moved her finger aside. "I love you, too."

And because he was Zuko, that's when he turned to start getting the war balloon ready.

Mai indulged in a chuckle. Even if he lived through an eternity of looping days, as she had, she was sure that some things about him would never change. But, happily, she didn't want those things to change.

Funny how that worked out.

Mai went over and joined him in the preparations. As she unlocked the balloon's control panel, she said, "So do you know what you're going to say to the Avatar and his friends? I can vouch for you, but after your- uh, history, you'll probably want to make a good new impression."

Zuko looked over at her from where he was unfurling the main balloon. "I was thinking the same thing. I guess I should try to tell them how much I can help them, but- I don't know. It's probably going to be very awkward."

"So we'll practice while we fly. Pretend I'm Katara or something, and talk to me like you will when you meet the real thing."

Zuko frowned. "Do you really think that will work? I mean, it's a good idea, but I've never been the best with words."

"And I wasn't very good at caring until recently." She stepped over to Zuko, and took his hands in her own. Their eyes met as the sun shined down on them, and Mai thought she maybe spotted a little silver streak in the sky that might have been an early moon rising.

She looked at the love of her life, and said, "But practice makes perfect. Trust me on that."

END OF DAYS

[bornfromscarletcords]

Haven Illuminating: A Wolf Paradise Story

Hi so I finished writing a trilogy of books; The Shackled Wolf Chronicles. I think it was a solid story but I still felt there was some room for future developments with the world and the characters. You could say I wanted to give them another chance at true happiness or something. So this is the beginnings of a fourth book which will ideally provide them with a worthy legend, a personal paradise. It didn’t start out exactly how I expected but I’ve enjoyed writing it so far. Here is an excerpt from what I’ve written.  

Greetings, you may know me as N, though I’ve been called any number of things before. I’m what you might call an Angel of stories, though many people are weary of me because instead of being good or bad I tend to be a little on the grey side of the moral spectrum. With that said, although I may not be the most popular person because of my disposition, it does make me unusually qualified to tell these disturbing tales. Something you need to understand when entering this world is that it was forged from the ruins of another place, not unlike a phoenix reviving itself from the ashes of its own death. Still this doesn’t mean things are exactly the same; many things have changed actually. However, do not be discouraged as enjoying the developments in things we once cherished is one of the subtle miracles of existing. Well here I am just talking non-stop, and I always chide people about being too glib. I’m not sure if you could call the people you’ll meet in these tales my children, but they were entrusted to me by the powers at be and I like to think, even when they do not remember me, that I am one of their truest friends. So, in the spirit of friendship let us embark on yet another interstellar epic quest.

HOWLING DREAD

He woke without much memory of his life. He had the vaguest inklings of what his name might have been but he couldn’t tell for sure. All that was really clear to him was the name of a very dangerous and troublesome person known as Evan. There was a note in his hand, it was from Evan, he tried to read it and received a terrible pain in his head for his trouble. Still, as if his eyes were some movie screen the words began to play out for him; they stepped away from the blur of ink and letters that was the majority of the message.

“Yes well I can’t tell you everything all at once. Or at least I choose not to. One because it would be extremely uncomfortable for you and I would like to give you an honest chance to survive this time around. Second I doubt much of it would make sense, not to say that you’re mentally incapable I mean, you were one of the baddest hombre’s in the universe so you obviously knew something. It’s just that my mind tends to operate in dimensions that are unusually brutal to those not familiar with them and most of my notes come from there so...IDK just take my word for it on this one. Third reason, and this is super important, it’s cause I don’t want you to kill me, at least not just yet. Knowledge is armor as they say… What? That’s not the phrase? So I’ve been saying it wrong this whole…? Oh whatever. Anyway information kills and as I mentioned you’re a pretty bad hombre so I don’t want to take too many unnecessary chances with you. Anyway, what you need to know for this leg of your journey is that you are Frederick. Frederick; Fenriel, Dread Lord to Wolf Kind. And I wouldn’t stick around unless you want a blood bath because some wizards are coming to kill you. Good luck.”

The words stopped burning in his vision. Even as they were born into existence he felt them weaving about him. Evan had declared him, knighted him Frederick, and so Frederick he was. It was so simple, so powerful, so damning. The universe had claimed him, scarred him with existence and in this act they had awakened a terrible pulsing in his core. There was something hungry within him, something that craved the death, of all things. Frederick growled.

He was dressed in perplexing garments. They had something in common with the gear used by military personal, swat teams, or black ops. He seemed familiar with it though he wasn’t entirely sure why. He tested his feet, they were clad in combat boots which seemed heavy and quiet. His body felt unique, like it occupied the room with its gravity, holding great masses with its form yet beyond simple for him to maneuver. He knew it hadn’t always felt this way, that there had been such terrible days of such disgraceful weakness.  He was wearing a black hood and cloak which were the same color as the rest of the fabric he was wearing. He was in a cellar, dusty, unassuming. He had been sitting but something had called him to stand. Was that a new scent in the air? The beast was on him in moments. Well perhaps raging within him was more accurate. He was nearly brought to his knees as his body began to tear and un-tear itself but eventually they settled on maintaining his more human skin.

You, you still breathe, you can still resist me. I thought you shattered beyond repair. I am annoyed and impressed. Our enemies hasten after us. I demand their death, the form of the beast will serve us well in hastening their demise.

“Ease down great wolf, they will die eventually, but we have more substantial prey to feast upon, let me use them as bait so that we might unravel this mystery a little more.“ Frederick thought to the the great animal within. The wolf was quiet for what seemed like an eternity but could have been little more than a second in the world of humans.

Fine, I like stories. But do not mock me with cowardice; end them, on your own terms but end them and end all who stand in the our way. We will make a banquet of this world and all worlds who stand in our light.

Frederick was...humbled. A conversation with that monster who shared his soul always left him a little distrustful of his ambitions and pride. He shook his head and drew just a little from the deep well which was his power and the wolf’s. He couldn’t see them but he knew a darkness had descended on the white of his eyes , while his irises went from a deep brown to a burning silver. They were not human eyes.

There were five of them and they were approaching fast. It did not seem humanly possible but then he remembered that his opponents would be magic users. He tested the word in his mind; Wizard. It seemed special, like something subtle had been altered about it, that those who claimed it were touched by a stranged system in this place. Then he figured out why the word seemed weird, it was written in Evan’s handwriting. Frederick started moving...he was very fast, faster than he thought possible even amongst the great races of creation. He was rushing out of the basement door, all at once being enveloped by the night air when he heard the explosion. From what his senses told him something had caved in one of the walls of the basement. At least three of the wizards had gone into the opening, looking for him no doubt. He focused on his escape but soon two figures occupied his view. They were wearing a similar cloak as him, though theirs were brown. The first raised his hand and Frederick didn’t even need his inner beast to tell him he was casting some sort of dangerous spell; he could feel the death in the air. Frederick rushed the caster and spun, hooking his arms around him before sending the man crashing into the earth many yards away. He was injured, but a few broken ribs wouldn’t kill him which admittedly left Frederick mildly disappointed. He turned on the second wizard. He didn’t even give this one a chance to work his magic, at least not noticeably. He cracked the man’s neck, he was dead before he hit the ground. He looked relatively human as far as Frederick could tell but then again many things could ape man, just look at the wolf himself. He patted the dead wizard down quickly. Aside from some garb which would have made quite the favorable impression at a comic con convention he didn’t immediately see anything of use. Then he found it, it wasn’t a large thing which made it simple to carry, just a journal of sorts. There was what looked like an animals skull on the cover, but the writing was not something he immediately understood. He hooked it to his belt and ran off, a strange blur to even the most perceptive of beings.

Frederick ran for a couple of hours, he didn’t tire, or ache, in truth he felt like he could have ran forever. The world just sort of fell away in flashes of acceleration. Still he decided to stop. He knew the beast within, how clever and how cruel it could be; relying on its talents too extensively could cost him in the other portions of his journey. Regardless he had traveled far enough, or at least he figured the many miles between there and his starting place should be enough to buy him some moments of reprieve. It was a simple forest. He had found a cave which must have been the den to some great bear at one point or another. It was long gone now, perhaps searching for better territories someplace less disturbed by humanity. It would be more than enough for Frederick. He patrolled the territory a little, marked a nearby river in his mind, and returned to the cave to rest. He slept in his cloak and gear. When he awoke the stars were out in the night sky. It might have only been a couple of hours but something in the air told him it had been much longer. Days maybe. He had done this before or at least this was not an entirely foreign thing to the wolf within. A type of hibernation though for what reason Frederick couldn’t tell. He began to walk, wondering if the sleep had cost him the advantage of distance he had had when he felt the moon’s tendrils grasp and bend at him. That’s what sold it for him, it had only been approaching approaching its zenith when he’d last seen it, maybe three quarters full at most, now it was full and blazing in his body and mind. He didn’t wish to destroy his clothes in the violence of his change so he disrobed quickly. His naked flesh was than bathed in an eruption of magic from the depths of the soul that was his and the world’s.

The change was painful. Part of him knew this wasn’t always so or at least didn’t have to be but he accepted the burden. Sacrifice could strengthen him, prepare him for the dirty work of finishing this devilish plot. His body broke, twisted, shifted and roared. It was a slow process, and an insightful one. He was angry when it was finished, partly because of the pain but partly because the moon beckoned deep portions of the beasts self and the beasts was driven by rage, by vengeance. He needed to kill. If only so that the wolf would respect him enough not to fight him on every issue. Like a token of camaraderie; the price which was to be paid in order to operate with one another in some semblance of sanity.

The wolf who was Frederick, who was Fenriel, who had been The Dreaded Lord Of All Wolves, was a great beast indeed. Frederick knew the world, most worlds if not all, to be driven by perspective. The nature of magic was to alter perspective, so hard facts did not always survive an encounter with it. Still Frederick had been a creature of order, albeit his own order so he was not entirely comfortable with leaving the chaos of magic unchecked in his mind and the minds of those who were his. If he had to describe his wolf form, though with effort he could claim many, he would describe it as the following: around three hundred pounds of fur muscle and death made arcane, with a coat of a deep blue almost black or a murky green, and with silver coloring around his feet and lower legs. He looked like a wolf yes, but he also looked like a monster, or a large dog, or a frightening shadow, it all depended on who was looking, where and why. He padded along on his large paws, vaguely admiring the sharpness of his paws which he could use for running on rough terrain and for killing prey. He ran some more, breaking out into a loping gallop. His senses painted a perverse universe for him in that forest, a thing where spirits and ghosts were as tangible as living prey experiencing another type of life which he could end as well. He felt like the boundary between all things, it was a hungry feeling. He brought down a great deer-like creature, though it was a bit too large so maybe it was an elk. He couldn’t tell he was too distracted by the awesomeness of the moment. Not only could he kill again but he could even eat his prey this time around. And it was a divine feast, rich and hearty. Then an awful idea came to him and like many of Frederick’s awful ideas this one had his spirit smiling from ear to ear with large sharp teeth. Paw on carcases thick hide he pushed himself up and off the ground rearing back his head and with a power that could crush a galaxy he howled. The sound rang out through the night world emitting an almost palpable push, bending the trees slightly, sending animals rushing away, and sending ripples in the fabric of space. For a moment he worried that he had given himself away but the beast within assured him that any sensible creature would be moving far in the opposite direction of him for reasons that had everything to do with the mysterious fashions of survival. And if they didn’t, and they were challenged instead, then he and Frederick, Dread Lords both, would just kill all who stood against them. Ah the simple almost charming death-like calculations of the wolf; there were few things like it, Frederick mused.

Frederick spent the duration of the moon’s zenith in his beast form which meant he was a wolf for about three days. He was tempted to simply doze and let the wolf run wild and free but he knew better. Maybe if he was an ordinary animal, or a more tame monster, but he was neither. His creature was a menace to life everywhere only extending small yet brutal mercies to those it claimed as its pack, its territory. So Frederick remained aware though not controlling while his beast did his best to ignore his constant observation without forgetting about it. The wolf had peculiar needs often subtly guised in normality (whatever that was). For example, it needed companions. And who doesn’t need someone else to shoulder the burden of existence, every preacher needed his flock, every patriarch his household, and every cantankerous rogue his merry band of fellows. There was something of these ideas within the monsters need but there was also a hidden complication to it all. It was not only a thing of flesh but a thing of spirit. Though man had his science which rattled off theories of alternate dimensions and parallel selves the beast simply had its existence rooted in the boundary between life and death. To all things it was tied but its mastery of these things came in its ability to transform them in its image to spread to multiply, to transcend itself in a pseudo infinite revolution. It needed people, it needed consciousness, it needed portals from which it could pour its terrible will through and beyond.

With this said Frederick was not surprised when the wolf found others of their kind. The wolf assured him that they would not be detected even as their senses scanned the pack of werewolves. Frederick didn’t doubt the wolf’s skill but he still felt that some more caution was needed. The other wolves were miles away in a the city, greatly shielded by the scents of cigarettes, automobile emissions, general waste, various metals, restaurants, people, etc. Why could he sense them despite all of these obstacles, well the Dread Lord was an experienced tracker, he was in general a great cosmic power, and he held ties to all wolves (especially werewolves) in one way or another.

They weren’t doing well, many seemed fresh, newly changed from humans, while others seemed tired after looking after the young ones for so long. It was only a guess but it didn’t seem like they had a well established internal structure yet. It looked like, in general, they answered to a rough burly looking wolf who seemed powerful enough to command their obedience but just barely. If he was their leader than it wouldn’t be long before they mutinied and destroyed themselves in their clumsiness. The Dread Lord called to the winds and they whispered the burly man’s territory, Frederick would find him.

Many strange and disturbing events had taught Frederick not to believe in coincidence, well in truth he didn’t believe in much of anything, excepting himself...barely. More to the point in a world full of magic and intersecting dimensions it was safe to assume that there was usually a cause for everything though the causes weren’t always satisfying. In short Frederick assumed that somehow his discovery of this almost-pack most certainly had something to do with how he was to solve his problem with the wizards, or even better, with the enigmatic Evan. The burly man lived in a small apartment and his name was Eduardo Guerrero or at least that’s what the kind lady who owned the neighboring shop said. Guerrero, Frederick liked that name. Eduardo was a contractor and had even helped construct some of the buildings in that region of the city. Where was this city you ask? Somewhere in New Mexico. It was called something like La Estrella Negra but the name wasn’t Frederick’s biggest concern just so long as it knew that it belonged to him at least as long as he stayed there. He was sure he must have been quite a sight in his strange cloak and warrior’s garb but he also knew that most people would forget he was ever there or pray they never saw him again. He knew how to fade in the memories of others or to simply scar their minds so badly they all but wished his image away. He knocked on Eduardo’s door, there was no answer, and yet Frederick’s nose told him that Eduardo was definitely in the apartment. He checked the door knob, the door was open. He pulled it and walked in.

There was a blur of movement than a deadly dance as Eduardo advanced on Frederick with a knife and a hammer. Frederick dodged when he could and maneuvered Eduardo here or there with gentle yet firm grapples. However when the blade's edge came just a hair too close to Frederick’s throat he knocked it out of the man’s hand with such force that he was sure he heard bones break. But Eduardo just spun with the momentum and charged with the hammer. The scuffle went on for a couple of minutes though there was surprisingly little noise coming from either participants, and for all his fury Eduardo seemed unusually practiced at limiting the collateral damage. Still Frederick grew tired and in a swift movement grasped the hammer, through it into a wall and knocked Eduardo to the ground.

“Enough!” Frederick said, power all but dripping from his words. One of them had managed to slam door shut during the fight which were good, the last thing they needed were bystanders watching them.

“You, I felt you even when you were on the street over there, like an earthquake pulsing with death and sorrow and despair. You are no ordinary wolf.” Eduardo said. Frederick nudged his inner beast, so much for going undetected. The wolf gave its equivalent of a shrug and a toothy smile, it liked throwing its weight around.

“No I’m not very ordinary and try as I might I doubt ordinaryness would ever take for long, in me. I did not intend to harm you, not this early at least but now you have me in the mood for ending lives.” Frederick said.

“If you mean to kill me than get on with it, i’d rather be dead than your slave.” Eduardo said. His eyes flashed gold, the eyes of a beast. They tried to stare at Frederick but after a couple of seconds they all but dove to look at the ground. Frederick raised a brow.

“I haven’t been in the business of slaves for quite a while and even when I did have them I wasn’t exactly enthusiastic about it. No I didn’t come here for slaves, though I am in need of a pack.” Frederick said.

“You leave those children alone.” Eduardo said.

“They need leadership and as you have just seen I am more than capable of handling their aggressions. Also although they are newly turned, children seems like a stretch, if you are attempting to appeal to my sympathetic side I’ll stop you now, there is little there. Plus as I’ve been saying I don’t intend to harm them.” Frederick said.

“Your the one who turned them aren’t you, by proxy sure but you’re behind it all aren’t you?” Eduardo said. He was uncertain. Frederick racked his brain.

“I’ll admit there are a couple of gaps in my memory, but I don’t think I’m responsible for that merry band you’ve gathered up, they don’t fit my usually M.O if you want to call it that. You said by ‘proxy’ which means someone else got their hands dirty. If you know who this person is I would have you take me to them.” Frederick said.

“And if I refuse.” Eduardo said.

“You misunderstand me, I wasn’t giving you an option.” Frederick said kneeling down to look at the man with eyes burning silver. Without even touching Frederick placed the some of the weight of his existence onto Eduardo who seemed to be sinking into the floor.

The two were in Eduardo’s car after thirty minutes. Enough time for Frederick to shower and snack on some of Eduardo’s food. Werewolves tended to be pack animals like regular wolves and packs needed structure. Some werewolves were frustrated by being obligated to obey the orders of more powerful werewolves, others welcomed it as a reprieve from the stress and uncertainty an unclear chain of command could create, either way the wolves had a need to carry out these decrees as if they were essential to their survival. From a certain standpoint they were; the beasts were all intertwined and this connection was super charged when they acknowledged each other as pack, like many cells creating a larger organism or entity. Of course the more willful could resist or outright refuse with enough power behind them but a decent pack master, alpha, generally had incentives in place to discourage this. Rules, synchronicity, harmony, kept packs healthy, kept them strong. In short, although Eduardo didn’t like Frederick much, and although he might kill him if he showed weakness Frederick had little to nothing to fear from the other wolf so long as he wielded his greatness efficiently; this was almost second nature to Frederick.

Eduardo was muscular and about average height, he was a furry man even in his human skin. His scalp was covered with shaggy dark hair, his skin was like golden chocolate most likely do to his hispanic heritage, his face was made of rough yet pronounced bone patterns. He wore jeans, t shirts no one would miss, durable boots, and a simple leather jacket which would do well in the heat or cold. Frederick wondered how he looked in comparison with his skin nearly the color of night itself his short wavy hair (though he’d worn it longer before) and his wiry frame. Frederick had been called beautiful in certain places but beauty had its costs just as much as its advantages, plus Frederick, when in the right mood, could work a couple of miracles to change the state of his appearance. He decided his current form would do though he admitted that perhaps in the future he’d go for a more physically foreboding visage.

On the drive Eduardo, grudgingly, filled Frederick in on what he needed to know about the pack and its ‘creator’. She was a police captain for the Estrella Negra police department. Her name was Alice Weaver. Her mother was Haitian American while her father had been from the Dominican Republic. He hadn’t stuck around long as the story went. She was known for being ruthless, cunning, and unusually determined which might be why she managed to become Police captain at the young age of 35. That was three years ago. From what the rumors said she was taking some experimental drug or something because ten months ago she began acting strange. Not only did she seem to lose ten years in terms of appearance, she was more energetic, quicker and stronger and not “humanely” so. This all would have been fine if she wasn’t becoming prone to outbursts of great rage and what looked like a “predatory” glare in her eyes. She’d always been a little twisted, people said, but now it was getting ridiculous. Everyone was terrified of her even her bosses. What people didn’t know, and what Eduardo was all too privy to was that their captain had been transformed, transfigured, transmuted into a werewolf. Eduardo who admitted to having been a werewolf for over a century, knew the tell tale signs though he was a little late with his analysis as he’d been attempting to live alone away from packs for awhile and had been deeply invested in his isolation. When he did realize that he needed to step in, or at least someone did, it was already far passed his ability to fix. Captain Weaver was a very powerful werewolf, more powerful than Eduardo which meant his wolf had a strong need to obey her commands. This might have worked out well if these weren’t the only problems but something else was amiss with the wolf woman, something underhanded and despicable. When she was changed or shortly after she’d been afflicted with a curse of some sort. Eduardo said he didn’t notice it at first but as the months dragged on its pattern became apparent. When the full moon came she was called into her wolf skin like most werewolves in Frederick’s dominion, but she was also called to seek out man. Hunting was natural but she wasn’t going to kill and feed she was going with the intent of making other werewolves. Almost every time she went out a new werewolf was made, a process which was not easy at the best of times. She was clumsy but not as clumsy as she should have been for someone so green. There was another force at work pulling and pushing strings. Frederick was sure that his Wizards were connected to this.

They found her on her lunch break near one of the parks, she was feeding the ducks in the nearby pond. Her hair was short dark and curly. Her skin was the color of nutmeg shells. She was fairly attractive even with her scowl and brooding disposition, even while she was sitting Frederick could see the outlines of a quality figure underneath her uniform.

“I told you not to bother me when I’m eating.” She said gesturing to Eduardo; he was visibly unsettled but Frederick placed a hand on his shoulder and he managed to continue moving. Her eyes had flashed the beast’s gold when she’d said it, it did not seem intentional.  “And you I don’t know but whoever the hell you are you need to get gone, I’m not a fan of special treatment.” She said. Frederick liked her already.

“You’ve been creating a lot of stray pups Captain. I don’t condone your habits but I have to say I’m impressed. So few casualties and such a high yield in survivors, its almost prodigal. Still something tells me you’re not the one at the reins when it comes to this issue.” Frederick said, his voice was quiet yet direct, a chill seemed to enter the air. Alice glared at him for a moment all the while her hand ghosted around her fire arm. He didn’t doubt she could have fired at him with the same ease she’d used when tossing bread to the ducks. Part of it was experience but the other part was something else entirely, it was the instinct, the need, the choice to kill that would have shaved off so many seconds and so much tension. It would have been as natural as breathing. Frederick was almost disappointed she didn’t shoot at him, but even he knew that causing such a scene in such a public place would have made his mission even more difficult.

“You’re a wolf.” She said, it wasn’t a question. Her hands were interlocked above her lap. She looked like a tiger studying a dancing deer.

“Of course, I am the wolf of wolves.” Frederick said doing a slight bow.

“He says he can help you Alice, and you need it even if you won’t acknowledge it.” Eduardo said.

“Since when did I allow you to use my first name.” Alice said.

“You don’t have to like me, god knows I don’t like him, but he knows things Alice, he can fix this mess.” Eduardo said.

“So what makes you so special?” Alice said looking unimpressed.

“Many things, but I don’t feel like using the centuries it would take to explain my many deeds and legends to you. Simply know that I am a very efficient problem solver and that getting on my bad side is a quick way to end up killed and, well, eaten.” Frederick said. He smiled but his eyes were burning with the power of his beast. Alice stared into his eyes, she lasted about a minute before her gaze fell to the ground, she seemed surprised...annoyed.

“Eduardo says I’m cursed.” Alice said

“From what he’s told me that seems likely.” Frederick said.

“You can fix that?” Alice said.

“Probably, unless you mean your newfound wolfiness. I can’t or won’t fix that, I don’t have much of an interest in humans and I doubt my own wolf would allow me to undo such a fine specimen as you.” A bit of the dark hunger lingered in Frederick’s words and whether she was conscious of it or not Frederick could see the worry enter her face. Frederick unhooked the book from his belt, he tossed it to Alice. “Recognize any of that.” Her eyes widened like she’d seen a ghost.

“I remember seeing this symbol when I was...turned.” Alice said.

“I’m guessing it wasn’t a willing transformation.”

“It was a violation.” Alice said.

“Changing someone against their will generally is in my book yet it happens all too frequently in this world of monsters which is yours and mine. Just look at those miscreants you made, I doubt they chose the fate you forced on them, not consciously at least.” Frederick said.

“I didn’t mean to, I can’t help it whatever it is, they have their hooks in me, working me over like I’m their puppet. It’s disgusting, I’m disgusting.” She said clenching the book tighter. There was a slight swell of energy around her.

“You are many things darling, though I don’t think disgusting is one of them. You shouldn’t blame yourself for the evil of others but when you submit to that evil, let it corrupt you beyond recognition, when you lose yourself that is when you are beyond the reach of my mercy. But look at you, all fire and iron, so far from broken I’m almost amazed. You’ll do just fine once I’m done with you.” Frederick said. Eduardo and Alice both exchanged a look of suspicion and concern, the dark hunger was back in his voice.

“What do you intend to do?” Alice said.

“That would be telling.” Frederick said. Alice raised a brow. “Words wouldn’t do it justice, first we need to gather your pack, and yes they are yours, well mine first but I don’t intend to stay here forever, so you can keep them. The rest will become clearer once we’re all in close proximity.” Frederick said. He retrieved his book and then he and Eduardo began to walk away.

It was a couple of hours before Alice joined them, which gave Eduardo plenty of time to introduce Frederick to the “pack”. There were about sixteen of them. Most were new, turned within the last ten months, but others were older like Eduardo. The older ones tended to be other lone wolves with a soft spot for strays who Eduardo had contacted to help him keep the new ones alive. Part of Frederick thought he would have been better off just culling the young ones before they were fully invested in the brutal world of wolves but he’d lucked out with Frederick’s arrival. The pack sniffed about him for a while and at first some showed signs they’d give him trouble like with Eduardo but in a matter of moments he had them kneeling to him. It was clear he was the unquestionable head of the strange band. They were using an abandoned building as a meeting place. Eduardo said it wasn’t scheduled for renovations for a couple of months plus few people liked coming to that part of town. The wolves all seemed a lot less restless and a lot more comfortable with this knew firm source of leadership, some even began to doze in corners as they waited for Alice’s arrival.

When Alice did show up she was in her civilian clothes, sweat pants, sweat shirt and running shoes, she even wore a baseball cap to keep her face hidden. The pack stirred slightly when she showed up but when it was clear she wasn’t going to challenge Frederick for role as pack master they settled by down quickly. Still a good portion of the new wolves were noticeably afraid of her.

“So why’d you call me out here?” She said scanning the room.

“Because you’re their leader, so you need to lead. Can you change on command?” Frederick said.

“Yes, but I prefer not to. I’m only bound to change others on the full moon so I won’t go rogue on you.” She said.

“Good. From what I’ve seen, and I’ve seen quite a lot, werewolves are pack animals. We draw strength and power from one another. I’ll handle the brunt of it today but like I said, eventually I’ll leave and the responsibility will fall to you unless one of these welps gets bolder. The pack is like a castle and as Alpha you’re in charge of its defenses. You push here, pull there with many slight actions that ripple into great events. Many days your competence and strength will decide whether your people live or die, whether they suffer or thrive.” Frederick said.

“I don’t need to be lectured.” She said. Frederick Ignored her.

“All of you prepare to change. I’m sure Eduardo has been tutoring you in the ways of wolves but it should go without saying that if you cannot shift from beast to man at will you are a liability to your pack and yourself. That aside. One of our own needs our help today. She has done terrible things but only because terrible things were done to her. You don’t need to forgive her just yet but helping her save herself could end many tragedies before they even begin.”

“She hurt us. ” Said one of the new wolves.

“She’s evil.” Said another.

“She’s not evil, just misguided, like all of you. Wolves run in packs. A pack is only as strong as its weakest member. You all need each other to survive which means working together, fighting together, killing together, and succeeding together. You fail together, you triumph as one.” Frederick said and even as he spoke he willed a bit of his magic to start the beginnings of the change within the wolves. They all stripped down. Frederick wasn’t a fan of being naked, carnal pleasures excluded, he felt too vulnerable, at least in his man skin. The body of the beast was covered in warm fur, layered with deadly muscle and armed with wicked teeth and claws, it was an efficient killing machine unlike his clumsy man body. He snuck a few glances at Alice’s amazing figure before focusing on the task at hand. When they were all naked and all but buzzing with the magic of the pack Frederick began.

The room started to snap with the heat of the magic even as the space seemed to bend and ripple to its potency, it was like being in a pressure cooker. The wolves all shifted and it was a slow ugly process but necessary all the same. Some needed more help than others and Frederick nudged their spirits and minds in the right direction. It was all over in maybe a half an hour. Eduardo’s wolf was a grey furred creature weighing somewhere in the mid two hundreds. Alice’s wolf was dark brown almost black in color though she looked a little smaller than was typical. Frederick didn’t doubt that she was dangerous though, sometimes it was the slighter ones who were the most dangerous. He nudged her into the middle of the pack, and she was obviously uncomfortable having her back to so many predators. She began and stopped a couple of snarls, showing teeth but she was unsure of whether to use them or not. Frederick quieted her uncertainty by rubbing his face against hers, after this some of the other wolves did similar acts. Small gestures of kindness and warmth often accomplished with delicate touches. Before long she was calm, or at least as calm as a werewolf can be. Frederick left the great wolf within to manage their body of flesh while his mannish spirit stepped towards Alice. He placed a hand on her head and stared into her eyes deeply. He called to the moon.

All at once foul, insidious magic began to pour out of Alice like she was a cauldron of malevolence. She began to panic again and Frederick could feel that something had separated a crucial point of connection between her and her beast, she was going mad. He’d been expecting something like this though And even though the magic sought to spread, to the other wolves, and to the world outside, it found purchase in neither. Instead Frederick rejoined his wolf and let its great power unleash itself on this strange enemy, tearing and burning it until he slashed out its roots within Alice. The magic crumbled away useless and decayed. Alice paced around, she almost looked happy.

The rest of the night was a bit of a blur for Frederick and the pack, fighting that despicable magic had exhausted much of their human minds. Eduardo had picked the building because it was very close to a secluded path leading out of the city and into the forest. The wolves followed it to run and hunt as one.

The next couple of days were relatively amicable at least for Frederick. Freed from her curse, Alice became almost pleasant to her new vassals. Leadership came naturally to her. Meanwhile she assisted Frederick with his investigation of the strange wizards who had been harrassing the both of them. Alice remembered pain and great fear when she’d been changed but she’d never gotten a clear glimpse of the beast which had done the deed and part of her doubted that there had been one. A lot could be accomplished with magic and whatever had happened to her had been the result of a great and terrible magic. She’d been chained and caged for a couple of days as the men in brown cloaks performed experiments and spells on her. She managed to escape, eventually but she still wasn’t sure if that wasn’t a part of their plan.

Frederick’s own research revealed that the journal was written in some type of code, a code which he gradually began to understand though he was far from fluent. If he was right then the Wizards were bent on harnessing the powers of great creatures to fuel themselves. It was hungry magic, beast magic. And it seemed that they had a talent for using a creatures own strength against them. Deciphering the code for too long gave him a headache however, not as bad as the one Evan’s note gave him but unpleasant nonetheless. He decided to walk off his frustrations by exploring some of the city. He hadn’t discarded his Cloak and gear but he decided that blending in would help him in the long run so he had Alice buy him some more conventional garb. He was dressed in jeans tennis shoes a brown jacket and a long sleeved black shirt. He had just eaten a burger and downed a soda when he realized he was being followed. He’d had a suspicion some was tailing him for a while but the presence  seemed so faint he thought it might have just been an overly curious animal or some mugger who was going to get much more than he bargained for. He couldn’t decide whether he wanted to lure his purser into a dark alley where he might kill them quickly or lead them into a public place where they might be less inclined to act recklessly. He decided on the latter and entered one of the local malls. He ended up walking into one of sports departments. He was playing around with a football when they...well, she approached him.

She was an attractive woman. She had long red hair tied in a ponytail. She had very striking hazel eyes. She was...unusually pale. She was wearing a fringe jacket, jeans, cowboy (or maybe cowgirl in this case) boots, and steel colored sundress. She was thin yet well proportioned. Frederick sniffed the air. She was a vampire.  

Frederick didn’t particularly like vampires. Admittedly they tended to be more useful to him than humans as they had a longevity and durability that rivaled his werewolves, but he often  regarded them as being inherently evil. Sure Frederick wasn’t exactly the picture of altruism and moral integrity but in his mind his need for death and dominion had more to do with the purity of his beasts focus. He was a scion of nature, a direct product of the universe’s own initiatives  not an aberration of it the vampires were.

“Any reason in particular that you followed me here, night child?” Frederick said.

“Because before I killed one of those troublesome wizards, they told me that someone who looks and behaves a lot like you would have some answers that I am keen on obtaining.” She said in a hushed voice that would have been undetectable for most humans.

“I only deal with your kind when I have to.” Frederick said in the same hushed voice.

“I’m not jumping for the joy at the chance of running around with mongrels, but I would like to do this the easy way so that things don’t become more complicated.” She said.

“That’s weird because it almost sounds like you’re threatening me.” Frederick said smiling with teeth that seemed far too sharp to be human. His eyes were burning silver.

“Just don’t underestimate me.” She said her hazel eyes turning into a infernal scarlet, her pupils narrowed like a snakes. If this continued like this they’d be brawling in middle of the store. Frederick was beginning to regret not taking that dark alley route.

“Perhaps we should go somewhere more private.” He said.

“Maybe we should. Meet me in front of the museum downtown in an hour. Come alone and be prepared to talk about our wizard ‘friends’”. She said.

“You think you can give me orders.” Frederick said.

“Consider them strong suggestions.” She said. Frederick huffed and walked away.

He ended up going to the museum anyway though wasn’t especially happy about it. The shadows seemed thick around the place, which must have suited the vampire’s...disposition. She walked out of the darkness as if materializing from thin air five minutes after he arrived.

“Had to make sure you weren’t being followed.” She said.

“Let’s just get to the point. The less effort I waste on you the better.” He said.

“Fine, but we should at least know who we’re speaking to. I’m Karoline with a K, and you are?” She said.

“Growing impatient and hungry.” Frederick said.

“There’s no need to be rude.” She said.

“The wizard you killed didn’t tell you my name.” Frederick said.

“Maybe he did maybe he didn’t either way I’d like to hear it from you.” She said.

“You may call me Frederick though I’ve gone and go by others.” He said.

“Right so, about a month ago, Frederick, I was in a coffin soundly sleeping. I wake up not knowing who or what I am until I read this note by this guy named Evan. He basically tells me that the city I was sleeping in was being scouted by a clan of Wizards who wanted to harm me in some way. If I stayed where I was, then by the morning they would probably capture or kill me, so I started running. Over the next couple of weeks I engaged in a game of cat and mouse with the wizards, I killed my fair share but they just kept coming so I figured I might as well learn something about them. The one I cornered told me about you, a great wolf of wolves, potentially the most powerful werewolf in existence. I asked him why, if you were so powerful, hadn’t the other vampires I encountered warned me about someone like you. The man said the world had been altered, things were rearranged and hidden like a haze in the mind. Then he told me about his arch-wizard Evangelo”

“Evan?” Frederick said.

“More or less what I’m guessing. He’s a bit of an upstart in their band but he’s striking hard and fast apparently. He specialized in some type of siphoning magic, a thing that devours. He taught the basics of it to the others and has them targeting great sources of magic from which they could draw power from. Apparently whatever they “eat” they acquire as their own.”

“This was a rather talkative wizard.”

“He didn’t seem strong willed, plus I was torturing him so he had incentive to give me what I wanted.” She said.

“Is that the end of your tale.” Frederick said.

“That’s the gist of it so far. You gonna fill me in on your end.” She said. Frederick thought about it for a moment. She had given him useful information. Eventually he told her the synopsis of what had occurred to him.

“This Evangelo seems pretty weird.” She said.

“Yeah if he is the same as the Evan who gave us these notes then he’s obviously more than what he seems. If he truly wanted our power to fuel his wizards, than it makes no sense to tip us off moments before they would have captured us. And if what he says is true, then his powers go beyond what most creatures, even supernatural ones, would be used to dealing with.” Frederick says.

“He kind of sounds like a trickster, like Coyote or Anansi.” Karoline said.

“That’s a solid point.” Frederick said, he’d encountered tricksters or at least those related to the archetype before, it was seldom a simple and leisurely occurrence. “I am a little fuzzy on something. If he is targeting great powers, then that means it’s not unlikely that you’re more powerful than you appear to be. Which means there’s something you’ve left out of in your story.”

“Like you’ve told me every detail about your extensive existence.” She said.

“Well I haven’t avoided the fact that I’m one of the most deadly creatures creation has ever known.”

“Well I wasn’t a queen or something, no Night Court ever served me, at least that I can remember. I did have a reputation though. There was an era where I was less than agreeable, to everyone really but especially other vampires. Maybe I had been altered by some spell or maybe some tragedy had just pushed me over the edge but I killed a lot of my own kind. They retaliated of course but for some reason every time they thought they’d finished me I would just return, no one knew how or why. I was barely conscious during this period so I only heard about most of the details after the fact but from what I understand they hadn’t been lacking in creativity or thoroughness with their attempts to end me. They called me the ‘Berserker’ the ‘Undying One’. I wasn’t popular but I was feared which is sort of better in its own way.” She said.

“That does sound like an interesting set of abilities. A worthy haul if you’re attempting to make warriors who don’t tire or expire.” Frederick said he looked her over as if he wished to test the limits of her ‘endurance’.

“Do you always look at people like that?” She said.

“Only when they become interesting. Well, regardless it seems we have a common enemy or at least a shared obstacle. Plus I can’t say I don’t want to learn more about your abilities. Would you be willing to entertain a momentary alliance.” He said.

“And I thought you didn't like me.” She said.      

“I don’t like most people, it doesn’t stop me from seizing a promising opportunity.” Frederick said She looked him over for a while.

“Fine, but no experiments, I’m not your lab rat.” She said then she melted back into the shadows as if she’d never been there.

“We’ll see,” he said to no one in particular, “Note to self, stop talking to self.” He said to himself. He walked back to his den in Alice’s home.    

[sociopathic-killer]

Dylan Klebold’s journal.

Ah yes, this is me writing . . . just writing, nobody technically did anything, just I felt like throwing out my thoughts — this is a weird time, weird life, weird existence. As I sit here (partially drunk with a screwdriver) I think a lot. Think .. . think . . . that’s all my life is, just shitloads of thinking . . . all the time . . . my mind never stops . . . music runs 24/7 (except for sleep), just songs I hear, not necessarily good or bad, & thinking . . . about the asshole in gym class, how he worries me, about driving, & my family, about friends & doings with them, about girls I know (mainly & ) how I know I can never have them, yet I can still dream . .. I do shit to supposedly ‘cleanse’ myself in a spiritual, moral sort of way (deleting the wads1 on my computer, not getting drunk for periods of time, trying not to ridicule/make fun of people ( ) at school), yet it does nothing to help my life morally. My existence is shit to me — how I feel that I am in eternal suffering, in infinite directions in infinite realities. Yet these realities are fake — artificial, induced [?] by thought, how everything connects, yet its all so far apart.... & I sit & think ... science is the way to find solutions to everything, right? I still think that, yet I see different views of shit now — like the mind — yet if the mind is viewed scientifically . .. hmm I dwell in the past . .. thinking of good & bad memories A lot on the past though . . . I’ve always had a thing for the past — how it reacts to the present & the future — or rather vice versa. I wonder how/when I got so fucked up w my mind, existence, problem — when Dylan Benet2 Klebold got covered up by this entity containing Dylan’s body ... as I see the people at school — some good, some bad — I see how different I am (aren’t we all you’ll say) yet I’m on such a greater scale of difference than everyone else (as far as I know, or guess). I see jocks having fun, friends, women, LIVEZ. Or rather shallow existences compared to mine (maybe) like ignorance = bliss. They don’t know beyond this world (how I do in my mind or in reality or in this existence) yet we each are lacking something that the other possesses — I lack the true human nature that Dylan owned & they lack the overdeveloped mind/imagination/knowledge too [?]. I don’t fit in here thinking of suicide gives me hope, that I’ll be in my place wherever I go after this life ... that I’ll finally not be at war with myself, the world, the universe — my mind, body, everywhere, everything at PEACE in me — my soul (existence). & the routine is still monotonous, go to school, be scared & nervous, hoping that people can accept me ... that I can accept them ... the NIN song Piggy is good for thought writing ... The Lost Highway3 sounds like a movie about me . .. I’m gonna write later, bye 

Yo . . . whassup . . . heheheheh . . . know what’s weird? Everyone knows everyone. I swear — like I’m an outcast, & everyone is conspiring against me ... Check it ... (this isn’t good, but I need to write, so here. .. . Within the known limits of time . . . within the conceived boundaries of space . . . the average human thinks those are the settings of existence . . . yet the ponderer, the outcast, the believer, helps out the human. “Think not of 2 dimensions,” says the ponderer, “but of 3, as your world is conceived of 3 dimensions, so is mine. While you explore the immediate physical boundaries of your body, you see in your 3 dimensions — L, W, & H, yet I, who is more mentally open to anything, see my 3 dimensions. My realm of thought — Time, Space, & THOUGHT. Thought is the most powerful thing that exists — anything conceivable can be produced, anything & everything is possible, even in your physical world.” After this so called “lecture” the common man feels confused, empty, & unaware. Yet those are the best emotions of a ponderer. The real difference is, a true ponderer will explore these emotions & what caused them. Another .. . a dream. Miles & miles of never ending grass, like a wheat. A farm, sunshine, a happy feeling in the presence, Absolutely nothing wrong, nothing ever is, contrary 180 [degrees] to normal life. No awareness, just pure bliss, unexplainable bliss, The only challenges are no challenge, & then. .. . BAM!!! realization sets in, the world is the greatest punishment. Life. Hypnosis place — It is a sky — with one large cloud, & sort of a cloud-made chair — the sun is at the head of the chair .. . 10 o’clock up into the sky .. . Below, I sometimes see mist, & the green (forest green) earth — sorta a city, yet I hear nothing. I relax on this chair — actually like a chaise — & I am talking . . . to what? I don’t know — it’s just there, I have the feeling that I know him, even though I consciously don’t . . . & we talk like we are the same person — like he’s my soul... . The everlasting contrast.... Dark. Light. God. Lucifer. Heaven. Hell. GOOD. BAD. Yes, the ever-lasting contrast. Since existence has known the ‘fight’ between good & evil has continued. Obviously, this fight can never end. Good things turn bad, bad things become good, the ‘people’ on the earth see it as a battle they can win. HA fuckin morons. If people looked at History, they would see what happens. I think, too much, I understand, I am GOD compared to some of those un-existable brainless zombies. Yet, the actions of them interest me, like a kid with a new toy. Another contrast, more of a paradox, actually, like the advanced go for the undevelopeds realm, while some of the morons become everything dwellers — but exceptions to every rule, & this is a BIG exception — most morons never change, they never decide to live in the ‘everything’ frame of mind!

It is not good for me right now (like it ever is) . . . but anyway . . . My best friend6 ever: the friend who shared, experimented, laughed, took chances with & appreciated me more than any friend ever did has been ordained ... “passed on” ... in my book. Ever since 7 (who I wouldn’t mind killing) has loved him ... that’s the only place he’s been with her ... if anyone had any idea how sad I am ... I mean we were the TEAM. When him & I first were friends, well I finally found someone who was like me: who appreciated me & shared very common interests. Ever since 7th grade, I’ve felt lonely ... when came around, I finally felt happiness (sometimes) we did cigars, drinking, sabotage to houses, EVERYTHING for the first time together & now that he’s “moved on” I feel so lonely, without a friend. Oh well, maybe he’ll come around → ... I hope. That’s all — for this topic — maybe I’ll never see this again.8 ô = — — = ô <<–VoDKA–>> My 1st Love???? OH my God ... I am almost sure I am in love ... with .9 Hehehe ... such a strange name, like mine ... yet everything about her I love. From her good body to her almost perfect face, her charm, her wit & cunning, her NOT being popular. Her friends (who I know) — some — I just hope she likes me as much as I LOVE her. I think of her every second of every day. I want to be with her. I imagine me & her doing things together, the sound of her laugh, I picture her face, I love her. If [crossed out] soulmates exist, then I think I’ve found mine. I hope she likes Techno ... :-) , I love you — Dylan

My thoughts Oooh god I want to die sooo bad .. . such a sad desolate lonely unsalvageable I feel I am .. . not fair, NOT FAIR!!! I wanted happiness!! I never got it ... Let’s sum up my life ... the most miserable existence in the history of time . . . my best friend has ditched me forever, lost in bettering himself & having/enjoying/taking for granted his love. . . . I’ve NEVER knew this ... not 100 times near this ... they look at me like I’m a stranger ... I helped them both out thru life, & they left me in the abyss of suffering when I gave them the [?] The one who I thought was my true love, is not. Just a shell of what I want the most ... the meanest trick was played on me a fake love ... she in reality doesn’t give a good fuck about me . . . doesn’t even know me . . . I have no happiness, no ambitions, no friends, & no LOVE!!! can get me that gun I hope, I wanna use it on a poor SOB. I know ... his name is vodka, dylan is his name too. What else can I do/give ... I stopped the pornography. I try not to pick on people. Obviously at least one power is against me. . . . funny how I’ve been thinking about her over the last few days . . . giving myself fake realities that she, others MIGHT have liked me, just a bit . . . my [bad?] I have always been hated, by everyone & everything, just never aware. . . . Goodbye all the crushes I’ve ever had, just shells . . . images, no truths ... BUT WHY? YES, you can read this, why did [illegible words]. [next to a small picture:] A dark time, infinite sadness, I want to find love

Ignorance is bliss happiness is ambition desolation is knowledge pain is acceptance despair is anger denial is helpless martyrism is hope for others advantages taken are causes of martyrism revenge is sorrow death is a reprieve life is a punishment others’ achievements are tormentations people are alike I am different — Dylan [next to the above:] Goodbye, sorry to everyone . . . I just can’t take it . . . all the thoughts . . . too many . .. make my head twist ... I must have happiness, love, peace. Goodbye me is a god, a god of sadness exiled to this eternal hell the people I helped, abandon me I am denied what I want, To love & to be happy Being made a human Without the possibility of BEING human The cruelest of all punishments To some I am crazy It is so clear, yet so foggy Everything’s connected, separated I am the only interpreter of this Id rather have nothing than be nothing Some say godliness isn’t nothing Humanity is the something I long for I just want something I can never have The story of my existence. — Dylan

Me. sorry I didn’t write, A SHITLOAD in my existence ride. ok . . . hell & back . . . I’ve been to the zombie bliss side. . . . & I hate it as much if not more than the awareness part. I’m back now.... a taste of what I thought I want ... wrong. Possible girlfriends are coming then I’ll give the phony shit up in a second want TRUE love ... I just want something I can never have.... True true I hate everything, why can’t I die ... not fair. I want pure bliss ... to be cuddling with , who I think I love deeper than ever . . . I was hollow, thought I was right. Another form of the Downward Spiral10 . . . deeper & deeper it goes, to cuddle with her, to be one w her, to love, just laying there. I need a girl. This is a weird entry ... I should feel happy, but shit brought me down. I feel terrible. The Lost Highway apparently repeats . . . itself. I won’t drink. Now, lucky bastard gets a perfect soulmate, who he can admit FUCKIN SUICIDE to & I get rejected for being honest about fuckin hate for jocks. From the wrong people maybe ... & Anyway .. . here are 2 poems. Fuck me die me Awareness signs the warrant for suffering. Why is it that the zombies achieve something me wants (overdeveloped me). They can love, why can’t I? The true existor lives in solitude, always aware, always infinite, always looking for, his love. Peace might be the ultimate destination . . . destination unknown. . . . I want happiness . . . abandonment is present for the martyr. My thoughts exist in, want to live in. I want to find a room in the great hall & stay there w my love forever. Sadness seems infinite, & the shell of happiness shines around. Yet the true despair overcomes in this lifetime. How tragic for my [?] dumass shithead I HATE SHIT motherfuckin goddamn piece of death thought and nothin FUCK FUCK FUCK No emotions, not caring, yet another stage in this shit life. Suicide .. . Dylan Klebold

Thoughts Farther and farther distant . . . That’s what’s happening . . . me & everything that zombies consider real . . . just images, not life. Soon I will be at peace I hope . . . Burn → “with all your life fucked up around you” I get more depressed with each day . . . more Evil. . . . & I can’t ever stop it!!! [illegible scribble] Some god I am.... All people I ever might have loved have abandoned me, my parents piss me off & hate me . . . want me to have fuckin ambition!! How can I when I get screwed & destroyed by everything??!!! I have no money, no happiness, no friends ... Eric will be getting further away soon.... I’ll have less than nothing ... how normal. I wanted to love ... I wanted to be happy and ambitions and free & nice & good & ignorant.... everyone abandoned me ... I have small stupid pleasures ... my so called hobbies & doings ... those are all that’s left for me ... clinging onto the smallest rocks ... many people climbing up a never ending vertical cliff. . . . & found a plateau to exist on. . .they walked up me to get to it. Nobody will help me . . . only exist with me if it suits them. I helped, why can’t they? will get me a gun, I’ll go on my killing spree11 against anyone I want. More crazy . . . deeper in the spiral, lost highway repeating, dwelling on the beautiful past ( & getting drunk) with me, everyone moves up, I always stayed. Abandonment. This room sucks wanna die everything is as least expected. The meek are trampled on, the assholes prevail, the gods are deceiving, lost in my little insane asylum with the outhouse [?] redneck music playing. . . . wanna die & be free with my love . . . if she even exists. She probably hates me . . . finds a [?] or a jock who treats her like shit. I remember details . . . nothing worth remembering I remember. I don’t know my love: could be , or or , or , or anyone. I don’t know & I’m sick of not knowing!! To be kept in the dark is a punishment!! I have lost my emotions ... like in Hurt the song. NIN.12 people eventually find happiness I never will. Does that make me a non-human? YES. The god of sadness.... church was so fun ... the rec thing with 

Beeerr ... Man I don’t know what’s up lately ... never do in existence. All this shit with & friends ... so weird & different from past.... yet again, that’s the way in existence. I wonder if I’ll ever have a love . . . my love. got his, I don’t, won’t ever get mine. Here’s all the people I’ve loved, or at least liked (or thought I loved) — all the same meaning

is the newest ... the purest (for now) ... seems perfect for me ... I seem perfect for her. I was delusional and thought she waved at me the last day of school. Oh well ... my emotions are gone. So much past pain at once, my senses are numbed. The beauty of being numb.

Existence . .. to understand Well well . . . so much changes . . . (like existence). I understand almost everything now . . . so close to my love — . The runes have shown it, she has shown it, I have felt it. I know the meaning of each life: to be loved by your love, & to be happy with ones self. Only for the gods though (me, , etc.). the zombies & their society band together & try to destroy what is superior13 (what they don’t understand & are afraid of. Soon.... either I’ll commit suicide, or I’ll get with & it will be NBK14 for us. My happiness. Her happiness. NOTHING else matters. I’ve been caught with most of my crimes — xpl [for example] drinking, smoking & the house vandalism, & the pipe bombs. If, by fate’s choice, didn’t love me, I’d slit my wrist & blow up Atlanta15 strapped to my neck. It’s good, understanding a hard road since my realization, but it gets easier. BUT IT DOESN’T! that’s part of existence. Unpredictable. Existence is pure hell & pure heaven at the same time. I will never stop wondering. The lost highway will never end, the music in my head will never stop ... total [?] part of existence. The hall will never end. The love will always be there. GOD I LOVE HER!!! It’s so great to love. Society is tightening its grip on me, & soon I & will snap. We will have our revenge on society, & then be free, to exist in a timeless spaceless place of pure happiness. The purpose of life is to be happy & be with your love who is equally happy. Not much more to say. Goodbye. Almost happiness is slavery — the real people (gods) are slaves to the majority of zombies, but we know & love being superior. I didn’t want to be a jock. I hated the happiness that they have — & I will have something infinitely better. I love her & she loves me. (By the way, some zombies are smarter than others, some manipulate .. . like my parents.) I am GOD, is GOD the zombies will pay for their arrogance, hate, fear, abandoned, & distrust

I love you that’s all I think about anymore ... I know that this humanity is almost over, that we will be free. We have proven to fate that we are the everything of purity & halcyon, & that we deserve, need, love, can’t exist without each other. It’s hard, I think that I might not be enough, my mind sometimes gets stuck on its own things, I think about human things — all I try to do is imagine the happiness between us. That is something we cannot even conceive in this toilet earth. The everything, the halcyon, the happiness is ours, there will be no notes from me. Let the humans suffer without my knowledge of the everything. I am trying not to think about the happiness, somehow thinking that 16 will destroy it if I conceive/relish in it when I’m a human, but I love her. We are soulmates.

You don’t consciously know who I am (please don’t skip to the back: read the note as it was written), & doubtedly unconsciously too. I, who write this, love you beyond infinince. I think about you all the time, how this world would be a better place if you loved me as I do you. I know what you’re thinking: “(some psycho wrote me this harassing letter)” I hoped we could have been together ... you seem a bit like me. Pensive, quiet, an observer, not wanting what is offered here (school, life, etc.) you almost seem lonely, like me. You probably have a boyfriend though, & might not have given this note another thought. I have thought you my true love for a long time now, but . . . well . . . there was hesitation. You see I can’t tell if you think of anyone as I do you, & if you did who that would be. Fate put me in need of you, yet this earth blocked that with uncertainties. I will go away soon, but I just had to write this to you, the one I truly loved. Please, for my sake, don’t tell anybody about this, as it was only meant for you. Also, please don’t feel any guilt about my soon-to-be “absence” of this world (it is solely my decision: no one else’s) oh ... the thoughts of us ... doing everything together, not necessarily anything, just to be together would have been pure heaven. I guess it’s time to tell you who I am. I was in a class with you 1st semester, & was blessed with being with you in a report. I still remember your laugh. Innocent, beautiful, pure. This semester I still see you — rarely. I am entranced during 5th period, as we both have it off. To most people, I appear . . . well . . . almost scary, but that’s who I appear to be as people are afraid of what they don’t understand. I denied who I was for a long time. Until high school.... anyway, you have noticed me a few times, I catch every one of these gazes with an open heart. I think you know who I am by now. Unfortunately ... even if you did like me even the slightest bit, you would hate me if you knew who I was. I am a criminal. I have done things that almost nobody would even think about condoning. The reason that I’m writing you now is that I have been caught for the crimes I committed, & I want to go to a new existence. You know what I mean (suicide). I have nothing to live for, & I wont be able to survive in this world after this legal conviction. However, if it was true that you loved me as I do you ... I would find a way to survive. Anything to be with you. I would enjoy life knowing that you loved me. 99/100 chances you probably think I’m crazy, & want to stay as far away as possible. If that’s the case, then I’m very sorry for involving an innocent person in my problems, & please don’t think twice. However, if you are who I hoped for in my dreams & realities, then do me a favor: leave a piece of paper in my locker saying anything that comes to you. Well, I guess this is it — goodbye, & I love(d) you. Dylan Klebold

I LOVE !! I love her to infinince. I look back on my awareness journey, see the parts & sections of my understanding . . . it’s almost done, yet it is never done, I love . She is my soulmate, my [?] all the imaginative halcyons & pure existences I have with her (to me) are almost happiness ... I just wish I could call her...something blocks me from calling her, my human side is putting up a wall to prevent me from calling her, like a fear of “its” truth. BS. I will overcome all fears, doubts, & zombie-based thoughts (oxymoron) . . . I will follow our hearts to the halcyon, loving her. I love you

Forever fate, up & down spiral 1.5 human years . . . so much changed in small time, my friends (at my choice) are depleting & collapsing under each other (Eric & ) like I thought they would, I am ready to be with . The ups & downs of fate are forever, good & bad, equal me. The lost highway, & downward spiral never end. Existence is like infinity times itself. ∞∞ [symbolizes infinity to the power of infinity] I have passed thru this much of the ever existence, this is almost a checkpoint. The zombies have set their [place? plane?] in my mind for the cliff theory I’ve [?] off with & we’ve floated away to the halcyon. The zombies will pay for their being, their nature. I know everything, yet I know nothing. I am a true god. My infinite memories, thoughts, perceivations of purity come a lot more with her, there is pure pure happiness — the purpose of our existence. I hate, love things, hate everything, love me & . I understand that I can never ever be a zombie, even if I wanted to. The nature of my entity. Soon we will live in the halcyons of our minds, the one thing that made me a god. Things are so simple, now that they are infinitely complicated. HAHAHAHA.

I understand whatever of everything. I am the god of the everything. Fate is my only master. This is probably my last entry. I love my self close second to my everlasting love. Goodbye. I will never stop learning Dylan Klebold

This shit again. Back at writing, doing just like a fucking zombie. Lately I can’t change my mind from the fucking deeds of zombies. Earth, humanity, HERE. That’s mostly what I think about. I hate it. I want to be free . . . free . . . I thought it would have been time by now. The pain multiplies infinitely never stops Yet [?] I’m here, STILL alone, still in pain, so is she. The thing I have concluded is that fate will decide when we should be together. decided when our existence started, it should end the same way, with us unknowing, in limbo. I love you . Always have, will. The scenarios, images, pieces of happiness still come. they always will. I love her she loves me. I know she is tired of suffering as I am. It is time. It is time. I love her the journey, the endless journey started, it has to end. We need to be happy to exist truly. I see her in perfection, the halcyons. I await endless purity. I exist as less than nothing without her. –O. my humanity, –O. I don’t know if I should call her, or wait for to act. Yet, calling her is a state of humanity. I’m forever sorry, infinitely, about the pornos. My humanity has a foot fetish & bondage extreme liking. I try to thwart it sometimes to no effect. Yet the masturbation has stopped. I’m sorry . Always I feel the [?] happiness here, thinking of her for brief moments. That’s how I know the everything is true.

I hate this non-thinking stasis. I’m stuck in humanity. Maybe going “NBK” (gawd) with Eric is the way to break free. I hate this.

The weather is a replication of our thoughts. The happiness is possible, imminent, I [?] on . The happiness is close visible ending, end of the beginning of the halcyons. The humanity is blocking me again. Time to go. HAHAHAHA fuck all. Hate this shit, need to be me, [?], love her. The framework of society stands above & below me. The hardest thing to destroy, yet the weakest thing that exists. I know that I am different, yet I am afraid to tell the society. The possible abandonment, persecution is not something I want to face, yet it is so primitive to me. I guess being yourself means letting people know about inner thoughts too, not just opinions & fashions [illegible word in parentheses] I will be free one day, in the land of purity & my happiness, I will have a love, someone who is me in a way. someday ... possibly thru this life, maybe another, but it will happen . .. Love is more valuable than anything I know. To love is to enter a completion of oneself. I hate those who choose to destroy a love, who take it for granted. love is greater than life even. As I look for love, I feel I can’t find it. Ever. But something tells me I will, someday. Somewhere. As my love will find me, she feels as I do right now, I can feel it, we will be inseparable. Her & I. Whether it is or not, I think I’ll find it (my love). We will be free, to explore the vast wonders of the stars. To cascade down everlong waterfalls, & thru the warmest seas of pure happiness .. . no limits .. . no limits. Nothing will stop us.

► Separate document:

The humanity of here & now clouds all that I see. Yet the me, the one, can now control the pain, & it is done. 5 more days. 5 . . . . . . a very influential number, another brick in my journeyed wall. Humans are zombies, they scratch for acceptance & greed & kill themselves thru each other. They will never learn, or maybe they will, but wont have the strength to learn to be aware is not a trait, it’s a godlike thing. Blessed God, not a Christian, Jesus, Mt. Sinai, Abraham, David, Bible gay shit god, but a true controller of existence. was to make us this way. These moments will be lost in the depressions & caverns of the human books forever, like, tears, in, rain, but the thoughts will be eternal. To explain the happiness is impossible even for fate. It’s just a pure halcyon set to last more existences than a conceivable number. Stupid gay nigger humans think I’m “crazy.” Or they think I’m childish. Hahaha, because I can’t solve [math equation]. That makes me dumb! Because I can’t stay thinking in a 2nd dimension, I go to the 5th!17 Haha. So I wait 5 more days. 5 more days. 5 eternities, & I know her & I are all conceived from ourselves & each other, every night of the self-awareness journey, every thought we conceived, we have finished the race. Time to die. Everything we knew we were able to understand it, to perceive it, into what we should. Everything we knew, we know & use. An understanding of the everything. An Einstein stuck in an ant’s body. We are the nature of existence. The zombies were a test, to see if our love was genuine. We are in wait of our reward, each other. The zombies will never cause us pain anymore. The humanity was a test. I love you, love. Time to die, time to be free, time to love. 1. One day, one is the beginning, [?] the end. Hahaha. Reversed, yet true. About 26.5 hours from now the judgment will begin. Difficult, but not impossible, necessary, nerve-wracking & fun. What fun is life without a little death? It’s interesting, when I’m in my human form, knowing I’m going to die. Everything has a touch of triviality to it. Like how none of this calculus shit matters. The way it shouldn’t. the truth. In 26.4 hours, I’ll be dead, & in happiness. The little zombie human fags will know their errors, & be forever suffering and mournful. HAHAHAH, of course I will miss things. Not really.

His Will:

Ok, this is my will. This is a fucking human thing to do, but whatever. — you were a badass, never failed to get me up when I was down. Thx. You get FUCKT