#I want the world to know this WAS PRIVATE. but several flies buzzing in my ear TOLD Me to post this. okay

[lacystar]

local desperate cc gets called spineless by all of tumblr and gets so turned on by it he has to leave the internet to beat off

[sylverstorms]

Cassandra x Maiden ----Anonymity Ch. 8

Ch.1      Ch.2      Ch.3      Ch.4      Ch.5      Ch.6      Ch.7

It has come to a point where you can’t even pretend to yourself that you don’t care for her.

All the time you spend with Cassandra every evening has made certain feelings impossible to deny, though you are too scared to name them all.

You don’t name the smile you can’t contain when she excitedly pulls you to the armory to show you her collection of blades –and explains, in a very animated fashion, about the optimal use for each one. You don’t want to know what the stutter in your heartbeat means, every time she genuinely laughs, pale neck thrown back, nose slightly scrunched and all. 

And it’s not just Cassandra you grow a tad closer to.  

Bela comes to you whenever the two of them have argued and goes ‘Tell my sister’ this or that. Daniela is apparently not allowed within a twenty meter radius of you, but she approaches to poke and prod at you whenever she wants to annoy Cassandra. She never manages to do either, because the middle sister always swoops in, fuming, dragging her away by the hood of her robes like a kitten.

Lady Dimitrescu is the only one as distant as the day you first saw her –and it’s probably for the better. You don’t see her much, anyway, not with how Cassandra takes you to empty castle wings to have you all to herself.

Tonight is different.

After dinner, Bela leaves with her mother and you go to help the other maids present clean the table. But your lover steps in the way and grabs your elbow, instead, hurriedly pulling you along.

“Do not tell me you’re seriously thinking to make me wait longer.” she says.

Of course, you promised to watch a movie you found on your phone with her and she’s been buzzing with impatience since.

That is, until a certain redhead blocks your way. 

“Daniela, move.” Cassandra huffs. 

“What are you doing? Take me with you.” the younger sister replies, brimming with childlike curiosity. 

“No. Go bother Bela.” A shooing motion is made. 

“Bela’s no fun. I wanna come with you and Alexia.” she drops your name so casually it’s startling.

“Wait give me a moment to think about it –moment over. No.” Cassandra states, fast.

But Daniela shoots forward and grabs your arm like a koala. Your eyes go wide at the same time as Cassandra’s, for different reasons.

The brunette immediately grips her sister’s robes, none-too-gently. “Don’t touch her, she’s mine!”

“If you don’t take me along I’m telling mother where you found that music player and phone!” Daniela answers, her hold enough to cut off your blood flow.

You send Cassandra a pleading look before they break your arms with how they’re tugging at you.

“On one condition.” the elder sister holds a finger up to her sibling’s face. “You sit next to me and you don’t move around.”

“…she’s warm, though.” Daniela says, all but pouting. “Mother says sharing is caring~”

“Find your own human.” Cassandra growls out as the three of you make your way to the main hall and the couch adjacent to the fireplace there.

“You and Bela have gotten the prettier ones!”

“You snooze, you lose.”

Cassandra quite literally pins you to the arm of the couch with her body, to keep Daniela as far away from you as possible. Even as the movie starts, you can feel her sulking by your neck for not being able to touch you the way she wants.

You are not as focused on the movie as you are cute way she plays with your hand throughout its duration.

-

-

It’s getting harder and harder to remind yourself of what they are.

Especially when, ten minutes after the credits have rolled, Daniela is still crying over the death of the protagonist. Even Bela comes to the hall and asks Cassandra what she did to her.

By the time she’s done dealing with her sisters, your lover comes to you sporting a headache.

“We’re leaving this wing right now.” Cassandra says and that is about all the warning you get.

The next second you feel a rush of air and your stomach leaping to where your heart is supposed to be; Your eyes only make out a blur and an augur of black flies.

When she comes to a halt you crash into Cassandra’s side with a gasp. Your arm aches from the pull. The world spins for ten solid seconds.

She laughs by your ear. Low and satisfied as it is at your disorientation –it reminds you of drinking wine by a fire in the heart of winter— you can’t help but bask in the timbre of her voice so close.

“Ugh, why is it so cold in here?” she complains in that same quiet tone you love.

It is very cold compared to the more lived in parts of the castle, but your body is warm enough from your sustained proximity and the rush of adrenaline she always causes in you.

“Oh, well, I can bear it for a little while if it means we won’t be interrupted.” Cassandra trails off and lifts your chin with a chilled finger.

Your lips meet and slide together in a practiced tango. Her manicured nails run over your throat and shoulders, making you shiver for reasons that have nothing to do with the temperature.

Both of you are starting to get really into it when Cassandra walks you back into the nearest wall. It happens to be a window, covered by a flimsy curtain. You have half a mind to realize it’s probably been forgotten slightly ajar, judging from the frost that graces your shoulder, but you have more important matters to focus on, like the brush of her tongue over your bottom lip.

Until Cassandra braces her bare hand over the unseen opening, to box you in like she usually does.

And-

She shrieks.

She jerks away so powerfully her back crash-lands into the painting on the far wall, knocking it down with its frame broken. You’re left there still and mute, watching in frozen horror as her face distorts into pure, raw anguish.

“Shut it!” Cassandra screams at you. “Shut it now, now!”

Your nerves suddenly kick into overdrive and you pull the window closed like your life depends on it.

What just… happened...?

In slow, cautious steps, you approach her. She’s clutching her hand like a wounded animal, baring its teeth to hide its vulnerability. It is the first time you see her like this. Void of control, bent over in hurt. Gasping.

Something in your chest breaks.

You look at her hand, to find her pale skin nearly crystallized, grey and breaking apart —like cheap china, like weak porcelain— into flies that drop to the floor, faintly twitching.

You thought… you thought they could just control the insects. That dissipating into swarms was just a trick allowed by their mutation. But now you realize, the flies are her body.

All this time trapped under the looming terror of the daughters… and escape was as easy as opening a window on them.

“Cassandra…?” you ask in a wavering voice when the initial burst of rage leaves her form.

She looks up at you, torn, when you hear the heavy sound of heels rapidly approaching.

“Cassandra?!” a different voice calls, this time, deep and authoritative. When Lady Dimitrescu rounds the corner in her immense height, your instincts scream to run.

But one look at Cassandra makes you stay.

Alcina halts for a moment to take in the scene. Then her lips curl downwards and bladed claws extend from her gloves, easily half your body in length. 

Oh my… God…

“What did you do to my daughter?!” she demands and advances on you, but Cassandra gets in front of you before she can truly threaten your life.

“I brought her here, mother. It’s my fault.” she hurries to explain.

Alcina stares at you like she wants to crush you underfoot… but then softens, somewhat, at the look her daughter is giving her.

“Come with me. Now.” She says in a stern motherly tone that leaves no room for objections.

You clutch Cassandra’s uninjured hand, silently asking if she’ll be alright. She turns, looks at you for a moment, then nudges your head with hers.

“...I’ll see you later, Alexia.”

But, as it turns out... “later” is subjective.

 -

-

 In Alcina’s Private Chambers…

It is not often that Cassandra is reprimanded by herself. 

She has never before been the only one at fault. She’s used to having her sisters beside her while Alcina scolds the three of them… except this time they’re outside the closed door and she is there to face their mother’s ire alone.

She can’t stay still under that yellowish-grey, narrowed gaze. Her fingers fidget with the edge of her robes’ sleeve to keep occupied, while Alcina takes that deep, calming breath she knows heralds no good things. Ever.

“Cassandra. Do you understand the severity of the situation?”

“Yes, mother.” She keeps her gaze downcast.

“Even if the maid didn’t harm you on purpose, she now knows your weakness. Yours and your sisters’. You were careless to allow this.” Cassandra feels anxiety rise up from the pit of her stomach and threaten to swallow her whole at that tone.

“I know, mother. Forgive me.” she replies quietly.

She wants to say that Alexia won’t use this knowledge against any of them, but she cannot bring herself to lie to Alcina. Because the truth is, Cassandra doesn’t know for a fact that she will not.

Why was that window open? Why?!

“You didn’t let me fix your mistake. I assume that means you will do it yourself?” her mother asks and Cassandra’s gaze snaps up.

What…?

At first, the temptation to chain Alexia up and watch as her blood drained from her lithe body had been sweet and strong. But now, at the thought of killing her –losing her— in whichever way, Cassandra is sick to her stomach. It is strange, because she feels like she is hyperventilating when she isn’t breathing at all and the world has tilted and—

Please don’t.

“Since when did you ever hesitate to kill, Cassandra?”

“…If.. that is what you ask of me���” she replies but she doesn’t sound like herself at all, not even to her own ears.

“How can I ask that of you and break your heart?” Alcina throws her arms up in exasperation. “I should have stopped this months ago but I thought it a fleeting fancy. I never imagined you would end up so attached.”

“I’m- I’m not-” she tries to protest, but her mother is having none of it.

“You’re not? You’re with her every day and she barely sports scratches anymore. Your eyes follow her everywhere when she’s in the same room. You instinctively lean closer whenever she comes over to refill your wine. Do you think I do not notice?” Of course. Of course she noticed.

Cassandra swallows, silent.

The memory of laying, too weak to move a single finger, on her deathbed along with Bela and Daniela pierces through Cassandra’s brain like a bullet. Her hand gives a violent spasm and flies break off to buzz frantically around her as she drops her forehead into her palm.

She’s on the verge of a nervous breakdown and it’s just so difficult without her sisters there. They’ve always been together, since the very beginning.

They were born together, learned to control their powers together, they died together-

Alcina is on one knee in front of her the next millisecond, stroking her hair and gathering her into her arms.

“Shh, calm down, my love.” she coos. “I’m sorry to be so harsh on you. I only want the best for you three.”

Cassandra doesn’t talk because she can’t, because she cannot wrap her head around what that flash inside her brain was.

“Oh, my Cassandra. I will not harm the maid if it will harm you, too.”

She waits for the eventual ‘but’.

“But I cannot let this dalliance continue any longer.”

It’s probably for the best. Her mother knows best. It is true, after all, that she has not been acting like herself, lately. So, yes, this decision is for her own good.

But.

Cassandra’s heart has the same reaction upon hearing it as being exposed to sub-zero winter air.

[britishassistant]

I wonder what the supervillains (the dorm leaders) would do if they get switched with their other self in Twisted Wonderland.

They'll meet a younger Yuu calls them senpai and probably get shivers when they hear someone shout Prefect but then realize its Yuu's role in that world.

Bonus would be if Yuuken's there too, sharing the dorm with Yuu.

Thank you for the ask, dear anon!

I decided to take a little inspo from my Villainous Paranoiac series for this one! Not a whole lot, but the idea of Twisted Wonderland Yuu being put in the infirmary after the events of Chapter Five!

(Also consider it non-canon, since it kinda involves everyone’s identities being exposed!)

Basically imagine that the supervillains find themselves in what looks like a private school infirmary, late at night. The air is buzzing with a strange energy, almost like the powers back in their home world, but...different, somehow.

The room nearly empty, save for one occupant in a cot close to the door.

Poison Queen and King immediately begin bickering over whose fault this mess is, while Royal Flush tries to get them to keep their voices down or else they’ll be detected. Charon is half a minute from going to curl up in a corner, clutching his freeze ray like a lifeline, while Octo Dealer and Snake Charmer are busy inspecting their surroundings for anything of value or that can be requisitioned into a weapon on short notice.

Tsunotaro has wandered over to inspect the sole other living being in the room with them.

He is pleasantly surprised to see what looks like a younger version of the reporter he’s so fond of, fast asleep in the infirmary cot. Their cheeks still retain the last bit of baby fat from childhood, and there’s some acne left that will fade with age. He may give one cheek a gentle poke, just to satisfy his curiosity. The sleepy mumble they let out is a little more high pitched than normal, but that’s the reporter’s voice alright.

He is less pleased to see dark circles under their eyes, or the bandages around their throat that stink of medicinal salves. If this truly is a younger version of his child of man, then why do they look so worried, even in sleep? Why are they injured and sleeping in this place of healing in the first place? They’re a mere child, barely old enough to operate a vehicle or live alone. Their only worries should be trivial things, not whatever is causing this furrow in their brow and hunch in their shoulders.

The other supervillains have begun to migrate over to where Tsunotaro is crouching in silent contemplation. King flips his eyepatch up to get a better look, whistling lowly. Octo Dealer busies himself with refilling their water glass, sneaking glances at them as he places it within easy reach. Snake Charmer pulls their pillow more under their head from where it’s almost slipped off. Poison Queen straightens the arrangement of the very tasteful bouquet on the bedside table, so the flowers’ best angle is shown to the bed’s occupant. Royal Flush carefully tucks their covers in over them.

Charon takes a picture with his tablet.

He forgot to turn off his flash.

Yuu cracks their eyes open...

To see seven adults looming over their bed in masks that resemble the ink from the overblots that haunt the Prefect’s nightmares.

Cue terrified screaming.

Snake Charmer lunges forward instinctively to cover Yuu’s mouth—

It’s only thanks to Poison Queen yanking him back that he doesn’t end up with an arrow in the shoulder.

Several more follow the first one through the window above the prefect’s cot, cold iron sharp and perfectly aimed to seriously maim if the supervillains don’t immediately get away from the screaming teenager. Rook was lax in protecting the Trickster after VDC ended, assuming there was no more danger after Roi du Poison’s overblot was saved. He will not make that mistake again.

The infirmary doors burst open, a younger Yuuken in a sleep-rumpled uniform barging in from where he decided to sleep outside because Ramshackle felt too empty and quiet to bear, but was forbidden from staying in the infirmary himself. He only has a pillow, but he brandishes it at the strange adults, fully willing to defend his dorm mate in whatever way he can.

The vanguard appears in a flurry of bats though, too many to fight off, small and vicious and furious. Their commander materializes in the center if the swarm, hovering over the head of Yuu’s cot, pink eyes brimming with a cold rage that makes his small and cute form look like it’s bursting at the seams holding something much older and angrier back. He opens his mouth, fangs long and glistening—

Only to stop short at the sight of one of the supervillains. “Malleus? Malleus Draconia?”

Tsunotaro nods warily.

“Wh-What in Twisted Wonderland are you wearing??”

Tsunotaro ducks his head like a chastened child. “I could say the same thing.” He mutters sullenly.

From there the lights get turned on, and the seven supervillains are made to explain themselves to the sleep-deprived students and staff who trickle in to see what’s going on. All six dorm leaders and one vice dorm leader vanished from their beds, setting everyone on high alert until news of these...alternate versions spread.

It is very weird for the supervillains to see all their minions as teenagers (again in some cases). It is only surpassed by how weird it is for everyone else to see their dorm heads and vice head all grown up and adult, even if they are dressed weird.

Ortho still wants to shoot them with a beam until they bring back his nii-san. Luckily Charon is able to convince him that Idia should be fine if he’s in Charon’s lair—he’s got plenty of the latest games, manga and tech for him to play with, so that should keep him occupied for a while.

Sebek is in a state of Malleus awe. He has shut down and will not restart. Silver has taken to pinching himself just to make sure this isn’t a Lilia’s cooking induced fever dream, while Lilia himself scolds Tsunotaro that he raised him better than to go around watching people sleep like that! Tsunotaro tries to use the “but I’m a supervillain” excuse, only for Lilia to shoot back “and I’m a war criminal in some nations, what’s your point?”

King is enjoying watching the overgrown lizard get scolded. Now if only the tiny Ruggie would stop asking him what injury the eyepatch is for, and making remarks about how embarrassing it would be if it were totally pointless—King does not pay his adult self so much to put up with this shit. The baby Jack also needs to stop demanding to know if his adult minion self can pull a sled faster than a moose or something...

Jade and Floyd are attempting to wind up the adult Octo Dealer, trying to see how much they can get away with compared with the normal Azul. Octo Dealer is legitimately at a loss as to how this world’s Azul doesn’t keep them in line without letting them turn to a crime or two. Then he learns about Azul’s contract business and feels a pang of commiseration and understanding.

Poison Queen, Royal Flush, and Snake Charmer are unpleasantly shocked when their dorms address them by their respective secret identities in front of their fellow supervillains out of the blue.

Poison Queen has to put up with King’s uncontrolled laughter as he finally understands the full extent of the incident with White Neige so long ago, while Tsunotaro tries to tell him he liked Schoenheit in his role as the evil dragon prince in the GaoGao dramatization. Royal Flush is about two seconds away from throttling Octo Dealer if the bastard doesn’t stop trying to make a deal to guarantee his mother doesn’t learn about her son’s private activities. Snake Charmer’s just glad his civilian identity flies under the radar enough that Charon has to try and look him up to understand who he is (and fails because he’s not on school wifi and his cellular data is bust).

Poison Queen is also getting a headache from Rook rhapsodizing about how his villain form is another, enhanced mode of beauty he is fortunate to lay eyes upon, as if he hadn’t been willing to skewer Poison Queen along with the rest of the supervillains five minutes ago. He’s at least able to amuse himself by letting Epel run away with his speculations about how he’s the buff hyper-masculine muscle for Poison Queen.

Kalim is crying that Jamil had to resort to becoming a villain in his home world! He must be so sad if he has to do that! He’s mildly cheered up when Snake Charmer tells him they work together on schemes, and that Snake Charmer is actually reasonably happy with his chosen vocation—and then he begins panicking that Jamil will like that world so much, he won’t want to come back.

Royal Flush is glad his counterpart at least has good people around to look after him, even if it is odd to have young versions of Trey and Cater trying to mother hen him despite the fact that he’s the older one now. At least Ace and Deuce acting up seems more fitting now considering their age than it ever did on their adult selves.

Ace huffs a sigh and leans on Yuu’s shoulder. “This is a mess, huh Prefect?”

“You said it.” Yuu replies. “I just wanna sleep forever.”

The supervillains go still.

“I’m sorry,” Snake Charmer says carefully. “But isn’t Enma-san the Prefect?”

“No?” Yuuken replies, confused. “Yuu’s the prefect of Ramshackle Dorm. I’m their vice— or would be, if we had any other students apart from them, me, and Grim.”

Octo Dealer laughs, sounding slightly strained. “Ah, apologies, but you see, that isn’t possible. It can’t be. Yuu isn’t—”

“But I am the prefect, Azul-senpai.” Yuu the Prefect says. “I’ve–I’ve always been the prefect.”

There’s a stunned silence.

Royal Flush places his head in his hands. “What the fuck.”

Back in the Supervillain AU universe, Yuu the Reporter sneezes sharply while trying to wrangle five frightened teenagers, one frightened-but-playing-tough twenty year old, and one confused however-old-he-is-but-younger-than-Tsunotaro fae.

They wonder what the chill down their spine is.

[kylosroboarm]

Wounded - One-Shot Fic

I decided to write a little one shot about the Force Bond after this thought popped into my head. Post-TLJ

He knows where she is the moment he feels the stabbing pain strike his thigh, catching him off guard.

Kylo falls hard to his knees on the bridge of the Finalizer at the surprise impact, the wind knocked out of him. He felt it, the piece of shrapnel slicing its way into his upper thigh. Her upper thigh.

She wasn’t supposed to be there.

Rest under the cut or on Ao3

First Order members look towards him as he falls, not so much in concern but just in shock and interest. Shock that their newly christened Supreme Leader crashed to his knees with no warning. They all look on, yet none move to help their supposed leader.

“Get up, Ren,” spits Hux, standing a hair behind him, still looking out the viewport at the planet below. The planet that's surface is currently blooming with explosions. Explosions from First Order bombs.

Kylo doesn’t do anything; just kneels there catching his breath, his eyes darting around wildly.

She’s not supposed to be there.

“Oh for God’s sake, Ren. Get up.”

Fed up with his antics, Hux reaches down and attempts to haul his begrudged partner back to his feet by the his cape.

“Don’t touch me! Get off!” Kylo pushes Hux off of him, throwing out his arm. The General suddenly flies through the air across the bridge, landing hard on the reflective black floor. Everyone on the bridge stills, scared about what the volatile Supreme Leader will do next.

Kylo staggers to his feet slowly, snarling at the room. He turns and limps off the bridge, determined to get as far away from everyone as he can.

“Lord Ren—”

Kylo throws his arm out once more, tossing the interrupting commander against the wall forcefully, and continues to leave the command deck.

The moment he gets out into the hallway that familiar feeling washes over him like a tidal wave. It’s like everything goes absolutely silent even though the world around him is still buzzing with noise. He hasn’t felt it in so long that he almost wishes he could revel in it for a while. He feels her.

She’s here.

Glancing around he finds nothing, then he catches a glimpse of a shadow covered in flowing grey fabric disappearing around the corner. He follows the shadow as fast as he can, still staggering slightly from the phantom feeling of the wound on his thigh.

He turns the corner and instead of the girl he finds drops of blood. Drops of blood that he knows only he can see. He limps on after them, hoping the bond stays open long enough for him to reach her.

It soon becomes a game of cat and mouse, him following the shadow relentlessly, both of them hobbling down the corridors of the ship.

Him chasing after her. Her running away from the attack that he launched.

She wasn’t supposed to be there.

He finally catches up with her, seeing her back disappear behind his door. Kylo limps towards the door and forces his way into the room. How she managed to find his room is a mystery to him. In her world she must’ve found cover somewhere. It amazes him that, in their shared world, it’s his private quarters that become her solace.

Kylo just stands in the doorway, not knowing what to do. The bond hasn’t opened in a while; not since that day on Crait. The day she rejected yet another one of his proposals and left on Han Solo’s ship.

She still hasn’t looked up at him, too busy trying to staunch the blood flowing out of her wound, but he knows she can feel him there with her. She rips off strips from her outer wrap to tie around her thigh to create a tourniquet.

Almost cautiously, Kylo limps his way over to the girl sitting on his chair and kneels down next to her.

“Are you alright?” he barely whispers out, cautious of how she’ll react to even his voice.

She goes still but doesn’t look up, continuing to stare at her leg.

“Rey?” His voice is just as soft as before.

The sound of her name forces her to lift her head. She’s glaring at him, but Kylo can feel she’s missed seeing him through the bond just as much as he has. No matter how mad she gets at him, she can’t go back to hating him. There’s too much between them now to go back to that. They’ve seen and felt too much.

“Are you alright?” he repeats.

All she does is continue to stare at him, her eyes narrowed and her nose scrunched slightly. He can feel the anger radiating off of her.

Kylo rolls his eyes and gets up, walking away and looking down at the stubborn girl currently residing on his chair. She frustrates the hell out of him sometimes.

“You did this,” she bites out, glaring up at him.

“You weren’t supposed to be there,” Kylo counters, ignoring the main reason for her anger.

“That’s not the point, Ben. You called an attack on one of our bases. My friends were in danger. You had to have known I’d help,” she says, staggering to her feet and walking towards him slightly.

He tries not to react to her calling him Ben, but he knows she can see his eyes soften slightly. Feeling the temptation to crumble for the girl, his face hardens, trying to mask his compassion.

“I hate to break it to you, Jedi, but we are still at war. Or did you forget that?” he retorts. He’s attempting to keep a relatively calm facade, but his fiery temper is beginning to seep through his frustration and hurt.

“Of course I didn’t forget,” she snaps back. “Trust me, I’m quite aware that we’re at war.”

The pair lapse into a tense silence, both glaring at each other without the full heat they used to have.

Kylo can’t take it anymore. He’s missed her, though he’d never admit it. She’s the only person that makes him feel less lonely. The only person who understands every bit of him.

“We didn’t have to be,” he mutters out, clipping his words, “but you chose your side.”

“And you chose yours… Supreme Leader,” she bites out, a tinge of sadness behind her words.

He flinches slightly at the title. It sounds so wrong coming from her lips, almost as if her words were poison.

Kylo hangs his head, shame filling his eyes though his face remains mostly impassive. “I offered you everything. A whole galaxy,” he whispers, practically pleading like it will make her change her mind.

I offered a life with me goes unvoiced.

Rey closes her eyes and shakes her head gently, becoming frustrated with the man she’s bonded to. Why can't he understand that that's not what she wants? It's not who she is.

“Even if I had gone with you, you would’ve killed them all anyway. My friends, what’s left of the Resistance…” she pauses for a moment, “... your mother. You know I couldn’t let you do that.”

Kylo staggers slightly and doesn’t reply for a moment. Rey's news about his mother is preposterous. There's no way she could've survived. Finally he gathers the courage to speak.

“She’s alive?” he chokes out, disbelief strewn across his face.

Rey looks at him curiously, her eyes narrowing on his face. “Of course she’s alive.”

All he does is blink at her twice, not fully comprehending or believing her words. “But the bridge—”

“It was a miracle, but she survived,” she states, cutting him off.

He walks away from Rey and paces in tiny lines back and forth, trying to process the information. Kylo comes to a halt and turns to Rey. He looks at the floor, somewhat ashamed that he was even a part of the attack on the Raddus.

“It wasn’t me… I didn’t, couldn’t, do it.”

“I know,” Rey says calmly, suddenly not looking as angry at him.

She limps over and sits down on the bed, feeling a little light headed from her wound, and her argument with the man in front of her. Rey looks over at him, a myriad of emotions filling her eyes.

“She’s given up hope, you know… that you will ever come back.”

“Good,” he clips out, trying to rid his voice of all emotion. Deep down he knows she can see right through him and his flippant facade.

“But not me.”

Kylo’s eyes whip down to Rey sitting on the bed. His bed. She’s staring at him with that fierce look she gets sometimes. That same determined look she had in the elevator on the Supremacy and again while facing Snoke. The look that says I will not fail.

“I know what I saw. No matter what Snoke said about the bond, I saw you by my side. I felt your light.” Tears fill the corners of her eyes. “And Ben… I’ve never felt such light.”

He doesn’t speak, not sure how to respond to her. All he does is walk over and kneel down in front of her again.

Kylo places both of his hands on her thigh close to her wound. He looks at her cautiously before gently unwrapping her makeshift bandage. She flinches but doesn’t push him away, her eyes darting to his face, too curious as to what he’s doing to stop him.

Placing his palms flat on her thigh, Kylo closes his eyes, brows furrowing in concentration. He focuses all of his energy and slowly her wound begins to mend before Rey’s eyes, her skin expertly being knit back together again.

After he’s done, he looks up at her nervously. She’s looking at him like she’s not sure how to react. The same look she always gives him when he defies her expectations.

Kylo watches as Rey opens and closes her mouth several times, knowing she’s trying to think of something to say. He doesn’t expect a thank you, especially since he’s the reason she’s hurt in the first place. He’s the one who called the attack on the Resistance base.

Knowing she might talk more about his light, he decides to say something before she does. “I saw you by my side too,” he whispers out, looking gently into her eyes.

Instantly her brows furrow again, the agitation returning to her face. She knows what he’s about to say the moment he starts talking.

“Ben, no,” she says, her voice already weary. “We’re not doing this again.”

He rips his hands from her thigh, bringing them down to his sides. His fists clench trying to contain his flaring temper.

“And why not?” he snaps, his frustration instantly flaring. Kylo shoots to his feet, staring down at the Jedi in front of him. “You can go on and on about enticing me to come back with you, to join those weaklings, yet I can’t do the same?”

Rey glares up at him, wishing he would just drop it. “No, you can’t.”

His jaw clenches for a moment, trying to hold back his quickly rising temper. “And why not? Say it. Why not?” he bites out, enunciating each word.

“Because your side only kills people,” she counters, her words piercing like darts.

A small, cruel smirk forms on Kylo’s face. A little goading from him and she fell right into his trap. “Oh and yours doesn’t, Jedi? Do you know how many families died on Starkiller?”

His question throws her, but she doesn’t pause, not wanting to give him the benefit of seeing her falter. Rey jumps to her feet, offended at what he's implying quite blatantly.

“That’s different. Starkiller was used to destroy entire systems.”

His smirk grows at her attempt to keep her footing on the moral high ground. “Still doesn’t negate the fact that your side kills, just like mine.”

Rey’s lip curls up in a small snarl. “We kill to save innocent lives.”

He leans down slightly, getting closer in her space. “And you don’t think you kill innocent lives in the process?”

She can see in his eyes that he knows he’s shaken her, and that he’s winning, but she won’t give him the satisfaction.

“No,” she forces out, her words clipped. She hold her head up high, trying to look confident enough to mask her doubt.

Kylo rolls his eyes at her loyalty to the Resistance. He leans back up and walks away in frustration, curling his hands into tight fists. After a few paces, he stills and turns back to her, looking at her with a fiery passion.

“Dammit, Rey. Just join me. The Resistance is dying, don’t die with it because of your damn pride. Be on the winning side.”

He takes calculated steps towards her, preparing to pull on her emotional strings. “Besides, there’s nothing for you there. You’re nothing there.”

His attempt barely fazes Rey. She just stands and holds her head up more, closing the distance between their faces. “And you think that if I come with you, I can finally be something?”

Kylo doesn't hesitate before answering. “Yes.”

“Then you’re more lost than I thought,” she concludes bluntly, disappointment shrouding the statement.

“Is that so, Jedi? I’m lost, am I? And let me guess, you think you can save my soul,” he taunts, smirk firmly on his face.

All Rey does look him straight in the eye, her gaze piercing into his soul. No matter how many defenses he tries to put up, she always finds a way to break them down and see what he's hiding. She knows him inside and out. All his fears. All his hopes, the few that he still has left. She looks at him passionately, her face strong and confident, though in her eyes he can see her heart silently breaking for him. Breaking for the tortured soul of Ben Solo.

“You’re a scared little boy, Ben Solo, pretending to be a ruthless leader when all you want is to belong somewhere, with someone. You’re a scared little boy longing for someone to love him... You’ve craved it your whole life.”

Kylo's expression hardens, becoming once again the fearsome leader of the First Order. Once again becoming the monster that she used to claim he was. The monster he still is. He reverts back to the way he always does when someone pokes and prods at his temper and emotions; he lashes back at them like a wild animal, the Force around him flaring out with the sheer volatility of his emotions.

“I wasn’t the one thrown away like garbage on some trash planet by people who didn’t want me,” he sneers out, picking the one thing he knows will hurt her the most. Her one weakness to use as a weapon.

She blinks, but doesn't waver. In fact, her gaze seems to soften slightly, her anger fading more into pity.

“No. You’re right... You had two loving parents who left you with your uncle because they cared about you.”

Her agreement makes him falter, but not as much as her throwing his parents abandonment in his face. Instead of lashing out, Kylo seethes silently, his temper boiling violently under the surface, ready to break through any moment. It's the calm before the storm, and the storm is a hurricane.

“Get out," he practically breathes, trying to keep his tone in check, but his anger sharpens the edges.

“What?” Rey asks, confused at the sudden demand.

She can see and feel his attempt at controlling his rage, and can also see it failing. His lip has started to snarl and she can see his hands clenches in fists, shaking slightly.

“Get out," he bites out again.

Instinctively she takes a step backwards despite knowing she should stand her ground. He's begun to shake, his anger slowly breaking through all the little cracks. Rey tries again to quell his temper.

“Ben—”

It doesn't work and the dam breaks. His names just sets off the bomb. Kylo's emotions surge off in waves, hitting Rey's senses full force.

“Get out!” he yells, ripping his saber from his belt and chucking it through the air at her.

The saber goes flying through her head, reminding them both that she’s not really here. She’s just a vision in the Force.

Rey looks at him him shock and hurt, not wanting to believe that he would ever attack her like that, even in a blind rage. Her eyes begin to water slightly at the thought. Kylo just stands there huffing, his temper slowly melting back to normal.

Only the tear streaking down her cheek brings him back to himself. She’s looking at him with fear in her eyes and disappointment on her face. Regret instantly fills his body, but all he can do is stand there, watching the tear fall.

He finally gets the nerves to speak, wanting to tell her how sorry he is. “Rey, I—”

She gives him a hard look in response. Another tear falls from her lashes before she disappears into thin air, the bond closing off until the next time. If there’s a next time.

The minute she’s gone, the loneliness that left during her presence fills his room again. He doesn’t move, staring at the spot she just vanished from.

His knees give out from under him and he crashes hard to the ground. He’s faintly conscious of the fact that he just bruised his kneecaps from the sheer force that they hit the floor, but he can’t stop staring at the spot.

A small part of him wonders if she was even there at all, if it wasn't just his imagination creating her. Real or not, he’s ashamed of how he reacted, letting his anger getting the best of him. He’s scared her off and hurt her more than he already has. He hangs his head, not knowing if she’ll ever return to him.

He’s once again completely and utterly alone.

[moshfeghpilled]

February: The fall starts easy. I took baby aspirin, and a rusty spoon to my head, and smoked the stale weed my brother left in a broken vase before he left for college. Night comes fast, and tells the creation story. I ignore her this time. I don’t give a fuck about how I was made anymore tell me how I fall apart. March: Nobody can ever find the raw spot on their leg until they start itching. I remember 6th grade when the mosquito bit my calf. Larvae and laps on the soccer field in early spring. He is oozing into my shoes with the mud. April: My mother buried my rusty spoon, and took my brown hands. the clothesline was dripping carbonated orange soda sun, the wind was soft, the mice were sleeping warm beneath the floorboards; she spread my tarot on the floor with the forever broken and gnarled thumb she stuck in a blender when she was 5. That spring I walked home alone some nights, the heatwaves followed me like the labored breath of drunk men who don’t take no for an answer, I turned over The Devil and someone dropped a wine glass next door, she gasped, white eyes, the mice began to scrape and scream, the heatwave killed their children like it split my shoulders open and ate the youth inside. May: The month of falling out of trees, junior high was gonna shipwreck any day now. There is a fast food place where the milkshakes taste like cough syrup and the skater kids cheat death on 3 feet of concrete stairs. There is a crack in the sidewalk in front of it, and he kick flips on it to break the back of the mother who left him at 13, he breeds violence between his fraying vans and then something in his ankle snaps, my oxygen goes tar black. He bleeds, he. Makes this sound. Like a dog when you step on its foot. I want to hold him, put a butterfly on his cheek, give him a band aid, something, God, something. He looks like he’s in pain. I want to. I don’t know. Help. I walk away trembling and put my head between my knees behind a dumpster full of shitty milkshakes. June: The neighbors fuck like rabbits while I’m trying to cry to joy division. I pray for a lightning strike. This type of poetry is for pretty girls, anyway. July: my birthday flies into the glass of my bedroom window and breaks its neck. mom said the only things you can grow in summer that won’t die are grapefruit and hair, and I made a garden, I cut my chest open for Demeter each full moon. These locks were watered with gulf stream sea spray. I fed them bludgeoned daydreams. I threw my head against church doors trying to send Jesus some red flowers for his funeral, or maybe his birthday, doesn’t really matter, we celebrate both. August: I got kicked out of high school knocking myself out on my desk. People carved hearts into the enamel, I carved my heart out of my chest and turned it in for my midterm. I slam dunked my skull into the bleachers on game day, and when the bleachers fell, into my history textbook, and when the book was mushy with blood, into the track field. I’m grinning ugly, dancing to the 80’s synth in an empty gym after homecoming, with a nosebleed dripping love songs down my yellow teeth, like words on old gravestones: here lies a moontoothed lover who will never rest in peace, every night she claws her grave and hears the call of western waves. September: I’m high on concussion flavored car races in a stolen low rider, bluebirds fly in circles around my head after we crash, I wrote a song on a 5 dollar bill called blunt force trauma and it is about skater boys with broken noses, snarls of shaggy Jew fro his friends make fun of, and hands. that graze los angeles highways while he rides asphalt waves, slam his locker, and give the finger to the education system he keeps tripping over like untied shoelaces. he pricks those hands sewing together the lackluster parties private school kids throw. he puts his dewy rose bud lips to the jack daniels bottle, and kicks the drum kit over, gives it mouth to mouth, pump his fists into someone’s chest, gives it a pulse again. hands big enough to steal grapefruit with, the size of my swollen heart. I didn’t know it could get that big but he bumped into me, buzzing like a light saber, sky walking out of the grocery store with a grapefruit. with my heart. October: do you have a girl do you? have a lover? Jupiter is orbiting around whatever this emotion is called, the rollercoaster one. when you look at me. We spend Halloween turning into werewolves at the library, you were moshing in the kids section, bleaching your hair in punk rock, I was banging my bruised and knuckleheaded love poems into a paperback copy of Romeo and Juliet, brushing my hair with broken glass. That was the first day the blood on our hands was not our own, she shushed us and we laughed. High on Shakespeare and Jupiter gas, we dug our fangs into the dewy decimal system. You ask me my name, I tell you, you smile. We had matching bruises and I floated home. November: You make me. Feel. You make me feel like I can speak to snakes. You make me feel like my hips have a purpose besides balancing bins of laundry, and bowls of fruit. You make 17 stop feeling like a suicide note no one will read. you make me banshee scream and lick like fire against young pines, when you. dance. when you. kiss her, let her ride your double dutch hips, and your skateboard. She is a new coin, tangy on his numb tongue, and he tucks her in his pocket, his lucky penny. I’m the bubblegum he scrapes off his sneakers and throws into a storm drain. December: I still cower into my pillow and smile a crooked smile, and go red at the cheeks, you. You put the red in my cheeks. I’m here, I’m exploding, why can’t you see me? Just put the bottle down, take your hand from your eyes, I won’t ask you what happened to your face, or how you got that scar, I will just like you and like you. we can buy angels wings in Hollywood, make an apartment out of crumpled homework pages at the bottoms of our dirty backpacks, we can drop out of high school, I will like you and dissect your sadness like frogs in freshman biology I am used to the rotting smell in your ribcage, I reek of it too. I will like you. until I know how to love you. January: I switch schools, I cut my hair, bleach what little is left. It makes my mother unhappy, she thinks my spirit world is severing ties, she thinks my planets are discordant. I ask somebody back home about him, she says he dropped out and started working on cars. I come down. Softly. February (again, again, again): He was born to a rabbi and a beauty queen. I was born to a chemist, and a witch. Ammonia, bleach. Don’t mix them unless you want someone to die. Blood, adolescence, summer saltwater. Don’t mix them unless you want to make somebody wish they were dead.

2. a crush. and nothing more.

[hedgewolf-hunters]

First meeting.

Infernia: EEEHHHHEHEHEHEHEHE IM SO EXCITED! OVER THE WEEK BREAK MOM FINALLY LET ME TAKE THE CALIBUR TRIALS! If you want to know what it is listen in and i will tell you.

In the mansion besides Castle Blackstone the Darkos family is relaxing. Drake is playing cards with Scarlet, a female wolf with shoulder length hair done up in a ponytail and two small quills, a swirling galaxy left eye and burning Amber right eye. Shes wearing a short sleeve hoodie with jeans and a half skirt in a pair of sneakers. Shes looking up at her twin from her cards who has a solid poker face holding his cards in front of his eyes. She goes back to looking at her hand as Sky walks by with a arm full of groceries.

"Ok kids me and Aura are gonna be running the shop today. Theirs food in the fridge, Bane is out with Sodina enjoying the first real vacation in forever so try not to bother them. And what am i forgetting?" Sky says tapping your chin.

"Mom can i-" Infernia starts.

"No. Thats what it was. Im sorry Infernia but you know i want you to focus on your studies before your physical abilities." Sky says.

"But MOM, dad and Aunt Aura took the test at 15. Im here now two years older and still dont have a calibur weapon. Come on its just not fair." Inferna whines.

"Sweetie do you know what it means to have a Calibur weapon? Have you ever wondered who you would get to be bound to you for the rest of your immortal souls existence?" Sky asks her youngest daughter.

"Yes mom i know. To be bound to a calibur is a union more permanent than any other. You will have a friend through all your lives from the time you bond till the end of time. Every reincarnation will receive a gift of your memories from each incarnation. Sometimes it drives the users wild in some lives and causes them to rampage in a melded form till they are put down." Infernia says pouting.

"You still want to form a bond with a Calibur?" Sky asks

"Yes. I want to be able to know that i am not alone in my next life. That even if my life is one of torment that i will always have another with me to pull me from my dark life." Infernia says with pleading eyes. Sky sighs and pets her daughters head.

"Fine but if you fail this trial you will never ask me for this again, am i understood?" Skay asks. Infernia smiles and hugs her mother tight.

"Oooohhhh thank you thank you thank you! I promise mom." Infernia says. Sky sighs smiling and kissing her daughters head.

"Alright Scarlet, Drake, put down the cards. You two need to take your sister to her trial while the sun is still up." Sky says. Drake smirks and puts his cards down face first before standing and turning to his mother and baby sister.

"Done deal. I was getting tired of playing Scarlet for her money anyway." Drake says.

"Oh my god your hand was complete trash! How are you able to keep up a poker face with a hand like this!" Scarlet exclaims throwing his cards face up. A king a two a four a eight and an ace are his hand. Her own hand slighty scattered was two aces and three fives.

"Years of practice my dear twin." Drake says.

"Ugh that smug look says it all. Fine lets take the squirt to the cave. I need some fresh air and sometime to relax." Scarlet says as she gets up. Drake follows suit as Infernia kisses her mothers cheek.

"We'll be back before night fall. Love you!" Infernia says as she follows her siblings out the front door. Sky smiles softly than frowns as she rubs her cheeks.

"You should have told her the other trait of bonding with a Calibur." A feminine buzzing voice says.

"I know swarm. That as you bond with it it absorbs a part of your soul to conect back to you with each new incarnation." Sky says rubbing her chest over her heart.

"As i have done with your love for your family in every rebirth." Swarm says.

"I know! I know. Look its time i headed back in before Aura starts hula dancing." Sky says as she heads out the door locking up behind her.

Scarlet and Infernia are giggling as they leave pink and red streaks while they run through the forest. A rift appears right in front of a large tree as the girls both touch it. Drake pops through the rift and digs his fingers into the tree to hold himself up. Than he climbs down quickly grumbling as he does.

"Aster please tell me thats interference from the trials and not that you just thought it would be funny to turn me into a cat." Drake says as the rift closes. A few seconds of silence and he sighs grinding his teeth.

"Oh is he having a chat with Aster now?" Infernia asks. Scarlet nods and pulls out her bow from under her skirt.

"One of the things about a Calibur is that the user can always have a chat with the weapon in private. The only ones able to have a conversation with any other is Bane's Hyleia as the first Calibur, and Sraya who now belongs to Sodina." Scarlet says Keilisa glows in Scarlets hand.

"Yes yes Keilisa. Alright Infernia its time for you to take your test." Scarlet says leading Infernia behind the tree to a dugout hill leading down. Infernia shivers and squeezes her arms in self assurance.

"Its ok Infernia youve practiced on Aunt Aura's demo trial. You know whats waiting for you down there. You got this." Scarlet says to give her reassurance on top of her self assurance. Infernia nods and breathes out slowly.

"Wish me luck guys." Infernia says.

"You dont need luck sister. You got skill, youll get yourself a lifetime partner and we'll be waiting here to see her." Drake says. Infernia smiles a little as she starts going down the stairs that were carved into the dugout. The last step collapses into a slide. Infernia gives a small shriek as she falls down tumbling head first.

A few seconds later she calms her nerves and curls up into a ball and spindashes the rest of the way down to a landing. Infernia uncurls and stands up patting herself down. She looks around at the dark cavern she ended up in. Slowly she starts forward into the cave system keeping her senses about her. Within a minute of walking whispers begin passing her ears.

"Tell us your fears. Tell us your dreams. Tell us your story. Tell us why." Are most of what she hears as she moves forward. Suddenly the cave lights up and shes in a desolate city, building have been toppled, bodies line the streets and the world seems to be on fire. Over head a dragon flies by and perches on several buildings its body weight causing the building to crumble with ease.

"No dad stopped this. He stopped you from changing." She whispers to herself a flash of her father pushing her out of the fat foxes hands and skewering him seconds before a giant maw snaps shut around them. The dragon glares at Infernia and growls. It climbs down from the perch made of rubble and starts heading towards her. She backs up as it picks up pace slolwy while it moves towards her. She starts full on sprinting when it is charging at her.

Five minutes of the chase and a building collapses infront of her blocking her. She stops in her tracks and dives into an alley as the dragon crashes through it in front of her. She pants as she tries to catch her breath. She gets up trying to tip toe away from the dragon while it searches through the rubble. A small whimper to her right stops her. Infernia looks over and sees a small hedgehog cowering in the corner behind a half crushed dumpster. Infernia moves behind the dumpster with her and she clamps onto her arm.

"Its ok shhhh. Dont cry little one. It can't get back here." Infernia whispers to the crying girl. They both hear the dragon sniffing at the entrance to the alley and its claw digging into the walls trying to dig them out. The girl starts to cry as Infernia looks back at the dragon than at her. Biting her lip Infernia picks up the girl and stares at the only way in or out of the alley which the dragon has blocked. It growls at them as it claws the walls away faster. The childs head is buried in Infernia shoulder shivering as Infernia herself stands on nervous limbs. Taking slow deep breaths Infernia moves forward towards the claws. She watches as the clawing becomes more frantic as she does.

Infernia runs at the claws as the little girl screams in terror. She jumps through a gap in the claws and continues towards the dragon. It swipes at her again and she sidesteps the attack continuing forward. The tail comes from above and makes to stab her, she jumps back quickly and ducks down as a claw follows. She runs again and jumps on falling rubble. Using it as steps up to the dragons head she mentally marks the spot for her attack. She side jumps from another tail strike and plants her feet firmly on the dragons pad in its calw as it swips up at her. She sprints down its arm before it can close its claw on them and jumps off its elbow. The dragon opens its maw as she jumps and makes to swallow them both whole. Infernia clutches the child tighter and before they fall into its maw she grabs a tooth and flings herself up out of its maw and at its nose. She forces its maw closed with an axe kick to the bridge of its nose hard enough to create a shock of wind. Before her foot can leave the grip of the dragons skin she shifts her momentum from forward, to down.

The dragons eye glares at her, red swirling down into a sky blue. Infernia smiles sweetly as she uses her free hand to throw a punch with all her weight and momentum into its center between its eyes. The sound of cracking can be heard as the dragon rears its head back its eyes going blank as it falls over. Infernia lands sliding back from the falling dragon. She breaths a sigh of relief as she flexes her hand.

"You really do have a hard head big brother. Sorry i had to crack it for now but you should heal soon enough." Infernia says. She pats his snout and the girl pats her cheeks. She turns to look and the girl is like her except a wolf. With a smile the girl and the entire scene fades.

Infernia finds herself in a slightly well lit cavern. Behind her are traps that look to have done similar to the dragons attacks. She sighs in relief as she continues forward into the cavern. The deeper she goes the more omonious light fills the space of the cavern.

Without warning the cavern turns into the city she has known for her entire life. But its different from the city she knows. Turning around to look she notices the Castle Blackstone in the center of the city. Along with that the city seems too...calm compared to its normal subtle edge state of mind.

Infernia sees the wolf girl look alike running with some other little kids. She stops and waves Infernia to follow them. Seeing as how the little girl is the only thing from the last vision she sees she decides to follow her. The kids run through alleys and backstreets heading towards the castle. The closer they get the bigger the houses get with familiar crests inside she could see through windows. Once they reach the castle the little wolf tugs on Infernia skirt some to get her attention. Looking down the girl points at the gate and the guards stationed at it.

"You guys want to see the inside of the castle?" She asks, to which all the kids nod. She smiles as she heads towards the castle gate that the girl pointed out. The guards put up their spears in a x formation blocking the passage.

"Oh come now gentlemen. Surely you can let me and a couple of kids in." She says.

"Sorry but our orders are to keep all interruptions out while the council of houses is in service." A guard says.

"On who's command?" She asks.

"By the order of the high alpha my lady." The guard replies.

"Im just gonna give the kids a tour nothing to bother them in the conference room." Infernia says.

"We're sorry ma'am but orders are orders." The guard says keeping firm.

"Alright than. You now have two options. Let me through or I blow the doors of their hinges. Your call." Infernia says. The guards stand firm.

"Alright but remember you are the ones who took this path." Infernia says stepping back and tackling a guard in the stomach. She activates her alpha mark at the last second and on impact an explosion sends the guard through the door. She grins and grabs his shield and ushers the kids behind her as guards come to see the commotion. They see the passed out guard and the other trying to hold back Infernia. Soon they move in to join him in holding her back and she backs up some as she prepares another explosion.

"To your left." The little girl whispers. Infernia turns and blocks an incoming strike and pushes back sending the guard back into the others. She grabs the little girl in her arm and charges forward igniting again and causing another explosion sending a collection of guards flying away. The kids keeping close to her follow as she creates a path to the castle. The little girl is watching around them giving Infernia warnings of attackers behind, ahead, left, and right. She doesnt think twice about each direction as she blocks and pushes them back and uses explosions to send some guards flying. The closer to the castle they get the more guards keep blocking them. The last line of defense being a sheild wall around them.

"Overhead." The little girl says giving Infernia an idea. She pulls all the kids onto her back as she charges up another explosion. But instead of charging forward she slams the sheild down and focuses the blast underneath. With the recoil from the explosion she and all the kids rocket up and over the shield wall and on the front door of the castle gates. With a grin Infernia kicks open the door and shes back in the cavern. But its alight with rainbow colors flowing up from a mountain of material in the center of the current large cavern. She looks at her arm and notices the battered warrior shield is still there. Loosening her grip the shield activates a function and collapses into a half shield with a short sword like extension on her forearm.

"Congratulations young Hedgehog. You've made it to the inner sanctum and collected a Calibur. But let me ask you young miss, why?" A voice like the little wolf girls asks. Infernia looks around and looks at the stone before her and than down at her forearm.

"My name is Infernia Luna Darkos, please don't call me young miss or young Hedgehog. And I have more than one reason for coming to partner with you." Infernia says bringing up the shield that is now in pristine condition.

"Hehe. Smart one you are. My name is Gradia and I still need your answer." The shield says as a pink orb flies up from the center to circle her.

"Well im sure you know that I was looking for a partner so not to be alone in my lives. Selfish but considering the wolrd we live in, its normal for someone who has lost alot to want that. But i also want to be able to protect my family, present and future. I don't want to be a bother to them on hunts, like when i let a target get away because Drake had to free me from some speed trap. I dont want to always be protected by them like with dad and that fat fox. I want to fight with them as equals, not handicapped thanks to their specialties." Infernia says. The orb continues to circle her as she speaks and flies through her a few times.

"Would you be willing to let me bond to your familial piety Infernia?" Gradia asks.

"If you are willing to accept me from now till the end of time. I will give you the piece you require." Infernia says. The orb lets out a snort.

"You dont have to be so formal about it. Ah than it is a deal my master Infernia. I Gradia do swear to serve you in this life and every life after." Gradia says after a small fit of giggles. With that the light slams into Infernia chest.

Infernia: Hehe gradia and i have been training for the past couple of days learning about eachother. We know that we still arent ready for a mission, we cant even preform a soul meld yet so we'll keep practicing. But i feel like we could take on an army or two ourselves. How about you Gradia?" I ask the shield on my forearm.

Gradia: I think we could do a few more than two thats for sure. After all we have been making explosive results. Who knows what the future holds for us.

[shirlleycoyle]

Still Life of a Death Broker

Today, Rich Larson, a modern master of speculative short story, considers the ultimate, far-flung conclusion of humanity’s never-ending quest for new extremes to stream. Enjoy. -the ed.

Yorick walked through the village while they waited to see the chief. There were bits of technology here and there — cracked-and-glued tablets plugged into ancient solar chargers, a sleek little hydrofarm no doubt smuggled off the Satellite by blackmarket dealers — but overall Manzu was deliciously raw and primitive and their streamers would eat it up.

Its warped mud brick had an organic feel to it, like termite mounds sprung up out of the dirt. The sand streets sloped inward and trash was strewn everywhere, nearly all of it plastic. Plastic, so much oily filthy plastic dancing through the dust, tumbling in the harmattan winds. It made Yorick shiver.

The people, the women in brightly-printed zani and ragged winter jackets, the men in flowing riga and threadbare scarves, seemed oblivious to it. Some of the wandering skeletal goats seemed to be eating it. Yorick made sure to capture that before walking on. A gaggle of parasite-riddled children trailed along in their wake; through a babel imp Yorick understood they were still daring each other to touch the back of Yorick’s vantablack coat or grab at Yorick’s dangling pale hands.

“Yanna da daman ganinka yansu. He’ll see you now.”

Yorick’s contact Ibrahim had come to fetch them. He was a nervous man, with sweat running down his pudgy cheeks in familiar rivulets, and Yorick’s modified olfactories could smell his sickly-sweet diabetes. Interesting, but not arresting.

“Na gode,” Yorick said, and followed him back toward the chief’s compound.

The children disappeared one by one, tugged away by their mothers, and when they arrived at the rusty iron door they were alone. The walls around the chief’s gida were etched with geometric patterns and the tops were adorned with shards of multi-colored glass.

The guard, who had been lounging on a woven mat in the shade, levered himself upright on wiry arms. His face was scarved against the dust with gaps only for eyes and for ancient wired earbuds, but he gave them a friendly nod before he wrenched the door open and motioned them through.

Inside the compound were a dozen more people: a woman fed thistles to a camel whose oversized feet and knobbly knees seemed to balloon from its skinny legs, others pounded some sort of grain in drum-like wooden mortars, a pair of boys were scrubbing out old plastic bottles in a plastic tub of foaming water, a small girl whirled a cackling baby on her hip, several children ate a red stew from a metal tray, passing the wide carved spoon in a circle. All of them stared, and Yorick was glad to not have come in costume.

Yorick had a variety of costumes: sometimes they wore an antique suit and top hat, evoking Baron Samedi. Sometimes they wore an elaborate flowing dress of red roses, for Santa Muerte. Sometimes a simple black body-glove and a dog skull mask, sometimes x-ray gear that exposed his entire skeleton in ghostly white. Their streamers were always eager for new costumes.

A man dragged two chairs up, both of them made of colorful plastic bands woven over a welded metal frame. Ibrahim sat in one, muttering unanswered thanks. Yorick sat in the other, disguising their reluctance, trying not to imagine the plastic seeping into the material of their coat. More men trickled in the door after them, all grave-faced, all watchful. The king’s court, Yorick thought.

They waited. Flies buzzed here and there; children chased each other in the sand. The sky overhead was choked gray with the thick harmattan dust Yorick had marveled at during their sub-orbital flight from the Satellite to the Sahara. The sun was a lemon-yellow blob, so dulled they could stare straight at it if they liked. Even so, Yorick felt their cell-knitters working to repair the UV damage every second they were exposed.

When the chief finally emerged from the central hut, mud brick roofed with corrugated sheets of tin, Yorick knew they had chosen well.

Tall and broad-shouldered and straight-spined, he had the gravity well of a small moon all on his own, walking with the slow graceful motion of someone who was used to being watched and did not care. He was clearly refusing to limp. His riga was bright yellow, his neat beard silvery-white, and his face beautiful in the jagged way of unaltered genes, jutting cheekbones and asymmetrical but piercing eyes.

Ibrahim sprang off his chair and Yorick followed suit. The chief offered his right hand. Ibrahim took it, using his left to clutch his right elbow, and kept his eyes down. Yorick’s babel imp was accustomed to the rapid avalanche of overlapping greetings, but this time was different. Ibrahim spoke softly and waited patiently; the chief’s hoarse replies were measured. When they had asked and answered of the sleep, the home, the family, the body, the chief extended his right hand to Yorick.

Yorick took it, thrilling at the feel of hot dirty skin. They could smell what they’d come for, strong enough to confirm the symptoms Ibrahim had described.

The chief looked him in the eye, betraying no emotion, then half-turned his head to Ibrahim. “Ya iya Hausa?” he asked.

“Hausa ta wiya,” Ibrahim said, miming the earpiece of an old-fashioned translator.

The chief sat gingerly on a carved wooden stool, adjusting his riga with one hand, then turned his full attention to Yorick. “So,” he said, speaking Hausa but enunciating for the babel imp’s sake. “You are the doctor from the Satellite.”

“May I inspect you?” Yorick asked, and it tumbled off their tongue in foreign syllables. “I can do it here. Or privately. I do not need to touch.”

“My family knows my sickness. It is no secret.” An odd buzzing came from his clothes; his hand darted into a pocket and came out holding an antiquated blockphone. He glanced at the screen and shook his head, putting it away again. “Inspect me here.”

Yorick stepped closer, retrieving the medroid from the folds of their coat. The tiny white capsule sprouted cilia legs and crawled to the edge of their palm, scanners linking to Yorick’s own augmented senses. They took a deep sniff and the medroid analyzed the composition of the chief’s bacterial cloud, his sweat and skin particles. Yorick recognized the metallic tang of old blood clotting in his urethra, a subtler smell layered underneath, the smell of their ancient nemesis.

The medroid snapped an ultrasound and the blurry grayscale image in their mind’s eye confirmed it: a massive tumor nestled in the chief’s bladder, expanding like a supernova. Yorick felt a quiver of excitement. Their streamers were sophisticated, tired of cheap shocks like immolation or dismemberment. The chief’s condition was perfect, an exquisite juxtaposition to his primal dignity.

“So?” said the chief.

“There is no medicine in this world that would save you,” Yorick said, and it became beautiful in the chief’s language: “ Cikin wannan dunia ba maganin da zai ceci renka.”

A little girl vaulted into his lap; he hissed and slapped her away, then pulled her back, keeping her to the outside of his knee but gently rubbing her head. The girl stared at Yorick with wide eyes. Her nostrils were crusted with snot.

“But you are not of this world,” the chief said, slow, pensive, but without the bitterness Yorick often saw from clients.

“No,” Yorick agreed. They knew that if they took the chief back with them to the Satellite, it would be child’s play to flense the cancer even from his unmodified body. But it would likely return, and Yorick was not in the business of saving lives in any case. “Even so. Your sickness can’t be treated.”

One of the men snuffled, holding back a sob. A few of the women cried out. The chief only blinked. “As Allah wills it,” he said, but his eyes went to one of the women in particular and stayed there. “Will you have anything to eat? To drink?”

Yorick shook their head. “A’a. But there is something else I would like to propose.”

The chief waved a permissive hand. His mouth was thin.

“Your sickness holds a particular fascination for many of us on the Satellite,” Yorick said. “It was the last to be conquered. With your permission, I would like to leave behind a camswarm to monitor your condition. I would also implant a nerve conduit to transmit your pain for my streamers to experience themselves.”

The speech took Yorick’s babel imp to its limit — they heard it mix Old African French into the Hausa — but the chief seemed to understand. He gave a rueful laugh. “I do not walk. I do not sleep. Five, six times in the night, I pass lumps of thick black blood of this size.” He mimed with a dusty knuckle. “It is agony. You want this for yourself?”

“Badly,” Yorick said, speaking for their streamers. “It’s been a hundred years since there was a natural death on the Satellite. Our telomeres reknit themselves. Our cells reproduce with zero-rate mutation. But still we have death inside of us. We crave it in the vicarious abstract.”

The chief’s face twisted, disgust mingled with mild disappointment, as if Yorick were one of his misbehaving children. “You want to watch while I die.”

One of the women clicked her tongue and murmured. Yorick’s babel imp heard wickedness, wickedness.

“The sights, the sounds, the smells and tastes, the sensations as your body betrays you and your mind finally slides into the dark,” Yorick said.

The chief looked at Ibrahim and shook his shaven head. “What is this that have you brought into my house?” he asked, and Ibrahim did not answer, but he flushed and trembled, eyes cast down. “You are not a human.”

“Not technically.”

“I do not speak of your modifications.” The chief rose from his stool and for a moment Yorick felt cowed by his size and fury. Then he sagged back down, face stretched with pain. “In exchange, you offer what?”

“A full hydrofarm. It will pull enough moisture to supply your village and the two closest to it with pure water.”

The chief shook his head. “Inoculation against the na-virus,” he said. “For our children. If they are dead they cannot drink the water.”

“That could be arranged,” Yorick said. They had almost forgotten the na-virus, a population control measure from the old days.

“A recycler, to eat the rubber and plastic,” the chief said. “And a printer, to make new equipment. And then the hydrofarm.”

Yorick pretended to consider. The chief was shrewd and tough and his descent would be riveting. Ten hydrofarms was a pittance compared to the streamer volume attracted by the war between his pride and his pain, his dignity and his duty.

“A good bargain,” Yorick said, and extended their bony white hand.

Still Life of a Death Broker syndicated from https://triviaqaweb.wordpress.com/feed/

[fortey]

Traumatized by Horror

Maybe this will be fun for someone.  This is my draft of an article I wrote recently.  This is pre-editing, as I submitted it.  You can find the published version right here.  Just an interesting contrast between what I write and what gets published.  Sometimes you get edited a lot, sometimes you get edited a little.  But if you’re interested in the creative process at all and how publishing works sometimes, it’s a nice comparison.  

There’s probably all kinds of psychology behind why people enjoy watching horror movies that range from things like the adrenaline rush you get from being scared to the fact that the Leprechaun is clearly awesome.  That’s all fine and dandy like sour candy except for when horror goes a little beyond the usual thrill and maybe wonks your brain six ways from Sunday. Because those kind of shenanigans actually happen now and then - sometimes people get so traumatized by horror they have to get medical professionals involved.

127 Hours Grossed Out Audiences En Masse

Some might argue that 127 Hours isn’t a horror movie at all, but it does star James Franco and you can’t spell “James Franco is terrifying” without James Franco, so let’s not speak of it again.  In the movie 127 Hours, there’s an extremely disturbing scene in which Franco, realizing Seth Rogen is nowhere to be seen, has to take matters into his own hands and save himself by performing an impromptu field amputation of his own arm with a Swiss Army knife.  This scene was at least as disturbing as Franco’s entire performance in Why Him?

The cutting scene lasts for about 3 minutes but it’s a bloody, intense, Francoscream-filled endurance test for the audience and some audience members were not able to withstand it. In fact, there’s a remarkable list of audiences who suffered a number of side effects which in some cases may have been hammed up a little since they couldn’t be confirmed, but others were making the whole ordeal sound like 127 Hours was used to punish people Clockwork Orange style.

A reviewer who saw the film at the Toronto International Film Festival mentions 3 people passed out and one had a seizure during the movie and goes out of their way to express they didn’t think it was a PR stunt as some people suggested - the audience was genuinely grossed out by the scene and had maybe never seen movies before.  Weird one to pick for their first try.

History repeated itself when the director of Toy Story 3 had a private screening of the movie and two more people passed out.  Did Buzz and Woody steal their wallets and take compromising photos while they were out?  We can only assume.

The editor of Vanity Fair held a screening with Franco and the director on hand.  People reportedly wept during at that one and, yeah, another dude went face down, ass up over it.

Movieline actually put together an entire timeline of people losing their shit over the movie. Some are given the side-eye treatment, suggesting maybe a few of these were played up to hype the movie given all the other stories of people passing out, but enough of them were legit that it’s safe to assume if you want the family to leave the house quick after Thanksgiving this year while still being able to pretend you weren’t doing it on purpose, this is the movie you want to put on.

Freaks Was Accused of Causing a Miscarriage

Have you ever seen the movie Freaks from 1932? It’s one of the earliest most controversial horror films and is famous for this completely baffling scene;

To this day, I won’t agree to anything during a work meeting without chanting “I accept it! I accept it! Gooble gobble! Gooble gobble!”  That went over like gangbusters when I was asked to start wearing pants again.

Back in 1932, a movie about murderous circus people was pretty cutting edge and, if we’re being honest, it still is.  No one would make this movie today because those actors all were actual circus performers and modern audiences tend to frown on exploiting people by calling them freaks. To fully appreciate just how well this movie went over when it premiered though, you just need to dig into the lore around it.  While it seems to have ruined the career of the director, it had much more harrowing repercussions in the real world where one woman claimed to have had a miscarriage while watching a test screening. She threatened to sue the studio and their response was to recut the movie to make it less horrifying. Try to imagine that working today.

The newer version of the film had fewer murderous scenes and also got rid of a castration because that was a thing that someone thought was necessary to film in the first place.  Word is those scenes are lost for all time, so if you ever wanted to see a circus strongman get his dong cut off, you’re going to have to wait for that episode of Big Bang Theory like the rest of us.

The Exorcist Straight Up Ruined People

If you haven’t seen the Exorcist then your mother and I are extremely disappointed in you.  Please go watch it immediately. It came out in 1973 and it still holds up as an amazing and effective horror movie and the reason so many of us masturbate with crucifixes.  The story and the acting really produce an undeniable sense of dread and terror that forces you to make sure the blanket covers your feet at night because the monsters can’t touch your ankles if they’re covered, and that’s a rule. It also seriously fucked up a whole bunch of people.

Any time a movie causes someone’s heart to malfunction, and not in that “three sizes bigger” Grinch way, it’s pretty noteworthy. A New York Times article from January 1974 recounts people standing in massive lines to get into the theater to see the film, with scalpers selling tickets for upwards of $50 which is ironically what it costs to get a drink, popcorn and a movie ticket for IMAX today.  It also mentions the number of people who vomited while watching the movie, and some who walked out, or fainted.  And then, apparently, several people had heart attacks.

Is it possible the stories of heart attacks is just someone blowing pea soup up our asses? Maybe.  In the pre-internet world all kinds of shit happened without people idly filming it on their phones in the hopes the suffering of a stranger would make them go viral. But the influence of The Exorcist does go beyond the mass pukings and odd heart attack.

If you’ve never heard the term cinematic neurosis then welcome to your crash course.  It’s what a psychologist might call the phenomenon of a patient developing anxiety, dissociation and potentially psychotic symptoms because of a movie, requiring the intervention of a mental health professional to overcome.  There’s a study that mentions a case caused by Jaws, one by Invasion of the Body Snatchers and 5 separate incidents caused by The Exorcist because a pre-teen girl whose head spins is always slightly more disturbing than pod people and Richard Dreyfuss.

Patients affected by The Exorcist suffered insomnia, panic attacks, PTSD and more. One had dreams about the Devil with a dick in his mouth.  And sure, we all have dreams about the Devil or Elmer Fudd or whomever with a dick in their mouth sometimes, but this was to the point that the person needed psychotherapy to deal with it, so you can assume that was a hell of a devil dick.

Dracula and Eyes without a Face Caused Mass Faintings

To the best of my knowledge I have never fainted. Once I drank so much at a party in college that I woke up in the parking lot of a bagel deli next to an exceptionally large pool of drool, but I don’t think that’s the same thing. I can say for certain no horror movie has ever made me faint though, because of my robust constitution.  And maybe that’s a product of the times because back in the day, people were dropping like flies watching movies like Eyes Without a Face and Dracula.  

In 1928, Dracula starring Bela Lugosi was like if Hereditary and The Exorcist humped and had a baby with a remarkably distinct hairline. That shit scared the bejeezus out of people and in 1928, it was very hard to replace bejeezus. The San Francisco Chronicle talked about a nurse on hand with smelling salts to help handle an average of 14 faintings per night.  Now the movie-makers of 1928 weren’t above maybe hiring some people to engage in a little bullshittery to help hype a movie but there’s not any indication that these faintings were not legit either. In fact. Lugosi played Dracula on stage before playing the role on film, and 110 faintings were reported in the first week of the theater production.  His accent was that good.

In 1960, the French film Eyes Without a Face busted out a repeat performance of the Dracula phenomenon by making audience members buckle like belts thanks to one particular scene involving a face transplant which was a little much for 1960s sensibilities. It’s about 6 solid minutes of screentime featuring a doctor just cutting a face off and peeling it away like a goddamn banana.  You’d probably snicker at the effects today but back in 1960 people were all made of cotton candy and golly gosh so this probably hit people like a bag of grapefruits to the groin. Seven audience members fainted during the film’s showing at the Edinburgh Film Festival, and those were Scots, for God’s sake.  They eat haggis on purpose there.  

It’s worth noting that faintings not strictly limited to impressionable audiences of yesteryear, either.  Four audience members fainted during a showing of Lars Von Trier’s Antichrist in 2009, possible because they saw Willem Dafoe’s dong.  In 2016, EMS had to be called to a Toronto showing of Raw when a person fainted, because some people still aren’t down with cannibalism.

Ghostwatch Was the Worst Idea the BBC Ever Had

There’s a good chance you’ve never heard of Ghostwatch as it originally aired on the BBC in 1992 and 1992 British TV was the entertainment equivalent of a bag of scones to the jimmies. All you need to know about the show is that it aired at 9 PM, it featured recognizable TV personalities (if you’re British) and it was filmed like a typical live broadcast investigative TV show.  If you’ve ever watched Live PD, the format would be very familiar - in studio host talking to people out on the scene.  The on-scene hosts were at a particular home alleged to be haunted, investigating the claims and more or less mocking the idea.  Or so it seemed!  

The show was presented as a real documentary like so many current ghost hunting shows are, but this was well before that era.  This was new, and early enough in the evening that families were watching it with the kids.  And remember, it was 1992 in Britain so you probably could either watch this or some guy painting cricket balls on TV that night.

As the show progressed, the tenor went from goofy “this is a bullshit waste of time” to something more menacing.  Calls from viewers, which were actually fake but no one knew that at the time, began to incorporate elements from the “real” haunting that was being presented on the show. People professed to have had similar experiences with a ghost knocking on their pipes and shit started going down on camera until the studio went full apocalyptic ghostsplosion.  One of the hosts gets dragged off and presumably ghost murdered and the studio lights explode as the main host gets possessed on camera and threatens to rain holy hell down on the viewing audience before the how cuts out.  Sounds kind of cool, right?  Well, the 30,000 people who called the BBC within an hour didn’t think so.  And that was the least of their problems.

11 million people watched Ghostwatch and it fucked them up royally.  It went from silly  to disturbing very quickly, however, when an 18-year old boy with some learning difficulties who watched the broadcast committed suicide days later.  His parents said he had been obsessed with the broadcast and believed the same ghost haunted their house.  He left a note saying that if ghosts are real, then he’ll be with them “always as a ghost.”

[fortytworedvines]

Come fly the friendly skies

The Cabin Pressure/Holby City crossover that literally nobody one person asked for. It’s four years since Martin left for Swiss Air and a year since Serena came back from her sabbatical. What could possibly bring this eclectic group of characters together?

Carolyn is sitting in her portacabin poring over the calendar when the phone rings.

“OJS Air, Carolyn Shipwright speaking. How can I help you?” She nods, checks the calendar and makes a noise of assent. Grabbing her notepad she starts scribbling down details, a smile growing on her face.

“Well that all seems straightforward enough,” she says finally, “We’ll see you then, Ms Campbell.” She hangs up, leans back in her seat with an unusual grin on her face; is still smiling when Herc comes in.

“Hello darling,” he says, then spots her expression, “What’s come over you?”

“Catch,” Carolyn throws the notebook at him. He scans her notes quickly and then chuckles, “Come over all romantic in your old age have you?”

“I’ve warned you about using that word,” she replies.

“What, old?”

“Romantic,” she snorts.

It’s a warm summer’s afternoon and Bernie is climbing into Serena’s car with only a hint of trepidation. “I really wish you’d tell me what you’ve got planned,” she says plaintively. “But then it wouldn’t be a surprise,” Serena points out. “Just a hint?” Bernie pleads but Serena grins and shakes her head.

Serena keeps the chat general as she drives to their destination. Work and family - and she can talk about family now, Eleanor’s death will always be with her, a constant ache, but it’s no longer overwhelming.

“Nearly there,” she says, eventually.

“Fitton,” says Bernie, spotting a road sign, “What on earth is in Fitton?” Her confusion only grows as Serena pulls into the airfield and pulls up next to a small portacabin.

“Surprise!” says Serena, gesturing across the tarmac to a small jet aeroplane.

“You’ve...bought a plane?”

“A little out of my price league darling. A private flight, actually.”

“Oh,” Bernie breathes, “How lovely.”

An older lady strides out of the portacabin. “Ms Campbell?” she says and Serena shakes her hand.

“Good to meet you again Ms Ship-”

Carolyn cuts her off, “Call me Carolyn, please. Follow me and we’ll get you settled on GERTI.”

“ ‘Again’?” hisses Bernie softly, “When did you meet her before?”

“When I was on sabbatical,” Serena replies, “I got stranded and, well… long story short her company rescued me. Naturally when I was thinking of a fun surprise for you I thought of her.”

They’re at the plane by this point and climbing up the short staircase that Bernie is trying very hard not to notice is quite rickety. Carolyn smiles at her expression, “Don’t worry, she’s perfectly airworthy. Better than she used to be even, now we’ve removed several miles of gold wiring from her.”

“Gold wiring?” stutters Bernie, absolutely certain that she’s lost the plot somewhere along the line.

Another woman, a younger one, is waiting on board. Bernie absolutely does not notice that she’s quite attractive, with striking features and a friendly smile. Maybe a decade younger than Bernie and Serena and wearing her age elegantly.

“I’m Theresa,” she says with a pleasant accent that Bernie thinks may be German, “I’ll be your cabin crew today.” Then she turns to Carolyn, “Don’t worry Carolyn, I’ve got it from here. Go and enjoy your date,” she winks and Carolyn blushes.

“It’s not a date, we’re just going to be… in the same place...” She coughs slightly. “Enjoy your flight ladies,” and bustles off.

Theresa settles Bernie and Serena into their seats, pours them a glass of wine each (Shiraz, naturally) and passes them the safety leaflet. “We’ve got a video too,” she adds, “I’ll just go ask Mart- I mean, the Captain, to play it.” She laughs suddenly and disappears to the back of the plane. The tv screen in the front of the plane crackles into life and a frustrated looking middle aged man appears on it. “Hello,” he says bitterly, and Serena and Bernie exchange a puzzled glance, “My name… is… Douggie.” The look he gives the camera makes them both sputter and by the end of the safety briefing they are both in fits of laughter.

“Good, isn’t it,” says Theresa as she reappears.

“Spectacular,” says Serena with a smile, “But I don’t remember seeing it last time I flew with you. And what’s happened to Arthur?”

“Arthur is the usual cabin attendant,” Theresa explains to Bernie, who was looking puzzled, “He’s babysitting actually. My husband and I are over here on holiday and as Arthur is one of our son’s godparents he decided he’d like to spend some quality time with him. So he’s there and here I am.”

“You’re working on your holiday?” asks Bernie, aghast.

“Trust me,” Theresa replies, “Compared to running around after a toddler all day this is a wonderful break. And it has perks.” She winks unexpectedly and disappears again as the captain’s voice sounds in the cabin.

“Good afternoon ladies and.. uh.. ladies. My name is Captain Crieff and I will be flying you this evening to uh...” there’s a pause and a murmur, “That is, I will be flying you. On your trip. This evening. Joining me in the flight deck is Captain Richardson. We do hope you enjoy your flight.”

It’s a beautiful summer evening as GERTI takes off.

Bernie is sitting in the window seat, fingers interlaced through Serena’s staring at the ground as it falls away beneath them. She turns to her partner, tears glistening in her eyes and smiles. “This is amazing, thank you.”

“You’re very welcome,” Serena breathes and ghosts a kiss next to Bernie’s mouth. “I wanted to do something special for you, to say thank you.” She holds Bernie’s gaze, “You were there for me even when I was pushing you away, you were there for me even when I was the other side of the world. And this past year I know – it’s been tough sometimes, but it’s also been the most wonderful year. So, thank you.”

Bernie chokes a little, then smiles, brushes her thumb over Serena’s. “You’re more than worth it,” she says gently.

“It’s symbolic,” Serena says after they’ve gazed at each other silently for a few beats, “This trip. It’s exactly a year since I came back, and now we’re flying together.”

Bernie leans in and kisses her.

Martin is in control and Douglas is stretched out in his seat, relaxed.

“So do you reckon Theresa’s going to tell them?”

“No, I don’t think so. She won’t want to make them feel awkward.”

“I think she should, right as they leave. It would be the icing on the cake, so to speak. Up to her though, I suppose. Anyway, it’s nice to have you back.”

“Even nice to be back in the First Officer’s seat?” Martin jokes.

“Yes,” says Douglas, firmly enough that Martin stares at him.

“Oh you know, much harder to tease Herc.”

“And?”

“He makes me do most of the paperwork,” says Douglas, so mournfully that Martin laughs, “Apparently it’s only fair because I have the bigger salary. And of course Carolyn is always on his side.”

“Well I’m glad to relieve you of the burden, even if it is only for a week.”

“Doesn’t Theresa mind you spending your holiday working for OJS?”

“Not really.  It’s only a couple of flights, and Arthur is so keen to look after Douggie that it really does feel like a proper break.”

Douglas winces. “I still can’t believe you called the poor boy that.”

“Don’t you think Douglas is a bit long for a two year old? Douggie is much better while he’s little.”

“I can’t believe you named him after me at all.”

“Well, you are his godfather.”

“So’s Arthur!”

“True. But he looked more like a Douglas.”

“He looked like a potato! A squished, red potato!… Oh… I, Martin I didn’t mean that, he was a very handsome baby...”

Martin laughs, “I thought much the same thing but for heaven’s sake don’t tell Theresa.”

“I won’t tell if you won’t.” “Deal.”

There’s silence in the flight deck for a little while, then Douglas says, “I really want to know what’s going to happen. It’s all horribly romantic.”

“Theresa’s going to buzz us. We’ve worked out a code.”

“Of course you have. Now, we’re going to have to time that bit carefully...”

Bernie is pressed up against the window, drinking in the view. She’s flown before of course, countless times, to and from Afghanistan and Iraq. But this, this gentle tour of England at the most beautiful time of year, with just Serena to enjoy it with, is really perfect.

Serena is also staring at the view, but her view is Bernie. Bernie’s messy blonde hair tickling her neck in a way that makes Serena want to brush it off and kiss the skin underneath… She shakes herself from this train of thought. Private though the flight may be, she is still aware that Theresa could walk through at any time… And when she thinks of what is to come she can feel adrenalin pumping through her veins and she has to bite down on her tongue to keep from blurting anything out.

Bernie feels Serena’s gaze and turns to her, smiles. Licks her lips and watches as Serena’s eyes flicker from her eyes to her lips and back again. Leaning forward she kisses her chastely. “I love you,” she murmurs.

Serena is about to respond in kind when they hear a thump from the small cabin at the back. They exchange startled glances when they hear it again and they both instinctively know, medical professionals as they are, that something is wrong. Serena is out of her seat in a flash, Bernie just behind.

Serena tears through the curtain that separates the passenger area from the cabin at the back to see Theresa clutching at her throat, thumping the work surface.

“She’s choking,” Bernie says.

“I can see,” replies Serena tightly but she’s already in action, leaning Theresa forward, hand on the centre of her back and thumping her. Bernie counts for her and when she reaches five Bernie pushes forward, takes Theresa and performs the Heimlich manoeuvre. And they’re lucky. So lucky, as an object flies out of Theresa’s mouth and Theresa gasps and takes a breath.  Bernie cradles the woman and lowers her gently to the floor. “You’re okay,” she says reassuringly, “You’ll be fine.”

Serena finds the tap and a glass and gets her a drink of water.

“Thank you,” Theresa rasps and sips delicately. “Sorry.” she adds. Her teeth chatter against the glass as she starts to shake.

Bernie and Serena look at each other. ‘Take her mind off it’, Bernie says silently. They sit on the floor together.

“So, if you’re being Cabin Crew when you’re on holiday, what’s your normal job?” asks Serena.

“Something quite different,” says Theresa faintly.

“Would you tell us about it?” asks Serena, “It’ll help,” she adds.

Theresa puts the glass down and a grin spreads slowly across her face. “Guess,” she says.

“Guess?” asks Serena, taken aback.

“Yes, go on.”

If this will help her forget her panic then, Bernie supposes, they better do it. “Well, you’re obviously used to dealing with people,” she muses, “and you seem to be very professional-”

“Thank you!” Theresa cuts in.

“So… I think… lawyer.”

“Not even close,” Theresa smiles.

“Dustbin woman,” says Serena, completely straight-faced and then laughs at the look on the other two’s faces. “Well if Bernie wasn’t close...”

“The boys play twenty questions sometimes.”

“Okay,” says Serena. “Do you wear a uniform?”

“No.”

“Do you have to deal with members of the public?”

“Very much yes.”

“Do you own a company?”

Theresa laughs and shakes her head.

The intercom buzzes at this point.

“Theresa?”

Theresa stumbles to her feet and pushes the button. “Yes Martin?”

“We’d uh… if you wouldn’t mind we’d um...”

“What Martin is trying to say is: we’re parched and would very much like some coffee. Please.”

“Thank you Douglas! Also we’re getting close-”

“I’ll make you some coffee now,” Theresa cuts in hurriedly, “Be with you shortly.” She turns to the other two, “You’d best go and sit down,” and making sure Bernie can’t see she winks at Serena, “I’d better get busy. You don’t want two caffeine deprived pilots!”

Theresa has been through with the coffee and vanished again when the Captain’s voice sounds.

“Ladies, we’ll be approaching Holby on the right hand side shortly.”

“We’re flying over Holby?” Bernie asks.

“Surprise,” smiles Serena.

The dusk is gathering rapidly and the plane seems to be lowering as they approach the city. Bernie stares as lights twinkle on and turns the ground into a sea of stars.

“It’s so beautiful,” she whispers.

Serena leans in to her, pointing out the major roads, the cathedral which is really the only tall landmark in the city.

Then Bernie points, “That must be the hospital, up ahead.”

“Yes,” Serena’s voice catches in her throat as she replies but Bernie doesn’t seem to notice.

The plane lowers again, slightly, and starts to turn.

Serena grips the handrest of her seat so tightly that her fingers turn white.

“Look, it’s just down there!” says Bernie, “Oh the times I’ve spent on that roof!” and then she gasps. Gasps and laughs and stares as hundreds of points of light suddenly appear on that same roof, flickering and glowing and forming a perfect heart.

Bernie turns to Serena and her question disappears into nothing as she sees the tiny box that Serena is holding out.

Serena licks her lips. Her heart is pounding and her mouth is dry.

“Bernie. You’re my wonderful, perfect partner. In theatre and out.  You’re my home, the love of my life and I’d like to spend the rest of my life making you as happy as you make me. Would you...” her voice cracks, “Would you do me the honour of being my wife?” She flips the box open and takes out the ring. It’s simple, because Bernie isn’t one for flashy things. Just a plain silver band with a sapphire set in it (the colour of Bernie’s scrubs, although that hadn’t occurred to Serena when she’d chosen it).

Bernie is gazing at her like she’s the sun, the moon, the entire universe and for a moment Serena is worried that she might have broken her. Then finally Bernie speaks, soft but certain.

“I would be honoured, Ms Campbell.”

Serena slips the ring gently on her finger and Theresa, who is spying from the galley, buzzes the intercom frantically. She figures Martin will understand. Then, because she has a job to do, she retrieves the champagne which was thankfully stashed out of sight earlier, pops the cork and pours it carefully into two glasses.

She gives them a minute. If she wasn’t so happy with Martin she would be jealous, the way the two of them are looking at each other.

“Champagne?” Theresa hesitates to interrupt but after all Serena had brought the stuff.

Serena tears her gaze away from Bernie to smile up at her. “Thank you,” she says, taking the glasses and passing one to Bernie.

“Congratulations,” Theresa says and then runs away to the flight deck.

“Well?!” demands Douglas as she enters.

“Horribly romantic,” Theresa sighs, “They’re disgustingly in love.” She brushes her fingers along Martin’s shoulders and he twists to shoot her a quick smile before turning his attention back to his instruments.

“Martin...” she pauses and then continues. “I need to tell you something but I also need you not to panic when I tell you, so should I tell you now or later?”

“You’re doing Arthur’s job,” says Douglas, “You’re not supposed to be actually channelling him.”

“Douglas, you have control,” says Martin tightly.

“I have control,” agrees Douglas and Martin twists round worriedly.

“I’d like to pay for their flight,” says Theresa.

“Oh,” says Martin, taken aback, “That’s not very worrying. Why should I panic? Expensive but not that expensive.”

“Because… because they saved my life, earlier.”

“WHAT?!”

“And there’s the panic,” mutters Douglas.

“I was choking. I couldn’t make a noise to call out but somehow they heard and well… between them they got the grape out. So I do owe them.”

Martin is on his feet in a second, wrapping his arms around his wife and pulling her in close. “You’re okay now?”

“Absolutely fine,” Theresa reassures him. Then she kisses him.

“No hankey pankey on the flight deck!” Douglas cuts in.

“Sorry,” they both reply, but Martin keeps his arms firmly around his wife.

“What’s wrong?” snaps Carolyn over the satcom, “Tosca’s nearly finished!”

“Can you refund Ms Campbell please?” asks Martin.

“Why? What’s happened? Have you broken something? Have you hurt her Have you killed her?”

“Oh, stop panicking,” Douglas sighs, “Theresa seems to be desperate to pay for their trip as a grand gesture. I’m sure she’ll explain later.”

“Oh. Okay then. Will do. Right, I’ve wasted enough time on you, see you later.”

It’s not that long a flight from Holby back to Fitton and Bernie spends it with her arms wrapped around Serena (her fiancee!) whispering in her ear all the things she’d like to do when they get safely home. Serena kisses her – her cheek, her ear, her neck – but it’s not till Bernie reaches the end of her list that she sits back in absolute shock.

“You’ll do that?! For me?!”

“For a week,” replies Bernie, a tad smugly.

And Serena leans back in her seat and imagines it, the bliss – a whole week without having to do any washing up.

They come back to earth with a thud, albeit a small one, and the screech of brakes as GERTI glides to a halt. They unstrap themselves, stretch, smile.

Theresa waits for them by the door, shakes both their hands with a smile.

“Ms Campbell, Serena,” she bites her lip slightly, unused to feeling so uncertain and unsure how to phrase this, “I’d like to pay for your flight. Please.” She adds.

Serena gapes at her. “What, why?”

“Two reasons, one, the main one, being that you both saved my life,” she shivers slightly and Bernie reaches out sympathetically and rubs her arm, “and two, I’d like to for an engagement present to you both.”

“I couldn’t possibly accept,” gasps Serena, “Not for your ears Bernie, but this wasn’t precisely cheap!”

Theresa breaks into a sudden grin. “I believe you had sixteen questions left.”

“Oh, playing twenty questions are you?” Douglas emerges from the cockpit with Martin just behind.

“Hello, love,” Martin slips behind Theresa and wraps his arms around her waist. “What are they guessing?”

“My job,” she replies.

“That’s a tad unfair, Theresa,” Douglas remarks.

Serena is looking from Theresa to Martin. “Hang on, if you’re here on holiday… are you a pilot normally?”

“If you’re asking ‘Is he spending his holiday from flying aeroplanes flying an aeroplane’ then you would precisely right,” drawls Douglas, “Martin is quite special like that,” but his words are toned down by the fond look he gives the other man. “I feel like this could turn into a long evening, so may I cut it short? Ms Campbell, Ms Wolfe, may I present her Serene Highness Princess Theresa Gustafa Bonaventura of Lichtenstein. Otherwise known as Mrs Crieff.”

Theresa beams at him, “You finally remembered my middle names!”

Serena sits down suddenly on the nearest chair. “You’re a princess!”

Bernie laughs, “Oh dear. You’re never going to be able to top this are you! A princess served us wine!”

Theresa smiles at them both, “So you see, although I admit that paying for this trip is quite an extravagant gesture, it’s not absurdly extravagant.”

“Hello?!” calls a voice from outside, “GERTI has been still for a very long time and nobody is getting out. Are you all dead?”

“We’re fine, Carolyn,” Douglas calls back, “We’re coming now.”

They troop down the stairs as a group, and Carolyn says, “Right, pub.” She looks at Bernie and Serena, spies the ring and says “Would you like to join us? Celebrations seem to be in order.”

“I think they may want to celebrate without so many… onlookers,” Douglas points out.

“Would you come to ours tomorrow, if you’re free?” Theresa asks, “We’ve rented a rather nice house in Fitton and everybody’s coming. You can meet Douggie. And my brother Max.” She can see Serena hesitating and says softly, “I still feel that I owe you, and I would like to get to know you better. Both of you.”

Serena looks at Bernie and Bernie nods and grins. Theresa gives them her number and they all smile and wave. It’s just as they’re leaving that something strikes Bernie.

“Theresa?” she calls across, “Your brother Max would be..?”

“King of Lichtenstein, yes. See you tomorrow!”

Bernie and Serena collapse into bed. They’re elated but also exhausted so the kisses stay soft as they tangle their arms and legs together.

“This has been the best day of my life,” Bernie whispers, heartfelt.

“Mine too,” Serena agrees.

“How’d you do the lights on the hospital roof?”

“I confided in Dom and… Ric. You don’t mind, do you?”

“Mind?! How could I mind? It’s the most wonderful romantic thing anybody has ever done for me. I love you, Serena Campbell.”

“And I love you, Berenice Griselda Wolfe.”

Bernie snorts a laugh and buries her head in Serena’s shoulder. She’s just drifting off when a thought occurs to her.

“Serena?”

“Yes?”

“Did you propose in the middle of a flight so that I couldn’t run away?”

Her only answer is a giggle.